Continue On, Struggler. | Chapter 11, The Approach. (Part Two of Two)

…

"Are you sure this is a wise idea, Rudeus?" Phillip asked.

Guts snorted, dismissively. The noble's mind jumped to talking him out of dueling Eris, even as he led Guts to where the duel would take place, which probably said a lot. About his faith in Guts's skill, compared to his daughter's.

"I'm sure," Guts said, without missing a beat, meaning it.

"Truly?" Phillip said, understanding. "It seems that the one thing my daughter truly has a knack for is leaving a bad impression."

Guts kept quiet but agreed. Frankly, everything about her screamed: arrogant little shit, one so wrapped up in soft silks and finery that she couldn't see the forest from the trees. As a man, he could stomach a lot, he could hold his tongue through more, but his pride wouldn't allow blatant disrespect—not from her, not her family, not from anyone. If she or anyone else wanted to act high-and-mighty, he'd knock them down a peg. Simple as that.

"Understood," his uncle said, not sounding convinced. "Might I remind you that—if you lose—you'll have to honor the stipulations you put forth?"

Guts hummed in acknowledgment.

"And you understand that it would count as you failing to live up to the stipulations your father and I agreed to, correct?"

Again, Guts hummed.

"Which means you would have to find your own way back to Buena Village."

Guts shot Phillip a sideways glare. "I know how a duel works," he warned.

"My apologies, Rudeus," Phillip told him. "It wasn't my intention to imply otherwise."

Guts snorted, derisive.

The two of them fell into silence after that. Their uncoordinated footsteps were the only noise between them. Then, suddenly, Phillip asked, "If you don't mind my asking, may I know why you saw a duel to be the course of action in convincing my daughter? I'm sure that Ghislaine would have been able to get Eris to relent."

"I'm sure she would've too."

"Truly? Then why duel at all?"

"Because I wanted to?" Guts scoffed and eyed the man, confused. "What? I need more of a reason than that?"

Phillip chuckled. "I suppose you don't. Still, on my daughter's behalf, I must apologize to you for all she said. I don't know if it at all played into your decision, but know that she was well out of line for it."

"I don't insult that easily," Guts said, meaning it.

The two walked the rest of the way in silence.

…

The duel would take place in the courtyard Guts had entered the manor from—a simple brick square cut from a strip of surrounding grass. Flat and empty. The perfect place for a duel.

Guts stood on one side; Eris stood on the other; and Ghislaine stood in the middle, off to the side serving as their judge. Guts glared and Eris glared right back, in opposition to the very last moment. The former's face: stone-like—cold, dry, and dismissive. The latter's: ripping, rippling, pushing forth a primal fury. Both had wooden swords in hand, pointed at one another. They waited. In tense silence. The kind that would make a raindrop ring out like a cannon…

And then, finally, the judge gave the word.

"Start!"

Eris moved first. Pouncing. Eating up the distance between them in moments.

Guts stood firm. His fist planted into the brick. He watched. Waited. Ready for the clash.

Eris's first attack turned out to be a simple one—more so than Guts expected. Head-on, two-handed, and coming up from her hip.

Guts saw the attack and understood its purpose. The attack, slow and with all her weight behind it, had been made to look like a mistake—the keyword being: look. It had come from an awkward angle, one that would be difficult to block and even more difficult to parry. Probably in an attempt to make him back up, lose his footing, and catch him on a second pass.

Guts huffed. The plan would've been perfect to catch a newbie swordsman off guard, but not him.

He stepped back, knowingly playing into her game. Quickly and decisively, not panicked and hurried like how his opponent had wanted. He let his wrists go limp and let the girl catch the tip of his blade with hers, meaning to roll his wrists with the momentum into a counter; but as soon as their blades grazed each other, he realized something that forced him to throw all his plans out the window: he greatly underestimated the girl's strength. His sword, and arms, got blown away by the attack.

Guts clicked his tongue. Staggering, he abandoned all hope in countering and focused on getting his balance back.

In the meantime, Eris turned her upward slash into a downward one, aimed right at his shoulder. Guts pulled his lead leg back and leaned as far back as possible. He felt it graze the front of his shirt, meaning that it got way too close.

Gotta get some distance!

Not wanting to let him breathe, Eris brought her sword way up above her shoulders and swung down at him again.

Guts's eyes widened, noticing her mistake. She had earned the advantage—had him, not quite dead to rights, but close to it. If she had just let herself to flow into her next attack, to step forward and flip her wrists into an uppercut, he would've needed to dodge again. Probably into an even worse position. Instead, she took the time to lift her sword up into the air, which would lead to a more powerful attack, but it gave him time. No more than a moment, but enough to mount a proper defense—to plant his right foot back behind him, grip the blade of his sword with his left hand, and pivot his body into the oncoming strike.

Clack!

Their two blades met. Wood smashed against wood, sword's edge against sword's edge.

Guts felt the power behind Eris's strike, all throughout his body. In his hands, his arms, and his legs—which nearly faltered from said force. He gritted his teeth and bore through it. In her rush to crush him, she let herself wide open for a Guard Pull.

Their swords still connected; Guts hooked her blade with his handguard, pulled her into him, and punched his pommel right into the center of her chest.

"Hngh!" Eris staggered back, obviously winded.

His sword still at shoulder level; Guts took a hard step forwards, put both hands back on his sword's grip, and torqued his hips into a high-arching swing aimed at her neck. Eris, whose sword hovered down at her hip, stood, completely defenseless, to what happened next: a blade pointed right at her throat, intentionally a hair away from landing.

"Duel over!" Ghislaine called out. "Rudeus wins!"

For a moment, Eris looked at him with wide eyes—the fury in them replaced by shock and fear. Then, she gritted her teeth and glared, one that screamed this fight was far from over.

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Guts grinned, ready and welcoming it.

…

Ghislaine

…

Ghislaine had lied when she said that she knew Rudeus to be more skilled than Eris.

The boy did have a higher rank than her pupil—being Advanced-tier in both Water and Sword God, respectively. And Paul, whose judgment she trusted, had given them to him. But really, she had only heard those things about him, never seen them tested. She had only brought them up to put down Eris, to get a rise out of her. Knowing that it would be the best way to get her to accept Rudeus's presence.

In contrast, Ghislaine knew everything about Eris, as a girl and as a fighter. She knew all her strengths and her struggles. She understood that the girl needed Rudeus to improve, but she also understood those struggles weren't borne from a lack of physical ability. No, the girl had the speed, the strength, and the will to crush anything in front of her—that alone made her dangerous, more so if her opponent underestimated her, but it made her far from unbeatable.

Ghislaine had learned that lesson back in her adventuring days. Her party—the Fangs of the Black Wolf—had just disbanded and she had to face the world on her own. At first, it seemed an easy thing to do, that her strength as a warrior would get her through the rest of her life. However, she failed to take into account one fact: raw, physical proved a poor salve for most problems. It didn't help her manage money, it didn't help her avoid tricks, and it didn't help her defeat anyone already stronger than her. Getting smarter did. And getting smarter involved admitting your weaknesses, understanding them, and working to surpass them.

To Ghislaine's mind, Eris needed Rudeus, someone stronger than her. Not to crush her hopes and dreams, but to push her towards them. Someone she could reach out for, but never feel too far away. Ghislaine couldn't rely on her presence alone, four years without improvement told her as much. Right now, she didn't need a teacher. She needed a rival. She needed Rudeus.

"Duel me."

As if knowing her intentions, the boy leveled a challenge to the girl.

Ghislaine saw it. The spark in the red of her student's eyes, proof her idea might pay off.

…

Eris being her student; Ghislaine waited outside the girl's room as she changed into her training gear, while Phillip showed Rudeus to the courtyard.

Eris didn't like the idea, not enough to say something, but she showed it enough in her face.

Ghislaine figured her presence would do some good, regardless of her student's opinion. She knew Eris, and the quickness in which she'd assume the worst in people. The instant she thought that they, Ghislaine and her family, were stacking the odds against her, the results of the duel would become moot. She'd think her failures were due to their meddling as opposed to her own weakness. Worst of all, she'd never change or get better—something she'd never allow to happen.

Eventually, Eris's bedroom door shot open. Her student stood on the other side, already dressed in her training gear. Arms crossed over her leather breastplate, she renewed her glare from earlier. Ghislaine returned it in full.

The two of them exchanged glares for a while. And then, Ghislaine asked, "Are you ready?"

Eris nodded, not hesitating.

Ghislaine nodded back, and said, "Good."

…

The duel played out like all duels should be: short. In both preparation and execution.

In Ghislaine's opinion, give fighters too much time and a duel could become more about strategy than skill. The more time people had, the sloppier things got; and while strategy and sloppiness both had their place in actual combat, she believed they had no place in a one-on-one duel. No. A duel, first and foremost, were meant to be shows of strength.

The two stood opposite to each other, in the same courtyard where Eris's lessons took place, primed and ready. Ghislaine couldn't help but notice the differences between the two. Eris, as always, resembled a caged animal. Her joints bent and bunched up in a way that promised an explosion, one that held all of her fury. A fury that burned bright in her student's red eyes. In contrast, Rudeus stood still as stone. In stance, and in the green of his eyes. Calm but ready, waiting for that explosion.

"Start!"

As soon as the duel started, Eris burst forward. She charged Rudeus—head-on—with all the speed she could muster. A clear attempt to use her speed to catch the boy off-guard.

In the face of it, Rudeus stood strong. He didn't flinch, nor faltered as Eris got closer.

The two clashed. They clashed some more. And then, finally…

"Duel over! Rudeus wins."

Rudeus had won.

…

Silently, Ghislaine mulled over the positives and negatives from the duel. Eris had held the advantage at the start. From the moment their swords met, Eris showed herself to be the stronger of the two—an advantage that, in retrospect, should've been obvious seeing that she was the bigger and older of the two. Her first attack came at an awkward angle, one that made it hard for Rudeus to do more than dodge or block. A play to instill doubt, fear, and panic in the boy. To Ghislaine, if Eris faced a lesser opponent, she would have won off that effort alone.

However, Rudeus proved too hard to break, too confident to worry. He backstepped and let his sword be clipped. Not out of desperation, but by design. Ghislaine could see it in the litheness of his steps, and in the looseness of his wrists. Most likely, he had intended to flow with the attack and counter over the top of it. However, in doing so, he made a single mistake: underestimating Eris.

Eris's attack crashed into him with so much force that, instead of flowing around it, she forced him to meet her head-on. Eris, seeing an opportunity present itself, jumped on it.

Eris swung at him again, but still, Rudeus kept calm, leaned back, and slipped it by a hair.

Growing frustrated, her student attempted to press her advantage, leading to a mistake that made Ghislaine frown. Eris had taken the time, a beat, to bring her head sword up over her head—probably to try and end the duel right then and there. The problem? She didn't have a beat to spare. The boy—with his free hand—gripped the blade of his sword, raised it, blocked Eris's attack, and pulled her into a counter—a Guard Pull of all things; a Beginner-Tier Water God technique; a simple hook of the hand guard and pull. Right then and there, Ghislaine knew how the duel would end.

Rudeus tore Eris's defenses wide open and put the point of his sword to her throat—an obvious win for him.

Just then, Ghislaine understood all Paul's praise. His son had promise. He fought with a skill and calm well beyond his years. Not perfect, she noted, seeing a few bad habits that needed to be taught out of him. The most prominent of which she noticed, much to her amusement, mirrored Eris's: overconfidence.

The two believed in their own abilities so much, they underestimated the other's—to the point of almost ensuring their own defeats. It just so happened that Rudeus was capable of recognizing and rectifying it.

In short, the boy could use his mind, alongside his strength, to win a fight.

Ghislaine smiled. Now, she knew. Rudeus would make the perfect sparring for Eris. She just needed her student to see that fact herself.

…

Guts.

…

Guts threw himself onto the bed the Greyrats had provided him, letting out a deep sigh. One that, he realized, he had been keeping in since he had first entered the manor. His eyes glued to the ceiling, the aftermath of the duel played out in his mind.

Once he had won, Eris had been in disbelief. She stared at him for a moment. And then, she regained her senses and demanded a rematch.

He denied her.

She threw a tantrum in response. Stomped her feet and demanded some more. He again denied her.

The girl turned to Phillip and Ghislaine, demanding that they force him into a rematch. Neither capitulated.

The girl started to lash out verbally. Not just at him, but at all of them. She accused them all of cheating her—of rigging the fight in his favor and putting her into a position which she had no chance in winning. Again, not one of them caved.

When that failed, Eris lashed out physically. She took a step forwards, towards him, and threw a punch. Fortunately, her anger had become so visually obvious, Guts had seen it coming. He leaned back, dodging it. In one motion, he grabbed her by the wrist, twisted it behind her back, and forced her chest-first into the dirt. "Yield," he growled. She kept writhing against him, even with him digging his shoulder into the crook of her own. He leveraged it further—in warning—but before he could make any more threats, Ghislaine broke them up and dragged the girl to her room before she could make things worse for herself.

Once all the commotion passed, Phillip made a smart-ass comment and offered to show Guts to his quarters. A blessing, considering how the day dragged on and on. So, after a walk down a few nondescript halls and into the manor's staff quarters, his uncle showed him a door, gave him the key to it, and left him to his own devices.

The room itself was sparse. Four gray brick walls, a bed on one side, a desk on the other, and a trunk next to the bed. The only light, a few strangled rays of moonlight, came from the semi-closed window on the far side of the room. Fortunately, a few candles had been left around the room, probably by the staff. A simple room, he concluded. Not any more simple than his old one, but even then, it felt like something was missing.

This room felt cold. Lonely, even. Guts started to wonder why, but then, he realized that it was the lack of noise.

Back home, sound would seep through the walls like the water did a gate. If his mother or Lilia did something downstairs, like attending to chores or Norn and Aisha, he heard it. Muffled, but still audible. The same didn't apply here, though. Wood wasn't like brick, and this room wasn't home.

And so, for the first time in ten years, Guts felt alone.

Guts frowned, and reprimanded himself for being an idiot. This had been his decision, exactly what he asked for. He couldn't regret it now. He felt shitty as is; he didn't need to add any fuel to the fire.

Not having much else to do, Guts got up from the bed and went over to his things, which had been piled, neatly, on top of the desk. He took the sword Paul had given him for his fifth birthday and brought it back to bed with him.

Getting back onto the bed again, he raised it into the air and stared at it. He brought it to his chest, closed his eyes, and waited for sleep to take him.

This is exactly what you asked for, Guts reminded himself, as if it would make him feel better.

…

Chapter End.