Before a duel, there was a plan.

So, when there was only a half-hour remaining before the duel was scheduled to begin, in a clearing by the riverside. Fayette was gathered with her advisors, thinking up different options. And the conclusion they all came to was…

“It’s all about that skill slot,” Fayette concluded, nodding.

Mireille nodded along as she paced in front of the [Maid], brow furrowed. “I really wish I had a free skill slot right now—so I could test these things out better… But yes—flexibility. That will be the key.”

The thing was, Fayette had one free general skill slot thanks to her recent level 20, along with two skill points and she hadn’t put either to use yet. Mainly because she was unsure what type of magic skill she should take. But—if temporarily using the slot for some sort of advantageous skill could win the fight… it should be done.

“Just make sure you don’t go too far—” Marie said, face still a bit pale. She was sitting by Fayette’s side, knees yet to recover from the [Maid's] very unmaidenly display. “I don’t want you getting injured over this.”

“Look, it's not just about doing it for your sake,” Fayette said, meeting her gaze. “I just genuinely want to broom that guy in the face. He was so irritating! Just… wouldn’t take no for an answer.” A vein almost started throbbing at her forehead. “Unbelievable!”

Mireille gave her a serious look. “Going too far applies to you too, Fay. If you do get the edge, don’t go too far with him, like you often tend to. There will be witnesses, and people in the city know we are doing this. We absolutely can’t be killing him! Remember the consequences. We just got free from one pursuit”

Fayette waved a hand at her. “Fine—fine, I get it. But… I’m not sure I’ll get the chance to hold back. That guy—he did feel high level.” She looked again to Marie. “Are you really sure you don’t know about his abilities?”

The [Lady] bit her lip, frustrated. “I really hate it, but I don’t. They never told me really, and I wasn’t inclined to ask. I should have tried harder back then...” She looked forward, at the [Lord’s] gathered staff, on the other side of the clearing. “He is going to be wearing serious armor it looks like—and he does have a good record in war.”

“What types of wars?” Mireille asked, stopping her pacing for a moment. “It might give some hint at his skills.”

“If I recall… he does not tend to retreat. A chaser general, one who always hounds enemy armies to the bitter end, not letting any broken formations escape.”

Marie looked to Fayette, eyes focused. “His capstone skill probably relates to something like that. Opposite of the last [Lord], really. He won’t be standing his ground and waiting—but still, if he uses a big skill and you do manage to drive him back…”

“He’ll face some serious backlash,” Fayette finished, nodding. “What about you Olivia, see anything off about him?”

The [Doctor] was going through her medical kit, making sure everything was in place, and looked up after putting a capped bottle back in. “He is healthy—no bad joints or such. A lot of scars. Based on my diagnosis—” she looked at Fayette for a bit, eyes growing piercing and focused. “—I would say he is physically quite a bit stronger than you.”

Fayette looked across the field, and saw that the man had gotten on his full-plate armor, some bits of it glowing with the light of magical gems. Then she looked over her own uniform, a plain Maid's one, still perfectly fresh, but quite a bit less imposing.

“I have some free skill points, so I could put them into [Maid Armour], but I think that’s the wrong move. He’ll be more cumbersome than me, probably, so I need to focus on dexterity and attack, not defense.”

“…I’m not sure that’s the key either. The way I see it… this comes down to damage.” Mireille said, biting her lip in irritation. She pointed at Fayette’s broom, then nodded back at the man. “I’m not sure you’ll be able to do much damage to him with that.”

Fayette frowned. She looked at the armored figure who was doing warmup stretches by now. “I mean—impacts do still hurt through armor unless he has some really annoying skills… but I do still have my big ability. If I get it off, he's sure to feel it.”

Mireille nodded. “I agree, but getting it set up well... it won't be easy, suffice to say. The best use for your free slot is probably something to set it up, or something to let you use it.”

Fayette stood up, sighed, and began rolling her joints around. “Well, I do have most of the ones you thought up memorized. If he has some weird mental charm things, take [Calm Mind] or [Resist Taunt]. If he’s too fast, take [Minor Quicken reflexes]. If Magic might give the edge—” she looked to Marie, “—Then maybe that [Improved Spray] skill?”

“I really doubt that one will help,” Marie said, sighing. She stood up too, taking Fayette’s offered hand to keep her legs steady. “Are you sure you’ll be alright going against a [Lord], though? You had some troubles with class matters, if I recall correctly?”

Fayette held Marie’s grip for a moment, thinking. “…no. I don’t think it will be an issue. It’s not really about that I think…”

She let go, turning towards the field, answering the [Lord’s] eyes. “I’m not sure what the issue is exactly, but it shouldn’t cause harm right now... Especially with you here.”

Marie smiled at that and nodded. “Alright. Just… promise you’ll be careful.”

“Sure.”

Olivia stood up from her medical tools, and stepped forward, offering a pill and three glass bottles. Fayette accepted them hesitantly.

“I made the pill extra versatile just for this,” Olivia said, seeing Fayette’s hesitant expression. “It should help with most things that could happen in battle, at least to some degree.”

“And the bottles?” Fayette asked, peering inside them. There was something black and smoky inside, with a mixture of liquid and gas.

“A little smoke mixture I prepared. Nasty to inhale, but not as deadly as that thing you use… Should still be more nasty than dust if you can get it in his eyes and lungs.”

Fayette nodded, then put them into her side pouches, from where they would be easy to access. “Alright—thanks.”

“Keep [Minor Distraction] in mind as an option,” Mireille said, finally done with her pacing. “I used it for a while as a kid, and it is surprisingly effective for many things—no skill points really needed.”

Fayette nodded thanks for the sage advice, took up her broom, then looked Marie in the eyes once more, trying to conjure up a reassuring grin. “Hey, don’t look so gloomy. This’ll go fine.”

Marie looked at her with suspicion. “… are you using [Disarming Smile] again? I think I can recognize a hint of it…”

“Drat,” Fayette cursed, and let the ability drop. Her smile became quite a bit less reassuring. “I was really hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

“Just… be careful, really. You didn’t need to do this.”

“That’s where you are wrong,” Fayette said, turning around. She started marching to the center of the field. “It is a [Maid’s] duty to defend her [Lady].”

Marie snorted, then covered it up quickly, cheeks coloring. “…I thought you were opposed to being my [Maid].”

“No—just… Not your servant.” Fayette looked back one more time and nodded. “Maybe I don’t mind the [Maid] part that much.”

Then Fayette walked to the field, giving one last glance to the empty bucket her slime had been in a moment before, and then the forest which bordered the dueling grounds. Options. It was all about options.

And so it was time.

Time for a duel.

—

“The arena will be this riverside area, the area between the river, the road, and the forest,” [Lord] Du Montcalm said, standing in front of Fayette.

The [Maid] nodded and looked the battlefield over. It was a good size, maybe 80 feet or so from side to side, shaped like a triangle. The shore by the river was made of cragged rock, while the area nearer the forest was more grassy—but still bumpy. Have to be careful with my footing.

“Sounds fine to me,” she said.

The [Lord] checked over his armor once, pulled his faceguard down, then gestured behind with his hand, signaling his men away. “Generally, duels are carried out until one party yields, is forced out of the dueling grounds, or is unable to continue fighting. I trust you have no disagreement with that?”

Fayette met his confident eyes and wondered what it would take to get him to back down. How big is his pride? Will he even accept defeat? I guess I could try to knock him unconscious or something…

“I suppose that’s fine. Shall we start?” She asked, twirling her broom around in her hand.

The man nodded, readying his sword in front. “No sense wasting time, let us—”

“Wait just a moment!” A familiar voice suddenly shouted.

Fayette looked behind, surprised that Marie was running towards them, some sort of determination in her eyes. “Marie, I’m not going to back do—”

“It’s not about that,” Marie said, stopping by Fayette, breathing just a bit heavy from her rapid scurry to the field. She turned to the [Lord]. “I trust you intend to honor all traditions and rules regarding duels like these?”

He eyed Marie. “Which tradition do you mean?”

“The right of a [Lady] to grant her favor.”

The man looked at Marie for a long moment, then at Fayette. "Is this fight really like that for you?" The visor hid his face, but Fayette really wanted to know what was going on behind there.

But Marie spoke without hesitation. "Yes, that is how I view it."

After a brief silence, the [Lord] nodded. “I suppose it is only right. Traditions are to be honored.”

Marie turned to Fayette, shoulders steady, but her eyes betrayed the nerves beneath the calm, like a great current beneath mirror-sheen water. “Fayette, please hold out your hand for me.”

“What is this?” Fayette asked, curious, but still holding her right hand forward. “Favor?”

Marie smiled. “A [Lady] has rights in certain situations. Maybe you've seen it in one of those books of yours? Show which side she supports through a small gesture, like handing over a lucky handkerchief or such. Or…” She took hold of Fayette’s hand, guiding it up to her mouth, “—a [Boon].”

The words tickled the skin, and then Fayette’s body tensed as soft lips gave her hand a brief touch, then retreated. She felt a tingle stronger than any magic pass through, and then it was over.

And the [Maid] stood stunned for a second.

“[Boon of the Stone Bastion], there.” Marie said, stepping back. “That is the support I can give you for this—I wish it was more… Are you alright?”

Fayette stirred back to motion, hand going back to her broom, though a mark now shone at the hand's back. She threw a [Disarming Smile]. “Oh—I think my class was just acting up for a second there. Thanks, I’ll do my best.”

Marie nodded, not saying more words, for she had too many to give. The [Lady] left the field, throwing furtive glances back.

But the duelists remained.

The [Lord] gave Fayette a curious look, different than before. “So—you have more at stake at this than I thought…”

She glared back. “Were you not taking me seriously? You’ll regret it.”

“No—but I do have to apologize—” he said, bringing his sword in front. “—because I do intend to win. I am a patriot, and passions cannot go before that. They are fleeting—dust before a nation's path.”

Fayette thought of the book she had been reading recently and shook her head. “Pretty words—but I don’t care. I have quite a bit of experience clearing dust.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The [Lord] snorted at that. “My path could be the better for you too. A [Lady] brings her servant’s along in marriage, you know.”

Fayette could almost see his confident eyes through the visor, and shivered. That unwavering confidence... it was too familiar. “A man like you? Never"

And she jumped forward, swinging her broom—no additional prompting needed.

Because the duel had already begun, the moment Marie had stepped off the field.

She swung from up top, as if to go right for the head, and a sword rose up to block her. So she stopped, just a moment before him, and twirled her broom around in a half-loop, bringing the bristle end up top like a trebuchet. Channeling [Sweep Dust].

And dust was swept, flung right at his face. Fayette followed behind, completing the broom’s loop, metal end coming back through a cloud of dust like a hidden hammer. But—

“[Clear the Path],” boomed a voice, and all the dust was swept away, much of it into Fayette’s face—and a sword met her broom's tip.

There was a brief clang, and then the sword pulled back, striking from another angle. Then another. Then another.

And suddenly Fayette was retreating, barely holding back a precise sword's unrelenting assault. She had never truly faced its like—a fight against a skilled swordsman, alone, no tricks. The genuine skill of a swordsman, not just Skills.

And she found she did not match up.

She barely held back a blow and took a step back to dodge the next. She bent away from a blow at her shoulder, then took a step back to restore her balance. Her broom met a sword of both Skills and skill, and was swept away, and she stumbled back four steps.

Constantly retreating. Constantly stepping back.

No time to even use her own skills.

She tried to summon spices into her hand, but had to cancel and thrust her broom up, narrowly warding off a hit to her arm.

She tried to bring her broom back and up, carrying a [Sweep Dust] with it, but taking it back even for a moment was too much. The sword was there.

She tried to reach into her pockets for something to help her—but couldn’t take a hand off her broom.

And then Fayette knew. No single hurried skill swap or rank-up was enough to make up the difference. Not even if she put her [Maid Martial Arts] at max level, because this was beyond just that. If it was just one aspect, she could patch it up. But she was lacking in all. Strength, speed, and most importantly, technique.

She had never really practiced it, and now she cursed that.

Complacency? Damned. This isn’t working. Should I use… no, not yet. Would do nothing. Have to retreat. Curses. But the others always felt so easy...

So she let herself be parried back, away from the heavily-armored foe, and hopped backward a good five feet, stumbling back another, letting [Maid Martial Arts] keep her up on her feet. And for a moment, she turned and ran, finally reaching into her apron—

Because she was faster. In a chase or race, she would win easily. But running away would not bring victory. Fayette thought over her options, one eye behind, wary of attacks on her back. What should I use? How about… everything.

She spun around, reaching into her pockets, and saw the [Lord] jogging towards her. Jogging—not running. He seemed to be taking his time if anything, not hurrying to catch up. Fayette narrowed her eyes. Does he want me to run away from him? A skill?

Regardless—she had a few answers to give. Two of the vials Olivia had given her were sent flying at him first, followed soon by a spray of spicy dust and a pair of knives.

But he was wearing armor. And had the skills. The knives clanged into armor too tough for them to pierce, and the smoke did not get inside the suit, warded off by something. Once more, the [Lord’s] demand rang out. “[Clear the Way]”

The dust and smoke were blown away to the sides once more, and his sight was cleared.

Revealing Fayette.

Right in front of him, broom poised for a blow.

He tried to bring his sword up, but this time Fayette was fast. Like a lashing whip, her broom struck out, and a metallic clang rang from his helmet—like a bell. A crushing blow.

Which did nothing. A gemstone on the armor started glowing, then cracked, and then the [Lord] took one more step forward, and thrust with his sword.

Fayette almost lost her hand.

But she managed to leap back right in time, cursing. “That armor is not fair! Magic?”

“Life is not fair, girl. You would do well to learn it,” The man said, following her up, sword raised. Then he paused. Because he saw what Fayette had prepared behind the cloud of dust.

A pair of stools, hastily put together from their parts, with trays of teacups on them, full of cold tea. A [Maid] stood behind them. Her calm eyes did not betray her plea. Can you at least make this much of a mess? Please knock these over.

The [Lord] took a step to the left, and Fayette did too, circling around the stools, keeping them in between. The man hastened his steps.

“You know, if you make what you’re trying too obvious, it will never work.”

“I’m not trying anything,” Fayette fired back, glaring. “I just felt like setting up some tea here.”

“A foolish plot—” the [Lord] scoffed, taking one more step to the left, having looped halfway around the setup.

Fayette took another step to the left too. And then stumbled, as if her leg had suddenly run into a pit. She fell to the ground.

And the [Lord] moved “—you are not the only one who can set traps.”

Suddenly, he was on her.

Wha—?

Fayette brought her broom up with both hands, warding off a blow, trying to get back up. But her feet kept slipping from the ground, like she was walking on wet ice. And the [Lord] kept advancing at her.

She scrambled back desperately, in a mad panic, somehow managing to keep the [Lord] at bay by speeding backward on the ground, like a harried rabbit. But she could not get back up.

Fayette tried to think through what could be happening, but—she blocked another strike—doing so while fighting off blows was next-to impossible. The retreat. He wanted me to retreat. Is that it?

She launched herself at him, then at the last second, rolled to the side, dodging behind him, towards the river. And she got back up. A leg to the ground, then a leap back to her feet, dress now dirty from the grime. But she was up. Not retreating.

Fayette saw the [Lord] take a step forward, and this time did not retreat, rather stepping in to meet him. Her foot went one step in front—and she almost slipped again.

The [Maid] jumped back, suddenly doubly wary. The thing works on some other condition then? Not just retreat? What?

The man chuckled, walking slowly. “It is refreshing to use these skills outside of larger battles… A different kind of chase when it's one on one.”

Fayette looked him over carefully, thinking. Right. A certain type of [Lord], but advance was the wrong way to think of it. Advancing forward was a one-time thing—this man… he took. More than just a war commander—a conquerer.

She turned her gaze to the battlefield, and quickly traced her steps along the grassy bumps, checking the marks on the ground where she had stumbled. In many of the spots, she could make out faint footsteps in the ground. Places where they had walked before. A [Lord] and his territory eh? Let him pass, and he conquers...

“Ah, you realized then,” he said, seeing her look.

Fayette turned back him. “A humble territory for a [Lord] you have here. Be [King] of bumpy grass. None shall stand on your conquest or something like that?”

She could almost feel his eyes glinting behind the helmeted head. “Not just territory, but also an [Ambush]. Give up, girl. Yield.”

Suddenly wary, Fayette looked around her and saw it true. Without her realizing, they had been moving in a spiral of sorts, and she stood at the center now. Unsteady land all around her. Can I take it away? Maybe somehow… but with him attacking me like this, and not falling for my make-a-mess bait…

“Fayette, don’t risk yourself!”

She heard a [Lady’s] plea from the audience, and for a brief moment, looked back, meeting those eyes. Blue eyes, worried. Asking her to yield, because it was clear she was lacking. That she was not winning. But Fayette saw more in those eyes. The unasked plea. Can you pull out a miracle? Fayette looked back.

“I don’t think I will be yielding, mister [Lord],” Fayette said, calmly, turning and taking a step closer to him. “Actually I—”

Suddenly, she threw up the last of the smoke vials at him, lunging forward at the same time. Surprise—the final weapon.

But the [Lord] didn’t even cast away the smoke this time—rather, his sword pushed out of it first. Right at her gut.

And Fayette felt an impact there, like a dull hammer, and a tingle on her arm as a [Boon] took a hit that would have gutted her, then faded.

She fell back—sweating. So close—so close to disaster. If Marie hadn’t—

Fayette shivered, but then calmed, looking at the man who finally dispelled the smoke, then walked through unaffected.

Marie was shouting something to her. The others were too, but Fayette wasn’t listening. Blood was rushing through her head, thumping at her ears. She just stared at the man, who stepped forward, again holding a sword at her.

So confident. It made her so angry. But she was losing.

What did Mireille say—think of the consequences?

Fayette did. She imagined it—admitting defeat here, and the consequences of that. That man—so confident, so sure of himself, getting what he wanted. Despite everyone else telling him no. Just taking. Making a mess of everything. She had seen Marie’s reaction to the idea, and the [Lady] did not want it.

Fayette had seen it in her eyes, the way she herself had once felt. So violated. When her master had told her to [Hold the Line], despite it being so stupid. So useless. She hadn’t wanted to—and she had been forced. Like slimy tendrils grasping her by the neck, and fixing her in that place, to face a charge.

Was this marriage any different? Worse, maybe, if anything. Fayette was supposed to have died there at the defense. Marriage was supposed to be for life.

Maybe he speaks true, and maybe Marie will eventually accept that, and maybe I could go with her there—but…

Marie would have to do what that man wanted, and so would Fayette, then.

No.

“Do you yield?”

Fayette wasn’t even looking at his sword, just that helmeted head, imagining the face behind it. She swung her broom forward. “No.”

And a piercing pain hit her left arm.

Fayette fell back two steps, stumbled back three more, fell to the ground, and looked at her arm. Her left arm, which was holding a broom no more. It was hanging on her side, limp.

And a sword had gone one-fourth of the way through it.

It was bleeding—so much. So wet. No pain—just… cold. She couldn't move it.

Her broom was on the ground five steps in front. And she could not stand up—she was on the bad ground again.

A [Lord] loomed in front, pointing a sword at her. Her friends were shouting at her, telling her to stop so Olivia could treat her. Reminding her of potions.

But Fayette ignored them, focusing on the thumping blood in her head. So loud. And she felt herself growing more lightheaded. Blood was dripping onto the rocks—she was close to the river.

“Do you yield? Your [Doctor] is saying she can help you.”

Fayette looked up, and smiled. A mad smile. This... it could not be. She had just started to get along with Marie, and then something like this... Her vision swam, but she got one knee up.

“No. The answer is no.”

“What?” The [Lord] asked blankly, then some anger finally entered his voice, breaking the calm. “But your arm! You can't fight like that!”

Fayette felt it, drooping by her side, more and more blood pooling out. She did not have long in any shape to move. Quickly, she used her right arm to reach for the pill Olivia had given her, and bit into it, hoping it would help some.

But she felt no different. Just a bad taste in her mouth now too.

Shakily, she backed away on the ground, keeping her eyes to the disbelieving [Lord]. “This? Just a scratch.”

Then, finally, his calm voice darkened, and the true anger reared its head. “I’ve been lenient, you know. You'll regret this.” Like a viper, his sword came at her.

And Fayette began scrambling back, just pushing herself back desperately, getting up for a moment, then stumbling back, but keeping just ahead. and her blood dripped all over the rocks as she stumbled along, painting a crimson trail.

She sent out a mental signal, counting on one last gambit.

And she finally got to her feet, by the riverside, where they had not yet walked. She turned to face the [Lord], barely staying up on her feet. Her head felt so light, and the pain was growing cold.

The [Lord] was right there, not attacking yet—wary. As if she had some sort of plan. So Fayette laughed.

“Have you gone mad? Yield, fool.”

It hurt so much, but she could only laugh, looking at the bloody trail she had left on the rocks. “You really are a [Lord of conquests] or something of the sort, aren’t you? I see it in how you move. Just taking what you want, because you think you can. Just the next thing and the next. Right proper class for you that is.”

The man advanced a step, sword still pointed forward. Right at her bosom. “Of course I am, because I have the strength. For my country, for my family. It is duty.”

Fayette kept her eyes on him, then flinched from a jolt of pain, and the amusement fell from her face. She took a step back, but there was no more room there. Her back was to the river, and she had no weapon, and her left arm was useless.

Still, she stood confidently, wobbling only a bit. “Ah, master of conquests, so good at carving a bloody tract through lands, aren’t you…? But you never stop to think.”

“What are you implying? Enough with the games. Yield.”

Fayette ignored his thoughts, focusing her mind, finally taking that free option. The one minor thing she needed.

[You have gained a new skill: Minor Distraction!]

She felt at the new information in her mind, remembering what Mirelle had told of it, then laughed once more, just to anger him. Finally, her voice fell cold. “You never realize it, do you? That when you conquer, you leave a big mess behind.” Fayette glanced behind him and activated her new skill—just a small push that way. “And someone always has to clean up after.”

And just for a moment, the [Lord] looked back—distracted for a moment.

And he saw that there was no more bloody trail on the rocks. All the blood that had been there was gone. Territory, taken. Fayette remembered the [Innkeeper].

And the man suddenly stumbled, faltering on his feet as skills fell.

Take a [Lord’s] lands, and let him fall. Fayette took a step toward him and noticed she was holding a knife in her right hand. She didn't remember taking it out, but it was there as if it had been waiting all along. Just a butter knife—an ordinary, dull, butter knife.

But it was thrumming with power—[So Fresh, So Clean]. A mess made, cleaned, and a target.

So she lunged forward, with her last reserve of strength, in that single moment the [Lord’s] skills faltered. Aiming her blade forward.

For a half-second she hesitated, remembering. Mireille had told her to think. So she shifted, not aiming for his heart, but at his shoulder. She hit, biting deep, with a blue flash.

And the knife cut through armor like butter, carving a deep gouge into the flesh beyond. All the way to the bone.

Crunch.

But Fayette had no more strength, and she stumbled backward, almost falling into the river. Barely on her feet. She looked up, vision fading.

The [Lord] was staring at his arm, still, not moving his head. The hand hung limp at his side, more gruesome than Fayette's, knife still lodged in.

She sent another mental command, and a stealthy slime, almost invisible against the rocks, slunk back towards the woods, where she had commanded it to wait earlier. Satisfied at gorging on blood, and tinted just a bit red.

“Yield, [Lord]!” Fayette shouted, wobbling on her feet, back straight. “You cannot fight!”

He winced, holding his arm up with his left, and a pool of blood started gathering near him too. But he did not step back. “You are more wounded than me.”

“And my friend’s the [Doctor]! Yield, and maybe she can help you too. These things need to be fast! You want to make this a contest of will?” Fayette laughed, a manic look on her face. “Let’s do it! See how happy she is to help when I’m dead! Do you really care more than me about this?”

And the [Lord] stared at her, blankly, disbelieving. A butterknife that had cut straight through his armor still lodged in. He looked to the side, and Fayette followed his gaze, finally looking at her friends.

Everyone had a weapon in hand, his men and her friends both. Marie had tears in her eyes. Mireille was twitching madly. Olivia was shouting something at them, but Fayette couldn’t make it out. There was no fight there—at least yet. Just tension. And everyone was watching the two of them. Staring.

The [Lord] listened to Olivia say something, then looked back to Fayette, and she met his gaze calm, as if she wasn’t rapidly bleeding out, starting to feel very very very lightheaded.

For a second that felt like eternity, he was silent. And then he finally bowed. “I… yield. I accept your deal. For me... more is at stake.”

And Fayette smiled, hearing rushed footsteps coming towards her. She collapsed right there on the spot, but a [Lady] caught her, tears in her eyes, saying something. But Fayette couldn’t hear it. She was laughing again. The [Lordling] really thinks he has more at stake here?

Olivia was yelling things, taking out tools, commanding the [Lord’s] men too—but Fayette only watched Marie’s eyes, and reached up gently with her good hand, wiping one tear off.

“Hey—don’t cry. I promised, right? Worked.” She said, voice barely more than a whisper. But she knew Marie would hear.

[Great job defending your Lady!]

[Progress towards next level: 80%]

And then she lost consciousness—with one last thought. She didn't really feel like she had won that fight. But that wasn't the final annoyance.

I didn’t even remember to use those two damned skill points.