The Wandering Sword

Panting and muffled cries, panic once again gripped the camp. The terror they had thought was over had returned. Beads of cold sweat trickled down the forehead of their erstwhile defender: the masked swordsman.

Less than ten paces away from him, the assailant he faced: a horrifying amalgamation of a canine and a bear, with torn skin and muscles bulging like fallen kin, but taller, bulkier, and with a more pronounced and hunched back. Its head was massive, with wrinkled-lipped jaws and a flat snout reminiscent of a war hound. A third, large eye sat in the center of its forehead. Three long, narrow tails extended from the tip of its tail; a trio of elongated and sinuous whips that writhed and swayed with a life of their own.

His human prey still felt the gash on his right side that it had inflicted with one of those deadly weapons. Blood stained the palm of his left hand and the tips of his fingers as he kept his eyes fixed on the infernal creature.

"Oh no…"

Several campers feared the worst as they saw his pained expression. His only hope of surviving this situation seemed on the verge of extinction.

But on his lips, a forced smile emerged, concealed beneath the veil of his mask.

It's not serious. I've endured worse in my 'trainings' at the Royal University of Iowon, the swordsman assessed with relief. The wound was superficial, and the amount of blood he was losing from it would be insignificant. Nevertheless, he swallowed hard at the alternate scenario his imagination projected in his thoughts. But if I hadn't moved in time…

The partially open jaws of the beast and the guttural growl that emanated from them snapped him back to the present. Its tails cut through the air, with even more chaotic twists and turns than before.

This must be the leader of this pack of abominations, the fencer observed. Its level of corruption is stronger than the others I just exterminated. But its nefesh is very low, almost nonexistent. Its level of danger must be barely that of a Tribos, and solely due to its physical constitution. If this abomination isn't the owner of that nearby nefesh, then who is it?

The beast let out a roar. In powerful undulations, its tails moved toward the swordsman, interrupting his contemplations. He saw them coming and, with swift backward leaps, managed to evade them and retreat to a safe position. The whips lashed savagely at the ground he had previously stood on, sending several clumps of earth flying in disparate directions.

"It seems that he’s back on his feet!"

"Thanks to Senshan!"

His audience celebrated, regaining their composure as they realized they had been fooled by a false alarm; their champion was far from falling. The swordsman's left hand opened, generating electrical charges that formed his characteristic shield.

In any case… How... how could I let myself get so distracted that I didn't notice it? How did I allow myself to be taken by surprise? He reproached himself, embarrassed and angry at the lapse he knew could have cost him dearly. Determined to make amends, he prepared to confront the beast. His hands and legs assumed their rigorous fencing stance. This one might demand a bit more effort, but it won't be too complicated. I have plenty of energy left to execute another “Silver Storm.” He focused his pupils on the abomination like the tips of poisoned blades. Now, you'll see!

But just as he was about to demonstrate his best technique once more…

The branches of nearby trees rustled. Someone leaped out of them with a great bound. He landed crouched between man and beast with a soft thud.

"Ah?!"

At their unexpected entrance, everyone jumped in surprise.

"A knight?!"

"But where did he come from?!"

The campers exclaimed, voicing their confusion and bewilderment.

The unique newcomer proceeded to stand up. A gray knight's armor covered his body from head to toe. A metal staff was sheathed on his back, and the scabbard of a double-edged sword clung to the left side of his hips.

That armor... A Grianzan knight? What the hell is one of those fools doing here? Sheida wondered, confused and suspicious as he got a better look at him. His distrust was justified, as their presence wasn't common in that province under the jurisdiction of the Kingdom of Niespal, especially in that secluded part of the forest away from the common trails. Despite all signals that he had come to help, the bad experiences that the young musician and the members of his community had had with them in the past made him initially frown on his intervention.

It's... It's him! He's the bearer of that elevated nefesh I've been sensing! the swordsman realized, astonished. That character bore no resemblance to how he had imagined him.

I'm pretty sure it's around here…

Slightly disoriented, the knight tried to confirm his location, a task hindered by the limited field of vision offered by his helmet.

But what the...? The first thing his eyes met were the wide-open jaws of the beast, as large as half of his body, lunging at him to engulf him in a single bite. In a timely reflex, the knight sidestepped with a short hop, eluding his opponent who continued forward. Its jaws clamped shut like pincers, tasting nothing but air and dust as the knight flanked it on the left.

I see... This is one of those Ashaim beasts, he recognized, immediately grasping the situation. Without hesitation, he unsheathed and wielded his sword with both hands, unwavering and fearless. What was a spine-chilling and rare experience for most people had become an ordinary task in his life. One of the few tasks where the incapacitating strength of his staff was insufficient, and the lethality of his bladed weapon was justified.

Just as I suspected, they were around this place. But... Where is the Holy Wa...?

The beast's whips thrashed wildly toward the knight before he could delve further into his doubts.

"Watch out!" the audience warned him, but it was already too late to evade them.

Even the experienced fencer was impressed by what happened next. With his sword, the gray knight deflected and blocked with exceptional skill and speed each of the monster's repeated lashings. The whips relentlessly clashed against the unbreakable diamond of his defense.

That speed and agility... They come quite close to mine, and he isn't even wielding a light sword, the masked warrior perceived, which made him furrow his brow in jealousy—an occurrence that happened with very few individuals. Although his trained eyes could closely follow the movements, they were as elusive to the other spectators as his fencing thrusts and cuts. It seems the warriors of these domains live up to their reputation.

He can't be a Grianzan knight, at least not of the ordinary ones I know. Not even if they were reborn could those cowards fight like this... Sheida analyzed, beginning to set aside his prejudices. Most likely, he's another Holy Warrior... But why... why do I have this strange feeling that I've seen him before? Something about him feels familiar...

In escalating frustration at not being able to harm him in the slightest, the beast curled its lips into a grimace, revealing its ugly fangs to the knight. Then, it released its three whips in a simultaneous strike at different parts of his body.

The knight executed a whirlwind spin. The monster let out a scream; nearly half of its three tails went flying through the air, landing in the grass. Hot smoke emanated from the flesh cut by the sword.

The metal of his sword remained undamaged upon contact with its flesh and blood, the masked fencer was particularly drawn to this detail, knowing better than anyone how significant it was. There's no doubt, he's a Holy Warrior. Does he belong to the Holy House of Lis? Or is he an agent of the Order of Lebias?

Mute with anticipation, the crowd eagerly awaited what appeared to be the nearing conclusion of the encounter. Disarmed after losing its whips, the beast was more defenseless against its formidable adversary.

Well, now I just need to target its head, the knight reasoned, enjoying the comfort provided by his tactical superiority. An “Ascending Blade” should be more than enough.

He retreated with a leap to increase their separation distance. He flexed his legs and assumed a stance in which he raised his sword to head level, tilting and extending it slightly diagonally toward his opponent.

The Ox, the “bull,” the fencer identified this stance by the name he had known it as from his manuals and fencing classes. While two-handed swords were never his specialty, it was part of his essential training to have basic knowledge of martial arts. What is he planning to do?

Suddenly, the knight sprinted with a powerful burst of speed, hurling himself right at the monster's gaping jaws. Accepting the challenge, the beast roared with anger and rushed to intercept him.

"Look!"

"His eye!"

The campers exclaimed in alarm, witnessing how the beast's third eye suddenly burst and shot a scalding jet of pressurized blood with precision toward his adversary. With a graceful dodge to the right, the knight eluded it.

The expelled fluid only managed to splatter on the ground a few meters from the fencer. His blue eyes watched as the blood disintegrated the vegetation and several inches of earth beneath it within seconds. His hair stood on end as he remembered how, during his exchange with the other beasts, he narrowly avoided being bathed in the equally corrosive blood of one he had slain, leaving a similar mark of destruction where it fell. The campers had been so engrossed in his fencing and that of the new swordsman that they had ignored these unsettling details at the moment.

Closing the distance between them more and more, the beast and the knight headed for their imminent collision. The massive jaws opened; the fangs were eager not to fail this time and turn their opponent into grinded meat.

The warrior's hands gripped his sword tightly. Just as he was a few meters away from being ensnared by its mouth.

Path of the Twin Suns, hard style, original technique: Havenfalls' Ascending Blade.

He moved his sword from bottom to top in a curved amethyst stroke that pierced the beast's head, splitting it in two like soft butter. The blow roared through the air and spread in an unstoppable wave that cut the rest of the muscular mass with perfect symmetry. The two halves collapsed lifelessly to the ground, emitting fine vapors.

The mouths of the onlookers gaped open in bewilderment, paralyzing their tongues and throats. Under the sword of that warrior, the battle had come to an end.

He... he split that monster in two as if it were nothing…

The campers were still trying to believe it, overwhelmed by fascination and fearful respect for the displayed power.

That last attack... Released an enormous amount of nefesh in that brief moment. Its purity and control over it were outstanding... As outstanding as Jost's…

The same feelings were shared more discreetly by the masked Holy Warrior. The way that knight fought reminded him of someone he knew and admired.

Meanwhile, the knight carefully observed the successful—and quite excessive—results of his devastating technique.

Indeed, it was more than enough... Overkill, perhaps, he concluded calmly. It seems this was the only Ashaim around here.

He shook his sword slightly, letting the remaining blood drip off the blade before sheathing it gently. Having been exposed to the air for a considerable time until then, the toxicity of the blood had dissipated and had no corrosive effect on what it touched.

The knight turned around, eager to explore his surroundings.

"Heavens…"

The corpses of the other beasts that had been annihilated before his arrival immediately caught his eye. They were disintegrating rapidly from the inside, taking the form of an orange, gelatinous substance that seeped into the ground.

There were more, many more, but someone took the trouble to eliminate them... And it seems it's been a while since they did, he judged, noting that their decomposition gave him a precise idea of how recent the event was. He turned his head, surveying part of the camp and the crowd of campers gathered several meters away, holding torches.

So, I'm in a camp. Couldn't be a worse place for Ashaim beasts to show up, but I don't see any signs of destruction, and everyone seems to be fine... It seems to be calm. These people look that young corsair, and Sheida... Hm?

He locked eyes with someone in the crowd, someone whose face appeared just as he thought of him.

He's... Is he looking at me? Sheida perceived, filled with intrigue and confusion. Why has he been doing it for so long?... Does he know me from somewhere?... Wait! Could it be him?

Just as the knight was about to greet him, he felt footsteps approach and stop beside him.

"I have to say, that was a magnificent display," the author of the graceful movements said, his voice soft but firm, tinged with elegance and courtesy.

The knight turned toward the source, facing the masked swordsman. He had sheathed his rapier and regarded him with his exposed, discerning celestial blue eyes.

He must be that Holy Warrior, the one behind the electric nefesh that drew me here... the knight quickly surmised, observing him with the same solemnity with which he was being observed. "Thank thee."

"That voice…"

Sheida managed to faintly hear it from where he was standing. He slowly began connecting the dots.

"In mine travels through these lands, I hath heard that certain 'beasts' were causing terror upon the outskirts of this fair city. I deemed it fitting to inquire and take action thereupon," the knight continued addressing the masked swordsman. He paused briefly and shifted his gaze to what remained of the beasts' bodies, now transformed into an indistinguishable amorphous mass from their original appearance. “Were thou, mayhaps, the one who hath slain these Ashaim and safeguarded this encampment before my coming? ”

The masked swordsman nodded slightly.

"Yes. Fortunately, I was able to intercept and neutralize them here before they could cause a disaster."

He averted his gaze.

But unfortunately, I couldn't prevent them from taking some lives with them, he reproached himself internally, remembering the foolish soldiers who had ended up brutally massacred.

"I must also say I'm impressed that thou didst defeat so many on thine own," Mavros told the swordsman, pulling him out of his reverie. "I came specifically drawn by thy nefesh, thinking thou mightest need aid, but it seems I was mistaken…"

"Mavros?!"

Sheida's eyes widened; he had finished connecting the dots. Although his armor was no longer jet black and lacked his violet cape, his voice was unmistakably that of the knight he had encountered during his brief confinement in the dungeons of Cirencre.

"Thou hast wrought a mighty deed," Mavros continued cordially praising the swordsman. "Might I be graced with the knowledge of thy name?"

His pupils, black dots floating in his celestial lakes, dilated slightly. These and other subtle gestures in his body language didn't escape the perceptive eyes of the wandering knight, piquing his curiosity.

"I apologize for my rudeness," the fencer said. He extended his right hand, inviting a handshake. Mavros accepted the invitation.

"Mar... Macario, Macario Villaral, pleased to meet you," the swordsman identified himself as soon as their palms touched.

Macario... Macario?

Instead of continuing the introductory ritual by sharing his own identification, Mavros remained silent, absorbed and focused on something odd that had unsettled him; something that didn't add up. Something he had already sensed even before that initial contact.

"Thou art wounded," he said, somewhat alarmed, noticing the long, recent, untreated cut on the right side of his body. "We must see to this injury without delay and swath it in bindings forthwith. I do possess an acquaintance within this encampment; perchance they may procure for us the necessary provisions."

"NO!" the masked Holy Warrior adamantly denied, releasing his hand, his tone suddenly shifting to agitation. "It's nothing serious!" he insisted, calming his agitation a bit. "I don't need help with it!"

What happened to him? Why did he react like this out of nowhere? Mavros wondered in total confusion. After all, he had been very polite. There was nothing to justify this.

"Serious or not... prithee allow us to lend thee aid," Mavros insisted. "It is the least that I and these folk shouldst undertake to display our thankfulness for thy toils. They all do owe their lives to thee."

The fencer closed his eyes in impatience, shaking his head from side to side in a new, silent denial.

"They are...?"

"...arguing?"

From their prudent distance, the crowd tried to understand what was happening.

"Verily, art thou truly certain thou dost not wish for aid?" Mavros asked the agitated fencer one last time.

"No! Didn't you hear me?!" He reiterated, exasperated, opening his furrowed eyes towards him again. Instead of satisfying the knight, this response only continued to fill the well of his intrigue. Motivated by it, he examined the area of the wound more closely.

"Huh?"

He understood everything upon seeing the smooth, hairless appearance of his skin and the minimal part of the edge of a curved contour. A contour covered and pressed by layers of fabric to give it a flat appearance that it naturally lacked.

His voice, his hands, even his figure... By Maskirio! How didn't I realize it before?

The revelation engulfed him in the deepest embarrassment. Embarrassment that led him to make a big mistake in his choice of words.

"Macario... Be that not a somewhat uncommon name for a Lady of thy stature?"

That innocent yet impertinent question ignited a flurry of nerves within the masked swordsman, or should we say, swordswoman.

You idiot! The right hand of "Macario" crackled with small discharges of electricity. In an angry outburst, she hurled it toward the knight's helmet.

"Uh...?!"

Before he could react, the back of her hand delivered a stunning slap that sent him face down to the ground. His sudden revelation had just landed him in an unexpected predicament.