The sword glanced off Searle’s shield, deflecting towards the ground. Still, that was to be expected from him. Joan took the opportunity to move in close, her left hand shooting out and into the small opening her blow had granted her. Her left hand was, for a split second, freezing cold before three small shards of ice formed and shot out from it. Two struck the shield due to his attempts to block it, but the third hit home, hitting his shoulder and drawing a small grunt from him before he stepped back, readying his shield once more.
Joan buried down the frustration when she stepped back, holding her sword loosely in her right hand and watching him intently. He was growing faster than she had expected. Last time they’d fought, her attempts had managed to catch him with all three spikes. She supposed that superior strength and speed could only do so much against experience like hers.
Still, the bruises on her torso told her that if they were fighting for real, he’d have killed her at least a dozen times by now. Try as she might, she couldn’t land a blow that could knock him off his feet and he had already knocked her down three times. Worse, while her sparring tunic was soaked through, he barely looked as if he had begun sweating.
“Can we take a break? I’m getting tired just watching you two,” Bauteut said, the healer sitting by one of the torches on the edge of the guard’s tower. She wasn’t the only one watching the pair, a few of their guards having stayed outside to watch the two practice.
“Soon. One more, Searle? That good with you?” she asked.
He gave a nod, readying his shield and steadying himself.
Joan’s eyes narrowed and she watched him. The shield truly was meant for him and, despite the doubt she had so long had about it, she was finding that it could be just as deadly as any other weapon. Not as easily, of course, but still deadly. It was so difficult to get in and strike him through it. Worse, any attack that could hit with enough force to possibly push aside the shield left her so open that it was easy for him to counter her.
He was, however, still inexperienced. That had been part of the reason for this training, to work on his instincts and reactions in fights. She still had one trick left that she had been saving until the end. She ran at him once more.
Searle didn’t flinch, holding the shield between them, peering over it with unwavering resolve. She had no doubt that so long as he stood ready like that, it wouldn’t matter if she was a warrior or a run away wagon, he’d knock anything away. Going around him didn’t work, either. Even though she could catch him by surprise, he could often turn just fast enough to keep up.
But getting through a shield was possible. If she could remove his footing, then he couldn’t defend. She waved her left hand, sending a single ice shard at him. He moved the shield to block it, as expected. However, the second wave of her hand caused a small wave of water to form and fly towards the shield. “Freezing wave!” she yelled. The water splashed across the shield and flowed out in all directions, before freezing into a thin wall of ice, blocking his sight for the moment.
Joan raced to the right while he focused on freeing himself. His shield changed its shape, growing spikes which shattered the ice around it. She silently flicked her hand down, sending her magic to the ground around him.
The water around his feet turned to ice mere moments after he freed himself. Searle’s eyes went wide when he saw her and he turned to face her, not seeming to have noticed the ice on the ground. The oversight cost him and his feet shot out from under him, sending him falling forward and leaving him wide open.
Joan stepped in and spun her sword around, coming in around the shield.
“JOAN DON’T!” Bauteut screamed, her voice filled with panic.
Joan ignored the girl, striking hard and fast. Searle let out a startled cry when he felt the blade strike the back of his neck, the blade leaving nothing more than a dark bruise. “I think I won that one,” she said calmly, before pulling her sword back and slowly sheathing it. Her clothes were soaked through and every muscle hurt, but it was at least a good hurt. She felt satisfied with the results of her hard work and training.
“Are you insane? You could have killed him!” Bauteut yelled, storming over towards the pair. “Were you trying to behead him?”
“I’ve been doing that for cent-- years,” She said, quickly correcting herself before glancing back to Searle. “Searle, are you hurt?”
“I have a few bruises,” Searle said with a shrug. “That last hit took me by surprise, but other than that I’m fine.”
“Good, see?” Joan said before looking to Bauteut, who looked ready to tear her throat out. “What?”
“You could have killed him,” Bauteut said furiously.
“No, I couldn’t,” Joan said.
“I saw that slash, if you hadn’t pulled back, then--”
“I didn’t pull back,” Joan said firmly. “I’ve been fighting with Hardwin si--” She stopped herself before drawing the blade once more. “It’s easier to show. Here.” She then stabbed the tip into her palm, drawing shocked gasps from some of the other onlookers.
“JOAN!” Bauteut screamed, rushing forward and grabbing her hand, pulling it back. “Are insane?”
“It’s only a small cut,” Joan said, trying to keep the frustration out of her voice. True to her word, there was only a tiny pinprick in her hand. She sheathed the sword with difficulty while trying to pull her hand back. “Unless he was already on Death’s door, there wouldn’t be any way for me to kill Searle with this.”
Bauteut stared are the hand, her eyes wide with shock. “How?”
“Mercy strike. It’s a weak technique I developed a long time ago,” Joan said. When she had been the hero it had been too easy to accidentally kill her enemies, without a chance to question them. She’d eventually made a technique that would allow her to hit them with all her might, but stop it from actually going very deep. While it could still kill when she was the hero, it had been far easier to show restraint when needed. As she was now she imagined it would be all but impossible to kill someone with it.
Bauteut stared at the cut for a few moments before looking up at Joan. “How did you do that? This technique is incredible. Did someone teach you it?”
Joan stared for a few moments, unsure of what to say. “I developed it. It’s not really that useful. It’s only really good at allowing me to use live weapons for practice. Nothing impressive or anything,” she said, the red slowly forming in her cheeks. “I guess it also stops the weapon from getting dulled.”
“How does it work? I want all the details. I’ll have to send a report on it back to the academy,” Bauteut said, slowly turning the hand from side to side as if she expected to, somehow, find a deeper cut hidden on it.
“I surround the blade with a bit of my mana, dampening the blow. It doesn’t make it any stronger or anything, all it really does is stop me from killing things when I hit too hard. Even then it’s not perfect,” Joan said, staring at the girl. She really couldn’t see the importance, it wasn’t as if it could help her win any fights.
“I want every. Single. Detail,” Bauteut said firmly, staring at the younger girl with an intensity that sent a chill down her back.
Joan gave a weak, obedient nod. “Yes ma’am. I-- a-ahhh!” She let out a soft cry when she was dragged off back into the town proper. “Where are you taking me?”
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“We’re heading back to the inn. You need to get you cleaned up, anyway, so we can discuss it there.”
“Wait, wait, I have to give the sword back. Wait!” Joan said, but her cries were ignored. She felt another wave of embarrassment when the soldiers just laughed and watched her get dragged off like a naughty child.
------
Joan swore she was missing five or six layers of skin, laying on the bed without any desire to move ever again. Bauteut was lightly humming to herself while she penned a letter from her own small bed. The room itself hadn’t been the nicest thing in the world, with a scent that smelled oddly of wet cats lingering in the air. Fortunately, a few quick cleaning spells had made the beds clean enough that even Bauteut was willing to lay down in them. She figured she shouldn’t complain too much about the room, though. The room had originally been Searle’s, but he had demanded they switch since it was the larger of the two.
Unfortunately, the offer to use a cleaning spell once she had recovered some of her mana wasn’t enough to satisfy the rather vicious healer and it wasn’t until Joan had been rubbed almost completely raw that Bauteut had been satisfied that she was now ‘clean’. Joan suspected that the healer just wanted an opportunity to torture her.
Joan slowly pulled the blanket up around herself and gave a small sigh. She really felt she should have been more annoyed by that fact, but she oddly wasn’t. There was an odd feeling of enjoyment, having someone fuss over her like that. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had. When she was a baby, maybe. But if there were any memories of that they had quickly been overwritten by other memories of her past lives. She certainly couldn’t remember anyone doing that to her when she was the hero.
“Joan?” Bauteut’s sudden sharp tone shook her out of her thoughts.
Joan yelped, pulling the blanket tighter. “Yes? I’m sorry!” she said instinctively, before flushing. She couldn’t believe it. Was she actually SCARED of the healer? That was such a silly notion, what could she possibly have to fear from the other girl? She had fought demons, abominations, massive creatures the size of mountains. How could such a small girl invoke fear in HER of all people? Even if the girl was bigger than her now. And had scoured her with cold water and a rough sponge.
“You don’t need to be sorry for anything,” Bauteut said calmly, before smiling down at her. “I’m curious how you’re feeling.”
“Tired, but good.” She glanced down at her arms. Despite the workout, she actually felt incredibly good, a lot of the aches having faded from her muscles. “Only a few aches, but that’s normal after a workout like that.”
“Good. Sorry if the cold water was a bit of a shock. It helps reduce inflammation of the muscles. I also did a small healing spell, it’ll reduce some pain and help the muscles heal faster,” Bauteut said.
“It stops my muscles from being on fire?” Joan asked, staring at the healer and wondering if she’d lost her mind. “I didn’t work out that hard. Besides, Searle uses light magic, not fire.”
“Inflammation, it’s… you don’t know much about healing magic, do you?” Bauteut asked, shaking her head.
“I can do a bit of regeneration magic on myself, but that’s about the extent. Why?” Joan asked. It wasn’t her fault, they’d already had more than enough talented healers in the chosen that her focus had been better spent elsewhere.
Bauteut just gave a soft sigh. “You’re really lucky, you know that?”
“I’m incredibly lucky, I won’t lie,” Joan said, slowly closing her eyes. “Probably the luckiest person in the world.”
“Oh? Really? I didn’t expect you to say that. I’m curious, why do you think you’re lucky?” Bauteut asked.
“No reason,” Joan said, finding her mind already wandering to the reasons. Only one person in any time ever got to be the great hero, just like the chosen. Second, third or even a thousand chances to redo and try to fix their mistakes was definitely something she’d never heard of. To have the fates themselves offer her this chance was a miracle in and of itself. Considering her long, long, long list of slights both against both the gods and others, she was half amazed the gods hadn’t come down and struck her down for her arrogance by now. She wondered if they were even aware of what had happened. Would she be punished upon her death by them? If she succeeded would she be dealt with? Or did the fates transcend even them, wiping away their memories as well? When the gods had been separated from this world, had it caused something else to manifest?
She wondered if she’d ever get the answer to any of those questions in this life. Perhaps she would in her last attempt to fix things.
“You have a lot on your mind, don’t you?” Bauteut asked.
“Huh? Oh, yes. Sorry,” Joan said before slowly sitting up and giving a light grunt. “I--” Her words were cut off by a sudden knocking on the door.
Before she could move towards it, Bauteut was already halfway across the room and pulling open the door. On the opposite side of the door was a rather plain looking woman in simple gray dress. “Err, chosen?” the woman asked. In her hands she was holding a tray. Joan slowly slid out of the bed and made her way towards the pair.
“No, we’re his comrades,” Bauteut said. “This room was bigger so he insisted we take it for the night. He’s the next room over. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“Oh! No, my apologies,” the woman said, bowing slightly and making her sleeves pull back just a little when she did so.
Joan felt a cold chill go down her spine when her eyes locked onto the woman’s right wrist. The tray and dress made it hard to make out, but she was pretty sure she’d seen a mark there. And if her memories were correct, she recognized that mark. One she’d spent lifetimes keeping an eye out for. She shoved Bauteut aside and then reaching out, praying she was just being paranoid. She grabbed the startled woman’s right hand, and with her other hand she shoved the sleeve of the dress up. Her stomach sank when her worries proved to be correct.
A dark, black burn mark right below the right wrist. Mostly hidden by the sleeve and, unfortunately, not a mark that they were likely aware of in this time. It was to be pushed up against the heart when worshipping the Inferno God. This woman was one cultist. She back and yelled. “Searle! HELP!”
The other woman’s left hand shot out, dropping the tray on the ground. Before her eyes the fingers seemed to turn to claws and she only barely managed to pull back out of reach before they could cut her. She saw Bauteut out of the corner of her eye, the healer back up against the wall, her eyes wide with alarm.
The assailant, however, didn’t hesitate. She stepped in after Joan and slashed with her demonic claws. Joan took another step back, but she wasn’t fast enough this time. The claws struck her left arm, cutting through her as easily as if she was made of cheap linen. She tried to ignore the pain when she took another step back, then dropped low and rolled along the ground, leaving a trail of blood on the ground but narrowly avoiding another wild swing from the demon.
Joan held out her right hand and tried to unleash another spell. Unfortunately, all she felt was a soft surge of pain when the magic refused to come from her, her reserves already spent. She mentally cursed and looked around for something, anything, she could use as a weapon. Her eyes fell on the sword she’d used for practice.
She lunged towards the sword, reaching her hand out to grab it. She felt pain shoot through her left leg, but didn’t have time to let it distract her. The moment her fingers wrapped around the hilt of the sword she rolled around and held it up between her and the demon as a momentary shield.
The demon’s claws struck out, both connecting with the sheathed blade. The sheath shattered and the blade was cleaved clear in half, however the demon let out a pained cry and a few drops of dark blood fell to the ground before it quickly backed off from her, holding her bleeding claw.
“Get away from her!” Searle yelled before bursting in through the door. The demon had only a moment to turn before she was enveloped in a bright, burning light. A moment later, the burned out husk of the demon fell to the ground, still sizzling.
Joan blinked a few times, trying to clear the sparkles in her eyes. “Please, warn me when you’re going to do that,” she said before glancing towards the hole in the side of the building that Searle’s attack had created. “Oh. Oh dear. We’re not going to have to pay for that, are we?” she asked before trying to stand up.
To her surprise, she couldn’t. “Huh?” she said before looking down. She was covered in blood, the thick gash on her arm coating it in a thin layer and her leg cut so deep she suspected it was almost bone deep.
“Don’t move,” Bauteut said, kneeling by her a moment later. “Joan? Joan, I need you to focus on me. Joan!”
Joan stared at the other girl. It certainly hurt, there was no denying that. But she’d felt much worse. Honestly, more than anything she just felt cold.
She wondered if she was going to die again. If she was, she hoped she’d do better in the next cycle. She doubted she could do much worse. “It’ll be okay,” Joan said with all the strength she could muster, trying to comfort Bauteut as best she could. The healer looked so panicked, she couldn’t help herself. “I’ve died before. It’s not so bad.”
“You’re not going to die,” Bauteut said firmly. “I won’t let you. Joan, just stay with me. Focus on me.”
Joan gave a grunt but didn’t answer. She didn’t know why the other girl was so frantic. She’d died a thousand times before. She was used to it by now. When the darkness enveloped her the only thing she really felt was relieved. This didn’t hurt nearly as much as some of them.