The Last Class

Avesh unsheathed his dull saber with care. The tremble that shot through his body as he lifted it up was his fear. It struck through his experienced and poised arm. 

He looked at his challenger on the other side of the ring, in the middle of the desert. Defending the kingdom was one of the greatest honors one could have. At least he thought of it that way until he saw the challenger, the great Khasi.

Khasi was a well built man with bulging muscles all over, and a stare to match death itself. His chest was wide and heavy, and the arms were thicker, much like the pillars of a temple. He wore armor, the shine of which was unparalleled to anything Avesh had seen with his wise eyes.

Khasi came bearing war in his arms. The only demand was that he had to face his old teacher and if only he was triumphant that he would take over the kingdom of Divaan. This was Khasi’s pride that Avesh recognised well. 

Against his former student, Avesh was a brittle old man in a robe, whose sword fighting days were behind him. He’d taught the princes of Divaan for the last ten years of his life, and aside from correcting postures and stances, he had done nothing more. 

Naturally, his original saber was heavier than he wanted it to be.

He would crush me, wouldn’t he?

Khasi made the first move. He charged with this sword, a long talvar and swiped at Avesh.

Avesh leaned forward to block, but the weight of the behemoth threw him back. Had they been fighting in the dunes of sand, he would have been okay, but it was hard ground that he met. His head hit a rock. Blood trickled down, but he couldn’t stay down for long. 

Khasi’s shadow came over him with sword raised. Avesh evaded as the sword hit the rock. With Khasi rattled, Avesh sliced at his calf. 

Nothing happened. 

His original saber was dull as the gray clouds above them. It hadn’t been sharpened in years. 

He hacked it on Khasi’s armor, and again, nothing happened. Not even a dent.

Khasi turned to grab the old man and drove the blade into him, through his robes.

Avesh’s eyes widened as pain shot through him. It didn’t shock him that much, it was lower than anything he had suffered in his days; it was the fact that he was going to die.

Khasi placed a hand on his head.

“You fought well, teach. It breaks my heart to let you go.” Khasi pulled out the sword bathed in blood.

Avesh flopped down, but as he met the hot land, content filled him. He smiled, then laughed at Khasi.

“What are you so happy about?” Khasi asked in mild annoyance.

“I didn’t think I would be able to do this,”

“What, die by the hands of your student?” Khasi scoffed. “You should have expected it, teach.”

“No. I defeated you. I thought I would get crushed.”

“Snap out of it, dear teacher. You lost, you are going to die.” Khas turned back.

“Then what is that cut on your finger?” Avesh called out. 

Khasi looked down, unbothered, and there it was. He rubbed it on his body. 

Avesh continued. “I am an old man, Khasi. I cannot fight. How do you think I survived attacks from your spies in the past?”

Khasi turned. 

“Yes, I am the one who killed them. I keep a poisonous needle on me at all times.”

Khasi fell to his knees. It was the idea of defeat, not the poison that weakened his legs. “But this was about sword fighting. My men will know and—” 

“Your people would know nothing. The cut’s too miniscule. Divaan would be free from your wrath and it will stay that way.” 

“I forgot the manners of a student. Teach me as we meet in heaven?” Khasi asked in despair.

“I’ll go to heaven, but not you. Take my words to hell. You cannot outsmart your teacher, Khasi.” Avesh stared at it with self-pride, an emotion he had not felt in a while. He was able to defeat a great enemy and Divaan would sing songs in his honor.

His  body gave away and eyes fell. The clouds parted and the sun, though, regarded them both with the same light.