The Referee

If there was one small blessing for Fedal—and this wasn’t a guarantee—it was that the shattering of his sword provided him with a short break to allow him a new weapon. He could have obtained a new weapon and walked back to the arena in seconds, but it was an old strategy to prolong the break for as long as possible to receive coaching, think of a new plan and allow his nerves to cool a little.

None of which happened during the break.

Implications and silence hung heavy in the air. His opponent was better at fencing, had higher stats and now had the lead. Two minutes remained on the clock. There was nothing he could do. Realistically, there wasn’t much of a strategy to suggest.

Instead of advice, a single order was uttered, when Fedal was walking back to the piste.

“Don’t let him get to 10,” Carr said. “Who cares if he’s better than you? There’s a clock, run it down. Doesn’t matter if he has the lead. Keep being defensive. He’ll get some points, don’t let it be all of them.”

Fedal turned around. Don’t say what you want to tell him—don’t say that it’s easy for him to say that. Don’t tell him that you feel so disappointed in yourself for being so weak right now. Don’t tell him you can’t even do the bare minimum of what he’s asking. It’s going to sound pathetic. He’s going to make fun of you. But he couldn’t stop himself. Feelings of disappointment, bitterness and humiliation were too strong. “Yeah, well, that’s easy for you to say,” Fedal replied bitterly. “That guy is a version of you that uses [Skills]. You’re asking me to do the impossible, you know?”

“Of course I damn well know I’m asking you to do the impossible!” Carr shouted back. “And of course it’s easy for me to say and difficult for you to do—I’m on the sidelines right now. My job is to tell you what I expect from you. You are the athlete on the piste right now, Fedal. Your job is to do the impossible.”

“But that’s—that’s absurd!”

“Fuck yeah it is!” Carr spoke passionately, but he grinned at the end. “But let me tell you, Fedal. That feeling when everything is riding on your shoulders, when no one expects you to be able to pull it off, and you still manage to do it…that’s the best feeling in the world. I still remember the time that happened to me. It’s the one moment that makes you greedy for more. The one that makes you feel like all the practice was worth it. When you get that one moment…that’s the one that makes you fall in love with the sport.” He tightened his fist and shouted, “So go out there, and try to make it for yourself!”

Fedal hesitated for a moment then smiled. He didn’t have any faith in himself at that moment, but somehow, Carr’s words made his return to the piste a less dreadful one.

“Ready to finish this?” the False Carr asked. He stood across from him, bouncing off his feet, his blade carelessly resting on his shoulder. “Let’s get this farce over with.”

“Shut up,” Fedal muttered, in a low tone.

“What’s that?” The False Carr’s voice was full of a sort of mocking joy in it. “Oh no, is the little dog barking back or—”

“Shut the fuck up and fence me,” Fedal snarled back.

At this, the False Carr’s expression changed twice and annoyance never touched his face throughout. At first surprise took over, but then slowly gave way to a careful smile. Show me what you got, kid, the False Carr thought. You know enough to know how outmatched you are. What are you going to do?

The False Carr could have used his stats to shift the fight to an avenue he was demonstrably superior, but he hesitated in doing so, for a few reasons. He had only learned how to use stats recently and he wasn’t sure he could avoid the pitfalls regarding using stats and footwork. Moreover, their difference in stats was small enough that even a weak fencer like Fedal could have overwhelmed him if his footwork suffered—Fedal was, after all, nothing if not used to fighting with stats.

Truth was, Fedal actually had a lot of difficulty mixing his stats with his fencing—Valle was the one who could mix the two effortlessly. But the False Carr didn’t know that; Johan’s information was simply that the group had showed itself to be adept at mixing stats and fencing, save for Carr, who stubbornly refused to use stats. This hesitation kept the False Carr from engaging in a stats fight against Fedal, who boasted the highest stats in the group.

So they clashed using nothing but fencing, both afraid that the other could outdo them if stats came into play.

The New Bladewolves:

Fedal the Hero — 0 (4)

The Real Bladewolves:

Carr the Champion of Earth— 5 (7)

[Fedal]

[HP]: 49 → 44

The False Carr outfenced Fedal in every aspect: bladework, footwork, distance management—he reigned supreme in all of them. His stats were massively higher as well. Only one change from the previous points occurred: the False Carr appeared to have quieted his rage and had given in to something else, an almost predatory sense about his fencing. Rather than massive attacks meant to kill, it appeared that he was delivering attacks only strong enough to score points now.

The New Bladewolves:

Fedal the Hero — 0 (4)

The Real Bladewolves:

Carr the Champion of Earth— 6 (8)

[Fedal]

[HP]: 44 → 40

Yet this was no mercy.

Each point, slight as it was, extended his lead. And by ensuring Fedal didn’t lose all his [HP], he made sure that he was confronted with the same truth every point. I’m better than you. You shouldn’t even be trying to fence me. Get out of my sight, the False Carr’s actions were telling him. Don’t you dare sully the piste with your presence if you can’t fence properly.

He wanted Fedal to feel the humiliation of being useless, and so he avoided delivering more lethal blows—he didn’t want Fedal to have an excuse to quit.

Fedal breathed heavily, and though heavily injured, the pain of losing points ached him more than the pain of losing blood. There has to be something….something I can do…

The New Bladewolves:

Fedal the Hero — 0 (4)

The Real Bladewolves:

Carr the Champion of Earth— 7 (9)

[Fedal]

[HP]: 40 → 31

“BOUT POINT!” I announced. “If Carr the Champion of Earth scores one more point, it will be the end of the bout!”

I haven’t felt like this since I came to this world, Fedal mused. Even when I fenced against Carr…even when I fenced against Johan…I thought I had something special. When I lost to Carr, I told myself that I was going to become someone who was worth a damn because of his own efforts, not his stats. But deep inside I still felt pride that I was ‘Fedal the Hero.’ That my stats were high and would only get higher. It helped me not look down on myself. It made me think that even if I lost to everyone else when it came to skill, I still had my own category of unique talent I was better at than anybody else. But…in the end, I wasn’t anything amazing in that regard either, was I? The False Carr has me beat with [Skills] too.

The last time Fedal felt so inferior had been back on Earth. It had been nice to pretend he was different, that he was special…but he wasn’t. He was just a guy who happened to be picked to come to this world for no reason. He didn’t put in any effort that separated him from anybody else. He didn’t deserve to be special. He was just a common guy. This match reminded him of the fact, but the False Carr needn’t have bothered. Fedal already knew that better than anybody else.

“What’t that? Done already?” the False Carr asked mockingly. “Is this all Fedal the Hero can do?”

“Yeah,” Fedal muttered. “It is.”

Back on Earth he remembered a particularly bitter day. It was gym class, and they had been playing soccer. He had been having fun—as much fun as an unathletic individual can—until he realized his position had put him up against the captain of the school’s soccer team. After a single clash he understood that he wasn’t simply outmatched, their skills were so far apart he looked like a clown even trying to stop him.

So he stopped trying. The next time they were matched up, Fedal gave up his job on the defence and let him go without objections, much to the ire of his team. Why do you care? This is just gym class. A few moments later, he faked an injury and left the field. It was better to be away from all that. There was no point risking injuring yourself for a match that didn’t matter at all. Even if you didn’t get injured, you’d just look like a clown to make the talented guy look good. That’s just what it was. But if that was true, why did Fedal feel more bitter off the pitch than when he was standing on it? Goddamn it, why am I crying?

“This is the limit of Fedal the Hero,” Fedal acknowledged. “The guy who thinks there’s anything special about him.”

“Good. Now get out of—”

“BUT!” Fedal raised his voice and stepped forward. His eyes weren’t dead yet. “The weird, awkward guy called Fedal Norray? He’s not fucking done yet. He’s not a hero. He wasn’t born a genius among geniuses. He’s the guy who has to work incredibly hard just to cut it as mediocre. He’s the one who barely even cuts it as a normal guy. And he’s gonna ruin your fucking day.”

So what if I’m outmatched? So what if he’s better than me? Does that mean I should just roll over and accept that? No. Fuck that. I’m going to struggle to the very fucking end.

Fedal’s resolve lit more than a fire in him—the beginnings of a plan formed in his head. His opponent was much better than him, and they both knew it. But this would work in his favour for once. What the hell am I doing? Thinking in black and white terms like that…a situation where it’s impossible to score a hit doesn’t exist in a skill based sport. Carr taught me that.

Carr’s assumption was correct. Good fencing isn’t perfect fencing but merely high percentage fencing. You would do well to expect to be hit once by a beginner over the course of a fifteen point bout, even if you are an expert. While your choices and athleticism may carry you through, the fact is that each choice you make to block an attack opens up another route for your opponent to score. Experience and skill teach you what is the best choice given a specific opponent and situation, but it is ridiculous to expect to be correct every time. Sometimes your opponent will make their decision based on more or less complex thoughts than you predicted.

This is why there are no such a thing as invincible swordsmen in history. Even masters knew not to risk their lives in needless duels. It’s scary. It’s scary not knowing I can win. But then again…it’s different. It also means I don’t know for sure that I’m gonna lose. The thought spurred him on.

Fedal himself did not realize this, but despite his negative thoughts, he had managed an impressive feat: his gameplan hadn’t been broken. Despite the False Carr’s overwhelming stats and skill, despite Fedal’s numerous injuries, and despite the scoreboard, the fact of the matter was that Fedal hadn’t yet allowed the match to finish and the clock was approaching the end.

Right now, Fedal thought, the weird fake Carr is thinking he is almost out of time. He knows I suck, so he’s going to be looking for a move to finish this. No way he lets this go down to time, he wants to end with the perfect 10.

His assumption was correct. The False Carr smiled and thought, His defence is a joke. I have about thirty seconds to finish this. Even if he’s turtling up, I can find a way in. Let’s see…quatre line? Sixte line? Octave line? Where is the easiest target?

Fedal stepped forward and the False Carr’s face lit up in excitement. You want to come at me? GOOD! That makes things easier for me. He prepared for his options—a stop-hit in case Fedal advanced without taking his blade. A sixte parry in case he underestimated his speed and the stop-hit failed. A disengage in case Fedal attempted a beat attack. A stats clash in case Fedal abandoned all fencing strategy. I’m ready for anything. BRING IT!

Fedal’s sword came forward—it was a straight extension, and it wasn’t moving upwards or downwards. Not a beat attack then, the False Carr thought. In that case, a stop-hit! Immediately, he placed his hand high and angled downward at Fedal, increasing his [Swordsmanship] and [Sword] to max levels in case of a clash—it was a perfect plan. If Fedal went on with a straight lunge, the blade would be stopped. If he increased his stats for a clash, he would be stopped. Even at worst case, from that position he could still parry an attack directed at his high quatre or sixte lines.

Yes, the False Carr’s reasoning was flawless—however!

That is only when dealing with a reasonable opponent.

Fedal had been aware he was far weaker than his opponent. He had also been aware that due to this, False Carr only had to watch out for very specific, simplistic attacks, because he was too incompetent to hit complex attacks. THAT’S EXACTLY WHY, Fedal thought, I’M GOING WITH THIS!

What is the number one thing a beginner does when backed against a wall?

Why, they rely on their best move. Fedal himself had done that just a while ago when he chose to use his stats for the clash. But now that he had thrown away his fear, he had evolved beyond a simple beginner.

He had, for the first time in his life, stepped into the territory of madmen, lunatics who gambled with their pride, creatures beyond the understanding of men of reason.

He had become a real athlete.

And he did what a real athlete does in a situation where they find themselves completely outmatched: he tried something he had never attempted before.

This is over! the False Carr thought as Fedal approached. You are going to walk right into my blade!

But Fedal’s lunge didn’t go forward. His airborne body started to sink downward, such that his arm ducked under the attempted stop-hit. SHIT—IS HE AIMING FOR—

The False Carr attempted to lower his blade but it was a slow movement. He had readied himself in a most awkward stance, with his arm fully extended for the stop-hit and his knees straightened, which lowered the speed of his movement. Moreover, the surprise was such that despite his higher stats, he didn’t start to lower his blade until Fedal was halfway done with his movement. The head start was too great.

Fedal’s blade hit the False Carr’s foot. He had timed his hit and lowered his body enough that he ducked under the False Carr’s blade, retreating to safety right after the hit connected.

The New Bladewolves:

Fedal the Hero — 1 (5)

The Real Bladewolves:

Carr the Champion of Earth— 7 (9)

Valle stirred in his seat. “I still think that target is bullshit,” he muttered. At the same time, Carr stood up from his seat, punching the air and screaming, “THAT WAS FUCKING NICE FEDAL!”

The False Carr was a vastly superior fencer to Fedal. They were worlds apart. That’s exactly why he didn’t expect that the beginner shaking in fear would go for a trick shot against him. Foot shots were an extra hard trick shot—they exposed your entire body to your opponent, allowing them to punish your move by just tapping your body at any time. Landing it unpunished involved not only guts, but extremely skillful planning and conditioning of your opponent, as well as high skill levels to be able to land a hit on such a tiny target.

It’s exactly why the False Carr never even considered that Fedal might have been aiming for that.

And why he felt such fury and humiliation at being trick shotted by a beginner. “HOW—FUCKING—DARE—YOU—”

He advanced on him, but stopped himself. Even in his fury, another thought crept up on his mind. If he planned to land that hit on me—could he have a plan to land another? It was a brief thought, but a concerning one. Before this point, when Fedal had let all of his attacks go unanswered, the False Carr moved about showing little concern for his opponent’s moves.

But now—!

Now, he had to worry if Fedal could repeat that miracle. They were at a close distance. Could he land the final attack and bring the score up to 10 or would he end up getting hit again by that beginner? Shit. I can’t get hit by him again. I can’t—

His hesitation was what Fedal wanted. While many would have gotten carried away with the hit, Fedal was, as Carr was currently thinking, Locked the fuck in. He was allowing no distractions from his gameplan—not even the thrill of success. From the beginning, his aim was still to follow the gameplan. He’s scared of me now. That’s good. If he pushes, I don’t think I have a good chance of stopping him. But now that I landed a hit, he’s going to be afraid of attacking. Just need to make him a little more scared!

Fedal took a sudden step forward—prompting the False Carr to retreat. What is he doing? Is he gonna flèche? the False Carr thought. Suddenly, Fedal retreated and the False Carr considered giving chase, but then Fedal extended his blade forward, and more intrusive thoughts came to his mind. Is he—is he hoping I give chase to catch me with a dumb stop-hit? His brief hesitation allowed Fedal to take a step backwards and be outside of lunge range. I can’t let him—I will finish this now!

“TIME!”

They all turned at the sound of my voice, both fencers appearing equally unbelieving I had uttered it. “Time for the 2nd bout has ran out. The score is 9-5, with the Real Bladewolves leading.”

The False Carr opened his mouth as if to complain, but though a brief, loud sound came out of his mouth, he snapped it shut and grit his teeth. Shooting one last hateful look at Fedal, he said, “This duel taught me a lot about using [Skills]. Next bout I’ll be even stronger than this one, so warn your friends.” And so, he walked to the end of his piste.

Fedal took a deep breath and started walking back to his team, feeling a wave of disappointment.

What a joke…I was supposed to hold the lead. We are four points behind now. I can already imagine them making fun of me for it…as they should. When he reached them, he was looking down, unwilling to look up and face them. Shit. I must have disappointed them so much. “Guys, I’m sorry—”

“THAT WAS FUCKING AWESOME!” Carr screamed. Had there been an enemy in the air, he would surely be knocked out by his impressive combination of excited air punches. “Oh my god I’m going to dream about that toe touch, that was fucking nice.”

“Good hit at the end. Kind of unfair,” Valle teased. “But impressive, most certainly. Well done.”

“There are many of the Empire’s fencers who would have failed to do what you did,” said Princess Nevada. “That was a most exquisite performance!”

“You were up against one of the strongest fencers in the world and you ran the clock!” Celle said, a sort of excited, nervous laughter about her voice. “Holy shit that was amazing!”

“Gonna have to work hard so you don’t outdo me,” Isabella said, laughing. “I don’t want to warm the bench the whole match, but you’re making a very decisive statement about your spot.”

“I’m sorry your last sword broke,” Gilder said. Then, smiling, he added, “But I’m really glad that second blade was good enough for you!”

Fedal looked up and looked at his friends in the eye.

Had he ever looked at them before? Really looked at them? Looked at them for who they were, not for who he assumed them to be? Looked at them without assuming the worst so as to save himself a future pain, at the cost of a beautiful today? Had they been smiling at him the whole time? “I—” Fedal stopped, not knowing what to say. Suddenly his throat started closing up. Shit. Why do I want to cry? “I—I’m going to score even more points next time.”

“Damn straight you are,” Carr replied, smiling. He raised his hand up in the air and held it toward Fedal.

With an equally wide smile, Fedal slapped his hand high up in the air.