Isabella

There was a part inside of me that was disappointed that we were allowed upstairs. Part of me wanted to see how much chaos I would have been able to inflict while they sent guardsmen after guardsmen after me. I would have been able to see how far this sword could go. That we could have died if they kept sending people after us occurred to me, but it strangely didn’t bother me. Death seemed less like an enemy, more like a long forgotten friend.

Anyhow, a boisterous voice from outside announced, “Let them come,” and all signs of resistance were immediately replaced with relief. The few remaining guards put their swords down, and a moment later when reinforcements arrived from the outside, they too held off. After a moment’s of hesitation, they rushed to their fallen comrades and started emitting a bright light at them from their hands, calling for [Restoration] and attempting at keeping [Death] from becoming death.

“Looks like we are being invited upstairs,” I told Gilder, with a smirk on my face. “Shouldn’t keep your master waiting now, should we?”

“No,” Gilder replied weakly. His eyes did not leave the pile of blood and fallen guardsmen. “I suppose not.”

We headed up the (once) white painted spiral staircase, keenly aware that the men behind us meant to ambush us on the way down. I will deal with it when and if it comes. Our path upwards was a quiet one, occasionally punctuated when our steps connected with the hard stone and produced an echoing boom across the tower. This was not an awkward silence but a terrified one. Gilder was scared, I knew, but it seemed wiser to let him speak for himself first rather than push the topic.

Eventually and naturally, this came to occur before we reached the top.

“You really went on a rampage back there, didn’t you?” asked Gilder, forcing a weak laugh. “That—that was something you pulled right there. I…”

“Did I scare you?”

“I—no! Of course not!”

「REASON」

That’s bullshit. He’s pretty scared of you.

“It’s alright if you are. But I hope you know that I consider you a friend and I would never harm you.”

“You do?” Gilder appeared legitimately surprised. “But why? We…we barely know each other. Are you just saying that?”

「FLEXIBILITY」

After some mild pondering, you decide that you might as well be friends. You stuck around aboard a ship for two weeks and came out of it not completely hating the man. That’s good enough. Sure, he helped Johan ascend to the throne, but it’s not his fault he’s an idiot. No need to make it so complicated. He fits.

“Eh, you’re a friend,” I told him, shrugging. “I’m sorry for scaring you. They probably aren’t dead for real, anyhow.”

“Doesn’t seem like that thought would haunt you for long if they were, though.”

“No,” I admitted, “it would not.” Why would it not haunt me to be a murderer though? Why did it all seem so casual now? Everything has seemed weird since I cracked the red sphere. But was that really it? Was it really fair to blame the red sphere for everything? Or was I always this callous about life and just never had the nerve to commit to it? Not like it makes a difference right now. I’ll get all the answers I want from the Old Gambler soon enough. Of course, that deal with the Old Gambler likely meant that I couldn’t escape this without a fight. That was fine too.

It was a strange climb. There were scarcely any windows, and many candles were unlit, so that while we could see before our feet, we were flanked by an almost unnatural darkness. A soft breeze blew against my face and it occurred to me then that this too was unnatural: where did this soft, but ever-present wind come from, if not from windows?

“Ah!” said a new voice. “It’s been a long time since we met, Gilder.”

It was not until the voice spoke that I had realized we had reached the top floor. A second later, the automatic behaviour of climbing the long spiral staircase was disengaged, and we stepped into this large, ostentatious room. Through the open set of oak double-doors, brimmed with gold, was the place that seemed to scream more than leadership; the one seated upon that red, glorious chair—throne was almost more fitting a word—did more than lead, he ruled. Above us was a crystal chandelier, swinging carelessly from side to side, but wholly unlit. Instead, the room was illuminated by a set of windows behind the chair-throne that seemed large enough that at first it seemed like a gigantic wall-gap, until I spotted the open frames containing stained glass window, pushed open and hugging the stone corners of the room.

I did not immediately see the man sitting on the throne as himself, but instead as a collection of impressions. He wore the same red overcoat Gilder did, but he wore it better. He wore the same smirk Gilder did, as if he was in on a joke nobody else quite knew, but he wore it better. His hair was shaved on the sides and spiked up top, gently sloped toward to the side but still pointing upwards, much like Gilder, but it seemed to suit him better. This is the man Gilder wants to be.

Reven held out a glass of wine at us. “Welcome, my dear Gilder! It pleases me to no end that you were absolved of all charges.” He laughed, but it wasn’t a mocking laugh, but rather almost as if he found the whole situation a big joke to begin with. “Also, you two wrecked some havoc downstairs, eh? Could’ve just shouted or something, I would have responded, y’know?”

Gilder stepped forward. “Master!” he shouted. In a lower, more hesitant tone, he added, “I—you…”

His master waved him off. “There’s a lot to talk about. Sit down.”

Gilder pulled up a chair across from his master to sit down. When he noticed I remained standing, Reven raised an eyebrow and said, “My fair lady? Will you really make me look like such a terrible host?”

“You need not my aid to look terrible, my lord,” I told him.

“Then perhaps you will aid me in bettering my image?”

“I have no interest in such a thing.”

Reven set down a glass before the empty seat and carefully placed an emerald looking bottle beside it. To be clear: emerald refers not to its color, but to its general appearance. It seemed reminiscent of an actual emerald with a small hole at the top, a green multi-faceted glass container that screamed luxury and value. “Interest in this, perhaps?”

I had no idea what the drink was, but it looked expensive for him and free for me. “Fine.”

Now, to be fair, the drink itself didn’t blow my mind. Most expensive alcohol doesn’t really give me something resembling a religious experience, which is what I thought would be the bare minimum for something with that price tag. What I found in my experience from going to fancy parties and drinking fancy alcohol for free was that expensive drinks tasted very much the same as cheap ones, except you didn’t taste the regret as strongly. That bitter, burning after taste that made you want to grab a sip of water or orange juice to wash it off right after—? Well, that was mostly gone with the expensive kind. It’s a steep price for the laziness of not needing a second drink to wash off that burning bitterness, and one I was not willing to pay.

I was perfectly fine with making someone else pay though. “So, you set up my friend to take the fall for treason?” I asked, sipping at the alcohol. Damn, no burn at all from it. “That’s kind of messed up.”

Gilder put his arm in front of me as if holding me back from jumping at his master. Which was odd, because I was perfectly calm. “Not—not now. We have to address something else first. The team match.”

“Business first?” asked Reven, smiling. “I’m fine with that. I got your letter earlier, don’t get me wrong, but I have to ask: are you serious?” There was a sort of happy incredulity in his voice, as if he was unwilling to believe he was receiving a deal this good. “The amount of gold you described…bet against the Hollow Manor?”

Gilder coughed. “Correct, master.”

“Team match? Relay scoring?” Reven raised an eyebrow. “What’s the catch?”

“The catch is we’re going to beat you,” I told him. “Do you know who is on our team?”

“Of course. For one, Valle of Cresna—“

“—I am on the team.”

“Ah.” Reven laughed. “And is your display from earlier meant to scare me?”

“Only if you have brains.”

He smiled wryly in response. “I’ll be happy to take your gold, if that is a wager your team wishes to commit to. We have two strong duellists supplied by Lord Johan himself, of course, but our captain is…Max of Relampago.”

“Never heard of him,” I said.

Gilder shifted awkwardly in his seat.

「FENCING」

He is the Champion of Relampago, one of the Empire’s most curious cities. Rich, but low in stats, and therefore importance. You do remember this. He has never been a contender for the World Title, except for once. Even then, history books just show him as having lost to the World Champion, Estella, and don’t make note of the incredible fight he put up. You didn’t even know about his good fight until we just informed you.

「REASON」

Why did Gilder react like that? What is he hiding?

“Tell me about Max,” I said. “If you want to brag about him, brag all the way.”

“No, no!” Reven exclaimed. “If I do that, you lot will want to back out of this deal—and that won’t do.”

Gilder produced a parchment from his jacket pocket and tossed it across the table. Here he smiled, as did his master, and their similarities became—for a second—more pronounced than their differences. There was a bitterness to their smile, and I needed not [Investigations] nor voices in my head to tell me what it meant. Forgiveness was not in the cards, but neither was hatred. There was a bitter, nostalgic longing in those smiles, and when Reven signed the parchment and passed it back, there was an unspoken “So it shall be” in the air.

“It looks like it’s in order,” said Gilder, after a moment. “Now…tell her about Max.”

「SPOTLIGHT」

He wants to hear about Max as well. He wants him at the centre of attention, for attention’s sake—it doesn’t appear like his question is motivated by a desire for knowledge.

“Before I start telling you about the man, let me show you the facts, and ask you to draw your conclusions. These,” he said, laying out a large piece of parchment across the table, “are the results of the four World Championships that happened this past year.”

Fencing 279 Results

Arcadia Open [Death]

Winner: Estella the Champion.

Runner Up: Stefano of Arcadia

Relampago Open [Death]

Winner: Estella the Champion.

Runner Up: Stefano of Arcadia

Nadi Open [Points]

Winner: Estella the Champion.

Runner Up: Stefano of Arcadia

Vyzerworth [Points]

Winner: Estella the Champion

Runner Up: Max of Relampago

“Any guesses?”

Frankly, I had none, but I also had many. No guesses came to mind, but voices did—and they had opinions.

「FENCING」

Upsets don’t really happen in this world, unless your [Swordsmanship] is within 10 points of the other to begin with. Tournaments are usually held as a way of flashily bragging about the new [Swords] you have obtained more than legitimate competition…

The tournaments should have ended nearly the same, but that seems to indicate that Max of Relampago beat Stefano somehow…but Max has very low [Swordsmanship] from the little you know about him. Just enough to qualify him for being Relampago’s Champion.

“How did he beat Stefano?” I asked. “He overcame the stat barrier? But no one has done that besides my grandfather!” Truthfully, the list was slightly longer than that—Carr and Valle were both members of that most exclusive club now, though only Carr’s victory had been publicly witnessed.

“Oh no, he did not,” Reven said, and then he grinned again. “Why don’t you tell her, Gilder?”

Why does Gilder know about this?

Again he shifted uncomfortably in his chair, looking down. Still, the silence proved too much for him, and he said, “Stefano he—he lowered his stats during the match. Fought Max within 10 points of each other and Max won.”

That was hardly impressive. “And why did he agree to that?”

“Because Max fought him unofficially the night before,” Gilder muttered, in a low voice. “And beat him, with his fencing skills.”

「FENCING」

Even without knowing the exact amounts of [Swordsmanship] this man has, you know he has to be a master of at least Carr’s level to be able to do so.

“So he stayed outside the official records,” I muttered. “Then he fought Estella…and lost?”

“I admit he’s human,” Reven said, throwing his hands up in the air. “Never argued against it. But he’s damn good at what he does. He lost, but the final score was 5-3. Hardly a blowout, even against the highest stats in this world.” Higher even than Johan’s? Reven shrugged and went on, “He was nearly killed, but I saw his potential there. Damn man was hard to find after that though.”

Gilder shifted in his chair uncomfortably again.

“I really thought you’d let him be your Champion, Gilder,” Reven said slowly. “That’s the only reason I agreed to Johan’s plan. Thought you were never going to be in any danger. I…I didn’t anticipate you would run away before he could find you.”

To my surprise, Gilder actually leaned forward, a certain anger about him. “So you just used me as bait so you could get that great duellist under your employ. Tell me, what did you do to make him work for you? Told him it would help me somehow?”

“Yes,” Reven answered, without shame. “Told him he would meet you again if he did. And he will. If only you had let him be your Champion in your Trial by Combat, then—”

“He could have died!” Gilder exclaimed. “Did—did you not see the match? Carr almost died himself.”

“Max would have had an easier match.”

Gilder brought his fist down on the table, and I pulled the alcohol away from his strike. “He’s not invincible! He lost to Estella, there’s no guarantee he would have won…with how low his [HP] is to begin with, I wasn’t willing to risk his life.”

“But you were willing to die for him?”

“I certainly wasn’t willing to let him die for me.”

“Admirable.”

I finished my glass, and then stood up. “So hang on—you used Gilder as bait to try to get this swordsman under your employ? You sided with JOHAN just for that?”

With the monster that had cut off my grandfather’s arm. With the monster that had possibly killed my grandfather. No. The Old Gambler said he was alive. I believe in what he said. I had to believe it.

“That wasn’t the only reason. Johan is a hero. What?” There was a parody of surprise displayed on his face now, and it infuriated me. “You think because he harmed you that he has not done good for others? He’s a peculiar man, true, but so long as you satisfy his desires he is not dangerous to you. The man is quite concise about what he wants and is willing to be talked to—in exchange, he provides safety to our country. Why wouldn’t I want him to be our next Emperor?”

“One of his demands is Carr at his side,” I said. “And he has killed and betrayed many people to get to where he is now.”

“So what?” Reven laughed—it was nearly a sneer—and asked, “Do you think undoing the good he does now would be in any way respectful to those he killed? That it would bring them back? Killing Johan would just undo the good he does now and accomplish nothing aside from giving you satisfaction. It would be extremely selfish. Do you know how much good he does for everyone?”

「REASON」

You know he is making a good point. It would be ideal to just leave Johan be and let him commit whatever atrocities he wants—they are small scale enough as to not matter in the grand scheme of things.

「FENCING」

You cannot defeat Johan. No one can. The Fedal plan is flimsy at best, and fighting him will likely end in al your deaths again. Perhaps there’s wisdom in surrendering.

「SPOTLIGHT」

Duartes would be ashamed if you didn’t seek revenge for him.

「WINNING」

You can still kill Johan. You just need to cheat. Poison him. Trick him. Whatever it takes.

You lost to him once, you can’t leave things as they are.

「FLEXIBILITY」

There might be room for a compromise. Maybe if you could find something Johan wanted to ensure his atrocities are kept to a minimum in exchange for some cooperation?

「MUSCLES」

WHO THE HELL CARES?

WHY ARE YOU MAKING THIS SO COMPLICATED?

JOHAN IS A MONSTER.

YOU’RE GOING TO STAB HIM.

EVERYTHING ELSE BE DAMNED.

END OF STORY.

“Well?” Reven asked. “Have I convinced you?”

I remembered my grandfather, desperately trying to shield us as he fell to that monstrous beast. Carefully, I lifted the emerald bottle and set it near the door away from the able. It would not do to waste alcohol.

Reven raised an eyebrow. “What are you—”

I flipped the table on him and drew my sword. “JOHAN IS GOING TO HELL AND IF YOU TRY TO KEEP ME FROM DOING IT I’LL SEND YOU AHEAD OF HIM!”

Who cared about all that complicated stuff? People were better under Johan? It was better for the greater good to let him live? Fuck that. The bastard had to die, and I was going to burn it all to the ground if that’s what it took. I refused to live in an Empire where he ruled.

“Johan is a monster,” Gilder said quietly, and this surprised me. I don’t think I had heard the man speak much about Johan himself before. “He’s completely unhinged and not fit to rule. Even if he is benevolent right now, do you trust him to stay the same forever? Don’t leave people’s lives in the hands of a maniacal baby who can kill them all on a whim!”

“Did Johan treat you poorly?” Reven asked.

“Of course he did!” I exclaimed. “He got him arrested for treason, he’s as much of a bastard as—”

Reven threw his head back and laughed. It was an eerie, unrestrained, nearly maniacal laughter as if he hadn’t been this amused in years. “Oh? He didn’t tell you?” The man turned his head to Gilder, who looked away. “Gilder, have you misled them about your background? He wasn’t always my student, you see. He was Johan’s servant for a while before I accepted him as my disciple. He knows Johan better than I do. Have you forgotten all your training, my dear?”

“Don’t—don’t you dare—”

“What was your name back then? Oh yes, you were a Jack, weren’t you?”