22th day of Breezedays, eleventh month of the year, 983:

“No slacking off, greenhorns!! I see anyone running at half mast and I double the time for all of you!!” Andras berated the training soldiers, it was already 9 o’clock, more or less, and they still had thirty hundred steps left before finishing the run. Their efforts, if only, kept them warm on the progressively colder days of the end of autumn.

Their training gear was mail armour and its weight was nothing to scoff at, sitting at almost twenty three kilograms, helping the training regime Andras had intended, helping them to bust their stamina and marching capabilities. All of his almost four hundred men were capable of holding a relaxed run fully equipped for two hours, something he was extremely proud of with the small time he had been working on them.

The winter was rearing its icy head already, only a month till it started in earnest, and snow was already piling on the barony. Only a month till the winter truly started, as they were on the 11th month of the year. The north was unforgiving, more so the far one, and five months of winter were on the menu.

Still, Andras could only feel proud of their physical progress. He had only managed to train them for two months and their fitness was already at an acceptable level for the professional army Soral was planning for. Nonetheless, in all the other parts of being a soldier they were very lacking.

After some exercises with weights and more body strengthening training all together with intercalated rests, the swordsmanship classes started, with wooden training swords of course, at 10 am.

“Now, in the same manner you have been practising these past three weeks, you will duel with each other. Try to pick partners you can get better, your last partners or someone with similar skill levels. A quick reminder, dominant feet forward, non dominant feet at an angle and a bit back; the same side hand from the side of the dominant feet near the guard, the other hand on the bottom of the handle. Swords at low point for balance, remember, the not pointy end near your guts, the pointy end at an angle for balance. And, lastly, you are trying to hit your opponent, not their sword! You can be all the flashy you want in the tavern after you have won!”

When they finally paired, what followed were two hours of what a seasoned veteran would describe as Nether. Andras and the almost sixty veterans were forced to repeat the same guidelines time and time again. Lean forward with the sword up to protect the head, remember the footing, feints are based on reach, don’t flinch when an attack is coming from two meters away and could never reach you, remember the grip of the sword, use the terrain to your advantage and repeat. At least he could see his daughter, Samil, who was eighteen at this time, knocking down partner after partner, so he could happily hold out till the morning training session finished.

Once he decided they should stop to rest and have lunch, at 12 am, he felt like all the progress they had made yesterday had only been further advanced for an inch. No matter how many times Andras cursed in his mind, he knew practice was king on swordplay. Maybe in a few weeks he could introduce some shields and spears, while thinking about the post lunch training session he declared, “The training session is finished. Dispersed.”

While the youngsters started to leave, tiredly talking about the new public bathhouses that had been constructed in the middle ring of the city, Andras signalled her daughter to come there, and waited for a few minutes. After a few minutes, in which Soral was waiting patiently for what he had to say, Noct appeared with his sister after they finished her training, as he had planned. Soral was too tired to even talk but the frown she now had spoke by itself. She was, unknowingly, participating in the little trap Andras was carrying out and, being grateful inside, he addressed Noct.

“Good morning, my Regent.” The increasingly angry look of his daughter, proportional to her recovery from the training, almost put a smirk on Andras. While he was happy she was feeling angry for his sake, the hubris she had been developing had turned into a concern of his, maybe she needed the lesson too.

“Cut the chase, High Commander, why did you call me to the training grounds?” Noct didn’t even acknowledge the presence of the young woman besides Andras, which, combined with the disregard of basic courtesy to her father, was making her fume.

“In short, I wanted you to introduce you to the best soldier in training, Samil. Only eighteen years old and she already has no equal in the army in training.”

“...you called me to meet with a kid who is better than average at playing with sticks?”

Before Andras could answer, her daughter, already exploding with rage both old and new, challenged Noct.

“If I am not being too disrespectful, I could demonstrate my abilities.” Spitted Somal with a mask of respect

“Soral is too tired for that and, if you are insinuating duelling Andras it's got to be a joke, not that it would be a good one,” Trying to admonish her by her lack of cunning, he went a bit far, as his training with Soral was anything but comfortable to him. ”Duelling your master is only going to highlight your missteps. Think before you speak, soldier in training.”

“I meant you, my Lord. Of course, I wouldn’t even dream of winning against one of the best swordsmen of the north, not that I could, tired as I am now..” The eyes of Noct narrowed after hearing such hubris and belittlement directed at him, but still gave her another opportunity.

“I think I heard you wrong, soldier in training?”

“If you do not feel up to the task, it's of no offence, my Lord.” Both the father and daughter were smirking, even if Andras knew how to hide it and Samil was being too confrontational to try to. The reason for those? Andras was smirking as he felt Noct biting the bait, whereas Samil was just trying to deflate Noct’s ego. The air cooled a few degrees and Noct stared at the trainee, sizing her up.

“If you insist. High Commander, do you mind judging our duel?” Needing the consolation prize of beating an arrogant bastard, he accepted in the end.

Andras smiled and nodded.

After a few moments, Noct and Samil had both readied themselves, five meters apart from each other. and waited for the signal. Samil had the same sword she had been using while Noct had picked a random one.

“Start!”

Samil rushed towards Noct while he casually strolled towards her, his combat stance so subtle she didn’t realise his stance was more stable than hers.

Samil went for an early feint, an horizontal slash that seemed to make Noct flinch backwards, and, already smiling confident in her victory, she went for a stab towards the center of mass. What she didn’t expect was not reaching him by a hairbreadth, as Noct leaned backwards a bit. She hadn’t picked up that the flinch had been calculated to give her false confidence.

With her stance almost broken and her sword too overextended for comfort, she tried to track backwards but Noct grabbed her sword with his naked hand, pulling it hard towards him. Thinking she could still wrestle control thanks to her more developed build, she stood her ground, quickly finding herself being pushed towards Noct, who swiftly kneeled her in the guts, leaving her gasping for air, and absentmindedly tossed her to the ground behind him, head first, after grasping her by the shoulder.

Quickly recovering, she rolled far away and got up.

“Rushing head first without a plan? This is the best one you got, Andras? I should reduce your salary then.” The image of Noct mocking her while in a duel with the same casually as one would comment on the weather boiled her rage over and made her take her opponent as seriously as her father.

Noticing the change, Noct smirked and now he made the first movement, again, casually strolled towards her. She readied herself on a defensive stance, foot firmly planted and sword at low point, trying to gauge where her opponent would attack. Her amazement when Noct just walked into striking distance didn’t stop her from lunging forward and trying to stab his head, attack Noct just casually dodged by leaning backwards and quickly retreating a few, quick steps. ‘He is trying to bait me into overextending herself again’. This trend of Noct walking just enough into her striking distance and quickly receding repeated a few times, enough to start tiring her out and, more importantly, making her think he wasn’t going to fight her seriously.

A slash, another fade, another stab, another fade, a diagonal hit, another fade. As more seconds passed the bigger the movements she was making, itching for a hit, slowly forgetting about the sword Noct had. Noct smirked, as she was moving as she wanted and, after another failed feint and slash, Noct appeared to fade but, as Samil retracted her sword, he quickly dashed forwards and slashed at her sword, knocking it to the side. As she tried to bend backwards and retreat, now remembering the sword, he strongly kicked her on the lower chest and knocked her on her back with a ‘thud’ that echoed pain.

Stolen novel; please report.

“At least you didn’t let go of your sword.” Said Noct while he waited for the woman to stand up, albeit with difficulty.

Now Andras was having second thoughts about this whole ordeal. Noct wasn’t as rash as to injure a random soldier he had thought, but now doubt was starting to seep in. While he was searching for a way to stop the duel, her daughter readied herself and prepared an attack.

She lunged for Noct, having learned her lesson. He was better, but he was toying with her, so he had one last trick. Noct stood waiting for her attack, and simply predicted where the strike would fail and he simply shed it, putting them both in a position where their blades were useless, as their chests were almost touching. Noct started to smirk, but Samil headbutted him in the face and returned him the smirk, breaking his nose and making him reel backwards from the force. Utilising the surprise, she quickly went in for a stab, which was promptly shed, once again, but this time a left hook throwed her, again, towards the ground. This time, while she struggled to get up, a wooden sword on her neck made her concede, “I…surrender”

The sword quickly left her side, but a sight that she couldn’t believe settled in front of her. A hand that was waiting for her to grab it to help her rise. She looked towards Noct and saw in his eyes surprise and pride. She grabbed the hand and was swiftly helped to her feet.

“I owe you a drink, Head Commander,” Said Noct while healing with magic his nose, unperturbed by the injury, “This one wasn’t all talk. I’m honoured to have such an outstanding trainer.” The pride that was present on the face of her father at his daughter’s sploits was reddening her a bit

Now looking at her, Noct continued, “What’s your name?”

“....Samil” Answered an exhausted and now humbled Samil, the hate for his early insults long forgotten, he had proven he was anything but empty talk. She started to fear he could go head to toe against her dad and win.

“I will remember it,” Said, solemnly, Noct, “You are still pretty rough around the edges and you fight by the book, but that’s nothing experience cannot fix. Work hard, and in the next duel I may have to take you seriously. Be proud, for only a few sentients had pulled one over on me.”

“It was but a bout, my Lord. In real combat I would have died countless times.” Rejected Samil, now outright praising the man he had hated since he had dismissed her father, even if she had chewed that compliment out.

“In real combat I would have died once.” Simply said Noct. Changing topics, Noct walked near her again, with his magic healing spells still active. “Now get that mail off, I should have, if not cracked, at least splinter one or two ribs.”

Now noticing her pain, she let herself be treated.

Soral was smirking, seeing his brother get a bloody nose was a good way of calming her frustrations after getting her ass handed to her on her training. On the other side, Andras was happy that the first half of his plan had worked so flawlessly. Now came the tricky part, and he was no man of finesse, so he just went for it.

“As a father, I could not be more proud of her, my Lord.”

“I see, the apple didn’t fall that far from the tree.” Bussy healing, he just answered half absent minded. A few seconds more, and a healthy, if a little healthy and embarrassed patient, his brain processed the new information.

“Your what?! Didn’t you have a son? Did I really just kick the shit out of your daughter?! What’s more, you remarried?!?” Reverting by muscular memory to the jargon he used to speak towards Andras on the times where they fought together, forgetting the situation he was in, he was too shocked to stop himself from speaking.

He looked towards her and looked away in shame, not believing he had just beaten her comrade daughter because he was having a hard time fighting head on the emotions Soral evoked in him.

Andras stood silently for a few moments. That calm still didn’t manage to sober up Noct substantially, who now appeared to have eaten a rotten lemon while he rechecked Samil. Andras could not believe the sight in front of him. No man who had threatened the life of that child would act like that, fussing even harder now over their wounds. He was forced now to accept the old fear he had had since Noct had dismissed him, he had just been barking. He could have never done what he had tried to scare him with.

“Nothing more hurts, right?” Asked, for the third time Noct. Soral had changed from surprised to exasperated and a bit jealous, not that she realised that last sentiment, as it had passed a lot of time without having seen the old brotherly side of Noct.

“No, everything is already fine. See? Just calm down.” Samil looked at her dad for help and that was enough to bring him back from her stupor.

“Calm down, Lord Ashen, you are scaring the young lady. No, I did not remarry, it is indeed the same one.” He felt like a coward, but Noct was thrown off and he had to find the last piece of the puzzle. He still couldn’t believe in his old friend, he needed that last reassurance. “She was known before as Andil; the alchemist you recruited was fairly helpful with the potions of sex change. And the retirement payment I got from you was more than enough to cover those costs and more.”

“What pay?” Noct casually asked, lightly nodding as Andras explained. Andras knew him too well to fall for his easy going facade. His uneasy eyes said it all.

“Strange, well, I will pray for the bastard that lost the coins.” Laughed Andras. Of the two of them, he was always the better liar, so he gave Noct no clue of his inner fears. He had forsaken a comrade, and he would rather fall into the Abyss than to do it again. He swore there and then to help Noct on his path to redemption.

They chatted a bit more about the past of Andras, and his daughter was forced to hear her father dote on her in front of her future lord, and embarrassingly sat there as he babbled on about her ‘exploits’ as a kid.

Noct played around, trying to fix the hole he had dug himself before, in his panicked state, while Andras finally started to forgive her old friend.

……………….

“Father, was it really necessary to tell so many of my stories as a kid?!?” Angrily accused him her daughter. “And he is still the man that kicked you out of the men at arms of the barony!”

Andras smirked and started to tease her “He is good marriage material, didn’ you say you would marry someone stronger than you? Well, he is one of the five men on this Empire that could marry you if you keep the training up!.” Laughed Andras

Samil made an unladylike hand gesture and didn’t dignify her father with a response.

“Well, ain’ I back in? If you hate your superiors it will end up showing and you will not rise in the ranks.”

“The duel of today was a fluke,” Argued Samil still. Remembering how she had talked to her superior, she discharged onto her father, “I can hold my public smile as well as you! He just really rubbed me the wrong way! Still, the next one will be mine.”

“Are you already thinking about victory?”

“Thinking? It will be a reality, old man!” Samil started laughing now, and Andras quickly followed her.

“Well, you oughta hit the baths if you wanna win him over!” Teased her again

“UGH!”

…………….

The day finished, Samil sleeping like a log after the long day of training she had, Andras sat on a chair in the kitchen, with the sword Noct had forged on the table in front of him.

It truly was a work of art, with a white shining metal blade worthy of a paladin. He had told him it was simply steel, but he knew it was platinum. ‘It had cost him a fortune.’ Andras reflected. The guard followed the symbolism of Elenia, engraved with an ornamentation of scales and the crossguard mimicked the wings of the angels of Elenia without losing functionality. The hilt was the most accommodating thing he had ever wielded. The blade never rusted nor did it need maintenance, it could stab through a plate as easily as cheese and it was as light as a feather.

Noct had given it to him on the day he had handed him his medals. It had been one of the best days of his life, and his wife had celebrated with them both and with the men of his troop.

His mind was less chaotic and he truly had reflected on the course of action he should take. He should dig a hole, throw the sword there and keep helping Soral. He knew that as quickly as Noct had changed he could change back. He knew Noct was far from being a good man and maybe killing him would be more benevolent than him working his whole life to atone, his sins sinking him. If he helped him, the barony could very well enter a civil war, from which none would win.

But those were just excuses, he knew what he wanted. He grabbed his scabbard and he unsheathed his old blade, already carrying nicks all over its blade, putting it on the table. He picked the platinum longsword and rose it to the light of the candle he had lighted, its name coming to light. It was engraved on magic runes, and he had had to get Noct incredibly wasted to get him to tell him what it meant. It was called “Light of Hope”, and he hadn’t let Noct die it down.

But when he was on the battlefield, when death seemed all that close, that light had not been a joke, a true sliver of light that had saved him on multiple occasions. He still remembered the day Noct had forged his sword. It had been the day after his commander had betrayed him and left him to root on enemy territory. He still remembered the face Noct had when he arrived at their campament, half dead and so bathed in blood he had been completely red. His soulless look had told me a part of him had died that day. Noct had broken down one day when they had gone drinking, and had discharged that fatidic day, the bodies he had buried that day, that was no burden a man in his early twenties could carry, he had carried it nonetheless,

His sword had been forged out of obsidian, a blade that seemed to suck the light out of the very air. Incredibly simple in design, with a cross type hilt and the blade a palm and a bit longer than a normal longsword, it cooled the atmosphere of the battlefield each time it came to sight. “Void” he had called it.

Andras reclined on his chair and continued his nightdream. That sword always had given him the chills, but he hadn’t realized it was caused by the meaning of that sword. It was a sword forged in misery and rage, and only existed as a weapon. His, on the other side, had been enchanted with the hope of helping him and keeping him alive. His was a beacon of hope, Noct’s was an Abyss that reflected his owner’s.

He got up from the chair, fixed his scabbard and sheathed “Light of Hope”. He didn’t know if he was doing the right thing, the only thing he know was that the pressure he used to feel on his shoulders was lighter when he looked himself in the mirror, almost feeling a paladin in appearance,

“I should ask him for a sword for the graduation of his daughter, he sure does know how to enchant shit” Through Andras while he went to his room to hit the sack, daring to feel hopeful.

……………