As Jaxton worked his approach, he did so calculatingly, looking for his opponent’s hands, lifting his own both to defend and set up his attack. He lunged forward, but Gordon Fall was too athletic to ever fall victim to an attack from a weak, fragile kid such as Jaxton. Gordon exposed Jaxton’s ability the further on the fight went, as his breath couldn’t keep up with his body, and Gordon wasn’t letting Jaxton off easy. This had been their third consecutive duel, and it would undoubtedly be Jaxton’s third straight loss.

Jaxton threw his hand in a fist, aiming for the large head of the Colorsword general. Of course, his efforts failed to connect. Gordon ducked, parried, and struck Jaxton’s chest with his open palm, pushing him off balance. Jaxton stumbled down to the floor, breathless.

Gordon’s shining, gold-painted armor blinded Jaxton as he stood over him in the bright sunlight. A Colorsword always wore his armor on workdays and always carried their swords off and on duty. Today was a big day for Gordon. He inducted a few members into the ranks of the Colors of Soucrest. One of them being his very own nephew, Aeryn Spring.

With Gordon’s hand on his wrist, Jaxton lifted himself up and onto his feet. The tight grip of Gordon felt crushing, but he avoided groaning out in pain. A handshake with Gordon practically sentenced your hand to severe cramps for several seconds after. Jaxton, over the years, became accustomed to Gordon’s stern way of living.

“You’re getting better,” Gordon said. His face didn’t even have a bead of sweat, so his claim felt false to hear. Despite his rough exterior and sometimes his even rougher words, Gordon had a great kindness to him. An overall great guy.

“Why are you even training me,” Jaxton asked. He lifted his arms, showing his bare, thin wrists. He was bony almost everywhere, barely any meat on his scrawny body. “I’m too weak to fight. Besides, when would I ever have to?”

“You’d be surprised,” Gordon said. They moved together down toward a leafless near the northern edge of one of Steepcreek’s most expansive fields. They were only around twenty minutes away from the city itself. The environment itself was still beautifully green, despite the fallen leaves scattered around, but hardly intrusive to the overall color of the land. They stopped by a cooler they brought along, and Gordon pulled out a pair of two water bottles for them to cool off. “You never fought a man with a sword before, but rarely do swordsmen ever fight a competent fighter without a sword.”

“So,” Jaxton sighed, drinking a large gulp of the ice-cold water. The rush of water flowing down his hoarse throat did enough to soothe and relieve Jaxton of a little of his exhaustion. “I’m neither a fighter nor competent.”

“Not yet,” Gordon said. “But one day, you can be.”

“Not any day soon—”

Gordon slapped his heavy hand down on his shoulder, squeezing a painful gasp out of Jaxton. He grinned at Jaxton’s pain before loosening his grip a little bit. “Not if I have anything to say about that.”

“What’s the point? I’m not meant to be a fighter.”

“It’s not about that,” Gordon finished his bottle of water, then threw the plastic shell back into the pool of ice water inside the cooler. “It’s about your protection. One day, you may have to shoot your gun around your waist. One day, you may have to shoot to kill. And if you miss your shot…”

“I’ll be dead,” Jaxton said.

“Swords are much more… convenient than guns. You take one shot, and most have to reload for a full minute. You’ve managed to cut that down to a proficient, thirty seconds. But in that thirty seconds, if you missed your shot, or your shot injures and doesn’t kill, you are rightfully fucked. That’s where some hand-to-hand proficiency comes in.”

“Gordon, I’m your assistant. What do you expect out of me?”

“The best,” Gordon said. He pulled out a cigarette. As Jaxton finished his bottle of water, he joined him, sharing the same lighter to both get their cigarettes lit. “You won’t be my assistant forever. This job is too demeaning to someone of your talents.”

“Talents, sir, I fail to see what those might be,” Jaxton said. He had no education, no practice with the sword, no power or meaning other than the assistance he could give to Gordon.

“Shut the hell up and look at yourself for once, boy,” Gordon said, puffing a cloud of smoke. “Your talents deserve a better role within our society. The kingdom benefits from the people inside, and right now, you aren’t contributing much outside of helping me.”

“Sir…”

“I said shut up, Jaxton, listen to me,” Gordon spoke with aggravation. “I cherished our time together, but for the greater good of this kingdom, think of what else you could achieve by yourself. You’re so close to being a great member of our kingdom. You could lead our nation with your intuitive mind, but you waste it on me. You should dedicate yourself to Soucrest, not an aging warrior approaching the end of his service. You can do so much better than serving just me.”

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Jaxton didn’t speak. He felt as if Gordon was wrong, however. He was content with contributing to Gordon’s success. It felt fulfilling enough that Jaxton didn’t need any more. Not only that, but Jaxton would feel lost without his job.

“So from now on, I’m going to work on you more. You’re going to go into the field more often. You’re either going to train with a proper hand-to-hand coach or me to sharpen your skills. And when you are finally able, finally ready, I’ll find you a job of your own.”

Jaxton nodded, though he felt defeated. His time spent following Gordon felt like a dream, and Gordon decided to give it an abrupt end.

After he saved him from his homeless, impoverished state, Jaxton clung to him, happy almost every step of their journey together. But with his most recent words, Jaxton felt his eyes open a little bit. His position under him wasn’t eternal. One day—and Gordon desired to push that date closer—Jaxton would have to go on his own.

“After I induct the Colors today, I’m going to take the first ride out to Falcon Hill. We have a Seasonal meeting with all the prominent Colors, the agent generals, and of course, King Ranun himself. I’m bringing Carter over here to join us on my way back. I haven’t told you yet, but if I’m going to involve you more, you should know. We’ve received a tip about Corolla operating in this very city.”

“What?” Jaxton gasped. He’d been unofficially on that case ever since Igor happened, helping Gordon every way he could. “We did? Steepcreek? When do we investigate?”

“That’s why I’m bringing Carter,” Gordon explained. Jaxton hadn’t heard much about Carter, other than the fact that he led the intelligence agency as their general. Unlike Gordon, Carter was an investigator who spent a majority of his time investigating certain crimes. While Gordon dabbled in the Corolla case, Carter’s involvement was a lot more concentrated. “With the tip we received, he finally has reason to give his full effort. But, the news isn’t too hot, only traces of Gem Candy distributed throughout the city.”

“A little late Carter to come, isn’t it?” It seemed like only Gordon, Jaxton, and the king was concerned about Igor throughout the higher-ups. But what did Jaxton know? His role wasn’t exactly social with the higher class of elites.

“You don’t understand the workload Carter has to endure. As an agent-general, he has to be a tutor and instructor to the agents under him, a leader, and be responsible for a multitude of things above our comprehension. Ranun is famous in our circle for the workload he endures on behalf of all of us, but Carter has arguably an even bigger stack, as he is also sort of a lawyer for our kingdom, something my brother could do, but at a snail’s pace.”

Jaxton nodded. What if Corolla had acted during a war, where both Gordon and Carter would be far too occupied to pursue him? Fortunately, that wasn’t the case, but it was still crazy to think otherwise. Justice might have never been served.

Gordon dug behind the cooler and picked up a stack of ten plates lying against the tree. They were cheap but circular disks, able to soar when spun in the open air. “You ready? I promised we would get to it…”

Jaxton beamed, nodding with delight. His hand gripped his pistol as Gordon prepared to throw the plates in the air. It was a fun exercise to practice his aim, and he believed he was approaching perfection with his shot.

“Ready?” Gordon asked, a plat in his right hand, his wrist tucked into his waist.

Jaxton nodded, pulling his pistol out of its holster around his waist. He wore simple, casual clothes. But much like a color, he didn’t go anywhere without his weapon. In this case, it was an Eagle-branded flintlock pistol. Thin with a short, narrow barrel as the gunsmiths perfected the size of the guns to be as accurate as possible while also keeping a powerful kick to go with their precision.

Gordon whipped a plate into the air. Jaxton aimed, and when the plate balanced against the wind pushing against it and briefly ceased midair, Jaxton pulled the trigger to shattering glass. The bullet came out fast.

Shards fell about fifteen feet out. The smoke that came out of the barrel ceased, and Jaxton readied himself to reload, quickly stuffing the charge of gunpowder down the shaft. He pulled back the hammer after loading his shot into the barrel.

Gordon threw again a little farther away, and Jaxton hit the mark again.

They continued the exercise, with Jaxton missing only the third, sixth, and eighth plate. Jaxton hit the rest, making his total seven out of ten. A new record! Jaxton smiled with glee, and Gordon looked impressed.

“One day, I’ll hit all ten,” Jaxton proclaimed.

“That day, I’ll buy you a drink,” Gordon said. He already had another cigarette in his mouth.

Jaxton quickly joined him with one of his own. The sweet taste of burning tobacco never tasted better than after a good set of shots. Jaxton’s delight leaked out of his grinning mouth.

“Why don’t you use a blunderbuss?” Gordon said. “Why waste time with a weapon that requires skill when you could have a better chance in a fight with a weapon like a blunderbuss.”

“Having no skill involved is no fun,” Jaxton said. “Isn’t that why most men don’t like guns? Because they take the skill out of combat. Maybe I’m just as prideful as them, but for my class of weapons.”

Gordon grimaced. “A coward's weapon indeed,” he said. Most viewed guns that way. A tool for cowards. Lame in intensive battles, as most modern armors could soften the blow enough that they were practically useless. But, sometimes, they worked where swords could never.

Like a bow—which most looked down upon as well—they could kill from a great distance. Guns had a little more punch and pow than bows but haven’t seen much time on the battlefield due to their long reload times. Most trusted five arrows shot in a minute more than a single bullet.

“I don’t know if a blunderbuss is really my style,” Jaxton said.

“Your style, eh? I didn’t know you had one.”

Jaxton smiled. “It takes one with style to know one. And sir, I’m afraid you lack enough of it to notice.”

Gordon laughed. “Come on,” he said. “The ceremony is in an hour or so, enough time for us to purchase you a knife and sheath.”

Jaxton nodded.

“Oh? So you’ll complain about an easier firearm, but not a knife?”

“As you said,” Jaxton said. “Sometimes, my gun won’t be enough.”