When they entered the courtyard, it was empty save for Von-dak, who stood idly in the center of the open space. When he saw Morgan and Issa, his expression brightened, and he waved them over. “Let’s begin your lessons; my time is limited with you since you won’t be staying.”

“There’s a limit to how long we can stay here?” Morgan asked, stepping down the short stairway to the flat flagstones of the courtyard.

“Oh yes. Have you noticed the other inhabitants of my little domain are no longer lingering around? I, too, must drift into a sort of sleep soon; it’s part of the arrangement I made with the System when it arrived and inserted itself into my affairs.” Morgan started to ask for more clarity about the situation, but Von-dak held up a hand and spoke some more, “Don’t try to pry for more. I can’t speak about many things, and, as I said, time is short. Issa, come forward with your rapier; I’ll give you some pointers first. Morgan, pay attention!”

Issa looked at Morgan as she walked past him, smiling ruefully and glancing at his shortened left arm with a pained look in her eyes. She’d be a long time getting over his injury, he figured. He didn’t want her to blame herself, but it was clear that he’d been fine with skipping the final challenge; he’d probably feel guilty if the roles were reversed. Morgan determined to put her at ease as soon as possible and not whine about his, hopefully, temporary predicament. He watched as Issa drew her rapier and stood in front of Von-dak. Von-dak’s long, black sword seemed to condense in a smoky blur until he held a rapier-shaped sword. “Neat trick,” Morgan said, but they both ignored him.

He sat down on the steps and watched as Von-dak sparred with Issa, encouraging her to use everything in her arsenal with regard to swordwork. Issa was fast; Morgan had a hard time keeping up with her when they practiced, but Von-dak managed to match her easily, and Morgan knew from their duel that he was holding back and just operating at Issa’s ability level. After they sparred for a while, Von-dak began to give her pointers on her stance, the way she moved her sword, or how she gripped it. Then, as she adjusted, he started to ask her questions about why she chose to use that attack, why she was doing a particular thing with her feet, or what she had been expecting him to do.

As Issa answered his questions and followed his instructions, Morgan began to notice a very strange thing—motes of Energy would occasionally drift from Von-dak to Issa. Were his lessons more than just lessons but a direct infusion of some sort?

After what seemed like hours of drilling, Issa let out an excited whoop and shouted, “I did it! I broke through to advanced sword mastery! Thank you, Von-dak!” Von-dak also grinned, lowering his blade and stepping back.

“I could take you further, but if Morgan is to get his fair share, I think you should sit down and meditate on what you’ve learned.” Issa moved to sit next to Morgan, favoring him with a warm smile as she wiped the sweat from her brow. “Morgan, come forward.” Morgan stood up and walked out onto the flagstones.

“I might have a problem,” he said, holding out his one hand. “I don't have any one-handed swords. I guess I could use one of Issa’s rapiers?” He glanced back at her, and she nodded, smiling brightly.

“That won’t be necessary,” Von-dak said. “I caused your injury, so perhaps one of my older blades will better serve to instruct you.” He seemed to concentrate for a moment, and then a long, narrow wooden case appeared out of nowhere at Morgan’s feet. Morgan was used to seeing chests coalesce out of swirling, sparkling mist, but this one just winked into existence. “Open it.” Von-dak gestured to the case. Morgan knelt and felt along the long case for a clasp, but there wasn’t one. Awkwardly he gripped the wooden top above the seam and lifted. The wooden lid to the case was light and slipped freely off the felt-lined lower half. Morgan set it aside, then looked upon the gleaming blade he’d exposed.

He immediately categorized the sword as being shaped like an arming sword from medieval Europe. The straight, double-edged blade was about thirty inches long and tapered to a sharp point. It was crafted from very shiny metal, similar to stainless steel to Morgan’s untrained eye, but suffused with a gleaming luster that seemed to come from beneath its surface. The crossguard was carved to look like two howling wolves facing away from each other, and the grip was wrapped in silver threaded white leather. Finally, it had a pommel shaped like a third wolf’s head holding a ball of red metal about the size of Morgan’s thumbnail between its jaws.

“Bloodfang,” Von-dak said quietly, “It served me well for quite a few years when I was young. Pick it up, Morgan.”

“Alright.” Morgan gripped the supple white handle of the sword and lifted it out of the case. At first, it felt cumbersome, like picking up a long lead bar, but as he lifted it, it seemed to grow lighter and more comfortable in his hand.

“It’s bonding with you. Best return the favor.” Von-dak chuckled as he spoke. Morgan nodded and trickled some Energy into the blade.

***Bloodfang: Artificed, Conscious Weapon. Enchantments: 1. Sharpness - This weapon will maintain its unnaturally sharp edge, recovering from wear and damage over time. 2. Solar Steel - This weapon has been forged of Energy infused Solar Steel—its significant weight and hardness are offset for the wielder by the imbued Energy. 3. Wolf Soul - This weapon has been imbued with the conscious spirit of a Corran Blood Rager through the workings of a legendary artificer. The spirit will aid the owner of this sword in various ways when enough blood has been spilled.***

“The scabbard is long gone, I’m afraid, but with your condition, you’ll probably want to use a metal ring on your belt. Easier to slip the sword in and out of that with one hand.”

“It’s a beautiful weapon,” Morgan said, admiring how it felt in his hand and the way its blade shimmered in the light as he moved it. “It’s just that my style is focused on two-handed blades.”

“So modify it. Are you the master, or is it your sword?” Von-dak scoffed. “Show me. Let me see your style’s forms as best you can with that sword.” Morgan nodded and proceeded to push his way through his forms, doing his best to keep his body positioned correctly, even though he only had one arm held out with the one-handed blade. Overall, it went a lot better than he thought it would. Imbuing his forms with Energy, he still moved quite fluidly and managed to achieve the desired effect of each of his forms, if a little sloppily.

“That went better than I thought it would,” he said, catching his breath.

“I see your forms—that style is similar to one I know. Why do you back up when doing that third form?”

“The Crane Defends the Nest? I don’t know; it’s a defensive form, so it just felt right.”

“My old master would beat me every time I backed up. He’d say, ‘sword battles are won by attacking.’ I don’t feel as adamant about it as he did—sometimes retreat is the only option, but if you regularly use a form that has you retreating, you’re setting yourself up for a real master to see the pattern and cut you apart. None of your forms require you to move in a certain direction. Many times, it’s better to circle while defending. Take your mind outside of the box you’ve built and realize that your movements are meant to be more fluid. You aren’t required to use a certain sword with these styles, either. In fact, you could use anything once you truly master them—a knife, a spear, even a club. Of course, nothing matches the elegance of the sword, but it might do you good to practice with something else so that you see the versatility of your style.”

“I…” Morgan struggled with what to say; he’d been so focused on being like the swordsman in his vision that he really had painted himself into a box.

“Don’t talk; we’ve spent enough time talking. Attack!” Thus began the most difficult three hours of exercise Morgan had ever spent. It was harder than basic, harder than his own drills by a massive margin, and harder even than when he and Issa had pushed themselves in the Crucible. Swordmaster Von-dak kept pushing him to run through his forms. Each time Morgan finished, with Von-dak parrying and attacking, he’d shout, “Again!”

At first, Morgan felt very awkward with the one-handed blade, his balance thrown off by his missing arm, but slowly he started to get into a rhythm. His Energy flowed freely through his body as he cycled his forms, one after the other, taking in the tips that Von-dak gave him after each one. He was so engrossed and pressed so hard by Von-dak’s seemingly endless stamina that he didn’t have time to wonder if he was also receiving motes of Energy from the swordmaster like Issa had. His every muscle fiber and brain synapse were absorbed by the intense back and forth of swords.

Morgan didn’t hold back, trying his damndest to hit Von-dak, but no matter how fast or how viciously he swung, Von-dak easily matched him. The swordmaster also seemed to have no problem pushing his defenses to their limit, but whenever his blade slipped past Morgan’s guard, he’d just lightly tap where he could have laid a brutal cut.

Morgan was breathing heavily and sweating profusely when Von-dak finally twirled his sword and stepped back. “Morgan, you’re on the cusp of advancing, but we’re out of time. Keep practicing with Issa, and you’ll be there soon; I already see huge improvements in your style. I think the injury I gave you might have been a blessing in disguise. Use the time you have without that arm to learn from it; keep mixing up your forms and remember to change your momentum, and never get stuck in a pattern.” He turned so that his words also included Issa and continued, “It’s been a pleasure to teach you both. Go forth and spread word of old Von-dak and his school for those brave enough to seek out the challenge.”

Morgan and Issa both started to utter their thanks, but the world shifted suddenly, and the light went from bright afternoon to predawn gray, and the temperature dropped by several degrees. Looking around, Morgan realized that he and Issa were standing in the ruined courtyard of the swordmaster’s keep, the version they’d seen when they first sought out the dungeon. “Wow, that was abrupt,” Morgan said, looking over to Issa, who still sat on the steps, though these steps were crumbled and strewn with rubble.

“I guess he wanted to squeeze as much teaching in as he could in the time he had available.” Issa stood up and brushed her butt off. “Too bad you didn’t make it to advanced sword mastery yet.”

“Yeah, but he said I’m close.”

“You sure were moving a lot more smoothly and quickly toward the end there. I was impressed by how much he helped you in that short time.” She walked over to Morgan and held out her hand. “That’s a beautiful sword he gave you, too.” Morgan gently laid the flat of the blade against her palm.

“Yeah, I was afraid it was just a loaner, but here it is.” Issa admired it for a moment, and then Morgan slipped it into his belt. “I have to be careful not to cut my leg off while I get used to it.”

“We can try to make you a ring to hold it more securely when we make camp. Let’s go see if our Roladii abandoned us. How long do you think we were in there?”

“Over a week, for sure. We rested a lot outside the keep while we dealt with the ‘challengers,’” Morgan replied, resting his hand on Issa’s shoulder and walking toward the shattered gates of the ruined keep. “Umm, Issa?”

“Yes?” She looked up at him sweetly.

“Can you help me with my belt and pants? I’ve had to take a piss since before Von-dak’s lessons began!”

“Ancestors! Is this what I have in store for me from now on?”