Tyr was nearly back to his old self, or at least physically speaking. Unfortunately, he was still in his battle gear and trying to work around his chakra handicap. Every day after his week-long recovery he fought in the arena, and every day it was less of a close call, but he’d only earned half of the coins he needed for his Dark Metal armor. They wouldn’t give him a single piece until he’d earned the full set.

“Yeah, it does stink like a conga,” Orion said as Tyr sharpened his katana one more time. “But you’re doing great, man. You’re the fastest trainee we’ve had in a long time.”

Oliarta, the Motherly Guard, laying on the bunk above Tyr’s, scoffed. “In a long time? He’s the fastest I’ve ever heard of.” She bent herself in half to look into Tyr’s face. “You really are, dear. How did you ever get that good?”

“I don’t think I’m that good. I’ve trained for years, mostly hunted alone. It was enlightening.” He paused for a moment before thinking better of something. “That being said, I’m surprised I’m the best. Do no experienced hunters ever apply for the guard?”

“Very few. Most are out doing quests for the Guild, or out with one of the Research Commissions, or just focused on improving their own gear and skills.” Orion shrugged a bit as Tyr slid the Nifilan Guardian back into its sheath. “Speaking of which, you still haven’t explained that sword to anyone. Duller as a stick, but you still use it. What’s up with that?”

“What does it matter?” Tyr asked.

“I’m sure the princesses know,” Oliarta teased as she dismounted from the bed. “I just don’t understand when you find time enough to see both of them and still train as much as you do.”

Tyr shook his head as he got up. There’d been far too much talk about the princesses and him. Despite all of his efforts to squelch the rumors, there was no denying that he knew them both better than nearly every other guard in the city. This meant there was no escaping the accusations, so he’d taken to not responding instead.

“Oh, come on. We’re your friends, Blank Blade,” Orion grinned. “You can let us know the truth, at least. I even promise not to get too jealous, but you might wanna keep the details light for Motherly Guard’s sake.” Oliarta thwapped Orion across the back of the head.

“I don’t need to be jealous of anything, thank you very much. Just last night I had a wonderful evening with Daring Guard.”

“Daring Guard?” Orion quirked his eyebrow. “No wonder she never laughed at my jokes.”

“Is this all you two think about outside of the arena?”

“You know I gamble.” Orion gave him a grin.

“Right. Can either of you explain just why you city folks are all like this?”

“Only if you explain the princess thing.”

Tyr sighed. “There’s nothing to explain.” He propped the door open for them.

“One of them brought you home with her after two months' absence,” Oliarta started.

“The other,” Orion continued “Stops by the camp at every time of day and night looking specifically for you.”

“And both of them come to all of your arena matches”

“Then leave the moment you go.”

“So…”

“There’s gotta be something to it,” they both concluded.

They stood in front of him, blocking off any escape besides going back to the barracks. Tyr sighed and gave them a long look, but they only crossed their arms. Both of them were far too large to be taken down, or shoved aside, and that was assuming Tyr could even do so in the first place. He wished Molin was there, at least he could’ve done something.

“If there’s anything going on between myself and either Sarah or Adaline, then I’m entirely unaware of it.”

“Well,” Orion said as they continued on their way to the arena, “You calling them by their names isn’t really helping your case.” Oliarta vocally nodded her agreement, but they spent the rest of their journey discussing random things about the city and the guard. They had never spoken about their fights in the arena, not beforehand anyways. It was more fun to keep it a surprise, especially for Orion. But what was the most fun was the announcement of a special event in the arena that morning.

“A Legend?” Tyr asked. “Do they always just write it that way? I thought they had special titles, or at least names.”

“They do, but a lot of them like to stay anonymous. It’s kinda weird. If I was famous, I’d want everyone to know when I was in town.” Orion winked. “I should probably say when, but I don’t wanna jinx it.”

Oliarta didn’t even bother with a sigh this time. “If you ever become a Legend, I’ll make sure no one knows we ever met.”

“You’d be doing me a favor, Motherly.” Tyr, meanwhile, was examining the crowd in the lobby. “Looking for something there, Tigrex?” Tyr shook his head.

“The Legend. I don’t see anyone who radiates that kind of chakra.” When the other two gave him their patented questioning looks, he continued. “I’ve seen a Legend, I think. Just once. He came through my town to hunt the Xiloukana.”

“Is that a big one?” Orion asked, hoping to be impressed.

“The Xiloukana is the most fearsome creature I’ve never met. Not an elder dragon, but it could crush a Los’s skull between its jaws given the chance.”

“Damn. That’s a real brute. Well, maybe the Legend’s just hiding around here?”

“They let the Legends sit in the stands if they want, or even with the royals,” Oliarta said. “Legends can do just about anything they want, really. Even the Guild has their hands tied when someone that famous rolls into town.”

“Right, but there are only a few of them alive, right? So which one do you think would come here?”

“Maybe it’s that one guy,” Oliarta said, mouth open in thought. “The one that survived the fight with the Fatalis. What was his name?”

“Oh, you mean the Sword Saint? It was Ken… something,” Orion said. “But I don’t think it’s him. He’s really quiet from what I hear. Not the kind of guy to make an appearance in the public arenas, if you know what I mean. Nah, I bet it’s someone flashier like that Wyverian hunter, One-Armed Tolk. He’s way good.”

Tyr had only the faintest inklings of who these people were. Nifila had rarely concerned itself with the tall tales of the Legends, and Tyr had been too busy perfecting his own hunting skills to worry about who else had already done the same. Still, hearing his comrades spout out titles like ‘One-Armed’ and ‘Sword Saint’ intrigued him, a nice side-effect of his now-daily needling. Which would it actually be? And which had come through his home so long ago?

Before they could find out, Tyr was called into the arena to battle against a Basarios. The wyvern was, mostly, a bigger, stonier version of the Rhennox he’d faced before, with a few key differences. The most noticeable of these differences was its ability to release a cloud of noxious gas from the cracks in its body, poisoning Tyr for a short while. Even when Tyr managed to break the beast’s chest plate and barely sever its tail, the crowd cheered impatiently. While he hadn’t cared much at first, he’d gotten used to the roar of the crowd, and it was irritating that they weren’t cheering now just because of their anticipation of what would surely be a better show. When the beast dropped from exhaustion, Tyr turned to face his audience and saw her. A strange woman in dark grey armor.

From some fifteen meters or more up in the stands, this woman leapt forward into the arena, rolling as she hit the sand so that she spent no time at all off of her feet. Her armor was the grey of storm clouds and tornadoes, littered with golden flashes that tapered into yellow and finally white. Even more impressive was her torso-sized hammer, whose head revolved as she revved the hilt with her right hand. Fiery hair, just barely visible beneath the open-faced helmet she wore, burned with the intensity of her chakra. “Hey kid,” the Legend said. “You’re alright, but get out of my arena if you don’t want to get hurt.”

The crowd, compelled to thunder, drowned out not only Tyr’s meager response, but also the Legend’s attention span for Tyr. With only a grin, the woman whipped out her hammer, held it high, and twisted the handle enough to spin the hammer’s head at dizzying speeds. Tyr sprinted back to the lobby as he noticed the faint sound of the Crystal Gates creaking their way open behind him. Whatever it was this Legend was fighting, he didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in the Sekumaeya against it.

“Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,” the Announcer cried, just barely above the crowd. "This is the moment we’ve all been waiting for. Gunhammer Azusa will demonstrate her skills against not just one, but two Rajangs fighting back to back!” Tyr whipped around as soon as the lobby gate closed. Hunters piled up against him, everyone vying for the best position to watch Azusa fight.

The first Rajang, covered in crackling golden fur, charged straight for the legendary hunter like a Melynx to felvine. It was an impressive creature, a beast not unlike a human, if humans were four meters tall, and had massive horns jutting out of their skulls. Azusa didn’t even lower her hammer until Tyr swore it was too late. She dropped her body and jammed the hilt into the sand to brace it. The Rajang’s face slammed into the head of the hammer, and the creature stumbled backwards. Azusa was in the air before he could blink, her body arched to provide a longer swing. Halfway through there was some sort of explosion that Tyr couldn’t see, and Azusa’s hammer shot around so fast that she managed to knock the demon off its feet and send it spinning a fair distance. But she didn’t stop for a moment.

Just as the Rajang pulled itself to its feet Her hammer came up beneath its chin with another explosive burst. She twisted and hit it a second time in its belly before it could leap out of the way. The beast roared, lifting its bullfango-sized forelimbs into the air as a warning that sent a piercing chill through Tyr even at the distance he was at. Azusa took advantage of the opening to swipe one of the hind legs, the smaller, weaker limbs, and her hit was enough to knock the Rajang off balance.

As it toppled for the second time in less than a minute, Azusa catapulted herself off of her fallen foe and charged her chakra through her gunhammer in midair. Just as it burst to red she fired off a blast and came down on the head. There was a crack like a second gunshot and one of the Rajang’s horns toppled to the sand.

The Rajang finally fired back. A blast of electricity, a ball the size of the Rajang itself, came hurtling out of its mouth. Azusa wasn’t anywhere near its flight path. She had anticipated the move, thrown herself around her enemy, and landed a powerful blow against his spine just as his attack connect with the arena wall. It swept around with one of its powerful arms, only kicking up sand. Azusa countered with another blow to its back. Leaping backwards, the Rajang flung itself into the air and then came crashing down in a spinning ball of electrified golden fur. Again, Asuza wasn’t when the Rajang hit. But she was there where it landed on the rebound, tearing into it with hit after hit.

Then, they released the second Rajang.

This one was titan among his kind. Where the first stood only a few heads above Azusa on all fours, the second Rajang was easily three time her height and more than enraged at having been caged for so long. Azusa didn’t even blink. The crowd was too enthralled to make a noise. Tyr had never realized how loud silence could be.

Azusa pounded away in that silence. Every explosion of her gunhammer sent the hammer’s head rocketing with such immense force that Tyr knew that his blow from the Rhennox was nothing in comparison. The Rajangs roared, both charging with their leaping bounds. She rolled back as they did their final leaps, sending them crashing into one another. And as they tangled to get free of one another she lay into both of them, their flailing arms meeting the business end of her hammer.

Tyr barely noticed all of the pressure against his back, practically crushing him into the arena bars. He didn’t hear the breaths in his ear, or feel how shallow his own were. There, at that moment, he was just a part of the entity watching a Legend in gray and gold pummel beasts which could’ve easily taken down a dozen regular hunters.

It seemed that her every move was an attack, even when she was avoiding something. By spinning out of the reach of a leaping back-kick she’d set herself up to knock in a Rajang’s teeth. By sliding underneath a breath beam she opened herself up to an exposed flank. Soon, too soon, the smaller one fell into a heap of blood and broken bones. The larger beast would soon share the same fate, and there wasn’t a moment of doubt about that in anyone watching.

The larger Rajang pounded the ground surrounding itself to ward off her attacks, and it was the first time in the battle she stood still. Waiting for the Rajang to quit its temper tantrum, Azusa finally seemed real. Before she had been this force, this idealization of the spirit of hunting, but in those few brief moments she was just a hunter, waiting for an opening she couldn’t make on her own. It was the sort of moment that could make one believe that they could do it too with enough practice, enough patience. Then she dashed forward again, her hammer side-swiping the Rajang’s skull with blinding speed, and the belief was gone.

The blow had stunned the Rajang, but it hadn’t been smart-enough to fall down. Standing shakily on all fours, it seemed as though it was merely waiting for death. Azusa ran up the Rajang’s arm, vaulted into the air, and fired off three shots in such rapid succession that her whole body became a whirlwind of death that ended when her hammer finally struck and tore the Rajang’s head from its body.

There was nothing in the world for a moment. The silence of the surreal consumed all, permeated the soul of every person in the arena, left them awaiting further instruction from on high. Azusa, at the epicenter of the world, lifted her hammer with both hands and revved it one last time. Then, sound was everything. The crowd became a roaring, screaming, laughing, crying, hooting, hollering, endless mass of applause, and Azusa just grinned.

~

Although he’d been in a hurry to leave the audience chamber, John took a decidedly slower pace after rounding his first corner. John wasn’t a bad messenger, but he knew urgent business usually wasn’t as urgent as they said. Well, unless it involved the occasional wyvern. He’d only been chased by one or two in his life, and if he hadn’t been juicing at the time, John knew he wouldn’t be casually walking towards the King that day.

John had developed an unusual addiction to the taste of Mega Dash Juice. The Guild’s messenger service was done by trained falcon, which was fine for the Guild, but the King preferred interacting with people, something John was more than grateful for. It was because of the King’s preference that John was occasionally given an MDJ to keep him going, should he choose to extend his shifts. Consequently, John worked over eighteen hours on any given day, just trying to earn his next fix.

In truth, John wasn’t entirely certain why he liked MDJ so much. It was made from a combination of a well-done steak and the extract of certain less-than tasty monsters; the flavor wasn’t bad, but it left a lot to be desired if he thought about it too much. It certainly wasn’t the consistency or even the undeniable rush. What John liked to think was that his obsession stemmed from just how valuable the drinks were. Since he had never sold one, however, value didn’t seem a very reasonable excuse either. Whatever reason it ended up being, John guzzled down a Mega Dash Juice the moment it was given to him, even if he was so tired all he wanted to do was sleep.

By the time the cheering had died down and the King had said farewell to Azusa, John had worked himself up by running in circles for a minute or two, and so he appeared exhausted when he breathlessly reported his news.

“K… King of Fahrenn,” he panted. “Your guest has arrived.”

“Good,” the King said. “I trust he was shown to his chamber.”

“I did so personally, my lord.”

“Wonderful,” Adaline said. “Wouldn’t you say so, Sarah?”

“Of course,” Sarah lied. “Why shouldn’t it be?”

“Then let us make haste,” the King continued. “We shouldn’t keep our guest waiting.”

“He’s already been waiting months, father,” Adaline said. “Dark-Eyed Messenger, I’d like you to fetch the guard that they call Blank Blade.” Another person who called him Dark-Eyed, John would have to fix that.

“What business does that boy have in this affair?” asked the King.

“Father, he’s a dear friend.” Adaline flashed a smile. “And we’ve always got too much food.”

“Very well,” he sighed. “Go and fetch Blank Blade. We will meet you in the audience chambers.”

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“But, Father,” Sarah started, rather loudly, John thought. “He’s only a guardsman.”

“Is that all there is to it, little sister?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I have nothing but respect for our guardsmen, and see no harm in inviting one to dine with us this once. Do you, Father?”

John was almost entirely certain that both he and the King were in the middle of what they both assumed was a much larger discussion about much larger matters. He, however, hadn’t the faintest idea what those matters would be, and it made the King’s response all-the-more surprising. “I suppose not,” he started, “but if you have a problem with it, Sarah, then I would hate to upset you over something so trivial.” It was a good answer. That was why they let him be the King, John thought.

Sarah glared ever-so-subtly at her sister, but conceded that it wouldn’t be any trouble. She had been trying to think of an excuse, John could see it in her. He’d paused that same way a thousand times before. Any plausible reason to keep bad things from falling on her head. Adaline was playing a game with her - a game which Sarah couldn’t win.

As John took off again, he thought about how good his report would be that day. Maybe they’d even give him an extra MDJ for delivering a personal message from the princess to her boy toy. It wasn’t really a secret, but that didn’t mean that blackmail wouldn’t help him get what he wanted. He made sure to make better time on this one. It was always good to have a few good runs under your belt so that people believed your excuses.

“Hey! You!” John shouted at a group of guards with the Boy Toy among them. “Urgent message from the Princess!”

“Ha!” one of his friends, a Captain, said. “Which princess is it this time, Dark-Eyed?”

That title was going to stick, it seemed. “Stunning Princess.” The guard captain nudged the Boy Toy, and Boy Toy didn’t look too happy about it. In fact, he didn’t look upset about it either. Weird guy. “She says you’re to report immediately to the audience chambers.”

“Is there a reason why?” he asked like any other brainless guard. Why, John wondered, didn’t guards ever understand that it wasn’t his job to explain these things?

“She wants you there. You go there. That’s all you need to know.”

“I guess I’ll be going then,” Boy Toy said.

John watched the Boy Toy head off, and sighed. If he didn’t get a Mega Dash Juice for this, he might as well join that poor fool. Hunters really had the worst of it; they had to actually work for everything they got.

~

Tyr did his best not to get lost while walking the brilliant halls of the castle. In one, the walls were canvasses where red, orange, yellow, green, and blue swirled together seamlessly in vibrant bursts. It was what he imagined the winter sky was like in Pokke, and he was a cloud wafting through it. How Sarah must have missed these colors inside Nifila’s black walls and endless nights. Tyr touched his hand to the walls and yanked it back immediately. There was no trace of dye or paint; the wall was comprised of ore so seamlessly fit together that he could scarcely feel the indentations between colors.

Not every hallway in the castle was crafted so finely, and many were instead decorated with tapestries depicting famous heroes, previous kings, and legendary events from history. Others were littered with gaping windows offering views of the city, the vast desert, and the sky above it. It seemed that every few hallways he was in a different world, and Tyr found himself in the kitchens before he knew he’d veered off course.

“What do you think you’re doing, nya?”

“Oh. I was looking for the audience chambers. I guess I’m a little lost.”

The tabby Felyne looked him over and decided he was harmless enough. “You certainly did, nya. The audience chamber is two floors above us. I’m guessing you’re that fellow the princesses invited, nyes?” Not to be disturbed in her work, the Felyne continued to stir a large pot of bubbling broth. It smelled heavily of Kelbi, although Tyr couldn’t imagine where they would’ve come across Kelbi meat. Weren’t they herbivores? “You’re certainly shorter than rumor suggests. Head down the hall, take your second left to the staircase, and the audience chambers will be the very large red doors. Nya, I’m sure you just passed by them.”

“Oh, yeah, those doors.” He vaguely recalled a mass of red along a hall of sandy walls, and was surprised to realize he was actually a bit embarrassed. And then surprised to realize he could be surprised, even if only a little. “Thank you for the information.”

“One more thing before you go, fellow.” The chef held out a spoonful of the broth, which Tyr delicately blew on before sipping. It was delicious, but before he could speak she thwapped him with the empty spoon. “There’s a lot more of that in store if you break my girls’ hearts. Don’t think I don’t hear everything, nya. Now scat!”

Tyr ducked out of the kitchen with his surprise shifting into a drop of ire. There was a special place in his heart for people like that chef. A place filled with knives and wyvern fire. Rumor mills had always put him in bed with any woman he’d even spent more than an hour with alone, but at least in Nifila the villagers believed him when he said no. Then, the doors opened and a party of royals replaced Tyr’s thoughts.

The princesses were dressed beautifully in full gowns despite the heat of the day. Sarah in sea blue and Adaline in forest green. As stunning as they both were, neither girl drew as much attention from Tyr as their ivory-clad guest.

The stranger was certainly a hunter of some skill. His white armor, covered with spikes crafted from blood-red horns, made him look so much like a wyvern that Tyr nearly drew his sword. His face, in sharp contrast, was slim and heavily tanned, his short hair bleached blonde from all his time spent in the desert sun, and his eyes were strikingly pink, even from twenty feet away. “And this must be that guard you’ve told me about.” Without missing a beat, the Hunter extended an armored hand out to Tyr; even the knuckles were spiked. While wondering what he was meant to do with the hand offered him, Tyr noticed that one of the spikes was not part of the armor. It was a short sword, but he wore no shield. “You do know to shake hands, yes?”

Tyr grabbed the Hunter’s hand, vaguely recalling his brief lessons on royal etiquette, and followed his lead through the rest. “I’m not sure that I know who you are. I only know that Adaline summoned me.”

“You mean Stunning Princess.”

“Oh, right,” Tyr tried to shrug off his lack of manners. “Stunning Princess summoned me.”

The Hunter didn’t seem pleased. “You would do best to remember the titles of your betters. Names might fly in the guardhouse, but here it… how does he know your name, Future Sister?”

“That’s not important, Prince of Loc Lac,” Adaline said. “I brought him here for both of you to meet.”

“Is that really all?” Tyr asked.

Sarah and the Prince both seemed shocked, but Adaline laughed. Only in Tyr’s confusion did the Prince join in. “You don’t know much about interacting with royalty, do you?”

“I’ve neve-“

“No matter. Would you mind if we dueled?” This time, even Adaline didn’t laugh. “I know that it’s quite sudden, but I’ve heard of your skill in the arena and I’d like to test it, if that’s alright.”

“Sir Kean,” Sarah interjected, “Is this really necessary?”

“My Beautiful Bride,” Kean returned, fully facing her as he spoke. “There are few things in this world as necessary as knowing the capabilities of a fellow hunter.”

“But, a duel?” Adaline asked.

“Excuse me.” All eyes turned back to Tyr. “What exactly is a duel?”

Kean’s smile didn’t comfort him at all. “A duel, my young friend, is a test of hunters. We hunt, as we always would, but the difference is that we hunt each other.”

“But no forged weapon can hurt another hunter.”

“That’s the point of it,” Kean said. “Because no one can get hurt, it’s just a brilliant way to test someone’s skills against your own.”

“It’s also a brilliant way to humiliate someone,” Adaline said, none-too-happily.

“Future Sister, surely you wouldn’t insinuate I have any foul intentions in this challenge? Blank Blade is a skilled hunter - this you’ve said yourself - so what’s the matter with a little test?”

“I don’t have a problem with it,” Tyr interrupted.

Kean didn’t give either woman a chance to interrupt this time. “Wonderful. Then let’s all head to the courtyard.” There was a lot of silence on the way. Kean seemed happy-enough but, whether due to Tyr’s presence or a personal pre-battle psyche up routine, he was quiet. Neither of the princesses had anything they felt they could say now that the challenge had been accepted, at least not without being heard saying it in the cavernous hallways, and Tyr was simply trying not to humiliate himself any further, even if he didn’t feel it. He knew it, and that was enough.

Since he was so reticent, the courtyard didn’t have a chance to silence Tyr. Just like the walls of the castle, the courtyard was full of vibrant color. Exotic desert plants had been collected and arranged in large, winding arrangements. Endemic life of every sort skittered and fluttered everywhere he looked. Fountains erupted in timed patterns, and the walls were lined with just enough machalite ore to blend with the sky. Tyr was too entranced to hear Kean’s first sentence, but tuned in soon-enough to hear “I won’t be going easy on you.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Tyr replied, drawing out his katana. It seemed too beautiful a place to fight anyone, or anything, but more beautiful places had been stained with blood before. “How do we determine who wins if we can’t really be hurt?”

“Don’t be foolish,” Kean said as he drew out his red saber. “Just like a hunt, there’s never a question of the victor.” In a blur, he snapped his weapon up and called loudly enough to echo off the all-but invisible walls. “Are you ready?”

Kean’s lack of a shield also came with a speed usually reserved for dual blade users, while Tyr’s aged and broken armor slowed him down in equal measure. The only thing he could be glad for was that Kean wasn’t a Vharalyn. He wouldn’t let it stop him, however. Fast fighters relied too heavily on the openings left after a swing for their strikes, and so all Tyr had to do was wait for Kean’s impatience to get the best of him. For a short while, it even worked, but when the white noble did strike, Tyr couldn’t find the blade until he felt it across his side. Tyr’s swing, while it covered a large area, failed to connect with anything because Kean stopped the attack with his free arm by grabbing onto Tyr’s wrists.

Without mercy, Kean slammed half a dozen blows into Tyr’s left side before the other hunter managed to break free and return to his battle stance. But just as he did there was no distance between them again. Even Nargacugas and Bulldromes let up on occasion, but Kean was no mere monster in a fight; he was a raging white demon. By the time Tyr figured out a strategy that might’ve worked, Kean had beaten away the stamina he would’ve needed to execute it. Tyr fell to one knee and his opponent immediately stopped. “Had enough?”

Panting, Tyr gave a nod in defeat. Sarah clapped lightly, but both girls came to Tyr’s side to check for injuries. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. It hurts, but I think my chakra was just strong-enough to keep up.”

“I’m glad to see the Guild’s synthetic ores are so effective,” Adaline said sourly to Kean. “And that you haven’t forgone them to increase your prowess in battle.”

“Future Sister, you always judge me too harshly. I would never disobey the Guild for an unfair advantage on the field.” Kean said. “My Beautiful Bride, is there no way to appease your sibling?”

“I’m afraid she’s rather set in her ways, Prince of Loc Lac.”

“My dear, won’t you ever just call me Husband?”

“Will you two ever just talk about me like I’m actually here?” Adaline asked.

“Of course, Future Sister. I apologize for our rudeness. Oh, and Blank Blade,” Kean stepped to one side and into Tyr’s direct line of sight. “In the future, you might want to remember that men are not beasts and that we do not fight like them.”

“Yeah, point taken.” Tyr stood up and took in a very deep breath. His body wasn’t sore, just exhausted. “Well, now that we’ve met and you’ve had your fun, may I be excused to get something to eat?”

“You’re not staying for dinner?” To their mutual surprise and embarrassment, all three royals had just spoken together.

“I didn’t think I was invited. Is it soon?” Tyr’s stomach growled audibly, but he wasn’t nearly as ashamed of it as Kean was, because he immediately handed Tyr an Energy Drink.

“That should hold you until dinner, assuming that you’ve eaten in the last few hours.”

“Sarah, will you and the Prince leave us for a few minutes? I need to discuss something with Tyr before dinner and I’m afraid I won’t have another opportunity like this one.” Adaline winked, just for them. “I promise I’ll mind my manners the rest of the evening.”

“You should always behave yourself, Adaline,” Sarah sighed. “But I’ll be holding you to that promise.” She held up a hand before Kean could excuse them. “What will happen if you break this promise?”

“I will…” As Adaline considered her answer, Tyr offered his own suggestion.

“She’ll spend the next month without calling for any personal guests.” Sarah grinned at this and quickly agreed before Adaline’s shock could wear away. Kean, spikes and all, escorted the Young Princess away.

“That wasn’t a very nice thing of you to say, Tyr.” Despite how playful she’d meant for the statement to sound, there was no denying an obvious twinge of sadness in Adaline’s voice. Tyr winced at it.

“I’m sorry for that, but you haven’t had to live with the rumors flying about at every hour and in every corner of your life in a new city. I thought I’d escaped those rumors when I left Nifila.”

“Have you always been such a center of attention with women?”

“Not exactly. It’s a more-recent development in my life which I wish I could avoid. Is this all you wanted to talk to me about? Again?” Tyr took this moment to gulp down the Energy Drink.

“Actually, it’s about Kean. Why in the world did you accept his challenge when you don’t know how to duel?”

“You can’t learn how to do something if you don’t try.”

“You may as well have gone up against the White Monoblos itself. You’d be dead now if this was a real hunt.”

“But it wasn’t a real hunt, and there wasn’t any real danger.”

“There’s always danger,” Adaline argued, grabbing his hand. “You have to be careful, no matter what happens you can’t just go out there and expect things to work out.”

“Adaline,” Tyr said, squeezing her hand, “I’m sorry, but what do you even know about hunting? About fighting? You’re a princess, like Sarah.”

She was silenced, and the sunlight shot the green of her dress into her hair. “You’re right. I’m a princess, not a hunter.” She let go of his hand and turned away. “Come on, the others are waiting.”

Kean and Sarah hadn’t talked about much. In fact, they weren’t talking at all by the time Tyr and Adaline joined them. “Lovers’ quarrel?” Adaline asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Sarah said. “You promised you’d behave.”

“Of course, I’m sorry. No more jokes tonight.” An all-too-familiar bell echoed out of the inner halls. “Oh no, we’re going to be late.”

“Then I suppose we should run, no?” Though they laughed at first, they laughed a bit more when they realized Tyr was serious. “Last one there takes the blame?”

Adaline grinned. “About time Kean lost at something.”

“Addy,” Sarah started.

“What? There’s no way he’d let either of us take the blame.” They were off. All four of them dashing down the hallways, laughing and taunting each other. All the promises and defeats of the day melted away. Heartbeats raced, corridors echoed, and red and white and gold reflected the four in younger shades. Then large black doors brought them back. Kean let the girls race ahead of him in the end, to no one’s surprise, and Tyr brought up the rear. No one was blamed, but dinner was quiet all the same.

~

Tyr’s final fight in the arena before he earned his armor drew quite the crowd. In the short time he’d been there, many had been impressed by his unique solutions to fights they were certain he’d lose. As the Sand Barioth trotted into the arena the crowd stilled, and so did Tyr’s heart. “A flying wyvern…” he grunted, shifting as best he could into a more proper stance. “That figures.”

The Barioth, unlike his competition before, was mobile. When it came at him it wasn’t as head-heavy as a brute wyvern, but its arm-length tusks were certainly enough to make it just as dangerous. Tyr ducked under a wing, slashing upwards into nothing but air. The saber-toothed wyvern crashed its axe-like tail into his side and sent him flying across the arena floor.

Tyr swept around to the side, but the Barioth circled him in wider leaps thanks to its wings and powerful hind legs. He charged forwards, and was met with a blast of sand from the beast’s mouth which knocked him to the ground once more. This time the wyvern pounced atop him, tearing at his armor with rending claws. The sudden smell of dung wasn’t exactly a surprise, and nor was him waking up just outside the gates a few moments later. The Felyne Rescue Squad really couldn’t be beat when it came to saving a hunter’s life. “That’s one!” the announcer called. “How many more falls will the Blank Blade need to defeat his foe?!”

Tyr threw himself back into battle. A flash bomb offered him a small opening, enough to land a series of hits that normally would’ve at least helped to release his chakra, but there wasn’t even a flicker of white along his blade. The Sand Barioth whipped around as the flash wore off, devastating his health with the blow. He was getting tired of things hurting more than they should have. But his only way out was through, so as soon as he was healed he fade-slashed his way around an incoming charge. It wasn’t a fast way of killing, but with each narrow miss he made a mark, and that had to be enough.

It wasn’t enough though, because as the wyvern grew more and more furious it decided to kick up its game. A new blast of sand from its mouth became a whirlwind stretching into the sky. The Barioth leapt into the whirlwind, using the currents to circle higher and higher. Before Tyr could properly sheathe his katana to prepare for evading the strike, the wyvern shot down at him and the last thing he remembered were the blood-soaked claws.

“That’s two!” the announcer called. “This is it, folks. It’s now or never for our contestant!”

It hit like a cart full of bricks, and Tyr didn’t have the armor or the chakra to take it down the normal ways. Not that the Nargacuga had ever fully prepared him for what this wyvern was capable of anyways. So, he came up with a really bad idea. Tyr ran back to the center of the arena, drew his blade, and let the beast come. Tyr waited for it to charge him again before pulling his katana in front of his body like it was a great sword. There was an audible gasp from the crowd as they realized he was actually going to try and block with a longsword.

Long ago, Tyr had been told that blocking with a longsword was impossible. This was entirely true. The blade not only didn’t slow the Barioth down, it barely even absorbed the impact. As he was tossed backwards, Tyr flipped himself over, slid to a stop, and then charged the Barioth himself. It wasn’t the best of plans. Not even a good one, but while it recovered Tyr was able to throw everything he had into a massive thrust right into the wyvern’s mouth. The wyvern tried to roar, to pull back, but Tyr kept pushing and twisting like some sort of deviant lancer. When the Barioth leapt, it only pulled him along.

The beast howled and swept at Tyr, but so long as he kept to one side or the other, each swipe just knocked at his blade, cutting into the tender flesh inside its throat. The blood flowed down the hilt and over his hands, and when it coughed out a roar it soaked him through with crimson. He finally let it go, yanking the sword free and the Sand Barioth pulled back. It let out a gargled howl and tried to limp away back to its cage.

Normally, this was where the gunners launched a volley of sleep shots so powerful that even the Fatalis itself would nod off. This time, they stood watching while the crowd cheered. They watched Tyr in his triumph. They watched the suffering as blood pooled in the sands.

“What are you waiting for?” he called to them. “Put it down!” But they did nothing. Said nothing. He looked to one of the guard captains, to the crowd, and it dawned on him. Am I… supposed to kill it? He’d killed the Rhennox, sure, but he’d had to do that to survive. He’d won this one. The Barioth had nowhere to go, no fight left in it. Why not let another hunter fight it another day? The crowd’s roars transformed into a confused murmuring. Tyr sheathed his sword, and that murmur turned angry. Even Commander Clay Claw sighed.

No one stepped up to finish the Barioth off. The crowd screamed for a fight, for something, but Tyr just stared as it limped, fell into a heap, and slowly died. The arena was quiet as Tyr walked away, back through the lobby where not even his friends could look at him.

“You’re some sort of fool, Blank Blade.” It was Clay Claw.

“I take it this means I’m done with The Guard?”

“You won’t be getting off that easily.” Clay Claw flicked her tail as their gazes met. “You’ll be scrubbing floors for the rest of your life.”

“Who’s to say I won’t just quit?”

“Because you’ll be too busy hunting when you’re not scrubbing to even think about it.”

Tyr smiled just as Adaline came rushing up. “Commander,” she said, breathless. "You can’t expel Tyr just for showing some mercy. He’s a good hunter, you say so yourself.”

“I know, Stunning Princess. That’s why he’s not being expelled.”

“I don’t care what you do or do not know. My father will…” She blinked. “Be… pleased to hear that.”

“I’m sure he will be,” Clay Claw replied. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Blank Blade has some barracks to scrub in his new armor.”

There were more floors in the Guard Camp than Tyr had ever realized before. The dining hall, the barracks, the changing rooms for the communal bath, and even the commander’s home, each had to be washed to a shine daily. He was given plenty of dash juices to help himself through his exhaustion, but one day a long and spiked shadow interrupted his one real chore.

“I hear congratulations are in order, Blank Blade,” Kean said with a small smile.

Tyr was not smiling. He was too busy rubbing down the floors of the changing room. He hadn’t not been busy in three days. “Thank you… Prince of Loc Lac. Any big news from the castle?”

“We’re married,” he replied, and Tyr’s eyes shot up. Sarah was standing next to Kean, doing her best to smile. Her white dress was brilliant in the afternoon sunlight. Tyr wondered if white was the traditional bride color for this part of the continent, or if she was merely dressed to match.

“Congratulations, and many years of happiness to you both. I’m sorry if I don’t sound pleased. My chakra,” he began.

“No need to explain. I’ve heard the story more than a few times now. They say it happened in a fight with a Silver Rathalos. Is that true?” Tyr made a small nod. “It’s incredible to think you survived at all.”

Tyr didn’t respond, and so the three stared at each other for a long while. Sarah’s hair fell in waterfalls over her bare shoulders, so much darker than the empty blue sky behind her.