Chapter 31: Today’s Lesson

TRISTAN

Of all the lessons Tristan had learned from Jamal, the one the swordmaster had drilled into him the most was that composure was critical to winning a sword fight. Without composure, you couldn’t defend properly. Without composure, you couldn’t spot weaknesses to exploit. In short, without composure, you died.

So when the determined half-giant charged with both swords drawn, Tristan found himself calm and collected. This opponent was nowhere near as fast as Jamal, and if something wasn’t as fast as Jamal, Tristan had time to prepare.

Tristan drew his greatsword and quickly took up the first stance Jamal had taught him. He wanted to defend until he knew what he was dealing with. It seemed the man's measure was slightly longer than his, even with shorter swords. The half-giant was also a clear professional, not letting more than a hint of any expression show on his face despite what any earlier outbursts might have implied.

In the opening seconds, Tristan learned a lot about his opponent. As soon as their steel clashed, he could tell the half-giant favored his right hand--the bleeding sword. He made attacks with both weapons, but his style was more about flitting in and out with his longer reach, clearly working toward the bleeding sword’s advantage. Tristan could see the method working well to frustrate people who might struggle to match it. But Tristan was tall himself, and using a greatsword gave him nearly the same potential range. What’s more, since they were in the middle of Smith's Row, surrounded by observers, their ability to maneuver or escape would be limited.

The huge man wasn’t as fast as Jamal, it was true, but he was tricky. He used a right-handed thrust to conceal a lagging left-handed slash. Despite this, Tristan wasn’t fooled and was able to block both. The half-giant followed that up with a barrage of paired swings. Both swords came at Tristan relentlessly, always together but slightly out of sync. Tristan could just barely keep up--until eventually a third attack broke the pattern, and he was not able to parry in time. The sword called Tear grazed Tristan’s thigh.

You are now weakened.

The notification was a simple line of text, but with it came a debuff icon and a small countdown bar, starting at 15, on the side of his vision.

Only 15 seconds, Tristan tried to tell himself. That’s not too bad.

But the more the half-giant swung his twin blades, the more Tristan recognized that fifteen seconds was an eternity in a real duel. In fifteen seconds, he blocked just as many attacks. It was a near impossible task to block them all.

One moment, the twin blades spun high, the next low, practically horizontal blurs across Tristan’s vision. But Tristan thought he could feel a pattern in the continuous swipes, and as he backpedaled toward the door of Garrow's, he managed to parry more and more of the blows. But as the new notification showed, it wasn’t quite all of them.

You are now bleeding.

Rip had managed to hit him, too. Warm blood trickled down his right arm, but it was odd because it didn’t hurt enough. Without the notification, he might not have recognized the hit at all. Is it coated in something that numbs pain? Tristan wondered. More trickery.

The new debuff’s timer had started at 30 seconds instead of 15, which was obviously bad, and he took damage every three seconds it was active. Sure, It wasn't all that much, but it would still add up. And if it stacks...

Tristan decided to prioritize defending against Rip, and ending the bleeding debuff, even if it meant being struck again by Tear and remaining weakened.

It only took two more clashes before Tristan had to make that choice for real--because somehow four attacks came at him in a sudden burst, much faster than before. How that was possible, Tristan didn’t know yet. But he stood by his decision, and he let the weakening blade cut into his side, refreshing its debuff timer all the way back up to 15 seconds. But he’d blocked Rip, and as he eyed the bleeding debuff, which was still taking chunks of his health with every tick, he knew it had been the right call.

The fight had not started out very well for Tristan; he could admit that. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t string together enough blocks to get rid of either debuff. He couldn’t even get them down halfway.

Seeking for a positive, during those moments where he was taking more and more damage, he was slowly getting a feel for the half-giant’s attack cadence. As a result, Tristan felt like he was making progress. He was learning, and with a little more understanding, he could start attacking and--

Four more attacks came at him with nearly Jamal-like speed. Way faster than the half-giant’s regular combinations. They were so much faster, Tristan figured it had to be a skill.

And Rip, with the fourth and final strike, tagged him again.

The bleeding debuff not only refreshed to its full 30 second duration, but a big “2” appeared on top of it. His fears had been correct.

The bleed stacked.

With a sneer, the half-giant backed off for exactly three seconds. Then when Tristan took double the bleeding damage from before, the half-giant lunged again. Tristan wasn't surprised, just frustrated. The fight was going to be much harder than he'd thought.

He backed up more and more, trying to stay beyond the half-giant’s reach as much as possible. Attempting to outrun the debuffs. The crowd struggled to make way for him, but the path they gave ended up with him almost pressed against the outer wall of Garrow’s. He couldn’t allow himself to be pinned like that. Before he could get completely cornered, he deflected a blow from Rip and counterattacked with a [Riposte], slashing with so much power his opponent needed both swords to block it. The impact sent vibrations all the way up Tristan's arms, but it also stopped the half-giant’s momentum, if only for a moment. What started as a passing step quickly became a full spin. By fully extending his blade, he cleared a large space around him. More importantly, it freed him up to move back toward the middle of the street.

With a little sigh of relief, he looked back at the half-giant, and he smiled at what he saw.

Apparently his opponent's block had gone up too slowly. There was now a thin slit in his armor where blood was coming out, straining the surrounding surface red.

Tristan wanted to cheer at his first real hit, but that honestly might not have been nearly as important as managing to shift away from the wall. Now if he could actually pressure the half-giant some, perhaps he could pull off something clever.

Neither fighter spoke, but Tristan could sense his opponent's frustration building. His callous eyes showed the disgust of someone who hadn't thought he’d take even a single hit in this bout, no doubt due to their level difference. Tristan hoped he could ruin the mercenary’s reputation a little more.

An instant later the half-giant charged again, opening this time with another flurry of attacks--and Tristan was ready. The four blows felt more manageable now that Tristan knew that they were a skill. They were predictable. This time, not a single hit of the flurry landed.

Tristan began finding more opportunities to [Riposte]. He couldn’t take them, since each time he thought he might counterattack, another attack followed it too quickly, and he had to defend that instead. He strung together several blocks in a row, only letting Tear hit on the rare occasion.

“Block and dodge all you want. You can’t avoid them all. This crowd is gonna watch you bleed out eventually.”

Tristan let his gaze flit to the crowd briefly. It had grown thicker around them. There were now so many people that Tristan couldn’t see through them anymore. They were strangely quiet, though. No cheering or betting, as Tristan might have expected. Thinking back, he realized that most of them had just watched, giving space or stepping aside as the clashes of steel demanded.

Tristan rolled his neck, watching as a few more precious seconds ticked off the debuffs. “If you can keep landing hits, sure. But it seems like you’re starting to struggle.”

With a roar in response, the battle shifted again. The half-giant began feinting in what might have been a near-rhythmic pattern, except that Tristan couldn't tell the difference between the half-giant’s real attacks and his feints. He had to defend against them all. That meant Tristan was stretching himself too thin, leaving too many openings for the next sword to sweep in and tag him. He was constantly weakened and bleeding. And the bleed debuffs kept stacking, each increasing the periodic damage he took. Currently seven stacks were ticking away, and Tristan’s health was dropping like a stone.

Tristan needed to take back control of this fight, and quickly, or he was going to lose. His opponent must have come to the same conclusion, since the half-giant seemed content to merely harass Tristan with his swords, only really pressing hard when either debuff got low. Granted, it was working, and Tristan simply couldn’t stop the constant damage ticking away at him. It was brutal in its simplicity, but that reminded him of another of Jamal’s lessons: “Sometimes fights are just simple.”

That same session had also led to one of his all-time favorite Jamal quotes: “As long as you’re still standing, a fight only ends when you win or your creativity dies.”

Tristan loved that quote because he always had ideas. Possibly even now, he could outthink his opponent.

So what can I do to change things up? He asked himself.

He was still struggling to keep more bleeds from stacking, but if he somehow managed to stem that, if he could hold out long enough for the stack to fall off, he could swing the momentum back in his favor.

After only a moment of thought, he saw a way through.

For the first time ever, Tristan used his [Combat Switch] ability in a fight. He swapped his [Hope’s Aspiration] for the [Repaired Rusty Longsword] and [Heartmender’s Shield] that were in his magical storage. It was odd how cleanly the ability seemed to work, considering how the items exchanged were so different. In less than the blink of an eye, Tristan had shifted into a fully defensive set up, putting his shield front and center, where it immediately blocked both incoming attacks. He also felt the [Rejuvenation] property begin to slowly undo the damage from the bleeds, though it couldn’t quite keep up with the health that was ebbing away.

The half-giant seemed quick to adapt to Tristan’s shift in tactics, growing more aggressive. Gone were the little stutter steps into and out of range. Instead he closed in, making all his attacks that much harder to avoid. He made combination attacks, one after another, clearly trying to push any damage through. But, ironically, that actually made the pressure more constant, more rhythmic, and more predictable.

The shield was buying Tristan time to think, and in those little extra moments he started building a real plan. First, he needed to block everything until the bleed fell off. Once that was done, he could start punishing the openings his opponent was leaving.

For now though, his focus stayed in the present. He blocked, and he blocked, and he blocked. Nothing got past the shield unless it was then deflected by his longsword. No matter how hard the half-giant swung or how he tried to mask his true attacks, nothing made it through. How the shield held out against the constant beating, Tristan didn't know. He hoped it was a testament to quality craftsmanship.

Tristan checked the countdown bars for his status effects. The bleeding debuff now sat at ten stacks, and the timer was nearly halfway gone. Just a bit longer!

He became hyper-focused on Rip. High swings clanged against the shield. Low swings were met with his longsword, when they weren’t outright dodged with footwork. Nothing from Rip was allowed to hit. He could outlast the rest of the damage with the [Rejuvenation], he told himself, and the weakened debuff wouldn’t matter until he started attacking. It didn’t even stack.

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Frustration was a patient and dangerous enemy, and Tristan’s opponent was clearly letting himself sink further and further into it. With only ten seconds left on the bleeds, the half-giant grew frenzied. Then came the familiar pattern of four quick thuds off his shield--the skill again. The exact same skill Tristan had been ravaged by earlier. Always the same attack, with the same delay, and the same number of strikes. But now it was predictable.

And it was on cooldown.

The half-giant’s technique faded into desperation. His coordinated combos were abandoned in favor of rapidly trying to connect with Rip and only Rip. As the debuff hit five seconds, Tear had become an afterthought.

As confident as Tristan wanted to be, he couldn’t lose focus. The timer became his true enemy; he wouldn’t miss a single block.

And he didn’t. He didn’t allow a single attack through.

The bleed was gone. For the first time in this blessed duel, Tristan was no longer taking constant damage.

It was clear his opponent also knew the instant the final bleed ticked away, because he immediately snarled. “Bloody turtle! I'll beat you anyway!”

Tristan wasn't given the opportunity to reply before the half-giant closed with him and his flurry attack skill. But Tristan was absolutely ready. He'd internalized the cooldown and known it was coming.

Blocking the first two swings with his shield, Tristan used his own sword to block the third strike of the four-hit combo, which was delivered with Tear, as expected. The blades met, and Tristan immediately activated his [Riposte] skill, finally landing some much needed pressure of his own. And when the fourth attack glanced off his shield, Tristan used [Piercing Thrust] to send his longsword straight toward the half-giant’s middle, aiming to skewer him.

The half-giant turned just enough at the last moment to take the blade through his side instead of his guts. But the damage had been done. The massive man was clearly bleeding now--sadly, not the debuff--and he disengaged with three massive steps backward to a place where he could see and feel his own wound.

Tristan would have been happy to let him go at this point. While it was true that he had managed to avoid Rip for over 30 seconds, and the bleed timer had completely ticked down, his health was still dangerously low. Every second they were talking was more time for him to heal. If he could stall long enough, he might actually recover enough to win.

“You’re just delayin’ what’s comin’,” the half-giant said, spitting to the side. “Hide behind that little shield if you want, but you can’t win with it.”

Tristan did not smile. Instead, he rapped his own sword against the shield, just once. He still loved hearing its steel reverberate. He knew his enemy was predictable, and he would use that to the best of his ability. “We’ll see.”

The half-giant scoffed. “So the little smith thinks he’s got it all figured out, huh?” He pulled out a vial of some red liquid and downed it in one gulp. “You’re not the only one with tricks up your sleeves.”

Tristan barely had time to wonder what the potion did before the man began to turn a muddy red and grow. Up and up he went, until he was twice the size of Tristan. The hole in his side had completely closed up. And worst of all, his swords had somehow magically grown with him. Each looked to be slightly longer than Tristan’s greatsword.

Tristan didn’t need the sharp inhale from the spectators all around the ring to know that this was not a good development for him.

Something in the world seemed to agree, because that was when an event notification popped up.

Would you like to wager on the outcome of this duel?

Current odds are 5:1 in favor of Bernhardt.

With a totally forced laugh, Tristan thought, Might as well, and mentally placed ten gold pieces on himself to win. He saw the prompt acknowledging his bid, and that it also showed that his potential payout would be fifty. With a quick look around the crowd, Tristan could see he wasn’t the only one placing a bet. Too many people had begun staring off blankly only to return to the present and start cheering for either Tristan or the half-giant, who was more like a full giant now, named Bernhardt.

Bernhardt himself was grinning broader than ever. “The value of this contract just keeps gettin’ better,” he said, rolling his two swords around in his now-torso-sized fists. “It’s not every day I get to collect twice on the same job.”

Tristan shrugged, trying to force his shoulders to loosen up a bit. “I hope you didn’t bet it all,” he said, trying to make his voice sound calmer than he felt, “or you’ll be really sore tomorrow.”

“Show him what you’ve got, Tristan!” came a cheer from the Garrow’s doorway, where apparently Temperance had appeared some time earlier. Several from around the crowd joined in, while others began to cheer on the giant.

But those brief moments were all the break Tristan got before Bernhardt the giant began attacking again.

It was quickly clear to Tristan that the potion had boosted Bernhardt in more ways than just size. Every one of the man’s attacks now packed a lot more punch. Even when they hit his shield, Tristan was forced backward. When the flurry came, the first two attacks forced him to brace his shield with his full body weight, the third attack nearly knocked him off his feet, and the fourth attack finished what the third started, nearly wrenching the shield from his grip in the process.

Tristan tried using his smaller size to outmaneuver the giant. He jumped between his opponent’s trunk-like legs before hacking at the back of his knees. He even made good contact, but his blade was unable to penetrate deeply into the hardened flesh. The monstrous man didn’t seem to feel any pain, and his knees didn’t give out. Instead, he slid his foot backward, catching Tristan with his heel and sending the much smaller smith sprawling across the dirt road.

Tristan was able once again to raise his shield against two of the vertical slashes that might have cut him in half, but the impact against the shield sent terrible tremors through his arms, inflicting a bit of damage even through the block. To make matters worse, when he tumbled to the ground again, one of the giant’s massive feet landed on top of him in an attempt to grind him into the dirt. It was all Tristan could do to keep from becoming paste, as his health plummeted into critical levels. His vision was suddenly ringed with a red that threatened to suffocate him.

Summoning all of his strength, Tristan thrust his longsword straight up into the massive boot. The giant recoiled in pain, just enough for Tristan to escape being ground into the dirt. He rolled away as Bertrandt quickly recovered.

Tristan could see the giant raising his swords again and made up his mind. With another [Combat Switch], the shield and longsword were replaced by his greatsword. He rolled out of the path of the descending blades and watched as they actually buried themselves in the dirt road.

Tristan could hardly believe the power behind such attacks could come from someone only a few levels above him, with just a single enhancement potion to boost it. That took a little bit of the sting away from his pride, and he resolved to find his own enhancements as soon as he could.

He knew that the cooldown for the flurry attack was almost up, and that he couldn’t afford to face that attack without his shield. That meant he had to end the fight now, despite being out-leveled, out-statted, and out-experienced.

But there’s always a way. Just have to be creative. What can I do that this guy won’t expect?

In the brief moment of calm as the giant exhumed his swords from the ground, Tristan’s eyes fell upon his own sword’s crossguard. He grimaced.

So be it. No one’s going to expect this.

For the first time in the fight, Tristan charged straight toward his foe. He began to lift [Hope’s Aspiration] from his side, raising it above his head for one massive downward strike. Even to the untrained masses in the crowd, it was utterly obvious what he was trying to do. There was no question of his intent.

The giant rounded on him and also saw him coming. A cocky grin dominated Bernhardt’s face as he pushed Rip into a powerful horizontal slice. It was fast and long enough to hit Tristan first.

“Brightshield!”

The word burst out of Tristan’s mouth with unmistakable power, sending ripples across the ground. He had known he didn’t actually need to say the words, but he wanted to anyways. It just felt right. A flare of white light surrounded Tristan, dimming even the brightness of the midday sun.

When the giant’s longsword struck the glowing swordsmith’s body, it must have seemed to the rest of the world as though it passed through untouched. Only Tristan knew the truth: that his body would have stood no chance against the empowered blade with as little defense as he was putting up against it. It likely would have cut him in half. It might have even killed him.

Instead, that deadly force was converted somehow into warmth, and serenity, and love.

Only by taking the giant’s blow had Tristan gotten close enough to confidently deliver his own strike, aimed at the giant’s other arm. He put everything he had left into that attack, and his sword did not disappoint. Even with the 25% damage reduction from the Embrace’s domain, it still cut straight through the massive biceps like a hot knife through butter.

The arm landed on the ground not a foot behind where Tristan stopped, dazed, still in critical health but no worse off than he’d been a moment before.

Suddenly there were cheers and gasps and boos. There were cries to send for help. Tristan took several deep breaths to calm himself from the rush of adrenaline.

His eyes locked on the huge pool of blood left behind by the disconnected arm.

And then he heard a very familiar voice rising above the crowd. “That’s enough, Bernhardt.”

Cherry’s voice.

Tristan blinked, and he recognized that the red-headed young woman, who had probably never seemed smaller in her entire life, was physically holding back Bernhardt, who was back down to half-giant size at last--minus an arm. The murderous look in his eyes was as intense and frightening as anything Tristan had ever seen... aside from the Black Ooze Progenitor.

Yet Cherry scolded him like a child. “Grab your arm quickly, and go with Amber! We’ve got Cleo set up in a room at Greener Pastures.” She actually smacked the half-giant’s blood-spattered face. “‘Quickly’ means NOW, you idiot! If you want to have that arm reattached, every moment counts!”

That seemed to shake Bernhardt from his rage. He reached down, grabbed his left arm, and clutched it tightly to him as he sprinted behind a young blonde girl.

The moment Bernhardt left the circle, the fight was fully over. A rush of disbelief, experience, and notifications swept over Tristan. He had won. Despite all the challenges and Bernhardt’s advantages.

Tristan heard the telltale ding! and was surrounded by the golden glow of a level up. He had reached level 12 at last.

And that was only the most recent of the notifications that flooded his display. The first had been:

You have won your duel against: Bernhardt

Rewards: 50 gold pieces, Bonus EXP

You have gained the title: {Duelist}.

Another title he wasn’t sure he wanted to wear. Though at least the other rewards were nice. A small pouch appeared just before him and dropped to the ground with a thud. As he picked it up, its contents clinked in his hand.

Congratulations! Your Primary Class has reached LEVEL 12!

You have earned a skill selection.

Skill Selection:

You may learn one skill from the options provided. Any skill not selected now will still be available in subsequent level-up skill selections if you so choose.

Do you wish to proceed now?

There was another similar notification telling him that his swordsman Secondary Class had also leveled up to 4, but he didn’t get to fully read it (or even see what skill options he had gained) before Cherry was at his side. Her soothing touch was slowly mending some of his wounds, immediately lessening the red border around his vision.

“Honestly, kid, I wasn’t sure you had it in you,” she began, lowering her voice so that only Tristan could hear her. “But the Master knew better, just like always. He said he knew exactly how much you could handle.” She paused briefly to check him over, looking at his eyes, lifting his arms, and quickly turning him about. “You look surprisingly OK. How do you feel?”

Tristan thought he might be, but what he said was, “I’m not really sure.”

“First fights can have that effect.”

“That wasn’t my first fight,” Tristan replied with a shiver.

Cherry positioned herself directly before him and pulled his gaze up to her. “You’ve fought against another person before? Alone?”

Tristan looked at the bloody pool, and the trail that led past the dispersing ring of people. “Not alone,” he admitted. “That was... scary. But also thrilling. And kind of insane, honestly. I cut off that guy’s arm!”

“And Cleo will mend it for him, assuming he followed Amber at a reasonably brisk pace. No permanent harm done.”

Tristan let that sink in, and it sort of helped. It wasn’t like he had picked the fight, and he’d done what he had to do, using the boon from his sword. At least he hadn’t ended someone’s Path.

His brain began unraveling something else Cherry had told him, and he felt a surge of anger. “You said Jamal knew how much I could handle. Did he set this whole fight up?”

“Quietly!” Cherry scolded as she looked around, perhaps checking if anyone else had heard. Her next words were faint whispers again. “And of course he did. Although, if we’re being technical, I actually arranged the finer details--on his orders, of course. He picked the opponent and the time. You picked the venue, unwittingly or not. I’m so glad you moved outside, though. No real harm done to any of the shops, other than maybe drawing some attention away and blocking off the street.” She beamed. “And, no bystanders were injured either! All in all, I’d say today’s lesson was a huge success. He’ll surely be pleased.”

Tristan stared at the massive sword he was still holding. He was afraid to set it down, because he knew that without it his hand would be quaking right now.

“Today’s lesson,” Tristan repeated angrily.

Cherry patted him on the shoulder. “For what it’s worth, you handled yourself really well.”

“It was worth about 50 gold...” Tristan muttered, as he remembered there was one more notification he still hadn’t read yet.

You have earned a strike from the Steelblood Guild.

Great, he thought, just one more blessed thing I didn’t ask for.