With my powers of disguise and espionage, I successfully infiltrated the enemy’s lines. I fought valiantly against their king. But alas… I owe my life to the bright one, the leader of Wolf’s forces. He defeated the evil king in my stead. We march for the Wolf’s city, the job completed.
Geren set the paper back down on the desk and shook his head. He and Jonas hadn’t managed to come up with any concrete ideas regarding the mystery of the forged contract that had been planted among the Last Stand Mercenaries’ paperwork, despite the days of racking their brains. There were multiple aspects to the situation that weren’t clear, with who was responsible, when they did so, and their purpose chief among them.
“And you’re positive Skrell himself didn’t do it?” Jonas asked.
Geren looked up, pausing for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, positive. He’s the type that has others do his dirty work for him. Someone else did the actual plant job, and Skrell was just supposed to find the evidence.”
He sighed and thumbed along the edge of the paper absentmindedly. “I know I’ve said it a dozen times… but great job. Catching that and pulling off the sleight of hand to hide it from him—you saved us a huge headache.”
Jonas just gave a casual half-smile and resumed his work. He likely didn’t feel the need to make a comment on his appreciation of the kind words; Geren wasn’t exaggerating that he had already said it a dozen times. The studious man was busy comparing the writing style of the forged contract up against other documents the company had. Invoices, tax letters, and other contracts. Boring work; Geren was glad to have Jonas around to handle those kinds of duties.
“Ah, anyway…” Geren stretched his shoulders and turned to walk away. “Wonder when everyone else’ll be back? I’ve loved the one-on-one time together—don’t get me wrong—but I need a sparring partner to get my muscles right again after all this busywork.”
Jonas let out a small hint of a laugh but didn’t look up from his papers. “I’m sure Shaugh could step away from the Dice & Sword for a bit and give you a good bout. A shame Jedona left town so quickly. He would have been more than willing to keep you busy.”
“Ha. Yeah…” Geren looked towards the back of the hall where the door was that led to the training yard. “That would be more than just sparring though. He wants the real deal.”
I’d be lying to myself if I tried claiming I wasn’t interested in *giving* him the real deal. But… despite our differences, we’re on the same side. Friends. Allies, occasionally.
He let out a light scoff to himself as he sat down at the longtable and leaned back in his chair.
It would be nice to knock that self-loving grin off his face sometime, though. Geren let a grin of his own creep across his face at the thought.
He said he was going west to Galnion… Not too far at least. I’m sure he’ll stop by again within the next few months or so.
Geren leaned forward in his chair and drummed his fingers on the table. Galnion, huh…
“Okay, I think I’ve got some possible leads here.” Jonas said from his spot over at the desk.
Geren snapped back into the scene at present, realizing he had briefly forgotten Jonas existed. He stood up and headed over. “That so? What do we got?”
Jonas pushed a pair of documents across the desk. “It’s not exact, but the penmanship is extremely similar on this contract we received last year.” He said, pointing at the one on the left. “And… this one,” he continued, pointing at the other document, “we received just a couple of months ago.”
Geren crossed his arms and looked back and forth between the pair of papers and the forged contract. They did share many similarities in the style they were written. It took him a moment to notice the other, underlying pattern that he was sure Jonas had already discerned.
“These two… the one from last year and the one from two months ago—they’re both contracts we received from the army.” He looked at Jonas, who was unsurprisingly nodding along in confirmation.
Just like on the Princess Haru rescue that had earned Geren his moniker, the military did occasionally hire mercenaries for certain jobs—though typically jobs of much less import than that specific circumstance. Mostly the types of things that needed done but the army couldn’t make time or spare the manpower for, such as slaying wild beasts or providing security on goods transportation. Geren’s company had a good working relationship with the Frelerian army, despite Lyght’s grumblings. They paid well and it was always preferable to be on their good side.
“So,” Geren continued, “are you thinking that Goat drew this fake one up?” he asked, referencing the Halvan scribe who worked for the Felerian army.
Jonas shook his head, then shrugged. “The penmanship matches and it is a job for the Army—supposedly—but I can't think of a reason he would do such a thing. Although… if he were ordered to do so by a Gemstone General…” He raised an eyebrow towards Geren as he spoke. “Well. I'm speculating. It could also be a very good imitation, made to look as if it were in Goat's hand. Makes it easier to blend in with the other contracts while also making it seem more real standalone as well. Skrell laid the groundwork for a very good trick.”
Geren pounded the wall and gritted his teeth. “Yes but why? Why target a mercenary company in a city so far away from High City? Even if he'd gotten what he wanted with this trick, what would he gain from it in the endgame? Can't imagine Vangren would be happy to waste time and resources on what would ultimately be a dead end.”
Jonas nodded in silent agreement, so Geren continued.
“Architects, I don't like this. If we for some reason have a target on our backs, there'll be more tricks to come. Maybe something more brazen next time.” He sat back down and let out a sigh. “I've made a lot of enemies in my years but I've always gotten along well with the Crowns.”
Do Vangren or Skrell somehow know about the relic that Gabe and I gave King Aylen? If they do… could explain some of it. Payback for handing it to the Frelerian Crown instead of the High Crown? But why all these years later?
“You okay, Boss?” Jonas asked with a quizzical look as he shuffled some papers and stood up.
“Huh?” Geren looked over at Jonas, then became aware of how tightly he was gripping his knuckles together with both hands. “Oh… yeah. Just upset at the whole situation.” He rubbed his brow and tried to relax. “But again, great job. It could be a whole lot worse.”
Jonas turned and smiled at Geren, left hand on the door as he prepared to leave with a plethora of papers tucked underneath the other arm. “Hey, that makes it a baker's dozen.”
Several hours passed with the sun soaring over Davied in an arc from east to west as late afternoon rolled around. Jonas had returned only an hour after his earlier departure, Goat apparently not being present at the military base today. The grunts told him that the Halvan should be back tomorrow, however. An extra day wouldn’t hurt anything.
Cohn and Maris were back at the hall as well. The pair had taken a quick job rounding up a pair of ruffians that started trouble at a bar earlier that morning for some quick cash and to stay busy. With their return, Geren got his wish of a few hours prior for a sparring partner, Maris having agreed to go a round with him. They had headed out back to the sparring ground and gotten in position, Cohn the lone member of the audience while Jonas did his usual Jonas things at his desk.
Geren eyed Maris, resisting the instinctive urge to channel his essence and give himself an edge on his opponent. She wielded her curved sword in her left hand, holding it at shoulder height with the point facing Geren like a scorpion’s tail poised to strike. Her form was as unflinching as ever—right shoulder forward toward her opponent, the right arm extended out so that her hand reached past the tip of the blade in her left. She was so adept at maintaining her form with no wasted movement that it was as if she were holding a pose for an artist.
She began to walk to her right, following the circular pattern of the area within the concrete path behind the mercenary hall. Returning Geren’s gaze, her blade was unwavering, the point still trained directly on him at the center of the arena as she rotated. Like the shadow on a sundial, always pointing to the middle.
Once she was on Geren’s left—he followed her path with his head, but his body still faced forward—she took the offensive. Running forward with her right arm still in front of her like she was preparing to open an invisible door, she lowered the blade in her left slightly to be between shoulder and waist level. Geren saw the flash of her red-gloved right hand first as she began her attack once in range, making it difficult to track the path of the blade in her other hand. It was a unique fighting style that looked unorthodox to a spectator, but was dangerously effective. After each swing or combination of swings, she swiftly returned to the same resting stance, maintaining the free hand in front of her weapon to continue obscuring her opponent’s vision of the blade.
Normally, her tricks didn’t work on Geren since his weapon prediction magic aided him in choosing the right offensive and defensive maneuvers regardless, but Maris had requested they refrain from using magic or runes and focused solely on swordsmanship. Geren obliged.
He dodged the opening attack without needing to draw his own sword, and he felt a slight sense of smug satisfaction when he saw Maris scowl at the bravado. Getting under an opponent’s skin, even during a sparring session, was a tactic Geren specialized in. It had worked wonders on Gargarel and Troy during their interview battle. He figured it was also a big part of why Jedona wanted to duel him so badly, as Geren had undoubtedly gotten under the man’s skin over the years of their rivalry.
Maris closed the distance again, reaching out with her right hand and prepping the left for a follow-up. Geren decided to get serious, reaching for his own weapon. His eyes widened in surprise as he glanced to his right to see Maris’s free hand gripping his right wrist before it reached the hilt of his sword. He hadn’t expected her to reach so far in for a grapple; he had been expecting another feint. Still holding tight to his wrist, she lurched behind him and pulled his right arm down in an awkward position that caused him to lean over slightly.
Now behind her foe, she attempted to put Geren in a typical hostage position with her sword to his neck. No such luck though. As she began bringing the blade up, Geren shifted his body’s center of gravity, crouching slightly and tilting further into the natural lean that Maris’s maneuver had put him in. She was shifty, and was much stronger than typical women her age to be sure, but Geren undoubtedly had her beat in sheer muscle mass and was more comfortable in unarmed fighting. With his body’s weight now re-distributed to give himself better leverage, he rolled his right shoulder forward, grabbed Maris’s hand that was holding his wrist, and put as much strength into the pull as he could.
Maris let out a small shriek of surprise as Geren hefted her over his shoulder before letting out an exasperated gasp of breathlessness as her back slammed flat against the ground in front of him. Her blade clattered harmlessly some several feet away as it flew from her grip on impact.
“Ugh…
Geren bent down and met Maris’s eyes. She was staring with a stoic, disappointed look up into the sky, likely feeling the effects of her effort putting Geren on the defensive having been wasted. A hint of a wince from the impact was still present, though Geren could tell she was trying to will it away.
She sighed, then sat up, speaking without turning to look at him. “Don’t know what I expected. Doesn’t matter what the situation is, you still find a way to turn it in your favor.”
Geren frowned. Was that a light-hearted jest with Maris’s usual brand of dry sarcasm, or an edge of disappointment in herself present in the remark? He could never tell with her. Not seeing her face didn’t make it any easier. Though, that probably didn’t matter too much actually since her face usually remained the same regardless.
Cohn’s laughter echoed around the yard from the viewing area by the weapon racks. Geren glanced his way before looking back to Maris who was now looking Cohn’s direction. He was pleased to see the amusing scowl present on her face as she did so.
“How about you and me then, Pretty Boy? I’ll shave that sorry excuse that you try to pass off as some kind of facial hair clean off your frightened face!”
Cohn took pride in his appearance, styling his forest green hair with the sticky junk sold at fashion stores and using cream made from various fruits to keep his complexion unblemished. Taking jibes in that manner would usually prove effective in getting a rise out of him. Considering how his general wardrobe was—whether consciously or subconsciously Geren couldn’t be sure—so similarly modeled after Geren’s own, Geren found the vanity somewhat ironic given how little he himself cared for such things. The patch of facial hair that Cohn wore on his chin was especially a sore spot for such comments, since it was an open secret he couldn’t grow any other hair on his face, and he held onto that one precious patch with pride.
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Geren smirked as Cohn’s laughter died down. Deciding to join in the fun, he shouted. “You know, it’s been awhile since we’ve seen you give it a go, seeing as you’re always on the sidelines watching! It’s about time you get in here yourself!”
It was difficult to discern from this distance whether Cohn was frowning at the suggestion or just thinking hard. He put his hands on his hips and tapped his foot for a moment before shrugging and walking forward.
“Eh, sure. You and me though, Old Man. Maris is scary when she’s mad.” He said, feigning a frightened expression and giving a sideways glance towards Maris as he stepped into the training area.
“Hey, wai—” Maris began.
“No complaints here.” Geren cracked a sly grin as Maris glared at him for cutting her off. “More practice for me. Weapons only, or all-out?”
“All out.” Cohn quickly replied. He bore a smirk that was strangely confident for someone who seemingly wasn’t interested in battling until moments earlier.
Geren walked to his starting position, patting Maris on the shoulder as he passed her. She spoke in something of a low growl. “Make it quick so he’s not too beat up when it’s my turn.”
She stalked off to the viewing area near the weapon racks and sat with her back against the wall and her right arm propped up on one knee with the other being used to rest her chin on. It was about as close to something resembling a pout as Geren had ever seen from her.
Cohn got in position as well, roughly ten yards away, each of them a fairly even five yards from the center of the inner circle. Neither were primarily long-distance fighters so it didn’t make sense to start at complete opposite sides of the circle’s edges.
“Count us down, Mare?” Geren called to Maris. He only received a stoic stare of disdain in return.
Ouch. She really wanted to pummel Cohn, huh? Guess I’ll do my best to honor her request of making it quick.
Cohn shrugged. “Who needs her? We can just say the fight starts on a silent count.”
“And what if you count faster than me? You’re not the most honorable. I saw you swap a couple cards out yesterday when Maris turned away for a bit.”
Cohn flushed and looked legitimately panicked. “Okay, okay. Just don’t say that any louder… I would never hear the end of it if she knew.”
Geren chuckled lightly at the sight. “Alright then, how about when the first step is taken? Whoever it is doesn’t matter. Puts one of us on the attack and the other on the defensive right off the bat.”
“Works for me, let’s just get this over with.”
The pair stared at each other, letting the silence wash over them in the moments before someone made the first move. Geren’s sword was still at home on his back as it typically was at the start of a sparring session. He liked to keep it there until the fight started so that he had to unsheathe it as part of the battle itself. Real situations didn’t guarantee you would have the chance to start a conflict sword already in hand, after all.
What’s he going to do first…? Geren thought, eyeing Cohn. He didn’t have any visible weapons with him besides a pair of daggers at his waist. Geren knew those wouldn’t be the weapons of choice for their bout. With this in mind, he decided to go ahead and make the first move, reaching for the handle of his sword.
As he began the motion, Cohn did as well with brisk reflexes—albeit his own motion was a much different one. He shifted his posture so his torso faced towards Maris and the viewing area, then quickly put both hands forward with his left hand further ahead than his right. A bow materialized in the left, with three arrows in the right. With his hands already in position, he immediately notched the first arrow and loosed it, the other two following in quick succession as he held each between a different pair of fingers and rapidly cycled them.
Geren dodged the first arrow before deflecting the two follow-ups with the plating on his left glove, his right hand still holding the hilt of his sword over his shoulder. Cohn was just a few feet away now, having used the arrows to give him an opening to close the distance safely, though his hands were empty.
Channeling his essence, Geren unsheathed his weapon and slashed down towards Cohn in what was mostly a feint to get him to change course on his headlong rush. Cohn did not change course however, instead meeting Geren’s blade head-on with a pair of shortswords crossed in front of him. The prediction shadows began to form in Geren’s vision, showing him the possibilities for what to do with his next move from the position his weapon was currently in. Quickly processing what he saw, he picked the best one and…
It vanished in a murky haze of ink-like fog. The sword in Cohn’s left hand disappeared, and he shifted his stance to continue blocking Geren’s blade with the one he still held in his right. His left hand was free for just a moment before a spear appeared in it and he thrusted forward towards Geren’s ribs.
Geren’s magic hadn’t caught up yet to the disappearance of one weapon and sudden emergence of another. Thankfully his natural reaction time was excellent regardless of magic. He removed his right hand from the grip of his hilt and reached out, grabbing the spear just below the head as it entered into his reach. That was one reason he liked hand-and-a-half swords—the versatility to fight one-handed or two-handed depending on the situation.
The pair found themselves locked in a stalemate, blades pressed against each other on one side and the spear being firmly gripped at both ends on the other. Geren started to pull on the spear at an angle that would bring both it and Cohn closer to him but keep the spear’s head going wide and astray to his right. His prediction shadows were firmly back now, having re-assessed the situation, and he was in control.
When Cohn felt the spear begin to tug, he let the magic go, causing Geren to absently grab at the air for a second. He regained himself shortly, re-gripping his hilt with both hands and shifting the angle he was battling with Cohn’s blade. That blade then disappeared also, and Geren stumbled forward as there was no resistance any longer. Cohn took a couple of steps back and to his left, then summoned a long warhammer that he held with both hands already reared back ready to swing.
Geren’s vision was a blur. He couldn’t make sense of his own magic. It was as if the shadows were glitching in and out of existence, shifting and shaking with fuzzy, staticky volatility. Reacting hastily with the quickest defensive measure he could muster amidst the pandemonium of predictions, the flat of his blade caught the strike of the warhammer as it targeted his ribs . It wasn’t enough to hold his ground, having already been off balance from the earlier mishap. He was knocked backwards, rolling on the ground twice before re-maneuvering his legs to bounce up into a fighting stance once more some several feet away from where he had been earlier. It was an extremely solid blow that Cohn had landed.
Cohn’s circuits were coded similarly to Geren’s. They came from the same bloodline, and while that didn’t guarantee that two individuals would have similar magic, there was typically some form of correlation. Coming from a family of blacksmiths—until Geren and his sister decided to pursue other interests, that is—they each had a natural affinity for weaponry. Geren’s essence manifested itself in the form of his weapon prediction magic.
Cohn’s took a different path, instead manifesting as weapon projection magic. He could conjure a wide variety of things that his brain perceived as a weapon, summoning and dismissing them by channeling his essence. There were a couple of requirements that he had to abide by, other than his own stamina limitations. Each weapon he conjured had to match something he held in his own hands at some point. He also had to be able to understand the weapon’s structure and design, meaning that he couldn’t conjure weapons that had magical properties or enchantments. Limitations aside, the arsenal at his disposal was copious with variety.
Though admittedly on edge and slightly frustrated with himself, Geren was impressed with his nephew’s improvement in his movements and creativity with his magic. The speed he could create and replace weapons was much faster than the last time they had fought, and his skill with each individual weapon was noticeably more proficient. The increased difficulty in learning multiple weapons at a competent level was a task Geren had been surprised Cohn had chosen to work towards. He was still improving, but he already had a tremendous amount of flexibility in each individual battle. Cohn taking his training seriously lit a fire in Geren. Both as a result of being proud of the boy and the thrill in being given a competitive bout.
My predictions are doing their best with the information they’re given… but that information is rapidly changing with how he keeps cycling his weapons. Clever. He’s damned near a perfect counter to me when he utilizes his magic like that.
They eyed each other warily. Geren, trying to decide how to proceed and regain the advantage in a battle that he should normally be the decided betting favorite in. Cohn, soaking in the strong start he’d had to this point.
Cohn still held the warhammer with both hands. Maybe he would stick with this weapon for a bit since it had served him well on the earlier strike. He brought it back towards his body so the head was behind him, past his right shoulder, then pushed to re-engage.
The prediction shadows were steady, giving Geren a clear view of how best to proceed once Cohn was in range. He would follow the path of his blade in a downward strike from right to left, cutting off Cohn’s swing and possibly knocking the hammer clean out of his grip if Geren put enough strength behind it. That was based on Cohn not changing weapons again, but Geren assumed he would, so he hesitated to follow that path just yet and opted to wait until Cohn was closer before making a decision on how to defend.
He’d assumed correctly. Just as Cohn had entered within range for his warhammer, and Geren normally would have preemptively moved to cut off the attack, the weapon dissipated from Cohn’s hands into a mist of black and silver wisps. Geren felt a spike of satisfaction at both his decision to stay his hand and his nephew’s excellent timing of when to conjure and dismiss his weaponry.
Realizing at that moment that his magic would truthfully do him more harm than good in this particular matchup if he continued using it, Geren shut his circuits down and decided that he would win this bout without it. Part of him felt cowardly for doing so—what if he fought a similar foe in the future and he was unsure of how to maneuver around his magic being countered?—but they could do more training in that regard later. Defeating Cohn was the priority right now.
Cohn’s hands were still in the same position that they had been holding the warhammer in, which Geren couldn’t help but think looked somewhat awkward. Cohn stopped moving and planted his right foot, shifting his momentum and swinging an invisible weapon left to right, his hands still empty. The opposite direction that Geren’s magic had prepared him for earlier. Good thing he didn’t listen, or his guard would be wide-open as he sliced at air.
The void that the invisible weapon occupied was soon filled. A sword matching Geren’s own in size and style materialized in Cohn’s grip in the process of the swing. Geren quickly brought his own sword down and blocked the swipe, the two blades forming a cross shape with a resonant ringing of sparks. They each disengaged and pulled their weapons back to their bodies before meeting each other in the middle on another pair of powerful swings. And then another. And another.
Eleven times they crashed the matching swords into each other. Geren could tell Cohn was slowing down with each swing, even if just slightly. This was a tune Geren had been dancing to for over two decades. The same amount of time Cohn had been alive, and he had only started learning to dance for the most recent quarter of it. With his magic’s ineffectiveness no longer distracting him, Geren’s muscle memory could focus purely on his swordsmanship.
They went to swing for a dozenth time, but before their blades met as they had eleven times prior, Cohn’s weapon vanished. Geren’s sword instead was blocked by a newly-formed heater shield Cohn held with his left hand, his right now wielding a broadsword of typical size and make. He took a swift slicing motion at Geren’s midsection, likely hoping to force Geren to disengage since his own weapon was being blocked. Instead of disengaging, Geren did the opposite.
He pressed forward with a powerful surge of strength that pressed Cohn’s shield into his chest and knocked his swinging arm awry. Geren shifted his grip slightly so that he could let go with his right hand and move his left a bit higher up the hilt to get better leverage on a follow-up swing. He attacked at the shield again and was expectedly blocked, but Cohn’s left flank was now collapsed in with Geren’s leverage, and he couldn’t get his sword arm into a position to retaliate. With the momentum no longer in his favor, he couldn’t be as flexible with dismissing and resummoning his weapons, instead needing to focus on blocking Geren’s attacks with what he presently held.
With Cohn’s fighting stance being forced to retreat into a defensive shell, Geren seized the opportunity to end this duel. Reaching for Cohn’s belt with his right hand while his left belted another downward strike onto his shield, Geren grabbed one of the daggers Cohn kept holstered there and swiftly moved around his exposed left flank.
They were still for a moment with no words spoken, almost as if Cohn was debating whether to try another magic trick to make a last-second turnaround. Geren stood on Cohn’s left with his sword crossing his body, covering both arms and with the shield pressed up against Cohn’s chest. The dagger Geren had unsheathed was held to its former owner’s left cheek.
After several seconds of the two fighters simply standing and panting with Cohn looking at Geren sideways, Cohn let out a string of unexpected laughter and let his sword and shield vanish. Geren sighed and joined in, feeling both elated at the match Cohn had given him and relieved that he had righted the ship after the rocky shores of the early goings.
“Hey, you did real good. It’s clear you’ve been training a lot—more than I’ve noticed, apparently. Really proud of you.” Geren grinned and placed one hand on Cohn’s shoulder, proffering the dagger with the other.
Cohn shrugged and accepted the dagger. “Yeah, well, my motto is that the easiest way to stay alive is to get really good at preventing other people from making you dead. So I’ve been getting better at doing that.” He let out a breath of obvious tiredness as he returned it to his belt. “Wasn’t exactly planning on putting so much effort into a practice match, but this gets me out of having to face Maris. I’m worn out, man.”
They shared another quick laugh and turned to look towards Maris, and were surprised to see that she wasn’t alone. Geren felt the chains release of an anchor of anxiety that he hadn’t fully realized had been weighing him down. Lyght, Feros, Gargarel, and Troy stood there, having returned safely from the new recruits’ first mission. Based on the excited expressions on their faces—well, save for Feros—Geren guessed that they had seen most of the battle. Maris herself looked surprised. She liked to poke fun at Cohn often enough that it was easy for her to forget sometimes he was actually very talented.
“Oh, great. I didn’t even notice we had an audience show up. That’s embarrassing.” Cohn said with a sigh.
“Nothing to be embarrassed about. If anything, I think they’re probably impressed at how well you fought. The two newbies especially. They hadn’t seen what you could do yet.”
Cohn stared at Geren for a moment before a satisfied smirk appeared on his face. “Huh. Yeah, maybe they’ll give me a little more respect now. ‘Specially Gargarel with the name calling.”
Geren gave a half grin and shook his head. “Eh… I wouldn’t bet on it. That’s kind of his thing from what I’ve gathered. C’mon, let’s head inside and sit down. I’m keen to hear how their job went and loop them in on what happened with Skrell.”