“Not so flat-footed. You need to be able to maneuver. You won’t be in a full suit of plate, just scraps of leather cobbled together. If you’re hit, you’re dead,” he said, tapping his leg again, and not gently, either.

“Not dead, right? Just injured.” Zach said nervously, the man still studying his stance with a critical eye.

“Few men can fight well hurt. Aye, I’ve seen it, and some can do it, but the second a muscle is torn or you take a good thrust through the side you’ve lost. And fighting is damn hard work. You’d be hard-pressed fighting your own body, exhaustion, and another man at the same time.”

“But there’s healing in this world, isn’t there? Or, do you have potions maybe? Some kind of herbal medicine, or...” he said, trailing off as the man shook his head.

“Anyone capable of healing a wound like that won’t be tending the needs of you or I. It is true that the alchemists can make a brew potent enough to heal a man, that I have heard,” he said, scratching his chin as he mused, “but never experienced myself. Not in ten years of campaigning.”

Healing was out of the picture, then. Any injuries he suffered would be a permanent debuff, essentially. That wasn’t great, but he had expected as much. He was looking at a no-hit speed run. Difficult, but nothing he hadn’t seen before.

“So, we’re just going to get right into it? No exercises or training like catching a rabbit bare-handed or anything?”

The man gave him a strange look and said, “Why in a salamander's left lung would I do that? No, the best way to learn is to fight and take a beating. You’ll remember what you did wrong and hopefully, you’ll do it less wrong the next time.”

“Sounds about right,” he said, trying to force his body to relax, holding the sword in front of him, Kriese beginning to circle him. He matched his movements, keeping the blade raised and ready. That was a concept that was familiar to him, having played shooters competitively. Keeping your crosshair up and properly placed was an easy way to increase your accuracy and reduce the window it took you to see an enemy and properly react. The stance and form made sense if he thought of it like that. Just proper crosshair placement, when it came down to it.

Kriese hedged at him, and he kept the blade in front, but not too far, following his movements. Surprise flashed in the old veteran’s eyes, and Zach had to smile a little at that. He was a quick study, he always had been. Everything was an extension of something. Practices and concepts that he already knew could simply be transferred to something else if it was relative in scope. Maybe his body wasn’t honed as much as he would like, but his mind was. He could do this.

The man’s sword flashed at him like lightning, and he moved to parry, but the blade disappeared from sight, flying under his guard, and he grunted as his stomach was punched by the butt of the sword. He crumpled to the ground, struggling to breathe, and saw the man’s boots approach as he curled on the ground.

“Well, your movements were fine up until I pressed you. You’re too eager—be more patient. If you’re not driving the fight, let your opponent show his hand before you show yours.” said Kriese. Zach coughed as his breath slowly returned, and the man tapped him on the head lightly with the flat of the blade, “Get up, we’re just getting started.”

They trained for hours with little changing. He anticipated he predicted, he knew what was going to happen, but his mechanics just weren’t there. He tried a variety of styles, but Kriese was infallible. He supposed the man had managed to stay alive for ten years for a reason. He couldn’t expect to beat him on the first day. The fact that he had even managed to eke out any praise at all was noteworthy in itself.

As dusk arrived, whispering in the wind as the orange began to fade in the sky, Kriese said, “Alright lad, that’s enough for today. You did well, far better than I expected. The foundation is there, we just need to get your body to match what your mind wants it to do.”

“One more time,” he said, panting hard, the sweat soaking through his shirt and covering his skin in a fine layer. “I want to go one more time.”

The old soldier looked at him dubiously, “You sure about that? I think you’ve had it. No need to hurt yourself.”

“No,” he said, almost surprised by the heat in his voice. He was a sore loser; he always had been. Hyper-competitivity and perfectionism were a poor mix in a person, and he had both in spades. He knew himself, knew that much, but he wasn’t the type of person to express it so much to a person he hardly knew. But he was so close. He was so very close to beating him. He just needed to see one last time tonight. If he lost, he lost. So be it.

But he had to try.

“Fine. Let’s get it over with quick. You may be young, but my old bones are creaking,” he brought his sword up lazily, just as he had for the last hour and a half. Why? He wasn’t the type of person to underestimate an opponent, so it was a bluff. Kriese was right-handed, common enough, but he defended his weak side well. He stalked towards that side regardless. It was still a disadvantage, even if he wasn’t skilled enough to expose it. The man was faster than him with a sword, but he was still old. He needed to think objectively, and intelligently. Dispose of any biases, any preconceptions, and attack each weakness in succession.

Kriese could strike fast, but defending quickly would be difficult. Zach feinted, testing, but the man sensed it coming, revealing nothing. Did he sense it, or was he simply not capable of reacting in time? He stomped forward, putting effort into an overhead slash towards the man’s left. He parried it easily, but it was slower than before. Whether it was out of laziness or exhaustion, he couldn’t say, but it was slower. He needed to pressure that, and hard. He was tired too, his heart thumping in his ears out of rhythm with his ragged breathing. There were three moves he needed to make. They would work if executed well, and that was all he needed in his mind to commit to going through with them.

First, press inside his guard.

The man was old. That was simply it. He was skilled, experienced, and quick for his age, but he was old. His body couldn’t do the movements it had been trained to do for so long. Zach put everything he had into leaping forward, forcing the man to look at the sword instead of the person surging forward for positioning. The strike was sent aside, the man’s eyes focusing again in annoyance.

Second, feint.

Inside his guard, he stood a far better chance of connecting any attack, but he couldn’t overextend. Anything with too significant a wind-up would be easily batted aside, the skill gap was simply too large. Newer students to the sword would also favor more aggressive, sweeping strikes or long thrusts. Kriese would be expecting those. He wouldn’t expect a subtle move, especially one he hadn’t attempted all day. It was cheating, just a little bit, but sometimes knowledge of your opponent was the best weapon you could use. He moved his body as if to slash downwards at the man’s neck, and he could see the response forming mid-stroke.

Third, attack the hands.

This was the part he was worried the most about. He needed the man to believe that he was going for his neck. The shift needed to be a complete surprise. The moment he saw it coming had to be too late for him to do anything. He forced all his momentum into the slash, then, shifting his feet, he morphed it into a rising strike with the flat of his blade that slammed the man’s hands, causing him to curse and cry out in pain as the sword flew out of his hand. The blade thudded against the ground dully as the light of the moon cast their faces into darkness, the only sound their breathing in the night.

Kriese turned from him wordlessly and went to retrieve his sword, sheathing it into his scabbard. He approached Zach and said, "Nasty trick, that. Almost died to a man like that once, but luckily, he didn’t expect me to nearly tear his throat out with my hands. Didn’t expect someone so green to be the one to catch me with it again.”

“It worked though, didn’t it?” he said, hardly able to breathe, planting the sword in the ground and leaning on it, wiping his forehead. Though the night was cool, he still felt as if was standing in the Florida sun. He was going to run at least two miles a day until he was in shape.

Kriese barked a laugh, “Aye, that it did. Not bad, Outlander. Not bad. Come inside, I’ve the rest of your payment as promised.” He walked back towards his house, and Zach followed him, his arms feeling as if they might fall off.

“You never did tell me what this ‘job’ was,” he said as he entered the man’s home, looking around at his surroundings. It wasn’t lavish, that was for certain, a single wooden table taking up most of the space, a few scattered chairs around it.

“It was to entertain an old man for a day, which you did quite well, even if you didn’t fully intend to,” he said, chuckling lightly. “I still don’t know what on earth possessed you to hide in that bush. Just plain foolish,” and Zach felt his face redden, cheeks burning.

“I was just trying to be cautious.”

“Well, word of advice? If you’re going to hide from someone, don’t let them see you first.”

“Yeah, I got that part,” he said grumpily, and Kriese laughed again.

“Learn not to take yourself so seriously boy. Look for the fun in life.”

He raised an eyebrow skeptically, “Where’d you get that from, a fortune cookie?”

“Fortune cookie?” he said, frowning.

“It’s a thing from my world, never mind,” he said. “I just mean it’s...overly sentimental. Doesn’t really mean anything.”

“How do you figure?” Kriese asked, a different light in his eyes. He was curious, truly wondering what Zach thought. He couldn’t figure out why, it wasn’t a big deal. If the man liked platitudes that belonged on a Hallmark card, that was fine.

“I just think that you can’t really ‘find’ the fun in life. You have to deal with what you have, right?” He struggled to compose his thoughts. It was always more difficult for him to express what he meant verbally rather than through written text. He wanted the exact specific words, and there wasn’t enough time to find them. “Sometimes you’re dealt a shit hand. Sometimes there isn’t any fun. Sometimes...” Sometimes what? What was he even saying to the man? He had no intention of revealing himself to be some edgy loser with the emotional depth of a fourteen-year-old. He went quiet, thinking.

The man looked at him, sitting down at the table as Zach stood in the room. It was awkward, for Zach at least, but the man didn’t seem phased. He seemed to be searching for something too. “After the war...well, during it, even, my mind was drowned in dark thoughts. I wondered what kind of man I was. Wondered if I could ever be forgiven. I wasn’t scared of much, back then, but catching my reflection in a pond or pool of water was something I avoided. Sometimes in life there really isn’t much else you can see but the bad, the pain,” Kriese paused again, thinking, then chuckled softly and gave a small smile, “but my wife, my children, they never saw that man. They just saw me. Who I was to them at least. I won’t say I know who I really am. The murderer or the father, the family man. Maybe I’m both. But who are you, Zachary? Do you know?”

Of course, he knew. That was the whole problem. He opened his mouth to respond, but the man shook his head.

“The answer is you don’t. I can see it plain in your face. The struggle every moment that has consumed you. Until you can ask yourself that question and be honest, you’ll always be held back. That’s the truth,” he said, and the floor shook a little, a fire blooming in the distance, towards Riverton. Zach looked at the man in shock, but Kriese’s face hardened as if he was about to walk into a fog and didn’t know what lay ahead, but he intended to go regardless. “I have something for you before you go. And you’ll need to go, with what’s coming.”

Another explosion—that's what it had to be—rocked the ground, both of them stumbling as it did so, and Zach said, “What the fuck is going on? You look like you know, so don’t tell me you don’t.”

“The oath of the United Empire is for life, boy,” he snarled, “My loyalty is to my emperor, but for some damn reason you just had to stand there looking like an utter ass. Stay put!” he commanded, dashing inside what had to be his room. Zach rushed to the window, looking at the sky, which now almost seemed as bright as day. What on earth was going on? He turned around as the man came back in the main room, carrying a brown sack and a whole assortment of leather armor.

It dawned on him then as the man began to dress him in the armor, snapping straps into place as he stood there numbly. It had all been too convenient. How could he have been so stupid?

“Your master—the emperor, he put you here to wait and watch for someone like me to come through that Gateway. He knew that even if I survived the Shadowstalker, you’d be here to keep an eye out. He’d need someone experienced, trustworthy, like a grizzled veteran. Are Pevarin and the others even going to someplace where their help was needed?”

“They’re likely captured by now if they didn’t kill themselves trying to fight their way out. I’m sorry lad, but this is the best I could do for you.” The man did seem sorry, and he likely was, otherwise he wouldn’t risk his life for someone he didn’t know. “It wasn’t much, but I gave you some training to get started with. Practice every day. Your life depends on it. I don’t know if I believe in those old prophecies, but maybe you can do it,”

“And what happens to everyone in town?” he asked coldly, the man’s face turning to the ground in shame.

“I can only hope they are merciful when they sweep the town afterward. They have been known to be, these days. If you don’t want their sacrifice to be in vain,” he said, stepping back and looking Zach over, “then go. Go along the river nearby and follow it. When you find another traveler, ask them for directions to Faene.”

“And then what?” he asked, mind racing. “Hide for the rest of my life?”

“It’s a damn better chance than the elf and those fools of the Final Breath would have given you,” he said coldly, “they would have manipulated and pulled you every which way until you lost your mind, just like--” he said, seeming to regret having said so much.

“Just like what?” he said, grabbing the table as another shockwave swept through. He couldn’t believe the sheer force of whatever artillery was being unleashed upon the town. It was like an AC-130 was grinding the area for a killstreak. Kriese fell to the ground, and Zach ran over to help him up.

“Never mind me. Go!” he said, waving him off.

He didn’t want to go. He had no direction. He always had no direction in his life—it was a staple feature, but now he had no place that was safe to reside in. Now he was truly on his own. He looked out the window towards the red sky, where people—not NPCs—were dying. He’d always been such a coward. Run away and hide in his room, ignore what was happening outside because it was too difficult to deal with.

Maybe it was time to stop running.