What is the difference between fencing and actual sword fighting, exactly? If I were to throw an olympic fencer against a master swordsperson, what would the most likely outcome of such a fight be?
The first and most obvious answer is that only one of these individuals is trained for combat.
The second answer is that only one of them uses (and trains with intent to use) a real weapon.
I’m going to assume this question revolves around an Olympic fencer dueling with a master swordsman with a live weapon and not in accordance with Olympic fencing rules. An Olympic fencer’s best chance at winning is a bout with a modern epee/saber under Olympic fencing rules and it’s also the case where (probably) no one dies or is gravely injured.
Olympic fencing is a sport. As a result of its evolution, it’s pretty much unrecognizable as even a martial form today and, in pursuit of the new requirements for winning, has divested itself of the weapon aspect. While much of the terminology remains the same, the key difference to grasp about Olympic fencers is that they’re not trained to fence around the idea that the sword in their hand is a dangerous weapon (because it isn’t.) In fact, the ultimate goal of winning in their sport (score points) is hindered by that mentality. To the Olympic fencer, it doesn’t matter if they get hit so long as they score first and have right of way when they do. If those at the top of the sport were handed a real historical epee, told to fence, and changed nothing in their approach, the end result would be a double suicide. (Which is ironic because that’s one of the reasons why the epee was restricted historically. When it came to dueling, it was a little too efficient.)
There is no caution here because there doesn’t need to be. Tactics and techniques which will cause a fencer to commit suicide against an opponent with a live blade work exceptionally well once the risk of death is off the table.
This isn’t just restricted to Olympic fencing. If you take any martial art that has transitioned to a sport and put the practitioner up against someone who kills people for a living, even if they are one of the best in their field, they will be at an inherent disadvantage. The requirements for winning according to the sport’s rules are vastly different from the requirements for winning in a life or death situation.
And that’s just the first hurdle.
The next hurdle is the weapon itself.
Duels are specifically between weapons of the same type. This rule is meant to level the playing field and ensure the duel is decided on “skill” rather than weapon advantage. Depending on their point of origin (for the purpose of this question, I’m assuming European) a master swordsman would have been familiar with and likely trained in several different sword styles, depending on era would be a master of their own school or in the employ of a noble house. If you need a comparable profession for a master duelist, think of them like lawyers. Except, the victory was decided by skill with a blade rather than a compelling argument. (We could say that skill with a blade is a compelling argument, but I digress.) One doesn’t get to be a master swordsman until after many years of study with the blade and victories under their belt. Depending on the era of history, the duel requirements of the duel could be anywhere between armored or unarmored, to first blood or to the death, and cover a variety of different swords, each with their own developed styles (and that is styles plural.)
Our Olympic fencer will be fucked by varying degrees depending on the live blade in question but, make no mistake, they’ll be pretty much fucked by any option picked. Running counter to their ubiquitous nature in popular culture, swords are not one size fits all. Outside of common principles there’s almost no training crossover. Every sword handles differently. These variations include length of the blade, length of the hilt, location of the crossguard, the weapon’s weight, the weapon’s weight distribution, the location of its balance point, whether it is primarily used with one hand or two, whether it is primarily a weapon for thrusting (the rapier) or cutting (the saber,) etc. Their grip would be off, and probably wouldn’t be able to hold the sword properly.
The modern version of a fencing “sword” is not equivalent to any of these. Their closest stylistic match up in terms of inherited movement is the 19th century epee, but we’re still miles apart.
Then there’s the mentality issue.
The Olympic fencer hasn’t trained around the idea that death or major injury are accidental. Possible, yes, a risk, yes, but in the same way they are for any other sport. These are surprise, tragic occurrences and not part of regular bouts. For reference, in terms of the dangers of physical contact, a modern fencer faces less risk than a football player. For the master swordsman, the opposite is true. There is no variant of historical dueling which doesn’t risk death in some capacity, whether that’s a confirmed death on the dueling field itself or from an injury or infection later. Those historical circumstances where you see individuals dueling topless is (ironically) for practical reasons and not titillation. Many duelists, victorious or not, died from infection after cloth or other detritus got into their wounds. In this way, our modern Olympic fencer is less prepared than a duelist of average skill, much less a master.
Is the Olympic fencer ready to put their life and body on the line? To risk death, permanent injury, a potential blinding in one eye, in a bout that, at best, involves zero physical protection? I’m not sure. Probably not off the cuff. It requires a different mindset.
Are they ready to inflict damage on another person? Are they ready to kill another person? And even if they’re ready, are they willing to? Are they resolved to? Are they ready to risk their own life in pursuit of it?
The Olympic fencer is on the starting line with these questions.
The Master Swordsman has already answered them.
One of the difficult aspects about writing violence and characters who practice martial disciplines with intent to exercise those skills is internalizing the risks involved and ensuring their a natural part of your character’s mindset and their approach to combat.
Fiction is an illusion. Your narrative’s world is as real as you, the author, choose to make it. Characters are immortal, have infinite stamina, possess skill with every weapon, are unbeatable unless you choose otherwise. Regardless of reality, if you choose to make an Olympic fencer and a Master Swordsman fight exactly the same way with the same skill set, that’s how it is.
I’ve seen plenty of published authors treat swords as universal and modern Olympic fencing like it lends their character any real martial skills. (I mean, beyond excellent conditioning.) You can do it and get away with it if that’s what you want. Personally, I find it less interesting because it cheats the character out of their growth. Also, you don’t need to lean into that approach for “Girls Can Fight” or as a way for a female character to gain combat skills because there were female fencers who trained on the blade.
Ways for the Olympic fencer to win:
Dumb luck.
Yeah. That’s it.
The Master Swordsman should knock the blade out of their hand, take the Olympic fencer under their wing as their apprentice, and wander the world together solving crimes.
10/10.
-Michi
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