“What do you know of Bound weapons?” the quartermaster asked, his bushy eyebrows raised over his steady, honest gaze.

“Nothing specific,” Ryu said with a shrug.

“Might as well start from the basics.”

The large man offered a small bow over his desk. “If I might say, my lord has found the wisdom in modesty. Many men would never confess ignorance. Anyhow, a Bound weapon is a soulbound item that was tied to a faction or bloodline rather than a single person. As such, they grow in strength as a force increases in one of four ways: material wealth, territory, the levels of its Classers, and the number of people under its domain. However, it would take the control of more than the known Rings to form a truly god-like weapon.

“More than anything, this has given the Aristocracy and the Third Republic an edge in military might, for where the Black Syndicate, the Enchanter’s Guild, the Lord’s Flock, and the myriad Unaffiliated have one or two of those resources in spades, they lack in the others. And while a Soulbound weapon grows with a person, the Bound weapon grows from the efforts of many. Like its Soulbound counterpart, however, the Bound weapon’s characteristics change to fit its user. A bond between a Bound weapon and its wielder can only be separated if the wielder acts against his or her faction with negative intentions or dies,” the quartermaster said, leaning back into his seat.

Ryu nodded. “Is that all?”

The quartermaster smiled. “Not quite, my lord, but I feel that perhaps it's best left to your own experience.”

Ryu gestured for the man to proceed, and the quartermaster leaned under his desk and withdrew a pouch. Then he withdrew a dagger, pricked his thumb, and smeared his blood along the bag. Blood-restricted storage items were necessary for security, he knew.

After a moment, the quartermaster reached his hand into the bag, pulling it out to reveal a blade in dull, black sheath. “Now,” he said. “All you have to do is cut your hand and place it on the hilt. Lord Ishida’s permission has already activated the enchantment, and it is seeking a partner.”

Ryu withdrew his own dagger and sliced his palm. Then he drew the blade. Energy flowed down his arm, into the blade, and then back again, and the blade started to change before him. After a few moments, it settled.

The Bound Blade was a long blade, its curve so slight it was almost straight. Thicker than most blades he’d seen, it looked large in his hands, thought not comically long like some blades. Its blade, too, was thicker, and a softly glowing crimson edge ran down the length of the black blade’s edge. The black and red cloth of the hilt met a golden crossguard that looked like a coiled dragon.

Bound Weapon: Solitude

Its enchantments were clear in his mind, as if he had known them along. As of right now, it had three: one that boosted its durability, one that enhanced his knowledge of sword forms, and one that used his enemy’s blood to increase its sharpness. Ryu sighed. This was power. This was what he wanted- no, what he needed. His feelings of wrongness could be damned.

“Very good, my lord. It seems even the sheath has grown to match the blade, though it is too long to wear at your hip. Now, we will move onto your armor and kit. Might I also provide you with a storage ring? It seems you’re missing one,” the quartermaster said.

“Yes,” Ryu said, sheathing the blade.

“That would be good.”

---

Minutes later, Ryu stepped out into the fort’s courtyard. Battle raged atop all of the walls around him. Men and women in white robes ran about, dragging bodies and injured soldiers on stretchers. The two companions of war, shit and blood, filled the air with their particular flavor.

“Kaito,” Ryu said, bowing to the young noble. “Lord Ishida has directed me to assist you.”

The dark-haired man eyed the blade in

Ryu’s grip knowingly. “Alright. I command the north wall. Things are steady right now. For now.” He stopped for a moment, a frown growing. He tapped the Comm Stone in his ear. “Nevermind. Elite approaching the Third Sector of the wall. Can you handle it?”

“Yes,” Ryu said, drawing the Bound

Blade in a burst of red and black. Gods, he felt a sick sense of excitement to use the blade. It was not an axe, but its sharpness and weight made up for it.

He hopped over to the wall, letting his aura warn the lower level soldiers away. A Bug elite. The thought almost made him laugh. If the Sixty-Four were with this force, the fort would be little more than rubble. And the Eight? It worried him that they had no interest in the Sixth. What was more important than their race’s fate? Unless the humans were a laughable task.

Whatever. It was a problem that would have to wait for future him. He just needed to grow stronger, and the problems would disappear. Only to be replaced by new ones, but then, such was life.

In the midst of his thoughts, a glossy black figure appeared at his side, armed with a curved, serrated blade. Four wings fluttered along its back. It darted to his side, the wings boosting its speed.

One, twice, and a third time, the blades clashed. Ryu’s boot cracked chitin, while the Bug’s blade flared red and sped under his guard, aiming at his throat. Ryu sidestepped, and it chopped into his pale arm. His arm rippled. Black chitin sprouted once more.

His Bug opponent chittered, trying to pull away, but its blade was caught in the flesh of his alien arm. Solitude came up. Its arm fell. Red light flared, and Ryu’s sword crossed the Bug’s bodies twice in a spray of yellow ichor, each stroke cutting through easier than the last.

In a flash of green and shimmering wings, the Bug sped back, its remaining arm snatching its sword from the air. It readied itself to rush forward, but the blade of an axe passed through its neck, spraying yellow ichor and dropping it to its knees. Solitude’s black blade rammed into its chest a moment later.

An elite, sure. Only a single Evolution- the wings- and not a particularly effective one at that. Nothing like Thirty-Seven and its synchronizing Evolutions that allowed it to both raise its body temperature and move faster at higher temperatures. If the difference between the Sixty-Four and their lower counterparts was this vast, what was the difference between the Sixty-Four and the Eight?

Gods, but worries were persistent things, buzzing around a man’s head like flies. No way to swat at them, either. Quite the disappointment, as always, but living with worries was better than care-free and dead. Or such was popular opinion.

He hopped down from the wall, Solitude a comforting weight in his hand. Bound or not, heir or not, dead or not. Choices, choices. Ryu was a man who had held his first training sword at four, and with a blade- a real, powerful blade- in his hands, things felt a lot simpler. Not as simple as a good axe, maybe, but there was something to be said for diversity, he guessed. Hack, slash, stab, and hack again for good measure. Those were the ways heroes dealt with problems, right?

“You looked less quick the last time I saw you fight,” Kaito said when Ryu returned.

Ryu shrugged. “Fight, kill, and grow stronger. Suppose that’s what we combat Classers do, aye?”

“I suppose,” Kaito said, looking back to the wall. He touched his Comm Stone and issued orders.

Ryu stood at his side, a hand on Solitude’s black and red handle at his hip. The wind blew, and it swept his black hair into his eyes. So much for looking intimidating, then. Damn hair needed to be shaved, but his time amongst the Bugs had left him awfully bladeless. He pulled the hair into a queue, fixing it with a leather tie.

And that was the day. Waiting, waiting, a fight, and then more waiting. The wind blew, men and women died, and Ryu stood. And watched. Multiple times he told Kaito he was going to assist this part of the wall or that, and each time, the man asked him not to, saying his presence would only attract strong Bugs like moth to a flame. So Ryu watched blood spray and leak and splatter in all its dark crimson ways, helpless to do anything.

He felt outraged at it all. Or he felt he should be outraged at it all. Truth was, death was no stranger to him in all of its ugly forms, and it could not escape the strange detachment that had settled around his shoulders like a cloak since his time with the Bugs.

One. Two. A dozen. They fell like wheat, their black opponents seemingly a never-ending stream of violence. They hopped upon the walls in ones and twos, an elite coming to clear the wall first. That part was Ryu’s to handle, and Solitude leapt to his commands, giving the body-snatching monsters over to the afterlife with the heavy, violent cuts Ryu favored.

By the time Kaito was replaced by an elder Ryu did not recognize, restlessness had already grabbed him in its clutches. Killing a Classer was hard, Bug and human both, but it was the only choice the warriors had. Injure a foe anything less than fatally, and the healers would have him up and running to claim your head in a few hours. Which made the walls one large grinder, slow to work but effective all the same. It was no wonder the siege had lasted for days. Ryu could not see an end ahead.