"Wait. I messed up that move." Egil said, early in his training with Daiyu.
She simply responded with another barrage of punches. "You think your opponent will let you retry a move? No. You find perfection in the heat of the moment, or not at all." Throughout the whole statement, she transitioned smoothly, without a change of inflection in her voice.
Egil quickly came to learn that 'taking the hit' is natural; and sometimes advantageous.
The police instructor from earlier... what was his name... Laslo, that was it. Politicized everything, making the lessons more about the dynamics between the different government agencies, than the style itself. Ultimately, the students most capable at the game also became the ones most painful to lose when they left.
From that, Egil learned a darker lesson: don't show off your intent until ready to strike. Some of the students at the time had a more 'activist' approach to things, which led to a constant adversarial relationship. They always encountered opposition.
The students who appeared submit, bypassed the initial conflicts, and discovered many of the dirty secrets hidden within the system. This was probably better for Egil's approach to civic relations than any of his official positions.
Egil thought back to the fae guards' immature whining about 'special' and 'not special.' How many times had they sabotaged each other's escape attempts? For what? To save a bruised ego?
In the few hours before morning, after the stakes were grounded down, Egil ran through a ton of scenarios in his head. He barely knew the guards in his short stay. Of course he factored in their non-cooperation in his plan. They didn't want to be there, but they hadn't taken the steps to change their circumstances either.
Egil theorized that they probably enforced the rules on each other, about as much as the fae did. He still remembered every detail of that one guard's confident look, like a parent disciplining a child. A look of "This is how things are now."
Egil anticipated that he couldn't depend on just one shiv. Both took about an hour to make.
...and this is where Feng's lessons came in. He and his wife could not have been more different. His wife focused on adaptability. He focused on being the force that required it: no ground given, always push forward, the opponent should always be on defense.
What was interesting was his approach involved a ton of subtle maneuvers to make sure most attacks hit their target. It wasn't so much 'adaptable' as it was 'unstoppable.'
Where he and his wife met in the middle? Always have a follow-up strike ready, to hit where the opponent's focus, isn't present. All parts of the body have roles to fill, all the time.
Hence, even though Egil didn't have a divinate the exact sequence of events that would play out, he had a general idea:
The target would be wide open.
The guards, despite wanting to be free, obviously weren't. Something must be in the way. Probably each other.
The fae's wrath would put enough fear in them, if Egil didnt cooperate, there was only so much they could do to intervene without the fae bearing witness.
The fae could have had more power than even Egil realized; in that case, he was fine with a suicide run.
The bed might not have been made from ivy. He had to accept that as well. There wasn't a backup plan for that, except to maybe, dodge, if given the opportunity.
He also considered holding the bed frame hostage, but that would, more likely than not, triggered a stand-off. The fae wouldn't attack, but he still would have no way to escape. There had to be a point where she would continuously be on the defensive, and him on the attack, or the attack would accomplish little more than betray his intent.
Additionally, she didn't understand moderation. Despite creating the disturbing fantasy kingdom of hers, it was all extremes: everything was a metaphor for sex organs... the gates, the swords, even the architecture suggested human curves.
No humans occupied the furniture, and there were entire rooms dedicated to just cat excretions. Even the audience, and her declaration while raping him. It was all engineered to keep everything as extreme as possible. When he didn't react to her long list of supposed partners, she had to make the audience scary.
Considering there was no moderation in her behavior then, the attacks she would use to defend herself, would most likely be undisciplined, and just as dangerous to the guards as they were to Egil. With that realization, Egil understood she might just solve the 'guard' problem for him. He just needed to get to her without being subdued in the approach.
Ironically, the wide swing that set him free was a Feng move. The goal? To use one's whole body to plant the stake like a lumberjack plants their axe in a block of wood. The shock was what probably got Egil booted from fae land.
***
Egil sipped his coffee in the library, while trying to shrug off last night's nightmare. Was he doomed to be haunted with each traumatic event? Was he just collecting them, like a macabre line of trophies where things could have gone much worse? The term 'survivor' didn't really feel like it did these cases justice.
Is this the true summoner's curse? People who constantly marshaled their forces to prevent the next time they're executed, or worse?
Aziza sat down next to him. "You look like hell. Rough night? I could fix that."
"We need a meeting, for additional ideas on how to fill out our ranks."
