Jordan only had a few hours to spare before his first official ‘party’ that afternoon. While he could’ve spent more time planning his potential build, expanding his knowledge of his new world, or even spending time with his new family… he did the only reasonable thing he could in his situation.
He took a nap.
He was incredibly grateful to find that his talent [Fading Memory of Dream's Reflection] didn’t wake him up again either.
So, it was with a rush that Jordan found himself running down the stairs to stand alongside his mother and Catella. It seemed it would be an ‘all girls’ event once more, and for this particular gathering both Governesses were given the evening off.
A booming knock announced the guests arrival, and a pair of Harlots opened the doors to let them enter. The mother and daughter pair struck an impressive silhouette to Jordan. While they weren’t quite to the same scale of intimidating the Tigerborn women in the kitchens were, they were no less impressive.
The older of the two stood at over six and a half feet tall, and her daughter was barely half a foot shorter. Both had long, curved horns jutting from their foreheads and the typical black eyes with red irises of Demonkin. Red hair further distinguished them from the Freyhells, and the clothing they wore looked almost more like decorative armor than formal wear. Sweeping silks draped their forms in an oriental fashion while it covered leather straps with the occasional glint of hidden metal underneath. The solid sound of their clomping feet made it clear neither was bothering with heels either.
Gah, I should have been reborn as a damn Wrathborn, Jordan thought. He managed to school his expression lest he scowl, but he couldn’t stop the envy emanating from him as he noticed that despite their flowing clothing—both women were wearing pants.
“Cousin! It is wonderful to see you again.” The older guest announced, marching quickly towards Mercia.
For her part, Mercia gracefully descended the stairs to meet the woman. Jordan had thought it absurd she’d made all of them stand mid-way on the staircase for the greeting, but it gave Mercia a dramatic air as she glided down to embrace her cousin. Jordan failed to stop his eye-rolling at his new mother's gravitas, however. He only realized his mistake when he noticed the younger Wrathborn looking at him in surprise.
“Oh, and Anthemia, my you’ve grown!” Mercia said as she pulled away from the larger woman to look at the young girl. With a start the girl, Anthemia he supposed, walked forward to take Mercia’s offered hug. After parting, Jordan’s new mother swept her arm back to usher both he and Catella to greet the extended family.
Curtsies and bows were exchanged, and they were formally re-introduced to the Kerularias. It was a bit awkward for Jordan, as it seemed this wasn’t ‘his’ first time meeting them. However, they must've had some forewarning to explain Jordan’s ignorance as they didn’t press him on it.
It was Catella’s first time meeting them though, and she was far more exuberant about it… much to the surprise and growing fear of the teenager present. Anthemia didn’t seem to know how to deal with the energetic ball of joy that was Catella, and her mother, Nereida, mostly just laughed it off. After the pleasantries the group made their way to wherever the party was to be held, all the while Mercia and Nereida chatted excitedly.
Catella, instead, hovered around the teenage girl, poking at her arms. “Whoa, you got such big muscles.” Catella, the master of small talk, Jordan mused.
For her part, Anthemia, who Jordan had to crank his neck to look at as she towered a foot over him, simply blushed and nodded quietly. Despite her fearsome appearance she didn’t seem terribly comfortable in the current situation.
I can understand that, Jordan thought. He still resented having to waste his afternoon like this, but he did acknowledge that he’d likely have just slept through the whole thing anyway.
With another dramatic sweeping of a door, the group found themselves in an area on the second floor that Jordan hadn’t seen before. That wasn’t surprising—he hadn’t bothered exploring the mansion yet, given his natural tendency to just shut himself away in his room all day. Still, the new portion was beautiful.
The room itself carried with it the normal dark aesthetic of the mansion, but comfy chairs that seemed like noble versions of La-Z-Boy recliners were scattered about. Tables with books, cases, vases, and decorative statuettes filled the room as vivid paintings framed it. Jordan wondered if they were going to gather around a coffee table to chat and eat, but surprisingly his Mother led them all straight through the room and towards a set of glass doors on the far side.
With the Harlots rushing forward yet again, they opened the doors to reveal a veranda stretching out. Jordan hadn't expected the gardens on this side of the mansion, but they spread out regardless of his opinions. They centered around a large plaza-like area with a massive fountain that dominated the landscape. Additional mansions were set opposite the House of Brats, and to Jordan’s left he saw one building that put all of them to shame. It was more of a palace than a mansion as it loomed upwards to dominate the horizon.
Soooo, that must be the actual mansion-house thing the Brat’s parents live in, Jordan thought. To the right, the gardens transitioned into a more normal looking landscape that stretched out with paved paths leading towards the city. It was only now that Jordan realized that the front door of his mansion was facing away from this main entry location. That’s an… odd choice I guess.
Taking seats around a circular table already set with plates, cutlery, and treats, the group made themselves comfortable. The weather looked to still be pleasant with partly cloudy skies, and servants alongside the Harlot were in attendance as they lounged.
At first, the small talk around the table was distressingly inane. A bit of brief chatter concerning the trip in, or the status of various names of people Jordan assumed were friends and family. He lacked the context to make any meaning of the people discussed, and was focusing mostly on not losing his mind while he slowly chewed on what seemed to be a bit of smoked fish.
It tasted remarkably like salmon with a hint of something sweet, like a honey or syrup of some kind. It even had a rich red color to match, though Jordan hoped it wasn’t secretly Koi-Devils. The way Catella was happily chowing down, he worried that could be considered a type of cannibalism given their close relationship.
“So you still haven’t told me,” Nereida said, “how did you manage to find a heart for our sweet little Aureliana here?” The woman’s matronly voice wasn’t outright patronizing, but Jordan couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit irked in the way she referred to him.
“Ah, yes.” Mercia said. “Our, ah, friends the Westhells provided us with a suitable replacement.”
“The Westhells? Surely you jest, or no... let me guess, they forced your family to take an offer?”
Mercia looked less than pleased, but nodded reluctantly.
Nereida looked equally displeased as she set a cup down rather forcefully. “Then I suppose we’ll be hearing about it at the Summer festival?” She asked.
“Yes, Aureliana’s official engagement will be announced then.” Mercia confirmed. “Though Aureliana and I haven’t had much chance to discuss all the… requirements that she’ll need attend to during her quest to enter into His Majesty’s Immortal Academy.”
Both Nereida and Anthemia’s eyes opened wide at the declaration, but it was the older woman who spoke. “Truly? That is quite the… challenge given how far behind she is, isn’t it?”
Mercia turned towards Jordan and subtly raised an eyebrow. After a beat, Jordan realized she wanted him to speak up.
“Oh, ah,” Jordan started lamely, “yes. It will be, but that’s the goal. I hope.”
Nereida just shook her head sadly, clearly unconvinced in Jordan’s chances, but Anthemia continued to look at him apprehensively.
“Well,” Nereida said, “I can’t blame you for trying to get out of it. The Westhells don’t have the most reputable selection of heirs. I assume you’re to be wed to, oh what was that bastard’s name… er, Valens?”
Mercia shook her head. “Unfortunately not. He may be the right age, but the Westhells wanted a quick, justifiable union. Likely to prevent potential, well—”
“You mean to stop what she’s doing now?” Nereida cut in chuckling, and Mercia reluctantly nodded. In response, Nereida lightly smacked the table, making everything top side jump. Catella’s eyes widened in alarm, though Anthemia seemed unsurprised by the outburst.
“So it must be to that, ah,” Nereida paused to think, snapping her fingers in the air. “Ah, to that prick Harmatius, right? He’s in the Academy now and will be graduating soon, yes?”
“Indeed.” Mercia agreed. “He might not have been my first choice for Aureliana, but I must admit none of the Westhells would have been.”
Nereida snorted in reply, clearly in agreement. “Best of luck then, little Aureliana.” She bowed her head politely at Jordan, before turning back towards Mercia. “I am curious about something though. What are your plans about the rumors that King Faustillus’s brat, Prince Caeso, will be attending our Duchy's Festival?”
A small snap filled the air as the silverware in Mercia’s hand mysteriously broke in twain. “I beg your pardon?” She asked quietly, her forehead beginning to glow.
“Ah, so you… haven’t heard.” Nereida said, wincing sharply. “I wouldn’t have brought it up if I’d known, I just… well if one was to give the rumors credence, it appears King Faustillus has been heard ranting about his youngest’s latest act of rebellion by accepting the royal families’ standing invitation.”
Mercia surprised the hell out of Jordan by turning her head and spitting. “Blast that greedy fool. Now we have to deal with his damn child interfering in Demonkin politics? How could I have not… oh of course. Constantine, this what you were trying to keep from me? Of all the…” Mercia trailed off, clearly lost in her own little world.
Jordan decided to take the opportunity in the conversation’s lull and leaned towards the teenager next to him. “Um, hey can I ask you a question?”
The Wrathborn girl’s eyes widened, but then she hesitantly nodded. Jordan asked “So, ah, is that the high king guy then? Or what’s going on?”
The girl’s jaw dropped in shock and Nereida started coughing to hide a fit of laughter. Jordan’s cheeks brightened, but he saw that after processing his words Anthemia didn’t seem to judge him as harshly as her mother just had. Instead, she leaned down to answer his question.
“Um, no King Faustillus is in charge of the Blighted Crown Badlands, one of the nine Kingdoms of the UKK. He’s Duke Freyhell’s direct liege.”
“Oooo, r-right.” Jordan said, nodding. I’m in the United Kingdoms of Koterra, so of course there’d be a kingdom between Constantine’s Duchy and the high king dude. Looking around, it appeared Mercia was mortified by allowing Jordan’s displayed ignorance and Catella looked like she was struggling in thought. Probably trying to remember as well, he surmised.
“So I see those rumors are true as well…” Nereida muttered, shaking her head sadly at Jordan.
“Yes, unfortunately they are.” Mercia said. “I hope we can steer away from such topics, if possible. At least until she’s more comfortable with her common knowledge.”
“Understood, Cousin. I, ah, apologize for the lack of tact on my part.” Nereida said.
Mercia raised a placating hand. “It’s nothing to be concerned about, I just hadn’t expected something of that nature to be discussed today. I would have coached my daughter better otherwise. Still, I can understand why you brought it up. If I’d been more active recently I’d have heard about it first. So, thank you for… the information—I’ll make sure Aureliana is properly prepared when the time comes.”
“Wait,” Jordan jumped in, “do I have to do anything about this prince cheese guy?” Seriously, his name sounds like 'queso,' Jordan thought, trying not to smirk.
Mercia visibly winced at Jordan’s confusing botch of the princely chap’s name, but Nereida laughed delightedly.
“Darling,” Mercia said, “It’s Prince Caeso, and with any luck, no—you shouldn’t have to deal with him. He’s the fourth son of King Faustillus and is known for being an arrogant child who likes to rebel for attention. He’ll likely show up, cause a stir, and leave when he gets bored.” She waved a hand dismissively.
“That would certainly fit his style.” Nereida nodded before turning to her daughter. “Though perhaps we should attend after all? I doubt you’d draw his eye, Anthemia, but if you did that could be quite the step up for us…” She drummed her fingers on the table thoughtfully.
Anthemia, however, simply had an expression of resigned horror on her face as she said nothing. Jordan for his part had to stifle his own indignation at the woman’s casual mention of using her daughter as prince bait. I suppose that’s life for a noble daughter, eh? Flounce ‘em in front of a powerful man and hope you get a bite. He shuddered at the thought.
At that point, another course was served by the nearby servants. Jordan was less than pleased to see all his delicious snacks disappear before being eaten, but they were quickly replaced by a fresh selection alongside hot tea.
The conversation started and died a few more times, before Nereida settled on an ‘easy’ topic to keep it going. “So tell me, little Aureliana, how is your quest to enter the Academy going?”
Looking first to Mercia to see if he should answer, Jordan was rewarded with a small nod.
“Um,” he said, “I’m at the stage where I have to form a party, I guess? I haven’t actually picked anyone yet. I’m still figuring out what direction I’m going to go for a lot of things.” He turned once more to Mercia.
“Yes, likely tomorrow or the day after,” she said, “I or her father shall accompany her to the Adventurers Guild in the city when she is ready. There it will be up to her to select her party going forward.”
“Her?” Nereida exclaimed, quirking her head to the side. “You’re going to let a child choose her own team? Is that truly wise?”
Jordan was miffed at the insinuation that he couldn’t handle it perfectly on his own, but it was Mercia who spoke in his defense.
“Constantine and I have discussed the matter. Outside of a single party member that she’ll likely have to take, which—” she quickly turned and placed a hand on Jordan’s arm, “we’ll discuss at a later time.”
Turning back to the guests, she continued, “Beyond that, we’re going to let her rise or fall based on her own choices. It’ll be more difficult for her, but it may prove to be a boon in her Review if she can succeed at forming and directing her own team. And both her father and I believe she can accomplish this.”
Jordan wasn’t sure he liked the sudden aside that he’d have a forced party member, but… it was also reassuring to hear her speak in his defense.
Nereida, however, leaned back thoughtfully. “Hmm, you’re either very brave or… well, how much combat experience do you have?”
Mercia bit her lip pensively at the question and was unable to answer. Jordan fidgeted awkwardly as Nereida looked between them both incredulously without a word. Sparing a glance, Jordan could see that Anthemia also looked suddenly… angry, though he couldn’t tell why.
Or can I…? Jordan quietly drew on his Ki supply, flowed it through his Pattern, and activated his [Discern Intentions]. He drew more than he meant, and with a start realized he’d activated it on both Anthemia and her mother simultaneously.
From Anthemia he knew that she felt angry at what appeared to be an unready child thrown into combat. Something about that seemed deeply… personal with her, though Jordan couldn’t dig anymore out of it.
From Nereida, he picked up a mild sense of bemusement and nothing else. It was as though there were a simple wall that prevented him from reading her. It wasn’t as powerful of a block as someone’s raised guile, but at Jordan’s current level of familiarity with his social skills it was insurmountable.
“Perhaps…” Anthemia said, blushing fiercely when both of the adults looked at her. Clearing her throat, she continued while looking directly at Jordan. “Perhaps I could show you a few tips, Cousin?”
“Oh a sparring match? Cool!” Catella burst in, bouncing in her seat.
“I’m not sure if…” Mercia began to say, but trailed off when Nereida let loose a booming laugh.
“I doubt there’s much you can teach her, daughter,” she said, slapping Anthemia on the back. The blow looked strong enough to have sent Jordan flying away like a tumble-weed, but the stocky girl barely seemed to notice.
“I… I’d like to try. If that’s okay?” She asked with a quiet voice.
Well… I needed to learn how to fight sooner rather than later, right? With mild reluctance, he nodded towards Anthemia who gave him a small, grateful smile.
----------------------------------------
Jordan assumed, correctly for once, that Wrathborn viewed sparring as an acceptable evening activity. While the dressed-up study that had been prepared went to waste, he wasn’t exactly sad about that.
What he was irked by, however, was the fighting regalia he was dressed in. He’d assumed, wrongly (as was typical), that he’d be given pants.
Instead, he discovered the term battle skirt and had the joy of being plopped into one. But he was used to the indignity of feminine clothing by this point, so he didn’t put up much of a fight. After getting prepared, he met with everyone at a training area within the House of Brats.
The room itself was a picture perfect dojo to Jordan, with dark wooden floors and walls, all lined with racks filled with various weapons and outfits. Tools and other random implements could be seen in some areas—such as a small set of weights that didn’t even remotely fit the room’s oriental aesthetics—as well as some refreshments set up on a table nearby. With a start, Jordan realized that Mercia and Nereida were already lounging by them, still chatting away as Anthemia waited awkwardly to the side.
Catella had also clearly beaten him there as well, as she was already sparring against a man Jordan didn't know. He was a tall ox of a man. Literally, in his case—huge rippling muscles laid underneath a simple set of clothing and twin horns jutted out from the sides of his head in bull-like fashion. His feet clopped notably on the ground, bereft of shoes in lieu of the hooves that he had, and a small tail whipped about behind him.
“Ah, Aureliana there you are.” Mercia said upon his arrival and stood up to walk over to him. “Before you begin your sparring match, let me introduce the new combat instructor your father hired. Kaltir, a moment?”
The large bull-man paused and then bowed towards Catella. The tiny brat solemnly returned the bow before striking combat poses as he walked away.
“Ah, so this is the second pupil then.” The bull-man spoke with a deep, resonating voice. It had an odd grating tone to it, like rocks slowly grinding together. He eyed Jordan up and down, with a subtle displeasure on his features. He’s probably already worried about how much work I’m going to be to train, Jordan thought glumly.
“Indeed. Instructor Kaltir, this is Freyhell Aureliana.” Mercia swept her hand towards Jordan, who curtsied in response. At least I’m getting better at picking up her cues.
“Now,” Mercia said, addressing Jordan, “instructor Kaltir won’t be living on site—for many reasons—so if you would like to schedule some time with him you can let the Harlot, or your Governess know. Alright?”
Jordan nodded, and then bowed respectfully towards the instructor. “I will be in your care.” Jordan said, mostly confusing himself at the sudden words. Is this just more etiquette nonsense sweeping me away?
Kaltir seemed pleased by the respect, and bowed in response. However, his damn shadow inadvertently loomed over Jordan grandly. The bull-man was the tallest person Jordan had seen yet, easily more so than even the Tigerborn! Which was no mean feat in his mind.
With the introductions done, the instructor returned to his station next to a clearly over-enthused Catella and sought to correct her fighting forms. Jordan then turned towards his own, albeit temporary, instructor as Mercia rejoined Nereida.
“So I hope you don’t mind,” Anthemia said, fidgeting nervously as she stepped up, “but… I’ll go as easy with you as you need. Just let me know what you want to do, okay?”
“Oh, I…” Jordan paused to consider. On one hand, it sounded like the girl was trying desperately to be tactful, but on the other he could see how what she said could be construed as insulting. While they were technically related, wasn’t he in the position of power here? If he snapped his fingers, wouldn’t she have to do what he wanted since he was the daughter of a duke? Huh, I'm not used to being... important?
He thought about that for a moment, but dismissed the idea quickly. While he could see the appeal in ordering people about, he’d practically spent his entire life working in the service industry. He wouldn’t become an arrogant ass overnight. Well, not at least until I have something to be arrogant about… he silently grumbled.
“Um, let’s just start with the basics, okay? I get that fighting is probably as simple as holding a sword and swinging, but I’ve seen my monitor and it’s… confusing.” Jordan admitted.
Anthemia nodded, and then walked aside to retrieve a pair of wooden swords. Tossing one to Jordan, she then pointed at his Chasm.
“Let’s, um, start with going over the terms? Open up your CSSM’s monitor.”
Jordan nodded, and did as instructed.
MONITOR
----------------------------------------
Aura Ki Mana
1 / 1 8 / 12 - / -
Deflection Parry Pool Soak Evasion Bruises Health Damage Wounds
2 11 / 11 1 3 0 0 0
Grit Stamina Pool Vitality Endurance Fatigue Vigor Damage Exhaustion
2 39 / 40 0 2 0 0 0
Focus Composure Pool Doctrine Resolve Stress Stability Damage Trauma
2 30 / 40 0 2 0 5 0
----------------------------------------
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“If you look at your status you should see it reflect your increased Parry from both your shield and your sword.”
“Yeah, it says I have 11 parry now? I think it was only 9 before, so this sword gave me 2 more?”
Anthemia smiled. “Correct! Though, to be fair it sounds like you haven’t mastered the first level of either Close Combat or Martial Arts if your Parry is that low.”
Jordan grimaced. This is low then? Crap…
“It’s alright,” she tried to assuage him, “but you’ll need to learn one or the other before you risk melee combat. Please… try to remember that, okay?”
Her eyes seemed filled with an inexplicable determination, and Jordan was taken aback by the sincerity in her tone. Did she and the Brat know each other well before, or is this just weirdly important to her?
“Er, what exactly is the difference between the two abilities?” He asked.
“Well, both can accomplish what you probably want, it really just comes down to the style requirements Martial Arts has.”
“Style?” Jordan wasn’t opposed to the idea of being stylish, though he worried about looking ridiculous trying to master ‘kung fu.’
Anthemia nodded, and pointed towards Mercia. “Your mother is well-known for her elegant Martial Arts styles. Generally though, each one requires various armors or weapons. It can be difficult to mix and match your armaments then, unless you learn complimentary styles.”
Jordan nodded, suddenly taking in the various weapons arrayed around the room with a bit more understanding.
“Close Combat,” she said, “instead allows you to use basically any weapon and armor combination you want. It has the advantage of versatility, but Martial Arts tends to be more popular for those who just need a quick solution to melee combat.”
Jordan raised an eyebrow. “How so? Are a few skills in martial arts really worth that much more?”
“Well… has anyone explained Aptitude limits to you?” When Jordan nodded, she continued. “Normally each Skill you learn increases your Errant Skill limit, but with Martial Arts the moment you learn up to a specific style’s Form further skills along its line stop counting towards that limit.”
“Whoa, what!? How the hell is that supposed to work?” He suddenly wondered if he should reconsider his idea of going into Close Combat.
“It’s the same way that Specializations don’t strain your limits anymore than upgrades do. Once you know a Form, additional Skills are just modifying the Form itself rather than your Pattern.”
“How many Skills do you need to get to these forms?” Jordan asked.
“It can vary.” She replied. “Usually between three and five though. Then there will normally be anywhere from six to ten more Skills associated with the Style.”
Jordan chewed his lip, running numbers in his head. “So the styles are limited with the number of skills they can have?” He figured there had to be a catch.
The teenager nodded. “Yes, once you know all the Skills that’s it. You can upgrade them though, and once you’re past your limit that’s a good option if you don’t want to invest in any additional Styles. Also, keep in mind that all Martial Arts have inherit drawbacks or requirements to perform.”
Hmm… Jordan paused and asked another question. “Wait, do any of the styles use shields?”
“No, I’m sorry.” She shook her head. “Most of them specialize in specific weapon sets. It's rare to even find one that can support anything as heavy as medium armor.”
Jordan grimaced. So if I do want to become more of a guardian in the future it… may not be the best option. But I suppose if I need a quick and easy solution to melee it could work—I’d just need to find a style of kung fu I like. He smirked and Anthemia looked at him quizzically.
“Are you… ready to begin then?” She asked.
“Oh, ah, yeah. Wait, so who goes first?”
“I have a higher Parry pool and a Skill for granting myself some. Why don’t you go ahead and take a couple practice swings, okay?”
“Alright then…” Jordan said before spreading his feet in what he hoped was a combat stance. He held his practice sword in both hands before raising it above his head to charge, screaming at Anthemia.
“Ahhhhhhhhh!” He shuffled towards her and swung his sword downward. The girl stepped lightly to the side, looking confused.
“Um… what was that?” She asked.
“An… attack?” He said, suddenly blushing. He’d always thought yelling was part of fighting, like some sort of ki-shout thing.
“You… you didn’t even try to swing though. Or, I guess... you didn’t put any effort behind it?” The young girl seemed lost for words.
Jordan winced. Was it really that bad?
“Why don’t you try again. Just swing as hard as you can, okay? You’ll learn how to fight later but for now… um, just try to hit me.” The girl looked embarrassed.
Jordan, however, grit his teeth and swung his sword sideways at her. Once more she lightly stepped backwards, her eyes staring incredulously at the blade the whole time.
“I… I don’t know what to do about this.” She admitted.
“What the hell does that mean?” Jordan snapped at her, and Anthemia winced. He instantly felt bad about berating her, but… seriously, he was trying damnit!
“Um, I mean you’re not even trying to hit me.” She said. “You’re just swinging the sword slowly.”
Jordan’s eyebrow twitched in fury at the insinuation that he wasn’t even trying, before his attention was drawn by his sister nearby. Incensed by his own screams, it seemed, Catella had begun to shout as she fought as well. Watching her, Jordan realized it may not have been his shouting that was the issue at all.
Catella and instructor Kaltir were squaring off. At first it seemed an absurd match up as Catella was barely half his height, but at no point did she let that stop her. As she shouted in a frenzy, she bounced backwards to avoid a massive swing from the bull-man. Her legs bunched up, and a lack of light warned Jordan that her protective amulet was turned off. She was operating at 100% unbridled missile power.
The ground beneath her creaked, supported by some unknown enchantment, as Catella launched forward. Her wooden sword smashed against the instructor who grunted as he was driven onto the backfoot. Pushing against the child hanging in the air from her attack, he threw her at a nearby wall.
Jordan was about to shout in worry, confused that no one was about to interfere with a half-ton bully trying to kill his new sister, but he was silenced by the booming thud of Catella landing feet first against the wall. With another cry she blurred straight back into the man, toppling him as he rolled backwards to avoid the full brunt of her assault.
Flipping and cartwheeling like an acrobat, Catella spun around the bull-man taking shots at his legs over and over again, her sword flashing with inhumane speeds. The instructor eventually lifted a foot and slammed it on the ground, causing Catella to bounce up in surprise from the localized quake. Unable to move, he slammed a fist down at her, smashing the girl straight into the ground.
“Oof.” The small girl said, before just… getting up like it was an everyday occurrence to be pulverized into the ground. “Gimme a sec to recover, and then go again?” She asked, and the instructor nodded. Both exchanged bows, and Catella walked a bit away, stretching as she caught her breath.
Um… okay, if that’s how you’re supposed to fight I can see why my attacks looked… bad. Grimacing, he recalled his awakening in Ænerith and how the Brat’s body had acted almost… on its own when he’d tripped getting out of bed. He’d tumbled not unlike how he’d just seen Catella.
Maybe… I’m just getting in the way of it working then?
“Um, okay let me try something else.” Jordan said, before stepping back.
Once more, Anthemia took a readied position, holding up her wooden sword as she looked concerned. Jordan didn’t know how the others in the room were reacting to him as he was decidedly not looking.
Instead, he closed his eyes and focused on breathing deeply. Okay, I need to attack and apparently I’m doing it wrong… so Brat instinct, show me the way. He raised his sword and waited, poised on the edge of violence for a sign.
As he opened his eyes, he stared at the girl and tried to visualize his desire to attack her. In a way that had begun to get far too familiar, he felt his new body begin to respond to his will.
He crouched down slightly, the angle of his blade steadying above him. With a grinding of teeth, he suddenly released a vicious snarl before his feet dug into the ground below, creaking the wood. In a mad dash, he sprinted forward, swinging the blade downward. It crashed into Anthemia’s sword like thunder, forcing her to take a step back.
Despite his expectations, this didn’t startle her. Instead, she smiled and shouted “Excellent! Keep up the attack, okay?”
Jordan did as commanded, taking a step back as he twisted his blade sideways. Adrenaline began to pump through his veins and the world collapsed into a single moment caught on his breath. He had precisely zero clue what he was doing, but before he knew it he was throwing his full weight into every strike.
His blade bounced off of the girl’s impenetrable defenses over and over, so he rushed around her, twirling in the air as his battle skirt flared out and their swords entwined, filling the room with the sounds of clashing wood. Back and forth, he pushed against her, throwing all his momentum at her before he jumped up to drive his sword down at her. But she met that strike as easily as she had all the others.
As their battle continued, it seemed every blow strengthened the smile on the girl's face. The expression was so genuine, however, that Jordan didn’t sense any mockery in it. Yet, before long he was breathing heavily and a glance at his status showed that he was starting to lose stamina. Unsure whether he should continue, Anthemia called a pause in their spar.
“That was much better!” Anthemia enthused. “After you catch your breath, I’m going to take a few swings at you. Let me know if you’re about to suffer Parry-Break, okay? I don’t want to hurt you if I can help it.”
Jordan raised an eyebrow, wondering if she were trying to insinuate something. After a moment when he felt steady, he set himself into a defense posture and nodded that he was ready.
He was driven back instantly, barely getting his translucent shield up in time as Anthemia bull rushed forward in a flash of motion, sword swinging with an almost lazy air. It crashed into Jordan’s side as he felt his arm twist from the raw power of her attack, but before he could even begin to react, she blurred, spinning around, dropping the blade towards his head. Jordan's sword raised up in time inexplicably, but was driven down from the force of the blow regardless.
Twisting to reposition himself, he barely made it up in time to stop her followup chop. His wrist wobbled warningly, the strength in his grip beginning to fade as he stumbled. With a final thrust her sword smashed open his defenses poking into the thin leather of his armored breast.
Reeling backward as he flailed wildly, Anthemia’s last swing came so quickly he never even saw it. Instead, he felt it smash into his exposed side and hurled him towards the side of the room. He crashed into furniture, spilling weapons out everywhere as he pancaked against the wall. Slowly, he slid down until he was plopped onto his ass, covered in debris. He struggled for breath in shock and pain.
I’m dead, I have to be. Or broken everywhere? I’m dying. His brain matter of factly concluded his demise, and at first he was terrified to move or even breath. He’d never taken a hit like that, and his brain had registered the force as equal to being hit by a damn car. He couldn’t be convinced he was anything except a cripple.
“Oh crap!” The teenager said quietly, rushing over to where Jordan lay crumpled. “I didn’t realize you didn’t even know how to dodge either! I barely pulled that last swing back in time.”
Jordan looked up incredulously at the terrifyingly powerful girl. She’d pulled her last fucking swing? Is she serious!? Here he was lying on the floor, in a pool of his own…
Jordan looked down and realized his body was completely, and unexpectedly, fine. There was no blood, no limbs sticking at awkward angles. Nothing but a light stinging from his side. Bringing up his Chasm, it was flashing red in warning saying, “Parry Break!” but otherwise… he had 4 damage and that was all.
“I’m… fine?” He said, and the girl breathed out in relief. Offering a hand, Jordan took it and stood back up. In some grim amusement he realized Catella had noticed his plight and barely reacted.
That tiny brat flips her goddamn shit if I shed so much as a single tear, but if I get smashed into a fucking wall she doesn’t care? The indignity of the situation clearly knew no bounds, he felt. Wait is this why no one actually cared about her power tackle hugs? Have I just been… a big baby about things to these people? Constantly asking for healing potions to what to them is the equivalent of stubbing your damn toes?
Anthemia looked incredibly anxious at Jordan's scowling expression. “I'm so sorry, I’m not used to sparring with others who are so… inexperienced. But to be fair, I guess, that’s a bit of what I wanted to teach you. Still, I should have pulled back sooner instead of following through.”
“Er, what exactly did you teach me though? Aside from the fact that I’m a hell of a lot tougher than I thought I was.”
Jordan was still trying to fathom the absurd damage his body had just taken, but surprisingly Anthemia just looked at him like he’d gone mad. I suppose to her… I’m about as weak as it gets, huh?
“Well,” she said, gracefully avoiding Jordan’s last comment, “did you get a chance to watch your monitor during all that?”
Jordan snorted in disbelief. How the hell was he supposed to have paid attention to anything in the midst of all that!?
But with a start, he realized he could recall what he’d read. It was fresh in his mind, and somehow… his brain hadn’t had any issues following it.
“Wait, I think I did.” He said, confused. “I had my 11 parry and then your first strike reduced it to 8. The second to 5, and then to 2. I started falling back and that's when you did that thrust maneuver and I hit... parry break? Then it was me and the wall getting intimate with one another.”
The girl winced and apologized again, but Jordan just shook his head. “How am I… remembering this stuff? I’m not good at that kind of, ah, thing.” He admitted.
“Adrenaline heightens your awareness. It’s natural, especially if you think you’re in danger.”
Jordan glowered quietly. He had, for a brief moment, truly thought his life was at an end—so she wasn't wrong with her assessment there. Still, he decided to steer the conversation back to their primary subject.
“So does that mean you were doing 3 damage per swing?” He asked. He was grateful that the people in this world were at least aware of game terms for him to use.
“Not quite,” she replied. Sidling up next to Jordan, she pointed at his Monitor.
Deflection Parry Pool Soak Evasion Bruises Health Damage Wounds
2 Parry Break! 1 3 0 4 0
“You see the amount here, listed under Deflection? I know it's a bit weird since it's read left to right, but that’s a quirk of Old Tongue you get used to.”
Jordan raised an eyebrow. “Is the display in that language? Because I can’t recognize the differences due to a talent.”
“Oh!” She said. “Well, in this case, no it’s in Koterran but the underlying language of the CSSM is still Old Tongue. Our devices just translate them for us, but I’ll try to keep that drawback in mind.”
“Okay, so if I have a, ah,” Jordan squinted at the figure. “A 2 in Deflection, what does that mean?”
“When you’re attacked,” She answered, “damage will get shaved off by your Deflection first.”
“Oh, so you were actually dealing 5 damage?”
“Yup!” She replied happily. “After that it will go to what's known as your ‘Ablative’ defense. That’s Parry. Anything that breaks through will get Soaked by your armor and then move over to damage track on the right.”
“So this battle skirt thing I’m wearing gave me a point of armor. Also a point of Evasion I think? Anyway, so that’s why you thought to follow through? You knew it wouldn’t actually hurt me?”
“Mostly.” She admitted. “I was kind of guessing, but I figured a couple points of health Strain wouldn’t be enough to trigger a Fortitude check.”
“Fortitude check?” Ugh, okay maybe there are a bit too many terms, Jordan grimaced.
“Whenever you have damage on the right side here, you have what’s called a Fortitude check. It's based off of your Constitution and Willpower, plus any Bonuses or Resilience. What are your Ranks in those?” She asked.
Jordan flipped open his Attributes, revealing the rather sad [E]s he had in both, and the untrained greyed out form of Resilience.
“Okay,” she winced, “you really are in a bad spot here, but I mostly guessed that based on your Monitor. Still, you'd be able to have up to 4 damage in health or vigor before you have a Fortitude check, but I’m sorry we cut it close. Wait, why do you have 5 stability damage?”
Jordan raised an eyebrow at her question. “What? I don’t see anything under stability.” He said. The bar was as blank as all the others!
“Oh… I,” A warning cough sounded out, and both of them turned to look at Nereida and Mercia. Some unknown message seemed to transfer between mother and daughter before Anthemia turned back to Jordan. “Sorry, my mistake.” She said matter-of-factly.
What the hell is that about? Jordan wondered. He was getting really tired of people keeping secrets from him, but he also found it hard to focus on… stability? Was that what they’d been talking about?
“So do you have any questions? Your Parry will recover quickly when you have a chance to catch your breath, so we could go a few more rounds if you’d like?”
“Oh… ah, so how do I increase my parry value? I was wailing on you like crazy and you didn’t seem to even notice.”
“Oh that? Well, first every level in Close Combat or Martial Arts will notably increase your Parry pool. I think it’s the level of the ability plus one, multiplied by the parry value of your equipment. That value is then multiplied by the combination of your Reactive Attributes, though in your case it's all just adding up instead due to your lack of training."
Oh Christ almighty, not a damn math equation, Jordan glowered. “How much are the Attributes worth in all that then?”
“Two per Rank.” She said, nodding her head with surety. “So in my case, I have a [D] in Reflexes, [E] in both Clarity and Awareness and two levels of Close Combat. The Core Attribute would be added too if I was a Powered Core, but I'm a ways away from that. So with a practice sword that has a Parry defense of 2, I have a Parry pool of 48. Plus I have the Skills of [Anticipate Attack] and [Mighty Guard], which let me get a small amount of Ki back when I’m defending, and I can spend Ki to get Parry.”
“That’s…” Jordan trailed off, looking at his tiny parry pool of 11. If what she said was true… “how much damage does this sword do?”
“Um, only 1. It’s a practice blade after all.”
“… and damage is 2 points per rank of, what, strength?” He guessed. She nodded in reply.
So that also means she has a [D] in strength if she’s doing 5 damage per swing. As for me, that means I’m doing 3 damage. Which means it… would take me forever to get through her fucking parry.
“Wait, you were also attacking super-fast. Was that a skill or something?”
“Um, no, that was more because you don’t have a very good Evasion and were kind of just standing still while I attacked you. You can actually swing as much as you want in a short time, but how good your opponent is at dodging will limit how many attacks land.”
“How is that calculated?”
“Well, it’s not as obvious as damage and values on your Monitor,” she said, before pausing briefly at a mighty cry coming from the far side of the dojo.
Catella had just jumped onto the ceiling and then power bombed her instructor, pulverizing him into the ground this time. The way her practice sword was swinging left no doubt in Jordan’s mind that she had trained with close combat. My freaking little sister could probably kick my ass.
For once, he was glad he’d been woken up as a girl. If he were still an older brother, he figured his shame would know no bounds.
“Anyway,” Anthmia continued, “your Agility and relevant Ability will dictate how accurate your attacks are and how fast they come out. That can kind of be variable, but there are Skills that exist that can help with that.”
“Right,” Jordan said, nodding. He figured this was one of those points where the randomness of a system came into play. At least I have some hard numbers for the rest of it.
“So how do I increase the other values? Are they all about investing in attributes and abilities too?” He wasn’t sure if he could really afford to do so given his disaffinity towards his physical statistics and the absurd cost behind them.
“Well they shouldn’t be that low normally. It's really a problem of you not having any of your Principle Abilities. Your Evasion would be at least a 5 if you had a level in Athletics, for example. It would not only add to the derived Attribute, but it would allow you to use a second Attribute to calculate it. You get the same thing with a lot of your derived Attributes. Do you mind if I see your list? I can point out some suggestions.”
Jordan blushed slightly, and showed her his abilities page again. She looked over them all and made many suggestions, but Jordan realized that most of them were along the lines of what Kioko had been telling him regarding 'common' fighting strategies. At least I have more context for it all now, he thought.
Still, it sounds like 5 is what most people consider a default value to be here, which means I really am behind on literally everything. He tried not to sigh in frustration, but Anthemia picked up on his feelings.
“Are you a, ah, caster?” She asked. She was clearly struggling to find something good to suggest to Jordan.
“I’m… working on it? I don’t actually have anything I can really do yet.” Jordan admitted.
Anthemia grimaced. “Are you sure… you can actually do this then? Get into His Majesty’s Immortal Academy? To say it’s going to be challenging is…” She shook her head, clearly not wanting to dissuade or insult Jordan.
“Look, my only other option would be to get married. You can understand why I’m fighting that, right?”
The teenager just looked at him oddly. “To be honest, I’m surprised you’re being given a choice.”
Jordan made an affronted, quizzical noise in reply. “Are you not?”
“Well…” she leaned closer, trying to keep her voice down. Given the volume of Catella’s battle shouts, however, it felt unnecessary. “It’s not exactly common, you know? My mother is nice in letting me choose a path that includes being a Guardian, especially considering… er, n-never mind, I just mean that it’s not typical for Nobility. High Nobility like you even more so.”
“Are you not the same level of noble?” Jordan asked. He figured he was in the position of power, but were they not even on the same level socially?
She shook her head in reply. “We’d never have the right to visit the Freyhells if your mother weren’t directly related to our family. We’re Lower Nobility from Cavegar.”
“So are you betrothed then?”
“No, I… ah, I’m just set to join Count Cavegar's family as a warrior when I get older. They’re our local High Nobility, so it's technically a great honor. So, unless my mother finds me something better, I suppose…” Anthemia tried and failed to conceal a look of severe annoyance on her face.
“Can… I ask you something kind of personal?” Jordan said.
The teenager looked taken aback, but after her momentary pause, she nodded.
“Are you okay?” Jordan asked.
“What? Of course I am. Why would you ask that?” She seemed taken aback.
“Well you, ah, I guess you had no real reason to help me, you know? Did we know each other from before or something?”
“Um… no, not really. I think we’d met a couple times, but not really anything past that. I just…”
She trailed off, before shaking her head. Jordan tried to activate his skill [Discern Intentions], but this time she seemed to notice his scrutiny and raised her guile. As such, he picked up nothing.
Why would she hide that? Stuck, without any means to magically discern someone’s desires, Jordan chewed on a lip in concern.
Unexpectedly, as he calmed himself and focused on the task of figuring the girl out, he felt a tiny tug begin to play on his emotions. Once more, it was a small, unobtrusive thing that would’ve been easy to overlook or dismiss. But his heightened awareness towards such things, or perhaps to that thing in particular clued him in on it once more.
I can feel a connection beginning to grow between us. But is this going to be like the summoner in the library or like that damn cat-boy though? Jordan weighed his options, but the silence between the two had begun to drag on.
And… he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t concerned about her. He was invested, if only because he felt in debt for her help. And he wanted to know why. Maybe caring about my new family is beginning to bleed over to strangers now too, he thought.
So with a sigh, he decided to give in. He wouldn’t figure out what this weird tugging thing was until he sussed it out, after all.
Learning forward, he then foolishly asked her a question.
“Hey, would you like to join my party?”
“I’m sorry, what?” She said, blinking in surprise.
Wait, what did I just ask her? He thought, just as damn surprised by the words that came out of the Brat’s mouth.
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