The Referee

Until now, despite his initial struggles, Carr had always shown his overwhelming superiority against his opponents once he had figured out a new plan of approach. More than his fencing ability, it was his ability to make adjustments to his initial plans that made him the strongest.

Against Valle, he gave up on parries and adopted an absence-of-blade approach to defeat him. Against Cassius, he had realized that merely taking a riposte-less parry 6 and holding his ground was enough. Against the Executioner, he adjusted his decision-making to rely heavily on predictions to attack when the man expected a retreat. Against Duartes, he used athletic, modern epee movements to overwhelm the traditional fencer. Against Fedal, he used the Hero’s own strengths against him. Against the Longswordsman, he used his own weaknesses to overwhelm the copycat. Against Katherine, he recovered his mental state in order to deliver a decisive win. Against Max, he navigated around his strategy by accepting he would receive a few hits.

Now, against Duartes-Carr, he had made his adjustment—in order to seal his speed, he had used the lead Fedal and Valle had earned in combination with an aggressive approach. It wasn’t enough to stop him, but combined with the time-limit and the double-hit system it was enough to make him unable to properly utilize his advantages. It had been a brilliant adjustment.

It should have been enough to end the match right there.

It should have been enough.

But the man standing across from him mirrored more than his skills—he mirrored his tenacity. His desperation to overcome any situation and his willingness to throw away his most beautifully crafted plans.

Duartes-Carr, right now, had thrown away his ego and focused solely on finding his own adjustment for the match.

I underestimated how much a lead could affect me, he thought. Or I overestimated how much my stats could just ignore the basic tenets of fencing. It doesn’t matter if my opponent is a worse version of me, the lead he walked in with is a huge handicap if he’s willing to risk his life…and he is. Underestimating fencing and overestimating my magic—those were my mistakes. I can acknowledge that.

These thoughts carried a sort of resigned anger to them, but when the last word went through his mind, the emotions dissipated. In its place was only a single-minded focus, and the man’s eyes were open wide, his mouth contorting in a mild smirk, and a frightening combination of words passed through his lips with a surprising amount of calmness, “Now, how do I go about beating you?”

The Faker is ahead of me by three points, Duartes-Carr thought. So long as he rushes forward like a maniac, it’s too dangerous to use my stats to rush forward—it could end in a double, and then he would be only two lucky doubles away from winning the entire match. No need to make this complicated. Cut it down to the basics. Epee 2.0—his ideal distance is close-range. If we’re fencing there, his fencing talent is slightly above mine since he has practiced more there than I have, and my stats are unhelpful. So what I have to do is just deny him that distance.

“I already know how to beat your stupid fucking small number,” Duartes-Carr whispered, his smile widening as he loaded his weight on his legs.

It was here that my Allez call was made, and here Carr rushed forward, hoping to close in on the distance once more.

And here Duartes-Carr took a step back.

I tried this earlier, he thought, but I was too focused on expecting your suicidal charge and that cost me my reaction time. Not anymore. Now, I’m going to just take a step back and observe. What are you going to do?

Carr hadn’t predicted this, and moving at near his own max speed, he was met with some lag in his movements, stopping abruptly knowing that giving chase would have been a mistake. From that distance, if he were to give chase, Duartes-Carr would have used his superior reflexes and speed to easily counter him. Unfortunately for him, at this distance—slightly longer than a step-lunge distance—he was also easy prey to Duarte-Carr’s stat-powered advance.

It wasn’t even a contest.

From that distance, it would’ve taken Carr his fastest flèche to cover the same amount of ground Duartes-Carr did with simple steps forward. There was hardly anything stopping him from beating Carr’s blade out of the way and driving his own through the fencer’s upper arm.

The New Bladewolves:

Carr the Swordsman of Zero — 2 (42)

The Real Bladewolves:

Carr the Champion of Earth — 4 (40)

“Good plan,” Duartes-Carr said, with a surprising amount of frankness. “But that’s as far as it goes. If I control the distance right, then your plan won’t work.”

My plan, Carr thought, a measure of desperation touching his nerves. His hand shook slightly—if only for a moment. He had been planning this for a while now, since he saw Duartes-Carr fence against Fedal. His carefully constructed plan, the only plan he had been able to come up with to keep up with a monster like his magic-powered mirror…it was enough to shake his confidence.

Only for a moment.

Carr slapped his own face and grit his teeth. This isn’t the first time I have had my plans crushed by a superior fencer, he thought, tightening his grip on his blade, nor will it be the first time I win regardless.

What makes someone an amazing athlete isn’t just their athleticism or their technical ability. It seems like meaningless drivel, but mental stability is truly immensely important. By keeping your calm and mastering your own emotions, by retaining your ability to think when the claws of desperation have sunk deep within your skin, you can overcome much stronger opponents.

Rushing in isn’t going to work anymore, Carr thought absently. He can create his ideal distance by stepping back as I advance…then I can’t compete with his speed. What do I do now?

So focused he was on his new strategy that Carr barely paid attention to the damage that had been done to his sword arm. A gaping wound now existed in his right arm, near the top of his bicep. Pain was an absent thought for him, adrenaline keeping his body competent.

It won’t last forever, though, I thought. If Carr keeps being injured like that…no, if the match just slows down a little, he will be unable to remain competitive. It takes the peak of his human ability to stand as an ant before a dragon—if he slows down even a little bit, Duartes will overcome him. Then—can he finish this match before his abilities collapse?

“Allez!” I shouted.

Again, Duartes-Carr took a step back, concentration at full blast. March forward or take a pause? Duartes-Carr thought. Make your choice.

Here, to everyone’s surprise, Carr chose neither. He stepped backward.

Fuck my plan, Carr thought. His bicep started to ache now, but he pushed away the thought for a moment. If anything, the pain only focused him further. If you’re too worried about my old plan, then you have to make some other openings for me.

Fencing was often called ‘Physical Chess.’ This was a descriptor I disagreed with: there were no perfect counters to every situation. In chess, a bishop will always overtake a piece it advances on. Not so in fencing. It is possible to read a situation perfectly, and yet be merely overwhelmed by your opponent’s athleticism. Still, despite that, it must be noted—!

Every action has an equal and opposite reaction.

There is a limited amount of moves you can prepare yourself for—in order to block a high line attack, you often must leave your low line exposed. There is no such a thing as a perfect solution. Fencing isn’t a solved game.

Thus started the conversation between the two fencers.

Recall, if you will, one of the options mentioned earlier for a slower fencer to engage against a faster one—to increase distance. If you have more time to watch your opponent come forward, you have more time to react to them—even if you are slower! At the time, this possibility was dismissed because Carr had no way to force Duartes-Carr to even allow him the time to increase the distance between the two. Moreover, Duartes-Carr was unlikely to try to cover that large distance quickly, and was instead more likely to close the distance between the two quickly.

But things had changed now.

Fuck your stupid big numbers, Carr thought, grinning maniacally, how do you plan on beating this?

Duartes-Carr had taken a step back anticipating Carr’s maniacal advance, and this had given the Swordsman of Zero the chance to step backwards himself! Now, the two were far apart enough that if Duartes-Carr were to attack, even a normal human like Carr would have enough time to react!

“Like hell I’m going to play along,” Duartes-Carr muttered. If that’s how you want it, then I’m going to approach slowly.

Duartes-Carr took a single step forward—a slow one. If I attack from far away I’m going to get caught. No need to hurry then…you might have the lead, but I am the one controlling the match. If I’m just taking a step forward, I can close the distance until I have time to flèche without him being able to react.

His logic was sound.

When he moved forward, Carr was outside his own flèche distance while Duartes-Carr was almost at his own distance. One more step, and you’re done for.

But before he could take another step, Carr had taken a step-forward himself—and then launched himself into a flèche at his max distance, just as Duartes-Carr was moving forward himself. And here Carr closed the distance.

Carr was too slow to react to Duarte-Carr’s advance, but he hadn’t reacted to it at all. Instead, he had started moving before his opponent had fully committed to his movement. His reasoning was much the same as the one he had when fencing against the Executioner a long time ago. If reaction wasn’t fast enough, he would rely on prediction. Of course, that came with its own drawbacks.

But they didn’t matter right now.

“FU—” Duartes-Carr started cursing, but he was not allowed to complete it. Carr’s fully extended blade met with his half-extended one, and the two collided awkwardly. In that fraction of a second, Duartes-Carr couldn’t make a decision about whether to use his stats for a parry or to rely on his fencing talent, and that moment of hesitation was enough for Carr to deliver a strike straight at his chest.

At a cost, however.

The New Bladewolves:

Carr the Swordsman of Zero — 3 (43)

The Real Bladewolves:

Carr the Champion of Earth — 5 (41)

Duartes-Carr’s stats are not to be underestimated. Even at that high speed collision where both fencers were moving forward, his reflexes kicked in and he managed to extend his blade just enough to hit Carr’s sword arm as he came in, resulting in a double-hit.

Immediately after the collision Carr stepped back, and this time the blood loss was too severe for him—or anyone—to ignore. A river of blood flowed from his open wound, and there was agony in his face even as he retreated to safety after the hit. Upon arriving at a relative safety, Carr’s arms trembled, his lips twitched, and for a moment it seemed as though he were about to fall to his knees and cry out in pain.

NOT. YET!

“JUST TWO MORE POINTS!” Carr shouted, raising his injured sword arm to the sky. “TWO—MORE—POOOOOINTS!”

At this, his teammates’ spirits were invigorated and they began to shout loud, passionate encouragements toward him. Carr could not hear any of them. This hurts too much. I want to scream in pain, to forget about this goddamn match, to get some treatment before it ends up like my other arm—but not yet! Not until I beat that fucking faker! I just have to hold on for two more points!

Carr was desperately trying to summon any adrenaline he could to keep himself in the match. This wasn’t like other matches where his injuries were life-threatening—here, he would live, of this he was sure. But to keep his fencing level where it was, through that pain…that would be most difficult. But he would do it, even if it killed him.

I thought about it before, Carr thought, biting his lip to keep himself from screaming, feeling a nervous heavy breath attempt to fight out of his chest. I have thought before that if I just surrendered my ideals and started using stats that I could defeat Johan without a problem. That’s exactly why—I can’t lose to this fucking faker in front of me right now!

Images of his friends flashed through his mind—Jack, Katherine, Clara, Danner. People that Johan had sacrificed for his precious numbers. I have to be strong enough to beat Johan without stats. I have to be strong enough to make him realize how useless everything he did was. I have to make him regret sacrificing our friends with his dying breath. I have to see the look of despair on his face as he realizes that I am stronger than him without ever touching those things he killed our friends for. And to do this, he needed to win this match.

To overcome the version of him that used stats.

Passion kept him afloat. It wasn’t magic or willpower—mere adrenaline keeping a failing body going for just a while longer. Just—two—more—points! The thought was like a mantra propelling him forward. He felt his grip on his blade weaken, but a sudden shout empowered him to hold it again. If I can breathe, I can win!

Duartes-Carr, meanwhile, stood across from him with a cold, calculating gaze. Trying to lure me to chase after him and guessing where I am with a flèche…that’s a low probability move. If he guesses wrong, if I can just take my time and fake him out, I can comfortably beat him.

But he didn’t have the luxury of taking his time!

Carr was ahead by 2 points in the team score, and the clock was ticking down. This pressure took the concept from an easy massacre for Duartes-Carr to merely a matchup where he held the advantage. If Carr tried to guess when to flèche, he would likely only guess right once out of every three times. It was still a low-probability matchup, but given the lead, the chances that Carr would reach 45 before Duartes-Carr did were not to be underestimated.

Even now, the oppression of fighting against a lead was suffocating the Fake!

It was at 34-34, I thought, considering the entire bout leading up to this point. No…it started even before that, at 4-9, when Fedal the Hero managed to score a hit against the Champion of Earth. That hit gave him the confidence to start growing. Then, at 34-34, he overcame Max of Relampago. Yes…that was the point that changed the momentum of the match. It allowed Valle of Cresna to gain a large lead over the Executioner and it is now what allowed Carr to force the stronger fencer to be the one chasing after him. I don’t know if anyone realized it at the time…mayhap even the Hero himself didn’t. But that one point significantly changed the fate of this match.

Duartes-Carr’s mind was racing with possibilities. I don’t want to rely on luck to win this match. I’m the better fencer, there’s no need to accept that the final result is going to be so janky as all hell. There has to be something I can do—! Ah. Of course. There was one.

“Allez!” I declared.

There was hardly a need for an invitation there. His blade advanced before he did, no feint in his actions. The man’s intentions were clear from the first step, and the squeezing of his grip at the last moment only confirmed the initial intentions—a beat attack. He hadn’t done so before because despite his vastly superior speed, there existed the possibility Carr would be able to squeeze his grip to return his blade to position in time for a double. This time, however…

The New Bladewolves:

Carr the Swordsman of Zero — 3 (43)

The Real Bladewolves:

Carr the Champion of Earth — 6 (42)

Carr’s blade dropped low after the beat and he couldn’t recover it in time to protect his bicep from another piercing strike.

The Swordsman of Zero didn’t scream in pain, but his arm was shaking and soon as he had retreated to a safe distance he dropped to a single knee, his face contorting in a twisted expression. “Fuck,” he muttered. It hurts…it hurts so much. I can’t even hold on to the blade anymore. Likely no permanent damage, for all the good it did him. I don’t care about the future…I just have to win this one match. Move, you useless fucking arm! MOVE! But despite his pleadings, all his anger and adrenaline was only enough to make him vaguely close his fist around the pistol grip.

Fortunately, the orthopedic grip allowed him a measure of control over his blade even as his fingers were barely locked in place, his brown glove pressed up enough against the rough metal texture to keep it from slipping even as he barely felt the grip anymore. Thank fucking hell I’m not using a French Grip right now, he thought, weakly. Then, looking up at his grinning opponent, Fucking Faker, did you aim for this?

“There’s no need for me to stress over anything,” he said, rather smugly. “Wear your opponent down, then finish them with your superior conditioning…you know that strategy well, eh? Same thing here. If you’re being a stubborn bastard who refuses to use stats, I’m just going to make it so you can’t hold a sword anymore. No need to actually outfence you.”

Until now, he had been holding off on this strategy after Isabella’s strategy had put him off attacking with any strength behind it. But now he was confident that Carr wouldn’t attempt at the same strategy, if only out of pride.

“Fucking coward,” Carr spat out, his lips quivering in pain and anger. “Is that how you want to settle this?”

“Of course not.” Duartes-Carr’s face darkened. “I want to beat you at your best. To prove that I’m the superior one. But if you don’t want to fence at your best, then I have no choice but to fucking break you just the way you are.”

“The hell do you mean, Faker?”

“I can’t beat you at your best because you refuse to fence me at your best. This isn’t a goddamn NAC or anything like that. We’re fencing using sharp swords in a weird land where magic is real—and you want to fence like a sports guy without using magic? Fucking give me a break. Don’t use stats if you don’t want, but at least heal yourself. Come on now!” Duartes-Carr first gestured with his blade at Carr’s useless arm—the one the Executioner had nearly destroyed and permanently crippled. Then, he gestured at his other arm, the one weakly, barely holding on to his blade right now. “One more attack and I’ll cripple your other arm forever. That’s all I need. Just one more point, and your fencing life is dead forever.”

“I won’t let you get one more point,” Carr roared. His resolve empowered him, strength returned to his legs, if not his arm, and he pointed his blade forward. The man didn’t fully stand up, but his position was more regal now, and his one knee appeared to start lifting off the ground. “I’m going to win this fucking match if I have to crawl my way to the finish line!”

“Bullshit,” Duartes-Carr replied bitterly. “You know that’s a goddamn lie, you bastard. How can you beat a better fencer when you can barely move? Stop pretending you can power your way out of this. You did well, but this is as far as you can go with your stupid stat-less take.”

“Kind of too late to think about that.”

“No. It’s not.”

“I can’t ever increase my Swordsmanship—because I refused to pay the Steel Price when I first came here.”

“I wonder,” Duartes-Carr said slowly, “who you would have sacrificed if you had chosen to do so. Your friends were already dead, your family was dead—so who?” He glanced over his shoulder for a moment and smiled at his teammate before returning his gaze to his opponent. “Max, I suppose. Considering how he had a body here on Swordland already, I wonder if he would have died forever or if he would have just been sent here via Swordline Air Travel. Things to ponder over, I suppose. But more importantly,” he said, smirking arrogantly, “I’m not talking about Swordsmanship. Just some HP would do you wonders. Heal both those fucking arms…and your knees. They are aching pretty bad, aren’t they?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Carr snarled back. In truth, his knee that Johan had broken a while back ached, and though it didn’t fully restrict his movement, it made certain actions more painful, perhaps a tad slower when adrenaline wasn’t fully in command of his body—especially when Celle wasn’t around to give him some measure of healing. “That doesn’t matter right now, we’re in the middle of a fight!”

“It matters.”

Duartes-Carr produced a Levelling Sphere from his pocket—the same one he had taunted Isabella with earlier. He held the blue sphere close to his eye and raised a quizzical eyebrow at it before turning to Carr with a taunting expression. “Take this.”

“What do you—”

The sphere rolled toward him, stopping just before the Swordsman of Zero, who looked up at his opponent in shock. “What—are you serious?”

“Use it,” Duartes-Carr said, a sort of robotic coldness to his voice. “Now. Make this a fair match, so that my victory actually means something.”

Carr stared at the sphere in disbelief.

It hurts so much, he thought. It was more than the pain, it was the exhaustion that came with it. Normally, you cry in pain, but when the pain stops it’s as if nothing had ever happened. Not so with chronic pain. It’s a crippling sensation, knowing that even when your pain is gone it could return to any second. That a single misstep in your routine can mean a miserable night soon after—one day he forgot to get his daily healing from Celle and he was unable to sleep due to so much pain in his knee and arm. It could all go away. I wouldn’t have to bother Celle so much with my injuries.

Celle…she really needs me to win this match. He liked her a lot. He could admit this now. At first they had only gotten along out of necessity. Before he knew it, he had grown fond of the time they spent together. Now, he wanted to see her smile. To get her pretty things. But she wasn’t the jewelry and flowers kind of girl. She wanted a crime scene. I want to pay you back for everything you did for me…for putting up with me when I acted like an insane idiot so many times...when I drove you crazy. The thought made him smile. I want to live so I can spend more time with you. Read more books with you. Travel with you. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing in this world, but as long as it’s with you, I know I’ll have fun. And…to do this I have to win this match. So we can solve that crime and stop Johan.

She wasn’t the only one who needed him to win this match. The thought came to him suddenly but politely, like a friend tapping him on the shoulder with a smile to remind them of their existence at a party.

Valle, he thought, you need me to win this match so you can keep Johan away from your homeland. I have never seen someone so devoted to their homeland. You’re a really amazing guy, you know that? You became a stronger and stronger fencer…and if I have gotten stronger at all, it’s because I have you as my rival. Thank you. But thanks isn’t enough, is it? I have to pay you back for everything you have done with a win.

Pain ached again. His adrenaline had started to leave him, and now he couldn’t stop himself from crying out in pain. His knees fell to the ground again and he looked at the sphere in front of him, that alluring blue crystal reflecting his eyes back at him.

It’s not just Valle. Fedal…goddamn, Fedal. You were so cool. I’m…I’m so proud of you. When I met you, everything that came out of your mouth made me want to rip your head off. A spoiled kid who refused to try hard but still expected to be complimented for efforts he didn’t really show. But…but since then you tried hard. Really hard. Even as you failed, even as you shed blood, sweat, and tears…you never gave up. Sure you complained, but you kept up with it. And you created a miracle with your own hard work, to give us the chance I’m now wasting…I’m proud to be able to call myself your friend. You are so goddamn cool, Fedal. Never doubt yourself.

“I…I can use the sphere?” Carr asked weakly. His vision had started to blur. “This isn’t a trick?”

“Use it before I change my mind,” Duartes-Carr replied coldly.

It hurt so much. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to live.

Isabella was hurting a lot worse. She nearly died to score a single point…she was amazing. I still don’t know what she went through with the Devil’s Spheres, but I know it changed her a lot. Even as she had her very being ripped out of her, she refused to drop dead and let the Faker win. Goddamn it, that was so cool to watch. I…I really respect that. Crawling all the way to the finish line like that…that’s something to admire. Isabella, I know you were never too proud of your own fencing abilities, but I think you are a fantastic fencer. I can’t wait to see how you’re going to evolve from now on.

It took him effort to crawl toward the sphere. His left arm still useless, he had to drop his sword to pick it up and study it absently, as if staring at a ghost.

Katherine…Clara…Jack…Danner…I swore I would avenge you. To make things as right as I could, since I was lucky enough to have survived. I have to do whatever I can. Anything. Just to make things right. To…do…the only thing I can. To make Johan regret it.

The pain nearly consumed him, and he picked up the sphere.

“If I use this,” he muttered, “the pain is going to go away. I can win this match. I can make everything up for everyone. Nearly everything is going to get better if I use this sphere…”

“Yes,” Duartes-Carr said slowly. “Use it. Make this a fair match. Let me take you down while you are at your strongest.”

“If I use this sphere then everything is going to be set right. My injuries will heal, I will be able to win this match, and the sacrifices everyone made will be worth it.” The alluring blue light coming off the sphere called to him, it seduced him, it invited him to bring it into his being. “This is the only way I can win this match,” he muttered bitterly. “A—anything else wouldn’t be enough to beat my fake. I have to use stats to beat a version of me that has them. It’s only logical. I have to use the sphere to cure my wounds that I’ve only received because I don’t have magic in me. It’s the only thing I could possibly do. But—”

He threw the sphere into the water.

“But go fuck yourself, Faker. I already know how to beat your stupid fucking big number,” he roared, his numb left hand shaking and contorting until only his middle finger was extended.