Wish upon the Stars (Original Superhero cultivation sci fi litrpg)

[Malcolm Tent]

As I suspected, Crell had zero leads on how to find an A-rank blacksmith here. Even a particularly talented B-rank seemed out of the question at the moment, sadly. So I just headed to bed after the exciting evening, albeit with the caveat of having spent several hours working on plans for Bethy's shoe palace, which she redesigned at least six times and was STILL adding things to when I went to sleep.


Still, I slept like a baby, despite my excitement, and rose to greet the day with gusto (after stocking up on scrolls). I leapt out of bed, full of moxie and gusto and whatever other words old people use to describe being super pumped, and then…nothing.


"Shane, what the fuck are you doing?" My grumpy wife asked me, her voice muffled by the pillow her head was stuck under. Only one of her blue black eyes was visible, and it was narrowed in annoyance. "It's…" she flicked a hand, checking her scan ring. "It's four in the morning. Why are you awake? Why am I awake? Why does four in the morning even EXIST? Do we really need two of these?"


I coughed in embarrassment. "Um…sorry hon. I was just excited. My fight is today. But much later today. I guess I slept pretty lightly. Go back to bed. I'll go…work out or something."


My hands were near shaking with pent up energy. I felt…charged. Maybe because for the first time since getting here, I felt like I was taking my destiny into my own two hands. All the faction stuff was great, but there was something about punching your will into reality fist over fist that just made it more visceral.


She stared at me for a moment then snorted, blowing hair from her face as she sat up. "It's so weird how you can have this much experience with our crazy lives and still be so dumb and sweet," despite the harsh words, her smile was soft and affectionate. "I hope you never lose this part of you. The stupid punchy moron who followed me into an underground fight club on our first date complaining about how scary my bike was."


"Ok, first of all, our first date was me cooking you dinner," I told her firmly. "And second of all I did NOT say your bike was scary. I said your DRIVING was scary. And I stand by that."


She hummed with indecision. "Hmmm, nope. Sorry babe. That was our first date. I didn't know it yet myself, but I'd already been won over by what a big dumb puppy you were. You were so cute when we first met, all star struck and flustered. And don't try to claim you weren't need I remind you of your collection of Nightstrike novelty mugs?"


"See, this makes me not want to tell you things," I said accusingly, pointing at her archly. "You're never going to let me forget the mugs."


Leaning over on her palm, she watched me happily. "Not even for a second. Love you."


"I love you too," I laughed as I turned to throw on some clothes. Not my armor, just a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. It felt weird dressing in cloth. "Now you coming downstairs while I cook breakfast? Seems like you've officially crossed the event horizon for going back to bed. I know you well enough to know that once you can form coherent words you're up for good."


She snorted. "Your fault, monster. You will carry me downstairs and make me crepes. With mixed berries." She waved her hand grandly as she announced my punishment, and it was hard not to laugh at how cute she was when she was being bossy. I managed though, I didn't want to ruin her bit.


"As my lady wishes," I said in an exaggerated baritone. "You chariot awai-" I was cut off by an angry pounding on the wall.


"If you two assholes don't go back to sleep or go downstairs I will fucking STAB you!" Bellowed Benny from the next room over. "It's FOUR in the morning Shane!" I winced, and Callie covered her mouth to stifle a giggle as I swept over and picked her up.


She was wearing a set of big fluffy pajamas covered in… I frowned at them. "Are those phoenixes? Wait, are those ARCHIE? Where did you even get those?" I triggered Murmur before speaking, just to cover the sound as I carried her out of the room, but I still ended up keeping my voice low out of habit.


Blushing, she cleared her throat. "I had Bethy make them. I thought it would be cute. Since Archie is your companion or whatever." She gestured to her back. "Plus I needed a custom pair to let the wings out. These things are gorgeous, but they are a PAIN to sleep with."


I let her feel through the bond how adorable I thought that was, but I didn't say it. One of the benefits of the bond is that we can be honest deep down without having to say embarrassing stuff out loud. We reached the kitchen and I dropped her on a stool as I fired up the stove, then started pulling ingredients from my ring for crepes.


"So, I was thinking we could spar after breakfast," I told her as I mixed the batter. "Nothing insane, obviously, just some light working out to keep me sharp, then maybe have Jessie juice me up to clear out any soreness or exhaustion. Want to be in top form for my fight."


She smirked at me. "You sure? We haven't really sparred since I got my trait. You might not be able to handle me."


"Are you sure you're all the way awake?" I asked her with concern. "Because clearly you're dreaming. You're pretty tough now, but those flames work best on Void creatures and infiltrators, and I'm neither." She arched a brow at me in challenge, and I grinned back. "Oh that's it, better eat fast because we have a date with the sparring ring. I'm going to make you eat your words. Which to be fair shouldn't be hard, since you consume anything I put near your mouth in the morning." She just flipped me off, rolling her eyes as she tried to quell a smile.


I left her to go get ready to fight while I cleaned up the food, and then headed out to the training yard in the center of the boarding house, a spatially expanded courtyard built into the center. When I arrived though, I realized that we weren't alone. Callie had made a pit stop to pick up one of my B-rankers. At my pulse of confusion, she shrugged. "I was thinking about it, and I feel like you can do better to prepare than working with me. We've trained together a lot, and I'm strong, but I'm no duellist."


That was ironic, considering the origin of our bond, but she wasn't wrong. "You sure you're free to train with us little people, Alanna?" I asked the sword mistress. "I'm sure you have better things to do."


I didn't know Alanna very well, honestly. She and Crell were semi-close, and she'd been one of Skartaris's ministers in the dungeon. She'd hit B-rank immediately after leaving, and was one of the few B-rankers I had that had achieved a Mythical skill, and a weapon skill no less.


She was surprisingly chill for such a powerful and intense person. She shrugged. "You're the boss. I haven't been doing too much since we got here. Crell has his sneaky games and they're useful right now, but my skillset is more hack and slash than wine and dine. If I can help, I'm happy to play trainer for the day."


Nodding, I summoned my staff. "Alright, well, if you both think this is a good training method, I'm in. The two most likely candidates for my battle are sword users. Impart to me your wisdom, oh maker of glorious battle."


Snorting, Alanna drew her sword. It was…jarring. Not because of the blade itself, but because the motion was so smooth, so practiced, that I literally didn't parse that it was happening. It wasn't a speed thing, more that her body flowed through the action so seamlessly that I couldn't pick out where each individual movement started.


"So, sword duels are both more and less complex than most people think," she said as she started to pace a circle around me. My hands tightened on my staff, preparing to react. "There are an infinite number of styles, variations, and techniques that can be performed with a blade. But they can all be broken down into two subcategories. Commanders and conductors."


"Commanders," she said conversationally as her arm blurred. "Control the space. The sword dominates, conquers all within its reach. Commanders pressure, they bully, they clash head on." Her blade clashed against my staff in a dozen places, forcing me to adjust, and I stumbled back, trying to counter as best as I could.


Suddenly though, the pattern changed. Where she had previously been overwhelming me with a volley of strikes, once I started trying to counter, the sphere of control she'd established turned…softer. "Conductors," she continued. "Make use of negative space. Deflection. The commander conquers, the conductor leads.


"In terms of philosophy, these two things may seem similar on the surface," she cautioned as she switched between them seamlessly. Not just one style either, there was about a dozen different sword arts on display from what I could tell, maybe more, but they all fit into those two categories. "Commanders control their own advance, and conductors control yours."


I scowled, trying to keep up. "This is very interesting," I told her frustratedly. "But I don't see how it helps me here. I can't learn to apply this in the short time I have."


"Of course not," she laughed. "But that's not why I'm showing it to you. Understanding the warp and weft of bladework is a finely tuned skillset. But you can learn to recognize the base elements. Once you know what you're looking for, you can learn to disrupt it. Each of the two main styles can be countered by its opposite. No D-ranker is going to have a particularly large library of styles. They'll be focused on one thing."


"So if I can identify which type they are, I employ the other type to trip them up," I said in understanding.


She nodded, then her arm blurred, and I felt myself be basically brutalized by the flat of her blade, sending me stumbling away to collapse to the ground, wincing in pain. "Of course, that's easier said than done. If you want to be able to do anything, you need at least a basic competence learning to parse and break sword styles. But THAT I can help you learn in a few hours. Probably."


Groaning, I climbed to my feet. My armor wasn't broken, somehow, or even dented, despite her managing to strike me through it. Just to be safe I triggered Mornax, but I somehow doubted it would save me.


I took stock of my staff art, the various styles I had at my disposal, and then considered what she'd done. I triggered Dantalion, because what could help me learn faster or better than that? Then I triggered my waltz and exploded toward her, deciding to take the initiative to draw out her sword arts ore thoroughly.


That was a mistake. I was on the ground within seconds, and she nodded with interest. "Not a bad plan. Try it again. We don't stop until you manage to break one style of each type." I groaned again as I climbed to my feet, glaring at her despite not really being that upset. She just chuckled. "You know, I'm glad you asked me to help with this," she told my wife. "Most fun I've had in ages." Why were all high ranking Ascendants sadists?

 

[Malcolm Tent]

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Sometimes a blur of pain, sometimes of tension. Alanna was a brutal taskmaster, but an effective one. I learned a LOT about countering swordmasters. I wouldn't say I was in any way prepared to become one myself, but when someone with a Mythical Skill dedicates a day to teaching you the basics, you pick them up pretty quick. Finally though, I was escorted to the arena where I was going to face my opponent.


It had been a long time since I'd been in an arena like this. The last one I remembered was the tournament back on Callus before our first departure. Despite all I'd been through, and how far I'd come, there was something…disquieting about that wait before I stepped out to face my enemy.


Above me, I could hear the roar of the audience, the pounding of feet on stands as they cheered and bayed for blood. Whether it be mine or my foe, I doubted most of them cared. It should have been terrifying, or disgusting, but it felt…freeing. No one here cared about me. No one had expectations beyond what they would have for any combatant. I would win. Or I would lose. Wyndham, god descendant, none of it mattered. As Abel had once told me, all blood looks the same when it's splashed on hot sand.


And the sand WAS hot. I could feel the heat sizzling up from below as I stepped out into the arena. They called my name, and I emerged into a sea of bone white powder. Hell, maybe it WAS bone. I could check, but I didn't really care to know.


"Ladies and gentlemen!" Boomed a voice from all around me. "Today, we have a special treat. A powerful Ascendant of the Wyndham family. Son of Elijah Wyndham, the Wish Devil, and Sasha Anders, the Star Queen. Great-grandson of Black Sorrow herself, and defier of the Void. A warrior of skill and renown of such magnitude that he earned the fealty of the Vampire's youngest daughter. Shane Wyndham, but they call him SOLOMON!"


In normal circumstances, I'd have tried look imposing, or dignified, or something politically savvy. But down here, in the hear and with the glaring light of the red sky reflecting up from the white sand around me, I had no need or use for words. I knew what these people wanted. I raised one fist above my head, and let out a primal bellow of bloodlust, infused with the demonic voice of Mephistopheles.


My roar echoed off the stands and the walls behind them, overtaking the baying howls of the crowd, and there was silence as every single watched froze under the sheer weight of my wordless declaration. One single beat of silence, before they howls and cheers redoubled, rising like an erupting volcano as they burst forth to roll over the arena, shaking the sand down to the individual grains.


"And in the other corner, an expression that makes no godsdamned sense because these arenas are all ROUND, you know him, you love him. Cyrus the RED! Cyrus is, of course hometown hero, a personal chosen representing the Lord of the Hall of Steel Himself, and a frequent combatant in these arenas in the D-tier bracket. Cyrus is, of course, undefeated at his own rank, and we've been informed that today is a very special day for him. You see, if Cyrus wins this fight, Lord Fade has agreed to compromise on the rank limits necessary to enter the Hall of Steel. For the first time in living memory, a D-ranker will be admitted to the Heartless Hundred. Every child's dream is within Cyrus's grasp, so you can bet he'll fight to the bitter end for this victory. Good look Lord Wyndham, you're going to need it."


I glared around me, tapping into Mephistopheles as my voice boomed out. "If I find out that you're trying to boost my opponent's morale because you've placed a bet on this fight, I'm going to find you and kick your ass."


There was an awkward pause, then the voice cleared its throat. "In other news, all proceeds from tonights victory among the staff will be donated to the Aendarl Aren's widows and orphans fund. Let the fight begin, or whatever, I don't know," he petered off toward the end muttering under his breath as I smirked at the direction change.


Of course, I was already crossing the hot sand, heading for the center as a small man with dark hair and electric blue eyes strode to meet me.


Cyrus was surprisingly compact. I expected a big hulking brute, but the man was every bit the duellist I'd been warned about. Despite that, he wore a heavy dark red plate that glimmered like freshly spilled blood. We stopped about fifteen feet apart. "I'm guessing you really are going to go all out for this" I asked him casually.


He nodded, his expression grave. "I am. Are you prepared?"


My staff smacked into my palms, called from within my soul. I triggered Glory, and a boxy razor sharp blade extended from the end as my body filled with power. Behind me, my wings spread out in a display of force and ferocity as my Waltz roared to life in my veins, calling out to begin the dance.


"Like the man said," I drawled. "Let the fight begin." I blurred, vanishing in an explosion of black flame, appearing behind him. To my shock, his hands clamped down above his head, rising to meet a tide of blood that flowed over his armor, condensing into a colossal sword that intercepted my blow as I aimed it at his lower spine.


My black flame spear ate into the blood, but more of the red liquid poured down his blade to reinforce the damage, effectively neutralizing the attack.


He spun on his heel, the blade reforming to change attack angles, perfectly sliding into my blind spot…only to be deflected by the butt of my staff as I anticipated the maneuver and moved to counter his rhythm. Commander. His style was that of a Commander to use Alanna's terminology.


Overwhelming force, brought to bear on the world around him as he attempted to conquer the space around him and force me to meet him on his own terms.


His sword flashed as he pressed the attack. Literally, it condensed into some kind of gemstone state, the weight dragging it down as the razor's edge split the air…and then nothing else, as I drove forward at his back with my spear. Double Trouble had distracted him just long enough to commit to a blow. I grinned widely as I whirled my spear toward his spine again. I was going for disabling without actual death. Jessie could heal any long term damage.


I was so confident in the attack that I almost missed it when his red armor shifted again, spikes of red metal emerging from his back. My Danger Sense had been screaming non stop, so I was forewarned, and stepped back fluidly to dodge the attack. But Cyrus was better than I'd given him credit for.


Whether he knew I could sense danger or it was just dumb luck, he'd pushed back at me with two attacks. As I'd dodged the spike barrage, his sword had dropped, and then dissolved into liquid. When I moved to avoid the spikes, the whip of blood snapped taught, tripping me. Of the dozen spikes, eleven of them withdrew, the last one extending twice as far, and then whipped out to spear into my gut.


I screamed as my lower abdomen was drowned in molten fire, my staff snapping down towards the whip around my ankle, severing the tendril. As I pulled away though, I felt a tearing sensation as the red spike he'd used to punch through my armor shifted inside me, sprouting hooks and barbs.


The jagged edges caught on my abdominal muscles and what felt like something much more vital and TORE as I yanked myself off it, stumbling away with a gurgled scream. My staff dismissed, my hands shot down to my stomach. I triggered Zagan and Double Trouble again, and was treated to a front row seat of Cyrus whirling in an impossibly tight rotation as his blade reformed, whipping it through the neck of the illusion so fast that I think it took him a second to realize he hadn't just beheaded me.


Stumbling away, I flooded my abdomen with green flame, sighing with relief. The purification wiped away all the poison from the damaged organs, and the life force helped staunch the internal bleeding. I was not in good shape, but it was better than nothing.


That had been an impossible attack. The speed of it. Not just the blood but the movement. He was moving too quickly for me to match up to. I'd assumed he might be faster, but this was beyond a bit of Might difference. It took me a second to figure it out and then I cursed. Blood. Not just the stuff on his armor. Looking close, I could see a red haze surrounding him, his skin flushed. I'd thought it was the heat, but paying closer attention he seemed to be in some sort of overclock state, burning his blood to enhance his physical body.


Stumbling to my feet, I stared him down as he turned to look at me. "You're fast, and strong," he said grimly. "And tricky. But that's all it is. Tricks. You're no warrior. No true combatant. Though I'm impressed you're not curled up in a ball weeping on the ground. Your pain tolerance is astonishing."


My mask receded like it did when I ate, and I spat a bloody chunk of something I'd rather not think about onto the sand. "Practice makes perfect," I rasped. "But you're talking like you've already won this? You think it'll be that easy?"


"That blade shredded several of your organs," he said idly. "Your blood is most likely turning septic. It might not kill you, but it'll take some time to purge it all, and until you do, your body isn't going to be in much shape to fight. In fact, the longer we talk, the more unsteady you're becoming."


Which explained the chat. He was stalling. My mask had reformed, so I didn't have to hide my smile as I triggered my staff to boost Zagan to C-rank, flooding my body with healing fire that actually knitted it back together. Zagan was hands down one of my most overpowered forms, the intense specialization allowing it to operate far above its level, but at C-rank it was basically enough to close any wound that wasn't made by an ACTUAL B-ranker, or at least a weapon of that level.


Meanwhile, Cyrus was staring me down, expecting me to be getting weaker and weaker. I triggered Glory again, surging Zagan's vitalizing power into my body while it was still C-rank to both boost my regeneration and flood my body with strength. Cyrus noticed, nodding solemnly. "Well, it seems you've decided to die here. One last exchange then?"


I spun my staff experimentally, the black blade of the spear hissing as it ate away part of the white sand beneath my feet. As I did, I triggered another domain. Limbo. We'd been locked into a single tradeoff now, and that meant very limited futures. I kept up the spin, the blade of my spear cutting through potential outcomes one by one, narrowing the exchange down to a single possibility. With an explosion of black fire, I moved, appearing in front of Cyrus, my spear flickering out.


He'd been waiting, his blade splitting into five different spearing attacks aimed at my vitals. But I'd seen that. I turned my body. Some of the blades passed me by, some sliced into non essential body parts and my spear slipped into his gut, narrowly missing any vital organs as the edge clipped his spine, severing the nerves that held his body up.


Letting the blade fade, I allowed Glory to lapse as my still running C-ranked Zagan form got to work patching up my injuries. Cyrus stared down at the staff lodged in his gut, the only thing holding him up, and I didn't bother saying anything. I levered the staff to the side, sending his limp form skidding across the sand, twitching and unable to move but still alive and fixable, and raised my weapon in the air. The screams of the crowd were all the last word I needed to get in.

 

[Malcolm Tent]

The first person to reach me as I left the arena was, to my complete lack of surprise, my wife, who hit me like a bulldozer and nearly took me off my feet, her arms clamping down around me so hard my armor groaned. "What the HELL were you DOING!" She bawled into my chest as she tried her hardest to squeeze me to death.


I didn't have any arguments there. I hadn't screwed up, a fight is a fight and that one had been a good one, but this was the most injured I'd been in front of her in the years we'd been together. Even if it was brief injury and I'd patched it up fast, seeing the person you love most in the world get eviscerated probably sucked about as much as BEING eviscerated, which, spoiler alert, sucked real fucking bad.


So I just held her, letting her press her face into my neck and ground herself in the knowledge that I was ok as she muttered random nonsense about what an idiot I was. I could feel her desperate fear through the bond, and I understood it. The mere thought of watching someone tear into my wife like Cyrus had done to me turned my blood to ice.


Eventually, I just stood up, liting her with me, and folded my wings around us for privacy as I walked us over to a bench to sit down. After about ten minutes, she came up for air, drying the tears she'd been very careful to try to hide before she let herself be seen by the others.


"Well," she said in a rough voice, clearing her throat. "That was certainly dramatic. But we won."


"That you did," came a familiar voice. I turned to find Fade standing politely off to one side. He nodded at me in acknowledgement. "Well fought, little lord. You've got steel in your veins. That was a nasty injury, and healing or not, being able to fight through it shows that you're not an easy man to put down." He grinned humorlessly. "I respect that."


My wife glared at him. "I suppose it must be an important quality for you to test for it so thoroughly. But let me make something clear. Now that we won and you're on our side, if you ever put my husband in a position to be hurt for no reason again, I'm going to drop you into your own shadow and let you plummet through eternal darkness until you starve to death." She gave him a hard, wintery smile. "Respectfully."


"You should've let her fight," Fade commented to me mildly. "She's much scarier than you."


"True," I grinned. "But I didn't want to traumatize the audience. I'm trying to make alliances here, not give everyone here permanent nightmares."


We both laughed, and Callie pouted, despite me feeling through the bond that she was proud that someone like Fade recognized her as a threat. Because I could smell the truth, and he hadn't been being nice or condescending. He'd meant that. And he was right.


"So, you proved yourself," he said with an intense gaze. His steely grey eyes shone like drawn blades, the glint off the iris the next best thing to the edge of a knife. "I suppose that means I'm at your service, little lord. What would you have of me?"


Ellie bulled into the middle of my response. Literally, she physically interjected herself between us, glaring at the warrior distrustfully. "Don't get so familiar with the little lord, captain flatware. He's already got a bodyguard. I guess you'll be more useful than that sneaky blabbermouth, but don't get ideas above your station. The little lord is more than a Wyndham, and if you have bad intentions you'll be praying the Wish Devil gets ahold of your soul before my master can get her hands on it."


Fade looked unconcerned, smiling mildly at her provocation. "Peace, milady, I meant no offense. I offered only my service, in whatever capacity it might be required."


"I appreciate the sentiment, Ellie," I told her firmly. "But I'm the one who decides where he's going to be assigned. Not you. I'm half tempted to partner him with you, but I feel like that would be more punishment for him than for you. Now that we're moving into more official meeting territory, however, I WILL need my B-rankers on hand, at least the ones with the most combat power. Fade, you'll be on bodyguard detail alongside Alanna. Ellie, I know you're on assignment for my mom, so you and Felicity will stick with me too. Four guards doesn't seem too overboard."


My gaze flicked back to Fade. "Now, what can you do about setting up a few interviews? I understand you're a power player here. How many B-rankers can you get on my side."


"Less than you'd like," he shrugged. "Being king of the hill rarely endears me to others. Not to mention your cousins have been making overtures for some time now. I can get use another two or three smaller factions, or at least arrange contact. Several of them are large organizations, though mostly heavier on the rank and file. More C-rankers than B. But the few B-rankers they have are excellent warriors. Quality over quantity."


I nodded. "Set it up. The conclave starts tomorrow, and I want to go into the meeting with my roster as stacked as I can get it."


With more than a thousand people in my entourage, I was already a force to be reckoned with, but at this point in the succession war, some of the higher ranked cousins had been active in this zone since the beginning and had a big headstart. I knew there was at least one or two B-ranked candidates, even if I wasn't sure exactly where they were.


"It shall be done," he said with a solemn nod. "If it wouldn't trouble you, I'd prefer to meet this potential partner as well. I like to take the measure of a warrior before I trust them at my back."


"You will, and we need to get your contract signed," I agreed.


He sent one of his nearby warriors off to deliver messages and we all headed back to the boarding house. To my surprise, Fade looked…hungry. I raised a brow at him, not that he could see it. "Why do you seem so excited?"


"When I met you yesterday," he said contemplatively. "I couldn't see an ounce of the blade about you. Not in your stance, in your bearing, not even in your Path, despite how muddled it seems to be. But now, there's something of the sword about you. It's faint, only a whisper, but someone has sharpened an edge I didn't know was there. Nothing so complete as real training. More like they gave you very detailed instruction on a VERY specific dueling related concept in preparation for your match."


Which was exactly what Alanna had done. She'd essentially mimicked enough beginner combat styles (albeit ones cranked up a notch) so I could understand what I was up against.


He didn't continue talking about it, considering that answer enough I supposed. But I got it. Fade was a sword maniac. He ate slept and BREATHED the blade. Honed steel was his very blood, and seeing what Alanna could do…


Those who advanced beyond their realm, especially at such a high rank, were astonishingly rare. Only her stranding in the dungeon and the suppression therein had pushed her to polish that skill as she had. Most Ascendants wouldn't waste the time when they could just rank up. No wonder he was so excited. I wondered if he'd have been so willing to accept the loss if he hadn't discovered that little fact about me. Or maybe he'd known from the beginning somehow. Maybe this whole thing was an excuse to set up this very fight.


I shook that thought away. Mythologizing my opponents (or allies) was as bad as underestimating them. Not everyone had been planning everything all along.


When we reached the boarding house, we found Alanna practicing in the training yard. Kind of. She was doing some kind of exercise, her blade drawn, poised outward and still as stone, held parallel to the ground. Leaves fell from above, landing on the blade, and she seemed to be trying to cut them on impact without moving.


Her eyes were closed, but they opened when we arrived. "Little lord," she beamed. "Suppose you won? Though not easily. That armor is shredded. Seems like you might need some more instruction."


"I think I'll just buy better armor," I told her dryly. "And cheat more. Duels are much less fun than they seem when you're starting out. If I hadn't had a point to make I'd have turned the whole arena into a lake of burning ash and drowned him in it. I'll avoid fighting by the rules in the future. I don't think it's my thing."


As exciting as the idea had been after so long, I found duels restrictive and annoying. I saw Callie beam at me in approval at that sentiment, and even Fade snorted.


I expected Alanna to correct me, but she just grinned. "Your first real lesson then," she laughed. "You're not a duellist little lord, don't act like one. You proved your competence today, next time prove your wisdom."


"I don't think I have any to prove," I said wryly. "Do you know where I could get some on the cheap? I'm low on cash what with the armor needing to be made."


She laughed, then turned to Fade. "Can I help you, friend? You're doing an awful lot of staring."


"We are to be partners," he said with a smile. "And before then, opponents, assuming you're willing. I'd love to test the edge of such a deadly opponent." He stared at the sword, held perfectly still in midair, split leaves falling around and over it despite the edge never moving even a micron.


She stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded. "Watch closely, little lord," she said with a wolfish grin. "You could learn quite a bit."


The two of them took up their positions across the yard. Not too close, I noticed, not as close as I'd have expected from a melee battle. I realized why quickly afterwards. Both of them had chosen manifestation when they were starting out. Alanna moved faster, her blade manifesting above her like a piercing rainbow, blurring into existence as she struck out at her foe.


Her Path was stronger. Mythical, not Legendary, and it was clear. To my surprise though, Fade didn't seem bothered. He might not have broken through, but he was MUCH higher into B-rank than she was, maybe at the peak, and he had the Chronicle to show for it. His own manifested blade whirled up, deflecting hers with a spark through the ether. He followed up, and so did she, their blades meeting and clashing the air and space disturbed by the clashes.


They moved so fast the blade shadows overlapped, the entire training ground vanishing under waves of ripples and flashing metal. The swords sang as they clashed, the reports blurring together into a high, clear tone of victory and challenge, the hum of the steel singing of power and glory as the two blademasters attacked


Despite not being able to follow the specifics (this was well above my level) I triggered Dantalion and Piece of Mind. Inside my library, a parallel recorded the clash in a tome for me to study later, even as my main mind watched on in wonder.


They fought like that for hours, operating so fast, so seamlessly, that I was half afraid an eyelash in someone's eye would be the difference between life and death.


Callie sidled up next to me, and I put an arm around her shoulder as we watched, awed at the spectacle. "You know," I murmured in her ear. "This was definitely worth it. Gut stab or not." She snorted, but didn't agree. That was fine, I was feeling much better personally. At least for now.