"Halt!"

The disciple standing ramrod stiff in front of me somehow becomes even stiffer.

"Take your stance!"

He pulls out his sword and drops into a Horus Stance. It's a remarkably good one. This no-name might be worth teaching after all.

"Good, good. This stance is impeccable!"

The disciple smiles and tries to speak, but before he can get the words out, I cut him off.

"Motivated, yes. Trained, yes. But do you meet my standards?"

I dash at him using my movement-enhanced boots, using the first form of the Overwhelming school.

He should raise his sword to block. My sword should break his, and he should suffer little harm.

Instead, he's raising his sword. Is this some form of counter-strike? He knows this? Interesting. I swing.

As I do so, time seems to slow down for me. Hey, I haven't entered this state in years. I smile confidently as I evaluate this counter-strike.

Wait, what?

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I attempt to stop my attack, but my distortion has already been activated. Stop, stop, stop-

The horrible counter-strike doesn't even manage to slow my blade down. It cleaves through his flesh, embedding itself deep within his ribcage.

The blade falls from my hands. The disciple falls as well.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

I grab the first aid kit. Hands shaking, I open it, searching for anything I could possibly use.

Bandages? Does that treat ribcage wounds?

Sealing fluid? Man, this guy's almost dead!

Why isn't there anything useful in this?! I frantically look behind me, looking for the rise and fall that would indicate life.

There is none.

I feel his hands. No pulse. I rip off his shirt, putting my hands over his heart in an attempt to feel anything, anything at all.

Nada.

I lean back slowly, and put my hands in my palms. I just killed a guy. I killed someone.

I need a nap. This didn't happen. I'm hallucinating.

"Master Lenoir, a letter!"

Wha?

I look at the door. A letter? What?

"I thought I was not to be disturbed?"

"It's a letter from the lord!"

Shaking myself out of my stupor, I push myself off the floor which I had previously been sitting on. Nice floor, by the way. Clean, fancy tiles. Shame there's a lot of blood on there. Oh, right, there's a dead body in my house. I walk past my clear hallucination, and open the door.

"Letter, master."

The little messenger standing on my doorstep hands me a letter. I crack it open.

'Dear Lenoir,

I have currently sent my grandson to you for his training. What he lacks in skill, he more than makes up for in talent. Guide him well.

Oh, and make his counter-stance better, would you?

Genar'

Counter-stance. Grandson. Dead body. There's a connection here. I'm not going to make it.

No, instead, I'm going to drink away my last day on this planet. Can't hide, considering I have no allies willing to shield me nor any way of evading detection distortions. Can't run, since I'll be caught immediately. Nope. I'm just dead.

Dead, dead, dead...

I need a drink.