Carr

I want to fight…but I can’t. Not with this arm rebelling against me. I have to trust Isabella, she can handle this. It was weird to let someone else handle the fighting, but I had to be smart about this. Healing isn’t really an option anymore…I can’t just power through every injury I get and hope for the best. Even if I could beat this guy without a sword, there is no way I wouldn’t get my shit kicked in for a while. The thought wasn’t pleasant, but it was firm. “I’ll leave it up to you,” I muttered.

Isabella stepped forward, falling into a comfortable en garde stance. Good. Really classical stance…Duartes did train her for a long time. I want to tell her to put her weight on the balls of her feet more, but it’s not like she can change her style this quickly. If Martim had really copied Johan’s style perfectly, though, this would get tricky. “Carr, the fuck should I do?”

Shit. Giving advice like this was really difficult. Old man…I don’t think I ever really appreciated how hard it was to be in your position. I have so little time to say something useful, but I know she’s counting on me to say something that will help her through a nearly impossible matchup. The fuck should I do? The old man always sounded confident, even when he gave me bullshit advice. That was a start. “I’m going to go ahead and pretend that’s Johan,” I said, my voice calmer than I felt. “And if that’s the case, he’s going to try to take your blade a lot—but if you fence from absence, that means your blade will be pointing away from him just long enough for him to attack you directly.”

Absence-of-blade was a good counter against heavy blade takers, but some fencers were fast enough that they took the slight opening you gave them to attack you directly. To fence from absence you need to point your blade away from your opponent, or at the very least lose out on some reach for the sake of some weird angulation from the outside—this could be enough for some fencers to go for a straight, direct attack when they saw your blade move away or give up on some reach. It was an aggressive strategy that sometimes yielded in doubles, but it was effective enough.

Especially in a situation like this, where a double would mean that Martim’s ability would trigger and make Isabella’s limbs rebel the same way mine had been. “Fight him with footwork,” I said. “Lure him in, make him overextend!”

It was easier said than done. But what else was there to say?

“Got it,” she muttered.

Both figures cloaked in black extended blades and stepped toward the other. At first I expected the two to crash, but Isabella surprisingly listened to my request, taking a step back when they stepped within each other’s range. Martim, now outside her range, paused for just a moment, then took a step forward. Many thoughts occurred in that single moment. This is my first time watching her footwork when it’s not being guided by the voices in her head, I thought. It looks so classical.

Classical footwork is slower than modern, but one thing that stands out is that in exchange for that weird backwards march they gain the ability to accelerate into a direct attack from nothing. It does make them more vulnerable to attacks in a thousand different ways, but hey, it’s one tiny benefit.

And Isabella went for that one benefit, going for an elegant straight lunge from her retreat. Shit. Martim is going to dodge—

Her blade caught him off guard and scratched his shoulder as he leaped back. *What? Why did that work? If he copied Johan’s style, then Johan would have known—*decision making. It was the same thing as when the Nameless Assassin had copied my skills. Martim had Johan’s skills now, but not his decision making. Even if he could access all information Johan had stored in his brain about fencing against different styles, it’s not like he had the time to carefully go over it. He had to rely on Johan’s instinct.

Johan’s instinct…I have fenced against him thousands of times. How would I go about breaking this down?

Isabella was nearly hit in a furious exchange. Martim lunged, she stepped backward, and he recovered forward before delivering another lunge. Her blade half parried the attack in a parry four and allowed her just enough time to retreat once more. Regardless of whether Martim had Johan’s decision making or not, he was adapting very quickly to her movements and refusing to let her be fully outside his range.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” she shouted.

His response was to advance again, and again all she did was parry and step backward. Surprisingly conservative, but all that kept her from getting hit. If she had tried to attack him, she would have gotten hit. Still, it was surprising given her personality how conservative she was being. Guess Duartes’ training must have really stuck with her.

Suddenly, her elegant retreat turned into quick steps backward that increased the distance until she was nearly beside me. Martim did not give chase, choosing to maintain his ground and wait for an opportunity. “Do you—do you have any advice?” she asked, breathing heavily. “I’m kind of running out of ideas here. I can’t keep this up forever.”

Shit…what do I say?

“Absence of blade,” I said immediately. “That’s the way to beat Johan. Even if it’s difficult, you have to do it. You go outside and—”

An old memory came back.

I was a young teenager, fencing at a small tournament.

“If it were me, I would stand my ground like a man and parry that fleche,” my coach had said. “A fleche is usually a straight line, people at this level don’t have the skill to try disengages or anything fancy. Just parry and stab, that’s what I would do.”

“Okay,” I had replied, nodding confidently, “I’m going to—”

“—You’re going to duck and stick your arm out, you goddamn idiot,” my coach had said, taking a sip of his drink. It would be many years before I realized that was likely alcoholic. “Don’t try to parry.”

I followed his advice to duck and stick my arm out—and it worked. But he never explained, and I never quite asked, why I shouldn’t have tried to parry if that was the best option. Why did he tell me not to parry? What was he thinking?

“Carr!” Isabella shouted. “Fine, if you aren’t going to give me advice I’m going to do this my way—”

“Parry,” I said, suddenly. She looked over her shoulder at me. “He’s been giving you a lot of straight attacks…so I want you to parry. Counter-Six.” I remembered watching her use it against Celle the first time we met—even back then, I had thought it was a flawless parry. It’s not a lot to go on…but I know her absence-of-blade game is weaker than mine. I don’t know how good her parries are, but I think that’s the right decision. Shit. I had been teaching them fencing for months now, how come I didn’t know how good her parries could be?

I’ve been trying to teach them to fence like me, I realized. To make them do the things I would. It had worked out fine for Valle, who decided to find his own style out of spite…but Isabella and Fedal had trusted me too much.

Yeah. This is the right thing to do. “If it were me, I would try to fence with absence-of-blade. But you aren’t me, Isabella. Your absence game is worse…but your bladework is stronger.” It was such a simple thing. Something I should have been aware of without needing to think about. But it can be surprisingly hard to realize that your way of doing things isn’t the only way to do them. Yeah…you got this. “Go!”

Isabella looked at me curiously for a moment, then nodded confidently and stepped forward. Her eyes were filled with a determination I couldn’t quite place until now. At first, I thought she had been merely desperately fighting for survival. But it was something else in there. She wants to win. Not just because we had to, but because she wanted to. I haven’t really given it much thought…but she probably hasn’t been feeling great since Duartes and the voices. She needs to be able to believe in herself. And sports had the ability to give you that shot of confidence when nothing else in your life was going right.

And in the end, that’s all this was.

It was just a sport.

One they could die playing, admittedly, but still.

“I got this,” Isabella muttered, and stepped forward.

The right scenario is going to be if she steps forward, backs away, takes another step back, and then takes his blade as he gives chase for a riposte, I thought. But it was the kind of plan that would have taken too long to communicate and would have been useless if he knew about it. Not to mention that if I had told her too many details, she would have gotten bogged down in them and slowed down her movement. I…I have to just hope she can do that herself.

It made me feel very powerless, at that moment. To feel like I couldn’t help her. In the end, I could guide her as much as I wanted, but she was the one duelling right now. All I could do was watch in bated breath as the exchange happened. I wonder…you old fucker, was this what you felt like watching me?

“Go, go!” My vague encouragement was all I could do now.

She stepped forward rather aggressively and the tip of her blade pointed at his wrist, signaling an attack. *What are you doing? Don’t go for a straight attack! That’s the worst possible—*Isabella stopped her advance and stepped back, allowing Martim to give chase. Good, good—one more step back. Make him commit! She did not move immediately. COME ON!

Martim’s move came fast and it did not seem like she could have dodged it at this speed. No, with his stats, even if she had tried to move as I had hoped she would, he would still catch her. He waited until now to increase his speed, I realized. This—shit, he learned too fast! Merely running wasn’t an option, but he was too quick and too close to her for Isabella to be able to properly parry and riposte. What can she—

Here Isabella awkwardly beat at the blade to deflect it out of the way. Martim’s momentum continued and he nearly shoulder tackled her, but his blade had gone past her side and could not reach her. She grinned and got into infighting position, lifting her blade hand toward her forehand, thumb pointing down and crossing her feet. Infighting distance, stats won’t make a difference anymore…but he might get lucky with a cut and trigger his ability. What’s his next move? Martim did not engage her infighting, opting to take a single step back, and I saw his stats flaring up. He’s going to increase his reflexes to parry her if she comes after him!

In an infighting situation, taking a step back makes you an easy target. Think about it: if you and your opponent are so close to each other that neither can pull their sword arm far back enough to be able to get a thrust on target, taking a step back is sure to make you vulnerable as your opponent will have a better opportunity to strike than you will. But there was a key difference here.

Stats.

By burning through his magic, Martim could enhance his reflexes and ready himself for a straight attack, using that copy of Johan’s skills to defeat her attack. Shit—shit! ISABELLA!

And then she took a step backward.

A single step.

I didn’t know a single step could be so beautiful, that it could bring me so much joy.

It wasn’t what I expected, I thought, grinning, it wasn’t what I had hoped for. But she took my advice and combined it with her own skills and judgment to create this opportunity. This kind of chemical reaction, the mixing of our opinions to create a new path on the piste…I really like it. It was hard not to think back of that old, borderline abusive bastard who ordered me around and always yelled at me for not doing things his way. Hey…coach…was it like this for you too?

Martim gave chase with a straight attack, but Isabella had stepped back far enough that she had more than enough time to react to the attack. No matter how fast an attack was or how much distance it covered, if you increased the amount of time you had to react, you could do something about it. This was no different. Isabella’s blade enveloped Martim’s and delivered a perfect counter-sixte, pushing his blade out of the way and riposting through his chest until the steel popped out the other side.

“ALRIGHT!” I shouted. Here I attempted at a fist pump, but this motion nearly let my wild arm grasp my neck and try to choke me to death. “THERE YOU GO!”

Martim stepped backward, appearing confused, if unbothered by the attack. He should be dead, but instead he looked at the gaping hole in his chest with only mild annoyance. It was hard to tell in the darkness of the void, and his dark cloak made it all the harder, but I was sure I saw the blade go through his chest. Maybe it’s HP keeping him alive…in which case we have to think about how to deliver more hits without letting Isabella get hit even once. We can’t keep relying on the same place, he’s evolving pretty fast right now…he’s adapting to Johan’s skills.

And yet, here Martim lowered his sword and raised his free hand. “I surrender,” he said calmly.

“I—sorry?” I said.

Isabella stomped her foot on where ground should have existed, but no sound came out of it. “Exfuckigncuse me, you piece of shit? Don’t you dare run away from this! You come here talking shit and then you just—”

Martim shrugged. “Think about it. I am not adapting to Johan’s style of swordsmanship fast enough to justify a matchup like this. And when it comes to raw stats…”

[Martim the Sinner]

[Swordsmanship]: 460→ 210

“I have been burning through my stats at a permanent rate,” he said, somewhat calmly. “Meanwhile, you haven’t really been using your stats at all. Once my stats reach zero, you will have the advantage—it’s better for me to quit while I still have some stats to use in the future.”

“What does a ghost need a future for?” Isabella demanded. “Look, Fedal killed you—you shouldn’t even be here. Where do you get off talking about a future or logic? Your sheer existence is illogical!”

“Be that as it may, I have done what I wanted,” he said. Without further words, he mounted his ghostly horse once again, stopping only to deposit his sword inside the mount’s rib cage once more. “This has been productive. Remember what you learned today…and remember the void.” Then he snapped his fingers, and my arm stopped fighting against me.

Martim started riding off into the distance, solemn and noble. There was something dignified about his appearance. A sort of all-knowingness—an atmosphere that came with a knowledge we knew we did not have. Something told us that we should just let the man go, that perhaps there was something in him that could be trusted.

Instead, we ran after him at full speed.

“STOP HERE YOU DUMBASS I WAS WATCHING ON THE SIDELINES FOR 10 MINUTES FUCKING FENCE ME!” I shouted, running as fast as my legs could carry me. “STOP!”

“DON’T YOU DARE LEAVE BEFORE I BEAT YOU PROPERLY!” Isabella’s scream showed she was probably right beside me, but I could not afford to confirm it with my eyes at that speed. “STAY HERE AND LOSE LIKE A MAN!”

Celle

I closed the book and looked at Carr’s unconscious body, raising an eyebrow. “What’s your masterplan, genius? Are you two just going to run after a man riding a horse and hope you somehow catch up? Fucking idiots.”

The book had been most useful. I hadn’t come to properly understand how it worked yet, but it seemed to allow me to watch over what others were doing at times—in word form, at least. I did not get visual aids of any sort, but that was enough, especially in a situation like this where we could not enter the void. I have to figure it out later if I want to solve the murder. For now though…let’s assess the situation while the two idiots are chasing after a horseman on foot.

Fedal had killed Martim, that was for sure. I saw the body myself. According to what Isabella said, the voices were remnants of souls or something like that…it could be something like that. He seemed different than what Fedal described him like. For now, it seemed safe to assume that the void between worlds was a place where souls could stay in for a while, whatever that meant. Not enough information to go on there. That can wait.

Martim’s actions showed something interesting though. His stats had gone down with every move he made, but his legendary skill did not. Johan had turned off the source for Legendary Skills upon becoming God, we knew that because Valle’s own skill value decreased slightly after using it during that fight. Why did he turn it back on? What changed since that fight and now?

It was probably better to reframe the problem slightly.

What use did Johan have for Legendary Skills? Making more fakes of Carr’s friends, for one. But it’s not like anything would have changed since we fought him last and he would have accounted for that already. Either he had backups for them already…or something changed. No, what could have changed? He saw Katherine run away at that time already and Carter had already lost.

But Johan didn’t know that Gilder had killed Reven yet. He didn’t know that the richest man in the Empire, who fully supported him, was dead. It would make sense if he wanted to create a fake Reven at that point, to keep access to his riches to fund his war. Though the question of whether Reven was truly dead or not had been concerning me for a while now. His body disappeared at some point. It could just have been dragged by a gust of wind while we were inside and fallen into the ocean, but it would have taken a strong amount of wind to do that. What happened there? I saw Gilder kill him for sure…could he have survived that?

“Alright,” I muttered to myself, “what do we know for sure then?”

The void had something to do with souls. Johan had likely found himself in need of Legendary Skills right now. Martim wanted us to know about that for some reason, but he did not tell us directly. What can I do with that information?

“Well, I guess I can test out my theories at least. Should be easy to get Valle to use Legendary Eyes once to see if the amount goes down or not.”