The Referee

There were no kings in the Empire—only City Lords in charge of managing provinces. Yet, there was a King in Cresna now and his name was Valle. A Declaration of Independence had just occurred and been transmitted across Imperial lands.

A rebellion was a serious business for most.

I could not, despite my best efforts, care about it.

“THE SCORE IS 40-36! THE NEW BLADEWOLVES LEAD!” I thundered. At this, both teams turned to face me. “The ghosts of the past are gone! Throw away thoughts of the future—for now, you must steel your resolve and march forward!”

Needless warning, that one. Both fencers were burning up with excitement for their next match.

The Clash of Real and Fake was to begin.

From one side of the piste, Duartes-Carr stretched, a sort of calmness about him. He cared little for the Echoes of the Past that had transpired a short while ago. Rebellions didn’t interest him either; there was no question in his being that Johan would stop such rebellion from ever taking place. Nothing about those extraordinary events that had occurred before him mattered to him.

There was only one thing he took away from that match.

“We’re behind by four points,” Duartes-Carr noted dryly. “Looks like I’ll be fencing from behind.”

Max nodded. “So it does.” By now Max was more than aware that the man beside him was not his old friend, but rather an abomination created mixing Carr’s memories and Duartes’ body. Still, the man was a competitor above all. “Ah, well…it could be worse. Individual legs last longer than on Earth, so you have the time to work on this. Take it easy, you can win.”

Duartes-Carr raised an eyebrow at this. “Not gonna lie, I would have thought you would be leaving me like everybody else.” He hadn’t shown, but Katherine’s change of sides—and the Executioner’s to a lesser degree—had wounded him.

“You’re my teammate,” Max replied calmly. “I don’t care if you’re not my friend. I don’t care if you’re not the real Carr. I don’t care if you’re the Devil himself, and trust me I have met the damned man. So long as you’re on my team, I’ll be behind you until the very end.”

“Is that so?” Duartes-Carr sounded genuinely touched. “You really haven’t changed, Max. Always there to pick me up when I’m falling. Remember when I thought of quitting fencing, before university? That pep talk you gave me really got me going.”

“I remember, but…”

“But that wasn’t me,” Duartes-Carr acknowledged with a sad smile. “I know how that is from your perspective. As far as I care though…you really are my friend, you know? Wish I could convince you of that.”

“We can be friends from now on,” Max said tentatively. “If that work for you.”

“It doesn’t,” Duartes-Carr replied. He started stretching a bit faster now, grinning confidently and looking ahead of him. “Because to me, I’m still the real Carr. That other guy is the fake. Fuck everything, he’s too weak to be me.”

Max hesitated. He frowned, mouth half-open, as if unsure how to feel let alone what to say, but knowing something had to be said. After a moment of consideration, he decided on, “This must be really difficult for you. Finding out who you are…”

“Not really.” Duartes-Carr gave his shoelaces one firm tug and smiled to himself in satisfaction. “It’s always been like this. Never really had any idea who I was, you know? Even as a kid. But I always found myself there. On the fencing piste. It’s there that…that things always made sense to me.”

For the first time since his creation, Duartes-Carr felt his words rang true, and he instinctively knew what this meant. Both Duartes and Carr felt like his, he considered. It’s why he was such a good match for these memories. Deep down, they—we—have the same core. A burning, unchanging love for the sport of fencing. This thought soothed him. “It’s the same as it has always been. If I win, then I’m Carr. If I lose, then I’m not. That’s all there is to it—as far as I’m concerned, I’m still the goddamn real one and the fake in front of me doesn’t mean shit. Duartes? Who the fuck cares about that old man? Just because I’m borrowing his body doesn’t mean I’m him. Fuck all this complicated shit, I’m just going to settle it on the piste.”

Max watched him carefully. He’s getting more and more like Carr, he thought. But at the same time, he’s not really like him. The more he exists, the more similar to the original he gets…but also, the more different he becomes in other ways…where is this going?

“HEY! FAKER!” Duartes-Carr shouted. “LET’S MAKE A WAGER! THE WINNER KEEPS THE CARR NAME! THE LOSER HAS TO CHANGE THEIR NAME!”

“DEAL!” Carr shouted from the opposite side.

Fedal tilted his head. “You better win, I don’t want to get used to calling you something else.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Carr said, laughing bitterly.

“I’m just joking, you got this. But…well, you know what I mean.” Here Fedal laughed nervously, almost hesitantly. Is it alright if I ask this? Ah, fuck it, he’d tell me to fuck off if I crossed a line. “This is going to be a difficult fight though.”

“It is,” Carr acknowledged.

Valle limped vaguely toward him, chin raised high in a dignified fashion that contrasted with the fact he was being held up by both Kat and the Executioner from either shoulder. “Do you have a plan? He is as skillful as you are, but with stats higher than you have ever managed to best.”

“What about muscle memory?” Fedal ventured. “Same issue I had the first time we fought.”

“And same issue I have right now,” Kat said. She winced at her own words. We have the same issue because we’re both fakes, she thought. NOT THE TIME FOR THAT! Trauma could wait. “My body isn’t used to the movements my mind wants to make happen. Not much I can do there…it’s the same for him, right?”

Carr shook his head. “Duartes was a master fencer to begin with. Yeah, our styles were different, but he had the work ethic and his body was honed for the sport for longer than I have been alive. Even if he’s not used to Epee 2.0, I’m sure he has been working hard to get his reflexes up to par enough that they are passable. And his old reflexes might make his parries a lot better than mine.”

“Well then,” Fedal started, turning to Carr with a grin, “do you already know how to beat his stupid fucking big number?”

“Hell yes,” Carr replied, smiling back at his friend. “I have a few emergency plans, but the lead you two got me is the key here.”

Katherine’s sister stepped up. “Excuse me—um, I’m sorry to interrupt…but can I ask a question?”

“Go ahead!”

“Why does the lead matter so much? Shouldn’t the stronger fencer always win?”

Carr smiled. “Good idea. But it’s not quite like that. Swordsmanship isn’t just a card game where the stronger card always wins. Defending is easier than attacking, especially if you know your opponent has no choice but to attack. That’s why the first point in a match is usually so important, because whoever grabs the lead can change up how they fence and grab the early momentum. Scoring the first point against that guy would have been difficult for me, but since these two have gotten me a lead…my job is a lot easier.”

“We gave you a lead of four points, don’t you dare lose now,” Valle said, a playful sort of teasing about his tone. Then, he appeared lost in thought for a moment. “It must be said—I only got the lead as far as I did because Fedal handed me a winning score from the start. Thank you, Fedal.”

“Huh?” Fedal appeared surprised. Shit. How do I respond to that? “I…I just got lucky.”

“You don’t believe that,” Valle said. “Come on—speak your mind. You’re among friend.”

Fedal considered this for a moment. “Thank you for trusting me to get the lead,” he said, and he meant it. “It was nearly impossible, but you guys trusted me to do it anyway.”

“And we were right,” Carr said.

Kat nodded thoughtfully. “It was absolutely a change in pace. That match against Max might have changed this entire match’s outcome…Valle might have bested the Executioner regardless, but he would not have been able to get this much of a lead for Carr.”

Carr laughed. “Like I said earlier—I don’t care what anyone else says, today, you were our goddamn MVP Fedal. That was clutch as fuck.”

Shit. How do I reply to that? Fedal thought. Just accepting the compliment felt lame. Stuttering awkwardly felt almost rude. Like it would kill the fun atmosphere. Going for it doesn’t seem as scary anymore. Fedal placed a hand on Carr’s shoulder and smiled confidently at him. “Well, it’s your job to go steal the show from us now, isn’t it?”

“Good luck with that,” Valle muttered. The show is mine already, he thought.

Carr smiled at his friends. “Yeah. I’m going to go do that now.” And so, he walked onto the piste.

“TO 45!

SCORE STARTS AT 40—36

Carr the Swordsman of Zero vs Carr the Champion of Earth!

STARE INTO THE MIRROR

MAKE IT BLINK FIRST

FINAL BOUT

ALLEZ!”

Well then, both Carrs thought, how will you start this match?

“It ends now, Faker!” Carr shouted.

“It ends with your loss!”

Carr had chosen to engage this match with a French Grip. The added power conferred by the pistol grip was hardly useful when he was so outmatched in the strength department to begin with. He approached the fight carefully, bouncing aggressively and alternating his rhythm. This turned out to be the perfect match to Duartes-Carr’s en garde of choice, his blade held in absence and aimed at his opponent’s hand.

Bastard, Duartes-Carr thought. You had to go for that, huh?

This is the road my team paved for me, Carr thought, an arrogant grin creeping across his face. I couldn’t have done this without them.

It was a simple situation arisen from a complex set of circumstances. Fedal had won them the lead and Valle had solidified it. Another factor, however, was Isabella’s duel—her demonstration of how quickly one’s weakness could become their strength under this ruleset was vital for this plan.

Duartes-Carr did not want to kill his opponent and lose the match. Thus, deep attacks to the torso or head were discouraged. However, such as the difference between their strengths that his best target to aim for without resulting in accidental death was an extremely shallow one—the arm.

Hitting the hand is complicated. Hand snipes, as they are so often called, require you to hold your arm nearly sideways. With two fingers pointing at an invisible opponent, extend your right arm forward completely, as if it would hit the hand guard around this hypothetical man’s sword. Good? Very well, now bring your arm to the outside—meaning to the right—while turning your wrist to the left. This should result in two fingers pointing around this invisible guard!

This is the technique for getting around the guard. You can imagine, then, why the same process with swords is used for hand hits, yes? To get around the hand guard—also called a bell guard—around a sword, you must utilize extreme methods of angulation like that. The issue is that simple physics remain:

The shortest path to a target is a straight line. You lose out on a lot of range when trying to snipe someone in the hand, and such angles are difficult to begin with, so they tend to be the territory of tall French Grip fencers who annoy their more traditional Pistol Grip coaches. If you try to angle a hit to the wrist and miss, your opponent can likely hit your torso while you can’t hit them—unless you can bring your blade forward in time, which is most awkward and difficult.

It’s hard to hand snipe someone who’s not standing still, Duartes-Carr considered. But bouncing like that is exhausting…so he’s going to get easier to hit as the match goes on. And if I miss an attack, I will be open to a counterattack. I should slow this down and attack during the second half of the match. Here his expression turned maniacal. IS THAT HOW YOU THINK I’M GOING TO FENCE, FAKER?

Duartes-Carr moved forward, his stats powering his movement. Faster than Valle, faster even than the Executioner—!

Hand sniping a moving target is difficult for even top college athletes, Duartes-Carr thought, but I’m the goddamn world champion.

His stats could have increased his reflexes, but he didn’t need them. His focus was enough; his stats merely provided the speed needed for the maneuver. When Carr bounced forward, he did nothing. When he bounced backwards Duartes-Carr moved forward. This was an unusual move in fencing, but it was safer here as his magic allowed him the speed needed to execute the move—regardless, the important thing is that he timed his move when Carr had landed, meaning he wouldn’t be able to move for a while.

Try this exercise: jump in place, then try to take a step to the side. Try to move to the left as soon as you land. You realize now? There is a delay between actions! Your muscles mandate it so. You may minimize this time with proper technique and effort, but it will always be there lest you violate the laws of the universe. A more simple example is trying to lift up your left foot just as you have used it to take a step—you will be stopped from moving while you absorb your own movement.

And here, Duartes-Carr went for Carr’s hand, as Carr had predicted.

And here, there was nothing he could do about it.

The New Bladewolves:

Carr the Swordsman of Zero — 0 (40)

The Real Bladewolves:

Carr the Champion of Earth — 1 (37)

“THE COMEBACK STARTS NOW!” Duartes-Carr roared.

Carr drew a deep breath. This isn’t surprising. Don’t act like it is. He’s as good as you are, but much faster. Sometimes, there’s nothing you can do about it. Use this as a key to adjust your plans. I still have a 3 point lead. WE still have a 3 point lead.

The thought didn’t comfort him as much as it should have.

Being the anchor brings about a sort of pressure one is rarely used to, and Carr was not his team’s anchor during university—Johan was. Though he was an experience athlete, this particular type of pressure was new for him. My friends got me this lead—I can’t waste it! Shit, it would be like spitting in the face of their hard work. Fedal’s brilliant performance, Valle’s solid victory and Isabella’s near sacrifice weighted heavily on him now. What if I can’t do as well as them? What if I let them down?

Such thoughts are inevitable.

There are many possible solutions to this. Some find strength and motivation in knowing that their friends are behind them all the way. Carr was not that kind of person.

His answer was selfishness.

These are not our points, he thought. THEY ARE MY POINTS.

He forgot it was a team match.

He forgot about his friends’ sacrifices.

This was a singles match between him and his rival now—and he had the lead. If he wanted to callously spend those points his friends had bled to earn him, that was his damn right. I need to make a plan. I have the lead, so I have the luxury of approaching this match carefully.

It seems counterproductive, but instead of merely attempting the same plan and losing over and over again, it is sometimes worth it—in very specific situations—to spend a point obtaining information about your opponent to improve your chances in other points.

Bouncing back and forth and trying to make wrist touches harder for him isn’t working, Carr thought. Then, with more confidence, No, that’s not quite right. Bouncing back and forth isn’t enough…but I can still make it more difficult for him. Immobilize him. Keep him from attacking. Then I can start attacking.

Fedal and Max both realized what Carr was doing at the same time. “His bell guard—!”

Carr was now doing the same thing Max had gone against Fedal—he had lined up his bell guard with Duartes-Carr’s, protecting his hand from an angled hit around the guard. If he wants to hit me from this position, he’s going to have to angle even further and I can hit him from here, Carr thought.

Angulation isn’t going to work from there, Duartes-Carr thought calmly. In that case—!

He rushed forward and used a beat attack on Carr’s blade. It wasn’t that Carr didn’t see this coming, but simply that the move had come at him too fast for him to disengage as he had meant to. Duartes-Carr managed to beat his blade out of the way in four, and then followed it up with a straight thrust to the bicep.

The New Bladewolves:

Carr the Swordsman of Zero — 0 (40)

The Real Bladewolves:

Carr the Champion of Earth — 2 (38)

“You’re too weak,” Duartes-Carr said, raising his chin up in the air. “Earth’s champion is not allowed to be that weak. Change your name and get out of my sight!”

*The lead they got me, I’m losing all of it, I’m—*Carr interrupted his own thoughts with selfishness. These two points got me a lot of information. If I stand in my regular en garde, then he can hit my hand. If I close my en garde, he can beat and lunge…so the proper approach is complete absence of blade? Maybe, but then—SHIT!

Carr cursed in pain. Though he had only been slightly wounded, Duartes-Carr’s blade was powerful enough to make him feel like a part of him had died. His hand ached, and it took him great effort to keep gripping at his blade with the same intensity as before. In fact, he had gripped it so tightly he came to a realization. This wound to my hand is going to affect my point control, he thought. I need my skill to be at the top of my game to win this, but this is already complicating things. His bicep had been injured as well, but the pain was less detrimental.

This man before me is faster than I am, and equally skilled. I have the lead, but not for long. He can’t aim for deep targets, but he has complete control over shallow targets. Absence-of-blade would be a good response, but if I keep my blade away from him he’s going to use that extreme speed to attack me before I can hit him…what can I do? Carr smiled at the thought. I haven’t been this overwhelmed since I was in university…this feels fucking great.

If he continued to fence defensively, he was going to keep getting injured and fencing even worse. I need adrenaline, he thought. That sweet, sweet adrenaline to make me ignore this pain…and if I’m going to get injured fencing defensively anyway…think…think—!

BREAK IT DOWN!

Pretend he isn’t a copy of you with magical enhancements for a second, goddamn it. It’s a straight bout. What are we seeing?

He’s faster than me. He can close distances faster than I react, but his reflexes aren’t that much faster than mine…though my reflexes are good enough his speed is frightening.

His Ideal Distance—what Epee 2.0 is all about…it’s slightly far apart from me. It’s like my old French Grip style but also using Duartes’ classical training. This is the distance he’s destroying me from.

He can beat me from this distance—so the next step has to be to fence from a different distance. But he’s going to injure me if I get any closer to him.

Ah…so that’s the line.

“Ref, I’d like to adjust my weapon,” Carr asked.

I agreed to the request, and Carr swapped his grip out in a short moment. From French, to a Pistol Grip.

A short handle like a revolver’s—a modern grip for fencing nonexistent in the past. Less reach than a French grip, worse point control and less angulation as well. It famously gave one back in return for all those things it took: power. Yet, power would do little good against a fencer with stats like Duartes-Carr. What was he planning?

It seemed like Johan’s champion had the same question. “What are you playing at? A pistol grip? Are you insane?”

“I’ve been practicing for this switch for a while now,” Carr replied. “And I can’t take the pain of being stabbed in the hand so many times.”

“You don’t have to feel that pain, you know?”

“Oh, but I do.”

Duartes-Carr produced a Levelling Sphere from his pocket. “You really don’t have to. Just use a sphere. Get some stats. Let’s have a fairer fight.” I want to defeat you at your best, Duartes-Carr thought, so I can prove that I’m the real deal.

This wasn’t the first time Carr had been offered the chance of becoming stronger with stats—but it was different now.

Now, he stood across from an opponent who was vastly better than him. He was in pain and outclassed.

For just a second, he considered it.

“I’ll pass,” he replied.

“You’ll change your mind soon,” Duartes-Carr said. “When you lose.”

They both readied themselves in en garde again.

And then, to everyone’s surprise, Carr launched himself forward in a flèche.