Purity of a Fighter
Four versus one was definitely a risk bordering on impossibility. Frein was glad enough no one called his bluff, but he hid his relief well enough to avoid scrutiny.
Three against one would be a challenge, but awkward. One would be outright boring. Two was just right. Now if only he had some sparring experience with Forged Meiyal…
Right now’s a better time than never, Frein thought, steeling his resolve. He settled Siffera in a calm flow, one that he kept as strong as his meiyal system could afford without reaching Art fatigue.
He circled around the two knights before him, keeping a keen eye for any clues they might give away while removing Katherine and her friends out of harm’s way.
The one in black armor still held his broadsword. There were odd red designs around his chest plate with a singular amethyst gem engraved in the middle.
Embellishments, Frein guessed. According to The Forges of Vyndival, these additions on Forged Armors not only increased their owner’s resistance against harmful meiyal—like Meiyal Arts—but also imbued the armor with certain enhancements.
Not all Embellishments were unique, but some of them held properties more powerful than others. Frein couldn’t determine, just from this one look, what type of Forged Meiyal Armor the black knight had, let alone what Embellishments were attached on it.
The Forged broadsword was another problem. Forged Meiyal Weapons were deceiving due to the fact that their appearances seldom dictated their physical capabilities, like their effective range or the way they were usually handled.
In fact, for Frein, the entire discipline practiced in Vyndival, Meiyal Armaments, was as many times as complex to understand as the number of additional letters compared to Meiyal Arts. To be fair, the discrepancy between his time spent studying both disciplines played a huge part in his lack of understanding, but that didn’t excuse him to the adversary he was facing right now.
Not enough information. The helms covering their faces did nothing to help either.
Frein clasped his hands together as a form of salute, forming a fist with his right hand while holding it firmly with his left.
“Frein Nivan, Practitioner of Meiyal Arts, The Visitor.” When his two opponents looked at each other in question, he continued. “Where I came from, it is customary to introduce one’s self before a duel. As a sign of respect, I offer you my name first.”
It wasn’t necessarily true, but he had to take the initiative.
The knight in silver armor took the black knight’s side and spoke first.
“Hal Runescythe, Practitioner of Meiyal Armaments, Lord Knight.” He Forged his Meiyal Weapons, a small sickle on his left hand chained to the shaft of a scythe he held on his right. Frein couldn’t imagine not hurting himself just trying to make a swing with that weapon. He didn’t have time to consider as the black knight spoke next.
“Ral Runescythe, Practitioner of Meiyal Armaments, Lord Knight.” A small red spark crawled throughout his greatsword.
Brothers, obviously. It added a bit of a complexity. Siblings usually understood each other better and coordinated better that the usual brother-in-arms. It was something Frein had to consider and test.
The Visitor took his stance, a normal fighting pose; his left guiding side in front and right explosive arsenal at the back. Hands opened resting just below his line of sight to avoid making his own blind spots. His legs not too wide apart to maintain a centered balance while still prepared to spring into action. His breathing, calmed and collected. And lastly, Siffera, ready to ignite into action at any second.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Ready when you are,” Frein said as Ral and Hal walked on opposite directions, flanking him on both sides. They readied their weapons, not caring one bit that their opponent was basically unarmed. For them, Frein assumed, Meiyal Arts were simply enough reason to think this was fair.
He felt a tinge of trepidation as an awkward pause passed between the three of them. He pushed the emotion at the back of his mind and turned to Ral, the Lord Knight in black armor to his left.
Immediately Frein heard a metallic noise coming from his right, his Siffera-enhanced hearing giving him enough warning just in time for him to duck as a small sickle sliced just above his hair. A poor black strand standing at the very tip of his head was mercilessly severed away by the weapon as it retreated back to the owner.
Another noise, a heavy stomp coming from his left, warned him about Ral’s approach. The black knight burst into a sprint, greatsword overhead.
Frein slipped to the side as the over-sized hunk of metal sliced downwards. He prepared to retaliate, but the quick sound of sparks made him hesitate. That left him no choice but to lift his guard and intensify his Siffera for defense, focusing on his front just in time as an explosion of electricity blasted from the blade.
The impact threw him to the air relatively unscathed but conveniently towards Hal. The silver knight flourished his scythe around his arms and manipulated the chain around its shaft in such a way, Frein was sure, to direct the flying sickle towards him.
The Visitor twisted midair just in time to avoid the irritating weapon. He attempted to catch it but failed. Instead, he telegraphed a large motion as he spun down towards the knight.
There was a moment. Through every turn, Frein found glimpses of Hal calculating with the intent of landing a counter. The Visitor replied by concentrating his Siffera to his right leg, challenging the knight to meet the blow.
The silver knight chose the conservative move and leapt away, but Frein still delivered his spinning kick. The impact blasted throughout the desert, lifting sand clouds that obscured vision.
It was the most opportune moment to strike, but instead, Frein stood still, facing Ral this time as the dust settled back to the ground.
He already knew he’d won.
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Frill delivered her prisoner to the throne room. She made thorough inspection of this strange Vyndivalian and confiscated all of his Forged Weapons and Armor; a pair of short swords chained to a pair of sledgehammers—Doffed into a wristband—that she utterly had no idea how to use and a dark red armor—Doffed into a pendant.
She took them out of her Spatiera and studied them for signs of Vynore, but the collection possessed no meiyal-breaking qualities. Content with the inspection, she reinforced the binding Meiyal Art around the Vyndivalian.
“You’re getting a bit carried away. I’m not going anywhere,” said the prisoner.
“Surviving my Diferenfra is enough reason to be cautious.” When the man didn’t speak, she continued. “I was sure I burned all of you and your towers on the western wall. There was no way you could’ve climbed it on your own.”
“Is this the one?” boomed a voice. Frill turned to see Adviser Kento pacing with heavy footsteps.
Beads of sweat raced down his face as well as trails of smoke coming from the water droplet meiyal core on his left shoulder, signs of Art fatigue caused by maintaining a Sky Vision and a Network Hub. Though utilizing a completely different and casual naming scheme, these two were still bona fide Meiyal Arts.
She gave a soft bow. “Yes, Adviser.”
“Good, we’ll take care of him from here.”
“How’s the Princess?”
“She turned off her M.O.B.I.L.E. We suspect she’s engaged with King Urzic or whoever’s leading the invasion.”
“The Princess isn’t here?” said the prisoner. Frill noticed a sour scorn coming from him, but she didn’t bother understanding or saying anything about it.
“Fortunately for you, our Princess prefers the frontlines.” She gave Adviser Kento another slight bow. “I’ll take my leave.”
“Frill!” called out an otherwise sweet voice if not for the panic in her tone.
The red-haired maiden shifted her head to the skies. Ashtine, riding her armored yuma landed with a purpose, her short blonde hair flowing gently like falling snow but the worried look she wore immediately induced concern.
“What’s wrong?” Frill asked.
“Your sister,” she began. Frill’s heart skipped a beat. “We can’t find her.”
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