“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen and the people they pay to spend time with,” Lucius said. His voice filled the theater before laughter in the back filled it even more. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back and smiled, not out of cordiality with his peers at the academy who had come to see him cut down, but out of distant irony. Of all the skills he possessed, showmanship he learned before he met me.
The night of the duel had come, the Quartz Bowl was more packed than an evening ball put on by the king himself, even the former king. The children of the nobility had come in part to see Lucius humiliated, but primarily to judge the Feugards. The Wavefront Corporation had done an excellent job driving up demand for the tickets with a simple scheme. The theater only had so many box seats and when the first nobles sent runners to buy them up, they were told they had already been reserved. This was true, but the reservations hadn’t been put by the respective users destined for the box. The corporation had pre-emptively reserved them on their behalf, and when those nobles did ask, with a sly smile they were told that one of the reservations had just been cancelled and a box had opened up. Intrigue blossomed around who had been the first to get their seats and eventually, a good portion of the entire student body had arrived to the duel, with their guards in tow. The guards required tickets as well, of course.
The row of seats closest to the theater stand had been removed, ostensibly for the safety of the viewers. In the heat of the duel, a blade might go flying and injure someone. It was purely coincidental this allowed gambling bookies to swarm between the seats and vanish like stagehands with their purses full and their receipt books empty. Some were betting with their guts and others were hedging their bets.
Lucius had them all in the palm of his hand.
“Our kingdom is distressed, fracturing from within. We’re turning on one another when our blades should be pointed out. Spring is nearly upon us. The people of Vassermark will be busy in the fields, plowing and planting and much other work foreign to those of you who bought seats here tonight. Fret not, I’m not here to harangue you. One of the roles of nobility is to do as the king bids, and the king himself approved of this duel knowing that it would be a spectacle.”
“Lucius von Solhart, your impudence proves no end,” Jules Feugard declared as he marched out from the back of the stage. His timing was nearly that of a script, unintentionally mesmerizing the audience as he tried to suck away Lucius’ presence. He appeared in no armor, though Lucius was similarly ungirded. “You must be running your mouth now because you know they will be your last words.”
“Master Feugard, what do you mean?” Lucius asked, his tone plainly sarcastic. “This duel is only to the first blood. Has Vassermark not shed enough blood this winter?”
Jules’ face darkened to the color of wine. “Because of filth like you! You poisoned the king and stand here like a hero. All of you, don’t think for a moment that he was the one that arranged this theater. He let commoners do it for profit! He doesn’t even have his own domain. After tonight, if I ever get my hands on the owner of the Wavefront Corporation, I’ll have him chained up for treason, for letting you act like this.”
Lucius laughed. “Still having trouble with shipments? How strange. Everyone was eager to do business with me…”
“Because you were giving away land claimed by the king!”
Lucius shrugged. “I never heard him complain about it. I was facilitating the expansion of the empire, denying refuge to pirates, and helped to make the winter garden of our kingdom. Even today, crops are being grown in the Misty Isles and eaten on the border with Skaldheim. Unless your control of the shipments has so vanished…”
The room was filled with murmuring and Jules knew he didn’t have the wit to duel with words, so he changed tactics. “We’re here for a duel. Honor will be sated with blood. I see you aren’t armored, so I presume you have nominated a champion? Perhaps that northern brute you use as a doorguard?”
Lucius turned to the premier box and called out, “Leomund, was I supposed to wear armor tonight?”
The swordmaster leaned out from the box and called back, “You said it wouldn’t be sporting.”
“Well there you have it,” Lucius said, turning to the crowd as he spoke before facing Jules once more. The reaction was mixed, but that was no worry.
Jules raised his voice. “You have insulted my family. You spoiled the king’s lands in the south, and you are making a mockery of this duel. When this fight is over you will be nothing, Lucius von Solhart.”
Lucius lowered his voice and looked into Jules’ eyes. “I’ve been nothing before. You think I’m afraid of that?” Then he crossed the stage and had his blade tossed up to him. He had opted to use the familiar weight of an infantry blade rather than a dueling saber. All with martial training knew the heavier blade only had an advantage in a fight to the death. It would be slow to defend against the minor cuts that could win a duel to first blood. “Well, Jules, you’re the one that wanted this indoors. When do I get to meet your champion?”
“Come out,” Jules ordered, and a fully armored woman walked out from the curtains at the back of the stage. She was in ornate armor, cladding her head to toe without any skin showing. Where the plates didn’t cover, white silk puffed out. While they seemed like good targets, the silk was there to ensnare the blade and hide chain underneath. The female knight was a testament to the Feugard’s wealth, a display of their power.
Lucius took his shirt off and tossed it aside. He stood bare chested in the candlelight of the theater and smiled at his opponent. He smiled because his guess had been correct. He knew who she was.
“If you’re expecting sympathy from me when you lose, you’ll regret it, Solhart. I will take from you your lands, your property. I’ll even have you on the street with those whores you live with!” Jules shouted.
“Oh no, I might have to move in with my mother… wait, isn’t that what you did after you were recalled? No, I must be mistaken. The mighty Feugards must have an excess of vacation homes they leave empty.”
The room laughed at first, but it died off as a representative of the Wavefront Corporation walked up the steps to the stage. He cleared his throat and addressed the crowd. “Tonight, I have the distinct honor of officiating this duel with the approval of his majesty the king. As both the challenger and the challenged have partial ownership in the Wavefront Corporation, that stake is included to equal degree and to the victor they will go. Additionally, some fifty acres of farmland have been put on the line, in each other’s domain. The victor will be decided by first blood.”
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The land was unknown to Lucius, but confirmed by Lady Solhart in the weeks prior. It meant little to him regardless, for there were much greater things to be won as he faced Jules’ champion from ten paces away. Both drew their blades and discarded their sheathes as the crowd whispered that there was no penalty for killing the other, as was typical for duels.
“Both parties have brought their own medical services? Well then, you may commence at the drop,” the officiator said as he took off the felt cap he wore, held it out, and released it.
The female lunged forward, her foot crashing against the stage as her blade feinted forward but met no opposition. Lucius took a leisurely step forward, his stance lowering. The woman lunged again, blade shooting out like a spear. Lucius tracked back, circling the stage as he refused to meet her blade. He let his own dip and circle and he never flinched from steel darting a mere hand’s spawn from his own nose not only because of his typical callousness to the threat of death but because he trusted his judgement of their distance.
She wasn’t trying to cut open his face, and the reason why manifested the moment she did force Lucius to defend himself. Their steel clashed and Lucius leaned. He had to jump about, landing so haphazardly he should have fallen. Again, their steel clashed as he turned aside her blade and his lean swung the other way. On the third clash, Lucius tore a patch of silk from her elbow, exposing the chain below but he was unable to press the attack. He had to throw his hand back and grab onto one of the pillars holding the viewing boxes.
His feet lifted off the ground and he dangled like a flag, swinging himself onto the side of the pillar as the woman cut her sword toward his boots. The theater gasped as he stood, perched like a bird, perfectly perpendicular to the ground.
The fight continued, with Lucius leaping about like a circus performer, but the secret was out. From mouth to ear the whispered name spread. The woman was Ashlynn Schwarz, the Flying Blade and one of those tasked with killing Lucius should the king order it. Among the nobility of the north, she was the most famous of those scouted by the king. Her stigmata did not only work upon her enemies. When turned upon herself, she had the appearance of flight.
When he leapt down, which was actually across the stage, she delivered the coup de grace of her skill. Their blades crashed and Lucius careened upward until his boots landed upon the roof some forty feet above the stage.
Jules guffawed, clapping his hands together as he jumped back on the stage. “You’ve lost, Solhart.
Lucius stood up, craning his head to look down at Jules. “I’m not bleeding yet,” he declared.
Ashlynn stepped to the side and ended the spell. At once, gravity returned to normal.
Lucius plummeted, twisting around in the air. Women cried out as he fell to apparent death. When he hit the stage, it was feet first, hard enough to shatter the wood of the stage as well as his shin. He buckled with a grunt, ending up on one knee.
“There!” Jules shouted. “First blood!”
“I’m not bleeding,” Lucius growled.
The officiator cleared his throat. “He is correct. A broken bone is not enough…”
“Finish him,” Jules hissed, and Ashlynn stepped forward. She made a simple cut, cleaving down at his face since he couldn’t possibly retreat.
Lucius caught the blade in his hand and held it. She yanked it back, drawing a cut across his palm, but he rose up on his one good leg, still gripping her blade, and hammered his own sword down on her shoulder. Ashlynn buckled to the ground and he pulled the sword from her grasp before falling atop her. With his knee to her chest, he grabbed her helmet and ripped it off. He smirked at her surprise then pinched her lip with his thumbnail hard enough to break the skin and make her bleed.
Jules flew into a rage as half the room cheered. “The duel was to first blood, you animal. You’ve lost. You’ve lost twice over!”
“Giorno, care to take a look?” Lucius said as he shifted his weight off Ashlynn.
The officiator ignored Jules and peered down at the dribble of blood now adorning the shocked face of Ashlynn. “Blood has been drawn, and I don’t think medical attention will be–”
“His hand!” Jules demanded.
Giorno gestured and Lucius released the blade. When he turned the palm up, he looked down at it, then announced, “There is no blood. The winner is–”
“He just healed it. When my champion pulled her blade I saw it move. It would have sliced his palm open.”
Giorno frowned such that his mustache could easily be seen to curl in condescension to all the crowd. “I am quite familiar with Master Solhart’s ability. I didn’t say there was no cut, I said there was no blood. He might be able to heal wounds but he doesn’t suck the blood back into his body. Had the blade drawn blood, you would be able to see it. Look for yourself.”
Jules did. His rage deepened. He scowled at Lucius. “What did you do to your hand?”
“A swordmaster’s hands are quite calloused, like any working profession,” Lucius said as he reveled in the reveal.
“This aren’t callouses. That can hardly even be called flesh!”
Lucius shrugged. “Even if it wasn’t my own flesh, and I assure you it is, then what would be the crime? Your champion emerged in a cage of steel about every inch of her body. I had to strip her of her helmet merely to nick her.”
At a loss, Jules demanded the medics appraise it, and both physicians hurried on stage. Sammy didn’t even need to take a look at it, though the other doctor made a number of faces as he prodded the hardened flesh. “It’s scar tissue from chemical burns,” Sammy said, and a moment later the other doctor concurred.
“A most ghastly wound, my lord. I’ve seen similar injuries before, from working in the alchemical labs. A few men have tried to make stronger concrete and ended up reducing their own flesh to stone. The fact that he can move it at all is a miracle. Much more and amputation would be required. Behold… if I may,” the doctor said as he produced a small knife. With Lucius’ consent, he flicked the blade against the scar tissue, producing a chipping sound as if he had struck stone.
Jules shouted, “You conspired with that bitch you brought from my gold factory!”
“Master Feugard,” Theo Montem said, standing up from one of the viewing boxes. “On behalf of the dean of this academy, I suggest you retract your statement. It is unsightly to insult the faculty, just as it is unsightly to hire one of the king’s own knights for your personal gains.” His second comment was for Ashlynn, who had gotten to her feet and stood glowering.
The officiator cleared his throat. “The honor of victory goes to Lucius von Solhart! Master Solhart, congratulations on your additional five percent stake in the corporation, your new home and I thank you for such a splendid display of god-blessed fighting prowess. Both you and the lady were dazzling.”
Lucius turned to the crowd as Jules began to come to terms with his defeat. “The gods may have blessed me, but now would you all allow me to bless you with more entertainment this night?” On his signal, Miss Lynnfield stepped onto the stage and handed him the envelope the king had given him. “This is from the king, to be opened after the duel,” he said and beckoned over the officiator. He cracked the seal and stifled a laugh.
The contents were better than he could have hoped. As much the king hated Lucius, he also hated the Feugards, the family that had been almost absent from the slaughter that had taken the life of King Charles von Arandall. Their father had been there as a sacrifice to the younger generation.
In a quavering voice, Giorno read out, “A second duel has been approved by the king, between Lucius von Solhart and Jules II von Feugard, for dishonoring the dignity of the kingdom at a time of crisis. The duel is to be fought immediately and to the death. If… if either side surrenders, they relinquish all of their holdings and status unto the king.”