Celle

“We have one shot.” Everyone was strangely quiet now, and I only had guesses as to why. “To be honest, I’m not certain if Razil will really agree to help us just if we impress them in a duel. But that much was ordered, and they had no choice but to go on with it. If it turned out poorly, that would be that—for now they had no choice but to go along with it. We haven’t even met with anyone of any power, really. What are they thinking? This country is too laidback…to a dangerous degree. “Which one of us is going to be fencing?”

That question almost made it seem as though I was counting myself in that group. Yeah, I’d rather die than try that one. Carr could impress them with his insanity, Valle was a natural showman, and Nevada had pretty high stats still. I am a detective, not a fencer. “Well?”

Valle’s hand shot up. “I am king. It should be me.”

“I agree with that,” said Nevada, somewhat predictably.

“I also agree,” said Carr, less predictably. When Nevada and I looked at him, he glared back as if confused by our surprise. “We’re here to win an alliance, right? It’s not really clear to me what winning a duel is going to accomplish. They aren’t a stats loving country, so I’m not sure how much fencing really matters here. But I figure if this is going to accomplish anything—and who the fuck knows if it will—Valle should be the one fencing.”

That made sense. Too much sense. “That is surprisingly unselfish of you,” I muttered slowly. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing!” he cried out indignantly. Then, a moment later, the indignation was gone and replaced by a sheepish grin. “I admit that what I’m most looking forward to is coaching Valle. My old man is gonna be the one coaching the opponent, right? It’s like—you know. It’s a way to fight against him, sort of. And…I never go to do that.”

Carr had never seemed happier before. It was like he was a child, and he was so damn positive these days. He would walk around, apologize for bumping into people, smile and just overall act nice. Nevada had confided in me earlier that she was a little unnerved by it almost, and I had to admit it was getting there for me too. But I like seeing him happy. Enough that it almost made me not question this story.

Almost.

This is too convenient. The king of this country just happens to be Carr’s coach? That doesn’t seem right to me. A more direct concern outweighed any instinct for her. The story he gave Carr is that he became king when he got here, but it seems as though ‘king’ is a recent title. Carr’s coach had had passed away around seven years before he did. The Old Gambler played fast and loose with timelines, to be certain, but something seemed odd about that. Why the discrepancy?

There was one thing that could explain it. Hope I’m wrong. Carr seems too happy.

Carr tapped Valle on the shoulder. “Let’s get to practicing. Couple things I’m gonna teach you.” Valle did not move for a second, and Carr tapped him again. “C’mon, lazy ass. Don’t you want to take the world title from her?”

“Winning a single duel would not give me the title,” Valle grunted, but he stood up all the same. “Besides, she’s not the one who’s going to fence. She’s…indisposed right now.”

Carr opened his mouth as if to question it, then his face lit up in realization. “Ah. Right.” A pause, and then—“C’mon, practice time.”

After making sure both of the boys had left, Nevada muttered, “Oh no, it seems as though Estella had her heart broken.” It was the most malicious way I had ever seen someone say something like that. Even Nevada seemed to realize she was being too obvious, because she coughed and added, “Forgive me. That is rather unbecoming of me, I—”

“No, it’s fine,” I interrupted. “Listen, I know it’s completely petty and makes no sense. But that’s fine. You don’t have to make sense. Just hate her. Go off. I’m not some noble that’s gonna argue with you about the fine points of philosophy here. She used to date your husband-to-be.” I shrugged. “That’s enough reason to be particularly petty about her.”

“I do not hate her,” Nevada said, carefully, “I merely…would not particularly mind if she disappeared and no one ever heard from her again.” Her eyebrows twitched a little. “I admit it is petty and irrational, but the woman is…”

Beautiful and the greatest swordswoman in the world? Yeah, I don’t blame you for being jealous, your highness. “I understand. She’s a bit much and—well, you won, right?”

“Exactly,” Nevada replied. “I won. That is what matters.” She tilted her head from side to side as if considering whether or not to say something. “Well, to be frank I believe I am jealous of her for more reason than Lord Valle. But I am not entirely sure I would like to address that, quite frankly.” She turned her gaze out the window. “To be honest, there are some things I have come to realize about myself…and I am not proud of them. But I do not think I can discus them. Not now.”

I smiled at this. Considering how closed off she used to be, this was quite the nice change. “How about we have a few drinks first, then?”

She looked something between disgusted and outraged. “Celle, it is hardly past noon.”

“Do you have anything else to do today, Your Highness?”

That mixed expression relaxed into something of a sheepish grin, and she gave me a royal shrug in response, chuckling at the end and saying, “I told you to call me Nevada,” she muttered, in a strangely shy tone. After a pause, she added, “You get the drinks.”

Carr

“Are you ready for the harshest training of your life?” I cried out. “Because we have about a day or two to give you a boot camp on how to beat Mikhail’s style.”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“And it is going to be quite tricky. His style isn’t exactly how I fence, mind you, because I adapted my style later on. Not to mention I’m sure the fucking old man adapted his style more to this world since we actually fence with sharp weapons here.” My epee was already drawn and ready to show him exactly what I meant. “Valle, listen up, I know you’re a rapier guy, but I want you to hold this pistol grip—just so you know what the leverage feels like. You are probably gonna go up against a really offensive system you aren’t used to, you know?”

“Yes, Carr.”

Okay, I can’t carry this with enthusiasm alone. Valle had been a little solemn since last night. It was as if he was in mourning…and I suppose he sort of was. Our drinking session went over his story with the world champion, and it explained a lot to me. Not just about why he felt so sad right now, but about what kind of guy he was. “You have always been a weird guy, you know that champ?”

“Champ?” Valle looked up at me with a raised eyebrow. That got your attention? Good. He stood up and said, “I’m sorry for not paying attention. I will focus now—”

It was time to do my best Mikhail impression and ignore him. “Do you know what a zombie is, Valle? Do you guys have that legend here?”

He looked at me as though I had hit my head really hard or something of the sort, narrowing his eyes and approaching as if to look for injuries he had neglected to notice earlier. “Why do I have a terrible feeling that whatever you are about to say is incredibly insulting?”

“Back on Earth, there’s this thing they call zombies—things that rise from the dead and keep coming after you no matter what happens. It doesn’t matter what you do to them, they just keep on coming after you. It’s a legend that scares people, you know? The idea that they keep coming after you no matter what happens.”

Valle looked me straight in the eye, frowning and waiting.

“You sort of remind me of those things,” I said.

“There it is,” he muttered.

I shook my head at him. “I know what it sounds like, but trust me on this—it’s a compliment.” A few different memories flashed in my head. The way Valle showed up again after I defeated him, the way he fought Johan, his performance in the entire team match… “You just never really let anything keep you down. To be honest, sometimes you appeared almost inhuman, with how theatrical your showboating was. Always made it feel like you couldn’t be hurt by anything, like you would always come up on top. But I realize now…that’s not really true, is it? You’re human.”

Valle let out a rather audible sigh. “Very perceptive of you,” he said dryly. Then, in a more honest tone, he added, “I would prefer if you chose to continue to see me that way.”

“I refuse,” I told him firmly. “Because to be honest, I find you a lot more impressive this way.” He looked at me in surprise. “It’s true,” I assured him, flashing him a sincere smile. You aren’t some sort of invincible, unrelenting, stylish monster. You are a guy who is just slowly, steadily, surely…walking toward where you want to be. And I respect that. “I’m not gonna make you talk about your feelings—today.” I held up my finger at him. “But we will have a long trip back to Cresna. You can talk then.”

“I do not need to talk, Carr.”

“But you’re gonna.”

“Why?” he demanded. “Why in heaven’s name should I—” Valle stopped when I put my forearms just a few inche before his nose, and looked up at me with a raised eyebrow. “Carr, you have never been the most eloquent of creatures but I admit to being very confused as to what your argument is this time.”

My forearm came even closer to his face now. “Smell it,” I told him firmly, almost as a threat. “You’ll understand.”

Our bonds must have grown quite strong over the months, because Valle only hesitated briefly before doing as I requested. Then, he looked up at me, appearing genuinely touched. “You actually wore cologne? Without me having to badger you about it?”

“See, I listened to you,” I grunted. Celle isn’t complaining either. “You ought to listen to me sometimes too.”

“To be certain, wearing cologne before exercise is not the most intelligent of decisions but *regardless—*your intentions are admirable.” Valle smiled at me. “I will talk to you about this when we’re out of Razil, is that a deal?”

“It is,” I told him. “For now, all you have to admit to yourself that you aren’t fine.”

He did not appear to like that suggestion even slightly, but he nodded, albeit slowly. “Fine. Why is that so important?”

“Because you aren’t going to be at a hundred percent for your duel. Don’t even try to tell me you will be. You are human, we just established that. I don’t want you to pretend you are going to be. Usually, you have better focus than anybody else—you get less nervous than Fedal, and less carried away by your anger than I do. But this is different. We can hope you are going to be fine, but since we can’t know for sure, let’s plan under the assumption you won’t be as strong as you normally are.”

Valle regarded me for a second, then nodded. He would not disagree with me on this. Even back when we had just met for the first time, he never disagreed with me when it came to fencing. He just listened to me intently, and absorbed everything I gave him. Fucking terrifying, I thought, smiling. Sports psychology was the most difficult thing to learn, and it would without a doubt be what Valle would need the most.

“Listen. Mikhail is a terrifying coach when it comes to technique, but what you are going to have to worry about the most is your opponent’s mental game. You know how you usually start out losing, then do something dramatic near the end and it breaks them mentally, letting you mount your comeback? Yeah, don’t do that. They are not going to break. They are going to just accept the free points you gave them.”

He appeared to take this information well and did not debate me on it. Instead, he just asked, “If I am not in my best form tomorrow, how do you propose I face him?”

“You will have the range advantage. Mikhail doesn’t know anything beside epee, so that’s what his students are gonna be using for sure. Your rapier has a good size advantage on it, and as long as you’re willing to burn a couple stat points you should be just as fast even with a heavier blade.”

That was a strategic point to consider. Winning this upcoming duel mattered a great deal, but it was not the only important match Valle would have coming up. The World Cup was coming up soon, and if we could indeed bring Johan into it then it would be most important for Valle to still have most of his stats available at that point. Things to consider. “Stats don’t work here,” Valle reminded me. “That isn’t an option.”

“Oh. Honestly, I kind of forgot.” Wow, feels weird not to have to account for weird magic bullshit for once. “Okay, then you are going to be a bit slower with your blade—but that’s fine, you have the reach advantage anyway.”

“What if I’m losing the bladework exchanges?”

“Drag the match on,” I told him. “If you aren’t in shape, just throw away a few points to get yourself in match shape. No matter what your mind is on, once your adrenaline starts flowing and your focus starts settling onto a single target, you are going to start fencing better. That doesn’t mean much if you lose a ton of points though, that’s why I want you to start slowly. Give yourself time to get back into the rhythm.”

Valle withdrew his rapier to visualize the plan. “You want me to keep distance for the first few points, then?”

“Yes, but be careful. Mikhail’s main tactic consists of aggressive blade-taking, usually in sixte. Epees are quite a bit weaker than rapiers, but leverage is leverage. If his student takes it the right way, you are going to struggle with him if he gets into infighting range.”

It was the same basic law of fencing that allowed me to defeat Carter that match. A longer blade is an advantage at first, but if you get into infighting range, the shorter blade rules the night. Our difference back then had been a French Grip versus a Pistol Grip, but in this case it would be a Pistol Grip versus a rapier. This would make the range of engagement even more dramatic. “What about my attacks? Should I go with my usual?”

Christ, what even is your usual? You do so much weird shit I don’t even know what you’re referring to. I couldn’t just say that, though. Coaching is a delicate art, and sometimes you have to lie slightly and appear like you know more than you do lest your student lose confidence in you. It’s a risky move, though, because while they need something to rely on, your advice still needs to be good. “Counters should be a good approach. You don’t generally do blade takes, and that’s good. Whoever your opponent is, they’re gonna be mad good at defending against blade takes.”

“I thought your coach—Mikhail was it—was good at teaching how to attack, why would you assume his disciples are going to be good at defending against them?”

“It’s just how things turn out. He doesn’t even have to know how to teach someone to avoid the move, if you take ten shitty kids, teach them the same move, then have them use it against each other some competitive little shit is gonna figure out how to counter it.” There was no way for a technique to be used constantly in practice and for people not to develop a good counter against it.

Valle considered this. “So the actions I should expect tomorrow are, lunge after taking my blade in six, fleche after taking my blade in six—beat six as well?”

“Beat four,” I told him carefully. “A right handed person can generate more strength moving their right arm to the left than moving their right arm to the right. Come on, try it. You don’t even need yours word, try the empty air a few times—but have your thumb pointing up as you do it, might help make it more noticeable.”

He did so a few times, clutching his fist as instructed and repeating the motion until he appeared satisfied. God bless you, Valle, you are such a good student. I was not this easy to teach. “Normally the counter to those moves would be disengages,” Valle noted, “but if my blade is going to be heavier and slower than theirs, it seems like that is a rather poor idea. So,” he began, smiling, “you are going to teach me a plan on how to defeat that, yes?”

“Absolutely. His gameplan is effectively to push your blade out of the way then deliver a hit to your chest. It’s something done with speed, and because the target he’s aiming for is so big, the fencer he’s coaching doesn’t need to the most talented at hitting small targets. It’s a really effective way of training people fast. But there’s one easy way to deal with that. You have to promise me though—once this match is done, you are going to forget my advice and never use it again unless you run into a crazy fucker like that again.”

Valle hesitated. “Why is that?”

“Because what I’m about to teach you, my friend, is some really fucking bad fencing. Like you have no idea how bad the habits I’m gonna drill into you are.”