The Wandering Sword

Soft, white hands caressed the spines of a row of books on a shelf.

It's going to be a long journey... I should bring something to entertain myself along the way.

Her owner, a young woman with grayish, wavy hair tied in a ponytail, ran her perceptive eyes of the same color over them, scanning their titles from left to right as she read. The light from outside, streaming in through the open entrance of a small balcony, illuminated her slender, moderately tall figure clad in a turquoise dress.

She pulled out a couple of books, holding one in each hand.

Which one should I take? 'The Lost Sagas of Ebalkurim' or 'Voyages through the Sand Seas of Ayaria'? she wondered, contemplating their covers without being able to decide on one in particular. Hmm... I'll take both.

She finally decided with a playful smile, turning around to go to her bedroom. It was a simple yet well-decorated room, teetering between disorder and order. A large, heavy gray cloth backpack rested on the bed, onto which she placed the books.

"Well," she said, placing her hands on her waist, admiring her belongings with satisfaction, "I think I'm ready now."

Then she looked up at her tongue-and-groove ceiling. The abstract and colorful stains on the wooden boards made her daydream about her short-term prospects.

"What are you all staring at?! Your lives are in danger!"

"AH?!"

An imperative shout from outside startled her awake.

"We have a demon among us! Hide yourselves immediately!"

Driven by curiosity and concern, the girl hurried to the balcony of her room, which offered her a privileged view of a nearby round plaza. She immediately spotted numerous groups of soldiers surrounding a dark knight.

Father! Her eyes opened wide upon seeing him leading them.

"Inan?! Demon?!" Startled by the serious accusations against him that echoed in the plaza, Ser Mavros of Havenfalls attempted to approach the troops' leader to discuss and clarify the situation.

However, spearheads and swords were extended towards him. The personal guard of the noble warrior stood in his way and forced him to step back.

"Listen, I comprehendeth not the meaning of this affair, but verily it is a grievous error..." Mavros declared unto them, seeking to persuade them with gestures, his arms aloft and outstretched. "I am but a wandering knight traversing these realms. I am not the 'demon' thou dost seeketh..."

"An Abiyr masquerading as a wandering knight... how amusing," the mace-wielding leader mocked, his oblong shield and armor adorned with salamander motifs. "Just because several years have passed since we last saw you doesn't mean we have forgotten. He turned to look over his right shoulder. "Marksmen!"

From among the groups of soldiers armed with swords and spears, units of arquebusiers and crossbowmen emerged, taking positions in an orderly formation.

"If you are merely a 'wandering knight' as you claim, you shouldn't be able to withstand this," he told Mavros, smirking maliciously. He turned to the marksmen. "Crossbowmen! Take aim!"

The soldiers raised and aimed their crossbows and arquebuses at the dark knight.

"Hark!," Mavros exclaimed in protest. "What manner of trial is this?! 'Tis not even equitable!"

"Fire...! Wait!" Just before completing the order, the leader raised his left hand as a signal to halt, stopping his soldiers. His eyes anxiously focused on the sculpture behind their target. "Make sure none of your shots miss... if any of your arrows hit the monument, it will be the last shot you take in your entire service... understood?"

He warned them with unsettling seriousness and murderous eyes that made them tremble. Each of the marksmen nodded silently.

"Verily, 'tis commendable that thou dost cherish thine city's heritage, yet there is no need to menace thy men thusly," Mavros criticized him, having overheard the entire conversation.

"Shut up!" the leader snapped, irked by his unsolicited opinion. "Crossbowmen! Fire!"

The crossbowmen touched their triggers.

Mavros gripped the hilt of his sheathed sword.

My armor should be able to repel the arrows, and even the projectiles from those firearms... but I'm not particularly eager to find it out. Mavros assessed his options. "If thou dost persist in this folly..."

The crossbowmen finally pulled the triggers. Arrows were launched toward different parts of the knight.

But…

"It can't be!"

The troop leader exclaimed. Just as the arrows were about to pierce their target, Mavros executed a swift spin like the eye of a hurricane, swirling wind around his body. The arrows shattered and fell to the ground as if they had collided with a wall. Mavros completed his masterful spin, returning to face them with his unsheathed two-handed sword inclined forward.

"Waste not thine arrows upon me!" Mavros shouted with great clamor. "I am no foe of thine!"

Now the soldiers' source of terror was their opponent. Their muscles trembled at the thought of having to engage in close combat with him after witnessing that impressive display. Even the arquebusiers were uncertain if their guns would have any effect.

"Just as I expected... you stopped them effortlessly, as even the weakest Abiyr would," the leader took several steps forward. He was the only warrior who hadn't been intimidated. "Soldiers! You have nothing to do here! Withdraw and guard all the streets leading to the plaza!" he ordered them. "I will take care of this bastard."

"Yes, Ser Janpe!" They complied instantly, grateful that he no longer involved them in the tense situation. They turned in unison and walked away, leaving the two of them alone.

"Now I know what you're capable of. I brought my men just to test you," the warrior identified as ‘Ser Janpe’ by his men said to Mavros. "It would have been dangerous to have them nearby if I were to intervene, but now that they're gone, nothing will restrain me."

He raised his mace towards his head.

"I, Ser Janpelan of Salamandera, from the House of the Royal Rose, will be your opponent!"

Mavros narrowed his eyes, locking his gaze firmly with his courageous adversary.

"Hm?"

To his surprise, Janpelan watched as the knight sheathed his sword, replacing it with another weapon he had holstered on his back.

"In such a circumstance..." Mavros flourished a metallic staff, exceeding five feet in length, clasping it with both hands. "Mine knightly code compelleth me not to shy away from thy challenge. On guard, Ser Janpelan!"

An Abiyr in the city?! After decades of disappearance?!... Is my father going to fight an Abiyr?!

The girl on the balcony couldn't help but worry, open-mouthed and filled with unease, witnessing him confront that individual, whom he had always insisted was only a thing of books and the stories he had told her when she was young.

Suddenly, she overcame her nerves, furrowing her brow with determination.

I must help him!

She turned around, hurriedly venturing into her room to search for something.

"Your sword," Ser Janpelan said to Mavros. "Why did you sheathe it?"

"For I bear no intention of slaying thee," Mavros did answer. "If defeating thee in an equitable combat be the sole means to gain thine ear and persuade thee that I am not whom thou deemest me to be, then let it be so."

How strange... He has the armor and inhuman skills of an Abiyr, but he doesn't speak like one, Janpelan began to doubt his initial conclusions. That armor he's wearing... Now that I look at it more closely, it seems somewhat familiar…

However, that didn't change his desire to fight him. A confident smile spread across his face.

"You'll only convince me that you're not a threat when you become a corpse. My morning star will shatter your bones like glass," Janpelan said in a bold provocation. He assumed his stance with his mace and shields raised. "Come on! Come here and attack me!"

Seconds passed. Mavros refused to accept his invitation, remaining steadfast in his position.

"Nay, thou come," he spoke, casting his gaze aside. "I am too slothful to run... Thou art the one who seeketh combat, forsooth, it matters not to me either way."

This imbecile! Janpelan furrowed his brow, annoyed by the eccentric speech patterns of his adversary and by what he interpreted as mockery.

"You'll regret giving me the initiative!... ORAAAAH!"

He lunged at Mavros like a furious rhinoceros, his mace serving as the horn. Mavros calmly awaited his charge, devoid of any fear. As Janpelan approached within meters of him, he swung his mace from behind his left side in a powerful lateral sweep, cutting through the air with its speed.

"Eh?!"

However, it had only stirred up dust. Mavros was no longer there.

"Here." Someone called him from behind, tapping his back twice like a knock on a door.

"You!" Janpelan glanced over his shoulder—it was Mavros. He had managed to slip behind him with a nimble roll on the ground at the precise moment he made his sweep. Immediately, Janpelan attempted to strike him with his mace as he turned towards him, but Mavros evaded it once again by sidestepping.

"I hope it's not too late…"

The girl from the balcony returned, now holding a wooden staff with a crystal blue tip in her right hand and an open book in her left.

"Hm!" She quickly spotted her father repeatedly attacking his opponent with his mace. "Let's see... Somnoro sagittam..." The girl read a page from the book, trying to memorize one of its contents on the go. "Alright! I got it!"

She then closed the book and placed it on a chair. Holding her staff with both hands, she pointed its tip towards the dark knight.

"Not bad," Mavros said to Janpelan in sincere and calm admiration, effortlessly evading his new attempts to strike him by circling around him. "Thou art remarkably nimble for thy weight and stature, Ser Janpelan..."

Is he calling me fat or what?! The warrior was offended by his insinuation. "Shut up!"

Janpelan tried to silence him with a surprise strike to his face using his shield, but Mavros anticipated and evaded it by leaning back.

Take this!

At that moment, Janpelan swung his mace forward with all his might. Mavros managed to recover in time to jump to the side, revealing what was behind him.

No!

Janpelan's lips curved downwards in the greatest horror, but it was already too late to abort his attack. The spikes of his mace shattered the head and neck of the statue of Lord Santario Monteros, the rapier swordsman. Open-mouthed in astonishment as if he had just witnessed his mother's death, he watched as each fragment of marble fell at his feet.

All those gold coins... all those days she spent in her workshop to create this masterpiece... my wife is going to kill me…

He was petrified, his mind absorbed in what he feared the most.

I almost have you... I just need to perform the 'sequence.

From the balcony of her home, his daughter finished focusing on the equally stunned and distracted knight with her staff.

But just as she was about to complete the final and crucial mental step to cast her spell, a fat fly buzzed by her eyes, disrupting all her concentrated effort.

"Damn it!" she muttered angrily, hearing it fly away. Because of that fly, she would have to prepare the spell from scratch again.

In the plaza, the two warriors were still stunned by the unfortunate accident.

"Holy Maskirio!" Mavros exclaimed apologetically to the distraught Janpelan, feeling hurt and guilty as he looked at the rubble of the decapitated statue. "I do swear 'twas not a deliberate act, for I am a man who doth hold art in high esteem. I knew not 'twas behind me, I..."

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"

The towering Ser gripped his weapons in fury. He slowly turned his head towards the knight, with crazed eyes and a twisted smile.

"Now... you're going to die," he declared, gritting his teeth.

His mace!

His mace and part of his armor suddenly became engulfed in violent, fluid flames that seemed to have a life of their own. Mavros was dazzled by the ball of spikes, which gleamed like a miniature sun.

Now, finally…

Taking advantage of the knight's newfound distraction, the girl with gray hair had once again prepared herself to cast her spell.

But…

Buzzzzz.

The fly once again interrupted her at the most crucial moment.

"This has to be a bad joke…" She bit her lower lip, growing increasingly irritated.

Nefesh... So this Holy House knows how to control it too, Mavros raised his eyebrows, the flames of his rival reflected in his pupils. "Thy morning star is the first I have chanced upon that doth fulfill its sobriquet... I discern the reason wherefore the emblem of thy lineage is the salamander, emblem of fire," he said.

"ORAAAH!"

Janpelan's response was a powerful and sudden sweep with his mace. For the first time in the battle, Mavros couldn't move to dodge it.

Heavens!

He managed to intercept the blow with his staff, but it had such force that it pushed him back several meters. A trail of flames momentarily engulfed him.

It's stronger than I thought, Mavros realized in astonishment. He had barely managed to stop himself and remain standing after that impact. If I hadn't used my staff, it would have injured me. An ordinary weapon would have shattered.

A loud and sharp noise interrupted his thoughts. As he turned in its direction, he saw a line of fire moving rapidly towards him like a voracious snake. Mavros rolled to the side to avoid it, and the line dissipated just a few meters from crashing into a wall. Jinpelar pressed on, harassing him up close with new sweeping attacks and downward flaming strikes with his mace. With some effort, Mavros maneuvered through the fiery onslaught, as if dancing with a tempestuous star.

All of his attacks are formidable... but they leave him momentarily vulnerable, Mavros discovered after studying his movements. I just have to wait for him to finish one of them to deliver the blow I need to defeat him.

Good... No matter how much you move, it will catch you…

Janpelan's daughter was about to attempt casting her spell on him for the third time from the safety of her balcony.

But, just like the previous failures.

Buzzzzz.

The fly once again caused havoc at the most inopportune moment. The third time had been the charm. Her pent-up anger erupted like a volcano:

"AAAAAH! FILTHY WRETCH!"

Determined not to tolerate its impertinence any longer, she released her right hand from her staff and immediately charged a new and devastating spell that she knew perfectly well.

Pyromantic art: Wings of the Fire Bird!

She extended the palm of her hand, from which a wide fan-shaped blaze emerged, covering a 180-degree range in front of her within a radius of at least three meters.

"DIE!"

The overwhelming flames managed to trap the unfortunate fly. The girl watched its ashes fall onto the cobblestone street.

"At last..." she muttered with a smile of calm and relief as she prepared to dissipate the fire. "You won't buzz anymore, you cursed creature."

Luciara?! Her father was startled and paralyzed by the sight of her on the balcony of their house in the midst of the battle. He had been drawn by the glow of her pyromantic spell.

What on Mater is she doing? he wondered, nervous about her apparent and childish recklessness.

Mavros widened his eyes to their maximum extent.

Now!

Completely focused on the duel, he didn't fall into the same distraction. The opportunity he had been waiting for had arrived.

"HYAAAH!"

"Eh?!"

As Janpelan snapped back to reality, he saw the knight lower his staff in a vertical swing towards his solar plexus. Reflexively, he raised his shield to protect himself, but…

"COUGH!"

CRACK

He coughed in pain, and his flames extinguished. The blow was so powerful that his shield barely served any purpose. His body was propelled several meters and he trembled from head to toe in an internal earthquake, as if he had withstood the impact of a solid stone pillar instead of a simple staff.

"Father!"

Concerned, his daughter watched as his back collided with the wall of a building. He released his mace and dropped to his knees with his head bowed.

Oh my God! What a brutal hit! What a terrible Nefesh! His chills made him break into a sweat as he observed the cracks in his sturdy shield. It could have shattered the Maqsdo steel. If I hadn't protected myself...

He lifted his head, terrified. The knight approached him with slow steps.

Damn it! I can't move!

Mavros stopped a few meters away from his defeated adversary.

"Art thou now more at ease, Ser Janpelan? May we engage in discourse?" Mavros said in a firm yet calm tone. He sheathed his staff, considering the battle over.

Although he has left me defenseless, he doesn't intend to deliver the finishing blow. It seems that for him, this fight is already over... He's definitely not an ordinary Abiyr, he thought.

Ser Janpelan raised an eyebrow, intrigued by this unusual behavior. His doubts were growing, but as a final precaution, he reached for a strange dagger sheathed at his left side—a last resort at his disposal.

"Listen... I want you to answer some questions, Abiyr."

"I'm all ears, Ser..." Mavros agreed to his request.

This time nothing will interrupt me!

The crystal tip of the staff gleamed. Luciara would finally be able to cast the spell she had been trying so hard to help her father in his troubles.

A fuchsia sphere shot out from it, guided towards its target.

"But wherefore dost thou address me as Ab…?"

Before Mavros could finish his question, he felt a powerful blow to his skull followed by a small explosion. The Somnoro Sagittam had hit its mark.

"Ah!" Mavros staggered, rubbing the area where he was struck in pain. "What...?" He quickly felt his consciousness slipping away. "...is happening?"

His vision blurred completely as he fell headfirst to the ground, under the gaze of his bewildered opponent.

"I did it!" Luciara celebrated, closing her fist and placing it at her side in excitement.

The confrontation had ended, Mavros had been defeated in a way he didn't see coming.

But his misfortune in Cirencre had only just begun.