Chapter 36: The Roving Blade
TRISTAN
Tristan had never been happier to pay a gold piece in his life. Billy had made the return trip to Jamal’s fly by, and Tristan had gotten a decent night’s sleep as a result.
When he woke, he was surprised to find he wasn’t even sore, though he did his morning stretches anyway. He’d done them every day since Jamal had taught them to him, and he had to admit that they definitely were helping with his flexibility. He was nearly able to do a full split now, which had become sort of a silly, meaningless, benchmark for his personal growth of late.
When he actually ate breakfast at the big table in the dining room for once, instead of in his own room, several of the servants were clearly surprised, though they didn’t say a word about it. They explained that they didn’t yet know what his schedule would be for the day or when the Master might rise from his chamber, and they did so with hospitable smiles.
Concluding that he had the morning to himself, Tristan knew he’d have to seek out Cherry for a very important question. He wanted to go back to his private room and work on building the portable forge, but that would require something outside of his skills.
Once he found her, it still took him a while to work up the courage to ask her. Despite Jamal’s repeatedly telling him it was her job, it still felt weird to ask Cherry for favors out of the blue. Especially at times like this, when she got annoyed by them.
“You need a fire mage for two hours?”
Tristan grimaced slightly. “Any heat source should work, honestly, but yeah. Someone--or something, I suppose--that can heat up the metal for me.”
“For two whole hours?” she asked, clearly skeptical.
“I won’t need the flames the whole time,” Tristan explained, “but every ten minutes or so, or whenever I need to reheat the metal.”
“So when you say ‘two hours’...”
“That’s how long the whole process will take. If you can keep everyone else out of my room for that long.”
Cherry sighed and rubbed her forehead. “Alright. I’ll see if Aldra is available. She’s only tier 2, but she should be able to handle that, I think.”
Not long after, Cherry knocked on Tristan’s door, this time accompanied by a short, red-haired dwarven woman. “Tristan, this is Aldra. She can definitely heat up anything you want, especially if it’s tier 2 or below.”
The woman lifted her chin and met his eyes, then gave the deepest bow Tristan had ever seen. “It will be my pleasure to serve the Master’s student,” she said as her face nearly touched the floor.
“That’s... impressive, but totally unnecessary,” Tristan found himself saying.
Cherry just laughed. “She’s kind of new here, Tristan, so do forgive her if she’s still got some unwinding to do. She hasn’t caught the vibe of the manor yet. And she’s a Dwarf of the Petrified Woods, so we cut her some slack. Tradition and respect are kind of a big deal to her people.”
Tristan stiffened. “I apologize if I insulted your culture!”
Aldra returned to standing upright and shook her head. “The Student has not caused any insult, and I bear him no ill will.”
Cherry smiled as she headed toward the doors. “I’ll just leave you two to it. Be good, OK? Have a fun two hours--and don’t worry too much about the rumors this will undoubtedly cause.” She laughed on her way out, which made Tristan feel all sorts of uncomfortable.
Luckily, Aldra was nearly as focused as he was, and she asked the perfect question to kickstart their project: “The Student requires my assistance in making a forge?”
What surprised Tristan most was that for something that would end up being so inherently magical, the portable forge really didn’t require exotic materials. Tristan only needed the fire mage because he’d lost access to the normal forges in Rockmoor. It did take lots of steel, which he still had enough leftover from his earlier dungeon runs, as well as a few rubies to somehow capture the magical fire it would use. The portability of it came from a property that allowed it to shrink and grow, rather than any magical self containment, but Tristan wasn’t really sure how that worked. Just that it would work, once he was done.
The scroll had given him the tools and confidence he needed to get it just right. It was in that regard the crafting actually felt pretty strange to Tristan: it was the first time he’d known exactly how to make something he’d never attempted before.
While he didn’t mind, he’d come to realize that he enjoyed the process and the learning that accompanied crafting just as much as the end result. He resolved not to make a habit of it even if scrolls suddenly started dropping out of the sky for him.
As the two hours quickly came to a close, Aldra was sitting off to the side, watching silently but intently as Tristan finished his work. She had been the perfect assistant, once she’d figured out just how hot the metal needed to be. The only awkwardness had been what Tristan felt for essentially using her like a tool. Still, he couldn’t argue with the results.
As Tristan felt it all come together in the final moments, he marveled at its deceptively simple box-like design.
His portable forge was finished.
[Portable Forge(rare)]: [Shrinking], Soulbound
A magical forge perfect for crafting when away from home, made by a budding swordsmith.
It was strange but not unexpected to see the Soulbound property at the end of the item’s description. He wondered just what that meant, and how much it might limit other people from using his forge. Would the heat not work for them, or would only he be able to shrink and grow it when he wanted to use it? It was an interesting problem that Tristan kind of wanted to test but Aldra clearly had no interest in.
“Since the Student is clearly done,” she said with a small bow, “I will be on my way. I have other tasks that require my attention.”
“Thanks--!” Tristan had barely said before the dwarf slipped out the door and down the hall. He shrugged. “I guess I’ll just have to find someone else to try another time. For now, I guess, I’ll see how it works.”
But even that didn’t seem to be in the cards, because before he could even remove more metal from his crafting materials bag, Cherry reentered his room.
“Two hours was a really good estimate,” she said smiling. “That’s good, because Jamal is ready to get going. He wants you in the training yard as quickly as possible.”
Tristan sighed, a touch conflicted. Honestly, he wasn’t all that mad about getting more training with his sword. But he’d only just begun to scratch the surface of his crafting itch, and he wasn’t sure how long it would be before he could get back to it. Hopefully the next morning. He wasn’t naive enough to plan on being in any shape to seriously craft immediately after a session with Jamal.
“I’ll be right there,” Tristan said with a forced smile.
As he changed into training clothes, he also remembered that he was still mad at his teacher. The fight from the previous day, which Cherry had called “the day’s lesson,” still really bothered him. What was he supposed to have learned from it? Why had Jamal stepped aside and pretended it was a day off only to put him in harm’s way?
It just didn’t sit well with Tristan. He trusted his teacher to have his reasons, but until Tristan heard them, all he’d be was frustrated. So he finished dressing, slung his sword across his shoulder, quickly ran through the halls, and emerged into the sunny courtyard at the heart of Jamal’s manor. He saw Jamal sitting cross-legged in the center, right where the spirals of sand came together with perfect geometrical precision.
“That was faster than I thought,” the swordmaster said without bothering to open his eyes. “Feeling a bit angry over yesterday, eh?” He opened his eyes but still refused to stand. “Not a fan of the hands-on approach? I knew I should have hired the girl instead.” He glanced over his shoulder and spoke with a slightly raised voice, “Cherry, next time remind me to get the girl.”
“Sure thing,” Tristan heard Cherry reply, though he couldn’t see her anywhere.
Jamal returned his attention to his student. “So what did ya learn from all that yesterday? Cherry gave me her notes, but obviously I still want to hear from you.”
Tristan’s hand tightened around the grip of his sword. “No offense, sir, but I didn’t appreciate that ‘lesson’ at all. I’m not sure I can learn anything when I’m fearing for my life out of nowhere.”
Jamal laughed as he straightened his legs out in front of him, arched his back, and sprang directly to his feet. Even with how he was feeling, Tristan was still envious of how effortless his teacher made the maneuver look.
“You don’t think you learned anything,” Jamal restated with a smirk as he began stalking toward Tristan. “Not a single takeaway... from a fight against a career mercenary two levels above you, with a fighting style you’d never seen before, that you not only survived but won and didn’t require any major healing after? You didn’t learn anything? C’mon mate. You gained a swordsman level and got... What was it back at level 4? [Blade’s Resolve], right? The damage reduction while holding a blade? That will actually help you later.”
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Tristan felt himself get heated, especially as he realized all the ways Jamal was right. “I didn’t like it then,” he said, trying to hold on to his teacher’s gaze but still looking away too quickly. “I’d have preferred a warning, or real lessons, or--"
“That absolutely was a real lesson, man. What’s more real than not knowing if you’re going to die? Do you prefer caltrops sessions?”
“No, but--That’s how I feel every time we spar!”
Jamal laughed. “Which is why I knew you needed this. If you honestly can’t tell the difference between fighting in here and what happens out there, Tristan, you need help and you know it. Look, mate, you might not like how it went down, and I get that, but it was good for you. You needed to change things up a bit. Besides, I knew you’d win.”
Jamal was giving Tristan as much of his attention as he ever had. He wasn’t eating or drinking or closing his eyes. He wasn’t entertaining one of his attendants or meditating. He wasn’t even holding a sword, wood or otherwise. It was just him and Tristan and the sand beneath their feet.
When Tristan didn’t respond for a while, Jamal shrugged. “Would it help if I told you I wouldn’t make it a regular thing? I won’t say it won’t happen ever again, ‘cause I suspect that would be a lie. But I do hear what you’re telling me, alright?”
Tristan nodded. “That’s a start.”
“Good. And look, man, I promise I won’t ever put you in front of something I don't personally think you’re ready for. I just see more of your potential than even you do. I don’t think you rightly know how talented you are. And, honestly man, I kind of want to push you as hard as I possibly can, because I think you could win the bloody Tier 3 Tournament in Camille. Like, possibly even freshly tiered-up. Could you imagine: having a level 21 taking down high level 30s? It would be bonkers! The whole realm would lose its mind.”
Despite his teacher’s clear enthusiasm, Tristan clenched his jaw. He still wanted to be angry with Jamal. He felt like he had a right to be, even if the man had been nothing but praising him since they started talking. What’s more, the more he fought against Jamal’s excitement, the more the swordmaster’s idea wormed its way into Tristan’s head. If Jamal actually thought he might be capable of winning The Camille Tier 3 Tournament...
He begrudgingly let some of that optimism leak through into his mood as he rested his hand on the pommel of his greatsword. Eventually it ate away at what anger remained. He rolled his shoulders. “What’s the next step, then?”
With a wolfish grin, two one-handed, wooden training swords appeared in Jamal’s hands. “I’m so very glad you asked. Today’s lesson is going to be adaptability.” And without any other warning, the swordmaster charged.
Tristan immediately went to block--and was truly surprised when he easily met the swordmaster’s blade every time it came for him. “You’re going easy on me!” he realized.
“I’m going the same speed as your last opponent,” Jamal explained, “so you’re not wrong. But, Cherry pointed out an opportunity...” The swordmaster allowed his swords to do the rest of the talking.
The swords suddenly moved faster--though still not as fast as Tristan knew they could move--and made four attacks in quick succession. The pattern and timing were immediately familiar to Tristan, but the fourth swing still managed to sneak up on him. Had he been any slower, it would have undoubtedly left a bruise on his upper arm larger than his head.
“That was Bernhardt’s flurry attack skill!” he said, pulling back. “How did you do that?”
“Because I learned it too,” Jamal said flippantly while also disengaging. “Though obviously I’ve upgraded mine a lot, so dialing it back to its basic form was like using a butter knife for a blade. Anyway, the half-giant just had the unupgraded [Blade Flurry]. Four hits, specific timing, as you clearly found out. And Cherry was right: your reflexes have improved a lot, since you basically kept up with all the strikes. But that last one, it still nearly got you. That’s a place where we can improve right now.”
Tristan nodded with understanding. “Could you also teach me [Blade Flurry]?”
“Of course I could,” Jamal laughed, “but I won’t! What you need isn’t more skills, man. You’ll get all the skills in the world with time. What you need is technique! It’s all in the technique. The more you know, the more you can adapt. Good technique is the difference between your everyday swordsmen and the best one in the realm. And now that you’ve got a decent handle on the basics, well,” the swordmaster tossed his two wooden practice swords to the ground without the slightest concern, “it’s time to teach you a technique I came up with myself. Even Orson didn’t know this one!”
In an instant, Jamal’s steel greatsword appeared and began circling in front of him as if shaping a cone. Tristan had seen him do this a few times before, but he’d never really studied it. It had almost seemed incidental at first, or like it was a transition between positions. But now he was starting to think it might be more than that--something in and of itself.
“The Roving Blade,” Jamal began, “provides a sort of shortcut in finding the next attack or block. Wherever it comes from, wherever the sword needs to be, you can get there more quickly thanks to the momentum that’s already going. It evens the playing field against quick weapons like daggers and rapiers.”
Tristan watched, and he had to admit that it made sense. Jamal wasn’t letting the blade stop moving even as he switched grips. He could weave the blade like a figure 8, or he could just go around in a circle on one side.
“Does it speed up your attacks, too, or--?”
“Always with the offense,” Jamal said, shaking his head. “Trust your teacher, right? Have some faith, and just try this out for yourself. I know how you are. You could watch me do this all week long, but you won’t learn a thing until you do it yourself.”
He isn’t wrong, Tristan admitted, flexing his shoulders. Then he lifted his greatsword from the ground and began trying to move as Jamal had.
Jamal stopped his own blade, planted it in the ground, and leaned casually against it. “Make sure you work on those hands, man. This is going to require much more strength than normal. If your grip slides like that in real combat, you’ll drop your sword, and we finally got you to stop doing that.”
“I’m working on it. Also, how does that not dull the blade?” Tristan asked, nodding toward the sword jutting into the ground.
“Once you get better with Tier 2 materials, it really won’t matter. They just stay sharp. Usually.”
The hardest part was changing it from the simple chopping motion he was used to, but once the blade got moving, Tristan actually began to feel comfortable rounding the blade steadily past his right side.
Jamal prompted, “That’s fine if everything is coming from your right, but now cover both sides.”
So Tristan began weaving the blade back and forth, which surprisingly made the grip a little easier, since he didn’t have to move his hands much. Though it was making the body positioning and footwork much harder.
“Passing steps are your friend,” Jamal advised, reminding Tristan that he didn’t have to stay stationary the whole time. “You should be able to go forward and backward with this. What you’re doing might work against an invalid or--No, man, you’ve got to at least pretend like you need to move about and dodge! Oh, who am I kidding? Come on.”
As Tristan expected, the swordmaster took up his own blade once again. At least it took longer this time, he thought before Jamal came at him. He hoped it was a sign of his improvement.
Needless to say, Jamal pressured him far harder than Bernhardt ever had. He came in various unpatterned ways, without regular patterns. “The Roving Blade is an effort to react with your sword more quickly,” he explained. “You’ve got the basic motions, I guess, but you’re always swinging the same way. You’ve got to be able to change it up. Think about pace, shape, and size. You shouldn’t fight the same way against one person and against twenty, or in an alley versus in a field.”
That was when Jamal unleashed the first [Blade Flurry] Tristan had ever seen made with a greatsword. Honestly, it was both awesome and terrifying.
He blocked the first and second strikes easily, but when the third one came with the same timing as if it was a longsword, Tristan had to power his sword through three quarters of a rotation to meet it. The resulting clash sent shivers up his arms. But that wasn’t the end, as Tristan well knew. The fourth swing was coming, and quickly. But he thought back to what Jamal had said, and taking a moment to watch the progression of Jamal’s blade... he realized that he could actually meet this swing much more easily by simply slowing down his own blade.
The resulting clash was much less jarring. He seemed to have absorbed some of the sword’s momentum, and now he wondered how he might use it for his own counterattack.
As it turned out, Tristan was a fairly quick study with the Roving Blade. He hadn’t realized just how many advantages circling the blade could offer. He’d been right about absorbing the momentum from an opponent’s strike, but he also found that he could both threaten and protect more area simply by slowing or speeding up his blade. He even found that blocking on the upswing and downswing resulted in different arcs for his own blade that he could then use for all sorts of different purposes.
“Not bad,” Jamal said, after what had felt like a fairly long string of parries and counters. When Tristan looked at the swordmaster, the man was genuinely grinning. That should have been the first warning.
“Now the real fun begins!”
Over the course of the next hour, Jamal sliced and slashed and stabbed and swept and struck at Tristan, pushing him to improve his Roving Blade technique. Tristan found himself struggling most with his hand positions, and each time he thought he’d gotten better at them, Jamal would pick up the speed of his attacks, and Tristan found himself too slow again. It was just so hard to keep his hands steady enough while whipping the massive greatsword around at the speeds needed. To also keep the huge blade under control proved harder still, something only possible due to the increased Strength and Dexterity he’d gained over the past year. He lost count of how many times Jamal seemed to tap his sword just right, sending it flying from his grip.
But in a strange twist, with each setback the swordmaster would give mostly words of encouragement or advice, such as telling Tristan, “You’ve still gotta change it up, even against the same opponent. The shape I mean. Otherwise a smart fighter will see where they can attack. Stay creative. Don’t get boring.”
Tristan didn’t know what to make of a Jamal that was constantly positive instead of sarcastic and snarky. So it was kind of nice when the old jokes flared up occasionally, the last of which came after Tristan had said, “I can’t keep it up any longer.”
Jamal had shaken his head while looking absolutely morose and said, “Mate, that’s not the kind of thing a partner ever wants to hear.” Then the familiar grin came back as he winked right at Tristan. “Should I ask Cherry to help you work on your stamina?”
Tristan actually hadn’t caught his teacher’s meaning immediately, which only heightened his embarrassment when he finally did. That resulted in him fumbling his grip enough that the smallest touch from Jamal was able to send his greatsword thudding to the ground a moment later.
“Looks like you’re spent,” Jamal said with that same playful smile. “Go clean yourself up and we’ll continue this tomorrow.” As his greatsword vanished into his magical storage, the swordmaster snapped his fingers, “Oh, but Cherry, you’re with me, if you want. The kid obviously has to learn to handle himself before you can help him out. Have one of the others take him some towels.”
Tristan frowned. He realized this was the first time he’d ended a training session with Jamal and not needed urgent attention from Cleo--or any healing at all, for that matter. He realized Jamal hadn’t landed a single hit on his body.
“Wait, we’re done? Just like that?” he called after Jamal, who was already halfway to the door with Cherry now at his side. “What about other techniques you’ve developed?”
Neither of them slowed at all, though Jamal called, “After you master this one.”
Tristan raised his voice. “What about some extra time to practice?”
“By all means, swordsmith,” Jamal responded over Cherry’s shoulder, “but my hands will soon be tied. Have fun playing solo.”
Tristan sighed as the door closed behind Jamal and Cherry. “What am I supposed to do now?” he asked the wind.
But it did not respond.