Valder, The Executioner

I stood across from the swordsman before me in despair, and it was a despair in three-acts.

The first and most deafening act of despair had been when I came across Johan for the first time. His misdeeds had been, if not provable, verily obvious a short amount of time after my father’s death. The two of us shared a glance in the courtyard while exercising, and with the mutual understanding that it would have meant much more, invited the other for a deadly friendly spar. “Draw your sword, villain,” were the only words out of my mouth before his blade stopped short of my neck. His numbers had been lowered near a complete void and this was by design: I need not numbers to best you, bastard, was his message. That night, I fell to my knees before that cruel first act.

Had his stats been higher I could have cursed fate, had he used treachery I could have cursed his vile heart, had I been ill I could have cursed my body. Ah, but there was no one to curse but my own incompetence, and such was Johan’s cruelty. Behind his carefully crafted curtain, behind that gentle smile, his sneering eyes told me he knew what my innermost heart also understood: he was the better man, he had bested me fairly, and he would best me unfairly too, were I to attempt so. This was the first act of my despair. It was a overwhelming, foreboding sense of despair, the kind that falls upon you when confronted with the cruelty and largeness of the ocean when sailing during a never-ending storm.

Unwilling to fight a losing battle but also overall unyielding, my efforts took the legal route: the will was clearly faked, and a few alliances would see Johan’s hands crumble before they grabbed on to the throne. Many sleepless nights allowed us a small legal miracle, and raised the possibility that Johan couldn’t champion Gilder the Forger in that trial. This is when I first met Carr, the Swordsman of Zero, and it was the second act of my despair. This time the overwhelming advantage was mine, my fate lied in my hands, yet he too defeated me, wielding a sort of skillful wizardry I could not comprehend. It wasn’t what he was born with, but what he did with it that terrified me.

The third despair was dawning upon me right now, and I could not quite place its kind. It was a different type than the other two; before me stood not a creature of talent or extraordinary effort, but something different—not godgiven, but man-forged. Everything about him felt artificial, neither born not self-forged, this creature before me felt crafted. Individual pieces arranged together into a monstrosity meant to oppose me and my will.

A bastard like myself was not to triumph over his own destiny, it was simply not meant to be.

So be it. I will struggle to my last breath, monster. This third despair failed to drive me to my knees. Were my despairs growing weaker, or were my knees growing stronger?

“The last time we duelled,” Carr said, grinning, “I hid my [Skills] from you. Even my [HP]. Figured it would make for a better show, help Johan’s cause, eh?”

“You nearly died.”

Carr scoffed. “I would never have died against scum like you.”

This doesn’t add up. The Swordsman of Zero before me spoke as preceded by his reputation: angry about the existence of [Skills] and swordsmen such as myself. Yet he himself used them and appeared to not find anything wrong with that. No…there was no mistaking it. It is neither exaggeration not romanticism to say you can understand the personality of the person you cross swords with.

It’s nothing as romantic as the strength behind the blows or their ‘energy’ giving you insight into them. It’s something much simpler: what are their favourite techniques? What did they practice the most? Are they the straight and narrow kind that fences by the book, or do they like to rely on flashy, one-off techniques? Counter-attacks or parries? There are many questions that, when put together, they tell the story of a fencer. And you start to get a feeling for who they are as a person.

I had faced Carr before and I could feel his history, the spite in his actions. His disgust for my existence. This Carr across from me displayed the same spite, but his actions did not match it. No…is that all?

“You didn’t parry me last time,” I told him. “But this time you did. Many times over.”

“The weight of a longsword is too much. I couldn’t have parried you without [Swordsmanship] guiding my steel.”

That made sense. But…

I remembered Carr standing across from me, at that time. His left arm injured, his future uncertain, his life on the line. If there was a time to use [Skills], it would have been at that very moment. Yet instead never mind using [Skills], the man did not even pick the safe option to combat me. No, he grinned maniacally and seemed like the incarnation of death itself, verily a grim reaper of some sort, and disregarding his blood loss he stepped forward and roared, “Time for the third option!”

Think…why is Carr fencing so differently right now? Is he really a different person?

How likely was it that a different person looking like him, fencing at such a high level happened to stand across from me and pretend to be him?

It wasn’t an entirely alien idea, to disregard your [Sword], avoid resonance entirely and try to make something happen that way. Yet it was a fruitless tradition no one intended on putting the time into, and without proper funding no master swordsman dared to attempt it. If anything, the master swordsmen with the funds to attempt it had no incentive to do so—the current system benefited them too much for them to change it.

I had experienced the steel of the one madman crazy enough to do fence like that before I met Carr. Upon seeing his stats, knowing he had bested Valle of Cresna, and most importantly, seeing that look on his eyes…those eyes that burned with a competitiveness I had never seen before…I knew he was the same as that man. The same man that bested me, all those years ago.

Before Johan. Before Carr. The only other man to ever best me. And now, this fourth person stood across from me…

There is no time to think about it.

What did it matter who he was?

What did it matter how strong he was?

My sister was missing. My father was dead. My empire was at risk. The only thing I can do in response… “IS TO WIELD MY STEEL AGAINST YOU, ENEMY!”

“I have no idea what you’re thinking…but you got the right idea.” Carr wagged his fingers in a taunt. “There’s only one thing you have to pay attention to in a match and that’s your opponent. If you don’t think about me, you’re going to lose even worse than last time!”

How can I beat a man who overwhelms my stats?

I dashed forward, sword brought over my head. I wasn’t a master of the skill-less sword. I could not conceive of such strategies or change my style so quickly. But surely there had to be a weakness in his style. In our first match…I nearly won when his blade was trapped within my own body and I attacked. This was still a valid approach. Another was what had just worked against him: shifting stances. His complex parries seemed to rely on my blade approaching from an angle he could predict. When I had shifted my angle of approach at the last minute, I managed to deliver a blow against him.

Two options. Receive an attack and give back in kind, and shift my angle of approach at the last moment.

“FALL, SWORDSMAN!”

My sword came down in an overhead strike. If you attack me while I’m lowering my blade, I’ll just take your attack full on and strike back.

But Carr did not take the attack.

Instead, he brought his blade high above his head, tip pointing sideways, and blocked my strike, almost—but not quite—like you’d see in our average Skilled duels. “QUINTE PARRY!” Carr roared, [Swordsmanship] keeping his fragile blade from succumbing under the weight of my mighty longsword. His blade slide downward near the base of mine, then slipped over it in a circular motion, his blade pushing mine downward and going through my lower abdomen.

[Valder the Executioner]

[HP]: 267 → 237

When I tried bringing my sword back up, he had already passed by me in a running attack, and was outside my range. Still, I tried swinging my sword at empty air, hoping the aftershock of my [Swordsmanship] strike would cause some damage. Somehow, with his back turned, Carr knew the attack was coming, and he dove forward, and front-rolled out of the way. The after-shock of my sword cut through the air, but went past him, destroying a building in front and producing a mighty sound.

I should have only a few minutes before more guards show up. I have to finish this now.

“That was close!” Carr shouted. “That could have killed me!”

And yet it didn’t. “Don’t patronize me. You knew that counter and already had studied the right countermeasures to it. That move proves it…you know exactly how to counter someone with high [Swordsmanship]. You must have duelled hundreds of people like me.”

But Carr appeared unhappy at my logic. “I am a genius, don’t get me wrong. Unlike you stats fuckers, I am quite fast at adapting and learning on the spot. But I had no idea you could try to use the aftershock of attacks like that. This was just me improvising, honestly.”

Improvisation? Surely, that wasn’t possible. He dodged my move with his back turned to me—he knew it was coming, his action had the scent of practice to it. But Carr the Swordsman of Zero had truly only shown up in this world a few short months ago. His practice should not have allowed for such a high-level understanding of it…

STOP THINKING. FOCUS ON YOUR OPPONENT.

“Your sister is under arrest for treason, you know?” Carr laughed. “She tried to kill Johan, then ran away.”

“She was kidnapped!” I roared back. By Carr himself…whether that was who stood in front of me or not. “Johan is the one who’s been trying to kill her!”

“Then she should make that claim in the courts!” Carr exclaimed.

“Johan would claim Trial by Combat.”

“What’s the problem then?” Carr grinned. “You could champion her. Unless you think yourself incapable?”

“Then let us pretend this is her trial.”

“That’s the first wise thing you ever said,” said Carr.

I advanced again, with the same stance, hoping for an overhead strike. This time, however, I brought my blade down, and before Carr could parry it, I shifted my stand from a vertical strike into a thrusting positioning, bringing both my elbows high up. His quinte parry came again, but this time, though he still placed his blade under mine, he was not capable of stopping my thrust, which just slid over his blade, and connected with his chest.

My blade went through his chest and came out the other side. Carr’s scream of pain was a momentary triumph for me, however. My victories grin gave way to terror when the stabbed man looked at me, coughing blood, but grinning. How much [HP] does he have? Before I could check the answer to my question, Carr drove his sword into my stomach, then pulled it out and stabbed me multiple times. In contrast, I could hardly do the same. My blade is stuck inside of him!

Was that what he wanted? To win at any costs? What happened to wanting to win beautifully?

[Valder the Executioner]

[HP]: 237 → 163

Finally, I managed to pull my sword from his chest, a jet of crimson blood flowing from his wound, and brought the sword sideways against him. In this close-range, however, he took advantage of my large movement to run past me, stabbing me in the back as he did so, and stopping at a safe distance away from me. Both of us were injured.

Which one of us is worse off?

With my [Eagle Eye] ability, I had a general understanding of the battlefield from above. Given the complexity of the false streets aboard the Arcship, as well as the location of the guard posts, I felt reasonably confident in that I had a few minutes before further interference could occur. Yet I could not be certain, this had to finish quickly.

Carr had stabbed me more times, but his [Swordsmanship] was weaker than mine to be certain. The few strikes I managed to connect against him must have dealt more damage than otherwise. No way around it…what are your stats, Swordsman of Zero?

[Carr, Earth’s World Champion]

[Sword]: 0

[Level]: 39

[Swordsmanship]: 234

[Sword]: 0

[HP]: 389

[Skills]

[Walking]: 202

[Cooking]: 1693

[Tea]: 2091

[History]: 1680

[Diplomacy]: 1982

[Sailing]: 1990

[Dancing]: 2011

[Seeking]: 420

[Blessings]

Johan’s Favour

[Curses]

Roger’s Bane

[Equipment]

Reven Épée

[Status]

Normal

What the hell…

What in the world were those stats?

Why had he levelled up so many skills completely useless for combat? Was this truly a champion at his peak, or was it a retired old man enjoying his final days in peace?

Roger’s Bane…

Master Roger was rumoured to be conducting experiments of some sort. In the castle, rumours flew about, but even they were vague about the nature of those experiments. Something of the mind, but not the body, that was the most I had found out before I needed to make my escape after my loss against Carr. Could this be why the man before me was so different from the one I fought before? But if so, why did he feel so damn familiar?

Something about this match felt familiar. Carr’s daring, taunting attitude was familiar, to be certain. But his parries…his anti-skills strategies, the ones that showed him to be a sort of veteran in this field he should have been alone in…something reminded me of something else. Someone else.

“Carr, finish that quickly! We gotta meet Max and—oh my god, did you create this mess?” asked a new voice. It was a woman, who also held an épée. Another opponent? Was she part of Carr’s crew? She was not Celle or Isabella.

“Katherine, just give me a moment, I’m almost done!” Carr shouted back. “And it wasn’t me, it was this psycho right here that—”

The two started to shout at each other, but I wasn’t listening. A cruel realization had dawned on me. It was just a possibility, but looking at those stats and the match that had unravelled between us…there was a distinct possibility.

“Even if the mind thinks otherwise…the body doesn’t lie,” I muttered. With confidence, I charged at my opponent, who was still mid-argument with the woman. His surprise was not just at my sudden advancement, but also at my new position—I was now gripping at my longsword not from its grip, but from the blade itself. It hurt, of course. And while it may have had many tactical advantages, this time I wasn’t looking for any of them. I just wanted to make my reach more similar to the one in an épée.

Carr instinctively parried the sword aside, with what I knew he called a parry quatre, and delivered a riposte to my chest. But I wasn’t paying attention to his attack. He could stab me if he wanted. I didn’t care. It was his feet that I looking at. They weren’t bouncing like they were in our first match, they were firmly planted in place, and didn’t move until after the riposte was fully delivered, without hurry, in an almost beautifully mechanical sort of way.

“What the hell was that?” Carr demanded, as he stepped away. “What was that suicide attack? Given up on fighting me?”

“Given up? No.”

I could hear guards approaching now. Distantly, I heard the woman beside him grab his arm and hurry him away. That was fine. Without a second thought, I sat down and laid my sword across from me. They could arrest me if they wanted. I would need some time to consider what this meant—and I could escape whenever I wanted. More likely, I could use them to break up this duel and go back to searching after my sister. If I was right, then the man standing across from me wasn’t Carr at all, and that meant our duel was without purpose.

Even if he believed otherwise.

“Carr, let’s go!” shouted the woman.

“No—this match isn’t done! VALDER! WE—WE AREN’T DONE YET!” he shouted. Still, he allowed the woman to pull him away and he took away in a dash toward a narrow street.

I shook my head. He could leave now.

That was fine already.

Guardsmen arrived as he ran, but I cared little. Instead, I just considered the matter in my head.

[Swordsmanship]: 234

I never forgot an opponent’s stats.

“This will be interesting,” I muttered to myself. Glancing over at the crowd of guards, I took a deep breath, picked up my sword again and slowly stood up.

“Surrender, Valder! You are under arrest for treason!” one of the guards shouted, stepping forward. There were twelve of them, I counted. “For your crimes against the crown, you shall be brought to justice!”

“For the crown’s crimes against me,” I started, “the crown itself shall be brought to justice.”

I pointed my sword at the group.