The Referee
“Do you refer to a wooden table as a tree? Do you look at dirt and smile, thinking of the people whose corpses decayed deep underneath it? Do you feel a single drop of rain, then look up in fear as if you had been struck by the ocean itself? No! You do not! Then why, dear creature, do you look at me and insist that I’m your grandfather, just because my body was once upon a time his?
“What makes a person? Is it their body? Well, it can’t be on those grounds that you argue with me, surely. Master Roger—I presume, the details frankly elude me—ensured my body was changed to satisfaction. Do you see wrinkles on my forehead? Do you see a man with your kin’s height? Do you see my broad shoulders? Whatever my body once was, today it is not. Started as the body of Duartes, the Former Champion, to be certain, and yet—! Look here, creature, I am not him.
“Perhaps your argument is that my appearance counts not, and that something inside of me counts more. The soul, perhaps. Bullshit. Fuck off with that and let’s talk about things we can measure. Tell me, when you have a strange dream and wake up, how long does it take for you to dissociate from that dream? How long until you stop thinking of yourself as the person you were when your eyes were shut, and start thinking as the person who you are when your eyes are open? A few seconds? A minute, perhaps? Then why should Duartes’ life be any different to me? Do you think I have more than glimpses of his life? Meanwhile, I have years worth of Carr’s memories. That is who I am.
“I was Duartes, once upon a time—but good lord, look at me! Listen to me! Fence me! How much of a person can you change before they are no longer that person? I’d argue whatever that line is, I’ve long crossed it. I’m not Duartes. I am Carr.”
Isabella looked up at him, her eyes blank in terror and her mouth half-open, a stream of blood flowing from it. “Did I get your lungs? Make no effort to speak, then. Just listen. I’ll play nice and anticipate your arguments, creature. Ah, mayhap you think, how can I consider myself Carr when the ‘real’ deal is standing over there?” The False Carr—the Duartes-Carr—gestured at Carr, who watched the match with an expression of pure fury, his hands fixated on the railing before him, wrapped so tightly it wouldn’t have surprised me if the metal gave in. “To this I say: he may be the original, but HE’S ALSO THE FUCKING FAKE HERE NOT ME!”
The Duartes-Carr’s scream was piercing and maddening. It was an eerie echo, sounding so much like Carr’s daring declarations of victory upon injury. That pose, that face of righteous fury, that conviction—! To everyone in that arena, he might as well have proclaimed his victory against the Executioner or that he would force Fedal to fight him seriously. But instead, the shadow pointed at the tree it was cast from, accusing it of being the shade.
“Let me pose you a question,” the Duartes-Carr said, “one you have heard my dear fake say many times. He said that he had to fence Valle without stats. That he had to fence the Executioner without stats. That if he were to take a step back from his beliefs, he would already be dead in a way. Here’s what I have to say: HE’S ALREADY FUCKING DEAD INSIDE BECAUSE HE BACKED AWAY FROM HIS BELIEFS.”
Here the Duartes-Carr kicked the fallen Isabella aside and pointed his blood-stained blade forward, the sharp tip glaring back at the furious Swordsman of Zero in the stands. “You don’t want to use stats? You refuse to use magic? That’s who you are? Really? No, that’s bullshit. You keep telling yourself that, but you know that’s not true. LET ME TELL YOU WHO CARR REALLY IS.”
His voice was booming, thundering, but controlled. There was a sort of sadistic pleasure in it, like he was giving a lecture. Like when Carr duelled Cassius, Celle thought.
“Carr is a man who will do anything within the rules to win. He’ll flick, he’ll make his opponent’s step off the piste—that’s a free point you know?—and he’ll target their weaknesses. If he sees a way to get stronger, he’ll take it. He’ll change coaches, he’ll change from French to Pistol, from Pistol to French, he’ll crawl in the mud if that’s what it takes. Oh, sure, he won’t cheat, but he’ll do anything else in between. So riddle me this: how the fuck is using magic in a magic world cheating? This isn’t Johan wanting to fuck around with steroids or what have you. This isn’t Johan paying off that team for us to win. This is using all the legal tools available to you in a competition. Not using stats at this point is like being a classical fencer shithead who refuses to flick or bounce in a modern competition. So why is it, then, that my dear fake doesn’t use them?”
Carr’s anger didn’t leave him, but a new feeling entered his self at that time— a sort of empty frustration. The kind you feel when something hits you deep within, a cheap shot that lands in a spot you didn’t even know you had left vulnerable.
“I’ll tell you why. It’s because he’s afraid. He died when he came to this world. I don’t really have the full story, but I can make a reasonable guess. Johan sacrificed us to get high stats, didn’t he? Carr started to hate those stats. To wish they were gone from the world. To be so disgusted by being even near the things that killed his friends that he refused to touch them.” Duartes-Carr spat on the ground. “That’s fucking pathetic. Your friends die and your way of honouring their memories is to remain weak on purpose? You’re just a dog who was hit by a broom and runs away from any long stick now. The realCarr would’ve used stats or whatever it took to fight Johan if you were so offended by what he did. You stopped being the real Carr the moment you stopped being true to yourself and started being true to your fears. I am the Carr that is loyal to his beliefs, not his trauma.”
“How?” Carr asked from the stands, in a quiet, shaky voice filled with exasperation. “If you know that Johan sacrificed my—your—our friends, if you think you are me, then how can you be by his side?”
“They weren’t my friends. Johan might have sacrificed your Katherine, but my Katherine is right there,” said Duartes-Carr, as he pointed at Katherine, who was watching all of this as if she was ready to throw up. “And she’s always going to be my friend. Whether we’re fakes or not doesn’t matter. Whether that girl is her sister or not…none of that really matters. Once this match is done, everything is going to go back as it should be.”
“Even if—” Carr stopped himself, stumbling upon his own words, appearing nearly choked up. “Even if—even if you believe that, how can you still follow Johan? You know he’s…you know what he’s done! To you! To everyone!”
Duartes-Carr tilted his head, flashing a mocking smile. “Oh, come on now Carr—you already know the answer, deep inside. You were just a fucking idiot who was mildly good at fencing before you met Johan. When you came across this guy who always spoke like he was sure of himself and always got the results he wanted, you were more than happy to entrust yourself to his whims. You always felt like you could never measure up to him—every time you got angry at him, you were almost happy, weren’t you?
“You almost thought, ‘Ah, Johan did a morally questionable thing! He’s not as perfect as I thought!’ with relief and convinced yourself that it meant you were still better than him in some ways. THAT is the real reason you were upset he wanted to cheat. You clung on to that morality so you could feel superior to him in some way. Does it really surprise you that there’s a world where you’d follow him to hell itself? No, come on. I want you to really think that.”
“I—that’s not…that’s not—!”
The Duartes-Carr withdrew a [Levelling Sphere] from his pocket. “When you and I fight, you’re going to use this. You’re going to show me how good you can be with stats. Then I’ll still defeat you and claim the Carr name—so start brainstorming some new names for you, eh? Because when I’m done with you—”
Isabella stabbed him in the chest.
Duartes-Carr never had a chance to dodge the hit. Even as the sword went through his chest, surprise remained his primary emotion, overruling pain and fear. When, he started the thought, then gave up on it and changed it to, How?
The New Bladewolves:
Isabella the Queen of All Devils — 3 (28)
The Real Bladewolves:
Carr the Champion of Earth — 2 (26)
Isabella did not possess [HP] to protect her from lethal wounds anymore. With the Devil’s powers, she had access to different types of knowledge, a mild increase in strength and reflexes. Yet her [HP] was 1 and her [Swordsmanship] was 0—she was not too different from Carr in this regard. A normal human stabbed through the chest and the lungs should’ve been in supreme agony, nearing death—which she was.
It had taken all of her willpower to deliver the strike, and it had only been possible because the Duartes-Carr was so distracted, so convinced she was no longer able to stand. Humans can survive somewhat well with only one lung, in theory—one of the many issues, however, is that the open wound opens up the organ to outside air which can severely compromise the ability to breathe, not to mention the number of blood vessels in the area, meaning one can drown in their blood quite easily.
Even I as the almighty referee had no idea of the extent of Isabella’s injuries. Her lung had been affected, yes, but how deep had been the wound? How many arteries had been affected? It was impossible to know. Regardless, this only changed how long she would have to live, not the fact that death was approaching. [Restoration] would be able to save her, but would she live to the end of the match? Surely, the logical decision would be to withdraw from the round and get treatment rather than risk her life.
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And yet, her thoughts were a fantastical mix!
「REASON」
Giving up here means the entire team will lose. We can’t withdraw mid-bout. We have to survive until the end of the round.
「FENCING」
Even if we can barely move, some empty disengages should be enough to stave him off. Forget about en garde, just stick your arm out and glare at him.
「SPOTLIGHT」
This is your show. Don’t let him have it.
「WINNING」
Only two more points and we’re on the lead. If we can double this out, we will win then we can get treatment. Focus, what can we still do despite the injuries?
「FLEXIBILITY」
Just stretch your arm out. That’s all we can do.
「MUSCLES」
WE AREN’T DEAD YET.
All of the voices in her head were in agreement with her own—she had no intention of dropping dead just yet. She wanted to reply to all of Duartes-Carr’s words, yet her lungs did not allow her to do so. You’re still grandfather, she thought. Whatever you tell yourself. I can tell in the way you move. The way you think. The way you talk. It’s like Carr, but it’s like grandfather as well. You’re lying to yourself if you think you’re not him. That’s…that’s fine… . Isabella felt her thoughts fade for a moment, then the pain snapped her awake once more. I’ll bring you back by force if that’s what I have to. You were always teaching me lessons…so it’s my turn to be the teacher.
“Fucking lunatic,” the Duartes-Carr said, spitting some blood. Though the wound had gone through his chest, his [HP] kept it from being lethal—feeling more like a strong punch than the stabbing it had been. “Guess I’ll finish you off first, granddaughter of Duartes.”
The Duartes-Carr advanced carefully, then retreated and lowered his blade. There’s no need to do anything fancy, he thought. She can’t move. I just have to take this slowly.
Isabella stood with just her arm extended forward, and even this was taking all of her strength. Slowly, Duartes-Carr approached, and when he felt the distance was right, exploded in a lunge after switching lines. Her best efforts resulted in a desperate parry four—if it could be called such—that kept it from being too lethal due to the two swords having that curious reaction, but the attack still grazed her shoulder.
The New Bladewolves:
Isabella the Queen of All Devils — 3 (28)
The Real Bladewolves:
Carr the Champion of Earth — 3 (27)
“Just stand still and let me stab you,” Duartes-Carr said, in an annoyed tone. “I’m not going to kill you and get us disqualified. Once I hit 30 you can go get treatment, creature.”
Isabella offered no response besides looking down coughing more blood. Duartes-Carr sighed and advanced at her. She hadn’t been looking up—doing so took more effort than her body was capable of—and couldn’t have known what his attack was.
「FENCING」
In a situation like this, he would try to go for a hand snipe. Lift your sword.
Absently, almost asleep, Isabella raised her wrist and caused the Duartes-Carr’s blade to clash against her bell guard, deflecting the move. Can’t die yet, she thought.
Images of Duartes flashed through her mind—of him teaching her fencing, of him flashing a proud smile when she told him of his victories, of him, trying desperately to get her to escape when they lost to Johan. Can’t die yet, she thought. Not until I thank you for everything, grandfather.
「WINNING」
That’s it. He lost a lot of time monologuing. Just keep him away. Just keep him away for a minute more…and we’re going to go the distance. We’re going to win. It’s not impossible. We just have to—
“Ah, yeah, those voices in your head are a problem aren’t they?” Duartes-Carr said. “Let’s get rid of them.”
At this, even the exhausted and injured Isabella looked up. Duartes-Carr’s blade was glowing, a sort of blue mist surrounding it, and raised above his head as if it was a longsword. What is his blade’s special ability? Isabella wondered. Then, the blue mist blinded her and she felt the blade open a wound inside her chest again—one that didn’t hurt.
“Way To Twilight,” Duartes-Carr said. “It’s one of the legendary swords Johan has obtained. He’s been searching for as many of them as he could for a while, as I understand it. Don’t think he knew I’d borrow this one but I’m sure he’ll understand. Do you know what it does?” he asked softly. “Let me show you.”
Isabella screamed, but she didn’t hear her own voice.
It was a different sort of pain like her entire being was being ripped apart from her.
Everything went blank, and she saw that void the Devil had shown her, the vines wrapped around those broken souls. She heard their suffering—she heard her own screams. The darkness darker than dark, the pain more painful than death, it all enveloped her at once, swallowing her like an underwater monster, and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Isabella wanted to push it all away, to make it disappear, to be able to breathe again—and then when it started to happen, she desperately wished to take back her prayer.
The vines weren’t tied to her anymore.
Pain started to leave, she felt able to breathe again, and the voices started to fade. She started to feel like herself again, for the first time in forever. NO! she begged. PLEASE, NO! STAY! I NEED YOU—I CAN’T DO ANYTHING WITHOUT YOU!
「REASON」
Thank you for sharing your body with us. Mourn not, Isabella. We were always ‘you.’ More knowledge and thoughts than people. Our actual selves long dead. Mere echoes you allowed residence.
YOU WERE SO MUCH MORE! You…you told me what to do. What made sense. You helped me know what to do! You made me believe I…
「FENCING」
All the moves we told you to do—you knew how to execute. You knew what to do, but you second-guessed yourself too much. Don’t forget that.
I NEVER KNEW WHAT TO DO! I still don’t know what to do. You made me believe in myself. Please, don’t go…don’t go…don’t leave me alone.
「SPOTLIGHT」
You were always meant to have the centre of the stage, Isabella. We were just the supporting players. The stage is yours now.
I DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT FEELS LIKE! I don’t know how to stand on my own. The stage isn’t mine. I get sick imagining that. I can’t—I can’t!
「WINNING」
Victory tastes sweeter the harder it is. You will achieve it without us.
No! No, I won’t! I never won anything important before you came along! I was just…I was just a failure that never lived up to her family’s legacy!
「FLEXIBILITY」
You will find a way. You always do.
I won’t…I never did! Please. I need you. Don’t—don’t make me go back to being myself.
「MUSCLES」
YOU WILL DO EVERYTHING YOU WANT.
EVERYTHING WE WANTED.
And when your time comes, a hundred years from now or more, and you cross over to the other side…
We are all going to meet up and have a chat. Not our echoes. Our real selves.
And we’ll be good friends.
So goodbye for now, Isabella.
The connection was dead.
[Isabella the Duellist]
[Level]: 4
[Swordsmanship]: 375
[Sword]: 78
[HP]: 78
[Skills]
[Restoration]: 13
[Wine Tasting]: 54
[Dancing]: 121
[Art]: 31
[Poison]: 108
[Diplomacy]: 191
[Stamina]: 29
[Walking]: 10
[Blessings]
None
[Curses]
Devil’s Mark
[Equipment]
Gilder Épée
[Status]
Bleeding
I watched it all happen. No longer the ruler of the Devil’s domain, I thought. Just a mere failure. Even the Devil’s Sword lost its ability. If she had any small blessing—and this was not a guarantee—it was that having her connection severed returned her [HP] to her, allowing her a measure of relief from her pain, and a small extension on living.
Though not for long.
The New Bladewolves:
Isabella the Queen of All Devils — 3 (28)
The Real Bladewolves:
Carr the Champion of Earth — 4 (28)
Duartes-Carr had stabbed her through the chest once more.
“You’re useless now, you know? No more devil power, no more voices telling you what to do. Just stand there and let me finish this.”
The New Bladewolves:
Isabella the Queen of All Devils — 3 (28)
The Real Bladewolves:
Carr the Champion of Earth — 5 (29)
Another strike was delivered without mercy. Without time to recover, to adapt to the mental shock, Isabella stumbled backwards in both agonizing pain and confusion. In that hazy state, she couldn’t think of how to block attacks or even of the sheer despair she knew she would later feel without the voices to aid her. Everything came to her like a slow, horrifying thought, and she was too numb to care about any of it.
I’m so weak, Isabella thought. I’ve never accomplished anything important before the Devil’s Spheres changed me. My own effort never took me anywhere, it was always…something else doing the heavy work for me. Ever since I was little. I shouldn’t be here—I shouldn’t even be alive. I should just throw myself into the water. Maybe there are monsters there. I should just…
Images of many duels flashed through her mind.
She remembered when she won that small duelling championship, and how nice the cheers had felt, even though she felt hypocritical for accepting them.
Whose tears were these? Isabella had thought back then. Crying over someone else’s passion, with a victory I won due to the privilege of being born his granddaughter…it all feels so hollow. It wasn’t her hard work that had gotten her up there. It wasn’t even her desire that took her there. She had hoped that if she stood there, on that stage, she would have felt…something. Anything. But she just felt like an impostor, standing on somebody else’s stage, duelling in someone else’s sport, priding myself over someone else’s actions…
Carr was duelling the Executioner. He was outmatched, bleeding, and with no hope of winning. TIME FOR THE THIRD OPTION! Carr had roared, as he imposed his iron will upon his opponent.
Valle was duelling Johan. A CHAMPION DOESN’T BACK DOWN FROM A CHALLENGE! His desperate fight flashed before her eyes.
Fedal was duelling the Duartes-Carr. He was outmatched, then dove for his foot in a desperate attack and landed the surprise attack, roaring with pride and hunger for more.
I am really weak. I never achieved anything by myself because I never wanted to. I never really loved fencing. I didn’t really love the competition. More than anything else, I liked to compete to watch Estella defeat everyone else. There was never any reason for me to try hard because I didn’t love it enough. My efforts matched my love. I wanted to find something I loved, but I never did.
I lost the only things that made me feel like I meant something. The voices, and grandfather.
I should give up.
Duartes-Carr’s blade neared her neck, an absent push of someone who wants to end the match quickly. With a sudden burst of energy, she parried the blade—no, it wasn’t that dignified of a move. She merely pushed the blade aside with no technique and nearly fell onto her opponent, resulting in a weak shoulder tackle. It wasn’t strong at all—but the surprise was enough to cause Duartes-Carr to take a few steps back in surprise.
I am really weak, Isabella thought. She looked back absently, grinning. And I still don’t have anything I love enough to dedicate myself to. Fencing? It’s a fun sport, but I don’t love it that much. Don’t think I ever will. But when I think of everyone getting so much stronger and me giving up…I just feel…so…GOD—DAMN—PISSED—OFF!
Her entire body felt numb, and she felt thankful. Easier to fall into en garde, even as she spat blood and her lungs were filled with blood. If I’ve been weak all my life… .
“THEN IT STARTS TODAY!”