Chapter 51: So Much to Learn

TRISTAN

Trying not to be too predictable, Tristan did try different techniques, like shifting all his momentum into his sword and spinning, trying to get more power behind the swing. But Shadow merely danced away, and his opening strike went high. Tristan kept the blade roving, preserving some of its speed and whipping the blade back low. But even with [Blade Echo] active, every combination of skills missed and missed and missed.

There were a few times when he thought he was about to strike the bladeweaver, but his opponent seemed to flicker straight through Tristan’s blade. It was almost like Shadow could be in two places at once. Whenever Tristan struck one of them, it turned pitch black and evaporated into nothingness, while the real Shadow reappeared just slightly beyond where he should have been, a mere instant later.

It was clearly some sort of short-range teleport, though not one Tristan had ever heard of before. And for such a useful mobility skill, it seemed to have an absurdly short cooldown. Higher-tier nonsense that Tristan knew he’d also have some day.

“I’d really hate to see so much potential wasted,” Shadow said, staying in his defensive crouch after Tristan's latest barrage.

It might have just been wishful thinking, but Tristan thought he heard the man breathing heavily. “Then stop moving so much, and let me realize it!”

Shadow’s only response to that was to laugh and throw two more daggers Tristan’s way, both easily deflected.

Tristan kept pushing his opponent and himself. Trying to break free of his own patterned predictability, he opened his next round of attacks with [Piercing Thrust], then followed it immediately with [Blade Flurry]. Normally he’d have preferred [Blade Flurry] as the opener, but he hoped to catch his opponent off guard with the change of pace.

For once, his strategy seemed to work. Shadow blocked the opening thrust, and he parried both the first and second hits from [Blade Flurry], but the third and fourth actually connected.

Or they should have.

Instead, each strike sunk into the man’s cloak, as if its eerie blackness was just vast and empty space. Tristan’s sword met no resistance. In fact, it didn’t feel like it met anything at all. Tristan had no clue how that could be possible.

The only certainty was that his skill was mostly wasted. At least Shadow had also used his teleport skill to reappear a full ten paces behind Tristan. It was the farthest he’d gone in a single blink so far, and Tristan thought maybe that was a good sign. Maybe he was challenging his opponent after all.

Or maybe not, since he then had to whip his sword around to block all four daggers Shadow had thrown at his back.

He missed one, which grazed his cheek. The strange thing was how little the cut stung. When Tristan put a hand up to it, he hardly found any blood at all.

Tristan didn’t want to think about that yet. He had to continue pressing his opponent while that escape skill was on cooldown. But he wasn’t fast enough. Two more daggers whispered through the air, as fast as anything Tristan had ever seen. So fast they reminded him of Jamal’s attacks. This time, they flew straight toward Tristan’s leading leg. Somehow, Tristan was able to twist his blade just far enough to block one of them, but the other dagger cut into his thigh, causing him to lose balance.

Tristan wasn’t willing to just stop though. He tumbled and rolled, rising on the far side and maintaining both his and the greatsword’s momentum by circling it around him. He slashed the blade sideways, straight toward Shadow’s belly, as if to split the man in half.

This time he struck home. He felt resistance against his blade as it pierced Shadow’s side.

Then black flickered around the bladeweaver’s edges again, and the assassin blinked two steps to the side. Just enough that Tristan’s follow-up completely missed.

An empty palm struck Tristan’s side, just above his ribs, with enough force that it sent the boy flying sideways and backward, his face sliding across the smooth cobblestone road. Tristan coughed, struggling briefly to catch his breath.

Tristan cursed. His mobility is fucking ridiculous! He didn’t even have to hit me with a dagger that time!

The rapidly-forming bruise on his side felt more like an insult than anything. Like his opponent was merely toying with him. Well, maybe if I can slow him down a little, he’ll lose the one big advantage he has. Luckily, Tristan had prepared something not too long ago that might be able to help in that regard.

Half-pretending to brace himself, Tristan slowly rose. He used the cover of holding his injured ribs to pull a handful of small spiky objects from his [Crafting Materials Bag]. He wasn’t sure why these items still qualified to fit in his growth bag, especially since they’d originally been failed rings, some of his first attempts at making jewelry. But even after he’d reshaped them a bit and given them purpose, the bag still accepted them.

Now it was their moment. If Tristan didn’t use all the tricks in his arsenal against this opponent, then what was the point? This could easily be his only opportunity to strike down the menace called Shadow.

Tristan took up his greatsword in one hand, and immediately charged, throwing out first one handful, then another along the way. In the silence of the moment, the broken and jagged rings tinkled against the stones as they landed like children’s jacks, just far more dangerous. He went back into his bag one more time, until every last makeshift caltrop was spread across the ground.

As failed crafts, Tristan knew that [Identify] couldn’t give any information on the not-quite-rings, and the hope was that Shadow might not recognize exactly what they were before one found his foot. Thanks to a few sessions with Jamal, Tristan had learned that few things in the world were as rage-worthy as unexpectedly stepping on a blessed caltrop. If the tiny, piercing hazards could just slow his opponent now, then perhaps all those sessions would feel worth it.

Tristan tried to circle around his foe, pushing him into the veritable minefield of metal. For whatever reason, Shadow allowed himself to be pushed according to Tristan’s plans. Perhaps he was distracted by the new, unidentifiable hazards, or perhaps Tristan had actually begun to wear the assassin down.

Tristan saw that his [Blade Flurry] had come off cooldown again, and he activated it immediately. Four more attacks, moving faster than any tier 2 greatsword should move, flew toward Shadow.

Only three clanged off his daggers. The fourth found the bladeweaver’s arm.

But Tristan also grimaced, as one of the daggers had nearly mirrored his own attack and stabbed into his own forearm.

“Why are we even fighting right now?” Shadow asked as he backpedaled. “You’re just a kid.”

Tristan answered instead of immediately advancing. “You may think I’m too young, too eager, too inexperienced, but even with all that, I’m still standing here, and you’re bleeding more than I am! How’s that shoulder of yours?” He raised his greatsword and pointed it at the first wound he’d caused with his opening attack. “It doesn’t look good from where I’m standing.”

Rising back to his full height, Shadow shrugged. “Well, you’re missing critical information, kid,” Shadow replied, pointing his own daggers at each place on Tristan’s body where he, too, was bleeding. “We might be even in count, but if not for that ridiculous property on your sword, I would have won this fight after my first hit. But here we are, still going. So I’m still learning about you. Once I know enough, then that will be that.”

Tristan frowned slightly at Shadow’s comment, not sure why the half-elf thought this fight could have gone so differently. Then he checked his debuffs and saw a couple new icons there that hadn’t been announced with notifications. That was tricky. Reading them, Tristan realized that they probably should have already ended the fight.

[Crippling Poison] Each time you take poison damage, you lose 1% attack and movement speed. Stacks. 3 minute duration.

[Umbral Poison] Take minor poison damage every 6 seconds. While under the effects of Umbral Poison, the application of debuffing effects are concealed. Stacks. 1 minute duration.

[Shadow’s Length] Your other debuffs cannot expire while this is active. 10 minute duration.

But Tristan had his [Oozebane Greatsword]. He hadn’t actually taken any poison damage the entire fight, and all three debuffs had apparently been on him for a while.

Tristan shrugged at his enemy. “I’m doing just fine, and that’s not going to change with a few words. I kind of expected more from someone with a two tier advantage. You’re being awfully passive. Maybe I’m wearing you down.” Then Tristan bluffed, trying to goad his foe into attacking him in the danger zone. “I haven’t even pulled out my best attacks yet.”

Shadow shook his head. “Are you truly so eager to die, kid? You’re misunderstanding something really integral here: I’ve got time on my side. The longer this goes--the more we fight--the better I know you. Maybe you’re not experienced enough yet to know why that’s so important, but I’d still wager that you’ve felt something like it before. The tingling of confidence in your bones as a fight wears on, as you can see more and more of an opponent’s weaknesses. Even just a little bit. I’ve got to admit, I love the growing understanding. The little flashes of insight. You get closer and closer to them, until you’re so close that you know exactly how it’ll all end. And then, when that true end comes, when you find that perfect opening, you’re right there with them. Their final witness.” Shadow flicked his wrists, and his two daggers seemed to disappear up his sleeves. “Don’t make me be that for you today.”

Tristan still hoped to bait the bladeweaver toward him, despite the man’s seeming desire not to fight. “You can certainly try, but I won't give up. I won't ever give up! I'm not a coward. Are you?”

Shadow actually laughed at that. “Kid, you have no idea what I am. I, however, am learning all about you. And right now, you’re missing the forest for the trees.” His hands moved closer to his chest. “But you are clever. I’ll grant you that. Clever, talented, and strong. So maybe you’ll take the hint.”

Shadow swept his midnight black cloak back from his body, and for the first time, Tristan saw exactly what he was up against. The bladeweaver had five or six more belts strapped across his body beneath that cloak. Each of them held at least two more of those blessed daggers.

Shadow’s eyes had turned entirely black save his irises, which glowed intensely white, piercing straight into Tristan’s young, scared soul, as he said: “You see, kid, I haven’t pulled out my best attacks either.”

Tristan tried not to be too intimidated as he quickly counted twelve daggers strapped to Shadow’s body. Suddenly two of them vanished from their scabbards and appeared in the bladeweaver’s hands.

“For the last time, go home, kid. I’ve got bigger shit to deal with than you.”

Not this time, Tristan decided, draining a health potion in one swig. He only had three left, so he needed to make them count. This was a real fight, and one he had to win. Which meant he couldn’t let his opponent have too long a break either. Tristan was going to push, and push, and push until the bitter end. If there was one thing a swordsmith could do, it was endure.

Feeling the last bits of healing from the potion taking effect, Tristan raised his greatsword again, yelling, “You’re still not taking me seriously!” and sprinted forward.

At that, Shadow narrowed his eyes. “You’re wrong, little swordsmith. I’m taking you very seriously. This is a matter of life and death.”

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Six daggers flew in a near-perfect spread toward Tristan, but even running full speed forward, his Roving Blade found all of them. Six more followed after them, like echoes of the previous blades, but those were stopped, too.

Tristan arrived in melee range with a clash of blades: his greatsword against two tiny daggers. He was able to push the man backward--right onto a set of caltrops--and then immediately tackled him to the ground onto several more.

Grunts of surprise and pain came from the half-elf.

Tristan pulled his elbows in tight to his sides and began pounding on his downed opponent with all his impressive Strength. Tristan used his better position from being on top to land a few body blows, though often as not he ended up hurting his hands by punching higher-tier metal clasps, daggers, or scabbards. A second later, the first dagger slashed his forearm, then a second tinged off one of his bracers. Tristan quickly realized he’d made a horrible mistake, getting this close to a dagger wielder. Suddenly it was Tristan trying to disengage, and Shadow was trying to pin him in place.

Tristan reached back and grabbed at his greatsword, hoping to create space between them. But of course Shadow, perhaps feeling the attack incoming, simply blinked away, leaving Tristan unopposed, thudding to the ground.

But where did he go? Tristan immediately wondered. He couldn’t see the bladeweaver anywhere.

Trusting his gut, Tristan stretched out and rolled to the side, stabbing himself on a few of his caltrops in the process. It was just in time, too, as Shadow descended upon the spot where Tristan had just been. The assassin turned immediately to face him, blades in hand, and came forward with incredible agility. Tristan tried to shove himself backward, only succeeding at getting stabbed by another caltrop before he felt two quick impacts on his brand new breastplate. They nearly took the wind from his lungs as his health plummeted, but the breastplate held, and the two daggers did not punch though.

Tristan swung his sword again, this time in a huge arc above him, and using its momentum, he rolled to his feet to get away. But I can’t just be glad to get away. I have to do better!

Trying to go back to the offensive, he swept his blade toward the man’s midsection, hoping to force Shadow back into more caltrops. Instead Shadow leapt clean over it, and tossed two daggers at Tristan mid-dodge. This forced Tristan to cut his sweep short and bring up the blade to block, which apparently gave Shadow the opening he needed. He crossed his arms directly in front of his chest, taking something that looked like a small black orb in one hand, and slammed it down into the ground.

Then pitch-blackness covered everything around them.

Tristan was caught totally off guard. His first worry was that it was some sort of attack, but that was quickly shown to be wrong when he wasn’t taking any damage. He just couldn’t see anything, not even his own greatsword in front of his face. He crouched down, making himself a smaller target, listening for any sounds that might indicate where his foe had gone, and trying to sense anything out of the ordinary. He kept his sword ever ready. But no unseen daggers thrust or hurled toward him.

It was hard to say how long the terrifying, silent darkness covered the street before doubt crept in, and Tristan thought to use his quest interface. Pulling up the little arrow, he couldn’t believe that it was pointing almost due east, away from town, and the distance indicator was increasing rapidly.

He’s running away?

Baffled, Tristan immediately took up the chase--and somehow, thankfully, avoided all the caltrops along the way. Where Shadow was going was as much a mystery as why he was running away, but it did give him the opportunity to down another healing potion. He wasn’t going to complain about that.

There was a moment during the pursuit when the arrow twitched, almost as if it wanted to point two different directions but was confused how to direct him. It only swung back and forth a couple times before it ended up settling on due east, so east Tristan ran.

He didn’t delude himself into thinking he’d actually been winning their fight. He’d landed a few blows, sure, but he’d done barely enough damage to knock out a tier 2 like Bernhardt and Xanax. And Shadow is a tier 4, Tristan reminded himself. So when he noticed that the distance between him and Shadow was still increasing, despite running as fast as he could with his enhanced movement speed, a knot of worry grew in the pit of his stomach.

The twinge of doubt darted through his mind--and was suppressed just as fast. He wouldn’t let himself think about if he could do this; he had to do it.

Outside town at last, Tristan was surprised to find that his foe ran not toward the trees or the foothills, the places where hiding might have been easier, but instead into mostly open fields of waist-high grasses. These weren’t even active crops, just open fields in between rotations.

Suddenly Tristan began to gain ground rapidly, and he saw at last the dark outline of the enlightened bladeweaver standing still in the center of a vast expanse of swaying grass.

Shadow was facing toward him with arms extended, though no daggers were in his hands, and despite the half-elf’s eyes being open, Tristan wasn’t sure that the man actually saw his approach. It was as if Shadow’s attention was elsewhere.

“You don’t know this,” Shadow began, still not meeting Tristan’s gaze, “but you really fucked things up with that first skill. The [Blade Flurry].” He sighed. “So I appreciate you being slow enough to give me time to handle it.”

“What are you even talking about?” Tristan asked, taking up his attack stance again. Had that been when the arrow twitched?

“Just trying to save a city. Who knows, maybe the realm,” Shadow replied, as his eyes refocused on his surroundings, first finding Tristan before gazing off into the grass between them.

Tristan scoffed. “Like you care about the realm.”

Shadow tilted his head. “And why shouldn’t I? I live here, as do all my friends.”

“You’ve got friends?”

“And enemies,” Shadow added. “Lots of those.”

“That doesn’t surprise me at all,” Tristan spat.

“Why? Because I killed your hero and his horse? That was for a Path Quest, kid. The same as what I'm sure sent you here after me.” He locked eyes with Tristan then, as if to make his point clear. “You know what the difference is between us?” Another beat. “I completed my quest.”

Tristan paused at that. Something about what the bladeweaver had said gnawed at the edge of his mind. He’s not entirely wrong, he hated to admit.

“Honestly, Tristan, you’ve come closer to killing me than anyone has in a long time. Not that you were remotely close, mind you. Closer. And you should feel proud of that--though I can see that you’ve still got that one-track mind telling you that close isn’t good enough. You’ve got to actually kill me.” Two daggers appeared in his hands. “But we’re nothing alike, right?”

Tristan fired back. “I don’t have a bounty on my head! You do, and you deserve it!”

Shadow laughed. “Yeah, I probably do from your point of view. You’re still living in the blessed dream, where the world is all pure. Black and white, evil and good.” He shook his head, holding his two hands wide apart. Then he clapped them together. “But that’s not the real world, kid. That’s not how you or I are, let alone the rest of the gods-be-damned realm. You probably still believe in the gods, don’t you?”

Tristan’s brow furrowed, as a familiar chill crept up his spine. Something was wrong. “We’re standing in the Embrace’s domain. How could you not?”

Shadow sighed. “That’s not what I mean at all, kid.” The wind around them seemed to blow harder. “You’ve got so much to learn.”

“And let me guess, you’ll be the one to teach me?”

“I honestly wish I could, but something tells me you wouldn’t really listen. Not yet at least. And that’s a shame. I probably know more about this realm than any mortal alive.” He smiled. “Which is why I really didn’t mind dragging out this whole encounter, even if you did put me in a serious time crunch before. But now that’s been handled, too.”

Tristan, searching for a snarky reply, took two steps forward before he actively noticed what he’d been seeing before but had dismissed: the breeze blowing the grass was not natural, but coming from Shadow. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Why did you lead me all the way out here?”

“You’ll find that those two questions share an answer. You see...” Shadow lifted his hands before him, and now Tristan recognized that they were glowing with black energy. “...I didn’t want this to hit the town.”

The darkness suddenly began increasing in size, sucking in all the light from the surrounding area, turning everything within its range a whitish gray.

“It’s really too bad,” he heard Shadow say. “You put up a damned impressive fight, and there are still so many interesting questions surrounding you.”

Then Shadow thrust his arms wide open, and the whole world started to lose its color.

Tristan slammed his blade into the ground, flat edge directly in front of him, as a dome of pure blackness pushed out of Shadow. It was exactly like how he remembered that day, the last thing he saw before Brightshield fell. He’d relived it so many times in his nightmares, he couldn’t fail to recognize the same skill. This time there was no Brightshield to hurl protective talismans at him in an attempt to save him. There was no one to save him at all.

Except himself, and what he’d learned.

Just before the leading edge of the shadowy dome reached him, Tristan exhaled and pushed his spirit into his blade.

For the second time in one day, Tristan was surrounded by an inky blackness, but this one felt so much worse. It was death and decay, and its magic pressed in against him, trying to rip off his skin as it passed. That pressure also silenced everything, making his ears want to pop. It was a nova of shadow that devoured both light and sound, and nothing could escape.

It was hard to say whether it lasted as long as Jamal’s fire breath had. But thanks to those teachings, Tristan endured the blast. Both the sword and Tristan stood tall, until color returned to the world. Or at least the world beyond the circle of withered, greyscale grass that crunched under Shadow’s boots as he drew nearer.

Tristan’s lungs rejoiced as the air grew light again, but his body and spirit felt drained.

Shadow stopped only a handful of steps away. “You gods-damned madman,” he said, chuckling to himself, “you just tanked my [Shadow Nova]! You really don't want to die.”

Tristan coughed and made himself stand up again. He wobbled slightly, even using his greatsword as support. “Dad always said I was stubborn.”

Suddenly, Shadow was at his side, bending down and looking at him. “What are you hoping for here, Tristan? You have to know you can't win. Look at you.”

Tristan spat toward where he thought Shadow was, but missed. He couldn’t help but see the red staining his spittle. “I'm going to avenge the Brightshield.”

“Kid, I have great respect for what you’re trying to do. Truly, I do. But you're in no condition to keep going. I’d kind of feel bad--”

“Just fight me!” Tristan interrupted, lifting his sword as best he could and swinging it madly, wildly at the bladeweaver.

His opponent merely danced backward, untouched.

“Fight me!” Tristan repeated, screaming, pleading. Something in him couldn’t let this be the end, even as he was beginning to fear the true hopelessness of it all. “You have to fight me. You have to die!”

A soft hand pushed him from behind, squarely in the middle of his back, and he crashed hard to the ground.

“Kid, you’re falling over already,” Shadow said, crouching down before him again. “But here’s the deal I’m willing to cut you. You land one more hit on me, and I’ll answer any question you want and then walk away.”

Tristan, still breathing heavily, pulled out his next-to-last healing potion and downed it. He felt the warmth of its magic as it filled his chest, repairing his frayed edges, lessening his internal injuries. “And then what?”

“I guess we'll see,” Shadow said with a shrug. “I suppose there's something to be said for stubbornness. But do be aware, I’ve been learning about you this whole time, gathering [Insight]. I’d guess you’ve only got two minutes, if you plan to use them.”

“Why?” Tristan asked, fumbling to his feet. “Why are you even giving me this chance?”

“Come and find out,” Shadow said, sinking into the same defensive stance he’d used at the very beginning of their bout. “A minute fifty-five.”

And there was something in the way the half-elf gave that ultimatum that told Tristan it wasn’t arbitrary. He set an internal timer for a few seconds shorter.

Then he went back on the offensive.

For the next minute, Shadow only moved when Tristan forced him to, and then Tristan was there, following behind him and attacking, with only the grass swaying in their passing. No longer did the bladeweaver bother throwing his daggers at Tristan. Instead he used them defensively, leaving them hovering in midair to deflect incoming strikes, or to deter Tristan from moving into certain spaces. They never so much as hit the ground before they were resummoned into the bladeweaver’s hands. Once there, they only blocked and deflected, never striking out. Never threatening, though they might.

Shadow was content to merely defend as time ticked away.

As Tristan kept pushing, he saw a strange grin crossing his opponent’s face. He’s enjoying this, he realized with horror.

With under a minute to go on his timer, Tristan began to grow a bit frantic. He couldn’t help but think back to Bernhardt, scrambling to land a blow before his bleeds ticked off. Except now it was Tristan fighting against time. As Shadow blocked and parried and deflected, Tristan’s dread rose.

Thirty seconds. Then twenty. No longer fearing reprisals, Tristan was all in on attacking. He left horrible openings. He allowed his swings to continue much too long. He even found himself throwing all his weight behind swings, practically jumping toward his foe with each strike, praying that something--anything--would connect.

Ten seconds. His greatsword actually managed to get past Shadow’s daggers, only to find itself vanishing into the vastness of his cloak again.

Five seconds. He [Blade Flurry] for what he prayed wouldn’t be the last time. And all four strikes were blocked.

Shadow went entirely black, and suddenly he was twenty paces farther away.

Two.

One.

Shadow bowed to him. “That was by far the best I’ve ever seen a tier 2 fight. It’s a shame you couldn’t let it go. I can only imagine what you might have become, how this might have gone differently, in even another year or two. You’ve already grown so much.” He sighed.

Tristan, for all the strange swelling of his pride at Shadow’s praise, felt dread crash over him like he’d never known before. The casual air of the bladeweaver was shifting, almost tensing up. Something had changed.

“So it goes,” Shadow said, holding one dagger out between them. Its tip suddenly burst into a light so bright it made even the midday sun feel pale in comparison. “Sorry, kid, I’ve got you figured out now.”