The Referee
Not a single person in the arena thought it was a fair match. Isabella was trained from birth as a fencer, but she didn’t display the talent nor the love for the sport. With the legendary sword, Duartes-Carr had much stronger stats, and his own fencing skill was supremely above hers. Her injuries were mounting and in spite of her [HP] returning there was little keeping her alive right now. A few minutes of consciousness, perhaps, but not much else.
It was a fight between a tiger and a dying rabbit.
Massacre should’ve been the right word for it.
Yet both fencers stood across each other as the clock ticked down.
I should be able to just beat her blade out of the way and finish with a lunge, Duartes-Carr thought. Yet a concerning thought formed—was her blade still the Devil’s Blade? He had severed her connection with the Devil, true, but was it enough to make her unable to wield the Devil’s Blade? Doesn’t matter. Time is ticking I can’t wait to see if her blade is just a normal sword or if it still has the old powers. I’ll just go for it.
I’m weaker than him in every way, Isabella thought. What can I do here? There’s gotta be something!
Isabella was weaker than Duartes-Carr in both stats and fencing. Even if she had a fencing talent like Carr’s or Johan’s it would have been an impossible difference to overcome. Carr had struggled against the Executioner, and the difference between her stats and her opponent’s was higher than even that. On top of that, her opponent was a genius fencer as well, much more talented than her.
Who cares.
So what?
Am I supposed to just use the fact I’m weaker as an excuse to roll over and die? No. She would not allow that to happen. Never again. Dying was fine with her—but dying without accomplishing anything? Against her own grandfather? That was too depressing a thought to entertain.
There had to be a way.
Something.
Anything.
Isabella opened her eyes wide, her muscles tensing. FOCUS. THERE HAS TO BE SOMETHING. ANY WEAKNESS I CAN EXPLOIT…ANYTHING! JUST ONE GODDAMN WEAKNESS! There was none. Tried as she might, Duartes-Carr’s ability was flawless. Without the Devil’s sword and the voices, she was just a weak fencer with weaker stats before what might as well have been the strongest fencer in the world. He had no weakness.
But she did.
Ah…so that’s the line, she thought, absently. A wicked grin formed on her face before the thought had finished fully forming. I’m supposed to not be as crazy now that the voices are gone, right? Just a normal spoiled girl who cheated her way through life because of her grandfather’s skills. But if that’s true…then why is it that I’m so excited right now?
A mad thought overcame her and she positioned her blade in prime, back of her forearm nearly touching her head and blade pointed down at her thigh. It was a parry for incredibly close ranges, but Duartes-Carr was still standing far away from her, further than step-lunge distance. Even I wasn’t sure what her plan was at this point, her mind too jumbled up in adrenaline to be fully understandable. If I have no strengths to use…I’ll use my weakness.
“IT STARTS NOW, GRANDFATHER!”
“Don’t call me—”
Isabella stabbed her own leg.
[Isabella the Duellist]
[HP]: 52 → 39
Duartes-Carr halted his movement; he had meant to attack but the sight of Isabella’s self-destruction forced him still. Both team’s benches stirred in awe, at first jolting up in surprise then suddenly freezing in speechless horror. There was no secret strategy at plan here regarding her stats. She possessed no skills that would make her faster or stronger upon receiving damage. Yet, the look on her face—!
“W—what’s wrong with you?” Duartes-Carr demanded. “Is that your way of surrendering?”
“Shut up or I’ll put you in a retirement home, old man,” she snarled back. Then, with only a sadistic grin as warning, she withdrew her blade from inside her leg and brought it down again.
[Isabella the Duellist]
[HP]: 39 → 28
And again.
[Isabella the Duellist]
[HP]: 28 → 19
And again.
[Isabella the Duellist]
[HP]: 19→ 10
AND AGAIN!
[Isabella the Duellist]
[HP]: 10 → 1
“STOP THE MATCH!” Carr shouted from the stands. “THAT’S NOT—SHE’S GONNA DIE! SHE WAS ALREADY BLEEDING OUT BEFORE ALL OF THAT!”
Her only blessing from having lost the voices, her [HP], was now gone again, and little separated her from death.
“In two minutes,” Isabella replied. Her voice was weak, low, yet confident. “Even with [HP], probably gonna die in around two minutes if I don’t get treatment. There’s thirty seconds left in the match. I can work with this.”
Duartes-Carr shook his head at this, forcing himself to get his head back in the game. Thirty seconds…was that her plan? To try to distract me from the clock by stabbing herself? If so, that’s not gonna fucking work!
30 SECONDS LEFT.
Duartes-Carr took a step forward, looking for her blade to beat away. I’ll make this clean. Beat attack and finish with a lunge! To his surprise, before he could even launch the attack, she had withdrawn it, having pulled her arm back her sword arm nearly beside her torso and her elbow long past it. It was an amateurish mistake, as it exposed your entire torso and sometimes your arm as well—though in this case she had turned her torso so that both her shoulders were nearly squared up and facing him. I trained you in a different life and that’s your stance? What a disappointment, he thought. Then, as he aimed for a direct attack he realized the issue.
Her arm was covered by her torso. It wasn’t an épée move, really, closer to a move you do in foil fencing—specifically, a move you do to cheat at foil fencing. In épée*,* the entire body is valid target area and one can stab the other literally anywhere. In foil fencing, however, only the torso was considered a valid target for a thrust, and as such a devious fencer could, if so inclined, try to be hit in the arm instead of the torso to keep his opponent from being allowed a point. This was, of course, against the rules. This was a similar stance, but it was her torso that she meant to protect.
25 SECONDS LEFT.
Duartes-Carr was mid-air with his lunge when he realized it.
Her arms were hidden from view.
Her torso was shifted forward, protecting her legs.
The only areas he could hit were her torso, neck and head.
SHIT!
My own words rang in Duartes-Carr’s mind.
“The rules are as it follows: this is a points match, not a death match and I will not see anyone daring to sully the sanctity of this duelling piste, understood? Each individual bout will have a time limit of five minutes. Substitutions are allowed as a two-way: you may sub out a fencer and then sub back in the original fencer for his next bout. Each team has only one reserve. There will be a total of nine bouts with the anchor bout going up to 45. Are we understood?”
This wasn’t a death match.
If Duartes-Carr killed Isabella, his team would lose.
20 SECONDS LEFT.
“ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?” he shouted, his blade nearly missing Isabella. He leaped back a few times, afraid his blade would make contact with her. “WHAT IF I HADN’T JUMPED BACK? I’D HAVE KILLED YOU!”
“Hey, grandfather?” Isabella’s voice was manic, a barely contained laughter hidden within it. Her leg was bleeding severely, but it was far from her only wound. Even a single step forward was a gargantuan effort for her, yet it caused Duartes-Carr to take a step back. “My body says 2 minutes. The clock says 20 seconds. Let’s make it count, shall we? THIS IS A GAME OF CHICKEN. KILL ME OR LOSE TO ME.”
She stumbled forward, a manic grin on her face, a river of blood behind her, and an insane laugh echoing across the stadium.
THIS ISN’T A FUCKING JOKE, Duartes-Carr thought. My stats are so high and she’s so injured that if I stab her through the torso or head she’s going to go into the negatives for sure. She only has 1 [HP] and she’s bleeding…if I so much as touch her…no. The issue isn’t just touching her. She’s going to move forward to try to make the wound even worse. If I could only graze her it would be fine, but if she tries to toss herself into my sword I’m going to kill her then get disqualified. We already used our substitute for Katherine, so we’re going to lose by default. No…what the hell? WHAT THE HELL IS THIS SITUATION?
He considered his options. A shallow attack, then. One she couldn’t make worse by trying. To the hands or legs—merely a graze. But that’s why she’s using that foil stance. She’s trying to protect her shallow targets with her body. I have to do something. How can I land a hit without killing her?
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Duartes-Carr’s stats mostly came from his sword. Those, he could not lower—he could only lower his own stats. Only 234 points came from his [Swordsmanship] but 1200 came from his Legendary Sword, and those he could not lower.
His strength had become a trap.
I have to figure out what—
Isabella was stumbling toward him, grin across her face and sword arm extended.
15 SECONDS LEFT.
“STAY THE FUCK AWAY!” Duartes-Carr stepped back, his own sword extended. “I’LL KILL YOU IF YOU STEP ANY CLOSER!”
“Oh, are you? Let’s. Find. Out!”
Isabella stumbled forward, nearly falling. Her vision was getting blurry, unfocused, and a buzzing sound had taken over her hearing. That much was fine. She didn’t need to hear and her vision refocused after a moment. Now, grandfather, what will you do? You can easily kill me. My attack is weak. It wouldn’t take much to beat my blade away and finish me. But I doubt you have the guts.
Here, the strongest fencer who used skills put down his sword and stepped back.
It was quite a sight.
Between the two, Isabella was infinitely the weaker fencer. Yet it was her who was pushing back the monster, the one man who could even dream of challenging Johan, laughing and coughing blood as she did so. He stumbled back in fear, his blade pulled back to regular en garde, retreating fast as Isabella hurried after him, the sight of his horrified expression delighting her.
A memory of an old conversation with the Devil came to her.
Isabella had just stabbed the Devil and was seeing whether he would tell her what she wanted in exchange for being allowed the chance to live.
“You’re a maniac,” the Devil had told her, appearing horrified.
“You made me this way,” she had replied.
“No!” he thundered. “I did not! I unleashed knowledge upon you, forbidden knowledge, from the depths of the ocean of souls. But this did not…it wasn’t what changed you. Deep inside, you were always a fucked up person. You just…can’t repress it anymore.”
The memory widened her grin.
She had always wondered if there was something she loved. Really loved. It wasn’t fencing. It wasn’t competition. It wasn’t even fancy parties, dresses or alcohol. But the sight of a strong opponent cowering away in fear from her? Ah this, this she could get used to.
At that moment, Isabella forgot about everything. That they needed to beat their opponents to obtain access to the crime scene where the Emperor was murdered mattered very little to her. That the voices in her head and her self-confidence had been brutally torn away from her hardly seemed important. That the man in front of her was an abominable, corrupted version of her grandfather didn’t matter either.
She just wanted to crush her opponent and watch him run away in fear.
That was all.
10 SECONDS LEFT.
Duartes-Carr reached the end of the piste. If he took a single further step back, he would step off the piste and yield a point to her. But if he were to try to parry her, there was a chance he would kill her.
Was Isabella truly ready to die, however? Maybe he could get away with a shallow attack to her arm. She wasn’t really going to try to cover her shallow targets with her torso, right? If he gave her the chance, she would certainly dodge, no?
Calm down. Think about this rationally. If I attack, she dies. If I don’t attack, she doesn’t die. This is a game of chicken, like she said. There are four possibilities here.
1) I attack and she kills herself trying to attack me. She dies, I win the point, but we lose the match.
2) I attack and she runs away at the last second. She lives, I win the point, the match is still on.
3) I don’t attack and she attacks me. She lives, she wins the point, the match is still on.
4) I don’t attack and she runs away at the last second. If we both coward out, she lives, no one wins the point, the match is still on.
Not attacking seemed like the best option. Even if she won a single point, it wouldn’t make much difference in the overall match, surely.
Yet…YET!
Could his pride allow such a thing? The mad woman is counting on me to blink first, Duartes-Carr thought. He gripped at his sword desperately. There’s no way she’s going to risk her life just for a single point. This is a bluff. It has to be.
He raised his sword as Isabella approached. IT HAS TO BE A BLUFF!
5 SECONDS LEFT.
She lunged forward.
It was a weak lunge, that could perhaps better described as her having extended her sword arm and gently falling forward. Yet this gentle lunge would find its target nonetheless. If I parry that…would she throw herself onto my blade? No…there’s no way...it’s gotta be a bluff! It’s gotta…it’s gotta be…!
*“*Go ahead and call it,” she whispered, mid-lunge. “Call my bluff if you have the balls.”
It has to be 2) or 4). She’s not going to risk her life here. She can’t! I can attack safely!
Duartes-Carr moved his sword toward hers—a beat eight was his plan. It would have been simple. All he needed to do was to bring his sword down against her and it would all be over. The mad woman would never commit to the attack and die. He was sure of it—
Then he saw her eyes.
And he pulled away his sword at the last moment.
The New Bladewolves:
Isabella the Queen of All Devils — 4 (29)
The Real Bladewolves:
Carr the Champion of Earth — 5 (29)
At the last second, Duartes-Carr blinked.
And it had been the right decision.
Isabella threw her body forward and would have blocked the beat attack with her own dying body. Had Duartes-Carr attacked her, there was no question that she would have been killed.
Duartes-Carr fell backwards, sitting down and staring in horror at the fallen bloody mess in front of him. Isabella couldn’t even muster up the strength to look up at him, using her sword to remain upright. “Maybe you’re right,” she whispered. “If my grandfather were in there, he would have gone in for the kill—he’s not a little bitch.”
“YOU—!”
Duartes-Carr raised his sword toward her and thrust forward.
“THIS BOUT HAS CONCLUDED!” I announced. “4-5 individual score! Both teams are tied 29-29!”
I had to personally hold back Duartes-Carr’s blade, grabbing the man’s wrist and stopping the blade just a few inches away from the swordswoman. The bout was finished and there was no point in allowing the strike to be delivered—sure, the murder would technically occur after the match was finished, but there would be room for debate and it wouldn’t do to have such a wonderful contest end in such a way. It was my duty was the almighty referee to ensure it went on smoothly.
Isabella glanced at the sword, so close to her single working eye that it occurred to me that a sneeze would be enough for her to stab herself with it. “Little bitch,” she said, mockingly.
It took further effort from me to keep the man from attacking her.
Fortunately for all involved, Celle and Carr had leaped onto the piste at the moment of my announcement and had now reached us. With my permission, they carried their injured teammate off piste, with both hurry and carefulness, “It will be fine,” Celle said calmly. “DON’T DIE ON US!” Carr shouted. “JUST—JUST HOLD ON A BIT MORE OKAY?”
Moments later they were on their side of the arena, gently setting her down on the floor and doing their best to keep her alive. Carr showed a surprising amount of non magical healing knowledge, tying up bandages and doing his best to prevent her from bleeding out further. At the same time, Celle and Nevada were using their [Restoration] to the best of their abilities. This staved her off from death, but the wounds were too numerous and deep for their eager abilities to truly heal her.
“Don’t talk,” Carr warned her. “Just—just let Celle do her best to keep you alive, okay?”
Isabella nodded weakly.
Celle looked around. “Do we…do we have any [Levelling Spheres]?”
There was a pained denial from the group. They had used up all their spheres between training and simply raising their stats in preparation for the fight. This isn’t good, Celle thought. We can keep her alive for a little bit…but the bleeding isn’t stopping. Our [Skills] just aren’t enough for this. “We need a sphere somehow. Where—where can we get one?”
Carr glared at the other side of the piste. “That guy, Dua—my fake, he has one. If he really is…if he really is Duartes, he’s not going to let Isabella die! Let me go talk to him.”
Isabella laughed, coughing blood. “That’s…that’s not going to work. He’s not my grandfather right now. He might still be in there, somewhere, but…right now, he won’t…”
“Save your strength,” Celle said kindly. Everyone around her was panicking, but she remained firm.
The things Celle had witnessed while working as a detective were not to be underestimated. She would not break or even bend under circumstances like this. Keep calm. Find the solution, she thought. We can keep Isabella alive for a while if we’re healing her, but not more than an hour or two. Where…where can we find one? This is a stupidly rich ship that’s a borderline island. There’s gotta be a sphere large enough to save her life, but where?
Suddenly, Celle slapped herself. Focus. Hurry isn’t going to get you anywhere. There’s no perfect solution here, so don’t look for one. Perfect is the enemy of good. Isabella needs a sphere to live. There will be no easy place to find a sphere. Our opponent is not likely to give them to us. If we wait until the end of the match, Isabella will likely have died already. So we need to find a sphere elsewhere and fast. Where? Who would have one?
Celle smiled. It wasn’t that she had an idea yet, but that she enjoyed thinking. Doing so without [Investigation] aiding her was new, but her joy at facing mental challenges hadn’t yet faded. Step by step…let’s eliminate the impossible first.
Finding a random person who has one is too risky. Chances are we would run out of time before we found one. Even though some rich noble probably has a sphere we could steal, it would be impossible to find one in time.
We need to steal from someone we know, then.
With the Almighty Referee in front us, stealing from Duartes is not going to be easy. He can probably hear my thoughts right now. He wouldn’t allow this.
Tempting as it is, stealing from Duartes is impossible then.
Who else do we even know aboard this ship?
Ah…there’s one. Just one.
Just one rich person we can steal from. One that definitely has spheres up his goddamn ass.
“We’re stealing from Reven,” Celle said. “We don’t have the time to wait for the end of the match. He’s probably watching this match with [Eyes] or some other bullshit rich nobles can do from the manor. The one we’re going to take after we win this match. The place where Johan murdered...” Celle trailed off, looking at Nevada hesitantly.
“My father,” Nevada replied. “The place where he murdered my father. Yes, that makes sense. He would definitely have spheres, wouldn’t he?”
“We have the excuse of coming to collect our prize. He will have to see us. I’ll go see him right now, if I take Isabella along with me—I can carry her well enough and keep using [Restoration]. It’s going to work.”
Gilder stepped up. “I…I am going with you!”
Celle shook her head. “We need you here to replace blades if they break.”
“I have left enough of them in case they need emergency armoury—listen, I need this. Let me come with you.”
Princess Nevada drew a deep breath. “I will come as well. The granddaughter of Duartes will die if I’m not using [Restoration] on her as well.”
There was an unease surrounding this plan. If they didn’t do anything, Isabella would die. But to send Gilder, Celle and Nevada by themselves to meet up with Reven was extremely dangerous for them. Yet, considering their time constraints, there was little choice. If they wanted to save Isabella, they would need to take her with them as they confronted Reven. Asking Katherine and her sister for help was a possibility but they didn’t seem to be in the emotional state where they could be helpful.
But asking them to do it was asking them to risk their lives.
“Celle?” Carr asked.
“Yeah?”
“Before I met you…crazy shit already happened to you, right? Gambling, solving murders…you haven’t had a chance to pull off a lot of that shit lately. Guess I’ve been hogging the spotlight.”
“Guess you have.”
“So…what I’m trying to say is,” Carr said, smiling, “go fuck them up.”
Celle grinned back. “Damn straight.”
The group of three readied themselves to leave, Celle carrying Isabella over her shoulders and the other two flanking her from either side, with Nevada readying herself to apply [Restoration] while on the move. There was hardly time for goodbyes, and so they made haste in their attempt to leave.
That Isabella was the one to stop them was the only reason they didn’t ignore the shout and moved on.
“WAIT JUST A MINUTE! There’s something I have to do before we go. Fedal, come over here.”
This caught him by surprise, but not enough to keep him from running up to her and position himself where she could look him in the eye, despite being carried by Celle. He looked up at her hesitantly, waiting to see what was so important.
“Put your hand up,” she demanded.
He did so, a confused look plain on his face.
“I kept them from taking the lead,” said Isabella. Every word seemed to cost her more blood, more of her life. “I know I’m asking you to do the impossible here, but you better win, you hear me? So…” Slowly, Isabella raised her hand. Celle grabbed on to her tightly to keep her from falling off. With what seemed to be the last of her energy, Isabella slapped Fedal’s hand high up in the air. “I’m tagging out. Go murder them.”
When they left, Fedal’s eyes locked with his next opponent.
Max of Relampago.
The man who had defeated Carr numerous times—the one Carr barely scored a few points over this time. The one who Valle couldn’t defeat today. A fantastic fencer. I beat Katherine when she was distracted. I barely scored a point against the fake Carr. This isn’t going to cut it now.
Doesn’t matter if it’s impossible. I’m going to do it anyway.