Mind reeling from Dastan’s utterly domineering performance, I’m left with one question rattling around my brain.

What in the actual fuck?

Okay two questions. Has Dastan been holding back in our spars? Seeing him run circles around Hideo was an eye-opening master class in evasion and defence. Make no mistake, the beefy, pale-faced Flower Knight put on an impressive show with his powerful charges and Reverberating blows, but Dastan’s performance was utterly sublime, ducking, dodging, and weaving around the older warrior before seizing victory with a single strike. Breathless and exhilarated, my triumphant friend returns to my side wearing the silliest of smiles after proving his worth by running Hideo around like a clown. The crowd has yet to settle down as even the people of Central cannot contain their mirth, and infected by their good cheer, I grin and bring Dastan in for a one-armed hug. “Well done,” I Send, and nothing more needs to be said.

When the cheering finally dies down, I head to centre stage to meet the other competitors and redraw our numbers. While we could go ahead with our current arrangement, I already said we’d redraw before hand because of the whole ‘odd person out’ thing, and if I alter the arrangement, it’ll look like I’m trying to avoid Wu Gam by fighting Yan instead. Truth be told, while I would rather leave him for last, I don’t really want to fight Yan either, but whatever will be, will be.

Who knows? Maybe Yan’s been hiding her skills and will be next to awe us all. I suppose this tournament is gonna be harder than I thought...

No words are exchanged as we draw our numbers and Yan purposely keeps her distance by standing on the other side of Wu Gam. The half-fox warrior takes it in stride, though his flattened ears and sneaky glances in her direction tells me there’s more to it. Are they friends? Do they chat and spar like Yan and I used to? I mean, they’re both in the Hwarang, both the only two demi-humans competing in our impromptu tournament, and both making a name for themselves in Central where racial tensions run the hottest, so they have a lot in common. As luck would have it, the two of them draw the numbers three and four respectively, so I suppose I’ll see how well they get along soon enough.

There’s a weird and uncomfortable jealousy welling up inside me, and I’m not too thrilled about it. When Yan left, I told her to live her life, enjoy herself, meet new people and chase her dreams, but now that she has, I can’t help but resent her for listening. It’s stupid, we were never an item and I never made my feelings clear, but seeing her again has brought all the memories of our awkward, teenaged, war-torn romance flooding back, alongside all the false memories I’ve been trying to forget. Besides, I might be a horrible person. Lin and Mila are already more than I deserve, yet here I am pouting because a third woman didn’t spend a year and half pining over me.

It’s not entirely my fault though. I wouldn’t be so worked up about it if she treated me like an old friend instead of a shameful secret. She didn’t even bring Zabu or Shana on stage with her, riding a stupid white horse instead so the audience wouldn’t get the wrong idea. I get that she’s trying to separate herself from the Bekhai, even though I have no idea why, but would it kill her to bring Zabu and Shana out to say hi? I miss the big angry floof, bad breath and all. How many pups did he have with Shana? They’re just over a year old now, which is the perfect age for cuddling. Stupid Du Min Gyu and his stupid politics, I thought he was a big shot in Central. Why’s he gotta be all sneaky like and avoid the Bekhai? Family squabbles? Public opinion? That’s weak man, popularity shouldn’t matter when you’re like a hundred years old, you sho-

“Er boss?” Snapping out of my fugue, I glance up to see Dastan’s questioning look, wondering why I’ve returned from centre stage. “You’re up first.”

That’s what I get for being distracted. “I know,” I say, a little more sharply than intended. Taking a deep breath, I calm my mind and scramble for an excuse. “I’m here, uh... for my new weapon!” Perfect. Shouldering my way through my soldiers, I give Mafu a pat on the nose as I reclaim my leather-wrapped weapon and unveil Unity for all of Nan Ping to see. Sitting in its axe form for easier transportation, I decide to keep its transformation a surprise and head back to meet my foe, giving the shiny new weapon a couple of practice swings while I go. The unfamiliar weight fills me with trepidation as I struggle to Reinforce enough to hold it one-handed, the task demanding every scrap of concentration I have. Hmm... why is this so difficult? It used to be way easier to walk and Reinforce... I guess I need to keep both hands on the weapon, but it’s not a style I’m familiar with. The binding ceremony was helpful and all, but like waking from a dream, the memories are vague and ethereal, more of a concept to keep in mind than actual experience. This marks the first time I’ll use my new weapon in an actual spar, with Tranquility still strapped to my wrist no less, but since my opponent is the Southern paper tiger Dienne, it shouldn’t matter too much.

Gladdened by the prospect of bashing someone’s head in, I bow to the Legate before turning to my thin-moustached opponent with a grin. Not sharing in my good humour, Dienne looks down his nose at me and sneers in disdain. “You were fortunate enough to be paired against the woman in your first bout, but I will show the Empire your true worth, runt.”

Since the Crier isn’t repeating Dienne’s words for all of Nan Ping to hear, I feel safe indulging in a little trash talk. “Big words coming from a man who matched with his underling. You didn’t even bother putting on a show, just had him turn around and present his ass for a kicking. Seemed rather adept at it too. Bet it wasn’t his first time bending over for you either, though probably the first time in public. Don’t worry, you can admit it. No judgment here, love is a beautiful thing.”

I’ll never understand the mentality of those who can dish it out but can’t take it. Red-faced and veins throbbing, Dienne growls through bared teeth and rests his giant scimitar on top of his shoulder, readying to bisect me with a single chop. Regretting my decision to use Unity, I rest the axe-head against the platform and hold it defensively like a short staff, not exactly sure how else to use it.

Ah no, Dienne’s chop will come from above so I should hold Unity horizontally to block.

While my weapon is in transition, the Crier shouts, “...Begin!”, and Dienne makes his move, his blade moving in an overhead arc just as I expected. Abandoning my initial plan, I drop Unity’s head to the platform and step forward, kneeling so the haft is overhead. The impact hammers home and I hunker down, bracing my arms to keep Unity from smacking into the crown of my head. Metal on metal screeches as I Deflect the Amplified blow aside, scraping along my axe handle and into the platform as it slices through wood and rope like a hot knife through butter. While Dienne recoups for a second strike, I charge forward to end our match, forgetting how heavy my weapon is. Moving slower than expected, my ponderous swing gives my opponent plenty of time to skip back out of range, leaving me overextended and vulnerable to his counter.

With a low stance, Dienne begins a giant horizontal swing but this time Unity is on the wrong side of my body to block it. Going with the momentum of my errant swing, I Lighten and vault around my weapon in an aerial cartwheel, saving myself from a world of pain as I land just in time to catch Dienne’s strike with the handle. Stumbling across the platform, I take a half-dozen steps back before finding my footing, suffering from the lack of Deflection as my hands go numb and stomach roils at the Reverberations. Directing the forces outward with a vigorous exhale, the residual power from Dienne’s blow is enough to tear my new shirt, the seams bursting apart at the shoulders from the violent discharge and leaving my back muscles twitching in pain.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Okay, so maybe he’s not a paper tiger. He still has a shitty moustache though, so I have the moral high ground.

Ripping my dangling sleeves off, I tuck them in my belt to sew back on later and heft Unity into both hands, giving it a small twirl to hide my trembling arms. Okay genius. How are you gonna deal with this schmuck? Charge in and stop his swing with a blow to the shoulder? You could, but that’s playing to his strengths and too risky. Throw your axe at him and go back to sword and shield? Too slow, he’ll be on you before you can loose, and even if you survive, you can’t block his attacks with one hand. Dodge the attack? Sure, let me just put on my fancy feet and channel my inner Dastan.

Why are you having so much trouble? Dienne hasn’t demonstrated any flashy moves or incredible skills. In fact, thus far, he’s really only used the one, putting all his strength into a single massive, Reinforced, Amplified, and Reverberating slash. If he misses or his opponent counters, then he’s pretty much fucked, but risking bisection from his giant honking scimitar is easier said than done. After seeing Yan deal with his subordinate’s attack with a flick of her wrist, I’m shocked by how powerful this move really is. Either Dienne is much, much stronger than his bodyguard or Yan has a forearm of steel and perfect timing with Deflection.

...Why does that turn you on? Seek help you sicko.

Okay, lets come at this from a different angle. What are Dienne’s weaknesses? His one move isn’t exactly mobile or meant for duelling, more for holding a static position against overwhelming numbers... Oh god, his style is tailored towards killing multiple charging opponents at once, you doofus! It’s meant for defending against charging hordes of Defiled! If he coordinates with his two bodyguards, they could probably hold a section of wall for hours using different variations of this one move, cleaving through flesh and bone and clearing their attackers away with every swing. I bet all the southern elites learn to fight like this, putting teamwork over individual accomplishment when it comes to the defence of their province. It’s probably how they held their Wall while the West fell, and also why Dienne came here with two nameless soldiers, because they fought side by side and earned this privilege as a team.

Oops. Guess I owe him an apology for implying he doesn’t deserve to be here...

While I reflect on my mistakes, Dienne slides forward inch by inch, his front foot planted in place and always ready to swing, ignoring my feints and waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. Unable to decide on a proper plan of action, I’ve no choice but to retreat before him, the two of us circling about for the better part of a minute while Nan Ping slowly grows bored by our dancing. Ignore the jeering and focus. What are the odds you win a mutual exchange? Not high, his swing is much faster than yours, even though his weapon is probably equally as heavy. It’s not because of pure arm strength, but technique. He puts his whole body into the swing, everything from his toes to his shoulders and everything in between contributing to the attack. That’s not all either, at the moment of impact he does a push-pull sort of motion with his hands, the upper hand pushing the hilt away while the bottom one pulls it towards him, plus all the Chi stuff.

Can you replicate it?

...

Maybe?

Now’s probably not the best time to experiment though.

“Hmph.” Voice dripping with smug superiority, Dienne continues his snail-like advance. “Is this all the great Falling Rain has to offer? How disappointing.”

“New Spiritual Weapon,” I reply, the excuse slipping out before I can stop it. “Figured you’d be a good test subject.”

It’s ridiculous how easy it is to needle him, his moustache quivering as he chokes on his rage. After a long second, he snarls and says, “Let me offer you a word of advice. Don’t bind that failure of an axe and throw it away. It brings shame to the Empire through its mere existence. If that clumsy weapon is any indication, then the North is not only lacking in talented warriors, but competent craftsmen too.”

My mind blanks and vision goes red as I charge ahead, catching Dienne off-guard. The butt of my axe connects heavily with his shoulder, interrupting his attack mid-swing. Tranquility smashes into his face once, twice, and again, leaving him with a ringing head and chipped teeth. Booting him in the stomach, the air hisses from his lungs as his body skids across the platform. Leaping after my fallen foe, I bring Unity hammering down with a two-handed swing. Dienne rolls away and the platform explodes in a shower of splinters as he tries to bring his scimitar to bear, but with a roar of rage, I bash it aside and knock it out of his hands. Kneeing him in the face, I follow up with a heavy stomp on his shin and I’m rewarded with a meaty crack and a scream of pain. Dienne’s eyes roll back into his head and when they refocus, he finds himself staring down the barrel of my axe, hovering mere millimetres in front of his face. Lowering Unity, I press it into the hollow of his neck and force him to look me in the eyes. Struggling to hold my temper, I growl, “Count yourself lucky my betrothed didn’t hear you disparage her work, else you’d suffer far worse than a broken leg.”

Insult me all you want, but talk shit about Mila’s wonderful work? Hell no. You’ll be lucky if I kill you before Mila breaks all your bones and feeds you to her forge.

Okay, so axe-form Unity isn’t the prettiest or most elegant weapon in the world, looking more like a shallow-bladed club, but it functions beautifully. The balance is a little high, which shortens my range since I have to choke up on the grip, but if Dienne knew about Unity’s inner workings or saw it transform, his mind would explode at the complexity. I should shoot him for insulting this beautiful work of art, somewhere non-fatal but incredibly painful...

After imagining myself shooting him in the junk a few times, I finally calm myself enough to step back and let the Healers do their work. Taking no satisfaction from my victory, I bow to the Legate and return to my retinue, with anger still burning hot in my chest, though slowly being displaced by my mounting shame. I shouldn’t have broken his leg like that, not without giving him a chance to yield. It was a dick move and I’m better than that, or at least I should be. I’m falling into a pattern of shitty behaviour, letting my darker nature take over whenever I lose my temper. While rage might make me stronger, if this keeps up, it’s only a matter of time before the Spectres are back, and this time I won’t have Baledagh to take the blame or Blobby to keep me clean anymore.

To make matters worse, the applause for my victory is scattered and weak, with none present too impressed by my frenzied assault. While strength is everything, these spars are about more than winning and for the first time, I understand why. It’s about showing your skill, your superiority, and why you deserve the title of Number one talent in the Empire. Even though I won, it was more luck than skill considering the risks I took charging in like that. The way they see it, if we fought again, it’d still be even odds on who wins, nothing like the overbearing victories claimed by Yan, Dastan, or Wu Gam.

Ugh. I wanna curl up and hide away with something cute and cuddly...

After so much rough treatment, the platform looks like its ready to fall apart, but the Legate came prepared. Calling for an intermission before the next match, we stand around and watch as servants run in and replace the crumbling areas with new sections of undamaged rafts. Working with well-practised efficiency, it’ll only be a few minutes before they’re finished with their repairs, leaving the platform in tip-top shape for Wu Gam and Yan’s bout, both participants already waiting on opposite sides of the ‘arena’.

Forcing myself to focus on something other than Yan’s delectable booty, I study the deadpan Wu Gam instead. Truly a fearsome competitor, this young demi-human will be a tough nut to crack, easily fending off Yong-Jin’s fearsome assault with little to no effort before bringing him down with a poke of his staff. Most people think a staff is a weapon for peasants, but a proper war-staff is a whole different beast. The lack of a bladed head allows for better balance and it doesn’t really matter if a staff doesn’t pierce your flesh if it crushes bones and organs instead. As for Wu Gam himself, his expression leaves no clues to his inner thoughts, but his twitching silver-furred fox ears give him away. He’s obviously troubled by something, and judging by the way he keeps looking away from his opponent’s face, I’d wager it’s because someone has a crush on Yan. Can’t blame him either, Yan is... your friend. No more objectifying her. Stop it. Bad libido.

On the other side, Yan’s lost her flirty smile and fluttering lashes, taking this match more seriously than her last. Unsheathing her sword, she flourishes it about before taking her stance, shield forward and sword at her side. Rather than a standard double-edged jian so popular with Central’s nobles, Yan’s second Spiritual Weapon is a little more exotic, a wide... sword(?) bearing a distinctive wavy-edged blade and a concave tip, sort of like a butterfly’s wings. It looks more like a solid, flat fan than a proper sword, and as she moves it about, I notice it’s not only wider at the tip than the base, but also almost paper thin. A lightweight, doubled-edged weapon meant for cutting? Even if Honing does most of the work, a heavier blade adds a great deal more power to a swing, so it’s not exactly an optimal weapon. I can’t exactly see why such an exotic design is necessary, but I bet Mila could explain.

Once the stage repairs are complete, both combatants step forward and the Crier begins his countdown. Yan’s six-pointed shield and weird, wavy sword won’t win in a head on clash with Wu Gam’s heavy stone staff, but my worries are all for naught. As if having read my mind, Yan’s strategy is straight out of my playbook, taking her distance the moment the match begins. Standing in place with his staff resting against the platform, Wu Gam gazes at Yan with a forlorn expression. “You should yield,” he says, his voice higher pitched and more melodic than expected. “You cannot win.”

Eyebrow twitching, Yan purses her lips and narrows her eyes, annoyed by his patronizing tone. Flashing an insincere smile, Yan replies, “I’ll speak slowly so you understand, you hard-headed halfwit. You’re strong, but nowhere near strong enough to make me yield without trying. Victory or defeat can only be determined after a match is fought, so less talking and more fighting brick for brains.”

Oh good, so they’re not friends. Hooray! I still have a chance.

...Aw, now I feel bad for Yan. Did she not make any friends the whole time she was here?

Chapter Meme