Frederick Blue wasn't sure how he ended up badly injured enough to be out for a month.

It was a fairly normal, every-day spar between him and the Teacher that happened shortly before dinner. As always, Frederick Blue was wielding his little wooden sword and the Teacher was bare-handed. Aside from being unable to land a single hit on his opponent, Frederick Blue was beginning to grow frustrated at not being able to win despite having more reach and power. Each swing not only missed, but seemed to allow for an opening that would brutally injure Frederick Blue, had he not back off five feet or so almost instantaneously.

The Teacher had remained silent about the lack of progress until, that fateful day, Frederick Blue rather mildly commented that he didn't see the point in fighting with a weapon if he couldn't hit an unarmed opponent. However, he did regret that comment the moment it left his lips and the Teacher gazed at him with cold, fierce eyes.

Frederick Blue thought about saying it was just a joke, but realized the feeble attempt to cover would probably earn an even worse punishment.

“If you don't think the weapon helps,” the Teacher replied, “I suggest you drop it then.” It wasn't a request. Frederick Blue placed the sword on the ground and kicked it away into the recess of the room. As he straightened up, Frederick Blue was somewhat grateful that the beating probably wouldn't be worse than his normal assortment of bruises.

He was very mistaken.

Frederick Blue had no idea how the Teacher moved so fast. The distance that seemed to be present normally evaporated in a single step forward and a fist slammed into his gut. Frederick Blue also had no idea how painful it would be to be thrown against a wall, kneed in the groin, cracked in the jaw, and then thrown again across the room onto the floor. Before Frederick Blue could even get up, the Teacher had dragged him up from the floor and hammered in a few more hits that probably broke a few bones. Probably, because Frederick Blue had no idea what was going on. It was all too fast.

Fleetingly, Frederick Blue felt very violated and without any sense of personal space. Before he could find some humor in the thought, the Teacher angled a punch up his gut into his ribcage with such force that the taste of stomach acid filled his mouth.

The world seemed to be getting darker and somewhat colder. Just when Frederick Blue thought he was going to faint, his vision sharpened again. He didn't feel another punch, just the cold floor beneath his aching, wounded body. Riddles of pain crept up and down his spine.

“A weapon,” the Teacher said, “does not have to hit the opponent to be useful.” He circled around Frederick Blue with deliberate steps, like a vulture garbed in a stylish black collar shirt. “One advantage a weapon gives is distance. With a sword, or a spear, or even a dagger, your range is increased versus an unarmed opponent.”

“Do you know what this means?” Frederick Blue would have answered but his jaw was broken in four or five places.

“It means that you have space to maneuver and time to dodge. An unarmed opponent cannot effectively close the distance if you have a reach advantage. This is inherent in being armed, an inherent plus one in combat. And,” the Teacher paused to apply pressure through a foot on the small of the back of Frederick Blue, “sometimes that's the difference between life and death.”

The Teacher then removed the foot and easily lifted Frederick Blue up by the neck to eye level. Cold fiery eyes seemed to scorch the consciousness but Frederick Blue was now fighting the effects of speaking without thinking things through. His normally bright blue eyes dimmed, but the Teacher only smiled. A very slight smile.

“I think you need a bit more time to grasp this lesson.”

And Frederick Blue blacked out after a few more seconds.

He since never complained about being armed again.