Farrow stood alone.

“Don’t worry, you’ll win this one,” Farrow’s grandfather, Nayan Gael, whispered in his mind. It wasn’t the real Nayan Gael of course, he had died when Farrow was barely four years old. He was a man assembled from the accounts from Farrow’s father, his aunt, grandmother and the most accurate source, Nayan Gael’s writings.

He held a wooden practice spear with a rubber and cloth spearhead—he didn’t like having to train with a fake spear, but he had to do it, something about not killing fellow Gael spearmen. He stood in a stand-at-ease position, facing his opponents.

Standing in his private training room, Farrow was about to spar with five other spearmen—all Irons—and he would win, by using his grandfather’s technique.

Farrow did not know who the five spearmen were, he hadn’t bothered learning their names, they might as well have been dummies that could move, because that was what they would be.

“Ready,” Farrow said.

“Ready,” The five spearman said at once.

Farrow held the spear close to the spearhead, then thrust it forward, loosening his grip on it. It stretched out until he was holding the other end of the shaft. His longest ranged attack.

“That was sloppy, your spear shouldn’t wobble during this attack,” Nayan whispered in Farrow’s mind.

I’ll do better next time. Farrow thought.

All five of them were forced to step back. Farrow jumped forward, one hand wielding the spear from the back and the other one near the spearhead, he swung, striking at all five spearmen at once.

“Go for the legs,” Nayan said.

In the rank of spearmen, everyone was strong. What differentiated a great spearman from a good spearman, was speed. None of these men were fast enough.

Farrow jumped forward, and stabbed his spear forward and one opponent, the others tried to strike at him, but Farrow weaved through them, he hit the first spearman in the chest, then jumped, turning his body and swinging the spear in a wide arc. He hit another one of the spearmen in the side.

Two of the spearmen were now squirming on the ground. They must’ve been the weaker links.

“That’s my grandson,” Nayan said.

“I was expecting more from you,” Farrow said, striking forward, at the three still standing. They swatted away his spear with theirs. Alone, Farrow could’ve defeated any one of these spearmen a hundred times over. Farrow jumped forward, holding the spear from close to the spearhead, he thrust forward, they knew of this attack and one man holding his spear at opposite ends slammed the haft down, driving Farrow’s spear to the ground.

Farrow smiled.

Farrow ran forward. He raised his spear up, and slammed it onto the ground and jumped into the air. He had tried this attack for the first time against Inaki and it had failed, but this time it wouldn’t.

Farrow repeatedly thrust his spear down on the three spearmen, but he was too slow, too inaccurate in the short time he was in the air. When he hit the ground, he was in a circle.

“You lack practice in this attack,” Nayan said. “Do not use it so arrogantly.”

Sorry. Farrow thought.

The two spearmen that had fallen had risen again, and now surrounded him too. But as always, they were all too slow, surrounded by them all attacking at the same time, Farrow dodged, and weaved, he rolled under thrusts, blocked swings, and even as he was defending, he knew that his opponents would tire out before him.

Farrow struck forward at one of the spearmen, he tried to defend, driving Farrow’s spear into the ground once more, but Farrow used all the strength in his body, and using the spear like a pole vault, jumped over and kicked the man in the face.

He landed with one foot on the man’s chest, and the other on his neck.

“I surrender,” The man said.

“Good,” Farrow said.

He looked back, and saw that four spearmen were still standing. He was getting bored at this point. He rushed at them, and they all attacked him at once, jabbing their spears forward. A spear wasn’t like the sword, there wasn’t as much variety. A spear was a thrusting weapon, and that was its main attack, swings were only supplementary, meant to aid the stabs. The spear was about rhythm. You are always stronger than a swordsman, but always slower. Once you get into a rhythm of attacks, breaking that becomes nearly impossible when fighting against a skilled spearman.

Farrow got into a rhythm, thrusting at one of the four standing spearmen, then swinging his weapon in a long arc to keep them far enough away. Farrow held one hand as far away from the spearhead as he could, and one just under it, he swung, releasing the hand close to the spearhead, this gave him the strength, and the longest arc. He spun the spear in his hand and thrust it forward.

The four spearmen couldn’t attack him, they either defended or got hit. Farrow was enjoying it, but he was getting tired. He jumped forward and spun, swinging his spear in a wide arc, hitting them at their legs. One of them hit the ground. As Farrow was about to stab the man who was down in the neck, one of the other spearmen swung at him. While still stabbing his spear down, he raised the shaft, blocking the strike, and hitting the man on the ground in the neck. He would faint, but wouldn’t die.

Now there were only three spearmen still standing, they didn’t give him time to enjoy defeating his second opponent. They struck their spears at him all at once, two of them stabbed at him and one of them swung, keeping him as far away as possible.

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They were trying to develop their own rhythm, but Farrow didn’t need as much time as they did. He swung and stabbed and jumped. He stabbed his spear into the ground and jumped into the air. They all expected another attempt at the Rain of Spears, but instead of that he landed on one spearman’s face, breaking his nose as he hit the ground. He then swung his spear, taking another spearman off his feet. He then slammed his spear into the man’s neck, making him go unconscious.

Only one spearman remained now. Farrow pole vaulted over his spear once again, both his and his grandfather’s favorite method of fighting.

“Good,” Nayan whispered.

Farrow landed just in front of the last spearman, he stabbed at Farrow’s face, but he moved just a little bit, and the spear went over Farrow’s shoulder. Farrow thrust his spear into the man’s solar plexus, then when he doubled over, Farrow kicked him in the face.

“Beautifully done,” Nayan whispered. “You will turn Inaki into coconut paste.”

I know I will, Farrow said. This is all for that bastard Hassai.

“Once you learn the Rain of Spears,” Nayan said, “No swordsman will ever be able to stand up to you. No Diamond, no Platinum, no Sage.”

I will master it, Farrow said. And I will destroy Hassai.

“You will, grandson,” Nayan said.

Farrow put down his spear, and sat down, on the floor of the arena, surrounded by the unconscious bodies of what had been his sparring partners.

The door opened, and someone walked in, Farrow looked up and saw that it was Yan, his father, and the Spear Sage of Gael. Just looking at the man disgusted Farrow. He was stronger, he had mastered the Rain of Spears, and still wouldn’t avenge his own father.

“I go to the forest to meditate for a few days,” Yan said. “And I come back to hear that you’ve taken Hassai’s son hostage.”

“Yes,” Farrow said. “I will kill him, and then Hassai will have no other option than to kill me to defend his son’s honor.”

“How many times have I told you that the Tomoka, and the Gael are now on good terms,” Yan said.

“I don’t know about Tomoka and Gael, all I know is Hassai and my grandfather, your father.”

“Watch your tone,” Yan said.

“We’ve had this stupid argument everyday,” Farrow said. “You banned me from leaving Gael to seek out my revenge, I followed your orders, but when the shameless Tomoka walks into my clan—”

“My clan,” Yan said. “Not yours, my clan.”

“Then the shameless Tomoka walks into the clan, and I’m not supposed to imprison him,” Farrow said.

“Yes,” Yan said. “You were not supposed to imprison him.”

“You cannot let him go,” Farrow said, he agreed to our duel, and as a part of the terms, he stays in the castle for two months.

“And what evidence do you have that he agreed to this.”

“I have it in writing,” Farrow said. “Wait here.”

Farrow walked out of the training room, and two steps to his bedroom. He pulled out the piece of paper, on which was Inaki’s bloody fingerprint.

Farrow walked back into the training room and showed it to his father.

“So letting him go now would mean voiding this agreement on our side,” Yan said.

“A dishonor to our clan,” Farrow said. “Basically admitting defeat. And if you read here, there is no prize for winning or losing, but to void the agreement now, would mean paying the Tomoka a hundred thousand coin. ”

“When will you realize that your journey for revenge has gutted you empty,” Yan said.

“Do not tell me this when I am so close to my revenge,” Farrow said. “Two months, I gave him enough time to train and recover so it won’t be just a slaughter.”

“My father wouldn’t want you to live like this,” Yan said.

“Your father wouldn’t want you to rollover and have tea with the man who killed him,” Farrow said.

“Don’t act as if you know my own father more than me. I can’t forgive Hassai for what he did,” Yan said. “But if I was there, standing in Tomoka, and Hassai’s father was my enemy, I’d do the same.”

“Then don’t you think that Inaki would be doing the same to me,” Farrow said. “Is Inaki truly a man worth arguing for.” Yan stood silent. “After defeating an opponent, he burned down his grave,” Farrow said. “Killing that arrogant bastard will be a good thing.”

“What if he is trying to change,” Yan said.

“Then ask him if he thinks what he did was wrong,” Farrow said.

“Don’t change the topic,” Yan said. “This isn’t about Inaki. This is about you, and your stupid revenge. Hassai will kill you without having to think.”

“Spearmen are stronger than swordsman,” Farrow said. “I just need to learn grandfather’s techniques.”

“Then why in Okan’s name did Hassai kill him in the first place,” Yan said.

Farrow stood there, not knowing what to say.

“Deceit,” Nayan whispered in Farrow’s mind. “Remember, how did he kill me?”

“You weren’t there when he killed grandfather,” Farrow said. “I was. He used me as a hostage.”

“Non sense,” Yan said. “Hassai was many things, arrogant, rude, a disdain for nearly everyone else, but dishonorable, not one of them.”

“Even after seventeen years you won’t believe me,” Farrow said.

“I’ve spoken to Hassai over tea. He’s a changed man, that’s one thing for sure, that Takehito is truly a magician,” Yan said. “He wouldn’t take a hostage in a duel.”

“It’s been seventeen years. I don't care if you don’t believe me,” Farrow said. “If you don’t want to help me with my revenge, then get out of my way.”

“Watch your tone boy,” Yan screamed. “I will allow you your duel with Inaki, but if you kill him, and then Hassai asks for your head in return—”

“Then I will duel him and let him kill me himself,” Farrow said.

“Fine,” Yan said. “Instead of living, instead of being with the people who love you, you spend your whole life obsessed with killing a man who you can’t kill because he killed someone you probably barely remember.”

“I remember grandfather,” Farrow said.

“He died when you were four years old,” Yan said. “Do you remember anything else from when you were four years old.”

“No,” Farrow admitted.

“Please,” Yan said. “Don’t abandon the living, for a man who died seventeen years ago.”

“You don’t care about your father, but I care about my grandfather,” Farrow said, softly with his head down. “And I am tired of having this conversation.”

“Do you even care what is going on in your family’s life? Your sister nearly became a Silver, my brother became a Platinum. You train all day, fantasize about killing Hassai, then will die in the end anyway,” Yan said. “But after you get what you want I’ll try my best not to cry at your funeral if you keep going this way.”

Without saying another word, Yan turned and left the training room, leaving Farrow alone, surrounded by unconscious sparring partners in his training room.

Alone.