The Referee

“Okay you goddamn god coward, listen the fuck up. I’m sick and tired of all this stats bullshit and I want to take you down. Ref! You’re going to start the goddamn match, I can still move, let’s fucking go!”

To say that he could move was an overstatement—Carr’s injuries were severe enough that to allow such a duel to take place would be a miscarriage of fairness on my part. Yet a part of me wanted to see the one who loathed the gods bare his steel against him. I must not allow this match. It wouldn’t be right. It was a pointless thought, anyhow. Francisco would never agree to such a match.

“You heard the man,” Francisco said. “He wants a duel—I shall grant it and you shall officiate it.”

This surprised me, but it did not shake my composure. You must not waste time when debating God, lest he sense weakness. “I shall not allow it.”

“Your God demands it.”

“And my duty forbids it.” I gestured at the Swordsman of Zero. “He is too injured.”

He glared at me. I needed no access to his thoughts to know his intentions—he was trying to command me. Impartiality does not bend to Gods or Kings, Francisco. “He struck me with a glove. By my own Rules, my honor demands satisfaction.”

“Fairness demands such duel must not occur in this world.”

Francisco glared at me. At first I thought he would attack me, but then his glare switched to Carr and he suddenly spat out, “I Rule the World—this sinner shall not be injured today!”

There was no sudden light enveloping him. Heavens didn’t split open. It didn’t feel as though reality had been defied. Yet, Carr’s injuries were gone. As if they had never been there to begin within. The man himself didn’t notice it for a while, for the absence of pain is more difficult to notice than its presence. Suddenly he looked away from the God and toward his own body, studying his own hands a few times before looking up in surprise. “That is rather sportsmanlike of you.”

It was only today’s injuries that were healed—Carr’s useless arm was still useless, and his knee injury sustained in his duel against Johan was still present. Yet everything else was gone.

Here I had to intervene. “Francisco—you understand that if I officiate a duel with you in it, I will have access to your thoughts, yes?”

“What of it?” He looked at me disdainfully. “What will you do with that?”

When we first met, he was more paranoid. Concerned about his place, his powers…but he has grown different. Careless, perhaps? No. He has merely grown to believe to be above concerns in the first place. Hard not to, when he has lived as this world’s God for such a long time. “Nothing,” I told him with a smile. “It is merely my duty to make sure both parties understand what is at stake here. Are we all clear?”

Both parties nodded. Very well. It is rather fitting that the first time a human steel has clashed with a divine blade takes place here, on this sacred place, from a time long past. “Carr…” Valle managed to say. It was almost like a full sentence in and of itself. His legs had been forced to kneel, but his eyes remained indomitable. Looking up was to disobey God, and to loosen his tongue was a graver sin still. Every action he took now brought him great pain. And yet he continued. He held his gaze for a moment and both men understood each other without words.

Thought you would tell me to back down here, like everyone else wants to, Carr thought. But your eyes tell me differently.

Be grateful I am allowing you the center of the stage today, Valle thought, so don’t go losing right now, you hear me? I don’t care if your opponent is Johan, Carter or God himself—the only one allowed to defeat you is me.

“You look like you have something to say,” Carr said. It must hurt to exist right now. But if it’s you, you will manage it, won’t you? “What advice do you have for me, Champion?”

Valle’s mouth opened and then closed again, as if gravity itself willed it closed. Francisco was glaring at him, his eyes commanding him to stop. Not out of fear, out of anger at the audacity of the man’s disrespect. But Valle wasn’t looking at him. At that moment, the only people that existed in his mind were himself and his rival. He opened his mouth and spat blood before snapping it closed again. Then, with a surge of determination, he opened it and shouted, “WIN!”

“Damn straight,” Carr replied, turning to face God. “I will never settle for anything less. That’s why I’m the strongest fencer in the world.”

It was time, then. I quickly ushered the kneeling crowd away from the center of the piste, but made sure to position them so they could watch the duel. It would be unfair to keep them from witnessing it all.

It comes down to this, then. Human and God clash…and what will be the result? Francisco had never duelled at all, to my knowledge, but he had the power of Rules on his side. Surely that meant he was unbeatable? Perhaps it is as well not to wonder. It is time to witness.

“To points?”

“Nay.” Francisco’s voice was regal, serene, and yet there was a disdain there as well. “To Death.”

“That suits me just fine!” Carr shouted back. “Even leaving aside how much this stupid system annoys me, you created a world where people have to suffer a lifetime of misery just because of how they were born!”

Francisco smiled derisively in response. “It is the same as on Earth—I merely made sure that they know better than to raise their hopes. Nothing is more cruel than to think you can be something you are not before reality sets in. It is the duty of the strong to destroy the embers of the weak’s dreams before they can erupt into a massive flame.”

“Allow me to be your rain then, False God,” Carr replied, falling into his en garde stance.

“TO THE DEATH!

Carr the Swordsman of Zero vs Francisco the God of Swordsmanship!

THE NATURAL ORDER IS WRITTEN IN THE HEAVENS

CLAIM ILLITERACY

INVENT A NEW LANGUAGE***!”***

Well now, Carr thought, adrenaline giving way to his rational fencing brain, step one was to talk a lot of shit, and that’s accomplished. What’s step two?

Francisco had drawn his blade—no, drawing it was an inaccurate definition. He had summoned it. It was not a pureblooded sword, more a bastard mix between a longsword and a spear. Too large to be wielded in one hand, it had a spear’s reach in a thick metal pole meant to be gripped, but where you would expect a regular small tip to be placed was a huge blade, better fit in a longsword than for the tip of a spear. It was an unnatural weapon, one that defied the laws of gravity and existence by not shattering under its own weight.

“I Rule the Sword,” Francisco said, “and I command that my body be capable of wielding this very blade.”

Whatever unnaturalness there was in his movement was gone now. He raised it with a single hand, in that fragile body of his, holding it by near the end of the spear half of the blade. I control the very fabric of reality. You cannot defeat me.

Francisco did not have a Swordsmanship amount—he was Swordsmanship.

Carr discovered this as he attempted to look at his stats.

[Francisco the God of Swordsmanship]

[Swordsmanship]: ∞

[Wins]: ∞

[Losses]: No.

[Draws]: No.

“Oh, how fair,” Carr said dryly. “Have to love a system that is designed to be unbiased.”

Okay, that Swordspear has a longer reach than me. How do I get to him? Carr considered his options. He was uninjured now, thanks to Francisco himself. Might as well spend some blood figuring out how to get to him. And so, Carr dashed forward.

Francisco raised his Swordspear against him. No resonance occurred. And here, Carr attempted to recall his knowledge on fighting against spears. Beginners are particularly bad at this. If they point their spear straight at you, without feinting low and high…treat it like a sword at full extension. Just push it past you, then you run at them. If both blades collided at full strength, Carr would be shattered into a thousand pieces.

Here he allowed the Swordspear to be thrusted forward and used his own blade as less of a parry and more as leverage for a sideways movement. Give me a little push here! By positioning his body to the right of the blade and taking one further step to the right as their blades contact, Carr merely allowed Francisco’s blade to push him to the side. He was monstrously strong, but if the strength wasn’t being used against him, it was just fine.

And then, positioned sideways from the Swordspear, Carr was in position to dash toward the man, unimpeded by his blade. This wouldn’t work against literally anyone who knows what they were doing. You could even just slam me with the blunt side of the Swordspear—this is just you not knowing how to fight. It’s why—“I’M GONNA WIN!”

“I Rule the World,” Francisco replied calmly, “I command that Mighty Winds shall blow against my opponent!”

Even if he can’t Rule Carr himself, he can Rule the nature around him! I thought, as I witnessed it all in horror. When Carr approached, it was as if heavens themselves declined allowing the attack to happen. His leaping flèche was stopped midair, and a gust of wind sent him flying backward with full strength, causing him to roll backwards on the piste. Here, my breath stopped when he fell on his head. He’s dead. No amount of determination could stop that, surely. The human body is very resilient, yet it is also very fragile. An injury like that to the head should have meant immediate death.

Yet Carr rolled backwards and stood up, appearing out of breath and otherwise unharmed. What was going on? I wondered.

“That’s—that’s cheating!” Carr cried out. “That’s not fair!”

“It is but the utmost fairness. The limit of your skills against the limit of mine—and this is the outcome. Are you ready to accept death yet?”

“That’s my line.”

Francisco eyed him curiously. “Do you not understand what it means yet, mortal? To face a God in a duel to the death?” Here he tapped the right side of his chest. “When I won the game, They gave me that sphere and placed it in my chest. I am truly immortal. Even if your pathetic blade were to reach me, you wouldn’t be able to kill me—and this is a battle to the death. Think not that you can reach my immortal heart with your blade, for any injuries I sustain would be healed before your blade reached it—my very skin would heal around your blade and break it.”

He took a step forward and lightning sparked in his eyes. “The Architect of a world is not allowed to harm its inhabitants. But you know what, Carr? A duel witnessed by the Almighty Referee might blur those lines.”

I killed him, I thought. By agreeing to judge this duel, I damned Carr to death.

“And besides,” Francisco noted, a smile on his face, “you aren’t even a citizen of my world.”

He raised his monstrous Swordspear, and winds blew in the direction of his blade. Weather itself, storms were being created with his movement. Embers followed his footsteps, lightning trailed behind his eyes. Every movement he took appeared to dictate the shape the very nature of existence should take.

And he took another step toward Carr. “I Rule the Blade,” Francisco whispered, “and I Command my blade’s next strike not miss. Its target is Carr’s heart.”

The God of Swordsmanship raised the Swordspear high and above his head. Lightning struck, hitting his blade—being absorbed by it. Crackles of electricity, of power, trailed around the steel.

Still, Carr hadn’t given up yet. If the next attack won’t miss, I have to make sure he can’t even start it. That’s the only way to survive. As if he hadn’t just cracked his head against the piste, Carr dashed forward, intending to stop his attack.

It was useless.

“I Rule the Storms—I Command Mighty Winds to keep him away!”

Again the wind blew, but this time Carr wasn’t blown away. The wind wasn’t strong enough to send him flying again—and it was on purpose. He controls the winds, but he cannot control me, Carr thought defiantly. I am the only person in this world that God cannot control. I am his mortal weakness—I make him mortal! I am going to do this!

For the first time, I dared to enter Francisco’s mind. Witness in misery, he thought. Witness as your superior delivers the killing blow. Witness as destiny marches on unopposed.

Steel went through his chest.

Such was the situation that it took me a second to realize what had happened.

Carr was uninjured, watching it all in silent horror. Max, Valle and the others also remained where they had been placed, watching it all in silent horror. Then how? I wondered. A moment later, a more pressing concern exploded in my mind, WHO?

Francisco had been stabbed from behind.

A cruel, treacherous blade had pierced through his godly protections. How did he not heal his wounds? I wondered. How did that blade reach the other side of his chest? The owner of that blade had rushed from behind, from the stadium’s south tunnel, and attacked Francisco while he was distracted with Carr. Such was his speed—and my own focus on the match—that I did not notice his appearance until it was too late. A true master of Swordsmanship and opportunity. Who is he? He’s using Francisco’s body as a shield—I can’t—I can’t see his face!

“W—who dares?” Francisco managed. Pain…is…this pain? I haven’t felt this…in so many years. So many centuries. It’s almost warm. “Who blasphemies such?”

The blade drew a wicked circle, widening the wound inside Francisco’s chest before suddenly withdrawing—and the wound did not close. It was as if a Rule was keeping the wounds open! Before that thought could come to its conclusion, however, the treacherous man threw his own hand into that open wound, with a Swordsmanship powered grip that made the action appear feral, closer to beasthood than humanity.

And then Francisco screamed.

I have served as the Almighty Referee since before Time itself. I have witnessed Kings, Emperors and Lords fall before. This was the most agonizing scream of them all, as if his very existence was being ripped from his soul. And it is.

To my horror, Francisco dropped to his knees.

And a very special, blood-covered sphere laid in the treacherous man’s closed grip now. “God rarely leaves his tower—only twice. To greet the World Champion and to crown a new Emperor. It was unwise to seek the championship path, for it would not give me the respect and resources I needed to craft my ideal world. Emperor—yes, that was more likely. Yet that ceremony too would have its issues. Too many people, too much attention.”

Francisco writhed in agony on the ground, blood coming out of his open wound as well as his mouth. I have never…I have never seen this before. No winner of the game has ever been treated this way before. I should have stopped this. I should have done something. But even I was paralyzed by what transpired before my eyes then.

“You see, Carr and Duartes are more than perfect for me. They were perfect for you. You hated them so much, Francisco…ah, you wanted to watch them die, to see them acknowledge your way as the best. It would be the perfect opportunity to assassinate you then. Remember, my man, that special Swords were crafted by your own Rules. Wounds given by this blade do not heal. Do you know what your weakness was?” The man knelt down to look at the dying god. “You care too much about what people think of your way of doing things. If you want to live a good life, my good man, then decide on your ideals and live after them—damned be those who do not agree with them. Even this blade would not have been able to reach you were you not distracted by someone else.”

The treacherous young man stood up again and flashed an innocent smile. It was directed at all of us. At me, the referee. At Carr, whose duel he had just interrupted. At the others, who watched it all in silent horror, unable to even speak under the effect of the Rule. He stood before us all, regal, dressed in all white with gold embroidery highlighting his status, long and immaculate golden hair silhouetting his handsome—almost too beautiful to be called such—face against snowy sky.

His purity was only stained by his right arm, covered in the blood of the god he had stabbed, gripping the Heart of Gods he had stolen. “My, I believe this makes me a God, does it not?”

Carr was the first to recover. His knees were weak, his heart was racing and his mind could barely comprehend what he had just witnessed. Images of the Devil, the Old Gambler, the night of the Blood Moon and his friend’s murders flashed before his mind. Emotions overtook him, and he ran forward despite not yet knowing what to do. His sword raised high up, he shouted only, “JOOOOHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!”