Von

Two weeks had passed since his duel with Ardente.

‘First he takes your legs, then he takes your soul.’

Von had heard that phrase be used a few times since his duel against Ardente. Supposedly he had always been known as a swordsman who slowly broke down his opponents during the course of a match. This was a style he arrived at naturally after practicing for just a few days with his master and it brought him a measure of peace to know that it was also the style his past self had arrived on.

It feels like I’m chasing after my own ghost, Von thought between heavy breaths. It’s like…every step I take towards becoming stronger is another step that brings me closer to those missing five years. He wanted to help Talla and the elves, he really did—if someone like him could really help that many people. But part of it was also that he felt like he needed to know more about himself. What drove me to want to become the strongest? What made me forget everything? These questions concerned him more and more every day.

None of that seemed to matter at that exact moment, however. All that mattered was his next breath—the hope that he would be finished those drills any moment, that water would soon touch his lips. He was exhausted.

“Stand up!” Master Cycle cried. “This is not your limit just yet! I know exactly how much the human body can take. I’m not letting you cross that line, but you are goddamn delusional if you think I’m letting you stop even a centimeter before you get there. You have five years of missing memories to make up for. If you want to be ready for the Dragon Tower, normal training won’t cut it.”

“I…I know.” Von struggled to his feet. “I—I’m ready, Master. I will learn every technique there is to learn by then. I will—”

“Harsh training like this won’t teach you any magical techniques.” Master Cycle tone was even and almost deadpan. Von raised his sword and had his master beat it down in one move, forcing him to retreat and raise his blade once more, before it was once again knocked aside. “Swordsmanship doesn’t have many secret techniques, and those sure as hell don’t win you tournaments. What wins you tournaments are the basic techniques you’re going to learn.”

“Then what—what is this training for?” Von managed. They had been repeating the same techniques for hours now, pausing only to drink water. “My body feels like it’s going to explode. I…I think I have learned the basics for now.”

“You have not. No one ever really learns the basics. A move practiced ten times isn’t as strong as a move practiced a hundred times. You have learned a lunge, congratulations. But that isn’t enough to make your lunge a real weapon yet, kid.” Suddenly Master Cycle dropped his own sword and Von took this chance to collapse on the floor. Have…to…rest…any…chance…I…get… “We aren’t just practicing moves either. Remember your style? It requires you to have a lot of stamina. We must work on your fitness, kid. Cardio.”

Master speaks of words as if I understand them. He is a strange person sometimes. “I think I understand. To tire out my opponent, I have to ensure I don’t get tired first.”

“That’s the short of it.” Master Cycle sat down. “The long of it is that tournaments are unfair.”

“I’m…sorry?”

Master Cycle sighed deeply. “It is very romantic, is it not? The idea that a tournament is a series of entirely fair one-on-one matches to find the strongest swordsman in that group. Ah, the festival of chivalry and fairness, eh?” He shook his head. “But there’s nothing fair about tournaments. It’s impossible to have a completely fair tournament.”

“What do you mean, Master?” Von asked, sitting up. He was exhausted, but this topic piqued his interest. “How are tournaments lacking in fairness?”

“Perhaps calling them unfair is going too far. Eh. But they don’t always find the best swordsman in that group.” He clapped his hands together to demand attention. “Listen to me now, shithead! Think of it this way—say there are eight swordsmen in a tournament. Six of them have nearly equal skill, one is a good swordsman but a step below the others, and finally the last one is an absolute garbage fencer. Next round, there are four swordsmen left...and three of them are worse for wear. Battered, bruised, exhausted from the grueling fight. But the fourth swordsman—the one who is a step below the others—is still feeling fresh, because he fought against the garbage swordsman and barely broke a sweat. The weaker swordsman advances to the finals, after a difficult but winnable match since his opponent was exhausted. Then, in the finals, his opponent is even more exhausted than his last opponent—and now the weaker swordsman can take home the trophy. You see?”

Von nodded slowly. He had never considered things from that perspective. “So…sometimes the winner can still be the weaker swordsman?”

“Wrong!” Master Cycle thundered. “The less skilled fencer isn’t the weaker one. The one who loses is the weaker one!”

But…but you were the one referring to the hypothetical fencer as a weaker one! Von thought, though he knew better than to say it. “Is there a way to avoid it? To lose to a…less skilled fencer?”

“There is. A lot of so-called masters focus on teaching you technique and nothing else. Bah. Fucking amateurs. No honor in losing like a gentleman. Winning in a tournament is about two things: information and stamina.”

“I understand the energy requirement—but information?” Von hesitated. “Master, you said before that there were hardly any secret techniques in fencing. And it is not as though people’s Heartbeats are usually a secret in public tournaments.”

“True enough. But consider this: your condition that day is a secret.”

His master really had a habit of saying terms like that and expecting him to know what they meant. Were they things he had explained before Von lost his memory? Somehow, I feel like he was always this sort of guy. “My condition, Master?”

“Think of it this way. There are days when you try out a lunge and think ‘Ah. My lunge is great today!’ There are also days when you feel particularly good about say, taking one quick step forward. Yet other days you feel like your feet are lagging behind a bit, so you want to focus more on parries and bladework than usual. Maybe even something like a specific parry just doesn’t feel right for whatever reason—a specific muscle feels a bit more sore than usual or something of the sort.”

Up until now, Master Cycle had been speaking in a casual sort of way, almost singing his words and always appearing to be one word away from suddenly stopping and shrugging. Yet here his face and tone both turned serious. “Von, listen to me carefully. There is no such thing as a living creature that behaves the exact same way on two separate days. Swordfighting isn’t an exception. Keeping your exact condition that day hidden while finding out more about your opponents is helpful in tournaments. Get it? Don’t reveal all the cards in your hand and keep your stamina under control, got it? Ah, but there is no point in having energy for days and hiding your condition if you lose, so you have to win just enough every time. Tournaments are about managing your resources just as much as your skill, understood?”

“I…I think I do.”

“Bullshit,” Master Cycle grunted. “You didn’t even understand that before you lost your memories. Not fully, anyhow. Ah, sure, you worked hard to have more energy than god—but then you went ahead and spent everything you had fighting Lobo of the Noble Companions, then lost to Gilver of Inferno.” Master Cycle gestured at Von annoyedly. “And this is the result.”

He looked down shamefully for a moment, but his master did not allow him to do so for long, inching forward toward him. “Don’t take it harshly, kid. You didn’t have a choice against Lobo, I’m not—don’t take everything I say literally.” Master Cycle rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. And the result before me is still one hell of a fencer, you hear me?”

I know you are lying. I’m not one hell of a fencer—I’m barely a fencer at all. But the kindness cheered him up regardless. And Lobo of the Noble Companions…I have heard legends of him for years. I remember actually dragging myself out of my room just to listen to the traveling bard telling stories of his duels. I’ve bought every account of his fights. I can’t believe I fought him before!

And this was one of the reasons he felt so motivated right now.

“Lobo of the Noble Companions...” Von muttered. “I cannot shame our past duels. I have to get stronger.”

I will become strong enough to be his match one day. And until then, well…maybe he could at least hold his own against him.

Von considered everything and nodded. “I believe…I believe I understand, Master. Your point regarding resource management.” Wait, doesn’t that mean… “Does that not mean that my style is a poor fit for tournaments?”

Master Cycle smiled at this and clapped his hands in approval. “Damn straight, it’s a horrible match up. I’m fond of fencing defensively too, but in a tournament sometimes you want to end a match quickly so you can be rested for your next one. Everything is a goddamn marathon with you, kid. That exhausts me just thinking about it.”

“But—should I change my style then? Should I—”

“That’s up to you,” Master Cycle said, so frankly it almost bordered on dismissiveness. “I am not here to make decisions for you. My job as your coac—master is to give you the information to make the right decisions. Never been a fan of those who treat their students like extensions of themselves.” He put a kind hand to Von’s shoulder and said, “Whatever decision you make will be the right one, shithead. Just follow your heart.”

Von nodded. His worries felt oddly gone when his master spoke to him.

Talla

Talla had spent the two weeks since the duel in Stormkeep. It had been decided that while the incident with Ardente might deter anyone else from stirring up trouble with her, it would be better for everyone involved if she was treated as an official guest of the Redgraves. Everything had happened so naturally and fluidly since her arrival that it was only now, many days later, that she realized how lucky she had been.

It wouldn’t have been weird if the Redgraves turned me down from even seeing Von. I hold a request from Bosque’s Elders, but even if they felt obligated to listen to it, would it really have been strange if they turned me down? Was it not more likely for Von to, if not dislike elves outright, at least refrain from helping me? If he hadn’t lost his memory…would he have agreed to this? That thought concerned her. She had only met the man a few times before he lost his memory, but none of them left a great impression. That arrogant, greedy man…would he have done anything to help her in this situation? Maybe I could have taunted him into it. Told him he was too weak to fight Vandyr.

A sudden, concerning thought invaded her mind, and it left her lips in a quiet mutter before she could understand it, “What if he regained his memories? Would he still fight Vandyr?”

There was a knock on the door. “My lady?”

Talla shook her head and said, “Yes—yes, come in.”

Von stumbled into the room. His legs appeared to fail him with every step he took, and it was evident he had just finished training. Wintermen were every bit as rough as rumors had described them to be, but Von took care to bathe himself and change his attire before visiting her, and Talla appreciated the lack of a strong smell in her room. Were it not for his visible exhaustion, it would be difficult to even know he had just practiced for seven hours. “Please, sit down, Lord Von,” Talla said, gesturing at the bed she was sitting on. Great. I called him Lord Von again. Means he will refer to me as—

“I could not, my fair lady—” There it is.

“It is not lacking in decorum to sit beside me, my lord. Unless you want to distance yourself from the elf in fear of catching the Deathless Curse, of course.”

It felt oddly cruel to force the man into behaving normally through his kindness, but it was necessary at times. Von’s manners were almost suffocating at times. “My lady, I—no, of course.” He shut the door behind her and promptly sat down beside her on the bed—though still keeping some distance. It is so strange. Von of Redgrave…even some elven women appeared fond of him. Boisterous, arrogant, and quite fond of company…but right now he appears shy at even standing relatively close to me. That felt oddly reassuring, and Talla chastised herself for the thought. He has been nothing but kind since we met…and yet a part of me still holds a small grudge over Kai.

Maybe if Von had allowed Kai to win, the Royal Heartbeat he earned would have been enough to defeat Vandyr.

No. Even then, it wouldn’t have been enough. But maybe it would have been enough to allow him to escape uninjured—so that he remained the same glorious, handsome Kai in her memories. Not the bitter, defeated man she bid farewell to before coming to Stormhelm. His injuries to his body are a problem, but the injuries to his mind are what concern me the most. His grace and chivalry are gone. Some days I worry about his sanity. Worst of all would be if the Deathless Curse took him—to be doomed to ‘live’ in that state forever would be torture. His physical wounds could one day heal, even if his limbs never grew back. Yet his mind…that, Talla feared, was less likely to improve.

“Were you writing a letter?” Von asked, looking at the set of parchment on her bed. It was odd to write on the bed over a desk, but Talla had some strange preferences. “Is Bosque content with the current arrangements?”

“Yes. They did not expect you to agree to it at all.” She suddenly remembered the one pressing detail she meant to ask him. “My Elders want to know if the coin offered to you is sufficient.”

“The coin? Ah.” Von frowned. It appeared this wasn’t his favorite topic. “Quite frankly, I would do it without payment if necessary.”

“That is not—” Talla started, but Von held up his palm to interrupt her.

He smiled sadly at her. Even his smiles seem brooding. Wintermen are odd. “I understand. I took the lesson you taught me to heart, my fair lady. Kindness is not always the kindest offer to extend. It is not only swordsmanship I have been catching up on. My duties as lord…at least until my brother returns.” He frowned harder. “Were I to refuse payment, my actions would indebt Bosque and the elves to the Stormlands. It would not be a kindness. And were I to accept a smaller amount, it would be an insult to their pride. I will accept the amount offered, but only upon completion of the mission.”

“Oh my, Lord Von, it seems as though you are capable of acting like a lord sometimes.”

He nodded solemnly at her, seemingly missing the humor in her voice. “Aye, my fair lady.” Is he really this man at understanding jokes? Or is he fucking with me? Is this some sort of Winterman humor? “Though the road ahead of me is long, step by step, I will become the man I once was.”

I hope that you won’t. “When is your noble brother set to return?”

Von perked up at this. “Soon. We received two important ravens this morning. The first one was from Vance, and his duties were carried out magnificently. The northern tribes were satisfied with the supplies he brought over. Brother also finished ensuring the bridge is maintained and the outpost is manned.”

“Why does a bridge need an outpost? That area is under human domain.”

Von opened his mouth to reply, then closed it again. After a moment of silence, he said carefully, “Humans can harm other humans, my lady.”

That was something that concerned Talla about humans. They had to build outposts and post soldiers everywhere to protect themselves from each other. The idea that bandits would attack or destroy a bridge to prey upon the northernmost tribes was ludicrous to her. It wasn’t as though elves were pacifists, but by and large their violence was turned to others not their own.

Deathless Curse aside.

“Those tribes live up north, where winter is harsher and there is seldom contact with the Six Principalities. We do not tax them, and they hardly use the King’s coinage anyhow. In return, they have pledged to help defend the Stormlands in case of war and often help us with knowledge of these lands.” Talla had heard about this—their lack of subjugation of tribes living in their territory was another reason why Wintermen were mocked by the other principalities. “When winter comes, they often need shelter. We find them a place somewhere in Stormhelm. Last couple winters, raiders from the Thunder Archipelago have been taking to isolating the tribes from Stormhelm by destroying bridges and then taking their time attacking from their ships. My brother went up there to settle that matter.”

“That was not part of the treaty,” Talla replied immediately. “I studied enough to know—that was not what your ancestors agreed to.”

“It wasn’t,” Von acknowledged. “But it is a tradition my father started and my brother means to continue.” His proud tone of voice left no doubt as to whether he agreed to the decision or not.

Talla nodded slowly. “He’s returning soon, then?”

“He is. In a few weeks, provided the weather allows.”

This is going to be difficult to ask about. “Once he has returned, you understand we will have to head to Bosque, right?” Von needed to formally accept the request to serve as Bosque’s champion, while also making promises—and perhaps sealing letters—that his acceptance did not mean Bosque relinquished its authority to the Stormlands. It gets so complicated…just because Von is a Redgrave, hiring him as our champion is more difficult than it needs to be.

Worst of all was that Talla couldn’t stop herself from wondering—if Von truly wanted to, he could likely make his case to the King of the Princes later that by saving Bosque the Stormlands would deserve dominion over the weakened princedom. No point in having second thoughts now. We need help, and if he stays as honorable as he has been so far, it won’t be an issue.

“What about the second raven?” Talla asked. “You said there were two important ravens this morning.”

Von smiled—as much as a winterman could smile—at this. “I have been challenged to a friendly sparring contest.”

“A contest?” Talla leaned forward, looking Von in the eye. “Is that wise? Your skills are not where they were before.”

“Be that as it may, this man has traveled a long way and it would be remiss of me to deny him a match. Even if…” Von’s smile didn’t leave his face, but his slow trailing off betrayed a sort of sadness behind his words. “Even if the man he wants a rematch with is no longer here.”

A rematch? No, that..that isn’t good. “Do you mean your challenger is…”

Von nodded excitedly. “Lobo of the Noble Companions. I’ve been a huge admirer of his swordsmanship for years—I can’t believe the past me has beaten him. I have no delusions about my chances, but surely you cannot fault me for being excited for this opportunity, my lady?”

Yes, YES I CAN!

End of Chapter 6,

"Tournaments Are Unfair"