Carr

Gilder and Isabella went somewhere around here… I need to find them. Princess Nevada, too. But them first.

It had started to rain at some point, and I knew not when. In our hurry, I had gotten separated from the others and I will be the first to admit my sense of direction to be somewhat lacking. Still, I had to get back to everyone quickly. The Arcship was incredibly big and despite everything I heard about it on the way here, it still felt bigger.

There had been talk of death in the Majestic Theatre, of course, when Valle of Cresna had defeated Mauro, the royal assassin, in a hotly contested duel. Yet the floating town spoke more of its own business than anything else—death mattered little to them, it seemed. More than that, expensive things were exchanged for gold and people talked about the expensive things they had acquired or sold. Weird place, this one. I better find everyone again soon.

Outdoor vendor stalls had been set up and resembled a small-town fair, but I knew this was the rich engaging in a game of dressup—each of them was rich enough to afford indoor stores, yet in this place the outdoor vendor aesthetic was rustic and peculiar to those rich enough to afford to be here. Something about this felt repugnant, but I still found myself shopping there. While in Rome. “Excuse me, how much for the necklace?”

It was a waste of gold as I saw it, but she would find it pretty, and it would make for a nice distraction from how crazy this world was, lest it overwhelm her. The salesperson and I debated the price for a little bit, but he was a rich person pretending to be a haggler—I actually knew how to haggle. At the end, it was hard not to grin when I got it for half of the original price. “Thank you for doing business,” I said.

“You as well,” he replied, also grinning. Despite the discount, he probably still made a profit. Had I actually worked for the gold in my purse, I would have felt worse about this. What a weird place. God, I have to find everyone…how did I get separated from them? I just looked away from a moment and—whatever. I just need to see where those fucks are. Maybe if I—

“SWORDSMAN OF ZERO!” thundered a familiar voice. “FIGHT ME.”

The crowd parted.

It was a controlled chaos, as though nobody dared to panic out of an animalistic fear that doing so would mean their deaths. Vendors collected their wares in a quiet hurry, well-dressed gentlemen and ladies scurried away with their heads down, and only armed guardsmen dared to approach this man. He wore no armour save for a single damaged, leather shoulder pad and his ragged, dirty cape showed signs of wear. More battered than even when we had last fought, true, but his eyes seemed the same as last time, if not more ferocious.

I stepped forward. “You here for a round two? Bring it.”

[Valder the Executioner]

[Sword]: 425

[Level]: 29

[Swordsmanship]: 571

[Sword]: 425

[HP]: 452

[Skills]

[Languages]: 311

[Stillness]: 593

[Poison]: 492

[Beasthood]: 680

[Blacksmith]: 692

[Eagle-Eye]: 890

[Restoration]: 120

[Seeking]: 420

[Blessings]

Seized Destiny

[Curses]

Bastard’s Bane

[Equipment]

Valder Longsword

[Status]

Normal

Two guardsmen ran up at him, brandishing longswords and wearing full plate armour. Valder did not divert his eyes from mine; the Executioner flicked his wrist twice and both men fell to the ground, a trail of blood arriving only a second later. Another flick of the wrist, only to shake the excess of blood off his blade, and he maintained his walk in my direction. “Give me back my sister,” said he, in a low, threatening tone.

After my bout with the Executioner I had studied up on him.

The Sun Wolf, some called him, before he earned his new title through fire and blood. He hailed from a small coastal town by the name of Portna, part of the Terra Inglesa from the Lusobritanio Empire, under direct jurisdiction of Cresna, and gained infamy as the result of one of the late Emperor’s indiscretions, being doomed to stay in the town and die in relative obscurity. A member of the House of Wolf by blood but raised in the coastal town that never saw winter, his existence invited the question: how could he live there, in an environment that should have drained him of the will to live?

Yet though kept in town by the Emperor’s will, his expertise with the blade led him to break through that steel cage. By age thirteen he became Portna’s youngest champion, and by fifteen he had seized control of the town from the City Lord, a horrifying act followed by an even worse action. Not five minutes after seating upon Portna’s throne, fifteen years old Valder sent the Emperor a letter:

INDEPENDENCE OR DEATH.

The rebellion lasted longer than anyone expected but less than the Sun Wolf would have hoped. Despite a surprising amount of victories repelling the sieging army, the Emperor had marched down and eventually captured his bastard son himself. Hereupon his death should have occurred if not for one factor: the Sun Wolf claimed the letter that started the treasonous affair to have been a lie and produced a second letter, containing nothing but measured greetings to the Emperor, implying it was switched at the last moment.

This was a farce, in all likelihood, but it was enough to claim Trial by Combat, and here he unleashed his biggest surprise upon the Empire: he had maintained a lower [Swordsmanship] than his real stats throughout the whole war of independence—or killed anyone who witnessed otherwise, anyhow—and the Emperor’s handpicked opponent turned out to be weaker than his bastard son.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

There was a general impasse there: nobility abused Trial by Combat as they wished, but hardly had anyone ever used it against the royal family. Could he be tried again? If so, was there even anyone aside from the Emperor himself who could challenge him? Estella, the World Champion, could have handled the request, but hailing from Cresna, could it be that she harboured separationist dreams? An assassination, then?

It turned out nothing of the sort was necessary. At Princess Nevada’s coming of age, the Sun Wolf pushed down the hall’s double-doors, astounding all invitees—most of all his own father—and marched all the way to the throne. There, he laid down Portna’s crown at the feet of not the Emperor, but Valente, the Lord of Cresna—Valle’s father, and said, “Forgive me, my lord. I now see where my loyalty should lie.” That he didn’t proclaim his loyalty for his father wasn’t lost on anyone, but Valente quickly remedied the situation by kneeling and saying, “And my loyalty is with the Emperor. Now and always.”

At this point, the Sun Wolf is said to have taken a deep breath, then muttered, “Then so is mine.”

From there, the process was calm, if bloody—it was decided that Valder would stay in the castle and was given the title of the Empire’s Champion, wielding his blade in its favour and winning numerous fights against traitors. Such was his ferocity in battle—and so impressive was his uncanny ability to produce better and better swords—that there were rumours he could have challenged for the World Title, had his word not bound him otherwise. Many fell to his blade, earning him the title ‘Executioner.’

Undefeated, he was…until he met me.

With a better [Sword] every time, one day he could have created one that allowed him to beat even the World Champion…but he never improved his fencing, just his numbers. There’s no way I can lose to someone like him.

“Give me back my sister,” said Valder, once more. The distance between us shortened considerably. “Where is she? I know you kidnapped her.”

“I didn’t kidnap anyone!” I shouted at him. I really hadn’t! “Don’t go blaming me for that one!”

“Where is she? Tell me!”

I opened my arms wide and gestured around, mockingly. “Do you think I’m hiding her? I don’t have your sister, you lunatic. Go after whoever actually took her. I’ll go with you—looking for them, actually.”

Valder swung his longsword and it felt as though a bomb had gone off in the building beside him. There weren’t people there, I do not think, but the ferocity of the explosion was beyond anything he had showcased during our match. Was this the result of his new [Sword] or was it the result of his fury?

It mattered not. I grinned. Time for round 2. You were my hardest fight since I came here…time to show you what I can do.

I drew my new épée at him. “I welcome your challenge, Executioner!”

“This isn’t a game, friend of Johan.”

I snapped my fingers and the [Eye] appeared above us. Good. Wouldn’t want it to miss this little display we were about to put on.

Longsword vs Smallsword, once more. Effectively, anyway.

If both our blades met, it’s not that the longsword would simply go through my épée like butter—but I would not have had many chances to approach him from a different angle. Once our blades met each other, if we locked into a “crossing” of sorts, I would have few angles of approach. Disengaging around the much larger blade would be nearly impossible once contact had already been made, while the two-handed weapon had many other options from the crossing—he could maintain the tip where it was, but move his elbows to change his leverage and drive the blade into my chest, for example.

Thus I grinned, focusing on an old favourite. This is gonna hurt.

He ran up and brought the sword down in a vertical cut—here I sidestepped, and used my free hand to grab at his blade like I had done last time. This is perfect! And delivered a thrust into his chest. This time I knew better than to be greedy. His [HP] was too big to allow for a single finish. Instead, after a single stab through his chest, I pushed his blade away and retreated to safety past him, delivering one last over-my-shoulder stab without looking forward and vaguely connecting with his back. Any damage counts.

[Valder the Executioner]

[HP]: 452 → 409

“How?” he managed to ask. “How did you…grab my blade, Swordsman of Zero?”

“Why are you so surprised? I did it last time we fenced!”

“But that’s…” Valder shook his head. “No matter. You will fall now.”

Again he charged at me, with the same stance, and again I fell back, free hand open and legs in my traditional en garde position. This time, however, when I moved to grab his blade he changed stances, rolling his shoulders and lowering his elbows so that I couldn’t grasp his longsword in time, while at the same time overextending my steps. SHIT! THIS IS BAD! I saw the Executioner’s mad grin before he connected his Longsword to my stomach—and this time, he applied his full [Swordsmanship] to it, causing a large explosion on impact and sending me flying toward a wall.

“I never imagined you’d attempt the same move again, Swordsman of Zero,” said Valder, as he sheathed his blade. “But I thought of our duel many times. What kind of man wouldn’t think of a counter to an action that bested him?”

Ah…that much was true. The reason fencing hadn’t developed in this world was that [Swordsmanship] prevented actions from being blade. It was just clashes and bright lights, over and over again. But the moment I introduced fencing to this world, I should have expected a counter. Ah…how foolish of me…this could’ve been bad.

I stood up.

“How are you alive?” Valder demanded. “This isn’t natural! This wasn’t something you could just shrug off—I landed an attack straight against your chest, with my full [Swordsmanship]! It wasn’t…it wasn’t just a small cut that barely landed like most of what I did last fight. I’m sure that hit straight on! What devilry is this? How are you not dead?”

This was insane enough I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh? You dare ask me how I’m not dead? You come from this world of magical swords, you tell me.” Still, that hurt a lot. I don’t think I can survive many more of those. I took a deep breath and fell into my en garde stance once more. “I’m impressed you improved yourself. Well done. But now, I’ll show you what I can really do.”

Sometimes, in fencing, you had to watch for your condition. It sounds absurd to people who aren’t competitive athletes, but some days in a competition you are fencing your practice moves and you realize: Ah, my parry quatre isn’t doing great today. Worse than usual. My parry sixte is amazing today though. Why is that? A multitude of reasons, really. Sometimes your body just hesitates less with certain motions—for some reason, it makes you feel less nervous, more relaxed. Sometimes some muscles aren’t as sore as others that day. Whatever the case, fact is sometimes you feel very confident in certain actions and not as much in others.

Lately I hadn’t really felt confident in my footwork. I should say, it was still stellar—arguably better than ever—but certain motions like bouncing into a flèche seemed beyond me for whatever reason. Still, that brief exchange confirmed one thing: my parries were better than ever. Bring it.

Valder launched himself at me one more time. Yeah. No wonder you’re confident. If parries were what I felt the strongest at doing that day, I would have had no chance—my small épée versus his longsword? Why, I would have been blown away. Watch me now. Two can play the game you played against the Emperor.

His blade came down in my high, inside line.

QUATRE PARRY!

I pushed his blade sideways, with the bottom half of my blade pushing the medium-to-bottom half of his blade, while my tip remained pointed at his chest, wrist supinated. Then, I riposted straight at his heart.

[Valder the Executioner]

[HP]: 409 → 368

He stumbled backwards. Was it enough? No, of course not. This monster is going to keep coming at me. I know better. I readied my blade, expecting a different attack—it was a thrust, aimed at my high, outside line.

SIXTE PARRY!

I circled his blade, gently pushing it out of the way, and riposted at his neck. He stepped backwards and I grinned as I drove my blade further into his body.

[Valder the Executioner]

[HP]: 368 → 311

This time there was no pause, I could hardly retreat and recover my blade before he came after me, this time trying to surprise me by attacking my lack—cut or thrust, I could not tell which, but he extended his blade enough for me to work my magic regardless. It was a low, outside line, regardless, and this meant only one possible response.

OCTAVE PARRY!

My blade circled low and to the outside, my wrist supinated, and I forced his blade down before driving my steel through his leg.

[Valder the Executioner]

[HP]: 311 → 267

Ah…this feels good…

I was never a fan of parries for the most part. I liked to bind blades, sure, in an offensive action. But parrying and standing my ground never gave me the rush that my offensive moves did. But right now, they felt damn good.

“You…” Valder abandoned his attacks and held his sword at me from a distance, taking numerous steps back. A calculated beast. One that does not move by instinct alone…that’s why he’s so troublesome. “You…Swordsman of Zero?”

“That’s my title,” I told him. “Don’t wear it out.”

“It’s not,” said Valder quietly. He looked at me most curiously and I grinned. “You…you used [Swordsmanship] in that last exchange. You used [HP] to survive my direct attack from earlier. You’re not Carr, the Swordsman of Zero, friend of Johan, the treasonous viper. WHO ARE YOU?”

The hell is he talking about? “I am Carr!” I roared back. “And don’t you dare talk shit about my captain!”