“To the clothes shop!” Adeleya cheers, bouncing ahead a step as she pulls me along.

“I think not. You know that fun comes after business,” Nadia says. “Weapons and armour first.”

Adeleya pouts at the massive elf for a few moments before relenting with a sigh. It feels like they’re talking through the small expressions they share between them, but I’m not part of it. I don’t belong here, but I will.

“Wait!” The bothersome old elvish man shouts, chasing after me while carrying his cane by his side. “You’re still a child, so it’s reasonable that you don’t yet understand why this is important, but you must learn of your own culture.”

“I know enough,” I say, walking away with Adeleya. “I don’t want to go with you.”

“You’ll have a family and a home,” he says.

“No. I won’t,” I say. “If I can’t eat what I want, or dress as I want, or hug people, then I’m not me. If I’m not me, then that family and home isn’t mine.”

“I understand,” he says, but I don’t think he does. “But you’re not old enough to live on your own yet.”

“I’ve lived on my own a long time,” I say. “I’m strong. You can’t stop me.”

“Is that what it’s going to take?” He sighs, shaking his head. “It’s because you think that you’re strong?”

“I am strong!”

“A challenge then?” he says, meeting my eyes. “Should you lose, you’ll come with me and we’ll see you given a proper upbringing. If I should lose, I’ll acknowledge your wishes.”

“Fine!” I shout back. “I’ll fight you. I’ll show you that I’m strong enough.”

“Syr,” Adeleya, squeezes my hand. “Are you sure? I’m not sure you’re ready to take on a fight like this.”

“He needs to see that I’m strong. I need to prove to everyone that I’m strong, that I deserve to be here with you.” I say, working hard to keep my phrasing straight in my head.

“Fine, fine,” Adeleya says squeezing my hand tighter. “Still, violence and strength isn’t always the answer, you know?”

“It is today. We should look at weapons first,” Nadia says, glaring at the old man with his cane. “We’ll meet you over in the training grounds.”

The old man nods his head only slightly.

“Isn’t this strange?” Adeleya asks, turning to Nadia. “Asking her to a duel like that..?”

“He’s old and wise,” Nadia says. “I think he understands just how important strength is to Syr just in the short meeting between us. I doubt that he intends for the duel to progress as a proper gamble. He wants to convince her, not force her into compliance.”

Adeleya makes a strange face as she looks down at me, but she doesn’t say anything.

“About your sword,” Nadia says. “What you have now doesn’t perfectly match your style, and I think I might know something that’ll work better.

“Brock has experimented with making heavy weapons, so I had a bit of a chat with him. He’s got something on hand and he’s happy to have someone use it, but… how are you feeling?” She turns to me, “Do you think you could handle this fight with a new weapon, make a show of it?”

“Make a show of it?”

“Brock, the guy we’re getting it from, want’s others to get interested in oversized weapons.” She hangs her head, “He’s got something of a passion for this sort of thing. I was going to have you train with clay golems, but with the fight that you’ve already found for yourself...”

“I can do it.” The aether streams in my body still ache with faded burns, but it isn’t enough to keep me from using magic. It was worth the pain to heal that boy, but it’s not enough for people to respect me. I’m not yet part of their group.

“Are you sure?” Adeleya asks, tugging softly at her skirt even though it’s already straight. Her concern warms my heart, but I want her to have faith in my victory.

I’m not weak.

“What sort of weapon is it?” I ask, holding onto Adeleya’s hand with my right and Nadia’s with my left.

“A specialty sword,” Nadia tells me, “Have you noticed how your sword doesn’t last very well? It’s dulled, dented and bent just from your training alone. A large reason for this is your huge downswings, where you slam it into the ground, as well as the charges where you slide it along behind you.

“The sword you’re using wasn’t meant to be used like that,” she growls, forcing a smile. “It was meant to be wielded by someone much bigger and swung back and forth, occasionally hitting armour, flesh and bone, but nothing much more than that.”

In the distance, I can hear the sounds of metal striking metal from a half dozen different places, yet it sounds nothing like a battle. More rhythmic, more intentional. We stop before reaching it, and my burning curiosity will have to wait. Around us are stalls and stores filled with plentiful metal tools, all new without a spot of rust.

“If you’re going to persist in your style of swordplay, you will need to get a sword more suited to it.” Nadia’s voice is raised slightly to be heard over the clamour.

The store that she’s brought us to is alive with activity and flooded with weapons. All sorts of rough people are here, all dressed up in armours and clearly practised in violence, most of the faces seem familiar, people who were around the guild when I arrived.

Nadia waves down a tall man, who’d been waiting for us. She shares a few quiet words with him before he heads back inside and drags out something long, and heavy.

It can’t even be considered a sword, it’s more of an oversized club shaped to look almost like a blade but for the blunt edge. What should have been a cutting edge is instead rounded and smooth, unable to cut even old rotten flesh.

It seems far better described as a peculiar sort of club than as a sword, especially as it’s taller than me by an arm’s length and surely heavier too.

“This is an adamant weapon,” Nadia declares.

“Or as I would call it, a big-ass sword.” Adeleya interrupts. “It’s better to use language people can understand.”

“It’s used by people talented in body strengthening, usually paired with equally heavy armour, but it seems your style is different,” Nadia ignores Adeleya. “Do you feel like trying it out?”

I respond by taking the offered hilt. Strengthening my body causes some pain through my stressed veins, but it isn’t too much to handle. If it wasn’t for that potion that Alice gave me, I might still be resting on that couch.

Instead, I can keep pushing for a little longer.

Nadia lets go of the weapon and I immediately fall forwards from the weight of it. I push my feet under me and haul the weapon up, barely saving myself from hitting the ground.

No one’s laughing at me, yet, but holding up this big-ass sword isn’t enough to show them who I am.

The weapon, heavier than anything I’ve used before, fits my hands like it was made for me, waiting for me to come take it. With it, I’m sure that I can fight better than ever before.

Strangers in the street are looking at me and talking about me. They see me, they know that I’m special. Now they need to know that I’m worth being friends with.

I have to swing it properly, show those people laughing something that they can fear instead. Show everyone how awesome I can be. Then they’ll want to be friends with me, I know it.

“Over here,” Nadia says, waving over the man who brought out the sword, “We’ll do the demonstration in the training field. Syr has a duel with the old patriarch.”

He smiles and nods, turning to the crowd as Nadia leads us out.

“Everyone, listen here! Today is a special day! This here, held up by this young lady, is an adamant weapon. I forged it myself, but few are those strong enough and brave enough to use such weapons. Come to the training fields and see the legendary weapon for yourself!”

The crowd responds with whispered curiosity as he continues, “The adamant weapons are designed to suit the Adamant weapons arts, which a special clan of Norkit hunters developed to hunt the great wyverns!

“It has been developed far since then, many mercs and soldiers alike have tried their hands with weapons, but it wasn’t until our Royal guard took up the blade that it was truly revolutionised. Here today, we have a young elf, who has decided to give this weapon a try, in hopes to revolutionise its use once more!”

He seems passionate…

And kind of annoying.

We arrive at the training grounds, a small clearing just outside the town walls. The other people who are gathered here to practice take a break from fighting as we walk in, they notice me and my sword as well as the crowd following us.

The old man is already here, but he’s not as interesting as the other figures standing in the muddy field. Tall clay dolls in the shape of humans carry dull swords, swaying back and forth as they stand there ready to fight.

“Clay golems,” Adeleya tells me. “These practice grounds were set up so that mages could practice using them in combat. Meanwhile, we get to smash them in practice sessions.”

“Feel out the sword and tell me what you think,” Nadia tells me, pointing at a few of the human-shaped dolls.

“Fighter entering the training grounds!” She calls to the mages who focus on me, their clay dolls turning their weapons on me.

The old man stands at the side of the grounds, his cane resting lightly in his hands as he watches me stepping forward. He nods to me, but I guess he’s happy to wait until I’m done practising.

Stepping forward, I swing my blade around this way and that, feeling the way it pulls at me. My feet sink into the slippery mud as I try to keep steady, but I still stumble as I slide around.

The crowd is making sounds, and that man is still shouting about weapons and arts, but none of that matters. This is a fight. All I need to care about is myself, my weapon, the battlefield, and the clay dolls.

I set my feet, lower myself into the mud and roar as I charge the closest foe. My new weapon trails behind me, but at the last moment, I swing it wide, setting my feet but still sliding. The doll lifts its sword to block, but it doesn’t make a difference.

My new sword pushes the dull training weapon back, before splitting the golem in two. The top half falls, still gripping the sword, and a mage groans in the background.

Even without a sharp blade, the weight and momentum combined are easily enough to cut through most things. I used the same technique with the clubs I used in the wild.

The follow-through sends me sliding along the muddy field, stumbling to keep my feet. This weapon is heavier than any I’ve ever used before, so it has more pull when I swing it around.

This problem is with me, not the sword. I need to adapt to it.

As I stumble, another of the clay figures shambles closer with its sword held ready. I glare at it and growl, but it doesn’t care. Living things stagger or pause when I glare and shout, but this thing doesn’t. It isn’t alive.

I spin the sword back around to get some distance. Struggling to find a comfortable balance, I slam my feet into the muddied earth, sinking deep. Swinging over my head and into the ground sends a spray of mud in every direction, the end sinks into the ground lifting me as I jump, pulling on it to launch forwards.

The clay figure takes a defensive stance but it means nothing to me.

Mid-jump, I swing myself up on top of the buried sword and fall on the opposite side, keeping my momentum, I pull at the sword now at my back. Gathering my aether enhanced strength, I set my feet and draw the sword out into another crushing downswing.

The golem stumbles at me lashing out with its dull sword, but I hit first.

The clay scatters, splattering the awestruck crowd and shocked mages. The crowd cheers loudly, but some few are struck silent by the savagery of the fight. I growl deep and low so that it carries, the same sound as I use to frighten the animals.

I am dangerous. Respect me.

It is how one must introduce themselves, lest they be mistaken for prey, and to prove that you’re a worthy member of their pack. At least, that was the plan that I tortured myself with for years and never actually committed to.

While I’m showing the crowd who I am, another clay man approaches from behind. I twist myself around using the weight of my sword, and the clay puppet’s blade slices through the air where I’d been standing.

Without wasting the momentum from my movement, I spin back in close and hit the clay doll with a closed fist, knocking the face clean off of the fake creature.

The clay man stumbles back, shorter by a head, but it’s not out of the fight yet. Its back swing nearly gets me, I spin out of the way just in time but slide on the mud when I can’t find solid footing.

Gritting my teeth, I lower myself to the ground punching into the earth and pulling my sword back under control. It nearly pulls my arm out of its socket.

I face the headless clay figure.

It’s slow, they all are. I set my feet in the mud, and shift my sword around to find a comfortable balance to ready for a charge. In the end, I leave it to rest in the ground behind me as I hold firm to its grip.

The clay man stumbles nearer, sword ready in defence.

My legs tremble with the fire burning through them, bursting out from me as I push my body to its limits. Fast as I can, I charge.

The soft earth pulls at my feet but its grip is weak, I quickly move from standstill to sprint, tearing up the earth with the weapon dragging behind me.

Two steps shy of the clay figure, I drop to the ground. Setting my feet as firm as I can, I spin my body to give way for the sword that does not slow as quickly. Muck is scattered all about, as the strike follows through and then continues, pulling me forward into a fast spin.

Fighting off dizziness, I twist the sword to send it crashing back into the earth, bringing us to a stop.

The sword is heavier than anything I’ve used before, it’s more powerful, and when I’m used to it. It’ll be much, much more awesome.

There are no more clay dolls, and the crowd is cheering for me when I turn back toward them, catching my breath. Thanks to the owner bringing everyone along, I got to show off properly. Should I thank him?

One familiar face in the crowd is much less enthused, staring at me with cold calculating eyes. The old elvish man stands at the edge of the field with his cane light in his hands, he’s looking me over, focused on the mud and the grime, and the parts of me not fully covered by my messy clothes.

“You value strength as an animal does,” the old man says. “There is much that you have to learn of our people and our ways. Your elders are wise beyond your understanding, you ought to respect us.”

“I do respect you,” I say, sure to say it right and say it loud. “You’re old, that means that you’re strong enough to become old, but you don’t want to teach me how to be strong. You just want to make me live by silly rules, and act like I’m someone else. I don’t want to live like that.”

He hums thoughtfully, looking at me again and not saying anything. He feels like a bird of prey looking over prey, trying to understand how it moves, and how to catch it.

“Then, let us start this duel,” the old man says, lifting his cane from the mud and pointing it at me. “There is more to life than power, but it’s important for children to understand their place.”

I don’t say another word, setting my sword to the side and charging at the old man. I don’t hold back, even though he looks frail.

Old people survived long enough to become old. I won’t be tricked by his fragile look.

He lifts his gnarled cane to block and catches my sword, halting its momentum entirely. The force of it coming to a sudden stop pulls me to the side and he’s already jabbing out at me with his little cane.

I try to catch it but I’m too slow. Its tip prods at my chest and magic unfolds into me, forcing me back.

I fly through the air, still clutching my heavy sword. I struggle to keep myself stable and hold myself up, stabbing the sword into the mud to control myself but I still tumble to the ground out of control.

“You are still but a child,” the man says, looking down at me.

“I’m not,” I say, standing up and swinging the sword around above my head and thinking out a plan.

This isn’t a fight or a hunt, it’s more like a conversation. He wants me to change and join his pack. I don’t want to go. We’re trying to show each other our thoughts and feelings.

Setting my feet, I charge with a forward thrust right at the old man. He readies his cane, but rather than letting him block me again, I thrust the sword into the earth and jump up into the air above.

The old man tries to stop me, catching my sword with his strange magic, but I just spin down on him from above. I kick out at him, but something stops my feet from hitting him.

He grabs one ankle with his hand, the magic holding it in place as he looks at me with a victorious smile on his lips.

“You are yet young.”

I twist in the air, using all my strength I grab his arm and sink my nails in, pulling myself up to his head. His grip on my leg tightens, keeping me away from him, but I can’t let him win.

This isn’t about fighting to the death or anything stupid like the pride of the crimson bears. I won’t die for this.

I just need to show him how serious I am.

I pull myself closer to him, pulling my sword and twisting it down as I bend my leg too far. The bone snaps, and I growl through the terrible pain as I force the sword down on the old man’s head.

Releasing my loose leg, he twists around casting his strange magic on the sword instead as I stumble away from him.

We stand apart and look at each other, my leg healing slowly with what energy I can spare for it. I step closer and take my sword, he doesn’t stop me.

We could keep fighting, but we won’t.

“I’ll be around when you decide to learn more about your people. We’ll always be ready to accept you.” He walks away, the cane at his side.

“Are you okay?” Adeleya asks, rushing over to me. I nod, squeezing her hand as I stumble out of the mud.

“So how much of a discount do you think we earned?” Nadia asks the man we got the sword from, “I think you should be able to go for a silver less than gold.”

“Silver less than an Aandine gold piece, maybe,” he says before looking out over the crowd, “A gold and ten silver, common,” he states, and Nadia rocks her head back in thought.

“Deal. Adeleya?”

“Sure, sure,” she sighs, opening a money pouch. “Leave her some money for clothes though, would you.”

“Clothes are cheap,” Nadia says.

“No, rags are cheap, clothes are anything but!”