u/grierks

There was never a doubt in his mind that he was the strongest in the world. The four armed warriors of the Quetali, for all their bluster about their martial prowess, fell to his blade time and time again like fowls to the slaughter. The Zechanil, with their twisted forms and cunning minds, found their wit lacking upon their sharp tongues as they were torn down from their high perches. Even the beautiful Ishanti, enchanting in form as much as their magic, could not snare one such as him. In the countless years that traced his immortality, he had been challenged in mind, in body, and in spirit. Each trial was greater than the last, but he met them time and time again as he would a midday stroll.

The Queltali would send their champions to him, each of them stronger than the one that came before, each falling upon his sword. Where their champions fell, armies would rise. He commended their bravery, but their reliance on brute strength over tactics made the assaults futile. They would have been pointless anyways, but some thought behind the blades and spears aimed his way would have done so much more to entertain him.

Where brutish force failed, the Zechanil sent delegations to exert a strength of a different kind. Words of promise, of oaths and deals that would make even the most ascetic man’s mouth water with greed. Yet, he needed none of these things, and so promises of fortune and wealth fell upon uncaring ears. Assassins slipped through the shadows cast from the shine of gold, but  gilded knives bore as much weight as honeyed words in his regard. In fact, beyond their initial ambushes, they proved to be less entertaining than the Quetali. Time and time again he reminded them of this, but for all their cunning, the Zechanil never seemed to learn.

The Ishanti tried persuasion from a different angle. Promises of a more sensual nature that their consorts were sure to let hang on every single word. Yet, the pleasure that they offered shrouded the enchantments underneath. Spells designed to put him under their thumb lay under every breath, every moan, all to bring him to heel. Of course, such magics had no influence over him, though he did not mind to be under them, in a manner of speaking. Their efforts failed time and time again in the face of his strength, and their words started to be laced with the venom of their ire. It was to no avail, leaving repeated temptations in vain.

After centuries of this constant behavior, he supposed that the three Starborne races would grow fed up with his presence. He could not blame them, for though he was never in their position, and would never be, the concept of being so helpless against one such as him must have been supremely frustrating. And so, when the three factions united against him, he was not surprised. It was the opposite.

He was elated.

In his mind, the three would round out each other’s weaknesses. The Zechanil would add an element of tactics to the Quetali’s barbaric charges, and the magic of the Ishanti would keep things unpredictable for a time. For once, he thought that a challenge might have finally presented itself. Such hopes were dashed the moment the battle began, but their desires were never to defeat him. They were to distract.

As he battled the Quetali and Zechanil, the Ishanti prepared a ritual to seal him away. His own hubris was at fault for him failing to take notice, and when the spell was complete, he was met with both irritation and disappointment. Irritation because he knew that the seal placed would take quite some time to pass, and disappointment in his lack of attention. Sloth had no excuse to dance within his mind, so he accepted his fate. Given his immortality, this would naught be but an inconvenience of time. 

Years went by in seconds during the moments he spared no attention, which was frequent, and he would take the most restful of naps that could span just hours to decades of slumber. If anything, being sealed away was just another excuse for him to sleep. Magic was potent indeed, but against the ravages of time, everything was finite.

Except him, of course.

Eventually, the seal would break, and the cycle of appeasement would begin once again. A tempting prospect, but one that he couldn’t say he was looking forward to. By the time the Starborne had decided to seal him away, he was well beyond tired of the routine. Perhaps some degree of separation would make the entreatments more appreciated, but he doubted that would be the case. He would deal with such things when the time came, and so, for now, boredom would be his constant companion. He could not rely upon anyone to release him, for as far as he knew, he was the only one of his kind. How this came to be, he had no idea, but he had little reason to dwell upon it, mostly from a lack of care. Perhaps he was an incarnation of violence, of strength, rather than the member of any specific species. Even if he weren’t alone, he did not wish to be saved. The world had proven itself to be a tiresome place, and the seal was the perfect thing to disassociate from it for a while.

Still, he had to give some credit to the strength of the Ishanti’s magics. The seal lasted far longer than he initially believed, though that could have been due to his sense of time being altered from his imprisonment. At the very least, the realm he had been sealed in was somewhat enjoyable, a reflection of what he assumed to be the lush forest of their native lands. It made for an ideal napping spot, but even a restful sleep gets dull after a century of repetition. But, as he predicted, the seal began to fail.

The first crack in the seal appeared about two or so centuries past his initial imprisonment. He had assumed that this was enough of an opening for him to escape, but the Ishanti had been thorough in devising their magics, and he was unable to simply force his way out of the realm. That alone was impressive, he had to admit, but even with such contingencies he knew that he could exploit the crack to discern the structure of the seal, allowing him to find some way to disable it. Yet, he didn’t, for though the seal remained, the newfound crack ended his isolation.

His first visitor was, unsurprisingly, an ishanti enchantress. She was a descendant of those that devised the seal, and was willing to offer him a deal. Eternal allegiance and servitude to the Ishanti, and they would release him from his prison. When he rejected that, she added herself to the deal. Such an action only filled him with disappointment, for it showed him that things truly had not changed. Perhaps they assumed that he would be more willing, maybe even desperate, to end his imprisonment.

He wasn’t.

Whether or not the Starborne believed it, he was a patient being. He had to be to deal with the constant repetitive nonsense that were their entreaties. Otherwise, he might have eliminated them all out of sheer annoyance. Was the isolation bothersome? Yes, it was, but he was not about to bow to someone just because of that. Now, that did not stop him from acting like it was and so “eagerly” agreeing to her terms. It had been a couple of centuries or so, after all, and he would be remiss to refuse the… attentions, of an Ishanti beauty. He rescinded upon the deal right after their union, the magics behind the bond holding as much sway as they did before.

That resulted in a hail of curses both verbal and magical, enough to have torn a small country asunder. They held no effect upon him, but the effort was lively enough to be appreciated. The many years he spent in isolation left him rusty on his Ishanti, but he believed that her final words to him rang similar to a curse damning him to the Fourteen Hells and Seventy-Three Furies. Why fourteen and seventy-three? He didn’t bother to fathom. Ishanti culture was multiple levels of convoluted, and that was just involving their deities. He had to admit, however, that the sight of her half dressed, lithe figure trembling in rage, made him consider “accepting” her offer once again. After all, the utter indignation that was unbecoming of her previous flawless, tranquil face, amused him to no end. Such anger was undeserved, honestly. It wasn’t his fault that they hadn’t learned from previous attempts, nor tried to establish anything in writing. That was just improper business.

In her absence, a second visitor approached, this one a quetali champion. He had expected the burly man to attack him on sight, but in an odd shift, he started with words. He couldn’t say that it was a pleasant change of pace, for what amounted to Quetali conversation apparently involved rattling off whatever accomplishments they had to their name and the bloodlines that they descended from. Given the time he had been gone, the quetali’s list was quite extensive, to say the least. He had to stop the champion at what he assumed to be the halfway point, which was apparently enough offense to send the quetali into a blind rage. That was swiftly dealt with, but he did not decide to end the champion’s life, if only so that he would leave and discourage others from visiting with such irritating manners. He had no traditions of his own, he had acquired a tolerance for the culture of other races.

However, the last thing he wanted to hear after such a long period of isolation were the empty chest thumps of a weakling. “King of Fifty Arms” or not, boasts hold little meaning without the strength to back them up. Perhaps the champion’s strength was a threat to someone else, but he did not care. If the Ishanti had not changed, and the Quetali had somehow gotten worse than before, he was beginning to think that isolation wasn’t so bad if this was the nonsense that would be there to greet him.

Predictably, the third visitor was a Zechanil merchant. Those twisted creatures were always a cautious bunch, so the odds of them being the first to seek him out were nonexistent. Also unsurprising, but most welcome, was the delegation that followed in the merchant’s wake. He did not need to subsist, but that did not mean that he was ignorant of the satisfaction that fine cuisine could bring. And as far as he knew, the Zechanil cooked some of the finest food on the star. Truthfully, their bribe was perhaps more enticing than the Ishanti’s. It was simple enough to find a woman, and as beautiful as the enchantresses were, it was even harder to find a meal that would satisfy his palate. Pair that with centuries of no food at all, and even the prospect of a piece of bread would make him salivate somewhat. A good meal was his highest priority upon the seal’s breaking, so he would not say no to having such a thing delivered right to his feet.

Of course, the meal being a bribe meant that it was paired with the unappetizing sensation of the merchant’s voice whispering to him with entreaties to join the Zechanil. Riches, women, land, and of course, food, were all offered at increasing quantities and quality. The food was obviously the most tempting, but independence was perhaps the one sole thing that mattered most to him. Subservience to anyone, even a most generous benefactor, would sour the taste of any food, as delicious as the roast they brought was. Shockingly, there was no knife in the shadows paired with the forks that carried the food. Before he assumed that the Zechanil had actually learned something, he assumed that the daggers from the dark had just taken a different form, and that assumption was proven correct when the merchant produced a vial from his sleeve. It was rare, but this was hardly the first time that he’d been poisoned with a meal. Much like magic, those had about as much of the same effect. The merchant was apparently unaware of this, and used the offer of his antidote as leverage for my services instead. Perhaps hubris blinded the merchant from realizing that he could have simply killed him and taken the vial were it a serious threat, and it made him consider if the Zechanil had just become more ignorant with the passage of time. That could have been very true, for it took the better part of an hour of staring at the merchant before realization dawned that the poison wasn’t working. The delegation was quick to leave after that and, like the others, none of his kind bothered to visit afterwards.

For a while, no visitors followed after the merchant’s departure. The better part of a couple more centuries passed, and he had to admit that, after the Starborne’s displays of incompetence, he was none too bothered by that result. None of them had even bothered to change their methods, or, in the case of the Quetali, had made them even worse. That either meant that their methods were effective enough with people other than him that they didn’t find the need to change their ways, or they were truly too stupid to realize their faults. Considering the Zechanil’s supposed intelligence, he assumed it to be a matter of pride. After all, if one’s methods led to the domination of the star for the better part of a few millenia, then obviously something was wrong with him instead of them. Perhaps they were correct, but that only meant that they would never change, and he would be subjected to the same nonsense as before. That made his desire to leave drop dramatically.

Then, the fourth visitor arrived.

 

***

 

He lay under trees of an unwithering foliage. Perhaps they were illusions, perhaps not, but even in the centuries he spent within this prison, he never cared enough to find out. His mind was occupied by more important matters, such as counting the number of leaves on their branches. It was the five hundredth time of doing so, and such a number deserved extra special attention. The tree that hung right over him had approximately 304,129 purple leaves to assist in casting its shade under the artificial light that the Ishanti weaved into this realm. So entertained was he that he almost began anew, but that impulse was interrupted by as someone breached the seal. With far too much irritation than he should have had, he looked to see who intruded upon his leisure, and laughed at the sight.

Humanity was always a gaggle of untalented species. They were not as strong as the Quetali, which left them crushed under their might with each failed rebellion. Their magics as well, were inferior to the likes of the average Ishanti enchantress, and more often than not he saw scores of humans enthralled by their magics, so subservient to a mistress that they were no better than dogs. The Zechanil, especially, made it a pastime to swindle Humanity time and time again, trapping them in debts that they could not possibly pay off. In fact, of all the species of Humanity, Humans were perhaps the largest portion of the Zechanil’s slave force. They were so weak in mind, body, and spirit, that he almost didn’t consider them much better than animals. They certainly appeared to be sentient, but all of them looked so downtrodden and submissive to their fate that they held the air of pets instead of people, in his eyes.

At the very least, this human looked unique in that regard. There was a fire behind the woman’s deep, blue eyes that he had never seen within the human visage before, a determination and resolve that made her alien to a species that never showed any strength, at all, in the past. The rest of her face was pleasant to look at, as well, but compared to the natural seductive air of Ishanti maidens, he couldn’t say that he was all that impressed with such an appearance. If anything, she was more adorable in his eyes. She was also far more covered than the Ishanti, and the Quetali, for that matter, ever were, adorned in armor in a style that was unknown to him.

The Zechanil were the only ones of the Starborne that wore armor, and their style appeared to be more ornamental rather than purely functional. This woman’s armor was the opposite. Most of it was of cloth, but pieces of steel covered vital parts of her body, which no doubt would aid in blending mobility and defence. The additional layers of furs and cloth, which he assumed were for warmth, did not do much for her appearance, but even if her face had not given away her femininity, then the curves of her figure, just barely visible through all her layers of protection, would have given her away easily. Her hair was a simple light brown in contrast to his own flowing locks of silver, cut short but still framing her face. The fairness of her skin was sun-kissed, which made her look all the warmer compared to his own pale, nearly snow white, shade.

Most distinctive, beyond any of her other traits, even the fire that smoldered behind her gaze, was the seemingly permanent smile that tugged at her lips.

“I am surprised,” he said, “Of all those that would come to pester me, I never suspected that a human would be amongst them.” He stood up to take a closer look. He was clear across the realm, but he could tell that she was a good two heads shorter than him in height. He was taller than most humans, so that wasn’t much of a surprise. “Tell me, which master sent you here in their stead? The Ishanti? The Zechanil? Or have the Quetali decided to let others talk for them?”

The woman raised an eyebrow and her lips quirked up. “I serve no one, good sir.”

That declaration surprised him. “Then why are you here?”

She tapped the sword that hung at her hip. “There have been many a whisper of a portal that appears once a year at the top of The Throne, yet no one has ever braved the mountain to confirm them.” She scratched her cheek awkwardly. “I was bored and had nothing else to do, so I came here to take a look myself. Didn’t expect to find you here though.”

He did not know if it was the bluntness of her delivery, or the simplicity of her thoughts, but something about what she said made him laugh, harder than he could remember. This confused the woman to no end, which was to be expected, but instead of interrupting his snickering fit, she let him finish, though she did little to hide her perplexed expression.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said through giggles, “It’s been quite some time since I’ve heard something so ridiculous.”

The woman frowned. “Well, it’s true. It wasn’t easy getting up here, you know.” She tapped her sword again. “I’ve got quite a sword arm, and even then the nasties on the way up gave me a time and a half.”

He looked at her with skeptical eyes. “You, a swordsman?”

She nodded. “That’s what I’ve been told.”

“And which people told you this?”

The woman tapped her lip. “My mother and father,” she made an uncertain gesture, “and a few neighbors.”

That almost made him laugh again, but then he saw that she was being serious. “And I am to believe that you scaled a mountain on nothing more than a rumor? Were you aiming to test that strength oh so many people have attested to?”

She tapped her chest. “Yup! The Spine is usually quite nice this time of year, anyway.”

He looked at her with utter incredulity, then shook his head. “Well then, let’s see them.”

“See what?”

“These skills that you appear to be so proud of.”

The woman fidgeted, a small blush coming up to her cheeks. “Right… now?”

He gave her a dull look. “Yes, right now. What, did you think I would accept the challenge of any wanderer with a sword?” Truth be told, he may have. 

He was awfully bored.

“Well I don’t know what to think! This was just a rumor! I didn’t even issue a challenge!”

He crossed his arms. “Well, here I am, requesting that you show me what you can do. It’s tradition.”

“Who’s tradition?”

“Mine, now get to it.” He motioned at her impatiently.

The blush returned to her face and she looked at the ground with a shy air overcoming her. “Well, it’s a little embarrassing to be put on the spot like this, don’t you think?”

He didn’t bother stifling his groan. “Will you just get on with it already?”

She frowned, but shrugged off her furs. “Since you so nicely asked…”

Whether he was to be insulted or impressed by the woman’s casual demeanor was something that he had trouble deciding between. However, two things revealed themselves to be very clear. One, this visitor was a much nicer change of pace compared to the other three and two, she was completely rubbish at swordplay.

An exaggeration, perhaps, but not far from one as the woman’s skill with the blade paled in comparison to even the fledgling Quetali. From her youthful appearance, he guessed that she had only just entered adulthood, which left her plenty of time to grow, but even with that her movements were too telegraphed, too fanciful to be of any practical use. Against even the most meager of swordsman, she’d sooner find herself impaled by her own reckless movements. How her parents, or even her friends, even considered her to be exceptional was beyond him. Perhaps the standards of Humanity were just that low and she truly was talented for her kind.

In any regard, the sight of such movements once again summoned a bout of laughter. Her being able to even climb to the top of a mountain was a mystery, but how she was capable of doing so with such meager skills when The Throne was populated with monstrosities and dangerous beasts alike made even less sense. It should have been, frankly, impossible.

“Is something funny?” she asked, freezing mid swing.

“I just… heh… it’s that I have never seen such ridiculous swordsmanship before.” He patted his chest to calm his chuckles.

She pouted. “Oi! You asked to see it!”

“That I did, and it was very amusing.”

She stabbed her sword in the dirt. “Well, I don’t see you doing anything, how about you give it a shot?!”

“And why should I?”

“Because its tradition!”

“Who’s?”

“Mine.”

“Just because I used that excuse does not mean it is yours to use as well.”

She thrust her finger at him. “Ha! So it was an excuse!”

He opened his mouth to speak, then paused. “...you have me there.”

“That I do. Now, my cleverness deserves a reward, don’t you agree?” She flicked her hands at him to hurry him up.

He frowned at her. While she was certainly no Quetali, her manners could use some serious improvement. But, it had been quite some time since he had practiced any of his skills, and this was as good enough of an excuse as any to do so.

He drew his sword, realizing that this was the first time since his sealing since he had set eye upon the long, silvered blade. It gleamed with a flawless sheen as always, and as he gripped the handle with both hands, memory took the reins. He started with Leaf Through Water, flowing through his motions as if he was carried through his attacks by an unseen current. At the final step of that form, he switched to Sands Through Sky, striking all around him so fast and so quick that he knew that the average eye - her eye - would only be able to see the initial movements of his wrist. The last slash of that slipped into Wind Through Trees, which brought him back to smoother movements, but keeping his sword dancing through invisible weaknesses, gaps in phantom opponents’ defenses instead of letting his motions carry into one another. Finally, he put Fire Through Ice on display. A series of sharp, precise strikes blurred in the quickness of their execution, yet holding the weight of his body behind them. He spared little effort for the blows, yet even then the force behind each swing generated small gales as they sliced through the air.

Fire Through Ice had the purpose of slicing through even the most hardy of defences, but he internally admitted that he saved this form for last due to its intimidation factor. After all, even a quetali could not generate such force from demonstration alone. So, for a weak human to see such a display, the only result should have been fright, or to at least be frozen in awe.

None of these things happened, and instead his ears were intruded upon by clapping and cheering.

“Wow! That was amazing!” the woman said, still clapping as if she were a child watching a puppet show.

He stopped, stared at her for a moment, then shook his head and sheathed his sword. “At least you have the sense to recognize that. Now, you should-”

“I challenge you!”

“-go and… what?”

The woman puffed out her chest, sword brandished and pointed at him. “I challenge you to a duel!”

He sucked in a breath and looked around him, wondering if the isolation was starting to make him delirious. Upon finding no proof of hallucination, he had no choice but to accept that someone so daft actually existed. “Pardon?”

“Oh, come off it. I never took you for a fool,” she said.

He frowned, then drew his sword. One way or another, this woman was going to have to learn, and he supposed it was his responsibility to give her her first lesson. 

His response only made her grin, which she then followed with a bow. “Amelia Havardy.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Now don’t be rude, introduce yourself! It’s only proper, you know.”

“You are the last person that should be speaking with authority on manners,” he said, but in the end, he acquiesced. He thought back to the many titles that the quetali visitor had rattled off, and decided that such an annoying way of introducing oneself was the perfect response to such a person. However, he would only need to use one title, the only one that anyone ever needed.

“Martial God, Onias Kai.” He even bowed, the proper way, if only to mock her behavior.

She snickered. “Martial God, I suppose being in the mountains tends to do strange things to your head. With no shirt either, why is that?”

He glared at her. This woman needed to be taught manners.

No signal started the duel, nor was there any tension that was allowed to form between them. As soon as she realized that Onias was not going to answer her, Amelia charged towards him. Her blade was raised above her head, leaving more openings than a novice soldier, yet somehow even sloppier. He dashed forward and slapped her exposed bellow with the flat of his blade, then did the same to her leg. This caused her to flip over on herself and land flat on her back. The entire exchange was most likely only a second or two total, and Amelia spent more time looking towards the sky with a dazed expression.

“Do you understand now, woman?” Onias said, irritation bleeding from his voice, “Underestimating your opponent is a fine way to get yourself killed.” He walked over to her and tapped his now sheathed sword on where he struck her stomach. “The cut there would leave you bleeding out for days, while the juices of your stomach ate at you until you died.” He directed his attention to her leg. “A wound here would have you die in minutes, your lifeblood draining from you until your skin turns paler than mine, perhaps even matching the snow on the mountain you climbed to get here.” He then poked her forehead with the tip of his sheath. “And that is a reminder to have some sense. I do not know how you reached me, but if you are going to challenge someone, then you need to have the sense to tell when a foe is completely out of your league.”

Onias did not know why he was telling her these things. He attributed most of it to his desire to fix her attitude, but he spoke with a familiarity that he had not shared with the previous visitors. Already, Onias was starting to feel attached, and that was irritating him to no end. Perhaps his isolation had affected him more than he thought.

Amelia, for her part, did not say anything initially, and continued to hold the look of utter surprise on her face as she stared up at the artificial sky above them. She stirred without warning, sitting up far too quickly for someone who had been defeated so soundly.

“Right… right,” she said, not looking back at Onias as she picked up her furs and walked towards the exit. He could see that a blush had returned to her cheeks, quickly expanding to make the rest of her face clearly flushed. “Same time next year, yeah?”

Before he could say anything in response, she was gone.

Onias must have stood there for close to an hour, dumbfounded by the abruptness of her arrival and her departure.

“What the hells just happened?”

 

***

 

He was woken up from his nap by a sudden presence. Much to his surprise, it was Amelia. The fire in her eyes remained undiminished, and that same smile pulled at her lips. What was different, however, was her posture. Onias couldn’t see as many openings, though there were still many more that he would be able to strike at. Guarded was the wrong word for such a stance, and he instead felt like she was just more… aware of everything. The air of a proper soldier was about her now, and it bled into everything else about her. Her armor was of higher quality and better fit to her figure, her hair was tied up into a bun, and while her sword was the same as before, he could tell that it had been taken care of much better than when he last saw it. Experience had found her in spades over the past year.

“Oi, I come over and you’re sleeping on me?”

…manners, it seemed, had yet to grace her with their presence.

Onias sat up from his napping spot, making sure to illustrate his discontent with a grunt. “What is it you want, human?”

Amelia clicked her teeth. “I have a name.”

“I’m aware.” He stared at her.

The woman rolled her eyes, but her eyes sharpened and she thrust her finger at him. “You should know, I challenge you to a duel!”

Confusion slowed his blink and left his mouth slightly agape. “I hardly think that you trained enough over the past year to challenge me.”

Amelia thumped her chest once again. “I dunno, I’ve practiced quite a bit since our first encounter.”

Onias sighed, but stood up. “I suppose I do have a few seconds to spare.”

She huffed and drew her sword. “It won’t be a few seconds this time!”

He had to admit, she did show leagues of improvement compared to the sloppy display last time, but leagues for her meant little for him. Her charge forward was still full of wasted movements, of openings that made it simple to exploit with the exact same attacks that I made before. Amelia ended up on her back just like last time. 

Onias was kind enough to give her a smirk for her efforts. “You’re right, it was only a second this time.”

Amelia’s brow furrowed. “Clever.” She kept looking up at him.

He tilted his head to the side. “What?”

“Aren’t you going to tell me what I did wrong this time?” She wasn’t quite beaming, but there was a clear glimmer of hope in her eyes.

Onias stepped back and scratched his head, confused. That was going to be the norm, he supposed, when dealing with Amelia, which he accepted with a shrug. “Your movements are too exaggerated, too easy to strike. Tighten everything up a bit and focus on making your strikes more efficient.”

“And how do I do that?”

“You need to… do humans not have their own mentors?”

“We do, but I prefer you.”

“Why?”

“Your instructions are much shorter and to the point. It gives me something clear to focus on.” She looked around the sealed realm. “It’s not like you have anything better to do with your time, anyways.”

Amelia had a point, as much as Onias didn’t like to admit it. He sighed and stepped back, mimicking her stance. “Watch closely.” He demonstrated a slash that arced upwards, the first move of Leaf Through Water. “Keep your arms closer to your body, but at the same time throw weight behind the blow.” He demonstrated again and flowed into the next movement, a diagonal slice. “Let the force behind your first strike carry you into the next. Do the same for the one after that. So on and so forth.” He slipped further into the form and let it carry his sword for a few more blows. “This is an offensive style and meant to be relentless. The moment you allow yourself to be stopped, all your momentum will be gone, leaving the flow of battle in your opponent’s hand.”

“But isn’t getting blocked just a certainty in a duel?” Amelia asked.

“I suppose that’s true, for humans.” Onias admitted. “But, having a strike be deflected, blocked, or bound does not stop you entirely. If such things do occur, you must use the momentum already built to force your way through them.”

Amelia sat up, her gaze focused and, for once, a serious look on her face. For his part, Onias was so caught up in demonstrating the nuances of Leaf Through Water that he almost didn’t notice when the woman started to copy him. The movements were entirely wrong, but, credit where credit is due, her effort was sincere. He spent the better part of a day correcting her and going over everything multiple times. Amelia started to show signs of fatigue halfway through his instruction, but she never asked to stop, never complained about feeling too tired. When they were finally done, she was soaked in sweat, and she was just barely able to hold her sword up above her waist. At the very least, Amelia managed to keep her breathing controlled, which was perhaps the most important thing to maintain Leaf Through Water.

“You still have much to learn,” Onias said, “Someone truly talented would be able to master the basics in just half a day.”

“Wonderful.” She slumped to the ground and fluttered her lips. “I was starting to think I was getting a hang of things.” After taking a moment to gather herself, she stood back up. “I should get going, everyone is waiting for me outside.”

“I expect some improvement next time.” The words slipped from Onias without thinking.

“Oh? So you want me to come back, do you?” She flashed a coy smile.

“Not if that’s the face I’m going to be seeing.”

Amelia snorted. “Yes yes, see you next year, Onias.”

She left before he could respond, but he couldn’t help the smile that formed on his face in her wake. This was the first time someone had visited him and didn’t leave him completely annoyed.

CONTINUED IN THE COMMENTS BELOW

First / Previous

Leaf examined the dark grain of the desk in front of him. The detailing was intricate, with carvings aplenty, yet slammed together with such a lack of cohesion that he might as well have been looking at the mangled end of a stick Shadow gnawed too much on. The cub and his sister were teething, which left many branches, and some of his arrows, their victims. He prayed that such a period would only last a while longer, but given that it had been going on for the past month, he thought that was unlikely.

More importantly, he was bored.

Xanchil was nowhere to be seen in his tent, and he suspected that the merchant was doing so to try his patience. Helbram had warned him that was most likely going to happen, but all the preparation in the world couldn’t stop his foot from tapping the ground as it all went on. At the very least, he wasn’t alone, as Logan and Duren were present on the other side of the desk, idly looking around like this was the first time they were able to get a good glimpse at everything.

Kali was at his side, and she was also showing signs of restlessness from the way that she scrunched her robes in her lap. Helbram was also present, but he was openly wandering about the tent, his oafish act in full effect as he idly brushed the odd trinkets in the room with his hands or looked at a simple painting of an apple like it was the most profound thing in the world. That one almost made Leaf laugh, but he kept his lips sealed as they all sat in relative silence. Logan had already seen through Helbram’s facade, but Duren hadn’t, which showed in the stony expression on the face of the mercenaries’ leader while the larger man looked on the verge of anxiousness as Helbram flicked some dangling necklaces on display.

After a good half hour of waiting, Xanchil entered the tent. The zechanil moved with an odd sort of grace, the kind that, had Leaf not seen his four legs in motion, would almost make him look as if he was gliding. His blank eyes betrayed no emotion upon his entrance, but upon setting his eyes on Helbram spinning some globe-like object in his hands, his brows furrowed.

“Hands off, mongrel!” he hissed. The venom in his voice was almost startling, but it more roiled the anger already simmering just at the surface of Leaf's thoughts.

He still remembered the way that the merchant had put down his friend during their first meeting, and while Helbram did not appear to be phased by it, such abject disdain for him didn’t sit well with Leaf. His mouth opened to voice his exact thoughts, but before they could be spoken, Helbram gave a “surprised” reaction to the merchant and dropped the globe in a clumsy show that made it land onto a pillow. His friend tossed another pillow on top of it and whistled without looking Xanchil in the eye, just how a toddler would act when caught doing mischief.

The merchant’s eyes narrowed, and he faced Leaf. “What is he doing here?”

“Muscle,” Leaf answered, his tone switched to flippant as he was now trying to stifle a laugh. He motioned over to Logan and Duren. “Only fair that we even the odds a bit, don’t you think?”

Xanchil straightened his robes. “You take your position in these discussions too lightly.” He glared at Helbram until he wandered over to Leaf’s side, then sat down, the break in his composure sealing as he steepled his fingers. “You wish to discuss the matter of the keys, yes?”

“We do,” Kali said, “We have encountered a door that requires both keys to open.”

“Have you not run into this before?” Xanchil asked, “Our men reported that you were able to open one such door, from the time they made their excursion into your part of the ship.”

The scholar glared at Logan, but her father did not respond and stared ahead. “This door is… different, and previous methods to open it will be too time consuming to manage. Both keys are needed.”

Xanchil leaned in. “What are your terms?”

Ever so slightly, Helbram started to inch away from Leaf. None but Leaf seemed to notice, their focus now on Kali.

“You allow us the use of this key in this one instance,” Kali said, “and we will grant you access to volumes discovered within the ship’s archives.”

The merchant stroked his chin slowly. “Temporary access, is it? And for books… how would we know if what you discover beyond the door is not of far greater value?”

“How would you know if it is?” Kali countered, her composure growing.

“The fact that it requires both keys tells us so,” Xanchil said, “You will not sway us with mere books.”

“Books that contain information that Orelia will hold a keen interest in,” Kali said, “Since you are bound to share your discoveries with them, would this not be a better opportunity to amass more to present.”

“We have plenty to give your Academy already,” Xanchil said, “Enough that will certainly earn us enough to afford a similar excursion such as this. No, scraps of paper will not sway us.”

That made Kali’s lip twitch. “Scraps? You would denigrate knowledge to such a thing?”

Xanchil placed his hands on the table and leaned back. “The burden of interest lies upon you, and you have failed to make us interested in words. Knowledge is only as good as its usefulness, can you guarantee that the volumes you will provide will be… supplementary to our interests?”

Helbram was at least an arms length away from Leaf before the hunter crossed his arms. “You want to know if those books may hold the activation sequence.”

It was hard to tell, but from the way that one of his gills quirked up, the zechanil was smirking. “You do like to get to the heart of the matter, don’t you?”

“I don’t have time for bullshite, we’ve wasted enough of it as is,” Leaf said. That last part was a lie, he really didn’t mind staying put for a bit, but Helbram had advised him to mention it before. “Don’t you think you’re in some better position, either. We’ve been handlin’ the Manticore without your help.”

Xanchil’s “smile” fell. “We did offer to lend aid.”

“And I said no, but that doesn’t change that we’ve been doin’ it, and now I’m cashin’ in.” Leaf leaned back in his chair and placed his feet on the table. “That’s final.”

Xanchil’s brow twitched, but he didn’t snap. Perhaps it was because he was actually discussing business with Leaf and Kali, but the merchant was very poor at hiding the cracks in his demeanor.

“Be that as it may,” the merchant slowly began, “your act of selflessness does not grant you so much leverage that we must alter our demands so drastically.”

“It kept you and your men safe, didn’t it?” Leaf argued, “That means you had extra protection on what you’ve already found, which means I secured your value. All without taking a penny from you.” He tapped his heel on the table to emphasize his words. “That deserves somethin’.” Leaf was aware that, in reality, this was not a logically sound argument, but its purpose was not to be logical. Its purpose was reflected in Xanchil’s trembling fingers, and it appeared to be working in spades.

Duren was mostly confused by the display, but Logan stared ahead, his eyes on his daughter, but not on her at the same time. Kali, for her part, was putting on a brave face, but there was a clear nervousness from the way that she played with her nails. That was most likely because they hadn’t told her the plan. As harsh as it was to leave her out of their discussions, one of them had to be genuine to better sell the act, and it wasn’t going to be Leaf. Better for him to play the hard-headed sort, since he knew he was already like that anyway.

What he didn’t expect was for Kali to lean into his argument.

“He’s right, the services that they have rendered you should play some factor in these discussions.” The scholar also crossed her arms and put her feet on the table.

There was a twitch to Logan’s lip, but the captain hid the rest of his expression behind a cough.

Leaf was not shy about sharing his, however, and let a grin stretch across his face. He had expected Kali to be the more “reasonable” one in these negotiations, but it appeared that her desire to spite the merchant was as equal, if not greater than her desire to progress further into the vessel. This was ideal, for though Xanchil placed his hands calmly on the table to steady himself, Leaf’s keen eyes could clearly see how they tensed from the clear willpower it was taking the merchant to not clench the wood with all his might. If there were teeth behind his gills, they were probably grinding.

“That does not mean we give you want you want with nothing to see for it on our end,” Xanchil hissed. “If we are to agree to this, then we demand at least partial access to what you uncover.”

“To get the activation sequence, yes yes.” Leaf gave a flippant wave. “Stop tryin’ to be vague.”

“Need we remind you that we are the only ones that guarantee your progress?”

“And need we remind you that our key is just as important to you as yours is to us?” Kali snapped back. “Given Leaf and his party’s generosity, that stacks things in our favor.”

“Did my men not assist in dealing with your mistake in leaving the Shells unattended?” Xanchil motioned over to the hunter. “If you are going to take credit for services so freely provided, then allow us to do the same.”

“I didn’t ask you to do anything! Your men just forced themselves into my part of the ship when I had the situation under control!” Kali glared at Logan, who didn’t say anything.

Leaf paused. The anger in Kali’s voice lent itself to things spiraling out of control, but at the same time, it was starting to make Xanchil’s composure break further.

The merchant pressed his palms flat against the “You held no such control girl. Were it not for the fortuitous arrival of these- WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”

Helbram, who was now clear across the tent, jumped at Xanchil’s yell. The glass in his hands was thrown up, and Leaf followed its arc all the way down to the rugs, where it shattered into fragments and dust.

“Sorry! Sorry, I’ll just…” Helbram picked up the corner of one rug and shook it to try and gather the pieces towards the center of the piece, but did it too hard and sent pieces scattering all over the tent. The action was too deliberate, in Leaf’s eyes, but Xanchil was too blind from his revealed rage to care.

“You ingrate! You march into our tent and place your filthy hands on our belongings in such a manner! We should have you-”

Logan cleared his throat loudly. The merchant whipped his head at the captain, clearly incensed by the interruption.

“It’s clear that discussions are not going to progress if we continue on in this matter. Therefore, I propose a simpler solution.” Logan took off his glove and tossed it onto the table. “A duel.”

Kali scoffed, “You can’t be serious, you want a fight to determine who keeps the keys?”

“I do,” Logan said, finally speaking to his daughter directly, “for I don’t see any other way this could be resolved.”

Xanchil’s rage was wiped away by that simple suggestion. “Yes… that is a much better way to determine things.”

The scholar stood up and turned to leave. “This is ridiculous, there is no way that w-”

“We’ll do it,” Leaf said.

Kali whipped around, the betrayal clear on her face. “It’s my key!”

The “smirk” returned to Xanchil’s face.

“And it’s our time,” Leaf said, “We draw this shite out any longer and the ship will turn to dust before anythin’ is done, unless you’ve got some better idea you haven’t told us about.”

Helbram had returned back to the hunter’s side, hand hands folded in front of him and looking sheepishly at the ground. His presence made that smile on the merchant’s face falter, but Xanchil was now too invested in the opportunity.

Kali made a strangled sound, but sat down. “What are the terms?”

“A single bout, hand-to-hand, no armor allowed,” Logan said. “The winner claims both keys, and that is that.”

“And how will the winner be determined?” Leaf asked.

“When a fighter surrenders, or is rendered unable to fight.”

Xanchil leaned back. “Straightforward, we like this plan.” He looked at Kali, his smug air returning as he found his composure. “Have you anything you would like to add to these details?”

“No,” the scholar said through gritted teeth.

“Excellent, then we shall draw up a contract right away.” A dot flashed in his eye as he snapped his fingers, summoning a blank piece of paper from across the tent. He laid it flat against the table and held his hand over it. Three dots appeared in his eyes, switching positions and lines and curves met at different angles to form symbols Leaf could draw no meaning from, but were clearly some magical script as letters started to form on the page. The contract was short and to the point, detailing the terms that Logan spoke of. Leaf looked over the page, making sure it all appeared to be fair, but paused at the final line.

“The selection of participants is to be determined by the writer of this contract…” Leaf looked up at Xanchil with annoyance. “You get to choose who fights?”

“Indeed, we stand to lose more from this bout, so we should have more say in this.”

“No, that makes no sense.”

“Indeed, who in their right mind would agree to such a condition?” Kali added.

“One who is low on time, and money,” Xanchil said, “Perhaps it will be costly to us, but we have the funds to remain here a while yet. You do not, and it appears that your newfound companions are temporary ones.” He summoned a pen into his fingers with another snap and tossed it onto the table with a clatter. “These are my terms, accept them or get nothing.”

Kali clenched her fist. “Women and children… and animals are not allowed.”

“Of course, do you think us cruel?”

“Add it to the contract.”

The merchant rolled his eyes, but did so with the swipe of his hand. “There.”

Kali looked at Leaf, who nodded. With a sigh, the scholar picked up the pen and signed the contract. The moment that she made a final swipe with her pen, the words across it glowed, and the paper curled in on itself. Xanchil reached for it, but Logan was the one to pick it up.

“For safe keeping,” the captain said.

The merchant’s eyes narrowed, but he let Logan keep the contract. His demeanor shifted from that annoyance to clear glee as he pressed his fingers together. “Now, who to choose…”

Leaf refrained from shaking his head. He knew this was just a show, for it was obvious who Xanchil was going to pick.

The zechanil’s finger pointed at Duren, “The large one will fight for us, and for our associates…” he stared at Leaf for a moment, and his “smile” quirked up higher before he pointed at Helbram. “You.”

***

Xanchil waited at the edge of the ring. It was nothing more than a large circle of stones, about fifteen strides in length. He had left the set up in the hands of Kali and her associates, at Leaf’s suggestion. A selfless move from the leader of the adventurers, and one that the merchant may have taken with some suspicion had they also not been taking care of the manticore on their own as well. They were a charitable sort, which meant that they were foolish, and foolish creatures tend to rarely scheme. Even if they were conspiring against him, it would be pointless.

For his victory was assured.

It was a simple solution, one that he chided himself in private for not thinking of himself. Logan may have been a pain to deal with when it came to abiding by the terms of the contract, but had to commend the captain for giving him such an easy method of getting what he wanted. And to do so to his own flesh and blood, no less. In another life, the man would have made for a fine zechanil.

The merchant watched as Duren sat at one end of the ring. The mercenaries had gathered around him, chattering with words of encouragement as Logan remained silent at his side. The captain was always a stern type, his face never changing even in the face of certain success. Duren had taken his shirt off, giving the reason that the cloth was something easy to grab in the midst of a brawl, but Xanchil had seen it as an intimidation tactic. Logan’s right hand man was tall, even outside of human standards, and the muscle that sat on his frame made him wider than most as well. Most of its definition was hidden under body hair and thick skin, but if anything, those factors made him seem more like a bear than a man. That alone would put him in an advantageous spot in any fight, but the man was also an Awoken, one of the Second Layer. Not as powerful as many of the mercenaries that he had the pick of when first planning this expedition, but for such a backwater place as the Freemarks, it made him a force most formidable, especially when compared to his opponent, who had yet to even emerge in his tent.

Xanchil smirked, the spiraled teeth behind his gills vibrating as he chuckled to himself. The oaf… what was his name again? It didn’t matter, the merchant had no time for cowards and fools. The man was probably quaking, as even a mind as dull as his could comprehend just how doomed he actually was. Not that it would matter if he was capable of sharper thoughts, for there wasn’t an ounce of power to be found in that buffoon’s body. No gravitas granted by Ether, nor a spec of Aether that flowed through him in any impressive matter. He was just a man, and a stupid man at that. Even the dogs that traveled with his party held more presence. Why they even tolerated his presence, the merchant couldn’t figure out, but he was beyond caring about that.

He looked over at the table next to him. His key was set on one side, glinting within the moonlight. Soon, its twin would be next to it, and then both would be in his hands. Full access to the ship was assured, and even if he didn’t know anything about the Saputan language, he could simply return to Orelia and inform them of the change. His connections would then arrange for a scholar of more… amenable stature, and he would be on his way to a treasure trove beyond comprehension. He would also have to replace his mercenaries. Logan and his men may have been a formidable and cost effective solution, but they had too many sticking points to be of pleasant company. It may cost more, but it was the more logical option for him.

His thoughts were interrupted by a rush of excitement as he saw the tent at Kali’s camp flap open. The scholar herself emerged first, her head already hung in the sort of defeat that someone held when walking to their execution. The girl and her dogs emerged next, followed by the small woman, the dusk elf, and then Leaf. Xanchil’s eyes narrowed with glee when the oaf exited last, openly laughing as he saw the man was still wearing a gray tunic with its sleeves rolled up. It appeared no one in his party cared to discuss strategy with him either. How fitting, for a mongrel so careless with priceless things deserved the fullest extent of punishment.

Xanchil leaned back in his chair, content. “Duren.”

All of the mercenaries turned to him.

“Make it quick, and show no mercy. We have wasted enough time already.”

The man’s eyes widened. “It doesn’t have to-”

“Listen to him.” Logan placed a hand on his shoulder. “Xanchil is right, hold nothing back.”

“Finally, for once we have agreed upon something in these matters.”

Duren’s expression fell, but his jaw set. “Fine.”

With satisfaction, he watched Kali stand in front of the table and stare at the key in her hand. The scholar looked to be on the verge of tears, and shook as she set it down. She scurried back to her side, shoulders hung low. Xanchil rolled his eyes and looked on as Kali’s “fighter” stepped into the ring. The oaf’s back was straight, eyes sharp and piercing, expression fo-

Something was wrong.

The man that stood in the ring was not the one Xanchil had seen during the chess match, not the hunch postured fool that wandered around the campgrounds. He was not the ingrate that had broken his custom made chalice. No power emanated from this man, but the air about him had brought about a sudden rush of nerves that made the merchant’s fingers shiver.

He shook his head. This was not the time for foolish thoughts. Victory was certain. It was destiny.

Duren took a low stance, his hands held close in front of him. “I’m sorry for what I’m about to do.”

The man readied his hands up. “Pay it no mind, do what you must.” His voice was relaxed and clear, nothing like the way he spoke before.

Something was wrong.

“End this!”

Xanchil’s hiss was the signal to start. Duren, surging with red light that flashed from his Core, cleared the length of the ring in a breath. He was low enough that he would crash right into his foe’s legs, and that would be enough to-

The man’s arm was a blur as he struck Duren’s temple with his elbow, sending him stumbling to the side. A punch right below the center of the mercenary’s chest followed to knock not only the wind from his lungs, but the Ether from his body. His opponent struck the space under his ribcage next and a cry of pain tore from Duren’s lips as he fell to his knee. It was cut short by the hook that landed on his jaw, and the mercenary fell to the ground, silent.

Nothing followed. No cheers, no gasps, no clapping. No, there were only wide eyes from the audience. All except Leaf and the other adventurers, who looked on as if they expected this outcome, and Logan, whose expression never changed. Even Kali was staring at her fighter with shock, and for a while, they all sat in the quiet, waiting for it to be broken by what came next. A groan from Duren’s lips was the answer, and his foe knelt down, hand outstretched.

“What… what happened?” The mercenary grabbed the man’s hand out of instinct.

“You took a heavy blow to the jaw.” The man pulled Duren up without much effort. “Are you doing alright?”

Duren slapped his face and shook his head while pinking. “Seeing stars, but I think so.” He looked back down at the ground. “I guess this means it's my loss.”

Xanchil stood up, “That’s not-”

“If I recall correctly, the contract stipulated that the fight would be decided when one side surrendered, or was rendered unable to fight. It is clear that Duren went unconscious, and he just admitted to the loss.” The man clapped the mercenary’s shoulder. “That was a good tackle, by the way, were I any slower I imagine I would have been folded in half.”

Duren scoffed. “That’s not making my headache feel any better.”

Logan walked into the ring, pulling the contract from his pocket and unfurling it. “The terms are clearly stated, it is our loss.”

Xanchil could find no words to say.

“Would you like to gather the keys?”

Kali jumped as her fighter addressed her. “That… you do it, this is your victory, Helbram.”

Helbram nodded and walked over to the table. He picked up the scholar’s key first, and when his fingers wrapped around Xanchil’s, he flashed the merchant a small smile before picking it up.

“It was a pleasure doing business with you.”

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Author's Note:  Woooo! New Chapter!

This one took a lot of build up, but it was one of the challenges I gave myself to see if I could do something more "intellectual" that led up to a really fast and sudden resolution that made sense. I hope it turned out well.

Let me know what you think!

Till next update! Have a wonderful time ^_^

My Patreon is currently 13 chapters ahead of the public release, and subbing to it will also give you exclusive access to my LitRPG, Andromeda Ascension, until it builds a massive backlog to support a strong public launch. Additionally, there is now a Hedge Knight Side Story on Patreon titled A Lack of Talent as well. It is free, but you need to be a member (there is a free tier) to read it. If you do not wish to sub to anything, but would like to support me in some way, consider picking up my book (it also has an audiobook!)