Nevada

As the only daughter of the House of Wolf, my early years were followed with most curiosity.

“The Emperor is really big on bloodlines. Do you think he’ll try to push his kid as his heir?”

“No way! She’s really weak, isn’t she?”

“It’s too early to tell. Wolf’s blessing, remember? Her stats are mostly hidden.”

“Only until she comes of age.”

“Even if she’s strong, no one cares. She can have an accident or two.”

“Of course. No way we’re allowing the same family to hold the throne for two generations.”

It wasn’t an uncommon conversation. I heard people saying that all the time when I was a kid. At first, I’m not really sure I understood what was going on. It just seemed like everyone around me was happier at the idea of my stats being on the unimpressive side of things.

Nothing about that made sense to me, of course—why did they want everyone else’s stats to be high, but mine would be better if they were low? Still, I was one of those children that liked to be praised by the adults around me, so I hid my stats. Ironically enough, back then I thought I was tricking them into praising me and that I was being naughty somehow.

Little did I know that probably saved my life.

Around the time I was eight years old, things started to make more sense, and by then I arrived at the realization—albeit not to its full extent—that it was of the utmost importance that I keep my real Swordsmanship hidden, lest I find assassins hidden in my bedroom.

Instead, I found myself in a very specific position: as the only child of the Emperor, I had a non-insignificant amount of influence while still appearing mostly harmless. Thus, many people found themselves trying to buy my favor with either charm or gold. For a little while, this amused me. I am being treated so well…getting so many gifts. I can have anything I want! It was anything a young child could want. Anything I wanted was mine. Anything but the throne. This stabbed at my heart, and I didn’t know why that idea hurt me so. Why did I care so much about the throne? I have always gotten everything I wanted. Why should I fail to have the thing I wanted the most?

Even then, I didn’t know why I wanted it so badly, but I knew that I did.

If those nobles following me around and showering me with gifts had known how strong my Swordsmanship was, they would not have rested until they saw my lifeless corpse before them.

Yet, in their ignorance, they would bow deeply and sincerely attempt to gain my approval.

It was a good life, surely.

And I hated it.

Was that a life I was supposed to enjoy? One where I just sat there, appreciating the simple things in life while those ignorant, maleficent pigs conspired to take the throne? The one that I rightfully deserved?

Oh, sure, the throne wasn’t hereditary—but it was still my damned birthright! The idea of seeing anyone else on it made me feel ill. When I was fourteen, I made myself a vow:

I will sit on the throne myself.

People talked a lot in front of me. Mayhap they thought me for a fool that didn’t understand what was spoken in front of her. Mayhap they wanted to buy my trust with their information. Either way, in no time at all I became aware of more secrets about our lords than our own spymaster. Armed with such knowledge it seemed easy to maintain a base of power—It was here, of course, that everything went wrong.

The war against Inglaterra broke out.

My carefully hoarded information was of limited use. What good was it that Lord Lezander had embellished funds given to him by the crown if he and his impressive stats were needed in our southern border? What did I gain by knowing Lord Marcel had smuggled goods into his domain if he had to die in a meaningless skirmish near the Terra Inglesa? Warfare had given those ignorant buffoons a new card to play: their steel.

Much could be forgiven for their usefulness in the war. This didn’t mean that their secrets were useless, but priorities shifted in times of war and my bid for the throne had gone from a near certainty to a vague possibility. My frustration mounted as more and more news of him started to circulate.

“There is a commoner with unusually high stats in our army, Your Highness.”

“Good! He shall help us in the war, then?”

“Yes, but, well…he carries some trouble with him, rumors say.”

“What rumors, pray tell?”

“He wants the throne.”

Johan.

That monster emerged alive from the Massacre of Ender’s Crater, slaughtered Inglaterra’s army and obtained much fame. To make matters worse, at the same time, one of our messengers arrived, legs shaking when he dropped to one knee and read out the message he had been tasked with.

INDEPENDENCE OR DEATH.

Portna had rebelled, and worst of all, it was here that I found out that the one leading the rebellion was my brother.

“I—I have a brother?” I cried out. “Whatever do you mean? Did you never think me worthy of such information, Lord Father?”

The Emperor drew a deep breath. He looked at me with the same condescending eyes he always did. The ones that seemed to say ‘This is beyond your understanding, silly girl.’ Then, as if patting himself on the back for his infinite patience, he said, “No one needs to know about the results of my mistakes.”

There was a pause. “Did mother know about this?”

“No,” the Emperor replied. “She passed before even I was made aware of his existence. Still, the boy has been kept in Portna for the most part. Thought it would keep him from doing anything too silly.”

I…I have a brother. I didn’t know how to feel about the revelation just yet. The Emperor had dropped the knowledge so casually a part of me felt almost silly for being so invested in it. Still, it was natural to be invested in your own family, no?

The Emperor likely would have replied ‘surely not,’ I thought bitterly. The man would kill his own family if he thought it was best for the Empire. This sparked a concern in me. “What are you going to do about him—about Valder?” About my brother!

“What do you think I’m going to do?” The Emperor asked me, his lips contorting in something resembling a smile. “Tell me what you think an Emperor should do here.”

This isn’t the time for games. “Capture him and—make an example out of him?”

“I will make an example out of him all right,” the Emperor grumbled. “I will capture him and see to it that he serves the Empire properly after this little tantrum.”

“I—I do not question your decision, Lord Emperor, but you would not execute him?”

“You would want to see your own blood dead, daughter?”

“No!” I cried out. I am surprised that YOU wouldn’t. “Forgive me, I misunderstood your intentions.”

“Bastard born or not, he has my blood. His Swordsmanship isn’t to be taken lightly—why give up an asset like himself?”

It was that conversation that made me realize it—the loud, unrelenting impact of the power of violence.

It didn’t matter to the Emperor that the treasonous bastard was his son, but rather that he was strong. To forsake him would have been like torching down a vassal’s fields because of his treachery. Sure the man could have been a criminal, but his crops had done no harm.

A short while later, I came to meet my brother. At first, we both struggled with not knowing how to treat the other—how does one treat family when they barely know what it feels like to have one?

We met through a contact who supported the rebellion, when he had sneaked into the capital for a moment. It had been a gamble to see him at all, as if he were a practical man he could have used me as a hostage and obtained much advantage in the war for freedom. To my surprise, the man who led a rebellion against the Empire itself, the one who would come to be known as “The Executioner,” was actually a very kind man.

“It pains me to know you have been treated in such a way, sister,” he told me, a pained expression on his face. “I swear that no harm will ever come to you so long as I stand.”

Sometimes I still regret not telling him about my powers. Maybe if he knew, he wouldn’t have put himself in harm’s way so often. Still, I did love my brother just as he loved me—my feelings weren’t a lie. He was the first family I ever really had. Not that it changes the fact I used his feelings to protect me. I would go to the underworld after my death for that, I knew.

We met only a few times, but the honorable Valder promised to protect me no matter what.

“If your rebellion goes on, brother, I fear that the Emperor might use me to exploit your kindness,” I told him. “He might hear of our meetings…he is ruthless, you understand.”

My brother was silent for a long time. “I promised you that no harm would come to you. And I will see it done.”

Part of the reason behind his surrendering of the crown of Portna was my safety, I knew. And I didn’t stop him.

It was only temporary, I told myself. Harsh decision as it might have been, I managed to justify it to myself by making a vague plan to make Portna the capital of the Terra Inglesa and an Imperial province once I took the crown—my brother would be rewarded for his kindness and given a title of his own.

And to do that, I needed to strengthen my position during that war.

I have to go for it. I have to show everyone how strong I am and make my case this way. But I needed to make the reveal as impactful as possible to make the point count, and there was a perfect chance to make my stand.

The Siege of Arcadia.

Inglaterra had forsaken the land access—blocked valiantly by Valle of Cresna and, ironically, the Sun Wolf, my brother—and gone around with their fleet through the dangerous waters around the north of the capital. Unlike the southern ocean, the northern one was violent enough that none of our ships could survive so much as a fishing trip, let alone carry an army. Yet, Inglaterra had obtained some sort of technology from Razil and managed to attack the capital without crossing the land border at all.

This would have been when I made my glorious stand and revealed the full extent of my power. Surely there would have been some questions about why I had kept my power hidden until that point, but they would have paled in comparison to everyone’s thankfulness after being saved from certain death.

But that was never to come to pass.

Because Johan saved Arcadia from the siege before I could do anything.

That was the turning point—Johan started his move on the throne and the only chance I had was the group of dissatisfied nobles who hoped to install me as a puppet Empress. After the Emperor’s death, the writing was on the wall. Escaping with my life and regrouping was my only chance then.

It was then that I met Lord Valle and saw the chance to turn things around. The other hero forged in that war. His stats were lower than mine or Johan’s, but he was adored by the public in a way I wasn’t. It didn’t hurt that he was good looking or that he had managed to duel Johan to a draw.

If I have this man by my side, I can have the throne. To my surprise, there was no need to manipulate him. As we talked, we grew quite fond of each other and slowly realized we had similar enough goals. Our greed was similar and we found each other attractive—frankly, it was a better match than I could have hoped for. Though I misled the man at first about my real intentions, he realized my secrets…and did not resent me for them. It was an unusually good fortune that I was not used to.

Only one thought bothered me.

Valle of Cresna and my brother, Valder of Portna…they both want their cities to be made the center of the Terra Inglesa. I had promised them both as much, and both were deserving of such promise. But I can only fulfill one of them. Would Valle be able to convince Valder to bend the knee? Even if he does, would it be fair to him to ask him such?

I was a scheming liar doing everything she could to get the throne.

There were people I had lied to, people I manipulated, people I betrayed. In a way, I wasn’t so different from Johan.

My judgment will come later. Today, I need to focus on this fight.

Everything that led me to this fight right now.

Gilder had been surprisingly competent and made me shoes more properly fit for fighting while Celle bought some time. It was most impressive of him to follow my orders even while stressed out—the shoes weren’t terribly fashionable, but they were better than high heels.

“Allow me to demonstrate, Lord Reven, that not all the gold in the world can make a stray dog like you compete against royal Swordsmanship.”

If Lord Reven was scared of my Swordsmanship, he did not show it. Surprise touched his face, but arrogance returned to it a moment later. “Is that your trump card? Mere Swordsmanship? I thought hailing from the Swordsman of Zero’s group you would understand its limitations. I have ascended into a realm none other ever has been able to. My [Skills] are high levelled enough mere Swordsmanship can never hope to touch it!”

Now this was hilarious. “Oh? You really think that you can best Swordsmanship with [Skills]?”

“My stats are high enough that mere destructive power cannot stop me now. Observe—!”

Here Reven used [Stealth] and went invisible.

The man levelled up enough so many times that he’s invisible, I considered. He’s not just invisible while using [Stealth] but he doesn’t make a sound either. It’s not as though I can just listen for his movements. I don’t have high enough [Investigation] to find out where he is hiding either. I imagine he thinks he can just attack me from that position.

“Have Carr’s antics made you forget already, Reven?” I asked dryly. “The true terror of SWORDSMANSHIP?”

I raised my sword and hit it against empty air. Then, as if something had possessed me, my blade shifted directions behind me and to my left, whereupon it collided with an invisible blade. “Resonance,” I said, wearing my best taunting smile. “Have you forgotten? Both our Swords have stats. There is no way you can avoid a clash like this—they are going to be attracted to each other.”

The man was invisible, but it hardly mattered.

My stats were higher and therefore I was stronger.

I didn’t need to see him to destroy him.

“KNEEL!” I cried out.

Our blades collided a few more times, and even though he was invisible I could feel the frustration behind his swings. His blade was going to break soon and he was going to drop to his knees, I knew. Thus, I was hardly surprised when he reappeared a few moments later, having given up on engaging me directly. Again he stood across from us, but this time he had taken a few steps back on the bridge, nearing the manor we would soon win the team match. I’m cornering him.

Now that he reappeared, I could see the frustration mounting on his face. It was delightful. “Walk away now! Drop your sword!” he cried out with [Diplomacy].

My blade continued to glare at him and I took a step forward. “Did you know?” I asked him with a smile. “At high levels, Swordsmanship hurts. You have to be very skillful to not feel the pain of your own strength. And if you want, you can make yourself feel pain on purpose…enough to counter your [Diplomacy]. Aren’t you tired of trying yet? Haven’t you learned yet? This world was made for Swordsmanship to rule. No other [Skills] can measure up against it, no matter how highly leveled. You are still as much of a failure now as you were when you were a child.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, you goddamn spoiled princess!” Reven spat out. “You have no idea—no idea how high I’ve risen!”

“I care not how strong you became,” I told him. Another step forward. “Because I’m stronger than you regardless. Do you understand now, peasant, that Swordsmanship means royalty like me will never fall to scum like you? Bathe a rat in gold and he still won’t defeat a wolf.”

Reven’s expression turned dark. Calculated. He looked around and I could see he was trying to think of a plan to win despite our higher stats. Read my mind if you want, vermin. You will see nothing but your own death.

“I will offer you one chance, Lord Reven,” I told him quietly. “You are used to being part of Johan’s royal circle. Before you stands my royal circle.” My sword gestured at the group behind me—Celle, Gilder and the dying Isabella. “Regardless of what Johan might have told you before, you must understand—before you now stands the royal We, so kneel down and honor me, or I shall execute thee.”

It wasn’t entirely surprising that Reven took another step back and showed a disgustingly thrilled expression. “I have told you before, Your Highness—Swordsmanship does not decide who rules the world. I do. Do you not remember? No Skills, including Swordsmanship, can work inside the Harlock manor. With my last step I am now within Harlock’s barrier. Your Sword does not scare me anymore!” he roared. “Now, do you have the courage of facing me in a fight without your stats securing you? Do you not think Johan taught me the basics of stat-less swordsmanship? I can best the three of you in single combat!”

Celle made a thoughtful sound behind me. “So this is the exact point of the bridge where stats stop working…about half of the way to Harlock. Interesting.”

Three on one, he will lose for sure, I considered. This wasn’t necessarily true, but I had to believe it. Fact of the matter was, we didn’t know how good he was with a sword - how much had Johan taught him? Regardless, he was physically stronger than the three of us…but he was outnumbered. Would that be enough? But Isabella might not have that long anymore…a minute now, at most. Let’s see…what is the best approach here? Should I push it? Should I take a step back and accept that Isabella might die? We have the advantage here, there’s no reason to push it.

“No stats?” Gilder whispered. “You…you really have no stats anymore?”

“None whatsoever, my boy!” Reven exclaimed. “So why don’t you come over here? There’s nothing to be afraid of anymore.”

“I…I was always afraid of you,” Gilder said quietly. He stood up and started walking forward slowly, head low. “Every time I thought you were doing something wrong, you—you did something to scare me. To make disobeying you scarier than dying. I…I adored you, master. I wanted to be just like you when I grew up. Even after everything you did, I wanted to forgive you…to have you respect me. But…but—!” Gilder raised his sword and face at the same time—tears were falling down his eyes and he was shaking. “Isabella was nice to me. She’s my friend. If I have to challenge you to save her life—!”

Gilder rushed forward, blade in hand, and leaped at Reven, who grinned and raised his sword back.

Johan

“Master Roger, I assure you—I am not regretful about Katherine.” My smile unnerved him, as it should, but he kept his composure enough not to annoy me. Good man. “It is no bother at all.”

“It pleases me to know you aren’t truly bothered, my lord,” Roger replied.

“Hardly. You needn’t fear that your indiscretions will come back to haunt you, my good man.” Sipping at my wine—alcohol makes one say the most careless of things—with closed eyes was an interesting experience. Opening your eyes to find an expression of barely hidden terror is one of life’s greatest treasures. “Do you think I do not know?”

“I—my lord—”

“You were being a gentleman. Looked away while she undressed, and this allowed her to keep that forsaken bit of jewelry that hinted at her past life.” It was hard not to be amused at this behavior. “Master Roger, you fascinate me. Bathing in the blood of the innocent does not trouble you, sacrificing your own son in the name of the cause hardly concerns you, treason does not make you blink—but infringing on a woman’s modesty is a step too far?”

“Manners,” he replied promptly, with a serious expression, “make us human.”

This was too amusing. Master Roger was truly serious about this too. What a truly unique specimen you are, Roger. Of course, this was part of what made him so amusing. His sacrifices, competence and loyalty were enough that some mild treachery was hardly worth bothering with. “My orders are most distasteful. It does not shock me that you need to deviate from them slightly at times, and the result is hardly something to worry over.”

“Your magnanimousness shall not go unnoticed, my lord,” Roger said, bowing deeply. “This shall not happen again.”

“It shall. More Katherines are to be made, and it is doubtful that you would put aside your gentlemanly manners in the future. Still, do try to be more careful, yes? This Katherine didn’t matter much, but it is still mildly vexing to lose her so early.”

“It shall be done, my lord.” Hesitantly, Roger decided to ask, “Why does this not bother you, my lord?”

“She was never going to be a perfect match. You need the right amount of fencing talent to be a good double or else they are bound to start doubting their real identity—it’s what made Duartes such a perfect Carr. What an elegant double, don’t you think? Even after coming to realize the truth, he still considers himself Carr. That strength, that conviction—! It is only possible because of not only who he is, but because of what he can do. The servant-Katherine was hastily trained in just a matter of weeks. Talented she might have been, but she was always going to fail at some point, even if this is sooner than we expected. Still, valuable data was obtained from this experiment, no?”

“Yes, my lord.” Again, he hesitated.

“Speak, my good man! You sacrificed your own son for my cause. It would be criminal of me to not soothe your curiosity, since I cannot soothe your pain.”

“Is this why you are so particular about the candidates for mine and Nameless’s conversion?”

“Indeed. Take Gilder, for example—what an amazing young man! I thought Jack would have been the easiest of the roles to fill, as he was the least talented of them all, but Gilder proved me wrong.” Laughing at this seemed appropriate, and it caught Roger’s attention. “Still, though he was wholly unsuitable for being a Jack in terms of fencing talent, he was very useful in staking my claim on the throne.”

“His forgery was hardly perfect,” Roger replied. “If not for Carr’s sudden appearance as his champion, our plans could have been stopped there.”

If before my laughter had come when appropriate, it now came because it was needed to avoid my brain from collapsing at the utter ridiculousness of it at all. “Roger! You don’t think that my plan only worked because of Carr, truly?”

Confusion was plain on his face. “My lord?”

“Carr made it better, to be certain. My stat-less best friend who saved me—ah, how the public loves that romanticized idea! It would have succeeded regardless, however.”

“How so?”

“In many ways, Gilder was a perfect Jack. They both lacked self-confidence and were in deep, romantic love with their betters—though it was reciprocated in Gilder’s case. Knowing their place in the world, they both clung on to the coattails of their stronger partner and hoped to catch some of the light reflecting off their glory. Jack’s life resides in my Swordsmanship now. Gilder…well, perhaps he was lucky that Max was gone for a while. It forced him to find his own path in life. Still, they had one other difference, you know?”

“That Gilder didn’t have as much fencing talent as Jack?” Roger ventured. “Their talent levels were too different to make him a good vessel, in spite of the matching personalities?”

“Indeed.” Here it was imperative to reflect on it—the sheer improbability of it all, and how it had nearly ruined my plans until my realization came. “Entirely different levels of talent.”

Ah, this damned drink was good!

“Talent is generally not usually real, you understand, Roger? If someone picks up a certain skill faster than others, it’s because they have more adjacent skills than the other and they happen to complement each other. Call it as you must, but talent is merely the brain’s ability to adapt existent skills into new ones.”

“Still, some learn faster than others, no, my lord?”

“Indeed. Some learn much faster than others. Some were lucky to develop certain skill sets as kids that make them uniquely suited for certain activities. A kid who grows up as a liar to avoid punishment at home makes for an excellent writer, a lonely boy who dreams of the world outside his tiny room makes for an excellent painter, and a timid girl who fears upsetting all makes for an excellent investigator of the human mind. Ah, talent…yes, talent. Gilder had entirely different levels of talent from Jack, who was hardly suitable for fencing to begin with but had a measure of athleticism.”

There fell a silence, and my thoughtfulness laid bare. It was not to be said aloud, but drink had always been my least trustworthy of friends.

“More than Jack,” my words came out, “more than Katherine. More than Clara. More than Carr. More than Max. More even than me. More than anyone who crossed paths with me on Earth.”

“My lord?”

Ah, this damned drink!

“He does not believe in his own skills, but Gilder…” My wine cup was empty now. “Gilder is a stardust genius that comes only once every thousand years.”

Gilder

Huh?

What’s wrong?

What’s the trick?

Why…

Why is Master Reven on the ground?

How did my attack go through?

How did…

Celle rushed past me and grabbed a levelling sphere from his pocket, quickly smashing it against Isabella.

My blade was stained in blood and the man I had looked up to my whole life lied before me, eyes vaguely open, mouth hanging in surprise, arms limp.

Dead.

How did you fall so easily to garbage like me?