The Referee

“You lost to my fake,” said the False Carr. His voice was low, but his anger was palpable. “Why?”

Max ignored him and went to the corner where he had placed his bag, absently searching for a moment or two before withdrawing a bottle of water and smiling at his finding. “I’M SPEAKING TO YOU!” the False Carr started. “What the hell was that? You didn’t do anything you were supposed to! C’mon man, I know you’ve always been a shallow target kinda guy, but you also do counters to the shoulder and armpit area sometimes. You could’ve done so much more damage! What, didn’t go too hard on purpose?”

This still didn’t cause Max to turn around. It did, however, cause him to sigh and say, “Who are you fooling?”

The False Carr hesitated. “Really not following you here man.”

“No, really.” Now, when Max did turn around, his eyes were sharp and his eyebrows raised. “You have to at least be suspecting it, right?”

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” The False Carr stepped closer to him and stared him in the eye. “Dude, if you want to talk shit then actually talk shit, don’t just vague-tweet out loud. C’mon, the fuck is the matter with you? You’re acting weird!”

He seems like Carr at a glance, and even acts like him…but it’s not the same, Max mused. It’s like watching a mechanical watch and a quartz replica. They might look identical, and what they do might be similar enough, but they function completely differently. This guy has got the personality down, but not the motivations. His rants are convincing, though hardly prompted. I suppose this is what Johan thinks Carr should be like. “I guess I’m more of a mechanical guy than a quartz guy in the end,” I muttered.

“Okay, Max, seriously not following you.”

“I was really in love with quartz watches when I came to your world, you know?”

The False Carr blinked a few times in rapid succession, as if the effort would will him into understanding the confusing words. “Dude, let’s be clear here, I’m from my world and I don’t know shit about what you just said. People into watches are in their own fucking world, you know? Like I’m a ‘just use your goddamn phone’ kinda guy.”

“Quartz watches basically use batteries to function—mechanical use hand wound motions—well, some are automatic but same principle—to function. This world hasn’t really gotten around to creating quartz watches yet, you know? So I was drawn to them due to the novelty. But something about the handmade watch movements really gets to me. Quartz is nice, and a lot cheaper, because they can be mostly mass produced. I say mostly because sometimes you get quartz watches that are hand-crafted as well. But a good watch movement is just art you know?”

The False Carr was silent for a moment, then drew a heavy breath and said, “I forget you’re a rich kid sometimes, mister nobleman. Look, I just don’t get any of that shit. If a watch tells time, it’s good enough for me. I don’t care if it’s mass produced or artsy or whatever. It’s just the function that matters. Besides, aren’t those expensive watches more likely to fuck up the time than the mass produced shit?”

“Ah, yeah, I get that too, nothing wrong with that approach.” Max looked away from the False Carr’s eyes. “And you’re right. Quartz, the ‘copy’ is actually more accurate than the handmade things. One of the benefits of being so artificial is that it can escape a lot of pesky things that come with being natural. It’s just, well, when it comes down to it…” Max lowered his voice, then finished by saying, “I still prefer the handmade original. Ah, it has its issues…but it has its history too. I’m just the kind of guy who prefers mechanical watches, you know? Even if you can get a quartz equivalent for a fraction of the cost.”

“What are you—”

“You should get going,” Max cut him off. “Your match is starting soon. Get on the piste, captain. Can’t disappoint Johan, right?”

To say that the False Carr was hesitant would’ve been underselling the matter, but he nodded and walked onto the piste nonetheless.

On the other side, the conversation had a different tone entirely.

“Sorry to take this fight from you, Valle,” Isabella said as she warmed up. “But I really have to take this one. You know why.”

Valle looked at the piste and nodded solemnly. “I have a pretty good guess.” He considered the thought for a moment. “I have healed up enough, you are aware, yes? Are you certain you wish to fence him yourself?”

“I thought you knew why I wanted to fence him.”

“That is exactly why I’m asking you that.”

A breeze stirred in the arena, gently bouncing off the water surrounding the piste and swirling around them all, a sort of chill that went down and up your spine in turns. A drop of rain fell, and then another. The sky had turned grey, but the sun was not yet fully blocked. “I’m certain,” Isabella said, in a low voice. “I—I have to do this.”

“TO 30

SCORE STARTS AT 25—24

Isabella the Queen of All Devils vs Carr the Champion of Earth

BLOOD RUNS DEEP

SHOW THE EDGE OF YOUR CONVICTION

SIXTH BOUT

ALLEZ!”

Isabella withdrew the Devil’s Sword and the False Carr withdrew his Legendary Sword, Way to Twilight. Both stared each other down for a moment, knowing they would have to make a decision soon. There was an issue in this matchup and both knew it—how would their blades interact?

The Devil’s Sword could cut through anything, of course, but Way to Twilight was a weapon of legendary capabilities, most of which unknown. Did it have a special effect of some sort? Isabella did not know. And the False Carr himself wasn’t certain how his sword would interact with a sword like that. This dilemma was something that the two had considered more than a few times, but neither had come to a conclusion on how to approach it.

Yet here they stood, and they had to make a choice.

There was no right answer. No way to know for sure how their swords would interact. Any move here was essentially a gamble. There was even an argument to be said about both fencers agreeing to wait out the clock—no passivity rules!—and refuse to engage each other at all. Naturally, neither side would settle for this. And the first one to make a move…

…was Isabella.

Indecision plagued her once. But now, the chorus of voices in her head prompted action when she felt paralyzed. And here one screamed ATTACK!

Isabella moved forward, with her en garde in the four position, her blade aimed at the inside of the False Carr’s arm. Her angle of approach was too sharp, and normally would have been easily parried away. Here, however, her blade changed matters. Let’s see…do you have the guts to try to parry it and see what goes wrong?

His response was to avoid blade contact entirely. Stepping away, the False Carr angled his blade to catch the side of her arm. Both hit the other and leaped back to safety—a shallow wound for each the only consequence of that attack.

The New Bladewolves:

Isabella the Queen of All Devils — 1 (26)

The Real Bladewolves:

Carr the Champion of Earth — 1 (25)

“Running away?” Isabella asked, her grin growing wider. “Keep running and I’ll cut off your entire arm next time!”

“Same to you, insane woman,” the False Carr replied. We can’t go for double hits all the time. I might have better footwork, but I can’t take the risk she gets a lucky hit in. Even a cutting attack like this is goddamn sabre would be enough to leave some long lasting injuries here…guess I can’t get away with just using absence of blade the entire time, can I? Even absence of blade required some bladework now and then, not to mention how even a world class fencer would have accidentally touches of the blade here. I have to go for it.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

They rushed at each other, both switching between the four and six lines—inside and outside. This way, while both their swords were spinning clockwise and counterclockwise seemingly at random, they would have to clash blades at some point. Had either of them been keen on avoiding the clash at this point, they had many different options available to them. But they both had been keen on finding out exactly what would happen when their blades clashed. And so, they advanced at each other.

It wasn’t much at all.

Their blades should have barely touched, it should have been a light brush at most.

Yet, when they made contact, both blades came to a sudden halt with all momentum drained. Both fencers stopped at this, pure surprise freezing them. Are both blades still fine? the False Carr thought. If I move away, will they explode or—

Isabella did not wait to see what had happened to the blades. The complete halt in momentum had stopped their attacks, but she was the fastest in starting her next move, and delivered a light thrust to the False Carr’s shoulder, who quickly retreated to safety after the strike, cursing under his breath all the while. The wound had not been too deep, but it had been deeper than the last—perhaps an inch into his shoulder. And even this was too much. Shit! This feels like—it’s like a part of my flesh was erased from existence!

The New Bladewolves:

Isabella the Queen of All Devils — 2 (27)

The Real Bladewolves:

Carr the Champion of Earth — 1 (25)

The False Carr considered his options. If our blades touch at all, there’s a complete stop in momentum. It’s like even my legs stop moving for some reason. It’s absolutely bullshit…and if we stop in infighting range, her bullshit sword is a problem. So I can’t let our blades make any sort of contact. Stats were out of the question—while the super-speed would have been advantageous, it’s not like his reflexes scaled with his speed at a perfectly even rate. The higher his speed, the more likely that Isabella would be able to accidentally touch him with the sword. To crush a weaker fencer, you don’t increase your pace. You slow it down, he thought.

It’s a common idea, to think that when going up against a weaker fencer you should increase your speed and attempt to dazzle them with your advanced techniques, to establish your dominance. But this wasn’t the case. The easiest way to crush a weaker fencer is to slow down the pace of the match, to increase the number of exchanges. The reason behind this is simple—good fencing is high percentage fencing, yes? This is an idea we have discussed time and time again.

But what does that mean exactly?

Let’s explore that idea for a moment. Any fencing action has a few different outcomes—but, for this theorem, let us split the possibilities into five. The action may score a point, it may put you in position to score a point, it may result in neutral advantage to both parties, it may put you in a disadvantageous position or it may cost you a point. Let’s assign a percentage probability to each of those, yes? Most attacks do not end with scoring a point either way, so winning and losing a point are at opposite ends of the scale. In fact, most fencing actions instead lead to advantage being gained by either fencer when they are completed—and whether the advantage belongs to the person who executed the action or the one who deflected it depends on circumstances at the time.

An expert fencer will make it so that his executed actions, even if they don’t score points, even if they don’t give them much advantage, will not take them out of “neutral” advantage too much. It takes impressive skill to make it so that your actions are safe like that, but over the course of many exchanges even a master fencer will make a mistake—such is the law of probabilities. A weaker fencer, however, will make mistakes in fewer exchanges.

It is not that the weaker fencer cannot perform the right action to make themselves unapproachable by an attacking opponent, it simply is that they cannot maintain that level over the course of many exchanges. A cheap product that breaks upon a few uses against an expensive one that lasts a lifetime—that is the real difference between a fencer and a master.

And so, the False Carr slowed down his pace. That sword will punish any mistakes heavily. I can’t rush in carelessly…and I don’t know how fast she can be. She has no stats, but she has a weird ability about her. What’s up with that? He shook his head. I need to finish this quickly. Going to run up the score then get the fuck out of dodge before the crazy woman takes more chunks out of my shoulder.

Disengages were the answer, but only partial credit could be given for that response. If the False Carr baited out a parry four, for example, he could disengage his blade to six—meaning Isabella would bring her sword sideways while he would bring his blade under hers, then once her movement was completed, he would be able to bring his blade above hers and finish the attack without ever making blade contact. This was, in theory, the way to approach this curious reaction between the two blades.

The issue was that Isabella knew that disengages were the right answer to this conundrum. You really think I’m going to make it that easy? Isabella thought. THEN TRY IT!

The False Carr started his lunge aimed at the inside of her arm, the four line. Let’s play, she thought. She brought her blade in a parry—but it wasn’t a parry four, rather a counter-six. It wasn’t unusual to use the counter-six even to guard your four line, but this counter-six was unusual in its execution—rather than a small, contained parry, Isabella had made it a very large parry, meaning instead of making a very small circle with the tip of her sword she tried to make as large a circle as she possibly could.

Her reasoning was simple—she didn’t need to make this parry perfect, or even good. She just needed to touch her opponent’s blade, and it would have been enough. Even the most perfect disengage couldn’t avoid some mild blade contact if she was moving so wildly—wide movements like that arguably made it easier to disengage around them, but when her goal was to simply touch the blade things got much more difficult.

Which is why the False Carr didn’t use a disengage.

You think I didn’t see this coming, Isabella?

The False Carr used instead a move called a cut-over, also known as a coupé. In a disengage, you simply move the tip of your blade around your opponent’s— in a cut-over, however, you move it upwards, so that your opponent couldn’t touch your blade if they tried, then bring it down in line when it’s time to finish your move. This is a useful move in that it avoids your opponent’s blade entirely, and if you don’t know exactly which parry your opponent is going to do as you don’t need to disengage to a specific directly. It is dangerous, however, in that it pulls your tip away from your opponent—though not necessarily backwards—and in épée exposes your wrist as your raise your hand slightly.

But the False Carr was confident this wouldn’t be an issue. This was a new move, as far as he could tell, that the other Carr hadn’t shown them—their surprise at it would be enough for him to score a point.

Which is why he was most puzzled when Isabella noticed the motion, panicked, and stepped backwards when he pulled back his blade, managing to retreat to safety at the last moment. Another issue with the cut-over was the slight time delay that allowed opponents to retreat to safety if they saw it coming—but frankly speaking, it was rather rare if not downright absurd for someone to have reflexes that good. Normally, a response to a cut-over is to simply attack as one is vulnerable while cutting over. Isabella notably didn’t attack, which was odd by itself.

“How did you know?” the False Carr barked. “How did you know about a cut-over? This isn’t something that my fake could’ve taught you, he hates doing—”

“He didn’t teach me.”

“Ah. The voices in your head, then?”

Isabella paused. Nobody had addressed her voices out loud like this except for the Devil. “No. Not them either.”

“Then how were you so ready for it? Who taught you?”

She took a deep breath. Another drop of rain fell, followed by a couple more. Isabella did not acknowledge the rain, nor that sunlight had left them. You could hear the rain now, pattering on the piste, but not so heavily that it interfered with visibility. Isabella’s usual grin was gone, and so was her arrogance. Her confidence self-assurance had gone; unless I misread the signs and this was a trick of some sort. Yet her sad expression gave me little doubt. “You did. You taught me, when I was little.”

It was one of those sentences that change the atmosphere of the environment, like when a lover informs you they no longer wish to share a life with you. The air grows colder, a chill goes down your spine, and you start readying yourself for impact as if free falling toward the concrete below from a deadly height. “What—what do you mean by that, you crazy—”

“You know what I mean.” Isabella’s voice was low, unhappy, but certain. “You have to have to suspected deep down…at some point. Maybe not always. But at between Katherine’s fight and Carr’s fight against Max, you understand, don’t you? And…there’s your curse. Roger’s Bane. I’m sure you can put two and two together.”

The False Carr watched her carefully, open mouthed and eyes wide.

“You know right? Duartes the Former Champion was part of the group that fought Johan. During our desperate escape, he ended up falling behind and went missing. We thought he was dead.” Isabella’s voice cracked a little. “But then we met an assassin aboard the ship—he could steal people’s memories and transplant them onto others. Himself, of course, but others as well. Celle…Celle realized this quickly.” Isabella thanked Celle quietly in her mind for trusting her with her reasoning. It would have been easy to assume it was better for her not to know, but she had trusted her with the knowledge. “His weakness was muscle memory. Even if he transplanted Carr’s memories onto someone else, they wouldn’t have been able to keep up with his style. It’s why ‘Katherine’ was so much weaker than the original. So they had to use a base that was as strong as the real Carr. Someone whose body was as dedicated to fencing as his. The one called Roger changed his appearance, the assassin changed his memories, and Johan changed his name. The only person in the world who knew as much fencing as Carr did. He’s standing in front of me right now.”

Only the rain spoke for the next few moments. It was gentle, still, almost refreshing, the kind of bittersweet rain that leaves you drenched but not drained of energy. The False Carr’s grip around his sword tightened. “I know, “ he said slowly. “I know,” he repeated, in a quiet voice.

Isabella put down her sword and smiled through her first tears. She extended a shaky hand and approached him. Her first step was careful, hesitant, her legs trembling so much she nearly fell over. “Stop with this already. Just come with us. You’re not Carr,” she said softly. “You’re my grandfather, Duartes.”

The False Carr—the man once known as Duartes—looked up at her. He nodded slowly once, then faster, “Yeah,” he said. “I…I know.”

Then he stepped forward and stabbed her through the chest. “I’ve known for a while now.”