by Andrew Rowe
I blinked. “What?”
“You didn’t know?” He clapped his hands together. “Oh, how delightful. You must have only been but a child. Perhaps your family never told you of the terms? But I have a few years on you, I think. I was there. I saw the duel end.”
I was sincerely curious now, as well as a bit disturbed. “And what did you see?”
“I saw the terms.” He spoke now not only to me, but spun about and projected his voice to the audience. “A match to three strikes to the torso, or to surrender. There was no need for a life to be taken. And my dear father, rest him well in Selys’ heart, fought well to abide by these rules. He struck only with minimal force, scoring two points in an instant. Alaric Cadence,” he half-spat the name, “scored not a single point. As my father aimed to strike the final point, he was grabbed from behind by a hidden construct — one that seized his throat and crushed it.” Jerome clenched his fist to gesture. “While my father choked, Alaric simply watched and waited. He could have struck for his points at any time. But he did not. My father choked, unable to even wheeze out a surrender — until at last, he breathed no more.”
He stomped his foot. “Alaric Cadence dishonored the field of dueling that day. He took a life when taking one was not needed, and for that, I lost a father.”
“I…” I exhaled a breath. “I’m going to be direct with you, even though I don’t think you’ll listen. I’d never heard that story. If that’s true, it’s a terrible thing, and I cannot condone that sort of action. When I return home, I will seek to investigate the matter and ensure that if there was dishonorable conduct in the duel, it will be properly punished.”
He looked momentarily taken aback. For a moment, I thought I’d succeeded with my approach, then he shook his head. “No. You seem a man of honor to make that offer, and it is better than I expected. But blood can only be paid in blood.”
I let out a sigh. “And you want to fight someone who was a child at the time? That’s how you’ll earn back your own family’s honor?”
“No,” he shook his head, “But when I beat you, perhaps Alaric Cadence will notice the insult. Perhaps he would deign to fight me next. And if I kill him? That would be a start.”
Well, so much for that approach.
I quickly evaluated the people around us, trying to judge what the general sentiment was about the current exchange. We were, predictably, generating a lot of attention. Only a small group had gathered, but people at all sorts of nearby tables had turned to watch us, and I could see some strained expressions on the faces of Valian delegation.
Dalen Mitsurugi watched with obvious interest, his lips upturned in a balanced smile that would have been strangely foreign on his descendant’s face. If he had any intention of stepping in, he didn’t show any sign.
Patrick looked exceedingly nervous, but he hid it well.
I don’t think I’m getting out of this one. In fact, I’m not sure I should.
I focused on Jerome again, abandoning my usual caution in favor of an expedient resolution. “Fine. If you’re insistent on doing this, let’s get the preamble out of the way, shall we?”
“Better. Now you at least sound like a fighter.” He nodded. “Very well. Corin Cadence, I challenge you to a duel. To the death.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I refuse.”
He looked taken aback. “What?”
“You know people can refuse a duel, right? I don’t have to accept.” I gave him a wave. “Have a nice day.” I turned to walk away.
“Very well, then, coward. I suppose I’ll have to challenge your retainer instead. Then, when he’s dead…”
Resh it. I wish he hadn’t done that.
I exhaled a breath, slowly turning back around to face Jerome, my jaw tight. Patrick was, in this scenario, supposed to be the Wielder of Dawnbringer. For me, refusing a duel against an older opponent with a combat attunement might seem somewhat cowardly, but not exceptionally so.
Patrick was wielding a sword that signified bravery. He also had an obvious combat attunement. If he refused a duel, it might ruin his entire place in the scenario.
And if he accepted? Well, I wasn’t going to say he didn’t have a chance, but in my approximation, I had a much better one. This was less about Patrick’s skills relative to my own and more because of certain specific factors I’ll get into later. “Fine. I’ll duel you, but not to the death. To submission, either by surrender or obvious incapacitation. A neutral third party from outside of Edria and Valia will adjudicate. Winner can claim a reasonable concession from the loser, with service and lives disallowed as concessions.”
Jerome sniffed, apparently considering. “Very well. I don’t need to kill an Enchanter child. Perhaps breaking you will be sufficient to earn your house’s enmity. And a concession is an added bonus. Perhaps your house glove, to mount on my wall.”
I rolled my eyes. “Do you even hear yourself? Bragging about beating a child before you’ve even started fighting? You know what? I was hesitant at first, but I think I’m going to enjoy this.”
“As the challenged, you must choose the—”
“Yes, yes, I know. All weapons and attunements legal, Patrick is my second, and right now.”
There was a murmur from the crowd.
Patrick winced and leaned over to whisper to me. “Uh, Corin? Is this…wise? I’ll happily be your second, but…”
I whispered in return. “It’ll be fine. I considered asking Meltlake to be my champion, which would have been hilarious, but it won’t be necessary.”
“You sure?”
I laughed. “Very certain. I have, in a very real sense, been practicing for this battle for my entire life.”
***
We headed outside.
Once there, Jerome made a show of designating his second: Maria Wolff, one of the daughters of Archduke Wolff. She was one of the highest-ranking political figures at the party, and roughly his own age — somewhere in the early twenties. She wore a fancy dress with her house colors rather than a military uniform, but that didn’t stop her from carrying a pair of hatchets on her belt. Both of her hands were gloved, and I thought I could see a hint of power beneath them, but something was blocking my detect aura spell from seeing beneath them.
I had bigger things to worry about, though, like Jerome himself.
I sized him up, even though I already had a good idea of what I was dealing with. Jerome was an Executioner, an offense-focused Edrian attunement with a specialization in shroud shaping. Based on his aura, he was currently only a Carnelian, but I suspected he was suppressing his shroud. He looked to be about twenty, so I was reasonably confident he was Sunstone-level, most likely in the Sunstone-B range.
You may be thinking, “Corin, you are a crazy person. Why are you dueling a Sunstone on your own for a small portion of a test?”
It wasn’t about protecting my family’s honor. Honestly, I had trouble paying attention to that even under the best circumstances.
There were a few reasons I decided to go through with it. One, this floor was constructed in a weirdly specific way that made my family history relevant. That could have been a coincidence, but it was very plausible that someone like Tristan was manipulating events and putting me in a situation where pursuing something like this would be relevant to our success in the spire.
Two, even if this scenario wasn’t constructed with me in mind, beating someone in a public duel was a way to make a huge impact. It would get me immediate attention and information.
Three, the duel terms would allow me to demand something from Jerome if I won — which could be integral to our overall success in the scenario.
Fourth, and most importantly…I knew I could win.
I’d studied Edrian dueling techniques since practically the moment I could walk, and the house that Alaric Cadence had crushed was a particular focus. My education in most regards had been spotty at best, but I’d never neglected studying duels.
I’d read about Jerome extensi
vely. I’d read about his victories — and they were frequent. I’d also read about his losses, though, and I knew the elements that contributed to them. I’d read about his fighting style and specific abilities he demonstrated at different points in his life. I knew he wasn’t Citrine-level yet: he didn’t hit that until his thirties, and based on his appearance and the nature of the party, I was confident he wasn’t even close to thirty yet.
My father had even engaged in mock fights with me where he “played” at being people like Jerome. He'd beaten me bloody each time, of course, but I’d trained against an approximation of Jerome’s dueling style nonetheless.
And beyond that?
He was wearing practically nothing for equipment. He had a standard military uniform and that black-hilted rapier at his hip. The runes I’d seen near the crystal at the bottom of the rapier meant that the weapon was clearly enchanted, but I didn’t sense magic on any of his other gear. Not even a shield sigil. He was here for a party, not a battle.
The crystal is a power source, I processed. It was an older style of enchantment, common for equipment found inside some of the spires and elemental temples. It was still possible for Enchanters to craft items with crystals to power them directly, but they’d fallen out of favor due to the broader availability of other materials. Crystals like the one in the pommel were still obtainable and extremely useful, but expensive.
Jerome was expecting me to have gear, but nothing else. He probably thought I’d know a thing or two about dueling from my family, but that as a young man with an Enchanter attunement, I’d be underwhelming in a fight. He probably planned to embarrass me, maybe break a few limbs to make me head home in shame.
I cracked my neck, feeling the usual ache that followed.
That was the full extent of any discomfort I expected to suffer in the process of this duel.
When we stepped outside the manor doors, I half expected to be teleported out of the spire, but the scenario apparently included an “outside” area.
We stepped into the middle of a large, grassy circle, facing off while someone ran to fetch the archduke and ask for his permission.
In the meantime, a Priest of Katashi approached, explained to me that she had agreed to adjudicate the duel, and asked to ensure I had not accepted the duel under duress. I was surprised by the question, but said that I was fine with the duel. I might not have at first, but now? This guy was looking pretty punchable, and I was beginning to get excited.
“Corin!” Sera yelled at me as she stomped out of the house. Apparently, Patrick had sent someone to get her while I was distracted. “What have you done?”
“Oh, hey. Got into a bit of a duel. Won’t be long.”
She glowered at me. “What is it that I told you about making life-altering decisions without asking me? Oh, right. Don’t. That’s what you agreed to.”
I rolled my eyes. “That was about things in relationship to your love life. So, unless you’re about to marry into Jerome’s house…”
“And about anything that affects House Cadence? Which this does?”
I shrugged and leaned closer. “If it was real, sure.”
“Killing you would be real, Corin. And impact House Cadence.”
“Bah. Look at him.” I waved at the other man, who was currently bragging to a group of his peers. “I’ve got this.”
“Corin. You must know this is a terrible idea.”
“Is it, really?” I shook my head. “This seems like a pretty important part of a scenario. This is almost tailored to our family. Suspiciously so.”
“Oh, yes. It’s tailored perfectly for you to duel your way through the entire country of Edria. That sounds like a great plan, Corin. I leave you alone for five minutes, and suddenly you’re about ready to restart the Six Years War.”
“That’s a bit hyperbolic, don’t you think?”
“Yes, Corin. I do think. That seems to be something you’ve forgotten to do. You should bow out. Apologize.”
“Nope. Not happening.” I shook my head. “But hey, look on the bright side. If he does maim me, you’ll be a much better candidate to take over the house! I mean, both in this fictional scenario and the real world.”
“Ugh.” She threw up her hands. “You are impossible sometimes.”
“Impossible for him to beat in a duel, yes.”
She frowned at me. “What’s gotten into you? You’re never like this.”
“What? Confident? Assertive?” I shook my head. “You’re forgetting when I challenged Teft. I might be a little overly cautious from time to time, Sera. I might even be annoyingly cautious. But this? I can do this, Sera.” I straightened up a bit. “Let me show you why I’m worthy to bear the name Cadence.”
She gave me a sad look and shook her head. “I never doubted your worth of any name, you know. I’d just rather have a living brother than a dead one.”
“You worry too much. Trust me. Under control. Enjoy the show.”
She sighed and walked off. I assumed she was going to see if she could find Meltlake and get some assurances that the professor would step in if it looked like I was going to die.
I appreciated the effort, but it wasn’t necessary.
A few minutes later, the archduke came down himself to approve the duel. Archduke Verena was not, in fact, the same person I’d seen Meltlake talking to earlier. He was a huge man with a barrel-chest and a beard two sizes too big for his face. He wore a short, weird-looking cape that was probably enchanted, and otherwise some ostentatious-looking light red and purple garb. He grinned brightly as he came over to me, slapped a hand on my shoulder and said, “I’m looking forward to watching you die!”
He said it in what was possibly the friendliest tone I’d ever heard, and somehow it actually felt friendly, in spite of his words.
I shuddered briefly at his touch as he walked away. He gave some words of actual encouragement to Jerome, then declared proudly, “I approve this duel!”
With that, he walked to near the house entrance, smacked his hands together, and licked his lips.
Well, that was disturbing.
I spoke to Patrick briefly, then the Priest of Katashi called my opponent and me to the center of the field.
“You will fight to submission. Either fighter can yield at any time, either verbally or by thrusting a hand into the air with two fingers extended. I will call the duel early if I feel one combatant is too injured to continue. If I call the duel over, you must cease fighting immediately. Do you both understand the rules?”
“Yes.” I acknowledged.
“Of course.” Jerome scoffed. Then he turned to me, a cruel grin stretching across his face.
“Bow to each other,” the priest instructed.
We bowed. The priest walked away, leaving us to take positions about ten feet apart.
Then the priest spoke one final, life-changing word. “Begin.”
***
Three.
That’s the number I was up to in my mental count when the start of the match was called. It was a little early, but I moved immediately regardless.
Detect Aura. Jump.
I surged forward in an instant, slamming my transference-charged fist into Jerome’s gut. The force of the blow bent him over my hand, but didn’t hurl him backward like I’d hoped. My transference-infused punch hadn’t been fully charged, and as an Executioner, he must have reinforced his body with enhancement mana — the exact opposite type — which nullified much of the force.
Still, knocking the wind out of my opponent right away was pretty satisfying. I heard gasps from the crowd as well as a scream, the latter of which seemed needlessly extreme for a mere punch.
I managed a swing that clipped his chin with my other fist before he recovered, but that barely did any damage. His shroud and whatever body-enhancement effect was on him served to soak up a considerable amount of my force.
His hand moved quickly, but not to draw his sword.
Haste.
I jumped backw
ard, brushing my hand across the crystal pommel of his weapon as I moved. I barely got out of range before a warbling blade of near-invisible essence sliced through the air in front of my throat. If I hadn’t been familiar with the technique and dodged quickly, it might have spelled a terrifying end to my life-defining banter.
With a snarl — obviously his favorite way to show emotion — he followed the initial swing with several more, his aura blade making a zing as it sliced through the air. He kept aiming for my face, which was frankly a little annoying, both because of the distraction and because of his obvious intent to give me an embarrassing sort of maiming.
Fortunately, he never got close.
He was faster than the average fighter — enhancement mana was good for that.
But I’d spent the last year sparring against Derek Hartigan and Keras Selyrian.
This man was no Derek Hartigan. He wasn’t even close to a Keras Selyrian.
He wasn’t even a Magnus Cadence.
When his next furious swing missed, I hurled a blast of transference mana at his face. It smashed him backward, sending him sliding satisfyingly toward the edge of the grass.
“How?” He hissed. “How do you know how to fight against an Executioner’s blade? No Valian uses them!”
I gave him a smug smile. “What, like this?”
I extended a hand, reshaping my shroud into a blade shape and funneling transference mana into it. I’d never been as good at this technique as Keras or even Mara, but I’d picked up the basics. And I wasn’t actually intending to fight with it: this was showmanship, plain and simple.
It had more than the intended effect. He let out a roar, charging straight toward me. I parried his swing with my own aura blade, dodged to his side, and left a hairline cut along his right leg. When he spun, I used my off-hand to hurl another blast of transference mana at him. He sliced through it, but that left his aura blade in a downward position, and I already knew his speed.
I was faster.
In a moment, I had an aura blade beneath his chin. “Yield.”
“Never.” He spat, swinging upward with utter disregard for the position he was in. He was gambling that I wouldn’t take the opening and slit his throat.
