First Ring, Red Sun Faction Territory. 423rd year since humanity’s arrival.
Ryu’s sword swished through the air in lazy, curving swipes. “Apologize and beg for the Lord’s Mercy, and I’ll stop,” he said dryly. Even to himself, he didn’t sound very convincing, but that was fine. He was going to win.
“As if I’d ever bloody beg,” his opponent sneered, pawing at the nasty cut on his shoulder with his free hand. Goro was only the third son of Lord Hist, but he was the first in arrogance, Ryu’d give him that. Not that it mattered. Ryu always won.
Ryu bit at the inside of his lip, nodding his head for a moment. “So be it, then.”
His steel flashed in a sharp move, batting Goro’s blade down. Then his boot landed on the blade, and his opponent’s wrist twisted, his blade pinned to the ground. Ryu leaned forward in the space between them, lean body like that of a hungry wolf. The crowd cheered around them.
“Beg.” Ryu hit his opponent with a crisp left hand. Goro stumbled away, his sword forgotten on the ground. The third son might have been an expert in the arrogant sneer of a noble, but it had to be said that it seemed to be his only area of expertise.
Ryu bent down, picking up his opponent’s sword in his left hand with a twirl. The crowd’s cheer became a roar. Duels were the favored form of entertainment for the houses of the Red Sun Faction, and Ryu knew how he must have looked at that moment. The most popular heir of House Ishida’s main family with a sword in each hand and a smile on his face. With his opponent now stumbling, Ryu casted a look to the stands at the top of the fighting pit, searching. There. His uncle, the lord of House Ishida, sat with the stoic calm of a statue, and at his left, Ryu’s father sat, his normally cheerful face marked with a distinct frown.
His heart dropped. Right. Playing with an opponent wasn’t honorable, and a Sword had to be better than that. It was just that… he liked winning like this. He liked the show and the pursuit. He liked the roar of the crowd, the warm feeling of being the winner. It made him feel heroic and strong.
He clenched his teeth, watching his opponent hold a bleeding nose with a cupped hand. He guessed there wasn’t much fun left to be had with this one anyways. He tossed the sword to the ground, and it bounced to Goro’s feet. The thin boy stepped away from it like it was a snake.
“Where’s that sneer now?” is what Ryu wanted to ask. What he said instead was, “Pick it up. Let’s finish strong, yes?” Funny how the victor was supposed to be the kind one. Did he not earn the right to be a little rude by winning?
His opponent picked the sword up after a moment of consideration, but Ryu could see the fight had drained out of him. It was in the weak way he grasped the hilt of the sword. It was in the defeated slump of his shoulders and the way he winced at the hint of movement. Finishing it now would be a mercy.
His sword struck. Once, twice, and then a third time, all in the span of a few moments. Each cut was met with the satisfying clash of metal as Goro managed to deflect each blow… Until he didn’t. Ryu’s arm twitched to go low. Goro’s blade dropped to defend. With a quick switch to his opposite hand, Ryu’s sword changed trajectory, swinging high. Still, the boy could have defended. Probably. But for some odd reason, he didn’t. Maybe it was a death wish. Maybe it was a lack of skill. Ryu suspected it was neither. The most likely culprit, he reckoned, was honor, the all important thing that nobody could really describe.
Ryu’s sword chopped into Goro’s neck, turning what was once a boy into a dead hunk of meat. Well, a soon to be dead hunk of meat. A Red Sun house wouldn’t pay for a loser to be healed, after all. That was honor.
Ryu performed a deep bow before turning to exit the fighting grounds. Behind him, the crowd was silent. Anger bubbled in his gut.
---
“What you did was wrong.” His father’s voice was soft, but it struck harder than any blow he’d received in a duel.
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They rode down a well-worn stone road, the clip-clop of his horse’s hooves a monotonous background to his father’s lecture. In front of them, his uncle’s procession rode in a multitude of rolling carriages. There were faster ways of travelling, of course. Certain Classer’s Skills, the devices of the Enchanter’s Guild, and summoned beasts were all faster. Hells, even many of the procession’s own cultivated steps would be quicker. Horses, however, were the only choice for a proper man of the Red Sun Faction.
“I know, father,” Ryu said, looking down at the pristine leather of his saddle.
“It will not happen again.”
“Father, I was not the one who failed to defend-”
“Enough,” Jinn said, his soft voice rising to a roar. “A killing blow in a duel? Showboating? Have I led you so far astray?”
“Of course not, father. The fault was all mine. I apologize,” Ryu said, his cheeks burning. He wanted to make his father proud. To be a hero. And he always failed.
His father’s horse rode closer. A rough, calloused hand grabbed Ryu’s. “I love you, my son. Of all the things in the world, it is you I am the most proud of. That’s why it hurts me to see you give into this… this unnecessary violence. Our world is already too full of it. What we need- what this world needs- is for someone to fight for peace, not more war. I only hope you can do what I’ve failed to.”
Ryu forced words past the lump in his throat. “I love you too, father.”
Jinn smiled. “Quit with this father mess, eh?” he said, ruffling Ryu’s dark hair. “If you keep on, I’m going to go gray.”
“I suppose father is a bit too respectful for you, now that I think about it,” Ryu said, stroking his chin in mock-thought.
“Awful big talk for someone who is about to lose a race.”
“What?” Ryu asked, but his father was already gone, his horse galloping ahead. Ryu shook his head. He started his chase.
---
If Jinn Ishida was a bear of a man, his brother, the lord of House Ishida, was a tiger. Perhaps not as big or broadly muscled, but still a lot more dangerous than your average person. The difference between the two brothers was more than their physique, however. Ryu’s father was a jovial man, hard to anger and quick to let things go. His brother Haru, on the other hand, was decidedly less so. In fact, the one thing the man could be commended on was his ability to hold a grudge.
“You did good, boy,” his father’s elder brother said, one leg lazily thrown over his grand throne. A naked sword lay crossed over his lap, its pale length marred by a long, single scar. His finger tapped its pommel idly.
“Thank you, milord.” Ryu bowed. His robes of dark blue and silver were a mixture of antiquity and modern style, and it split near his midsection to reveal the dark pants he wore beneath. His uncle, however, showed little care for tradition. His muscular form was covered only by a long-sleeved black shirt and tan pants. The man didn’t even wear shoes. It was dishonorable. It was-
No. If honor existed to Haru Ishida, it was found only on the battlefield. For all else, he cared little, and because of his formidable strength, the rest of the house was willing to overlook it. In this, too, he was the opposite of his brother.
“Jinn tells me you wish to be the new Sword of the house,” his uncle said in his lazy, disinterested tone. Although they stood in the vast throne room, he never raised his voice. Ryu wasn’t even sure if the man could yell, if he was honest. Haru Ishida never did anything with urgency or alarm. Except fight.
“Yes, milord. I do.” The Sword- along with the positions of lord and elder council- was the backbone of any Red Sun house. House Ishida had been without one for twenty years. With Haru, they didn’t really need one.
“Hmmm,” Haru said, his finger now tracing the scar along his sword. “I did happen to like your duel yesterday. Very one-sided. Very… violent.” He said the last word with a lazy smile, although his eyes seemed to brighten.
Ryu bowed once more. “Thank you, milord.”
“You have no Class, correct?”
“No, milord.”
The man hummed once more. “I see, I see. Jinn is a clever man, indeed. What a lucky brother I am,” he said, laughing at a joke only he understood. “Do you know much of the Sword position, little Ryu?”
“Only that they defend the honor of the House. That they fight for it.”
“Yes, I suppose that’s one way of putting it. Did you know that they can only be chosen from the Classless? The Sword is supposed to be like a raw ingot of the finest steel. Good potential, but… formless. He must be forged. Put into the fire, hammered, and quenched until he resembles what the House needs. And while you are correct about the duties of a Sword, you failed to remember the most important one. Care to guess what that is?” Haru asked, tilting his head to one side.
“I’m afraid I don’t know, milord,” Ryu said. His heart pounded in his chest.
Haru pouted, his black hair hanging around his sharp features. “Well, I suppose that’s not totally surprising. I guess I must explain. The three powers of the house- the lord, the elder council, and the Sword- all exist in a sort of balance. The lord can overrule the council, the council can order the Sword, and the Sword,” he said, smiling, “can kill the lord, in the event he starts to abuse his power or dishonors the family. You see, I was once the Sword candidate. Until… well, you know.”
Ryu did know. Twenty years ago, Haru had killed the lord at that time. His father. Ryu’s grandfather. “That was most… informative. Thank you, milord.”
Haru waved him away with a giggle. “Tell Jinn I’ll grant this request, but it will be under my terms.”