“You’ve got a good arm on you, kid, but you’re still dropping the elbow too much.” The roguish-looking man flashed a smile at me, his rapier held before him.
“It’s habit,” I grunted, sweat beading my forehead as the sun beat down on the ship’s deck.
“I can see that.” The naval commander laughed before he lunged forward, his blade dancing through the air like a living serpent.
I parried the strike, but only just barely. Had we been allowed magic or the like, the battle would have been a one-sided slaughter; the man had little more magical reserves than a high-ranking silver mage, but he more than made up for it with his skill with the blade. Without the greater degree of speed and agility granted by flow, my years of lax practice with the blade were showing. Even with more extraordinary physical attributes than the average person, it wasn’t enough to keep up with the naval commander. For the last several days we’d sailed upon the ship, I’d begun to pass the time by dueling the man. It had first started as nothing more than a few passing comments, a simple reference to my experience training myself as a teenager.
“Oh?” I remembered the naval commander raising an eyebrow at me. “Interesting. I might not seem it, but in my younger years, I was once a champion duelist and even a teacher of the three main sword styles.”
Even if I wasn’t an active practitioner of swordplay since my skills as a Sage had blossomed, I still maintained the pride of a swordsman. One thing led to another, and soon enough, we faced off one against the other, the rest of the crew and my former master watching from the side, several shaking hands on what I was sure were placed bets.
With self-confidence born of rarely being the worse swordsman - the last time I’d outright lost had been as a teenager when my village was attacked - I had strode forward to meet my foe head-on.
So you can imagine my surprise when, only seconds later, I was staring up at the sky on my back, the rapier’s tip pressed to my neck, and the sword I’d been lent laying off to the side.
“The hell?” After a moment of surprise, I stuttered, grasping the naval commander’s outstretched hand as he withdrew his rapier from my throat.
“Not bad.” The naval commander grinned at me. “I’ve rarely met any who had the instincts for the sword as you. You’ve got the sort of muscle memory that even champion duelists lack. The hours you’ve ingrained within your body don’t fade easily.”
“Yeah, fat load of good,” I muttered as he pulled me to my feet. “You took me apart like child’s play.”
“Don’t overthink it. I can recognize rust when I see it. You’re a formidable swordsman.”
“Thanks,” I grumbled, not feeling it.
“Let me guess, even though you practiced the daylight hours away in your younger years since you became more skilled with magic, you began practicing your skills as a swordsman less and less. You’ve got the raw talent and practice ingrained within you that in the few circumstances where you were in situations where you had to engage in swordplay, you could simply overwhelm your opponents.”
“You sure you can’t read my mind?” I questioned, my turn to raise an eyebrow at the man.
“I was once ranked twelve in the entire world, I’ll have you know, and not just that, I trained disciples for eighteen years. It’s not hard to see what’s on the mind of a young man such as yourself.”
“Rank twelve?” I questioned him at the time, confused as to what he meant.
“You heard of the Champion’s Circuit, have you not?”
“A little too well,” I grumbled.
“Think of it like that, except not run by a bunch of mob families, and furthermore, it’s international. In my late twenties, I managed to take the title of rank twelve worldwide, but I doubt I’d even crack the top fifty in my older age now.”
“You mention your age a lot,” I questioned the man. “But you don’t look a day over forty.”
“You flatter me, young man.” The naval commander bellowed out with laughter. “But, I’ll have you know I just celebrated my sixty-fifth birthday not two weeks ago.”
Taken aback, I stumbled a step as the commander grabbed my sword from the ground and tossed it toward me.
“Wait, are you sure? Aren’t you perhaps a little old for this?”
“Don’t patronize me, young man.” The command snorted. “Or did I not have you flat on your ass a minute ago?”
“Fair,” I grunted, taking the sword and raising my stance. “Round two then, old man.”
--------------------------------------------
Eight days. I dueled the man for eight days from sunup to sundown, minus the few moments he was preoccupied with captaining the ship or food was needed.
And for eight days, I had my ass handed to me.
Sure, I got gradually better, shaking off much of the rust as the commander had said would happen, but never had I been so utterly outclassed. Captain Garcett Hodge, as it turned out, was every bit as formidable as he had implied, if not even more so. It didn’t matter how I tried to dance around the man with the speed of the northern flowing blade, how heavy my cleaving blows of the central sword were, or how much I waited for the precise opportune moment with the defensive southern style.
He dismantled every attempt at getting the better of him as if it were nothing more than a logical problem that one simply had to apply the correct steps to solve.
“Hah!” I lunged forward, snapping from my tightly composed variation of the upheld guard of the southern blade into a swift downward slash one would expect of the north. Still, Garcett adjusted instantly, his heavy swing now a lightning-fast stab that bypassed my own comparatively sluggish slash and poked me lightly on the chest as if this were a fencing match.
“Point.” Captain Garcett bowed lightly as if he’d had the same sentiment.
“Damnit,” I grunted. “How? That should have been too quick for you to react instantly.”
“Ahh, but that’s the secret.” Captain Garcett inclined his head. “It wasn’t too quick when you broadcast your intentions.”
“What?” I said, frowning.
“It’s all in your micro-movements. Let me ask you, what is it that makes a great sword artist?”
“Talent? Skill? Speed?”
“No to all three.” Captain Garcett laughed with a rumbling echo. “It’s deceit.”
“Huh?” My frown deepened. “I won’t pretend I don’t get the sentiment. Misleading your foe is likely to lower their guard, but that should only be one avenue of approach toward the blade, should it not?”
“You misunderstand. There is more to deceit than simply a feint or whatnot. Deceit is in everything you do. When your muscles bunch, is that a sign that you’re about to lunge forward, or is that merely a ploy, a quick tense only to relax and pivot to an entirely different direction of attack?”
“So you’re saying I’m what, too honest in my approach?”
“Exactly!” Garcett snapped. “You’ve got all the skills but none of the trickery. Read and be read, lie and honesty; they form an interwoven tale that you, as a swordsman, must constantly be interpreting. Each swing of your blade should be spoken through by five possible directions, each as likely as the next.”
“Five?”
“Well, a bit of an exaggeration, but you get the point. Back in my heyday, you should have seen the number one-ranked swordswomen. Izielle the Damned.”
“Why was she damned?”
“Hah, because every one of her opponents would end a bout with her saying ‘Damn you, Izelle’ and stomp off all pissy. It became so common that it became the running joke amongst the best sword artists. Surely, she was already doomed to damnation for how often it was spoken. But that’s neither here nor there. Do you know why she was so fearsome? It wasn’t strength or speed. Number two, Gordon Aad, was said to cleave boulders with his blade, and number three, Shin Hon, was said to be fast enough to split individual rain droplets. Yet, neither of them ever bested her in an official best of three or five matches. Why is that?”
“Because they couldn’t read her?”
“Wrong! They read too much about her. Something about her movements, about how her very muscles twitched, she wasn’t unreadable, a blank page. Rather, she was five books in five languages simultaneously crammed on the same page. It was simply too much information overload for any of the best sword artists to ever get the lead on her. Those trained to read the flow of information that a pitched duel is couldn’t simply discard that tendency. And those who had never picked up the talent for reading mid-battle were outclassed regardless. Depending on how you interpret it, I had the fortune or misfortune to duel her a few times.”
“And?”
“I managed to give her a papercut once, which I consider my crowning achievement, more so than even reaching rank twelve worldwide. Even achieving that had been an effort years in the making, reading a blade five ways to one in any situation. So when I see you attacking so honestly, even your feints can’t lie, it’s child’s play to react to them.”
“Huh,” I mumbled, taking it all in.
“You get all that?” A second voice spoke up, off to the side where a shaggy-haired man was leaning against the mast of the ship.
“He’s a better teacher than you were, at least.” I snapped, growling at my former master, who smiled easily.
“Oh, don’t be so harsh.” Imako chuckled. “I’d say I did a fine job of it. Look at you now!”
“You only taught me the most basic skills; half of the time, it was that damned flying book beating me over the head!”
“Oh, this you mean?” Reaching toward the shadow cast by the mast, it was as if the shadows spread before, much to my horror, a thing of nightmares appeared.
The Living Tome, the same book that had left me bruised and battered at the tender age of sixteen.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Instantly, the book began fluttering about, nowhere near as quickly as I remembered it.
“The great thing about shadow magic is I can store things within the shadow of the world.” Imako picked at his nail as he spoke as if he’d noticed a speck of dirt.
The book zipped toward me, and for a moment, I was met by the memories of the book battering into me until I effortlessly snatched the book out of the air an instant later.
Memories were one thing, but I’d come a long way since my teenage years were sensing even the barest of mana was a monumental task.
The book, which had once only allowed me to flick through the first few pages, now freely allowed itself to be skimmed over, the entire contents of the flying tome now mine to dissect.
“Why didn’t you ever leave this with me? I’m sure it would have made my life easier.” I said after a moment of silence, staring daggers at Imako.
“Bah, it would have been useless with you, opening only a few pages at a time. Furthermore, if you were ever found with that in your possession, you’d have a one-way ticket to the capital dungeons. I’m sure you would have enjoyed learning about the torture methods of the crown firsthand, wouldn’t you?”
“Fair,” I grumbled, unable to deny the merit of what he’d said.
I wasn’t so fast a reader that I could digest the entirety of the tome’s contents on the spot, but I took note of the main passage titles as I flicked through the pages. Many were simply extrapolations of the basics of mana, with others still explaining the requirements or the individual needs of each Sage ring. The first five Sage rings were recitations of my own experiences and, therefore, of little interest to me. What was interesting was some of the details regarding the next few rings.
Hmmm, just what I thought.
Ring six was taking the foundations laid in achieving the fifth ring and spreading it through the rest of your body. Veins that had been converted into mana channels that had long been nurturing the body would allow for the very flesh of a Sage to become interwoven with mana, in much the same fashion as a magical beast was a being of mana and flesh.
Integration. Why do I feel like I’ve heard that before?
Ring seven revolved around the idea of the division of mana. The concept of mana division, or fission, wasn’t new. In fact, it was something that I often utilized, but what was apparently special about ring seven was that unlike how I currently utilized mana division, an actively involved process, the seventh ring automatically and constantly divided mana into its most basic rendering before incorporating it through the Sage system and converting it into sage mana proper.
I can see why it’s ring seven.
Without a body infused with mana, that much constant mana division would poison the body and spirit; constant active exposure like that was simply too much mana over long periods. I’d seen something similar before; the core binding spell used by the mercenaries hired to kill me had resulted in their leader being far too exposed to excess mana, too much for their body to handle. The only reason they hadn’t died of mana overexposure was because I’d killed them first.
And it doesn’t matter how adept one is with using or harnessing mana. Eventually, the constant, endless mana division would kill any non-magical being.
Ring eight appeared much the same as seven, except it was mana fusion instead of fission. They were effectively the same foundations laid by earlier sage rings, except elevated to a more advanced degree, with constant passive functions rather than the one-time formation earlier rings had been.
Rings nine and ten were where my ability to understand the base concept at a glance failed. Something about the interpolation of reality and then the superimposition of cosmological and existential anchors, of which both seemed far too much to comprehend for the time being, especially when all I was doing for the moment was glossing over passage titles.
Who knows how many years until I reach that point anyway?
Shrugging, I released the book, which fluttered away before landing in Imako’s palm.
“Oh, done already?”
“I’m satisfied with what I saw. It’s nothing more than a manuscript to understand the foundations of being a Sage, and at this point, I think I’ve got it covered.”
“Look at you, all adult-like now.” Imako flicked the book toward the shadows, where it vanished. “Yes, that tome is nothing more than a beginner’s manuscript for would-be Sage apprentices. Based on my understanding of how the Sages of old operated, you’d probably be up for consideration to be named a Sage proper, no longer an apprentice. Impressive, really. Most documents or such I’ve come across in my long life denote most apprentices graduating at their sixth ring or even for some of the slow learners all the way until their seventh. You should feel honored.”
“Yeah, real honored,” I mumbled. For a moment, my mind flickered back to a memory that belonged not to myself but to my predecessor in a prior life, the former apprentice of the Sage Above All. At least in consideration of their Sage rings, they had been more powerful than I, yet they had still been an apprentice.
I shook my head before raising my sword, facing off against Captain Garcett, who had wandered off to the side, talking to one of the crew.
“Oh, ready to go again?” The captain smiled briefly as he noticed me. “I wasn’t sure how long you’d speak to Imako there.”
“The less time, the better,” I said.
“Can’t say I fault you for that.” Garcett chuckled.
Interesting. Guess even the higher-ups in Nochesuki don’t all get along.
“So, have you had the time to digest everything I said?” Captain Garcett glanced at my blade and then briefly examined my form, nodding. “Yes, yes, it looks as if you have. Then, let us begin.”
-----------------------------------------------
It was another three days before, at last, I heard the cry from above in the crow’s nest.
“Land ho!”
“Looks like we’re finally home.” Garcett panted from where he stood across from me. “Good, because I think I need a break.”
“Why? It was just getting good.”
“Bah, to hell with you and your youth.” The man barked as I stifled a grin. It had been a long time since I’d spent most of my days with a sword, and I had to admit that I found it somewhat cathartic. It had also helped that in the last three days, I’d finally begun to gain ground on the veteran duelist, catching him off guard every now and again; our battles now pitched contests rather than brief exchanges.
“Hodge, you’re getting old there.”
“And you!” Captain Garcett whirled around to face Imako, wearing his signature wolfish grin as he lounged in a chair he’d brought onto the deck. “Not all of us get to live hundreds and thousands of years. I don’t want to hear it from you, you wet dog.”
“Cranky.” Imako chuckled. “Has my protégé stinging you with less than two weeks of practical duels against you really wounded your pride that much?”
“Not your protégé,” I murmured, but it wasn’t heard as Garcett shook his head.
“No, my concerns lie somewhere else. While duels with the young man were invigorating, it’s time I shift back to the realities of the world rather than the boyish fun of duels. You have to have come to a similar thought as myself. It’s very likely that after we land, we will be informed that war has officially been declared on the mainland.”
“Yes, but then that’s what we’ve spent years preparing for,” Imako said easily.
“Perhaps, but war, regardless of the spirit or merit of the fight, means good men and women will soon meet the final horizon, innocents as well.”
“Final horizon?” I raised an eyebrow, unsure of the terminology.
“Dead, he means dead,” Imako said. “Our good captain here hails from a secluded city, more of a collection of shacks really, along the southern coasts, where they have a particular belief that the world is split between two shores, our side of the world, our shore, would be the corporeal shore. Across the sea that splits our world in two lies the far shore, where the dead and supernatural originate.”
“Sounds… interesting.” I mused.
“And a load of hogwash if you ask me.” Imako snorted. “If that’s where supernatural beings originate, explain why I can attest to have never seen such a place or have any memories of it?”
“We’ve had this discussion numerous times already.” Captain Garcett rumbled. “It’s not that you all were born there. The far shore is where magic and mysticism originated, reaching across the True Sea and propagating within our corporeal shore.”
The two men glared daggers at one another, so with little care for involving myself in some theological debate, I wandered away, peering over the ship’s bow as I watched the island grow closer and closer. Even squinting, it was little more than a vague outline amongst a shimmering wall of mist created by the crashing waves refracting the sun’s rays. The sailor stationed within the crow’s nest was undoubtedly blessed with hawk-like vision to have already spotted the land as more than an illusion of the sea.
Unlike most folks, though, I wasn’t limited to my purely physical limitations, so without much more than a thought, my sight enhanced as I funneled mana through my eyes.
Well, that’s something.
In the days of our voyage, I had asked on one occasion why no efforts had been made to assault the island if that really was where Nochesuki was stationed, only for Garcett to grin at me with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“You’ll understand when you see it.”
“Well, I can understand now,” I whispered. The island was protected on nearly every side by staggeringly tall cliff faces made of rich dark stone that reminded me of obsidian. They were imposing, without being frightful, as prideful as the walks guarding Theronhold, albeit considerably shorter.
“Impressive, ain’t they?”
Captain Garcett had managed to draw himself away from Imako, now coming to stand next to me at the bow.
“What are they? I’ve never seen rock like that before.”
“Are you familiar with quartzite? It’s a commonly used stone in the central region, tough as shit.”
“Yes, but what does it have to do with these cliffs?”
“Same process, basically. Some of our men who know rocks and that stuff, geologists they call themselves, claim this rock was once obsidian that was ground up and sat for untold eons under immense pressure, only to be melted back down by the bowels of the world and undergoing the same process who knows how many times. That deposit of super-refined obsidian would then go on to form this island. Still, over time, the weathering of the climate and the waves wore it down, and the latent mana permeating the island was more easily absorbed within, magically galvanizing the already hard stone. This shit can take cannon fire without blinking it’s so tough. Pretty much the strongest naturally occurring material we know of.”
“That’s.. amazing,” I said after considering it momentarily. “I’m surprised it wasn’t harvested in the past.”
“Well, that’s because it’s tough as shit. Have fun cutting any of these stones. Not to mention the magical properties of the island. The Haerasian royalty and nobles have avoided the island like the plague over thousands of years, nothing of worth to be gained considering the stone is impossible to harvest.”
“Until you guys arrived.”
“Precisely.” The naval commander grinned savagely with more than an ounce of pride. “You heard Imako mention my beliefs, and ass as he is, he wasn’t wrong in the explanation. You can imagine how those beliefs run opposite to the core identity within the country for… well, a long time.”
“I can imagine,” I answered.
“My people haven’t been treated kindly over the years. I say people because from where I grew up, we can trace our lineage back to the once proud people of Eldentide.”
“Eldentide?” I could feel my brows creeping up in surprise. “Not usually a place people talk about much.”
“Aye, when the Elder Mother erupted, the island was left all but a desolate land of death. Some escaped or simply weren’t there when it happened. Those of my village, some of our ancestors, were the same folk who had escaped. We were never true Haersians, to begin with, and with no homeland to defend us or stand up for our mistreatment, we did our best to get by and avoid irritating the crown too much. When you keep your beliefs to nothing more than religious mentions, the crown tends to be more lenient than if you announce ‘yes, we preach the intimacy of magic in all of existence.’”
“So, you got tired of it and joined Nochesuki?”
“Something like that.” The veteran sailor smiled again, a tired look of a long-fought but worthy battle. “The sea has always called to me, for they imitate the great boundary. These seas of our corporeal shore are nothing but a reflection of the True Sea that divides the near and far shores after all. Anyway, Nochesuki saw the value of the capable naval man that I was. Over the years, I climbed the ranks until I became who I am today. We stand for the people’s freedom, and we’ve fought this fight on all fronts for long before even I was born. I just provide the know-how to navigate the seaside battles that must be waged.”
We were silent as I considered everything that had and hadn’t been said before a question occurred to me.
“What about him.” I jerked my head ever so slightly backward in the general direction of where Imako was currently sitting with his eyes closed, a slight content smile plastered across his face as he enjoyed the sun.
“You ever seen someone become consumed by grief or rage, their minds slowly losing ground to the phantoms that make them all jumpy?”
I briefly thought back to Iris, her mind lost within the dungeon that had slain so many of our comrades, the responsibility falling solely on her shoulders, breaking her under its immense weight.
“Yes,” I said after a moment.
“Well, Imako is what you get at the very end of that road.”
“He’s an ass, but he doesn’t seem that deranged,” I whispered so that our conversation would remain between only us.
“Make no mistake.” Garcett shook his head sadly. “That man, inside him, is nothing but seething hatred and rage. Over a thousand years, he has stripped away every part of himself to fuel that fire until nothing remains but that same consuming fire. He’s a valuable ally with a thousand years of experience and power; I won’t deny that. Still, if I could have it any other way, I would avoid him like few others.”
I had to suppress the urge to glance backward at the magical beast. I’d never harbored misconceptions about the man-beast being some sort of noble hero; even as a teenager, I hadn’t been that naïve. Still, it was telling to hear from one of his closest working accomplices that the man was apparently not nearly as put together as he appeared.
“That aside, I suggest you put such thoughts to the back of your mind where you can safely rely on them in the future should you need them, but where they will also not hinder you in the now. For the time being, we have other things to focus on.”
During our conversation, the island had grown steadily closer, and at last, I could see it in detail without augmenting my sight. The massive island was shaped somewhat like a crescent moon, with the indented portion being the only part of the island where the staggeringly tall seawalls did not rise, a natural harbor to sail into.
“Prepare yourself, young man. You’re about to meet the rest of the ‘family,’ and coming from an old sailor, there aren’t rougher waters than those.”