Nicholas swung his sword left, right, ducking the way he'd been taught to when the dummy mechanically swung its sword at him in an offensive way that would have slashed his chest, something Nicolas thought would greatly please his sadistic father if he hadn't parried the strike.

It was all his father's idea, making him train with a dummy.  Something Nicolas had thought would be easy until he realized the dummy fought harder and more expertly than anyone he'd ever trained with. Nice, Nicholas bitterly thought, slashing again and missing the dummy who stepped out of the attack zone and roughly kicked at his legs, making him stumble and barely keep his balance. Nicholas didn't know what to call this bloodthirsty thing fighting with him but 'dummy' didn't cover it.

"Watch your feet, Nicholas! You're too negligent with your feet!" His father barked from where he was sitting, munching on grapes and watching his son fight something greater than him. Nicholas was suspecting that the man was getting some sort of satisfaction every time the dummy got close to killing him.

His father had said to watch his feet but Nicholas had other things occupying his mind, like how to not die. Why the hell had they even given the dummy a sharper blade than he was? This wasn't fair, not one bit of it.

Angrily, Nicholas made his defensive mood, feigning a left strike but swiping at the legs of the dummy. This move wasn't at all rational but it was a rush Nicholas had already taken and he would bear the consequences of not thinking twice.

The dummy, probably being controlled by his father, predicted this move, blocked the swipe and brought the hilt of its sword down on Nicholas's head. Hard.

It made Nicholas's vision go blurry and somehow, he found himself on the ground, his sword suddenly useless. He'd failed. The dummy had won and he'd failed. He could hear his father tutting from where he'd been watching him practice.

"Terrible, Nicholas, terrible!" His father said, pushing the plate of grapes away and getting up from his seat. Closing his eyes and fighting the headache that was now reminding him of his failure, Nicolas knew what was coming next. His father had a sharp tongue and it was extremely untamed, especially when it came to Nicolas. No insult was too severe to be passed on to him and his father had an abundant supply of insults for him.

"I'm starting to think that you're useless, boy," his father condescendingly said, walking slowly to meet Nicholas when was still sprawled on his back. The dummy still had its blade by his throat but he couldn't care less. Unless his father wanted him dead, the dummy would not dare slit his throat.

"Your fighting skills are absolute crap," his father said, now hovering over him from what Nicolas sensed.

When he opened his eyes, he realized he was right. His father was wearing a look of pure disgust and hatred. He was looking at Nicolas like the sight he saw was making him physically sick.

"You wouldn't last a minute on the battlefield, boy and it's pathetic," another insult was thrown at Nicolas.

Ignoring his father's insults, Nicolas got to his feet and brushed his training pants from the dirt that now encased them, forever marking them as an article worn by a loser. There was blood slowly trailing down his neck from the injury on his head, caused by that heartless dummy.

His father watched him wipe the blood off his neck with a savage swipe of his hand. Nicolas was angry. Very angry with himself and his father. He'd been training day after day and now, he wasn't enough, said his father. Nothing would ever be enough for the man and gods knew if his mother had been enough for him too, given how he rarely talked about her.

"You don't know about that, father," Nicholas muttered, not meeting his eyes. Despite the defiant tone he was using, some part of him still feared his father.

His father's eyes narrowed menacingly and Nicholas took a cautious step back.

"What do you mean? Speak up, boy! Don't mutter like a wimp," his father jabbed, sneering at Nicolas when Nicolas refused to talk.

So I should speak up so he would have a reason to hit me, Nicolas thought. Staring at his training boots, Nicolas let his father rant about how useless he was, how he could never do anything right, how he was so pig-headed and hadn't even taken his advice on the fighting techniques. The rant went on and on but Nicholas hadn't said a word.

"You're supposed to be a king but you're a weak excuse. How will you lead people into battle if you can't even fight a dummy?" His father harshly asked, pushing him back to stimulate some sort of response from him. None was forthcoming.

Instead, Nicholas picked up his sword which had skittered off when the dummy had rendered him useless. He picked up the sword, held the hilt tightly, and faced his father with fierce determination. He would slash that dummy to pieces. He would prove that he could do something right and his father was wrong.

"What do you think you're doing?" His father scoffed, watching as Nicolas held his sword in a defensive arc. 

"I want a redo. I want to fight the dummy again," Nicolas calmly said, matching his father's glare until his father burst into cynical laughter.

"Oh dear, Nicolas, you don't defeat something by just holding a sword in that pathetic way. You defeat something," his father said, stalking him until they were practically nose to nose.

"You defeat something," he repeated for emphasis, " by using technique and skill. something you lack," his father sneered again, still in Nicholas's face. Nicholas thought of how nice it would be if he had the guts to head butt the man right now. But that was just wishful thinking.

" I want to fight the dummy. You shouldn't have a problem with that," Nicolas almost spat, moving away to resume his position and glower at the dummy that was now motionless and lifeless without his father's control.

It would be cowardly but Nicolas thought how he should've just mauled the dummy right there and then as it was powerless. But his father would never let the act die down if he did what he was desiring to do to the dummy. His father would tell him he was even weaker, fighting a defenseless object or how stupid it was.

Realizing his son was not going to give up his desire for a redo, Nicholas's father shrugged, thinking how it was not his problem. Besides, Nicholas would get his ass beat again and that was insult material.

"Alright then, fight the dummy," his father said and Nicholas didn't miss the glint in his father's eyes that clearly said that he was hoping Nicholas would fail. 

Nicholas shivered, watching his father turn around and head for his seat while the dummy slowly sprang to life again as his father began to control it again. Nicholas couldn't even imagine what would happen to him if he lost again. His father would drag him to his meetings and publicly announce that his son had fought a dummy and failed. Nicholas was sure his father would do even worse. Anything to insult and humiliate him for going against his wishes and asking for a redo. It was like the pieces of training, Nicolas realized as he prepared himself and defiantly sank his heels into the ground when the dummy approached, was more for his father's amusement than for Nicolas to get better at swordsmanship.

Nicolas spat blood and wiped the torrents of sweat away from his forehead and focused on keeping the dummy at bay and at the same time, keeping his head on his neck.

As expected, the dummy was fighting at a faster and more advanced speed than Nicolas was used to. His arms burned, his wrists ached and as he met the dummy's powerful strike with one of his own, the vibrations it caused were powerful enough to make Nicholas want to drop his sword and nurse his aching hand. With one glance at his father whose very visible smirk was as condescending as it could get, Nicholas steeled himself and his resolve.

He'd only requested a redo so he could prove his father wrong, he hadn't done it to back out. No, he vehemently thought, adding more force behind his strikes and his anger brought more finesse to his fighting technique.

He realized it was easier, as he delivered slash after slash and even ducked low to slash at the dummy's leg, that the fight was getting easier. He was surprised when his sword met its Mark and the dummy's left leg was no more. It flew right out of the dummy and slid down the practice ground, stopping right at his father's feet.

The shock he saw in his father's eyes was a booster to the anger he felt. The dummy was already back on his feet but was hindered by the lack of stability since its leg was missing now.

Despite it, the dummy's swordsmanship was still as flawless as ever and Nicolas realized this when the dummy's sword barely missed his neck. 

The loss of the leg which was supposed to switch their fighting positions from the dummy being offensive to it being defensive. Nicholas was surprised when the dummy began to press him even harder, strikes more direct and faster than they usually were. It was making Nicolas have a hard time keeping up so it didn't surprise him when the dummy used the flat of its blade to wack Nicolas's right hand, making it temporarily useless and almost using the same trick again. Nicolas saw that the dummy was going to use its hilt to render him almost unconscious again.

Backtracking and using the dummy's downward momentum, Nicolas took a deep breath and with the most force he could muster, he slashed across the dummy's chest.

It took him a while to realize that he'd done it. He'd sliced the dummy into two and it took the clattering of the dummy's sword before Nicolas breathed a sigh of relief.

It was over. He'd done it. It had seemed almost impossible to both Nicolas and his father but Nicolas has done it. He'd shown his father that he could do something right, for once he had proved his father wrong.

Nicolas released the breath he was holding and watched the dummy's sliced body look so powerless on the ground as if it hadn't tried more than once to pass the same fate to Nicolas as they'd fought.

His father stood up, the look on his face was one of neutrality as he stared at his son who was now on his knees and was panting heavily. He couldn't believe that Nicolas had done it. The sting that the king felt was the pinch of his male ego. It was as if Nicolas had defeated him because technically, he'd been the one controlling the dummy and now, the dummy was slashed into two, unable to fight.

He hadn't let the loss of the leg make the dummy vulnerable, instead, he'd controlled the dummy and had made the dummy fight even fiercer so he was surprised when the dummy had dropped like the lifeless object it was before it had been put under control. 

Warily, he eyed the young man who now stood on his feet and had a self-satisfied smile on his face. It was pricking him and it was annoying him. Seeing the smile on his son's face was more annoying and disturbing than anything he'd ever seen before. The smile transformed the boy's face and made him look more childlike than he'd ever noticed before.

Despite all the training, Nicolas was just a boy. The realization startled his father. Why did he just notice that his son was just a boy?  He was sure that if the boy's mother had been alive, she would not have been pleased with the training he was putting the boy under. 

He blinked back memories and slowly walked towards the boy. 

"Your last move was a rascal and I'll. You can do better next time and not place a move on luck to decide," he harshly barked at the boy whose satisfied smile dropped and he nodded, concealing his annoyance.

Sighing resignedly, he decided that Nicolas deserved a little praise. At least for proving him wrong so he uttered words he'd never thought he would utter.

"But you did a good job, keep it up," he choked out before taking his leave. From the surprised look on his son's face, he was sure that the shock was mutual.