Without hesitation, the boy answered. “I am Marcus Zander, son of Sir Anthony Zander, Knight Apprentice, of the Kennel Royal Guard.” Then, with trained formality, he swung his kado back up and tapped the broadside of the blade to his forehead in salute.

Zachariah raised an eyebrow. “Zander?” the gray-haired warrior pondered. “Any relation to Sir Michael Zander?”

This time, the boy hesitated. “Yes, Champion, he is my uncle.” There was tension in his words. Something about this bothered the lad, but Zachariah let it go.

“Interesting,” the General pondered, “it’s not common for the Monarchy to send us recruits, never mind a knight apprentice.” The young man shifted slightly in his stance. Zachariah noticed. “Or perhaps they didn’t send you.” The shifting stopped, and the Apprentice sighed. “Oi, so that’s it—you’re a deserter, aren’t you?”

The boy’s nostrils flared, and for the first time, anger tainted his words. “I am not a deserter.” He said through clenched teeth while trying to restrain his emotions. “I am here of my own volition, but I have permission from the King himself.”

Zachariah said nothing. Peculiar, he thought. Why would the King grant permission for this boy to be here? And not just any boy, a member of House Zander? The General made a mental note to investigate the circumstances later. As for now, he would have to honor the Trial. Regardless of the reason, this young man had made it to the Trial of Entry, and it was Zachariah’s duty to test the applicant.

With a wave of his hand, the Sacer dismissed his comment. “I mean no offense. While your reason for being here is important, it is currently of no consequence. What is presently important is finishing this Trial. Besides, who am I to question the wishes of the King?”

The Apprentice Knight relaxed and regained his composure when he heard the General’s words. “Likewise, Champion. I apologize for my outburst,” Marcus said. “It is not becoming for a knight to speak out with anger.”

Zachariah grinned. These knights and their Code of Chivalry. They are almost as insufferable as we are with the Kodshel Tesha. “Shall we start then?” said the gray-haired warrior as he lazily took a fighting stance.

In contrast, the youth nodded in agreement before snapping into an offensive posture. Marcus gripped his kado with both hands and shifted it to his right side, lowering the tip toward the ground.

Marcus focused.

He took a deep breath.

Then he exhaled half of it.

In an instant, the crimson silhouette of a boy shot headlong toward the General! Marcus swung his kado wide in an upward slash!

The speed is good, Zachariah analyzed. The strike is precise and smooth but otherwise basic—The Sacer had already avoided the attack with ease, pivoting to his right and allowing the sword to glide by his face by mere centimeters. But before the blade reached its full arc, it instantaneously reversed direction! The sudden change interrupted the General’s analysis as he barely had time to dodge. Still, Zachariah moved with fluid grace, slipping away as the sword sliced the air where the warrior had just been. Then, the strike merged into a third and more aggressive horizontal cut! This last one harnessed the power of the boy’s momentum and, if performed with a real sword, would sever a man in two. Zachariah had to make a conscious effort not to get hit for the first time that day. Defying gravity, the General flung his weight back into a flip, hurling his body over the wooded blade!

Zachariah landed just out of reach and gave a long, approving whistle. “Rising Mountain, Falling Sky, Cleaving Winter,” he reminisced aloud. “Or should I say—The Trinity Cut?” The look of surprise on the boy’s face confirmed the General’s suspicions.

“Sorry, Champion,” Marcus said, “but how do you know that name?”

The General laughed. It was not a mocking or condescending laugh, but an authentic sign of the warrior’s amusement. He candidly found the question funny.

“My boy,” he chuckled, “I can say, with all certainty, that I knew the name of that technique long before your grandfather was born. I am General Zachariah Abel of Heron, direct disciple of King Issac, The Undefeated. I once dueled with Alfred Zander himself. So, tell me, lad, is it all that astonishing that I know the name of that technique?”

Marcus stood silent and stunned when he realized the manner of man that graced his presence. Of course, he knew who this man was. Everyone knew the name of General Zachariah Abel. He was one of the ten great generals that commanded the Sacer Army. Marcus also knew Sacers lived extraordinarily long lives, but this was insane! He dueled Albert Zander! The Albert Zander—the patriarch of House Zander, the master swordsmen that help create the Knightly Order of Kennel? That was almost three hundred years ago!

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“What is a surprise,” Zachariah said, “is that you, a knight apprentice, would be privy to such a technique.” The General ignored the boy’s gaze as he spoke. “Unless I am wrong, and I am not, secret techniques are reserved for full-fledged knights only. And if I am mistaken, and I am not, the Trinity Cut is as secret as it gets in House Zander.” Facing the truth of the Sacer’s words, Marcus shifted uncomfortably. “The Trinity Cut of House Zander is comprised of three separate strikes from three different directions. Each one is insignificant, but when combined and performed in a single fluid motion, it is nearly impossible to evade. A very high-level skill indeed.”

Zachariah idly looked back at the boy. “I once saw your uncle perform it from inside his NOVA to defeat the Malus Champion, Arkon. Now that was a sight!” The General smiled, but his eyes searched for any minute change in Marcus’s expression. “Have you ever seen what the Zander sword can do when performed from inside a NOVA?” There it was. It was subtle, but the boy’s eyes gave him away.

“Oh,” Zachariah said softly, “you have, haven’t you?”

“Yes, Champion, I also saw Arkon fall by my uncle’s sword.”

That’s it, reasoned the gray-haired warrior. This is the boy House Zander adopted after the Battle of Ross. The General recalled the devastation of the Malus assault. In a single week, they razed almost every city on the planet. The Malus had killed millions before the Sacer Army had finally arrived. The planet should have been lost if not for a garrison of Royal Knights passing through the system when the distress call went out. Somehow, against the Malus horde, the single regiment of knights defended the capital city for three days. Many called it a miracle, and Zachariah agreed; if that miracle was named Sir Michael Zander.

“Forgive me,” said the gray-haired warrior as he saluted Marcus again. “It seems this week’s ongoing disappointments—” Zachariah surveyed the bodies that littered the courtyard. “—have distracted me, and that has not been fair to you.”

The General flowed into a fighting stance and looked the boy in the eyes. “So, Knight Apprentice Marcus Zander of the Kennel Royal Guards,” the General addressed the boy, “shall we start again?”

In response, Marcus gave a crisp salute before dropping gracefully into his own stance.

“Oi, you might want to use that armor,” added the General, “If that truly is a Kennel Royal Guard uniform?”

The suggestion caught Marcus by surprise. He had worn the uniform because the King had gifted it to him. Even though Marcus had not yet graduated from the Academy, His Majesty instructed him to wear it. So he did. However, to the young Knight Apprentice, it was uncomfortable. Not that it was poorly tailored. On the contrary, The King had it crafted for Marcus’s exact measurements. The boy had worn nothing that fitted him better. Yet, there was something deeper, a sentiment that he was not worthy of adorning the crimson symbol of the Kennel Royal Guards. Marcus knew he had not earned it.

I shouldn’t be even wearing this, though the youth, and now the Sacer wants me to use it? The boy had never intended to activate the armor hidden under all the silk, frills, and gold trim of the blood-red uniform. Not that it was prohibited to use Shade technology. In fact, part of the Trial was to see if the applicants could access Vigor in its many forms. It was his pride that stopped him from using it. He wanted to pass the Trial without the aid of armor.

“The deadliest dragon that a man will face is his own pride,” Marcus remembered his uncle’s words. “If you can slay it, no other dragon can stand before you.”

“As you wish,” said the boy.

Instantly, Zachariah felt it. His Shade Sight allowed him to see the otherwise invisible energy known as Vigor. From all around the boy, threads of light were pulled out of the air. Each strain was a slightly different hue of the same four colors—red, green, blue, and yellow. The lights weaved their way through the fibers of the crimson uniform, polluting its natural pigment with a prism of multicolored illumination. Then, in a flash, it was gone!

The entire process took only a fraction of a second, and that was all the time Zachariah needed to identify the colors. Red, green, blue, and yellow, the General analyzed strength, healing, protection, and speed… Now, this could be fun.

The ground under Marcus’s feet buckled, then fractured as the Knight Apprentice launched forward! The air cracked as his body moved faster than sound itself. His kado swung with inhuman strength and speed! It was Rising Moon, a draw cut, the quickest technique taught in House Zander. Enhanced by Shade armor, the strike would move faster than the human eye could ascertain. But General Zachariah was no mere human.

With Shade Sight, the Illumanus Champion watched the attack in slow motion, and with equally inhuman speed, he dodged the deadly blow by a controlled hair’s breadth! Then, he evaluated the resulting whirlwind of proceeding attacks with calculating scrutiny.

In milliseconds, Rising Moon formed into Crossing River, only to surge into Divided Peaks, Tunneling Bridge, Parting Waters, Falling Leaf, then back to Tunneling Bridge, before exploding into Turning Tide, Rising Mountain, Splitting Clouds, Splashing Waves, Burning Valley, and finishing with the fierce ferocity of Falling Sky!

With Shade armor, Marcus was a blur, attacking thirteen times in under a second! And even though he wielded only a wood sword, each cut could kill a man. Yet, each strike missed its target.

Zachariah was like a vapor, the wind incarnate, avoiding the entire barrage with corresponding swiftness and grace. Marcus was both awed and frustrated. He had just unleashed his complete arsenal of finely tuned techniques with the aid of fully imbued Shade armor, an assault that had never failed to reach its mark… until now.

“Unbelievable,” the boy whispered, awestruck. He knew that beating a Sacer was meant to be impossible, but he thought for sure he would at least score a single hit. For was this not what his uncle had trained him to do? Was this not why he had spent thousands of hours swinging his kado? Was this not why the Great Existence had blessed him with unmatched skill with the sword? Was none of it enough?

“What must I do to win?” This was not the first time Marcus had asked this question…