Chapter 1 – The Frog was Really a Dragon

The enemy’s sword came striking down like a flash of lightning.

The target, a man in his mid twenties with medium length blonde hair, green eyes, and an above average face, saw the strike for what it was – a feint. The real strike would come from the left.

Anticipating the flow, the man waited until the last possible moment, when his opponent had no choice but to commit, before deftly blocking the strike.

*CLANG*

The sound was quickly followed by the gurgling of a woman who had her neck sliced through.

Bewildered, the attacker dropped their sword and reached for their neck with both hands. Trying to stop the blood from gushing outwards like a fountain to no avail, the attacker fell to their knees, their eyes staring up at the man’s back disbelief.

That’s right. After blocking the attack, the green-eyed man followed through with a twist and turn, rising his sword in the process, and bringing it down and across his opponent’s exposed neck.

Without even looking at his opponent, the man let out a long sigh before sheathing his sword in its scabbard and walking off the stage.

The once boisterous Colosseum had gone dead silent.

No surprise, the man thought to himself, seeing as how their beloved champion and youngest sword master, Nyx “The Sundering Blade” Carrian defeated by some no name opponent.

At only 21 years old, Nyx was the Alliance’s youngest sword master by a mile. Her accomplishments and talents were such that people in the Alliance and elsewhere believed it was only a matter of time before she would eventually rise to the level of “Sword God.”

Nearly a century had passed since the Alliance could lay claim to a Sword God.

Compare this with the Empire and Theocracy, who had four such individuals between them (with the Empire claiming three of the four).

Of course, where the Alliance lacked, it made up for with its three Arch Mages to the Empires one and the Theocracy’s zero.

Thus a balance was struck.

But we digress.

Suffice it to say, Nyx was someone of intense interest to the higher ups within the Alliance.

For her to die in such a manner, during what was to be a public execution of an alleged traitor, left every one speechless.

The situation was borderline comical.

Minutes passed after the green-eyed man left the field that the announcer regained his bearings.

“L-ladies and Gentleman! In the upset of the century, Nyx, the Sundering Blade, Carrian, has been defeated by Oliver Greene, retired sword instructor from the …. uh, right, the Ashton Sword & Spear Department!”

The announcer continued on, but the crowd of spectators did not hear a word.

Nearly every person present were die hard fans of Nyx Carrian and have come far and wide to support their idol and to celebrate her return to the Alliance’s capital, Belgrade.

The match was only supposed to be the beginning of the day of revelry. No on excepted Nyx to lose.

Yet, contrary to their expectations, it was Nyx who was slain and left dead.

The silence finally broke when someone let out an agonized scream.

“AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!”

While the masses were coming to terms with what happened, Oliver, the no-named, alleged traitor of an ex-sword instructor, had already made it back to his cell.

Sitting down on his “bed”, Oliver waited for the warden to come and officially sign his release.

That was the deal, after all.

By ancient decree, made at the founding of the Alliance, every prisoner, no matter their crime, may request what has come to be known as a “Freedom Duel”.

As the name so eloquently and succinctly suggests, if a prison won his or her Freedom Duel, they would be set free, all their charges dropped, and given a small fortune for their troubles.

At first hearing, such a deal sounded to good to be true. And for the vast majority of prisoners, it was too good to be true, as there has been only two successful duels in the Alliance’s 500 years.

It was illusory at best.

Why? Well, because the balance was heavily skewed toward the Alliance.

The wardens and jailers knew what it meant to pardon a criminal and thus would make absolutely sure that any prisoner who requested such a duel be given the worst treatment possible in the lead up. And, to make their victory even more of a certainty, they would match the prisoner against someone who was at least one level above them in terms of skills.

For example, if the prisoner was a sword initiate, the lowest level, their opponent, at a minimum, would be a sword novice, a high classed one at that.

It was thus that victory, for the prisoner, was nigh inconceivable.

Oliver was afforded no exception. The moment he requested the duel, he was forced to go days without food or water and was assigned to work nearly back-to-back shifts in the mines.

This treatment went on for the two weeks. It could’ve easily lasted longer, but the prisoner had to be given at least a modicum of a fighting chance – at least some hope that they could win.

If their fighting spirit was completely zapped by the time of the duel, or if they were in such a condition that they couldn’t even hold a weapon, well, where would be the fun in that?

By the end of it all, Oliver was, nutrition wise, a shell of the man he once was.

And, of course, he was made to fight an opponent nearly twice his level.

Originally, said opponent was supposed to be Hector Dovetail, a sword expert who was half a step away from the coveted title of sword master.

In other words, a sword expert at the 9th class.

At the last minute, however, the powers that be decided that his opponent would be none other than Nyx.

The change made headlines throughout the Alliance.

Oliver had no idea of knowing, but the reason for the change-up was because Nyx, the Alliance’s pride and joy, had recently returned to the capital, Belgrade, after a year of traveling and every one wanted to celebrate her return.

And what better way to celebrate than a public execution of a traitor? Plus, Nyx would be able to showcase some of the skills she acquired during her travels. It was a win-win.

No one could have expected what happened next.

“Damn. I really didn’t want to have to kill her,” Oliver said to himself with his head hung low.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

As someone who grew up and lived in the Alliance, Oliver knew of Nyx’s fame and, like every one else, was hopeful that she would one day rise to the level of a Sword God.

Hell, he even rooted for the girl who was five years his junior.

Yet, there was nothing he could do. His freedom was on the line, and the only way to win the duel was to kill your opponent.

There was no surrender or victory by no contest.

It was either him or her and he had to pick himself.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Carrian.”

. . . .

It took nearly two hours before someone appeared before his cell.

“Hey, you piece of shit. Get up. The warden wants to speak with you.”

Oliver looked up from between his knees.

Recognizing the small bald headed man standing on the other side of the bars, Oliver gave a small smile and stood up, dusting off his clothes, or, what was left of his clothes anyways.

“Mick. It’s nice to see you again,” Oliver began.

“Shut it Greene. You cost me a fortune today with that little stunt of yours,” the small man, Mick, said with his arms crossed.

Smiling, Oliver responded, “Mick. I told you to bet on me, how is it my fault you lost?”

“Because! Who in their right mind would believe your prattle when your opponent was THE Nyx? If anything, I doubled down after hearing you talk. Ugh! Why did I do that?!”

Its true. Who would have believed him? No sane person, definitely.

He only told Mick because, despite his dirty mouth, Mick was someone who at least treated him like a human being.

Mick angerly rubbed the sides of his bald head.

Oliver said nothing, only smiling at the bald headed man. He was pretty sure that habit of Mick’s was the reason why, despite being only in his early 30s, the man was completely bald.

“So you were saying, the warden wants to see me?”

“Huh? Oh. Yea. Follow me.”

Still grumbling, Mick opened the cell and started walking away, not even bothering to see if Oliver was following.

Normally, Mick would not have trusted his back to a prisoner, but he had gotten to know Oliver over the past year and, truth be told, after what happened in the Colosseum, he knew that if Oliver wanted him, or anyone in the prison for that matter, dead, then there was noting he could do to stop him.

The two walked in silence through the prison, passing by various cells and the common area.

No one, not even the guards, uttered a sound as Oliver walked by.

Eventually, the two came across a large oak door. The plaque on the side read, “Warden’s Office, Angela Cresse.”

Mick knocked on the door.

“Warden, I brought the prisoner as you requested.”

A voice responded from behind the door, “Good. Let him in and return to your post.”

“Yes Ma’am.”

Opening the door, Mick showed Oliver inside before giving the warden a salute and closing the door.

Looking around, Oliver could not help but be amazed at the size and grandeur of the office.

‘The capital sure is different . . . .’

Still, nothing could have compared to the bomb-shell beauty who sat behind the imposing desk in the middle of the grand space.

The warden, Angela Cresse, had long platinum hair that flowed like the river. The color beautifully complimented her tan skin and golden eyes that shown like the dawn sun.

Oliver could not help but stare at the warden.

He had seen her before, of course, but never this close.

‘My god. She’s beautiful.’

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Oliver composed himself and spoke up,

“Warden.”

The warden looked up from her desk, her golden eyes, accentuated by long platinum lashes, bearing into Oliver.

*Gulp*

“Oliver Greene. 26 years old. Male. Son of Thomas and Mary Greene. Both deceased. Raised by your paternal grandfather, Eugene Greene, headmaster of the Ashton Academy, a small school in the a village that shares its name, Ashton.”

Oliver said nothing.

“You were brought in as a sword instructor for the Academy at the age of 24 and at the level of a sword intermediary, 5th class. You taught at the Academy for a year before you were caught and charged with treason for aiding and abetting the escape of the fugitive Alan Wakeforest.”

“Did I leave anything out?”

The warden, Angela, asked when she finished.

“No. But I would like to say, again, that when I helped Alan, he was Alan Wakeforest, the Hero, and my long-time friend. I did not know that the Alliance had named him a fugitive.”

Leaning forward and resting her chin on the bridge made by her interlocked fingers, Angela asked, seriously,

“So you’ve said. Then let me ask you, Mr. Greene, if you knew Mr. Wakeforest was a wanted man, would you have turned him in immediately?”

“Of course not,” Oliver responded without missing a beat.

“I just wanted the record to be clear that I did not know he was a fugitive.”

Angela gave a small smile and Oliver’s heart literally skipped a beat.

“Hmm. Noted.”

“But that isn’t what I called you in for – tell me, what are you hiding?”

“Wha—”

“Mr. Greene, let’s skip with the back and forth. You know what I want, and I will have you tell me. Now.”

All of a sudden, the pressure in the office got twice as heavy.

‘Heh. She’s my ideal type.’

“When you put it that way, Warden, I guess I have no choice but to come clean.”

Without realizing it, Angela’s body began to tense up.

“Your report is mostly correct. Where you messed up, besides the whole aiding and abetting a fugitive part, is my level.”

Oliver gave a smile that sent a shiver down Angela’s spine.

“I’m not a sword intermediary, 5th class. For the longest time, I didn’t know my exact level either. It’s hard to compare when everyone in your village is, at best, at the level of sword intermediary, 1st class.”

Oliver continued,

“After today’s battle, I am certain … that I am half a step from Sword God.”

Well, his sword skills were, at least. His aura was another matter.

Oliver’s realization was quick.

He went into the Freedom Duel not knowing his true level, but after a few exchanges with Nyx, a bona-fide sword master, he instinctively knew – he was far, far beyond sword intermediary.

The situation was like that of a frog in a well. But where the metaphor was meant to teach of a vast world beyond one’s home, the opposite was true for Oliver.

Once outside, Oliver got a good look at himself and realized that he was no frog – he was a dragon.

The moment he finished his sentence, Angela disappeared from behind her desk, only to reappear in front of Oliver, her sword primed and ready to skewer his body.

‘As expected.’

Oliver knew something like this was going to happen.

Confronting the attack head on, Oliver stepped into Angela’s range and, just as she was about to thrust her sword forward, he twisted his body and attempted to tackle her onto the ground.

Surprised but unperturbed, Angela quickly gathered her aura before releasing it outwards like an explosion.

The shockwave struck Oliver and sent crashing into the far side of the office.

*THUD!*

*Gasp!*

Collapsed on the ground, Oliver gasped for air as the impact had, quite literally, knocked the breath out him.

Angela, now standing where Oliver once stood, stared at the wreck of a man sprawled on the ground.

“Hmmm.”

*cough, cough*

“You say you’re half a step from Sword God, but your performance says otherwise.”

A half-step Sword God would’ve easily won that exchange.

That wasn’t to say Angela was weak, on the contrary, she was one of the few 4rd class sword masters in the Alliance.

“Ha. What. Ha. Did. Ha. You. Think was going to happen?”

Oliver said, through labored breath.

“I haven’t eaten in days, I’ve barely slept 10 hours over the last three days, I’m wearing an aura dampener, and I just finished a duel with Nyx, the fucking Sundering Blade, Carrian.”

“What did you think was going to happen?!”

If it wasn’t apparent already, Oliver was quite pissed.

Taken aback by the sudden curses, Angela could do nothing but give a few coughs.

Everything Oliver said was the undeniable truth.

Actually, if she thought about it, the fact that he managed to read her attack and even prepared a counter, albeit lackluster and ineffective, spoke to his skills.

“True. I apologize.”

“But you must understand, to hear someone, a prisoner charged with treason no less, to say nothing of your age, proclaim that they were half a step from Sword God, I had to verify the authenticity of your words myself.”

Finally catching his breath and calming his beating heart, Oliver managed to stand back up again.

His body ached all over.

‘Fuck. I’m pretty sure I broke a rib.’

Taking a deep breath,

“Yea. I get it. But you could’ve at least given me a sword or something if you wanted to test me.”

Angela nodded.

Again, true.

“Listen, Ms. Warden, I don’t really care if you believe me or not. I just want to get out of here, have my named cleared, and return to my grandfather.”

He had won the Freedom Duel after all. And all he wanted was to return to his normal everyday life.

“Ah, yes. That was one of the things I wanted to talk you about as well.”

Angela said as she walked back to her desk.

Oliver did not like where this was going. Something felt … off.

And he was right.

“Technically, you did not win the duel. Ms. Carrian is alive,” Angela said, with a slight smile.

. . . . . . .

Oliver didn’t know what to say.

On the one hand, he felt instant relief at the fact that he hadn’t taken the life of a young girl 5 years his junior.

But, on the other … the rules of the Freedom Duel were quite strict, the prisoner had to kill their opponent. Period. The same was true for the other side – they had to kill the prisoner.

The fact that he and Nyx were still alive meant, at the very least, that the duel was still ongoing, if only postponed.

He should’ve known, though. There was no way the Alliance would have let someone of Nyx’s potential die such a meaningless death. They would’ve done everything they could to revive her, and quite honestly, such a feat would not have been all that hard given the fact that they were in the capital, where all the top physicians, healers, and one of the Alliance’s three Arch Mages resided.

‘Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t have held back.’

Though he thought that, in reality, Oliver had given it his all. Like he said earlier, he was in no condition to fight – what he managed in the colosseum was a miracle.

. . . . . . .

At the same time, other thoughts rushed through his mind.

Would he have to fight again? Most likely, and given what happened today, there was a good chance that the Alliance would pit him against an even tougher opponent.

Right. For all of Nyx’s accomplishments, she was still only a sword master 1st class. The Alliance had other, more accomplished and experienced sword masters at their disposal, like those at the 5th and 6th.

Of course, for someone like Oliver, there was little difference between the 1st and 5th class. In fact, he could secure an easy victory against even a 7th class, provided that he was in top, no, even mediocre, shape. But, he doubted the Alliance would grant him such a reprieve – if anything, he could expect double the torture he underwent these past few weeks.

No way they would let him win his freedom.

As the reality of his situation began to set in, Oliver could only utter a curse,

“Oh, fuck me.”