Chapter Thirty: The Way of The Sword

I awoke with a start, my breathing heavy as the memory of the night I had found my daughter and Knight faded, giving way to the reality I found myself in now.

It had felt so real, almost like I had been reliving it for a second time. The smell of the Forest, the dew that clung to the tree's, even the way the fire acted and the wet blood sticking to my boots. I could still feel Cin's little hand in my own, shaking slightly with her nerves as she tried to understand what was going on. Perhaps she had thought that she was dreaming during that time. To finally have someone who was kind to her instead of wanting to take her head for being a Feral. I felt sick as I thought of killing her, as I had considered back then. The very idea of it disgusted me now, but for a moment I had been close to carrying it out. I still hated myself for it.

I let out a heavy sigh and leaned back down onto the soft pillows of the bed that rested beneath my head, silk rose up to meet me and I felt myself sink into the surface by an inch or two, losing myself in it's gentle comfort . I have to say that it was nice to actually get to sleep in a bed for once. I hadn't had the chance to properly rest since that night before I was killed, four hundred years ago. I didn't really think that I should count being unconscious on the cot, considering I was suffering from mana exhaustion, a fate I wouldn't wish on any mage.

I lay on the bed for a few more minutes, staring at the ornately carved ceiling before I sighed once again and slapped my face several times. Time to rise, Rebel King. Always more work to be done.

The room that Cin had assigned to me was luxurious to say the least. I wonder if it was reserved for royalty or something. While I guess that it did apply to me, I would have asked for something a little smaller. Even in my tower I had only a small room, the rest of my quarters were really for everyone else.

I took a look around the vast space as I stood, my bare feet rubbing against the carpeted floor as I examined the room in detail, something I didn't have the time to do when I arrived. Really the only thing I saw when I entered was the large, silk covered bed and I was asleep within seconds of reaching it. Exhausted from the run to Scarl Forest and fighting Cinder upon my arrival, not to mention the blast of ice I had taken in order to save those servants.

The room was large and shaped like an oval, the carpet a burnt orange in colour while the stone of the walls seemed to be marble. I crossed the floor to the large window that took up the majority of one side of the oval, curving slightly in it's place, it offered a terrific view of the Noble District that ran beneath.

The sun had just risen and my enhanced eyes picked out individual figures dressed in fine garb, going about their daily lives, weaving between the fine buildings that surrounded them and greeting each other with a tipped hat. I was once more surprised by the resilience of vampires. Not even twenty four hours ago the Noble District had been a killing ground, bodies and blood lined the streets. Now it was as if nothing had happened. I could easily see the Plaza I had fought Cin in from here and it looked to be in perfect working order. Quite the clean up crew it seems. I would need to ask Cinder about that. Perhaps they were just used to the way their Queen does things. It has been four hundred years. I wouldn't be surprised if that was the case.

I took a step back from the window with a shrug of my shoulders and began to warm up, my body going through the now age old tradition of getting ready for a morning practice of the stances I had first learned as a boy.

When Marwenna had suggested I go to the Elven Sword-master to learn the art of the blade, I had been hesitant at first. But the discipline, the calm, that comes with achieving mastery of a particularly difficult sequence of techniques is rather satisfying and quite addicting. The rhythm that it creates in your mind mesmerizes you, pulls you into the moment, crystal clear and absolutely focused.

After I had finished warming up, I went over to where Xolumbrandir lay at the side of my bed and drew the blade from the scabbard, the metal cleanly leaving the oiled wood, even if the sword itself was in a bad mood. Xolumbrandir hissed when I pulled it free, but fell silent after I sent a silent command through the tether.

I firmly gripped the hilt in both hands, my legs slightly parted and my arms ahead of me, pointing my blade towards the door at one end of the oval. With painful slowness I began to move through the first sequence of techniques that Fado had taught me centuries ago, the words of my first lesson ringing through my mind.

“You may be slower than an elf, Corus. You may be weaker, you may not have magic. But the sword does not care, it does not weep because you live in an unfair world. The sword can take you anywhere and fell any opponent you put in front of it. It can shatter mountains as easily as sever string. But the one who wields it must be resolute. He must be as powerful and unmovable as a mountain. He must be as adaptable and flexible as string. He must be all these things. When you have achieved this. Then, Corus, you will be what you strive to become.”

I raised Xolumbrandir above my head and brought it down in one sharp motion, the blade cutting through the air as it plummeted, causing the air to scream with the attack. The sword stopped an inch from the ground and was still, as calm as water, as I returned to my original position and repeated the motion again and again.

Before I was a mage, before I was a King, I was a swordsman. The weapon made sense to me, the way it moved, the way it could be moved, were things I could see as soon as I held my first. Fado was a master, a true savant of the art of war and had served as a commander in the Elven army before injury forced him into early retirement. He was offered a place at the palace as the King's teacher in the ways of the sword, but Marwenna's father had little time for such things and the old elf was left to his own devices for the most part. It had taken a lot of persuading from Marwenna for him to accept me as a pupil, but I think that perhaps I was doing as much good for him as he was for me. During those years that I trained under him he almost became my adopted father, teaching me morals as well as sword play.

I once again brought me sword down, stopping it in exactly the same spot as before. Precision was key and it was something I took great pride in. You could always tell an amateur from a master, it was where their blade stopped, not where it started. What looked like a wild swing could perhaps be one of the most precise movements one would make, it all depends on the one wielding the blade.

The purpose of today's training was to make sure I knew my limits. My body was new, unfamiliar.

While I knew the many sequences of Fado's unnamed style of swordsmanship by heart, my muscles were new, I would need to train them to the standard of my former body, as well as get to know my physical strength. While I had been freakishly strong for a mage in my old body, this one was stronger still, even without the power of mana running through it. If I was merely a raging bull in combat I would be no use to anyone. I needed to know when to hold back and when to give it my all. This was how I found that out.

Once I had completed one hundred overhand swings I shifted my stance so the blade was by my side, pointed to the ground, as if sheathed. I then began a series of upward cuts, each one stopping in exactly the same place. I had to continuously alter how much power I put behind an attack. If I attacked at full strength I could very well take out a wall with the air displaced by my swing, too little and it wouldn't be effective at all.

After one hundred of these upwards attacks I grunted before going to my original stance. I was satisfied for now with my control but I would have to continue to work on it.

It was exceedingly rare that I would run across an opponent who could match me physically. I would have claimed it an impossibility before I met Vitriss. Very few mages ever learned how to wield a weapon that wasn't conjured by their magic, fewer still dedicated any real time to perfecting their technique. The last such opponent I had faced in proper combat had been Gorvo Nali, a powerful mage and exceptional swordsman. If the stakes hadn't been quite as high as they were back then, I believe that I would have enjoyed the challenge. I settled for breaking him instead.

From my original stance I moved forwards, my toes curling into the soft carpet as I inched forwards slowly, Xolumbrandir swiping backwards and forwards across my chest in an almost hypnotic motion. These attacks were not even really attacks at all, merely distractions, a way of defence disguised as offence.

The slow swipes began to get faster and faster as I built up to my limit slowly. While there were very few who could match me, feeling the power behind Vitriss' strike had only reinforced the fact that I would have to be at my best in the future. If Samedus Exovan was indeed on his way then he would be an opponent like I had never faced before. Losing was a serious possibility, one I hadn't really thought about in years. The lesson that I had given to the Knight Descendants was as true to me as it was to them. There was always someone better.

I suddenly switched my defensive techniques to something more aggressive, Xolumbrandir not missing a beat as I switched to pure offence, the blade whistling as it cut through the air. I felt my mind slip into a meditative state as I moved, relying completely on the memory of the attacks rather than my consciousness to guide every movement.

As I did this I thought back to Faral, the image of her fresh in my mind from the dream I had just awoken from. She had set a standard for me without her ever really knowing it. While she was one of the best Admirals in Vita, it was her skill with the sword that set her apart. She had taught herself how to fight because no one else would teach her. She had grown up in Omara, a predominantly human nation, and she had been discriminated against like I had in Callai. But there had been no Marwenna to save her so she had to improve herself.

Training and more training. She watched the local guards during their morning routines and had adapted it to suit her own style using a scimitar. Later she added even more when she was accepted as a deckhand aboard an old fishing vessel. During her free time she would practice, the ocean inevitably influencing her. Soon she had developed her own style, inspired by the sea. The ebbing and flowing of her attacks jumped into my mind now. Her confidence when she had first challenged me had been amusing to say the least. She was certain that she could defeat me in combat with ease because of her mastery. No one had ever defeated her before.

Our first bout did not last very long. I did not believe in prolonging something just to save face and defeated her in two short minutes. But what I had never told her was that it was probably one of the most intense fights of my life. I had been excited for the first time in a long time and we trained together many times after that, both of us learning and growing from the experience.

I found myself getting excited about what our future bouts would entail. How much had she improved over the past four hundred years? I could hardly wait to find out.

As I thought of Faral I inevitably thought of her son. What was his name? Lor? The boy showed promise, the way he had moved when he attacked me was something quite remarkable. Even under the stress of facing a clearly superior opponent he had kept his cool and attacked with an almost relaxed demeanour. It was clear to me that he relied too heavily on his mother's technique, The Song of the Seven Swords. It was a powerful attack, one which could do untold damage if utilised correctly, but without the proper control of mana to guide the attacking aura it was next to useless. Lor would have to improve as a mage before he became a more proficient swordsman, that much was clear.

I adjusted Xolumbrandir slightly as I continued the swings, noticing the blade being off by a fraction of a degree. An advantage of my newly enhanced senses, everything was much clearer, sharper, allowing me to increase my skill by who knows how much. Perhaps at this very moment I was the most powerful mortal on Vita. The boons that this body gave me were intense, even without magic, and I found myself beginning to enjoy the benefits more and more. Of course, I knew that it could all come tumbling down at any moment and the only reason I had these advantages was due to a bitch of a Goddess, but still, I enjoyed them all the same.

I don't know how much time passed as I practised the forms of Fado's style, but eventually I heard a knock at the door, my ears picking up the sound like it was a din. I immediately stopped Xolumbrandir where it was, the sword instantly coming to a standstill despite the speed it was moving at.

“Enter” I said towards the door and was surprised to see I was covered in sweat. Even more surprising was that the sun, which I had seen just rising over the edges of the tree's of Scarl Forest what seemed like moments before, hung high in the sky over The Red Citadel. Perhaps I got more into my training than I thought.

The door creaked open slightly and a head of white hair peaked in round the corner. Cinder had a look of worry on her face, although when she saw me, she just rolled her eyes.

“I should've known you two were just training, you should've have come to see me first, Father. I'm starving!” said my daughter as she stalked into the room with her face fixed into a scowl, going towards the table and two chairs that sat at the window. In her hand was a single crystal glass, dangling precariously from her fingers.

I chuckled, embarrassed that I had lost track of time. My body usually told me when I needed to take a break, but with this new one I felt completely fine, barely winded.

“Sorry, little one. Haven't practised in four hundred years, really need to keep my edge.” I said as I returned Xolumbrandir to it's sheath and made my way over to Cin who had taken a seat and was rattling her fingers off of the table in impatience.

She left out a fake laugh “Father, you could never lose your edge. You're wound up way too tight, you would never let yourself go.”

“You seem a little wound up yourself, Cin” I replied, raising an eyebrow.

“I used to be able to hunt to remove my stress, but a certain someone won't let me drink the help.” She said sweetly.

I chuckled again and took the remaining seat before drawing in mana, creating a a dagger of ice in my left hand before making a small incision on my right, letting the blood from the open wound pour into the cup.

Before it was even filled to the brim, Cinder brought the cup to her lips and downed it in one gulp, her eyes glowing slightly as the liquid disappeared into her stomach. A small amount of my blood dribbled onto the surface of the stained wooden table but Cin quickly put the cup underneath it to catch any stray droplets.

In the end it took five goblets before she was 'full'. Full is a relative term for Cinder and I wouldn't be surprised if she asked for more before we left this room. As a child her stomach seemed endless when it came to blood and I doubt it had gotten much better since she became an adult.

“So, how does it taste? Different?” I asked, wanting to see if I have the same human blood as I had before or if there was something that Cin could detect.

Cinder smacked her lips together as if she were tasting a fine wine before she nodded.

“Your blood still tastes like it used too, but there's some more things added in. Almost as if there's a little of every race in there. It's strange, but quite nice actually. Maybe I should bottle some and store it away, it might age well.” she replied musingly, her eyes searching the ceiling.

I sighed at my daughter, but her analysis confirms my thoughts. It seems I'm not human on the inside any more either. Something about that made me feel slightly depressed.

“Oh, I wasn't being serious, Father. You can't bottle blood, that's just silly. It's best when it's fresh.” She said, obviously sensing my depressed tone.

I smiled at her “I know, Cinder. It's just rather strange that I'm not really human any more.”

“You'll always be human, Father. Even if your body changes, your soul stays the same. And anyway, human or not, I still love you!” She said with a grin before jumping across the table and wrapping her arms around my neck. I laughed and returned the affection before she returned to her seat.

“So, how's the room? I had Palite give you the best one, but I thought it might be too big for you. I'm glad I did now that I know you'll be practising. But if you want, you can use the training field that I had installed. Bell and her people are using it now. Maybe you want to have a look?”

I nodded, curious. “Yeah, that sounds good. I'd like to have a look at Black Tusk in action. I never got to see them fight but they were able to hold off the Knight Descendants longer than I thought. Maybe now I can give them a few pointers.” I said as I jumped to my feet and stretched “And the room's perfect Cin, thank you.”

Cinder rose with me but then let out a sigh.

“What's wrong?”

“I have a meeting with the ambassador for Paltos, apparently it's important. I'm sorry, Father, I forgot.” She said, her eyes downcast and her tone bitter.

I smiled and gave her a small hug “Don't worry about it, little one. One of the servants will take me to get some food and on to the training field. I'll see you soon, okay?”

“Alright, I'll try to be as fast as I can... oh and there's one last thing.”

“Oh?”

Cinder bit her bottom lip as she averted her eyes from mine “Yeah... it's seems that the Knight Descendants have arrived in the city. I think they'll be coming to have an audience with me later on today.”