Chapter 2 - One Hundred Defeats, One Victory

“Ah, Zen, please, I promised I would tell them about the spiritual wonders of this world, but honestly, I would be too nervous to do it without you there. You’re always there when I tell stories…” Ayue had begged.

Zen liked to think of himself as rather stubborn, but he always caved when Ayue turned those soft hazel eyes his way. Thusly was he forced to sit by Ayue’s side and listen to the same silly stories he had heard year after year.

This time, Ayue had learned a new framing device, enlightened one afternoon while listening to their instructor lecture them on history. “Our teacher has fed you lies and propaganda,” he had begun, a rather dramatic opening for someone as easy-going as Ayue. But he was a gifted storyteller, and a few kids had gasped with delight. It was past curfew, but the new arrivals had learned that security was extremely lax. What’s more, most guards on night-duty were too lazy to lock their doors, because then they’d have to be awake in the early morning to unlock them. And so a group of girls had joined in on the fun, the familiar faces of Pannen and Auring from Zen’s village included. Auring had snuck in a bottle of wine, which was being passed around and handled like a holy relic.

“It is as he said that one hundred years ago, the world was filled with magic. He put it rather simply that each clan specialized in one type of sorcery. Really it was much more complicated, as the ways of sorcery were passed down through manuscripts written in obscure, dead languages that only a master could decipher. In order to learn sorcery, one would have to become a master’s apprentice. Of course, it’s easiest to learn from someone nearby, not to mention that back then, the so-called standard language wasn’t as widespread…

“So, yes, for the most part, each clan had its own speciality. Our Gahi clan,” he pointed at himself proudly and elbowed Zen, who tried his best to scowl at his friend, “were masters of blood magic. Such sorcery requires blood as its catalyst, since it’s the most powerful. Now, now, before you go accusing us of any grave crimes, it doesn’t require human blood, but...human blood is more powerful. Anyway, anyway, the clans of the north specialized in entropic sorcery, which, to be honest, is what I would have wanted to learn.

“Now, ah, I’m less familiar with how exactly such sorcery was cast...but one can manipulate another’s capacities, like making them sleep, or feel pain. And then there were other small branches of sorcery, but they were smaller and less potent. The most common type of sorcery was spiritual sorcery, of course, since spirits were abundant and easy to control, ‘specially since no type of sacrifice was needed or anything.”

Zen groaned internally at the mention of spirits. Any minute now, and Ayue was likely to go off on a tangent about his—rather, their—experiences spirit-hunting. Ayue was convinced that the woods were teeming with malevolent spirits who sought the assistance of such skilled mediums as he to put them to rest. Many a night they had foregone sleep, lurking in the bushes. Zen functioned as the bodyguard to Ayue’s active imagination, which saw monsters in every shadow. Sixteen years on this earth, and they had failed to find one spirit. Not that Ayue would admit it; he claimed it was statistically impossible that every strange sound or movement they had encountered was natural.

“The only way to defeat a spirit forcefully is to strike it with an enchanted blade. The Tangis, they were the creators of this blade. Forgoing sorcery itself, the Tangis specialized in anti-spiritual swordsmanship.” Ayue sighed, as if he had been personally wronged by this practice. “Then, a hundred years ago, a strange sorcerer appeared in Tanac, claiming he knew how to uproot magic from this world entirely.”

This was always the part of the story that made Zen frown from all the plotholes. Why would a sorcerer just suddenly help the Tangis? How could he possibly have come up with a method that countered each type of magic? But all records of this era had been erased, as Ayue would soon emphasize—his voice high-pitched at the absolute scandal of the ordeal. The truth was at the mercy of the victor.

“The Tangis were tired of playing defense and feeling inferior, so they struck a deal with the sorcerer. He would be the personal advisor of the Sovereign Prince, treated like royalty, and in return, he would use his knowledge to wage war against the other clans and wipe out sorcery in the realm. The campaign was successful—he truly did know how to counter every type of magic, and with the Tangis all equipped with enchanted swords, the Tangi military succeeded in wiping out all sorcerers, destroying every manuscript, and massacring the spirit realm. They justified their deeds by arguing that sorcery was an inherent danger that must be outlawed for the safety of the common folk. They also used this opportunity to establish their political dominance over every village, forging an empire that lasts to this day.”

Ayue’s eyes suddenly darkened, and his voice dropped to a whisper. Those sitting in the back had to lean in to hear, their breaths caught in their throat. Exaggerated or not, Zen had to admit that Ayue was a good narrator.

“But, of course, this mysterious being who had materialized at Tanac mere years before...also practiced sorcery. Once the Sovereign Prince was satisfied that every sorcerer and trace of magical knowledge had been destroyed, he personally slid a dagger into that sorcerer’s heart and strung his dead body up in the capital square. He kept that dagger there to make sure this sorcerer, being wronged as he was, wouldn’t turn into a vengeful spirit. And that body remained there until it had decomposed into nothing.”

Naturally, this conclusion was not included in the lecture earlier that week. “That’s how they repaid him?” Auring squealed, her hand curled up in a fist on her forehead.

“Yes,” Ayue responded solemnly. “Sorcery may have been a formidable source of power...and corruption and violence and so on, but that one act of corruption and violence was one carried out by hands untouched by the magical ways. This is a tale warning not of the evil methods of sorcery but of the evil ways of men, of their lies and deceit.”

One kid chuckled. “Nah, that’s the fucking Tangi for you. That sorcerer’s only mistake was believing he wouldn’t be backstabbed by those pigs.”

Zen smirked, not in total disagreement with the sentiment. Ayue, however, was horrified, waving his hands frantically. “No, no! That’s not the moral of the story! Had that sorcerer turned to anyone, his fate likely would’ve been the same… He was too powerful, and any ruler would feel threatened by him…

“Anyway, now that I’m telling the story in Tanac for the first time, I can finally reveal an addition to this tale I left out before! Obviously, sorcery has been erased and such, but there are still many spirits that survived the cleansing and still roam this earth. The Tangi have never divulged the secret of forging their weapons to anyone, and at last...we are standing in the very building that contains these swords!”

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

With these words, the audience burst into excited chatter...except for Zen, who hissed, “What are you doing? Do you want to get us in trouble?”

Ayue fed off the energy of the crowd and so was fearless at the moment. “You worry too much! The guards don’t give a shit what we do. Besides, there’s not that many of us.”

Most of the older kids, as well as some of the younger ones who hailed from other villages, were already asleep. Or, at least, trying to sleep over the ruckus of the event. Still, over a dozen teenagers sneaking through the palace would not be inconspicuous. If Ayue had proposed that just the two of them go see the swords for themselves, he would have instantly agreed. But he had no desire to place his well-being in the hands of strangers, especially those who weren’t well-versed in the art of stealth.

“You don’t have to come,” Ayue said, pouting a little. “Maybe I’ll bring one back for you to see.”

Zen groaned. “Damn it, you’ll do no such thing. I’ll come.” He truly had no backbone when it came to opposing Ayue’s adventures.

Either these teenagers were extremely lucky or the night shift was extremely incompetent, for they found the room in no time. Ayue hadn’t known the exact location of the armory, but after trying a couple of doors on the right floor, they had found one securely locked. However, locks were no match for a group of youths—at least a couple were bound to be practiced in mischief.

Ayue closed the door once everyone tagging along had entered and lit up the room with a torch he had stolen from the hallway. Once everyone’s eyes had adjusted to the dim lighting, they gaped at the sight in front of them From wall to wall, glimmering swords reflecting the dancing flames of the torchlights hung. Indeed, some kind of spiritual power seemed to cling to those blades, though Zen couldn’t be sure that it wasn’t his imagination.

“Can we touch them?” someone asked Ayue. Even regular palace guards didn’t wield these on a daily basis. Would an untrained hand be punished for blaspheming such a precious item?

“I think so. I’ve never heard otherwise.”

That was enough for Zen. Hah, I’m actually glad I came. He reached for a sword he found particularly magnificent. He held the hilt in his right hand and gently lowered the flat side of the blade onto his palm. The metal pulsated with heat. Just how many spirits has this killed?

Though some were too nervous to toy with a force they didn’t fully understand, at least a dozen swords were now being manhandled. Ayue was proudly going on about the origins of spirits, “...must have come into contact with sorcery—whether as a wielder or a victim—which then imbues their soul with the ability to return in such a form…” and “...something tying them to this world, whether negative or positive…”

Zen was slowly turning the blade over in his hand. He realized it was the first time he had ever held a real sword. Those training swords don’t count. This...now this is a weapon. He allowed himself to smile a little. However, the smile soon faded as he heard a creaking sound from behind him. Fingers gripping the hilt, teeth gritting, he turned his head to the door. Blue robes and black eyes illuminated by the flickering torch flames, the prince himself stood, taking in the scene.

Ayue hadn’t noticed amidst his excited babbling. Zen forcefully grabbed his arm. “Oi, wha- Shit.” Ayue immediately dropped into a kneel, clasping his hands in front of him. “Your highness.”

Ito looked down at him coldly, unforgiving. “Put them away.”

His demand was unnecessary. Upon seeing him, those not frozen in shock had scrambled to return their weapons to the stands on the wall. The room was silent except for the clanging of metal against metal.

Ayue hadn’t taken one and so was still kneeling before Ito. “Please, we meant no harm by this. I’d just heard that this palace housed these swords and I convinced them all to come with me to see. If you could find it in you to overlook this transgression…”

The prince responded immediately, “Sure. On one condition.” He paused, scratching his cheek thoughtfully. “One of you must defeat me in a duel.”

Ayue blanched. “T-to the death?”

Ito laughed, taken aback a little. “What? No, no, like in training. I’m sure one of you wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity to wield one of these in action.”

Zen was facing the wall, in the process of returning his sword, but he could feel the eyes of everyone on him. After all, who had a better chance than the one who faced off against the prince daily? But he had never won, and their duels had left him exhausted and battered. Accepting would be folly. He sucked in his cheeks, weighing his options.

Ultimately, his stubborn pride won out against reason. “I would be willing,” he said slowly, still facing the wall. He removed the sword from the wall once more and turned to face that familiar opponent.

Ito had already chosen his weapon. He sliced it through the air gracefully. “Give us room.”

A circle formed around the two. Zen could feel the brimming excitement of the audience. They really got a show today. He looked at Ito, whose silhouette was barely visible. His sword and dark eyes reflected what light there was, but the rest of him was swallowed by shadows. Zen also noticed that he was barefoot, a silver anklet twinkling on his right foot. We must have awakened him.

Ito spared him no more time to prepare, launching a series of quick attacks that Zen barely managed to parry. The tip of his opponent’s sword came dangerously close to his temple, making Zen flinch away. Just pretend we’re in training. If he allowed his nerves to dictate his reactions, he’d be much more likely to end up injured.

The two circled around each other, defending and attacking in turn, dodging and assailing. Ito’s left hand was behind his back, and his movements were as light as a dancer’s. Zen, on the other hand, could feel his arm faltering, and he was beginning to gasp for breath. This is it. He gathered all of his strength in the next blow, even knowing that Ito would easily block it.

To his surprise, Ito’s sword clattered to the floor. Zen brought the blade up to Ito’s neck, blinking slowly.

“You were lucky today,” Ito said, addressing the stunned audience. “Go back to your rooms.”

Zen let the crowd brush past him. Ayue tugged on his sleeve. “Let’s go, before he changes his mind,” he whispered.

Zen shot him a look of murderous intent. “Fine, fine. Don’t get lost on your way back.”

It was only the two of them. Zen, his movements slow and deliberate, returned the sword to its rightful place and turned to face the prince again. Ito had an eyebrow raised and a corner of his mouth upturned.

“You let me win,” Zen accused.

Ito laughed softly. “I won’t do it again.”

“Better not.” Ito’s lenience may have helped Zen save face in front of his peers, but it had wounded his pride. Caught up in his injured feelings, he didn’t even stop to think that his tone and words could be considered disrespectful to a royal more committed to formalities.

Ito walked out the door, Zen following close behind. As the two parted ways, Ito called out over his shoulder, “I have more stamina, so I easily outlast you. Be aggressive at the start.”

Zen pondered those words as his head lay against his pillow, the sounds of clashing metal ringing in his ears.