It was good that Garen remembered his name. His family had always been caught up in a mixture between adoration of the Crownguards and jealous of them - of the titles they carried where the Richter family ever remained loyal and avid servants, but commoners nonetheless. Garen was a leader - of the Vanguard and not Special Forces, but still Demacian military - and from a noble house, so it was something that the man could remember his name. HIs last name - at least, which was fairy appropriate.
One of his brothers wanted to be Vanguard, but had yet to gain entry. Seren himself wasn’t interested - but that didn’t really matter, the Vanguard wasn’t the place for someone like him. Special Forces was.
“No,” he said with a small shake of his head, “Our next use of it is tomorrow night.” Special Forces did several darkness training sessions - ranging from night training to absolute darkness inside a building. He could remember one of his first training session, when he had been far younger - being blindfolded and led to a veritable maze underground. He had had to find his own way out in the pitch blackness without using magic. He had failed the first time. He had improved since then.
“I was just doing some private drilling, figured I’d give the Vanguard space if you needed it,” he said as he walked over to the target he had been aiming at, tugging the knives quickly out of its head, chest, and right above its knee.
Garen didn’t say anything for a moment, folding his arms and simply watching the young man train. It was not a style he preferred -- in fact one he had no skill in whatsoever. He had tried once, but precision was a waste when his strong point was brute strength. Nonetheless, he was aware of what skill it took -- and Richter was impressive. For one his age -- and he did look incredibly young -- he seemed a master. Of this, anyway.
Not that Garen was surprised. Special Forces training was as rigorous as Vanguard training, and to go through it at all and come out the other side was to earn respect. The Captain remained wary, however, as he did of all things he did not know inside and out.
“Impressive,” he commented. Credit where it was due, and the boy would know humility if he had come this far, even at his age. “The Special Forces is lucky to have you.”
But he hesitated for a moment, despite the way his hand reached for his sword as though her was to begin his own training. Eyes narrowed curiously at the young soldier, and Garen cocked his head.
“I wonder how well this translates to the battlefield,” he mused, gesturing to the notches that denoted his strikes. It was unlikely in times of peace that Richter had seen a true fight, the pressure that came with it. “This is perfectly fine, but how well do you maintain your composure when a single slip could cause your death, or worse -- that of a comrade or fifty?”
