Dual Wielding

In his life, Corrin had fought plenty of opponents, both man and beast. The leviathan had been an overwhelming force, a brutal monster he didn’t think he could defeat alone even now. Din Kai had been crafty, and had been a stark reminder that not every fight could be won with skill or power alone, he was sure there were plenty of people out there he couldn’t beat yet.

But he hadn’t comprehended the gap. And even in all those battles, he’d never been so completely overwhelmed.

Tor dashed forward–just slow enough that Corrin could track the movement, but fast enough he could hardly react. Only instinct, sharpened by over ten years of practice, saved him from losing in a single strike. He barely got his sword up in time to catch the first swing, intending to attack back immediately after.

Then he felt the weight of the blow.

It was like trying to stop a landslide, its power was completely unyielding. He had to let it knock him back just to avoid being cut by his own sword being driven back into him.

Unfortunately, behind him were the stairs to the main deck. He felt the ground disappear beneath his feet as he fell backwards. Extending a hand, he followed the momentum, pushing against the stairs to flip his body upright and landing at the bottom of the stairs. Tor had vanished from the top of the stairs.

Just in time, Corrin looked up to see a figure descending on him with a wild glint in his eyes, sword pulled back to strike. Corrin dodged to the side–in that split second while Tor landed, there would be an opportunity, a chance for him to counterattack.

Remember that feeling!

Mana surged into his leg and he spun into a roundhouse kick, timing it to hit at the precise time Tor hit the ground. Just as before, the peak hit in time with the blow, and the power exploded, striking like a clap of thunder.

Corrin’s leg stopped in its place. Tor had blocked it with his forearm, and he hadn’t even flinched. A shock went up Corrin’s body like he’d kicked a boulder, completely immovable.

“More…” Tor said, grabbing his leg.

Corrin jumped awkwardly, kicking his other leg at the back of Tor’s head, but it too bounced off with no effect. He barely landed back on it, still held firmly in his opponent’s grasp.

“More!” Tor laughed. “Use more power… When you strike me!”

Corrin’s vision blurred and he felt his stomach lurch as he realized–he’d been thrown into the air above the deck of the ship, flung by his leg. As he hurtled upwards, the world spun around him. His mind raced, trying to make sense of it–he had to be almost fourty feet in the air!

That’s imposs–

Before he could even finish the thought, Tor appeared in the air above him, his sword gone, hands clasped above his head. He swung down with both fists, and Corrin threw his arms together to block it. It was useless. The blow hit like a battering ram, and he shot down into the deck of the ship, which shattered as he crashed into the wooden flooring, driving out all the air from his lungs.

As his vision shook, he could vaguely hear Tor speaking away from him, somewhere through the dust and debris.

“...a little too hard, damn. Nereus is gonna be pissed. Hey you, with the black hair, this isn’t even gonna get me warmed up. Why don’t you join your friend here? Maybe you’ll fare better in a two-on-one?” There was a sarcastic tone to his voice, but Corrin could tell he wasn’t lying. He’d just annihilated Corrin without even trying. This was the power of a real spirit knight.

“Incredible…” Corrin channeled more mana into his body, cycling it through his channels faster, until he could feel them begin to strain from the load. He breathed it out, forcing it to cling to the outside of his body, dragging it to his fist as he staggered to his feet. He’d lost control over the last bit of mana as soon as he’d gotten hit, so he had to start over. Thankfully, his mana responded quicker than before. He couldn’t beat Tor as he was. If he wanted to stand a chance, he needed to keep evolving, so he would.

Wyn would be buying him time, he’d have to make the most of it.

He drained more and more mana to his fist until it was covered in a swirling gauntlet of black and white lights. Good. He rose slowly–partly because he was thinking, and partly because he couldn’t rise faster–and looked over. Tor’s back was to him, his whole body still armored in gold. He wasn't holding his sword, which was laying on the deck some twenty feet away. He'd dropped it when he attacked Corrin in the air with both fists.

Notably, with his new vision, Corrin noticed a faint line drawn in the air, almost invisible but with a faint tint of gold. On one end was Tor’s hand, on the other, the sword.

The knight was staring at Wyn, who was drawing his own weapon with deliberate sloth. As soon as he saw Corrin fully standing, he charged, feinting towards Tor’s head before striking at his midsection.

At the same time, Corrin shot forwards with his own sword raised. It was a distraction though–the real weapon was his fist, wrapped in the mana which swirled dangerously around it. Swinging weakly with his left arm, Corrin twisted to throw a punch with his right, mustering every ounce of force he could.

In the instant before their blows landed, Corrin saw the spirit knight grin. He flexed his hand and the line of gold flashed brighter. Somehow, the sword flew through the air and into his waiting hand.

Tor twisted sideways, parrying Wyn’s sword at the same time as he moved to catch Corrin’s fist. Wyn simply couldn’t match his strength, and was easily rebuked. Corrin’s shouldn’t have been much better, but the new strike was different. With his mana-sight, he could see it.

In the moment of impact, the section of gold armor around Tor’s hand clashed with Corrin’s own makeshift mana weapon. The black and white mana evaporated the gold, and Corrin felt a strain on his mind so strong that his vision flashed, but the armor broke apart with the sound of shattering stone, and his fist connected.

Tor caught the punch on his hand, and Corrin heard a faint crunching sound. Then the knight spun. Apparently he’d grabbed Wyn at some point, because Wyn crashed into Corrin as he threw the two of them across the deck.

Corrin pushed himself up onto one knee, glancing at Tor, who was inspecting his left wrist with curiosity.

“What the hell was that?” He yelled. “Your sword flew!”

Tor winked. “Trade secret. Nice punch.”

Corrin felt pride blossom from the compliment, but he refocused. He had a fight to win after all. He didn’t take his eyes off of Tor as he spent a moment strategizing. It seemed the knight wasn’t going to press them yet.

“Wyn, we’ll attack at the same time. We have to try and wear him down. My last attack worked, I just need an opening to land another.”

“Got it, I’ve got your back. I can’t see whatever you’re seeing, so you can lead the way.”

“I can hear you, you know?” Tor replied absentmindedly, a slight smirk on his face.

“Well nothing we can do about it,” Wyn grunted. “But don’t you think this is a bit much?”

Tor laughed. “You tell me. I might be the one winning, but you two still seem plenty happy to be involved. Unless those looks on your faces mean otherwise.”

Corrin glanced over at Wyn. He was smiling. There wasn’t any humor in it, but it was a smile that Corrin knew all too well. The one on his face was probably similar.

This was exhilarating, and he wanted to win.

“On three…” He said, getting an affirmative grunt from Wyn. He understood. “Three!”

They rushed at the same time, unleashing a flurry of blows on Tor, who deflected each one with the same unerring power as before, holding his sword in one hand as he took both of them on. Even in raw skill, they weren’t even close to his equal. Still, as the fight progressed, Corrin felt his attacks growing sharper, and he grew more in sync with Wyn with each passing second.

Their abilities were pushed to their furthest heights, challenged like they’d never been before, and as they fought, they began to improve. Wasted movements were eliminated, and their strikes flowed faster and faster. They were no longer two swordsmen, but rather halves of the same whole. Where Corrin struck low, Wyn struck high; where Wyn feinted, Corrin attacked.

They began to push Tor back, driving him further and further towards the edge of the ship. Except, he didn’t seem remotely worried–his eyes instead glinted with something like pride and excitement. A faint smile touched his lips as he parried two of their strikes in one smooth motion.

“You’re learning,” Tor grunted, spinning away from a follow-up and resetting his stance. “That’s good. But is it enough?”

Then something shifted, and his own counters gained more life, forcing Corrin and Wyn on the defensive, pushing them back the way they’d come. Corrin’s heart pounded as he retreated. Tor wasn’t just holding back, he was testing them, adjusting his power up and down to gauge the absolute limits of their strength. He’d let them push him back for a bit, seeing how they attacked, and now he was seeing how they’d defend, fighting just hard enough to keep each of them on the backfoot without completely overwhelming them. It was a test, one they’d either pass or fail.

Corrin grinned wider, the mana in his channels thrashed wildly, like a caged beast, responding to the intensity of the fight. They reached the stairs again, but Corrin was ready this time, shouting to Wyn so they both jumped down past them at the same time.

As soon as they left the ground, Tor dashed forwards, reaching the bottom just after they did. His sword flashed, too quick for Corrin to follow, and his blade was knocked aside, leaving him open for an instant. Tor thrust towards his heart, and Corrin wondered if he might actually stab him.

Steel rang out as Wyn deflected the blow aimed for Corrin’s chest, locking blades with the knight for a moment before Tor shoved him aside with sheer strength.

A heartbeat later he brought his sword overhead and swung downwards at Corrin, who had just recovered. Corrin knew he couldn’t match such a heavy blow from the spirit knight fairly, even if he only had one arm, so when he brought his sword up to defend, he turned the flat side down and pushed his palm into it. Even with his off-hand supporting the blade, the blow drove him down onto one knee, and his body shook from the effort. He was completely defenseless when Tor simply kicked him. He tumbled over the deck, dropping his sword before hitting the side of the ship with a dull thunk.

When he tried to get back to his feet, his legs buckled, his body refusing to respond, and when he looked back towards the fight, he saw Wyn get backhanded across the face and then slammed to the ground with the hilt of Tor’s sword.

As Corrin struggled to get up, Tor held out a hand for him to stop.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Tor spoke, and the world seemed to grind to a halt. His face was stern, but he soon broke into a soft chuckle. “Quit glaring at me. If we keep going, you’ll get hurt worse than you can handle. Hell, you already fractured my wrist, so that’s a whole pain I’ll have to deal with.”

And just like that, the fight was over.

“What?” Corrin asked, disarmed by his sudden casual demeanor. “We're done? Just like that?” He wanted to argue more, but he felt the aching deep in his body and knew Tor was right.

Tor shrugged. “Of course, it was just a light sparring session after all.”

Corrin fell back onto the deck, chuckling between heavy breaths. That was a light sparring session? Sure he hadn't gotten injured much, but it was easily one of the hardest fights of Corrin's life. He knew, with certainty, that if Tor had wanted to even the fight, he could have at any time. But true to his word, it didn't seem like the spirit knight had even broken a sweat.

And yet apparently, Corrin had fractured his wrist. “Oh, uh, sorry about that?” Corrin apologized. The spirit knight hadn't so much as grunted at the blow, and he didn't seem concerned, but it must have been the mana punch. Did it really have so much power behind it?

“Don’t be, it was a great punch! You might actually have some potential. It’s been a while since I’ve fought an ash channeler. Flashy too, seems like we even drew a crowd.” He waved his hand, and Corrin looked to see that the group of soldiers and dock workers watching them had grown even larger since the battle had started.

“An ash channeler?” Corrin asked, questions still swirling even as he calmed. “What does that mean?”

“Oh that’s right,” Tor rubbed his head, “You don’t even know what aspecting is… where do I even start? How about this, I need to go take care of this mess and finish my work for the day. Since you did land a solid blow, you’ve earned at least some small reward. How about we meet up later tonight and I’ll answer a few of your questions.”

Corrin didn’t even have to think before accepting.

***

Tor was in a good mood as he walked away from the skiff, leaving the two kids to collect their breaths. He’d let them know where he’d be drinking later that night, and he hoped they’d show up. Despite the damage to the ship, it wasn’t often he got to meet such promising talent in the army. Plus, it had been his fault.

Of course, his good mood faded when he saw Nereus waiting for him on the docks, arms crossed.

“That was some fight,” the mage remarked dryly, clearly unhappy that the schedule was thrown off and the ship damaged. Nereus was thirty-six, only two years Tor’s senior, and they technically shared equal authority on this mission, but he sure liked to act as though Tor was still a fresh recruit that trembled when he held a spear.

“The boys have talent,” Tor grunted, walking up the docks back to town. Damned mages just never understood, combat was the best way for warriors to understand one another. Only in battle could you see the depths of a person’s soul laid bare, and know them for who they truly were. Swords–or in his cases axes–did not lie.

“Yes well, now thanks to your recklessness I’ll need to reaffix the enchantments on the flooring, that will take hours in this mana-drained place.”

“And we have two weeks yet,” Tor retorted. “So perhaps you could refrain from trying to study the blasted grass for a few hours and get the work done. I’m the one training these weaklings for battle every damn day while you lounge out in the sea. And I'm the one that now has a fractured wrist. I should be able to heal before the hunt, but that doesn’t make it less annoying in the meantime.”

“They were truly able to injure you? I was not using my lens, were you holding strength in reserve?”

Tor snorted. Mages and their shortcuts. “Course I was. They're from the plateau, if I hadn't been holding back I would've killed them.”

“And yet they still did manage to injure you.”

“Like I said,” Tor grinned. “They're talented. Especially that white-haired one. The other one is interesting too though. He's not even open yet, but his reactions… think he's got some sorta mental enhancement. Maybe a blessing?”

Nereus sniffled. “Yes well, I don’t see why you should have taken that battle so far in the first place. Would thrusting the difference in their face not just discourage them?”

Now, Tor laughed. “Perhaps it will! But if they are so easily discouraged, they would have never become spirit knights anyways. Unlike you mages, we must actually have iron in our bones.”

“That’s a simply ridiculous–”

“It’s true,” Tor affirmed. “A mage can have any kind of strength. For every combat mage, there are two more that will go into academia or research, another that will become an enchanter, and even more that will study any number of less-competitive fields. Unless you’d like to take back your statements about how you're only with the army because it benefits your research.”

Nereus didn’t offer any refute, so Tor continued. “Spirit knights are different. We must be more than strong. A true spirit knight must be unyielding and indomitable. It is not for the weak of spirit, mind, or body. When faced with such a staggering difference in strength, there are a few reactions one can have. For many, the moment they face that mountain and the impossible climb between them and true strength, they will reach the end of their journey. They’ll believe they’ve reached the end of their skill, and that will become their reality. They will never reach for higher.

There is another type though. Those who will become truly strong, upon encountering that mountain, they wonder, ‘what must the view be like from the top’, and they know it is their destiny to stand at the peak. Spirit knights are those who have ascended that mountain, and arrived at the summit. If they doubt their ability to climb for even a moment, then their fate is already determined.”

Tor grinned. “I wonder which those two will be.”

***

As the high of battle faded, Corrin realized just how beat up he really was. His head was pounding, along with every muscle in his body, having absorbed several impacts the likes of which he’d only taken a few times before, even in the deep floors of the dungeon. It wasn’t just physical either, his channels felt like they’d been scraped raw, and his body was almost completely drained of mana. It was refilling slowly, but it would be at least a few hours, maybe even the rest of the night, before he was full again. Apparently when his channels were so overworked, they wouldn’t let him absorb as much mana with each breath. Lesson learned.

“I assume you don’t feel much better?” He asked Wyn.

“Nah I’m fine,” Wyn managed, apparently coming down from the battle himself. “It only feels like I got trampled by a spirit bison and then ran over by a cart. It could be worse, it could be raining.”

Corrin chuckled, falling over onto the deck as his legs gave out. A loud thunk sounded out from beside him.

“I can see why this ship is so expensive,” Wyn said, voice muffled. “This wood is so comfortable.”

“I’m right there with you, I think I might just take a quick nap.”

“I like that idea, I’ll wake you up in a bit, then it's my turn.”

A few minutes later, a tired voice spoke as what felt like a broom bumped into Corrin’s head. “Could you please move? We need to start fixing the mess you all made.”

Corrin started laughing, and soon Wyn joined, uproariously laughing as they struggled to their feet. Corrin looked over at his best friend, and they stared at each other for a moment as their laughter died down.

A raw cry tore from Corrin’s chest. It was filled with the weight of eight long years–years of blood, sweat, tears, and hope. It was a celebration, a cry of victory. He shouted it from the depth of his heart, not a word, just a raw sound, elation given form. And in the next moment, Wyn was yelling too. They stumbled towards each other and threw their arms around each other, grabbing onto the only person that could understand what either of them were feeling. They shouted until they ran out of breath and tears stung their eyes, and then they laughed again.

After wiping his eyes and catching his breath, Corrin slung his arm over Wyn’s shoulder, and together they staggered off the ship. Both smiled triumphantly as they each let out a loud whoop into the night sky above.

The journey to the summit was sure to be a long, strenuous climb, and they’d hardly begun the ascent. But, in the middle of The Grass Sea, in a part of the world rife with stagnation and mediocrity, they’d found another miracle. After eight years of aimless wandering, it would serve as the piton they needed. With it, they could continue to climb even higher.