Morgan glanced at Issa; she nodded, and they both advanced down the center of the hall toward the man that Morgan presumed was the Swordmaster. The luminescent gallery of vanquished combatants watched them in silence, some standing behind the tables, some sitting up straight, some lounging languidly. The Swordmaster watched them, still sitting on the edge of his short wooden chair, his back straight but his face relaxed. He was a Shadeni, but one like Morgan hadn’t met before. He had close-cut black hair, but actual horns poked up from the sides of his head, a good four inches, black and glossy like little bull horns. While he wasn’t especially tall, there was a sense of gravity about him, almost like light bent toward him as it passed by—a shimmering, practically imperceptible veil of shadow that clung to his form.

Morgan noted the relaxed way in which the Swordmaster rested his hand on the pommel of his longsword, and then his eye drifted down to the sword. Its blade was straight with two edges and at least as long as Morgan’s curved sword; the metal was black as a starless night sky, drinking the light around it. The guard and pommel were crafted of the same dark metal, but they were plain and unadorned. Morgan couldn’t see much of the hilt beneath the Swordmaster’s hand, but it seemed to be wrapped in sturdy leather—nothing fancy. The simple utility of that blade was frightening in its statement, “Here is a sword meant for cutting and killing, not looking pretty.” As they stepped past the last table and stood before the Swordmaster, Morgan and Issa stood side by side, backs straight, but swords out and ready.

“Well? Don’t be shy; name yourselves!” The Swordmaster’s voice was gravelly and severe, but it had a hint of decorum in the tone. A touch of a smile scrunched the bright red skin around his eyes, but Morgan could see the Shadeni’s canines were much more pronounced than those of the others he’d met.

“I’m Issa ap’Roald, pleased to meet you, Sir,” Issa said, catching Morgan off-guard. He glanced at her and saw that she’d even bowed slightly while speaking. The Swordmaster let out a quiet but prolonged, “Ah,” then turned to Morgan expectantly.

“I’m Morgan Hall. Might I have your name, Swordmaster?” Morgan did not bow. Not because he wanted to show disrespect, but because he thought it would come off phony; he didn’t even know if he’d do it right.

“You may. I am Von-dak, the Swordmaster of this keep. Welcome to my domain. I’ve heard tales of your exploits here from my companions. It’s been a great while since we’ve had outsiders enter this place, the last ones being your friends Tal-dak and Shinra.” He paused and gestured to the two fighters leaning against the wall. They both nodded, though neither looked happy.

“Are they….” Morgan started to ask, but Von-dak continued speaking.

“I exist as a fragment of my former self. With me are the memories of my friends and students, and yes, some of the adventurers that have come this way over the years have left a piece of themselves as well. I didn’t make this place as a trap, though; don’t fret. When I felt myself being called to another realm, I wanted to leave behind some of what I had learned. It cost me dearly, and the System has since come and bargained for some changes, but I think it was worth it in the end. Have you not learned valuable lessons? Have I not shared some of my wealth with you for your victories?”

“Yes, that’s true, sir, but….” again, Morgan was cut off.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit for those treasures—the System has supplemented my store of rewards, though I begin to doubt the price I paid was worth it; however, that’s a story not meant for your ears. So, you’ve found and bested most of the challenges I put in your way.” He glanced around the tables and continued, “You missed a few, but I’m impressed, nevertheless. Now, I’ll offer you a choice and a bargain. Are you ready to hear me?”

Morgan felt Issa’s hand reach along his wrist to grab onto his hand while he held his sword. Her thin fingers wrapped around the back of his hand, and he loosened his grip to clasp onto her. “We’re ready,” Issa said, speaking for them both.

“Very well; I challenge you both to a duel. If you can survive my onslaught for a mere ten seconds or land a single blow with your sword against me, I will give you a personalized lesson that will complement your sword fighting style. If I slay you within those ten seconds, your soul will reside here with me for one hundred years, after which, you will be permitted to leave with your life intact again. I’m sure you’ll learn something during that time, eh, Shinra?” The swordswoman didn’t respond, and Morgan could see by her eyes that her mind was far away.

“What if one of us should perish, and do we both have to accept the duel?” Morgan asked, glancing down at Issa.

“If one perishes, but the other survives, I will teach the survivor.” Morgan noticed how the Swordmaster followed with his eyes as Morgan looked at Issa again. What’s more, he saw the corner of his mouth quirk up, and his deep red and gold eyes squint slightly.

“And if we refuse the duel?” Morgan pressed.

“Then I will give you a trinket and send you on your way.” The Swordmaster scoffed and waved a hand dismissively at the thought.

Morgan leaned close to Issa and whispered, “I don’t want you to fight him with me.”

“Well, I don’t want you to fight him, but I wouldn’t ask you to watch me fight him alone!” She hissed back. Von-dak snorted, a smile curling his lips, but he didn’t say anything. Morgan knew Issa didn’t want to back down—it would eat at her that they came this far and didn’t take the final challenge. He also knew that he couldn’t imagine living for a hundred years outside this dungeon while she languished like Shinra and the others. He turned to the Swordmaster, still sitting placidly on his plain wooden chair.

“Are all the ‘challengers’ outside the gates people who have come into your dungeon and lost their duels with you?”

“That’s right.”

“It seems like this place has been in ruins longer than a hundred years. Shouldn’t some of them have gone back into the world by now?”

“Well,” Von-dak frowned, “some have, I’m sure. Others seem to change their mind about wanting to leave over the course of their enforced time here. Perhaps they lose their will.” He shrugged, and for the first time, his hand resting on his sword’s pommel moved, twitching slightly. Morgan didn’t know what to make of this place or his statement. He knew he couldn’t let Von-dak kill Issa, though, even if he thought he could wait a hundred years to see her again.

“Is your training the only reward? Or will the System provide something as well?” Issa interjected.

Again, Von-dak scoffed, “Bah, I’m sure the trinket you’d get for leaving will also be given to you if you survive the duel. Perhaps something better.”

“What if we both leave, then?” Morgan stored his sword and turned to Issa, putting his hands on either side of her face. Her eyes were full of light and fierce, and Morgan knew there was no way she’d back out unless he begged her. He couldn’t do that. “Kiss me then, you stubborn woman.” He forgot about Von-dak, forgot about the host of conquered ghosts, and kissed Issa fully, savoring her soft lips and the scent of her, like vanilla and sweat and everything he loved. She kissed him back, pulling hard on the back of his neck, and Morgan had to pull back before he lost himself in her. “All right, then, Swordmaster. Let’s duel.”

Von-dak jumped to his feet, so fluid and quick that Morgan didn’t see the movement. His sword was in his hand, and he walked away from his chair into the cleared area between it and the tables. He squared off with Morgan and Issa, and then he bowed. “When you’re ready.”

Issa’s throat began to vibrate with her Battle Chant, and Morgan readied his spells, slipping into The Crane Defends the Nest. He just had to survive for ten seconds. They should be able to do that. He felt warmth flood him as Issa put her hand on his back and pushed Energy from her Haste spell into him. His eyes dilated, and his heart quickened, and he zeroed in on the Swordmaster, ready. “Say when, Issa.”

“Ready,” Issa said from beside him, and then Von-dak streaked forward like a comet. Even Hasted, Morgan couldn’t activate his Hollow Charge before Von-dak was on him, slapping his sword sideways and smashing into him with his shoulder. Morgan flew to the side, careening into one of the tables, forced to scramble on all fours for purchase. He’d just regained his feet when he saw that Von-dak hadn’t pursued him; he was after Issa. She moved in streaks and blurs, faster than Morgan’s eyes could track, trying to avoid his slashing black razor of a sword. Still, in the space of two heartbeats, he smashed aside her guard, hacked her shoulder, causing her to spin, and then he, as fast as some kind of nightmarish pneumatic machine, chopped his blade into her back and side no less than six times. Morgan fell to his knees and screamed out like something vital was being torn from him while Issa’s body tumbled away from the onslaught.

Von-dak spun to face Morgan and advanced like a snake over an oily floor. He was halfway to him when he stopped, a puzzled expression on his face. Morgan had screamed not from fear or loss but because he’d taken the blows meant for Issa. At least, he’d taken half of them; his Guard Ally ability had absorbed the other half. It hadn’t stopped enough damage for him to avoid having his left arm sheared through at the elbow or for the mangling slashes in his side and back to be absorbed by his armor. No, he was terribly wounded, sporting several deep gashes that had severed ribs, and partially eviscerated him. He sat, crumpled, on his knees, blood pooling around him, and smiled at Von-dak.

Von-dak’s surprise turned to strain as Morgan pulled, willing his Vortex Core and the dark void at its center to yank as much of Von-dak’s Energy as possible. The effect was incredible; a torrent of pure white Energy rushed out of the Swordmaster and into him, straining his pathways as it coursed through them and into his Core. Some of it spun out and into his body, staunching the torrential blood loss that was beginning to turn his vision dark.

“Uh,” Von-dak grunted and staggered, but then he lifted his blade and scowled, “How?” Then comprehension dawned on him, and he spun, only to find Issa’s rapier already slipping in and out of his gut, quick as a serpent’s tongue.

“Hit!” She said wildly with a fierce grin; then, her eyes fell on Morgan, and the color drained from her face. Upon being stabbed, Von-dak had lowered his sword. He turned, a smile on his face, and watched as Issa ran to Morgan, hugging his still kneeling form close and talking softly into his ear, “Oh, Morgan, your arm! What about the rest of you? Can you hear me? Why aren’t you speaking?”

“He’ll live, I’ll wager; he absorbed a considerable amount of my Energy. Quite more than I was anticipating. Won’t help his arm, though. Still, there are remedies for that. I’m so pleased to have two new students! Very tricky play there!” Von-dak’s entire demeanor seemed to have undergone a transformation—where before he’d been stoic and somewhat dismissive, if polite, now his voice carried a current of warmth.

“Ugh. Issa, my ring is on that hand on the ground. Can you get it for me so that I can drink a potion?” Morgan’s voice was scratchy and weak. He knew he was out of the woods when it came to bleeding to death—the huge Energy Drain had seen his bleeding slow to a trickle, but he had already lost enough that he could barely focus his eyes. He wanted to drink a healing potion so he could assess his condition.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Morgan!” She produced one of her own healing potions and pulled the stopper, pouring the sweet, thick syrup into his dry, cottony mouth. Morgan let the warmth flood through him as he worked the potion around in his mouth, generating enough saliva to take a big gulp. Energy and warmth flooded through his limbs as the miracle tincture did its thing. His vision cleared, and the fogginess in his mind retreated, and he lifted his shortened arm to look at the damage. He’d lost it from the elbow down, and smooth flesh was already covering the stump; that potion worked fast, but it apparently couldn’t regrow a limb.