Von

The two swordsmen walked slowly toward each other, and Von’s mind raced towards understanding his opponent’s ability. He was confident that Romulo could cut through time in some fashion, but he did not know its exact limitations. Were his opponent the bearer of a regular Heartbeat, he would be confident that one hit would equal roughly a second of use—yet Royal Heartbeats were different, and Von was unsure as to the extent. Moreover, how many hits did the man have in store?

If Romulo had the ability to turn back time at that moment, this duel was already settled. Yet the fact the man was walking slowly toward him right now was a clue.

“I mislike your attitude, milord,” Romulo barked.

“I mislike your chances, wolf,” Von shot back.

Both men continued their walk toward the other. They would be within each other’s range within mere moments, neither of them in sword stances. “Were you capable of cutting back time right now, you would not be walking toward me. An afterblow would not scare you—you would get yourself hurt and erase the consequences of your mistakes.” Von stopped and pointed his sword at the wolf. “If your steel cannot touch me, your power cannot trigger.”

“And you have two activations of your Heartbeat left. Will that be enough, I wonder? Would the northern wind you bring stop these claws of mine?”

“Mayhap, wolf.”

At that close range, the two rushed toward the other—and Von stepped backward. He had no intention of engaging in a rapid fire exchange against a more experienced, more physically capable opponent. Instead, he relied on a simple fact; rapiers were longer than longswords, generally speaking. The wolf had been reliant on cuts over thrusts, and an extended blade from a rapier would counter most cuts with a shallow pick to the arm before retreating to safety, as the longswordsman would be unwilling to give chase when their opponent’s blade had cleared a line toward their body.

This would have been the dynamic in a regular matchup.

Heartbeats changed the dynamic however, in two ways.

The first was Romulo’s Heartbeat. “Dance with me, Von of Redgrave! This is what I wanted all along—show me the duelo bonito I have been seeking for so long!” The wolf’s left arm made contact with the human’s steel, but with nary a cry of anguish he persisted, leaping forward, stance closer to a predator than a swordsman.

Romulo needed not fear his opponent’s damage so long as he landed a single counterattack. The ability to undo damage meant he needed not fear a counterattack. “Farewell, Redgrave!”

“Freeze,” Von commanded, and the wolf faltered. The Stormener’s cold steel went through the wolf’s skin once more, delivering a shallow thrust through its shoulder before he retreated.

Heartbeats changed the dynamic of the duel with Von’s own Heartbeat as well. His ability to bring about extreme cold for a moment allowed him to stop Romulo from reaching him in his desperate chase, bringing the situation roughly back to where they would have been without their powers. A major difference still existed, however—Romulo needed to land a blow but once to kill Von during the frozen time.

Tears welled in the wolf’s eyes. “Do you know how many opponents I have felled in reversed time?” Romulo’s voice cracked. “When the river of time reversed its flow, time and time again I sullied it in red. A most disgraceful act, and for long it made me question what the purpose of swordsmanship was.”

Von bent his knees, loading up his muscles to explode in attack or retreat. “Nothing forces you to use your Heartbeat, wolf.”

“Nothing forces me!” He laughed. “Except for everything. What is our purpose in this world, my lord?”

“I have no intention of debating philosophy with the man who murdered my men.”

“But you have no intention of breaking your defensive stance either,” Romulo pointed out. “So hear me out, Redgrave. Wars are not fought by swordsmen. Rarely are Heartbeats compatible with warfare, and when they are it is more in the form of logistics rather than direct combat. What is our purpose, then? To be artists, not unlike a court painter? No, my lord! Were it so, my instincts would not crave the duelo bonito as they do. Aye, true, our creativity is what is demanded of us—yet our imagination is stifled. Swordsmen are not afforded a clean canvas nor are they given a choice of colors. Red for their enemy, gold for their noble house—no more, no less. Such a limiting piece leaves us unfulfilled. We are artistics, but we are not meant to create. Our steel paints a grim rainbow, one that earns gold through red. In this forsaken position, we must win above all else.” His arm extended forward and the tip of his moonlit longsword glared at Von of Redgrave. “It would be against my duty not to use my Heartbeat.”

“Fight me, coward!” Von roared. Don’t lose your head. Don’t attack him. “I have no interest in exchanging ideals with a crave such as yourself.”

The wolf went on as if he hadn’t heard him. “That is why you are the only one who can give me the duelo bonito I crave for, Von of Redgrave. Your Heartbeat creates a slow, beautiful duel against my own. Try as I might, desperate for victory as this heart of mine might be, these hands of mine cannot bring me a quick victory. And that is why”—he launched himself forward—“you are the one I need, Redgrave!”

It was a straight duel, where a single drop of blood for Von meant death, but the wolf could afford to be hit numerous times. Thrice more the last exchange repeated itself, with the wolf missing a wide cut, and Von only obtaining a small wound. “Freeze,” Von commanded, knowing he had three activations remaining. This time, he was forced to once again declare, “Freeze,” before the wolf’s movements slowed down.

Getting used to the cold, this one. Wolves adapted to the cold better than most, and this one was in Lobisomem form. It was no surprise that it was taking more than one usage of his Heartbeat to keep the wolf from chasing him down, but it was a concern. As long as they were repeating these exchanges, he could score an average of one clean hit—if that—before he was forced to retreat and issue the freezing command. As his reserves dwindled, he would not be able to stop the creature in place.

Change of pace, then.

Von lowered the tip of his blade to aim at the lobisomem’s legs rather than his arm, and this time rather than attempt at a quick thrust he readied himself to stop the cutting attack with his own blade. Rapiers were lighter than longswords for the most part, especially Von’s shorter weapon, yet they still held considerable might, one-handed weapons or not. It was a weak deflection, but it deflected the cut nonetheless, and Von took a step backward successfully. I was not hit. The thought came to him like a beautiful ray of hope, and Romulo was anxious to become the dark cloud in his mind.

The wolf gave chase after him, sword outstretched, and aiming at another cut. Von circled around the swing and pushed the blade away as it cut past him, closing in and delivering a punch to the wolf’s face. His hand nearly broke at the impact, and he would have cursed aloud had he the luxury of time. Instead, he wrestled the man with one arm, not with the intention of taking down the giant but instead wanting to run past him, to build distance before he could attack him.

This much was successful.

“These fists of yours cannot harm a wolf, Redgrave,” the lobisomem uttered with a grin. “Mayhap your steel can.”

He was right and that made it all the worse. “Dance with me,” Von said, rushing to meet his opponent.

Romulo did not opt for the mad dash he had been using until now. Instead, he approached forward with an overhead swing, shifting his feet alongside with the position of his elbows, directing his blade toward new openings, flowing from one stance into the next. Desperately, Von managed to avoid the worst, parrying high, low, and running away when his legs allowed him to.

It was a crushing realization.

Until now, he had thought Romulo a poor swordsman because of his reckless approach, and there was some truth to this line of thinking, no doubt. The crude swordsmanship he produced was not something Lobo or Master Cycle would have had much trouble with. Yet it was still far too powerful for Von, who was little more than a talented beginner with a stolen body forged for the sport of sword fighting. Reckless or not, the wolf had dedicated his life to fighting and this reflected in his movements. More than outclassed, Von felt nearly like a farce standing there dueling against this man.

What right did he even have to hold a sword against someone who dedicated their very being to the steel?

“Von!” Talla cried out. “Look out!”

That moment of distraction was enough. Romulo’s longsword knocked Von’s blade out of the way for just long enough to draw the smallest amounts of blood from his sword arm. The wolfish grin on his opponent’s face told him everything was done.

It was almost a relief.

There would be no pressure in living up to the person he once was. He would no longer have to be afraid of disappointing Master Cycle. His mother and brother would be happy to know he died proudly, like a true Stormener. Talla would find a better champion to save her people. It was shameful how appealing the idea of letting his opponent’s slice through his flesh sounded to him.

Too shameful for him to allow it to happen.

“Beat backwards, my—”

“No!” Von cut him off. His hand sank to the floor to regain some balance from the hit, and from there he pocketed a fistful of dirt, throwing it at the man’s face. Distract him. Make him feel agony. Don’t allow him to think. The wolf reached for his eyes, cursing every god his monstrous lips could mutter. What now?Attempting at delivering a fatal blow was an option, but the wolf’s ability to cut time would likely just expose him to a lethal counterattack. Retreat.

Von leaped backwards desperately, feeling the futility in his actions. Memories rushed back to him as a child, of Old Wanda telling him stories. ‘Some princes, my lord, can run faster than steel can catch them. You can outrun the storms, if you try. But you cannot outrun the hands of time.’ He paid it no heed and ran anyhow. These legs of his would have to outrun time itself if he meant to defeat the man. Faster, he commanded his legs. And they listened.

The Lord of Stormkeep found himself a good ways away from his opponent, who stayed still as he struggled to get the dirt off his eyes. He had managed to obtain a few seconds of full dash between the two—

—And now he was right in front of the wolf, as if the lobisomem had simply appeared before him. “I expected that,” Von cried out, holding out his blade in a desperate parry. He hardly understood what had just unraveled, but he screamed at his opponent and ran to safety through heavy breaths when he found the chance. A small mistake could have gotten him killed there, only Master Cycle’s training had made him react in time. “Must you use your coward’s ways?” Von demanded.

“Why, how is this different from your Winter Heartbeat, Von of—”

“Von!” Talla shouted, coughing blood. “I’m estimating three or four seconds!”

Elves were not keen on wasting time, and there was not time to explain much of what she had observed. This was enough. Talla had observed the duel from the outside. If the man could cut through time—which was the only explanation for Von’s Heartbeat reverting—and attack while time was reversing—which was the only explanation for how he had killed so many of the guards in the blink of an eye…only one question remained.

How much time could he rewind with a single hit?

Standing away from them, Talla could see how much distance Von had cleared between the two of them. Neither of them had any idea how much further Von managed to run before time was cut, but based on how much distance the wolf appeared to cover in the blink of an eye, as well as his posture that hinted at a casual approach, they could estimate how much time he had likely erased.

Three or four seconds after a single hit.

Royal Heartbeats did not conform to the rules of regular Heartbeats. Did that mean the second hit would be eight, and the third twelve? No. He knew little of Royal Heartbeats, but this much he knew—they did not increase by a measure of one.

“Allow me to make sure I understand, wolf,” Von asked. His voice was pompous and lordly, more arrogantly than he thought he could muster. Considering how the other prattled on about the duelo bonito and his respect for Von, mayhap this would stop him from merely attacking him. “You brought me back to where I now stand by effectively undoing four seconds of my movements—during which you yourself walked forward, nearly bringing you to where you could cut me.”

The wolf’s grin widened. “Aye! Oh, Redgrave, how you amuse me so—it is only you that—”

“Four for the first,” Von interrupted him, “eight for the second…twelve for the third?” The lobisomem’s grin remained, but a sort of wicked laughter hid behind his eyes now. Wrong answer? “Sixteen for the third,” Von muttered, “thirty-two for the fourth. Sixty-four for the fifth…”

Romulo laughed madly. “You understand it now, eh? The true might of a Royal Heartbeat. You will never be able to overcome it, oh my lord. Not as you are now. But watching you attempt it entertains me so.”

“As long as you can’t hit me,” Von thundered, “I can—”

“Do you delude yourself such, Redgrave? Does my lord truly believe he can best me without getting hit a single time?”

No.

He did not.

Tried as he might, he could not think of a single way to best the man in such a way. A fair fight, without Heartbeats—yes. Von thought he could best the man, even if the lobisomem had his superior wolven body. There were strategies he could use, though at heavy risk to himself. Master Cycle’s strategies against superior opponents always seemed to hint at self-sacrifice and hoping for a measure of healing afterward. Winning without a single hit would involve more skill than he possessed.

Was that it?

Had his men died just so he could learn the secret of Romulo’s skill in return for nothing at all? Was he as useless as he had been in the past? Was this as far as he could go? Regret started to touch him when another feeling rose up within him. Anger. Anger that he had been reduced to this. Anger that there was so little he could do. Then, yet another feeling appeared to roar within his chest.

Pride.

Wounded pride that needed to repay its debt.

I wonder if this is how I always felt. Would Von of the Past—

A sudden discrepancy came to mind. The exponential nature of Royal Heartbeats would have ensured more than the end of its users, it would have ended the very nature of existence if they were allowed to go unchecked. And Romulo had been swinging his blade wildly before, appearing unconcerned about the number of hits he was getting.

If Romulo had hit them too many times, he would have been stuck in the reversed time for an eternity waiting for the flow of causality to normalize. A mad man like him would have reversed the planet to its very creation had there been no limits, not to mention the fact he would likely have gone mad. There were limits to Royal Heartbeats, Von knew, but not the extent.

He dared ask. “What is your limit?” Von muttered. “How much time can you turn back?”

Romulo laughed. “It depends on the target. About a hundred years for a person, I believe.” The wolf appeared all too eager to share the specifics of his ability. Arrogance, mayhap? No. He just wanted to talk.“Fear not, I cannot end life itself if that is what you are thinking.”

“Mayhap not,” Von whispered, “but how long can you stay within your reversed time?”

This time even the wolf hesitated. It was a more sensitive topic. Von seized his fear. “You speak of my certain doom, yet refrain from speaking to a dead man? Craven bastard, tonight I will tell the Storm Gods of your cowardice and laugh with my men above the storm.”

“Six months,” the wolf replied softly. He did not worship the Storm Gods, and he did not mind being called a coward, but the implication his victory was not yet assured appeared to infuriate him. “My blade can cut through longer, but I cannot stand to be in that time. Instead, I simply bring forth the result of my rewound target. Does that satisfy your dying wish, my lord?”

There was more to his ability he had not revealed, but that was fine. Nothing would stay in their reverted state forever, Von figured, or else Romulo’s skill was the key to immortality and eternal youth. But that mattered little right then. Winning was all that mattered.“Aye. Thank you, Romulo.”

“It is nothing. You have graced me with a duelo bonito, albeit not as beautiful as I had hoped. The least I could do—”

There is only one way to win this, then. It was a mad thought, but he had to accept things as they were. It was his duty as a lord and a swordsman. Von sheathed his sword, put one fist forward, and another behind his back. “You said before that these fists of mine could not harm a wolf. I propose to you the contrary—a single one of my fists will bring about the first step in your defeat.”

“Have you gone mad?” Romulo cried out, as if insulted. “A swordsman putting away his sword and going about a fistfight like a whoreson in a tavern? Do you dare—”

Von launched himself forward. He had no idea how to fight with his fists, and he had never been trained to do so. It mattered little, for what he planned to accomplish. At first, the wolf appeared scared, as if afraid that the human had some sort of secret technique to disarm him, and leaped back ferociously, readying his blade in a panic. Yet Von’s amateurish stance, with one hand behind his back, left him with few doubts as to the ineffectiveness of whatever plan he had in mind.

Romulo drove his longsword through the human, coming out of the other end of his lower stomach. A lethal wound, by any means. Von still smiled. “Why?” the wolf asked in a whisper. “Why die in such an undignified way? Why not die with a sword in hand?”

Pain. Blood. More wounds. More wounds. I need more. Von grit his teeth and laughed madly through the pain. “You think this lacking in dignity? You think me longing for death? You are wrong! The House of Redgrave does not surrender. It does not waver. At no point have I ever given up on winning this fight”—Von’s hand fell to his sword—“you cannot dodge from this distance!”

But Romulo only smiled and uttered, “Beat backwards, my Tempo Heartbeat.”

Talla

She could understand it, yet it shocked her to the point of silence. Right then, Romulo certainly thought he understood Von’s plan—he thought the suicidal dash was aiming at closing in their distance at the cost of his own body so he could fell the lobisomem in one hit, before he could activate his Heartbeat. That was not the case.

“What the hell?” Romulo cried out. “I—I only hit you once!”

Time was not frozen. It went beyond the realm in which Romulo could control everything around him. As he had said, anything beyond six months was beyond him.

And when his blade stabbed through Von, the human had used the hand he held behind his back to stab himself multiple times. Twenty-three desperate times, grabbing the blade and letting go at maximum speed, caring not for how he mangled his own hand as he did so. Then, he reached for his blade to make Romulo trigger his Heartbeat fearing a final suicidal attack. Too careful, that reaction. Had Romulo merely let Von bleed out, he would have won.

Instead, he triggered his Tempo Heartbeat with a total of twenty-four hits. Talla did not fully understand his goal yet, her own mind hazy from her blood loss and injuries. She only watched as the wolf pushed himself back in fear as the gentle genius, Von of Redgrave, was enveloped by a blinding red light. “What—when—no!” the lobisomem cried out. “That is unfair, Redgrave!”

Arithmetic was one of her many talents, one of the reasons the Elders had wanted her to be a Maiden of the Forest from the start. Absently, even as the haze of blood loss settled in her mind, she started to consider the points, remembering Romulo’s own admission about his ability’s limits. If one hit equals four seconds…two hits equal eight seconds…three equal sixteen…four equal thirty two…then sixty-four, one-hundred twenty-eight….then twenty-four hits would equal…

33,554,432 seconds.

388 days.

The red light dissipated, a sort of greasy mist emanating from the figure beneath it. Still dressed in the same Redgrave armor, his hair had changed. It was longer now, and his chin appeared raised just ever so slightly more. His posture sent a chill down Talla’s spine, that arrogant slump of one shoulder, his sword carelessly held over the other and two provocative fingers motioning his opponent to come forth.

This was the same man who had bested Kai.

This was Von of Redgrave, the Strongest Human Swordsman.

“I don’t really know what’s going on,” he said lazily, “and to be frank, I don’t really give a shit.” He yawned loudly, then suddenly snapped into position, narrowing his eyes and smiling without showing his teeth. “But I see dead Redgrave men and blood on your sword. My duty is clear, as is your incompetence.” He recognized Romulo, evidently enough. “Wolf, I give you one chance. Do not waste it.” Von of the Past held out a finger to explain the condition. “The Lord of Stormkeep declares your speech to be forfeit. Your tongue you keep, but only to respond to your lord. Disobey this and my steel will make your choice for you, wolf. Listen carefully. Do you wish for me to kill you or will you allow Lobo of the Noble Companions to pass judgment upon you?”

“Von—Von of Redgrave,” Romulo cried out, a weak laugh and a touch of wonder coloring his voice. “I never thought I would—this is one way to see you again, I suppose. I wonder how long this version of you—”

Von of Redgrave’s blade went through the wolf’s chest. There was no special technique to this thrust, merely a casual lack of hesitation that did not give the other time to respond. “I told you to answer the Lord of Stormkeep’s demand like a wolf, not to whine like a dying bitch.” He twisted his blade. “Let us try this again - death or Lobo?”

End of Chapter 23,

"Von of Redgrave, the Strongest Human Swordsman."