Dual Wielding

A spirit knight.

Even before he’d known what his dream was, even before he and Wyn had gone into the forest that day, Corrin had longed for something more.

Straetum was too small for him. To live the life he wanted, he’d needed to envision himself as something greater than the town could ever contain. For someone growing up in such a tranquil town, the only image he had to hold was that of the spirit knight he’d seen that day.

Corrin had spent the last ten years of his life thinking only of that moment. Waiting, training, swinging his sword until his hands were raw, pushing his body to the limits over and over in the hopes of one day approaching that kind of strength. In reality though, his dream was something vague and undefined. He had no idea what being a spirit knight was like, how they acted, or how strong they were. It was like looking through a dirty lens at his destination, and for the first time in ten years, he would be able to see it for what it truly was.

Corrin waited and watched, as Estin drew closer and closer. They were headed towards a dock on the outside of the spire-wall, a natural formation which ringed the heart of the town. The island in the center was huge, larger than any Corrin had seen on the sea before, covered in a mess of tightly-packed buildings which seemed to almost spill off the side. From further out it had seemed as though there was only a single ring of pillars stretching a hundred feet in the air, but it became clear the clustering was a bit more random, and there were a number of smaller pillars hiding just above the grass.

The dock they approached was where most of the ships seemed to be gathering, but before they could reach it, a much smaller strider approached them. The rider got into a heated argument with Ven, directing him towards another dock. They changed their course, and repeated this process three times before finally finding a place they could get off.

The strider drew closer to the wooden walkway, but it was far too slow. He couldn’t wait any longer. Corrin leapt off the back of the saddle, landing easily on the docks in a crouch. A moment later, he started striding towards the central island, completely ignoring the surprised cry that Kei let out as he did.

Estin wasn’t a large town, it might have been even a little smaller than Straetum in terms of space, but the amount of people walking the streets–which were mostly wooden walkways around and between the spires–seemed triple what a town of its size should have, if not more. Soldiers, clad in armor from chain to leather hurried around, moving from place to place carrying various weapons and supplies. The air had a certain tension to it, but more than that, most of the people he passed seemed excited about something, especially the soldiers.

Corrin felt a hand on his shoulder, halting his movement.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” Wyn asked, apparently having followed him from the veldstrider.

“Look at the flow of those soldiers,” Corrin said. “They’re all either heading to or from the center, which makes sense, that’s where I’d expect them to be set up. If the spirit knight is in charge, that’s probably where he’ll be”

Wyn paused thoughtfully. “Not a bad point actually. Let’s head that way and then ask one of the soldiers when we get there.”

Corrin nodded and started to walk again.

“Oh also,” Wyn stopped him again. Corrin turned to see what he needed, and Wyn punched him on the arm. “Don’t run off without me next time. We said we’d do it together right?”

Corrin’s lips parted, his eyes widening just a bit. Then he grinned. “Well, you’d better keep up then.”

Wyn smirked, and then stepped past Corrin. “No, you’ll have to keep up with me.”

***

Corrin’s guess had been way off. After telling one of the soldiers that they wanted to assist with the hunt, Corrin and Wyn had been given an actual destination which matched what he’d expected. The operation was based out of the garrison in the middle of town. However, after some more asking around, it turned out that ‘Commander Helric’ was overseeing the preparations of the land-skiff for battle.

From memory, Corrin knew it was docked on the opposite side of town from where they’d come, so they headed in that direction. It was difficult moving through the clogged streets–while there had been more in Precipice, the city was designed for such a large population, and in the absence of roofs to jump too, there was no choice but to use the walkways which stretched over the grass below.

Thankfully, it was still relatively easy to navigate, so despite it being hard to move at times, there was no trouble with getting lost.

When they arrived, Corrin began to appreciate just how large the skiff actually was, the two-level wooden deck was large enough that a ballista had been mounted to the front, and there was still enough room to comfortably hold over two dozen men. By the helm was a large bald man, who seemed to be in charge, directing the efforts of the soldiers and common laborers who were running around the ship completing various tasks.

As soon as he saw him, Corrin knew this was the spirit knight. His equipment was clearly well cared for, a sword was sheathed at his side, and a greataxe was strapped to his back. He wore a thick, expensive-looking coat of leather and fur that seemed to glimmer a faint silver.

But it was none of these tangible things that told Corrin of his status. He could just tell. Perhaps it was the way the man stood, or the way he moved as he barked orders across the ship, but it was as if he existed more than everyone else, mattered more than everyone else.

His back was turned, but as Corrin and Wyn approached, he turned to look at them, and Corrin froze midstep. The knight was a man in his thirties, tall with broad shoulders and a muscular build. A large scar ran the entire length of his face, and he was bald except for sideburns which went down his cheeks to form a rough looking beard.

For several seconds, neither he nor Wyn moved. The knight raised an eyebrow, taking the pipe out of his mouth and blowing some smoke to the side, “Well? Are you gonna say anything, or just gape at me like a couple of fish waiting for a snack? If you’re here to join up with the hunt, go ask for Drevis at the garrison, he’ll figure out if you’re up for it.”

His voice was gruff, but it had an underlying smoothness to it, and it resonated, even in the open air. Corrin felt as though even if he were standing a hundred feet away, he would be able to hear the man whisper.

Speak damn it!

“Um, so the thing is, me–well, me and my friend are going to Taravast…”

The man made a motion for him to keep going.

“Oh, I mean we’re going to become spirit knights. So we’re going to the swordcraft academy, and… you’re a spirit knight right?”

The knight took another long puff. “That I am.”

An awkward amount of time passed while they waited for the man to continue.

“So what’s your business with me then?”

Corrin stammered for a moment, but Wyn stepped forward. “We grew up in a small town on the plateau. To be honest, you’re only the second knight we’ve ever seen, so we just… we needed to meet you… sir.”

“The second huh? All the way out on the plateau? Who was the first?”

“It was a man named Sezim.”

That seemed to actually get the knight’s attention. He had just been about to take another puff from his pipe, but he paused. “The Stillblade was out there was he?”

“Do you know him?” Corrin asked excitedly.

“'Course I do, he was a bit of a war hero, at least before he went into teaching. I've never had the chance to meet him, but there's not a soldier in Edria that doesn't know him by title. I wonder what he was doing all the way out here though. How long ago was it?”

“About eight years,” Wyn said.

He rubbed his beard thoughtfully, “I mean you two are how old? Sixteen, seventeen? I’m shocked you even remember that. Still, if you’ve made it this far, I should give you a piece of advice: if the only reason you’re on this journey is to attend the academy, you should just go back to your village now.”

“...What?” Corrin’s eyes hardened.

“Maybe that came out a bit harsher than I meant it. Look, I’m sure you’re great back in your town, and I’m not trying to put you down. But the plateau is a small, small pond, and talent there, well frankly it’s about as helpful as a handful of shit in the east. Every year, plenty of kids from the boonies try to apply, and every year they all fail. I myself wouldn'ta been able to make it in there. Now, if you’re fine joining the military instead, then by all means go for it. A few of us manage to work our way up eventually. But the academy chews up and spits out hundreds of the most talented kids in Aeora every single year. It’s for the best, bar none. I just think you should temper your expectations.”

Wyn began to speak up. “I see, well I understand–”

“Why don’t you find out then.” Corrin interrupted, his voice steely.

The knight’s eyes met his, but the pressure Corrin had felt was gone. “What are you proposing?”

“Just a sparring match, one on one. When I win, I’ll make you take those words back.”

The knight paused, eyes genuinely shocked. Then, he began to laugh. “Oh kings, you’re actually serious! Kid, I was trying to be polite, but if you insist, then let me ask you a question. Are you even aspected yet?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“And that's exactly my point. You don’t know the first thing about channeling. I can tell you’ve at least gotten to the starting line, though your friend doesn’t seem to be open yet. But the spoiled bastards applying for the academy have been training all their lives just for this. Most start channeling when they’re only ten or eleven years old and they have enough resources funneled into their training to buy your town ten times over. From what I can tell, you’ve barely even started.”

Corrin stepped forward, looking up at the knight, meeting his eyes. “I’ll catch up then.”

The knight sighed. “It’s simply not going to be possible, it’s honestly worse that you’ve opened on your own, your base is bound to be sloppy. No channels to your eyes, redundancies everywhere–I’ve seen it all before. If you even want to reach my level someday, you’ll have to start back over and fix it, and that’ll probably take two years on its own. Here, step forward and I’ll explain more.” He held out a hand.

Corrin reached out hesitantly. The knight grabbed his wrist and closed his eyes.

“Look inwards, I’m sure you can at least see your channels. Notice how they’re all a big jumbled… mess?” He trailed off. His eyes grew hard. “That's not possible–you couldn’t have developed these channels on your own. And… an ash aspect? Who was it that did this?”

Corrin pulled his hand away. Now he shrunk ever so slightly from the intense gaze of the knight. Something had changed. “I don’t even know what that means, but I’m self-taught.”

The knight staggered back one step, studying Corrin with an expression intense enough to kill. The intensity grew stronger, until Corrin thought he could actually feel a pressure crushing him from all sides, like he was getting buried alive. Then, the pressure vanished, and the man finally spoke. The edge was gone, but his tone still left no room for debate. “Take out that sword. You wanted to spar? I’ll test you here and now.”

Corrin hesitantly unsheathed his blade. “Real swords? Not wooden ones? And right here?”

The man chuckled, seemingly having regained his earlier calm. “Here is as good as anywhere, I trust you not to damage my ship. I’ll draw my sword if you earn it, not before. Convince me.”

The knight shouted to the rest of the men on the ship. “Clear off men! I’m using the ship for a little sparring session! Odds are a hundred to one he lands a single hit!” The crew seemed to have expected it, and they chuckled as they dropped what they were doing and left the ship. Corrin saw coins exchanging hands.

Corrin glanced back at Wyn. His face was tight, but he gave Corrin a serious look and nodded in approval, which was all the permission Corrin needed. He turned back towards the knight, who smirked, holding out a hand in challenge.

“Fine. If you want it, then I won’t hold back.” Corrin growled. He took a breath, drawing in mana and thrusting towards the knight’s shoulder as quickly as he could. The strike wouldn’t kill, but it would be a quick lesson that he and Wyn shouldn’t be underestimated.

He stumbled, his weight thrown off balance as he completely missed his target. The knight had somehow sidestepped the strike. Before Corrin could even feel surprised, he was falling backwards, looking upwards at the sky wondering what had happened.

“Watch your footing,” the knight chuckled as Corrin’s back hit the deck. He was jolted from the shock of it all, but he recovered quickly, rolling to the side and springing off the ground back to his feet.

“Nice move,” the knight commented casually. “But you took in what, one breaths before you attacked? You’re not even close to capacity right now. Did you think I was going to rush you? If you’re going to fight, you should be saturating your channels.”

Ignoring him, Corrin wasted no time going back on the attack, swinging at the knight, who seemed to effortlessly dodge out of the way of each blow. It was frankly ridiculous. The man was twice his size, and didn’t look like he’d be quick on his feet, but Corrin couldn’t land a blow no matter what he tried.

He stepped and swung, hitting nothing but air and receiving a weak strike to the back.

“Too slow!”

He spun around towards the voice, sword flashing. For the first time he actually hit something, but his sword stopped dead in its tracks with a dull thud. The knight had blocked his blade, with…

That’s not possible!

The knight had caught the blade, stopping it on his palm without so much as a drop of blood. He grinned, not even remotely winded. “You don’t seem to know how to create a mantle yet. You might be the weakest ash channeler I’ve ever fought. ”

“Mantle? Ash? What are you talking about?” Corrin asked, trying to shake his sword loose. The man’s grip was like iron, Corrin could hardly budge the blade.

“Come on kid, I know you can control your aura. I can feel it pooling in your arms and legs right now. But that’s such a waste. In a fight between channelers, you’re only as good as your senses, and for somebody as green as you, that means your eyes. Go on, I see you’ve somehow got the channels for it.” He threw the sword aside and pushed his palm against Corrin's chest. It was hardly a light shove, but it drove him back hard enough that his feet left the ground. By the time he recovered, he was a good ten feet away.

The knight stood back, watching. What was he waiting for?

I’m only as good as my eyes?

On a half-baked theory, Corrin moved the mana from his arms and legs up through his channels. He could see the channels etched into his body, stretching up and down each limb. He’d focused on the power it granted, using it to enhance his limbs so much that he hadn’t asked a fundamental question. Were there channels in his head? He shoved mana upwards, enough that he swore he could almost feel it physically as it traced the path.

As it gathered around his eyes, Corrin gasped as the world became awash with color and sharpness, his senses expanded to see things that had previously been invisible. Red specks gathered around the candles lit on the ship, and motes of bluish-white floated by like dandelions carried on the wind. The rock of the islands was coated in a golden brown aura which shimmered faintly, and across from Corrin, the knight shined like the sun, emanating a bright, overwhelming gold. It wasn’t just that either–suddenly Corrin could see more. He could count each individual fur on the knight’s coat, he could hear the whispered conversation of the soldiers that watched as they pretended to work, he could smell the oil he’d applied to his blade earlier that day.

The total information overload was too much, and a groan of pain escaped Corrin’s lips, which quickly caused a piercing ringing in his ears, which had grown more sensitive as the mana flooded them as well. He quickly covered them and closed his eyes, trying to fight down the growing headache as he dragged mana away from his head.

“Corrin!” Wyn called, but Corrin couldn’t respond.

“Wow you really are green,” the knight said. “You’ve never channeled that much aura to your head before. First time’s always rough.”

Corrin grit his teeth, “I’m getting the hang of it.” The pain had lessened, and he had a better feel for where his channels were now. There was some sort of weird swirling pattern behind his eyes, and the channels there were thinner than the rest in his body. He sent some mana back towards his eyes, easing into it this time as the enhanced vision returned. It seemed he needed to dedicate about ten percent of his excess mana to achieve it.

He rose back to his feet, staring at his opponent again. The spirit knight was wreathed in a translucent, golden armor.

Is that… mana?

He had to question it, even though there was nothing else it could be. The mana within Corrin’s body had been hazy and unfocused, but he could now make it out in more detail, a stream of countless beads of power flowing through his body, gathered from the loose mana drifting through the air. In contrast though, the knight’s mana seemed condensed, more refined, like a liquid. It wasn’t static either, it flowed over his body in a pattern, emanating from…

Oh you’re kidding me.

Corrin let out a short chuckle, earning a confused look from both Wyn and the knight. It grew into a laugh, and then a moment later he was laughing uncontrollably. Both of them looked at him like he was crazy.

“Corrin are you okay?” Wyn asked.

He held up a hand to pause them. “It’s nothing… I’m just, so stupid. It’s so obvious if I think about it. I can’t believe it took me so long to figure it out.”

The difficulty with projecting his mana was in pushing it out of his body, which he couldn’t seem to do no matter what he tried. Except, he already had a way to get it out, didn’t he?

Corrin slowly exhaled, letting a trickle of mana flow out with the air. As it did, he pulled, clamping his will down on the mana like a vice, willing it to cling to his body before his connection to it was severed. Even before he’d gotten channels, he’d been able to control the mana if not very effectively–this was similar, but ten times harder. The mana didn’t want to respond, it pushed against him, trying to get free, but Corrin held fast. He changed his way of thinking, expanding the space he defined as “Corrin” to encompass a thin shell outside his own body.

Still, the mana fought him, straining against his command. He began to drag it across his body, spreading it thinner and thinner. As it spread out, it actually became easier, less mana over an area was less taxing than the same amount in concentration. But the resistance was still there. He fell to his knees, teeth gritting as sweat poured down his face. It was like pushing a boulder up a hill with his mind, but he kept going. The mana wasn’t free. It. Was. His.

He let out a strained groan as the stress peaked, and then finally something cracked. The pressure let up and the mana became easier to hold, enough that he could actually move it around with only a little mental effort. Without the channels it wasn’t nearly as fast–just like when he had first obtained mana in the dungeon. But it worked.

With another breath, another trickle of mana flowed out, he wrestled with it briefly, much easier this time, before it slid into place as well. Then another, and another. More and more flowed out of him over almost two minutes, until he felt almost half the mana inside his body was now outside. It was a pale imitation of what the knight could do, and it was no armor–in fact it was hardly enough mana to form a gauntlet around his hand. The mana leaked too, drifting out of his control and back into the air at an alarming rate. Between maintaining his mana-sight and the mana outside his body, he felt stretched thin mentally and physically, and he was having to breath fast and deep just to keep up.

He was grinning all the same.

Laughter rang out from in front of him and he looked up. The knight was staring at him, an incredulous look on his face. His expression grew more interested with each passing second. “Wait, are you serious? This is the first time you’ve seen a mantle and you already–well shit… Not bad kid! Not bad at all! You might actually be worth something!”

The knight reached for the greataxe on his back, setting it down onto the deck before taking off his fur coat. Beneath it he was wearing a black, sleeveless undershirt which clung to his bulky, yet athletic frame. He pulled the sword from his waist, revealing a blade which was a bronze color. It didn’t gleam like metal though, its sheen reminded Corrin more of the claw blade he had once used. He held the blade out in front and smiled widely.

“It’s polite to introduce yourself before a fight. My name is Torvin Helric, third class spirit knight. You can call me Tor.”

“My name is Corrin, future spirit knight, and guardian of the founder’s tomb,” Corrin said, adding his title for the extra flare.

“Well Corrin, do try your hardest to defend yourself.”