The Referee

“Watch out,” Carr said. “Out of all of those guys…Max might be the toughest of them all. Don’t mind the score, go slow.”

Valle paid attention to his warning and little else. He was focused on the match to the point of bringing a tear to my eye—dressed in all white, wearing a red cape around his shoulders, following a long dead tradition few knew and less cared about. This sacred arena had not been used for a world championship in many centuries. Hundreds of years ago, in a different world, thousands would fill the empty stands and cheer for their greatest champions. Seeing this man show the respect these hallowed grounds deserved warmed my heart—but a referee’s job is to remain impartial, nonetheless, and I aimed to do so.

“Tougher even than your copy? Sounds like my death is near,” said Valle. His delivery was deadpan and the sarcasm was strong. “Stats Carr looked quite dangerous.”

“I have a plan for dealing with him in the anchor bout…not so much Max. He’s more difficult in his own way.”

Valle raised an eyebrow. “Care to fill me in about your plan?”

“Not something you can pull off,” Carr replied. At Valle’s glare, he added, “Trust me. It has nothing to do with your talents, it’s just unfortunate luck.”

Valle did not notice, but here Carr gripped at the handle of his pistol grip sword tightly. His thoughts were vague and I could not parse them entirely—he was focusing on Valle’s upcoming bout over this future plan—but it seemed clear to me that his own sword he had stolen from Johan was at the centre of his plan. This was most curious, of course, because the sword had no stats. Why would a sword from Johan not have any stats? My vision was almighty and nothing could be hidden from me, yet with every God as my witness I say this: there was nothing special about that sword, aside from its extreme resilience. It had no points of any sort.

“Max changes his style every year or so. I swear, every time I fenced him it felt like going up against a new opponent…weird guy. I haven’t fenced him in a while, so I don’t know what he fences like right now, but… .” Here Carr abruptly stopped, biting his lower lip and fixating his eyes on the piste where the two fencers would soon be standing on. “Just watch out. I lost to him a few times on Earth…and that was when he didn’t use any stats. I have no idea how strong he’s going to be right now, so watch out, alright?”

Valle started walking toward the piste, prompting Carr to say, “Hey, Valle! Did you hear me?”

“You needn’t speak again, Carr. This man defeated you a few times, did he?”

“Yes! That’s why—”

“By that truth, I must assume you have beaten him before as well.” With his back to his team, Valle adjusted his glove on his sword hand and aimed a ferocious look at Max, who stood across the piste exchanging words with his own team. “Forget not, friend: I want my rematch, and not just for the experience of it. I fully plan on defeating you and becoming the strongest fencer in the world. Forget this not: Valle the Champion of Cresna will not fear an enemy of your level.”

Valle’s words were true, but the omission was significant. He understood that this would be a difficult fight—his research into Max of Relampago had not yielded much. If you were to make an assumption on his style based solely on those records, he would have been your average duellist from this world, if not for the fact his opponents mysteriously lowered their stats to his level which caused their loss. Yet he had trained in Carr’s world, Valle knew, and his strength was not to be underestimated.

One anomaly remained in Max’s records, however. He lost to Estella, the World Champion, but she had not lowered her stats at any point. The final score ended up a concerning 5-3 rather than the predicted 5-0. Estella…I know you would never lose points on purpose, Valle thought. This, he was sure of—he had ample personal experience attesting to the matter. So how good is this man?

The Champion of Cresna looked ahead at his opponent. You have a huge lead—4 points. The score is 5-9, and we are going to 15. Just like Fedal had the advantage going into the last match, you have a huge advantage this time. How are you going to leverage that? What is your true style, Max of Relampago?

At the same time, across the piste, the opposite team was having its own discussion.

“You sure you don’t want to use my sword?” The False Carr appeared perplexed at this. “No rule against us sharing blades, and you saw how powerful it was, right?”

“How did you even get that?” Katherine asked. She had been seen to by the medical team and, though not fully recovered, was likely fine for the next match. “I don’t remember Johan giving that to you!”

The False Carr grinned sheepishly. “He really needs to get better security.”

Max shook his head. “I’ll be fine without it.” A concerned thought flashed through his mind—Carr lost his shit when Johan cheated. I remember him calling me in the dead of night before his accident and telling me all about it. I never heard him sound more pissed. Why is he so fine with using that sword to win? That’s practically cheating by most people’s standards. Does that mean he’s the fake one? Then is the real one the one we’re facing? He smiled at the thought. Good. I wanted a rematch after that World Cup anyway. Never thought I’d get it…thought Carr was dead. It’s better that I’m facing off against the real one. After I get my rematch, I’ll deal with the fake.

The thought allowed him to focus on his upcoming match and dismiss his responsibilities. Truthfully, he wasn’t certain that the Carr with him was the false one, but he had severe suspicions. What Gilder had told him about Johan horrified him beyond reason, but if he could trust anyone, it was Gilder. Unless he had been misled somehow, that was probably true. I hate everything about this…so Johan killed Jack and the others. He also killed the Emperor, maybe? And now he wants to kill God? That’s too annoying to worry about right now. That’s for the future.

It wasn’t that Max was callous—he was a professional. He loathed Reven, true, but he was hired for one job and he meant to see to it to the end. What he hated more than anything else was the idea of being a man whose word meant nothing: he had said he would duel against Carr’s team and he would do so. Moreover, he was admittedly hoping for a rematch.

There was a lot to consider about Johan and the fakes—but for now, the only thing that mattered was his fight.

“EN GARDE!”

“You have me at a disadvantage, Max of Relampago. My feats are plain for the world to see as Champion of Cresna, yet yours are shadowed by a most ghostly veil. I have heard much from you,” Valle said, withdrawing his sword from its sheath, “and yet it feels as though I have heard nothing at all.”

“My apologies,” Max replied. “Would you like to know anything about me before we start?”

“Prêts?”

Valle shook his head and smiled. “Heavens, and confuse myself further? Nay, good sir, nay!” Here his theatrical tone vanished for just a moment, and he said, in a low, confident voice, “Let your blade speak for you.”

Max grinned in return. “As you wish, Valle of Cresna.”

Valle flung his red cape off his body and fell into an en garde stance.

TO 15

SCORE STARTS AT 5—9

Valle the Champion of Cresna vs Max the Champion of Relampago

“FIRE MAKES STEEL

GET READY TO IGNITE

THIRD BOUT

ALLEZ!”

Though Fedal’s bout with the False Carr had touched upon the topic, it was this match that truly exposed the deadliness behind the scoreboard. With only five minutes—thankfully not the three in Carr’s world—for each individual bout, a score like this presented a most concerning challenge for someone in Valle’s position.

Usually, to score a point, you must lead your opponent towards making a mistake. For example, in Valle’s first duel against Carr, his mistake was to lunge at him when his opponent had already extended his sword out in a stop-hit, causing him to walk into his opponent’s blade. Simply overpowering your opponent with your skill is rarely the intelligent choice; even a monster like the False Carr wisely picked when to overpower Fedal after leading him around the piste. Leading your opponent to making a mistake is the primary ability of a capable fencer. The components to this are numerous and varied—one may choose to induce a mistake by attacking their blade a lot or using footwork to mislead them about an opportune time to strike, for example. It is a malleable, personal recipe that each swordsman learns to craft as they mature their skills. One ingredient, however, remains static.

Time.

You need time to make your opponent make a mistake, to train them to recognize the wrong signs, to properly mislead them.

And time is a luxury that the fencer trailing behind in score cannot afford. So what are they to do? To launch an attack before preparations are complete? But to do so is to invite the opponent to score and further increase their lead. Should the trailing fencer take their time to formulate their plan then? But then, even if they score, it is possible that they do not close up the gap in the score, and their timidity may cost the team the match. What is the correct approach then?

There is no correct answer.

Every team and every fencer has their own approach to it.

If you were to ask Carr, he would say to take it easy—score as many as you can, but don’t worry about catching up on the score. It was only the third bout out of nine, after all, and they had time to make up for lost ground.

Valle had also come to his own answer.

I’m going to score 9 times in 5 minutes and take us to 15. He hadn’t yet formulated a plan; how could he, when his opponent’s skills were unknown? But as Champion of Cresna he would accept nothing short of perfection.

[Valle the Champion]

[Level]: 19

[Swordsmanship]: 735

[Sword]: 0

[HP]: 122

[Skills]

[Restoration]: 99

[Fire]: 550

[Legendary Eyes]: 1356

[Photomemory]: 705

[Poison]: 985

[Diplomacy]: 615

[Art]: 948

[Walking]: 1452

[Blessings]

Champion’s Luck

[Curses]

Champion’s Truthfulness

[Equipment]

Gilder Rapier

[Status]

Normal

[Max the Champion of Relampago]

[Level]: 25

[Swordsmanship]: 375

[Sword]: 0

[HP]: 78

[Skills]

[Restoration]: 99

[Fire]: 52

[Water Filtering]: 491

[Photomemory]: 32

[Poison]: 103

[Diplomacy]: 91

[Stamina]: 12

[Walking]: 76

[Blessings]

Champion’s Luck

[Curses]

Devil’s Mark

[Equipment]

Gilder’s Best Épée

[Status]

Normal

What a curious story their stats told—Valle, destined from birth for greatness, and Max, destined from birth to be a water farmer. Yet they both stood on the piste now, and if anything, Valle was the underdog.

Both fencers stood cross from each other hesitantly.

I have his records from his duels as Champion of Cresna, Max thought, tightening his grip around his sword. But I haven’t seen him duel since he started learning fencing. He can’t have learned that much, it hasn’t been too long since he lost to Carr. Still…Johan lost to him? Gilder’s description of the events had been unintentionally misleading. Max knew his panicked retelling of what went down wasn’t accurate, yet the fact remained that one way or another, Johan had not been able to defeat Valle, and this unnerved him deeply.

Max had seen Johan fence back on Earth as well as on this planet, and not once had he seen his knees touch the group. What kind of monster are you, Valle of Cresna?

Valle himself was having similar thoughts. What is your style? What is the best way to approach you?

This impasse lasted only five seconds, however. Both fencers were of a high enough level that they both came to the same conclusion. Whatever you ability is, my team is leading, Max thought. So the one to make the first move needs to be me, Valle thought.

Valle of Cresna stepped forward with his blade extended. Christened ‘The Fiend With the Rapier” by Johan, Valle’s weapon of choice was an advantage here, offering him both longer range and access to cutting motions which the épée did not have. Though Max was taller and with longer arms, Valle won the range game. Here he displayed a lack of hesitation:

His very first move was a step forward, followed by an explosive flèche. ANYTHING LESS THAN TOP SPEED IS TOO SLOW FOR YOU, IS IT NOT MAX OF RELAMPAGO?

[Swordsmanship]

30→735

Valle’s sudden explosion was slower than either Fedal or Carr’s stat-powered launches, but such was the change from his low-stats form and his full-powered move that it felt faster—it’s a scary thing, pace. Even I, the almighty referee, was caught nearly off guard by that sudden shift.

The New Bladewolves:

Valle of Cresna — 1 (6)

The Real Bladewolves:

Max of Relampago — 1 (10)

Both fencers had the same immediate reaction after the move—A double hit, they both thought. Moments later they had acquired proper distance from each other and readied themselves for the next exchange. He’s fast enough to score a double-hit off my fastest flèche, Valle thought. There are no walls around the piste, so I can’t use my 3.0 style either. Let’s see…how do I approach him?

To his and everyone’s surprise, Max was the one to make the next move. He advanced forward with his blade extended, his front foot lifting off the ground a moment later—a direct lunge! Valle’s blade hadn’t been binded or beaten away in any form, and so his response was to extend it in a stop-hit. I have the longer reach. As long as I can get my arm up on time, there is no way you can land your attack on me before I hit your arm! With haste, Valle stepped backwards and attempted to hold his sword out high and to the side in a perfect stop-hit angle.

With both his skill and [Skills], Valle managed to put the sword up at the place. It wasn’t a guarantee that he would have been able to do it—one needed to be a high level fencer to be able to respond like he did.

And that’s exactly what Max had been counting on.

He didn’t displace Valle’s blade before lunging because he assumed that Valle himself would do it for him. You think I’m going for your arm or your torso and so you’re going to respond with either a needless parry or a stop-hit. If Valle had left his blade where it was and done nothing, it’s likely this point would have ended in a double hit. Which would have been just as well for Max, who led the score. But because Valle had responded as predicted, he had opened up his low line.

A stop-hit can still stop most low line attacks. However, specialists like Max had long trained themselves to have disturbingly low lunges, where their arms were almost at knee level—low enough to give more traditional coaches a heart attack with the ugliness of it all—which, while unorthodox, kept the fencer out of range of most traditional counterattacks and allowed them one singular target.

The foot.

THAT—BULLSHIT—TARGET! Valle shouted inside his head.

The New Bladewolves:

Valle of Cresna — 1 (6)

The Real Bladewolves:

Max of Relampago — 2 (11)

Less than thirty seconds had passed on the timer, and Max of Relampago had taken the lead on the individual bout, to say nothing of the team score. A fencer of his skills with that lead would have had no issue merely running the clock, but he had no intension of stalling this duel out. He wanted to win. You want the title of World Champion too, don’t you Valle? Max thought. I can’t lose to you, then.

“DON’T WORRY, RUN IT BACK!” Carr shouted. At the same time, from the other side of the piste, the False Carr shouted, “THAT WAS FANTASTIC!”

The effects of a toe touch—or foot shot, as it’s also called—can be frightening in a sport as mental as fencing. The one aiming for the foot leaves their entire body open to a response if the attack is even vaguely predicted, to the point where landing one is a trick in of itself. One needs not to read the attack perfectly, a vague thought of ‘low-line attack’ is enough to keep the attacker from scoring. Thus when one is hit by it, sometimes a fencer, especially a particularly prideful one, especially a particularly skillful one, can’t help but feel frustration at having been attacked in the one spot they felt no need to defend as it is such a low percentage attack.

Last bout, Fedal’s foot shot had a great effect on the False Carr. This match was no different.

No, that wasn’t quite right.

The effect of foot shots on this match would be much more intense.

As Fedal had remembered last bout, good fencing was high percentage fencing. This naturally gave birth to a meta game—both in sports and historical combat—where you aimed to prevent shots most likely to succeed. But by the very nature of a meta, an anti-meta needs to exist. Taking advantage of the sheer reason behind high percentage fencing and using that very reason to strangle your opponent was a strategy as well, as Valle was about to discover.

I hate that stupid target, Valle thought bitterly. I’m 5 points behind now. No matter.

Max advanced again, showing no intention of passivity. I won’t let you score again. Valle remained outside of his range, taking a single step backwards. So long as you don’t bind my blade, I have the longer range—I will avoid bladework. You cannot reach me, Max of Relampago.

The next few seconds proceeded as Valle had planned, with both dancing in and out of each other’s distance. At that range, Valle’s blade had longer range. NOW! Valle stepped forward with his blade extended, ready to disengage off a parry that never came. Instead, Max of Relampago angled his sword outside in a stop-hit. NO! I HAVE TO STOP—

[Swordsmanship]

735 → 0

“Most impressive, Valle of Cresna,” Max of Relampago said. There was a taunt to his voice, but some sincere admiration as well. “You killed your momentum by aggressively shifting your [Swordsmanship] to 0. I must say, that is not something I would have seen on Earth…this is quite new to me.”

“Spare me the compliments,” Valle spat out. “Madman, you have no concern for my longer reach, do you? You have no intention on engaging me in bladework at all.”

“Why should I? I have the better technique, but you have some. Not to mention your higher [Swordsmanship]. Binding is a fool’s game here. Absence of blade is the name of the game right now, Valle of Cresna.”

Is this his defensive plan? Valle thought. To keep me at range, don’t let me close in and try to score off counter-hits? He’s ahead by 5. Even if he misses on a few stop-hits, he should still average out about the same hits I do. Is that his strategy?

Their distance remained vast—too far for either to score off a single lunge, though perhaps within flèche range. Max still held his blade in absence, without looking like he intended to bind Valle’s blade at all. From this distance, I’m safe, Valle thought. He’s not going to bind my blade. If he tries a direct attack at my body, I have the distance to stop-hit his arm or even parry it. Either a stop-hit or a parry are good choices, the only target I would leave open is my foot again. But that’s a surprise attack he can’t do more than once. So what can he—

Max of Relampago took a step forward, and then lunged at Valle again. Panic overtook him for a second—he wouldn’t have a lot of time to make a decision. He’s going for it again? My only open target is my foot—is he insane? He has to know I won’t let it happen again. Valle took a step back and shifted his stop-hit slightly downward, so it would be able to catch another attempt at a foot shot. Not again, Max of Relampago!

But this was what Max had been hoping for. Thank you, Valle of Cresna. I can only show my true style of fencing against someone who is as skilled as you are. Max’s lunge continued straight and didn’t sink low as it had in the past. Instead, his arm moved slightly upwards during the attack—another thing that would have given a classical coach a heart attack—and landed the strike on Valle’s arm.

The New Bladewolves:

Valle of Cresna — 1 (6)

The Real Bladewolves:

Max of Relampago — 3 (12)

If Valle had not moved, the attack would have fallen short or been an easy parry target. In fact, a straight lunge like this would have been a good target for a regular stop-hit like the one Valle had used the point before. But because Valle was anticipating a foot shot, he lowered his hand enough to expose his wrist to his opponent.

“So that’s your strategy,” Valle barked out. He wore a pained expression, but he was smirking. “You devil—any [Skills]?”

“None, merely my own skill. But you would know if you used your legendary skill on me, wouldn’t you?”

“I would never sink that low in a duel!” Valle shouted back, but a measure of terror had dawned upon him.

Max stood at the very edge of his own distance from him. Valle could have hit his wrist or foot, but he had no confidence in his ability to hit those targets, and he was painfully aware of the issues that came with aiming for the foot.

Absence-of-blade prevented parries.

Lunges to the foot created a scenario where you needed to expose your hand to counter them.

Lunges to the hand or torso created a scenario where you needed to expose your foot to counter them.

Trying to approach him directly led to him attempting to stop-hit you.

This was Max of Relampago’s true strategy—a terrifying type of fencing born on Earth. He had followed Épée 2.0 to its limit. Though foot shots are normally a low percentage shot, by limiting his own attack choice he forced his opponent into a scenario that should have been fifty-fifty. However, Max had ample experience in reading his opponent’s habits and conditioning them to behave how they wanted.

Surely he won’t go for the risky foot touch twice in a row.

Surely he won’t go for the risky foot touch thrice in a row.

Surely he—there is no way—will not attempt it for a seventh time, will he?

I will stop the eighth foot shot—how did he know it was the time to hit my hand?

Countless opponents on Earth had fallen prey to such thoughts. Max’s fencing was more than its movements—it aimed to snake its way into your mind and poison it against itself. Even a low-percentage shot can become a high-percentage one if you can force your opponent to react in very specific ways, and by using nothing but a limited amount of shots that aimed to force your opponent to react in only the most “reasonable” of ways, you had a way of turning that reason against them.

When he first arrived on Earth, Max had sought to emulate the style of Max Heinzer based on nothing but his name. Yet, though their names were similar, he was unable to replicate his boxer-like movements and aggressive pistol-grip fuelled flicks. If anything, Carr was closer to that style than he was. No, Max’s role model, the one he aimed to emulate was the Korean bronze medalist in the 2012 Olympics, Jinsun Jung.

An unorthodox fencer whose style forced his opponents to fence in his style.

Valle gripped his blade tightly. He’s completely got me fencing in his pace. Forget the score for a moment, I don’t think I would be winning even if this was a one-on-one match. What are my options here?

Carr had drilled the concepts behind Épée 2.0 into his teammates minds the weeks leading up to the match. The basic concept was to force your opponent to fence in your AoE—your Area of Excellence—while denying your opponent the chance to fence at his. He had also mentioned what to do in case you found yourself trapped in your opponent’s Area of Excellence.

“The easiest way to deal with that,” Carr had said, “is to not let your opponent use their moves at all.”

“What do you mean?” Fedal crossed his arms and tilted his head. “If we’re being overwhelmed, that means we can’t stop them from using those moves at all, right?”

“Not quite. Every move has a pre-requisite. A certain distance, a certain position for your blade…if you find those, you can deny your opponent the chance to use the skills you can’t deflect. That’s the easiest way to beat your opponent’s AoE.”

In this case, this would involve not dealing with the foot or hand dilemma at all. Rushing in and hoping his bladework would keep Max from executing his strategy. The first point we fenced was a double. It proved beyond a shadow of a doubt—he’s not so much better than he can get away with scoring a single hit on me every time. We might double most likely, but I might get a single hit there as well.

It was without a doubt the most solid strategy from a team perspective, and everyone in that arena knew it. The New Bladewolves were behind by 6 points. It was a large difference, but it was better than the possible 8 if Max scored twice more. If Valle were to give up on winning the individual match and scored a few doubles and perhaps even a few singles, he could even reduce that 6 point lead to perhaps 5 or even 4 if he was lucky.

Now that it was established that he could not outfence Max, in hindsight, it would have been much smarter if he had approached the fight with that mindset from the start and aimed to get only a few singles and get mostly doubles. Max, a modest and pragmatic fencer, likely would have accepted to engage in those terms, unwilling to risk losing points himself when he had a lead. But Valle’s hunger for winning, his hunger for reducing the other team’s lead had only increased it. Nonetheless, he knew better than anyone that the most logical and easiest option would be to give up on winning and focus on shortening the lead.

“Most logical…the easiest option…” Valle’s head hung low and he spoke quietly, but his mutter was audible enough in that silent arena. Suddenly he raised his head and shouted, “IS THAT HOW A CHAMPION IS SUPPOSED TO FENCE?”

It felt as though the entire stadium was shaking with the fury in his voice. From the stands, a sole observer, who stood there instead of with his team, watched with his back leaning against a wall and his arms crossed. I’ve seen that fire before. Watch out, Max of Relampago…that fire nearly burned me last time I saw it. Be wary of the fire of a champion.

“Am I supposed to roll over and accept you are better than me?” Valle spat out. His entire body was shaking with a righteous fury few could understand. “To give up on this fight? NO!”

“What’s the hard way?” Valle had asked back then. “If that’s the easy way, there’s gotta be a hard one.”

Carr hesitated. He didn’t want his team to know about this. “You must engage them directly in their AoE instead of trying to avoid it. That gives you a slightly better chance than letting them trap you within it. Then, if you crush it, they will have nothing left in their game and their confidence will crumble.”

Valle readied himself and took a step forward. “I will show you now! THE MIGHT OF THE CHAMPION OF CRESNA!”

To Be Continued: Friday, 2pm EST.