The Referee

He aimed for the right side of her chest, I thought. If he had aimed for the left side, he would have killed her. How curious! The Swordsman of Zero appeared to be an uncontrolled beast, but even in his fury he kept himself from disqualifying his team. Perhaps he wasn’t such a wild beast as I had been led to believe. Be that as it may, I thought, watching him enjoy Katherine’s desperate gasps for air as he dropped her body onto the False Carr’s arms, if this man’s actions are controlled rather than an act of madness…he scares me all the more.

“Sorry about that team—meant to finish 5-0.”

“Katherine, say something—are you alright? KATHERINE!”

The Real and the False Carr made for eerie mirrors of each other. The Real stood across from his teammates, wiping the blood but notably not the grin off his face, appearing torn between proud at his atrocity and displeased that he hadn’t gone far enough. At the opposite end of the piste, the False held his teammate desperately, signalling for the healer to come by and looking horrified at seeing his dear friend’s blood before him, tears in his eyes.

Carr raised his hand to his teammates. “I got in my own head. 4-2 isn’t bad before the timeout, but I meant to give Fedal a larger lead for the next match.”

Out of the entire group, only Fedal and the girl besides him appeared mildly disconcerted about what had just transpired. The young girl glanced at him nervously, and he nodded weakly, appearing distraught at what had just transpired. I’m not like those guys. I can’t just watch blood fly like that and not care…Carr, I know you’re upset, but that was still a person you stabbed. His hesitation was an admirable quality but it was a disadvantage in a setting like this. “It’s going to be okay—we’ll find your sister after this,” Fedal told the girl. “She has to be here somewhere, right?”

“That’s what that man told me. But—but…the woman who just lost, she had her locket. Why would she have that? Do you think—do you think she killed… .”

“No.” Fedal shook his head with a certainty he did not truly have. “It’s going to be fine.” We’ll figure that out later. Right now I have to—oh my god, I’m up next.

Carr wiped some of the blood off himself with a towel and snapped his fingers to grab his attention. “Hey, Fedal? You know what to do?”

“Uh—yeah. I gotta win.”

Carr shook his head. “Your job is to protect the lead. You’re fencing their anchor—I don’t know how good their anchor is, but if he’s supposed to be my fake he’s gonna be decent at least. Just hang in there. Don’t try to score, just run down the clock as best as you can, we talked about it, remember? If he’s coming from behind then he’s going to make more mistakes and you can pick him off from there.”

You are too weak to win on your own. Just don’t mess up, were the unspoken words.

It sounds cruel, to people who don’t play sports. To flatly tell someone not to try to win. But it is far more cruel for the weaker athlete to force their stronger companions to lose an otherwise winnable match due to their pride. You wouldn’t think that an individual sport like fencing would have complicated team dynamics, but it does. A weird, mystifying dynamic where teamwork means less to enhance each other’s still as performing well in the role you’re given.

Fedal felt angry, of course. Angry at Carr for giving him such an ungrateful role to play…and angrier still at himself, for agreeing with his decision. Feelings don’t make you stronger. I am the weakest of the four. I know that. Goddamn it, I know. So why—why did he even pick me over Isabella? Just because she’s crazy? No…because I’m better at following orders? He clenched his fist tightly, then loosened it. When he looked up at Carr, there was a faint smirk on his face. “Next time we’re on a team match…I’m gonna make you say you want me to score as many points as I can.”

Carr grinned back at him. “I’ll look forward to it.”

There was no point in resenting Carr over his orders. He was the captain for a reason and Fedal had the most undignified spot on the team for a reason. But he would commit this bitterness to his heart. To make sure it never came to pass again. Today it starts…my little challenge, Carr. I’ll fight off your copy like it’s you. And next time…I’ll beat you.

When Fedal stepped onto the piste, the False Carr was already there, head low and his messy hair shadowing his eyes.

“En garde?” I asked.

The False Carr’s grip on his blade was so tight Fedal noticed it shaking. I’m not like Carr, Fedal thought. I’m not happy about this. Maybe I need to die once before I can be that callous. But even if I’m not happy about it…I can see that the Fake’s mind is not on the match, but on his friend. This might help me.

“Prets?”

Fedal ensured his en garde stance was correct. In a short time, his stance had improved considerably, and whether due to a nebulous concept known as talent, hard work or assistance from [Skills] I did not know—only his coach would know.

TO 10

SCORE STARTS AT 4—2

Fedal the Hero vs Carr the Champion of Earth

“ONLY ONE OF YOU WILL BE REMEMBERED

THE WEAKEST SINNER SHALL FALL

SECOND BOUT

ALLEZ!”

Fedal took a very small step forward and lowered his en garde, bending his knees even further and squatting closer to the ground. This stance had a few offensive benefits—by having your centre of gravity so low to the ground, you could, provided the leg and core strength, explode forward in a devastating attack. At first glance this was an odd choice for Fedal, who had been ordered to be defensive; the overly low stance also made stepping backwards slower, more difficult, for the same reason it made exploding forward easier.

Yet because it was an extraordinarily offensive stance it served as a defence in this very particular scenario. For one, hunched so low on the ground there was less target area exposed for the False Carr to attack. For another, the False Carr had to attack—his team was lagging behind in score after all. This would make him wary of an explosive attack like Fedal was telegraphing; if they both attacked at the same time they would likely score a double hit, and this was more likely to favour Fedal, who was leading than False Carr, who was trailing behind. Thus, the correct approach was to bait an attack from Fedal and proceed from there.

But I’m not going to get baited, Fedal thought. I’m going to make you think I’m about to attack the entire match, make you think like you are this close to scoring a hit…but I won’t. I’ll burn the time on the clock. We’re leading. Even if I come out of this match losing, if I can limit their strongest fencer to only scoring a few points that’s a victory. You aren’t an idiot. You aren’t going to attack…

The False Carr charged at him screaming all the while like a berserker warrior in the field of battle.

Fedal’s plan had been perfect. He and Carr had mutually agreed on it the night before the match and both were fairly certain of its effectiveness. However, the two of them hadn’t counted on one factor—the False Carr’s righteous fury; the power of his spite.

Most sportsmen agree that it is unwise to let your emotions rule you. But there is a special kind of sportsmen that channels their negativity into passion and lets it reflect on their play to amazing results. On Earth, you would see it in such athletes as Andy Murray, the tennis player. Here, you saw it in Carr, who in the First Bout Carr had exploded in fury and outmaneuvered the Katherine copy to an absurd degree. Those athletes whose technique gets sharper when their emotion runs hot are horrifying.

The False Carr was also one of those.

Much like the real deal, at first he had been in shock seeing his friend bleed in front of him, feeling both useless and unbelieving of the sight before him. When reason returned to him so did a singular emotion that filled the vacuum that was his heart right now: rage. Pure, natural rage. I hated you for being a fake. I hated you for wanting to harm Johan. But I thought I could forgive you for those. Now…now it’s different. Whatever concerns over his own existence the False Carr may have had were erased from his head. While those might have affected him slightly in a different time, now his anger overshadowed it all. Right now, he cared not for Johan or his own existence: even if he was the fake, he would still see the other team dead.

“FUCKING DIE!”

It was akin to a flèche but also not quite it. Normally, in a flèche, you hit your opponent then run past them to prevent a hit from catching you. Here there was no such concern. The False Carr ran straight at the crouching Fedal and binded his blade in sixte before delivering a thrust straight through Fedal’s eyes, stopping right before him and watching gleefully as he fell.

“FEDAL!” Carr shouted from the end of the piste. “ARE YOU OKAY?”

“Y…yeah.”

The New Bladewolves:

Fedal the Hero — 0 (4)

The Real Bladewolves:

Carr the Champion of Earth— 1 (3)

Had it been anyone else on the New Bladewolves, that attack would have permanently rid them of their eye. Isabella cringed at the sight and instinctively moved her hand to her eyepatch—her eye long gone since that duel with Johan. Fedal might have been the weakest in fencing power, but he was also the strongest stats-wise. His [HP] protected him from a hit that would have otherwise have been fatal.

[Fedal]

[HP]: 902 → 520

“SHAKE IT OFF!” Valle shouted encouragingly. “DON’T LET IT GET TO YOU!”

“Y…yeah!” Fedal shouted back. This is just a points match. There’s no reason to injure me that much. This guy…he really wants to kill me. Still on his knees, he looked up. The False Carr looked down at him, smirking, his sword resting on his shoulder. It was the most unsettled Fedal had felt in quite a while, the only other time he had felt so dismissed as a human being had been the first time he faced the Real Carr in their match. Maybe they aren’t so different, Fedal thought. A second later, another thought came to him. Maybe they weren’t so different. Carr has changed a lot lately.

“Stand up,” the False Carr told him. “We’re not done yet.”

Fedal stood up and took a few steps back. The way he fences…it’s just like Carr. I have fenced Carr a thousand times while practicing. I know how to handle him but he doesn’t know how to handle me. He opted for increasing the distance between the two, leaving his arm at near full extension and hoping it would keep the False in check.

It did not.

He rushed at him ferociously and used a beat four on Fedal’s blade, freeing him for another attack. This one would have gone through his heart if not for the Hero’s incredible stats, but it still resulted in a gaping wound on his chest and much blood being coughed. Cries of ‘Fedal!’ came from his team, but I doubted the man himself could hear them.

The New Bladewolves:

Fedal the Hero — 0 (4)

The Real Bladewolves:

Carr the Champion of Earth— 2 (4)

[Fedal]

[HP]: 520 → 237

A…are you kidding me? In just two moves he took out nearly all my [HP]. If I don’t do something quickly never mind running out the clock, he’s gonna fucking murder me! Fedal frantically backed away, trying to come up with a solution to the situation. This wasn’t like fencing Carr in practice, he was taking the blade a lot more often than Carr did before his switch to pistol grip. What were his options? At close range, he was outmatched in infighting. At a far range, the False Carr could close in at a much greater speed than he himself ever could. No…that’s not quite right…when it comes to speed, I’m faster if I’m using my stats.

Knowledge that did him little good, that one. Carr—and Valle to a degree—had demonstrated the limitations of stat-based speed for a while now. It was good for singular movements, but if you missed your attack, you would take a long time to recover to a regular position. Not only that, but your mind didn’t quite run at the speed your body did, making it entirely possible for yourself to run into someone’s sword without being aware of it. [Swordsmanship] took over your body, so the true masters of the art would turn it on for minute movements and turn it off again—and of those, only two really existed.

Valle and Duartes.

Duartes…are you still alive?

Fedal took a deep breath. What was the best way to approach—

“FEDAL LOOK OUT!”

He hadn’t yet caught his breath when another attack came. This one didn’t dislodge his blade at all, it was merely a quick thrust to his arm. After a few steps backward, Fedal found himself relatively uninjured, but his panic caught up to him.

The New Bladewolves:

Fedal the Hero — 0 (4)

The Real Bladewolves:

Carr the Champion of Earth— 3 (5)

[Fedal]

[HP]: 237 → 219

The lead...the lead we got…it’s gone! There were still nearly three minutes left on the clock. It could still get so much worse. No…I can’t mess up this badly. I can’t! I have to remember…what I did against Martim, the rhythm! I…I have to focus on that!

On the other side of the piste, the False Carr’s thoughts were less desperate, but no more clear. Even with my skills, I could only understand one vague thought: don’t let him think.

His flurry of attacks continued the vague plan. Now, False Carr didn’t seem interested in scoring, only in attempting careful moves to keep Fedal moving both his feet and sword arm, never allowing him time to rest. This had the unintended effect of keeping Fedal from establishing the rhythm he was thinking of in his head. Break already, thought the False Carr. His skill was the real deal, even if his memories weren’t—he knew the gap between their stats and he didn’t dare attempting to fight him under those terms. Fedal had attempted to outfence him, and there he had lost two points. Even the False Carr didn’t quite understand why Fedal had appeared so hesitant, but he had noticed the weakness and latched on to it.

Fencing Carr every day had been both a blessing and a curse. While it had been wonderful for developing his own fencing skills, it made Fedal incredibly aware of the shortcomings of [Swordsmanship]. An excellent fencer with no [Swordsmanship] could possibly outmaneuver someone with stats around the 800 to 900 point mark. Carr had demonstrated the limits of purely human skill against the Executioner. Moreover, the difference increased if the person with stats had such poor muscle memory that their attacks were telegraphed and full of openings, something even habitants of this world didn’t do—Valle mentioned that they received lessons on how to look while fighting, even if most regarded that as something almost for the sake of being aesthetically pleasing over relevant.

Fedal knew that anyone in this world with his stats would have been able to beat Carr or Valle at practice, but the truth was, he hadn’t. He wasn’t better than everyone else like he had hoped. He was worse. He would have to increase his stats many times over as well as his fencing skills to stand on the same field as the others.

Now, standing across a man who looked and fenced just like Carr…he couldn’t help but feel a certain degree of hopelessness. Like nothing he tried would work on him. Unfortunately, this led him down a thought process that many athletes fall prey to.

When faced with an overwhelmingly strong opponent, some athletes don’t simply assume they are outmatched. They latch on, for their pride’s sake, on one skill they have and they think—But if I can make him be on the receiving end of My Special Skill, then I know I’m still better than him. This is usually unimportant: it doesn’t matter if you’re better than your opponent in a very specific skill if you can’t make it matter during the match. It is just an empty, private boast you tell yourself to strengthen your fighting spirit and propel you forward. But sometimes that thought eats at you, and the temptation becomes stronger.

You want to use that move.

The one you pride yourself in so much.

But the fact is, if you have been dragged into that mindset, chances are you haven’t had a chance to use that move before in that match and for a damn good reason, so if you want to use that move, you will likely use it at a time when it should not be done so! Your distance will be wrong, your timing will be off, what have you. So you try your best move, falling back on it like it’s an old, cozy childhood place to return to.

And when your opponent beats you there, your mind is crushed and your game suffers for it.

I have no choice. I know Carr is going to get upset at me…but I can’t beat this guy at fencing. I have to use my [Swordsmanship] at full power. Even if he’s the better fencer…if it comes down to pure strength, I’m not going to lose!

Fedal readied himself with his [Swordsmanship]. There was no proper fencing behind his strikes anymore. It was pure, unaltered stat based combat. There was a faint scream from his teammates, but it was too late. Fedal launched himself forward with all of his 1087 points propelling his blade, and the False Carr stood firm. “GET READY!” Fedal shouted.

Steel met steel and blood flew in the air.

The New Bladewolves:

Fedal the Hero — 0 (4)

The Real Bladewolves:

Carr the Champion of Earth— 4 (6)

[Fedal]

[HP]: 219 → 49

Everyone watched in horror. There was no fencing behind those strikes, only a simple stats clash. The one thing Fedal had been the undisputed champion of—yet there too, he lost. The False Carr could have opted for taking a step back, forcing Fedal to lose his balance and attacked him for an elegant point. He also could have used his own [Swordsmanship] of 234 to enhance his regular parries and attempt a life-or-death gamble at parrying the attack if he wanted to truly demoralize him—but he did not.

Carr the Champion of Earth shattered Fedal’s blade with his own, finishing the move with an explosive strike to his stomach.

For the first time, I suspect, they paid attention to the Champion of Earth not for the copy he was, but for the copy he wasn’t. He wasn’t simply a copy of Carr—he was a copy of Carr that had no issue using [Skills].

[Carr the Earth’s Champion]

[Level]: 39

[Swordsmanship]: 234

[LEGENDARY SWORD]: 1200

[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]

Legendary Sword: Way to Twilight

[Status]

Normal

Fedal fell backwards—more because of shock than because of the damage. Understanding slowly dawned on him and he found himself shaking.

The False Carr laughed. “I am not an idiot. I looked into you guys as much as I could—Johan gave us the intel. None of you are using [Swords] with stats, so I can use one without any fear of the Sword Magnetism occurring. Adjust to the meta, my guy. What, you thought I wouldn’t use one just because you wouldn’t? Fuck that. If someone has a statless sword, you better believe I’m going for one with stats. And as it so happens, I have the goddamn Emperor of the Lusobritanio Empire, Johan, First of His Name as my friend—I’m getting the best fucking sword in the world. Every day I’m in this world is another day that lets me adjust to the fucking meta.”

Fedal and his team stood in silence at the realization. This man fenced like Carr—but he was as strong as him. He was much, much stronger.

A version of him that had no issues using magic stats.

Fedal gaped at him. His mouth was open, but he could not speak. His arm shook, but he could not move. His heart raced, yet he still lived. At that moment, he wished it were not so. If only he were dead, he wouldn’t have to face the man in front of him right now.

He had felt hopelessness before. He had witnessed Carr’s skill before, but he could imagine himself reaching his level one day. Not so here. This was different. More oppressive. Overwhelming. It’s…it’s like when we fenced against Johan. Fedal managed his first movement since the shattering of his blade—a step back. Not a fencing move, but a careful step backwards, as if he had run into a wild animal in the forest.

The False Carr grinned at him. “I’ll hurt you like he hurt Katherine,” he growled.

And he stepped forward.

This…this guy! Fedal thought desperately. He…he is…the strongest fencer who uses [Skills]!