Von

Von used to think that swordsmen fought like in the stories he heard as a kid. The stronger one would always beat the weaker one, and their legendary moves practiced beneath the stars would be be impossible to defend against. In his mind, their moves were like dragonfire, divine and powerful beyond imagination.

It was the realm of moves that existed beyond someone like him.

I have to win even if it kills me.

Everyone watching this duel expected much of his sword. Rumors of his ailing health had spread but his legend far superseded it. Stormhelm was an insignificant territory in the Six Principalities and only the emergence of the greatest human swordsman had kept it relevant. Now, this injured swordsman returned for one more duel.

His hair was shorter, his smile less arrogant, his posture less confident—and his skill was entirely gone. But he still intended to leave this day as the winner.

“Have you recalled anything?” Talla whispered. There was something hesitant about her look. “Or did you just come here without a plan?”

“No to the former.” Von spoke without turning around and maintained his gaze on his own sword to soothe his nerves. “But also no to the latter, my fair lady.”

“Talla.”

“Pardon?”

She smiled. “If you offer me guestright then it is only proper you address me by my name.”

He smiled back at her and stepped forward toward the duelling area. Snow had been cleared in the town square and a rectangular area had been roped off to prevent the crowd from interfering. The ground is firm…there’s some ice left, I might slip. Better be careful. But focusing on the arena did little to help him steady his nerves.

Once upon a time Von of Redgrave had been the greatest human swordsman alive. Right now, however…he had no recollection of ever even dueling in front of other people. Even just standing near so many people made him feel anxious. His sweat turned colder than the air and his stomach suddenly felt emptier than usual. I want to throw up. Shit. Power through it. I have to—I know better.

Master Cycle had warned him about this.

“Listen, kid…you are going to be nervous at the time.”

Von turned around defensively. “There is no chance of that coming to pass. I will uphold my noble house’s honor. A real man must not—“

“A real man is human, dumbass.” Master Cycle tapped on his head affectionally with the blunt side of his sword. “I know, I know. You were raised to think that even considering the possibility of having feelings is a sign of weakness. A real badass is supposed to walk up there and not feel a damn thing, eh? Just be a mindless machine that destroys anything they see.”

“Well…yes. That’s what—that’s what a strong swordsman is, right?”

Master Cycle tapped on Von’s head again. He flashed him a smile that betrayed a strange feeling. Something between affection and harshness. “People who think that it’s even remotely possible not to let your feelings affect you in a fight…are fucking weak idiots that have never actually been in the arena themselves. They have never been in a fight. If you care about something, if you know how fast it can end from a single mistake, you’re going to get a little nervous no matter how much better you are than your opponent. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that your humanity is a weakness.”

“Then, well…what can I do?” Von asked, taking a step forward. “When my nerves get to me? It’s going to be my first duel, if I can’t convince myself I won’t be nervous, then…”

His master laughed. “Humans have been competing for hundreds of years, across thousands of worlds and a hundred different realities. We have our ways to handle pressure.”

“What ways?” Von asked. Then, after a pause, “What do you mean across worlds and realities?”

“Philosophy or the art of fencing—pick one and I’ll teach you. Which one do you care the most about, kid?”

Von started practicing his footwork. There is something almost magical about repeating a physical action almost like a ritual. You can’t kill fear, but you can banish it. You can make yourself focus on this action that you are sure to complete instead of the upcoming fight, and then slowly shift your mindset towards the match itself. Focus on my footwork. Just do a few exercises. Repetition breeds habit.

“My state of mind is temporary, but my habits are constant,” Von muttered to himself. “Focus.”

Ardente stepped forward, his blade carelessly slung over his shoulder and his head tilted to the side. He was taller than Von, albeit not by much. “I can’t believe you’re really defending the elf,” he laughed. “Fucking Corpse Lover. I cannot believe you would sink as low as to defend those sick creatures, my lord.” Ardente shook his head, his grin still across his face. “Ah well, I suppose I ought to thank the Tree-Corpse over there for giving me the chance to prove to everyone that I’m the better swordsman.”

Von said nothing for a while and drew a deep breath. It’s true that he might be the better swordsman…I don’t have my memories. I only have about there days of practice in my mind right now. Still…this isn’t about who’s the better swordsman.

It’s about who’s going to win.

“What are the terms of your satisfaction?” Von asked. He raised his chin and stared down at his opponent. He was not unafraid, but he refused to let his fear show on his face. “Make your terms clear and let’s get on with it.”

“Until one side surrenders or can no longer continue.” Ardente looked over Von’s shoulder at Talla, who stood with her arms across leaning against a set of crates. “When this is gone she shall be banished from the village and no elf should be allowed in our city anymore.”

Von drew a deep breath. Stay calm. You have a duty as the Lord of Redgrave. Do not let your heart touch thy tongue. “A loss will have Talle banished,” he agreed. “But banishing of further elves will not be included in this deal.” I cannot risk so much over a damned duel.

Hushed whispers passed through the crowd. While the people of Stormhelm were hardly unwelcoming it would be false to claim that they celebrated their arrival. It would go against the Winterpeople’s disposition to lack hospitality, yet some might discreetly smile at the chance not to feel forced to show it to certain people. This was hardly a popular move, though it was noble enough that not many would complain about it aloud.

“Oh, but why not, my lord?” Ardente took one large, sudden step forward and caused Von to stumble backward. “You would never lose to a mere peasant, surely, greatest swordsman.”

“It is not a matter of likelihood, Ardente. One does not decide on the ruling of their domain based on wagers. Such notions of responsibility elude you, I understand. I hear your father was complaining you never show up at the bakery to help—?”

Some chuckles went through the crowd and Ardente’s grin faded. “Let us duel, my lord.”

“Let us.” I am the weaker fencer between us two right now. There is no doubt of that. But...somehow, that thought doesn’t bother me right now.

Many concerns that had plagued Von’s mind the night before were not present in his mind right now. He was not worried that his ridiculous, beginner-like fencing was going to shame those watching the duel anymore. He was not worried about shaming his noble house. He was not worried about disappointing Talla. Right now, he was just worried about one thing. I don’t want to lose to that guy.

The two swordsmen stood a few few across each other and pointed both blades upward, elbow angled downward. They both brought their blades downward diagonally against empty air in a salute, then fell into fencing stances. “Begin,” they both said.

Fencing stances were difficult things to master. You needed to draw your feet apart from each other in an unnatural way, with your front foot pointed at your opponent and your backfoot pointed sideways so that both your feet stood in an L-formation. Moving forward meant lifting your front foot off the ground, stretching it forward, then, upon landing, bringing your back foot forward. It was an unnatural motion but it allowed you to move without losing your balance. Mastering it was extremely difficult, and most swordsmen were somewhat slow in their steps.

Movement was Von’s strategy.

Ardente came forward with two steps that appeared somewhat refined, if wild, then swung his sword in a cutting motion, the slash coming diagonal and downward.

He’s stronger than me. I don’t think I have the technique to parry that, Von thought. Then—

He stepped backward, and the cutting attack missed him entirely. Ardente’s shocked face was plain to see even during that fast movement—he had expected Von to use of his famous parries. And that was exactly why the plan had been to not even attempt one.

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“Listen here,” Master Cycle said, “you are known far and wide for your parries. Your counterattacks against pretty much any thrusting move are what made you one of the greatest swordsmen in the Six Principalities. Everyone knows about that, even people who haven’t seen you fight. This is going to include your opponent.”

“Then…we should work on parries, right?” Von asked hesitantly. “I have to get better at them, and we barely have any time until the duel.”

Master Cycle shook his head. “No. Three days is barely time to even teach you how to parry, let alone teach you how to parry well. Listen! You often hear about swordsmen in stories being invincible creatures who never lose to anyone who is weaker than them, eh? Well, real fighting isn’t like that. Real fighting is about probabilities. You pick out the moves that have the best percentage change of winning and smallest chance of being punished. Right now, there is no way to get your parries to a point where they will be a high percentage move for you. That’s all there is to it.”

“But—if I can’t parry, what the hell can I do? Are you sure I can’t…even a little?”

His master shook his head. “Not even once. Listen, kid. Parries are extremely difficult to execute properly. Not only that, but if your opponent knows who you are they are probably going to try using cutting attacks—you were known for parrying thrusts, not cuts. Everyone has their specialty.”

Realization dawned on Von. “If I didn’t use to parry cuts…there is something else I could do against them, right? Something easier?”

“Now you are getting it,” Master Cycle replied. “Listen, against an opponent like that…considering your experience level of just a few days…what you want to use isn’t your steel. It’s your legs.”

Von took one more step backward and dodged another cutting attack meant for his chest. He was still a beginner and even his muscle memory from before the accident hadn’t fully returned to him—but he had trained hard those last few days to get the basics down and the slippery ground meant his opponent couldn’t move as fast as he wanted.

On top of that, even though he had no muscle memory, Von was astounded to see just how much his body could do. In the past he remembered being out of breath just from walking downstairs in Stormkeep. Yet now he could run and feel fine. No…he frankly felt better than fine. What is this feeling?

“Stop fucking running, coward!” Ardente shouted. He breathed heavily, then shook his head and asked, in a pompous tone, “Hast thou no honor?”

Von refused to reply, but Talla had no issue shouting back, “Hast thou no skill?”

The crowd appeared to enjoy this. They were not huge fans of elves, but to say that they were fans of Ardente would be to spread a mistruth. Von took note of Ardente’s annoyed expression and made note of his position. I can take about two steps back before I reach the end of the arena, he thought, tightening his grip around his sword. That’s why this can’t go on forever.

Ardente appeared to come to the same conclusion for he advanced and attempted at a slashing motion one more time. Von took another step backward. Back is almost against the wall. Therefore—!

It lacked beauty.

It lacked grace.

It did not lack blood.

Von lunged for the first time in the match and drew blood from Ardente’s shoulder. Good. That’s the first step. It was a slow attack. Lunges are done by straightening your bent knee in your back leg to shoot your entire body forward while your sword hand is extended. Actually hitting a small target with this move is deceptively difficult, as the tip of your sword moves during the motion. Thus Von settled on Ardente’s chest, and was happy when the move missed and grazed his shoulder. It was enough to make his opponent take a few step backwards in a panic.

And here Von advanced a few steps forward as well. He had no intention of giving chase. That would have been too risky. But while Ardente built distance between them, Von could use it to distance himself from the end of the arena, meaning he now had more space to retreat if need be. Build distance…make sure you have space to retreat when he tries to use a slashing attack.

“Is this all you got, my lord?” he cried. “I barely felt that! Do you mean to repeat this all day?”

“Repeat this all day, eh…” Von replied solemnly. “I suppose…it just might come to that.”

“Are you mocking me?” Ardente shot back, breathing heavily.

There it is, Von noticed. He’s getting tired.

That was a strategy he had worked out with Master Cycle. Ardente was famous in the city because of his Heartbeat, not because he was particularly well-trained. He was strong and powerful, certainly, but had anyone ever tested him over the course of a long match?

“Keep your sword arm extended, but away from your chest. This will invite your chest as a target, but it will make him unlikely to just recover from his missed attack and try to attack again—and if he does, you just stab him right there since he’ll be vulnerable.”

It was true that by focusing on dodging Ardente’s attacks he wasn’t accomplishing much. But that was all he could do with his small amount of experience. And that was just fine. It was enough.

Attempting to block or parry Ardente’s attacks had a near 0% chance of succeeding.

Attempting to attack Ardente as he attacked Von also had a near 0% chance of succeeding.

Dodging his moves with footwork had a nearly 95% chance of working, though it only gave him about 20% chance of actually finding a chance of hitting his opponent back. All those estimates were rough and likely not entirely correct—but they gave him the frame of mind to think of how to approach the problem the right way.

But that’s fine. So long as I keep dodging, I will have access to that 20% chance over and over again, until probabilities work out in my favor. That was how Von had managed that last attack. Though he had dodged the move twice before, it was only in the third attempt that he found a chance to strike back.

And that wasn’t all.

Stamina was important to consider here too.

He’s getting tired. This will increase my chances of dodging his attacks without being hit and also increase my chances of finding an opening for a counterattack. Cutting attacks, especially done by an untrained individual, tended to leave their user exposed to a quick thrust to the sword arm or even the chest. They used up your stamina a lot as well, as recovering from the attack meant lifting the blade upward again.

Another dodge—and another strike. It was getting easier now. I…I can do this.

“You often hear about swordsmen in stories being invincible creatures who never lose to anyone who is weaker than them, eh?” Master Cycle’s words echoed in his mind. “Well, real fighting isn’t like that. Real fighting is about possibilities. You pick out the moves that have the best percentage change of winning and least percentage chance of being punished. “

“Swordfighting…is strategy,” Von muttered, smiling. “You strengthen your body so that it can become a stronger piece in your board.” My opponent’s stamina. How likely I am to avoid being hurt while also hurting them. Choosing the right moves at the right time. This is how it’s done. This is Master Cycle’s—this is my fencing!

Probabilities are cruel and misleading, however.

Von was not incorrect in assuming that he had a nearly 95% chance of escaping his opponent’s attacks, if not more. But after nearly ten strikes…it wasn’t entirely surprising that one of them landed. Ardente’s cutting motion finally made contact with Von’s chest at the same time as Von hit him, drawing more blood out of him in one move than Von had drawn in three separate thrusts. He grinned wildly, the crowd gasped and Von put up his sword arm to retreat.

It hurts…it hurts so much!

Pain is hard to control, especially if you are not used to it. For someone like Von who only remembered spending days alone in his room, even mild discomfort from exercise was nearly too much, and bleeding from an open wound was an agony he could not bear. I want to go home. I want to quit. I did well enough, it’s fine if—

His eyes met Talla’s for just a moment and he was ashamed to see that she was smiling. She is not worried about this at all.

Von always thought of himself as a coward and that moment did not change his self-perception. It was simply that his decision changed. At first, he wanted to run away because the pain was too much for him to bear. But then, upon seeing Talla’s confident gaze, he decided to stay—because her disappointed eyes would have killed him. He had yet to realize that bravery merely meant to run away from failure.

“You better give up now, my lord,” Ardente mocked. “I will tell you this—four more hits and you are dead. There will be no recovering your ashes afterward. Allow me to demonstrate…the power of my Flaming Heartbeat!”

Ardente flicked his wrist and his sword thundered red. The mighty tree overlooking the town square was suddenly lit aflame. There was no precursor to those blue flames. It was as if they had always existed there, as if that infernal heat had always been present. A blazing hellscape spawned by a Heartbeat.

Then, five seconds later, as soon as it had appeared, it was gone—as if the flame had never been there at all…except for the horrifying signs of fire left on the Wintertree.

“I cut it before our duel,” Ardente declared proudly. “Figured you would appreciate the show, my lord.”

Ardente was among the very few humans born with a Heartbeat, and he was given a mighty strong one at that. His ability to set fire to that which his sword had cut was impressive, and it would certainly give him an important post somewhere in the Six Kingdoms one day. A man with that ability was not meant to rot in a city like this, they liked to say.

“Four more?” Von muttered. “So you tuned it to five hits. That’s fine.”

Master Cycle was gesturing at him with his blade. “Listen up, Von. The most important thing to remember about this plan is how Heartbeats work. How you tune your Heartbeat is key to its success.”

“What do you mean? Isn’t making your Heartbeat as strong as possible the best plan?”

He shook his head. “No, Von. Strength isn’t necessarily the best way to win.”

“I…I think so.”

“Think of it this way. Your Trigger is linked to your ability’s duration in Seconds. If you tune your Heartbeat to lasting seven seconds, you will need seven strikes against your living target before it can trigger.”

An idea suddenly came over Von but he didn’t want to say it aloud. It felt foolish to even offer an idea when speaking to someone as skilled as his master. Surely, if he hadn’t suggested it himself, there was a reason for it, no?

“Speak, boy,” Master Cycle said. “You look like you want to say something.”

“Just…well…if my strategy for the duel is to tire him out so I can have a higher chance of landing more shots…” He hesitated. “Then with my specific Heartbeat, what about setting it to just one hit? Making it as low as possible?”

“Oh?” His master grinned and walked up to him, placing a kind hand on his shoulder. “Von…would you believe me if I said that this is the second time you asked me that?”

“When…when was the first?”

“Just before you became one of the greatest swordsmen in the world.”

Von stood up. His wound hurt but it wouldn’t matter for long. This only encouraged him to finish this faster. “This hurts so much it almost feels like a dream,” he muttered. It wasn’t a deep wound, but he was unused to pain. “Let’s finish this.”

“Just a few more hits and you’ll be reduced to ashes, my lord!” Ardente cried out. “Surrender now and kick the elf out of this village!”

A new feeling overcame Von.

At first, a burning feeling on his chest told him that he did not want to lose to Ardente. Now, a new feeling just as intense had made its home inside his chest. Every mocking laugh, every careless insult toward Talla was a new branch tossed into that fire, until it revolted inside his chest and melted into a new, single-minded thought that took over him: I want to win.

And then, this burning anger too was replaced, this time by a cold, freezing feeling. “A few more hits?” Von muttered. “You won’t get a single more hit. I have already hit you three times. I will show you now, Ardente—the House of Redgrave’s Winter Heartbeat!”

Von flicked his wrist.

End of Chapter 4,

"Swordfighting…is strategy."