The Wandering Sword

"Oooaaaah..." Mavros let out a weak groan, sprawled on the ground with his body dazed.

He hit him!

What's happening?

Is there going to be…?

…another fight?

When will this madness end?!

The campers thought in silence, their minds overflowing with astonishment at the relentless sequence of surreal events. They didn't seem to want to stop in that modest—yet seemingly peaceful at first—space they had chosen for their camp.

Mavros! Sheida shouted with concern from the depths of his mind, speechless from the shock. He could never have imagined a legendary “Abiyr” falling in such an embarrassing manner.

At the same time, the fencer who claimed to be named "Macario" looked over her shoulder at the crowd with great unease.

Did they hear? “He” dreaded the idea that they might have learned the important secret the knight had discovered, and to make matters worse, blurted out loud. However, her concern soon shifted to the knight himself, as he saw that he wasn't getting up after the slap. She hurried over and stopped by his side to examine him.

This isn't the first slap I've received from a woman, but holy heavens! None were as terrible as this one, Mavros reminisced, still affected by the blow. Some of his happiest and saddest memories flashed before his eyes. She even added a touch of her nefesh to it. If it weren't for my electricity-resistant armor, the reprimand would have been much worse. What's this 'Lady Macario' problem with me?

To the relief of the fencer with the contradicting masculine name, the knight began to slowly rise, using his arms for support.

"Aaah... aaay..." he groaned, touching his helmeted head. "That hurt... Why did thou hit me?"

Why did I hit you, you idiot? For a moment, the swordsman's blood boiled with the desire to assault him again due to the ignorance and naivety displayed by his comments. But her strong and professional self-control—this incident being a rare exception rather than the rule—extinguished the fire and prevailed over her heated emotions.

"Huh?"

Mavros watched as she unsheathed her rapier and with a single motion extended its tip mere inches from his crotch.

"Listen," she told him with an authority that frightened him. "You will follow every one of my instructions. Attempt any false move, and I'll leave you like a gelded horse. Understood?"

Oh crap. Mavros started to worry much more about his safety—and virility—than when he was fighting the great Ashaim beast.

"Understood," he nodded, timidly acknowledging the orders and the disturbing warning from the one who was subduing him.

"Good," 'Macario' replied, calmer now that her captive seemed to grasp his situation. "Raise your arms. Turn around." Mavros quickly obeyed. The tip of her rapier grazed his breastplate. "Walk."

As if in a trance, the Ayarian campers watched as the one they still regarded as a mere 'fencer' led the knight docilely into the depths of the forest.

"Mavros!"

Terrified by what he saw, Sheida rushed to the aid of the wandering knight. But several of his campmates blocked his path. Two of them grabbed his arms, halting him in his tracks.

"He is Mavros! That Abiyr I told you about!" Sheida explained. "The one who defeated the Sahiron yesterday!"

"The Abiyr?... Are you sure it's him?" his father asked, incredulous. "His armor isn't black as it should be."

"I know, and I have no idea why it's gray now," Sheida replied. "But it's him! I recognize his voice!" he reaffirmed. "We must go help him! That Holy Warrior must have discovered his identity and intends to kill him!"

His listeners parted their lips, sharing and understanding the fear his assumption inspired.

"Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do," Sheida's father pronounced with resignation. "If we try to interfere in the affairs of those two, we could be seriously hurt, even killed. We were too blessed that they came and saved us from those Ashaim demons to challenge Senshan's will now..." He argued. Although there was a deeper reason for his denial. As much as they wanted the 'Abiyr' to live, he was in debt to the fencer. He couldn't raise his hand against “him”. "We can only hope he'll manage to survive. After all, he's an Abiyr, even the best Holy Warriors had to join forces to have a chance against them. I doubt that warrior will succeed in killing him on his own," he said, once again showing his wisdom. He glanced around the camp during a brief pause. "I bet no one wants to spend the night here after this madness. It's best we stay at an inn in the city until tomorrow," he suggested. Some showed slight grimaces of displeasure. Such a decision meant they would have to spend money they wished they could save. "I know it'll pinch our pockets a bit, but it's much better than risking the pain of a mortal wound."

The others reluctantly nodded, recognizing that his words were not lacking in truth. In a few minutes, they would finish packing their things and hastily leave.

"Mavros…"

Sheida didn't take his eyes off where he had seen him leave with his captor. His wish to see him in action had come true, but not in the way—and with the ending—he would have wanted.

***

Inside the luxurious residence of the Lord Mayor of Hezaran, Luciara leaned her back and head against one of the many walls in the main hall. With her arms bound behind her back, she gazed at the floor in a posture that embodied the reflection and anxiety silently gnawing at her from within.

My mother... has been acting very strange. She couldn't stop thinking about her mother's unusual coldness and the few words she had spoken during lunch, which had just ended a few minutes ago.

I'm just a bit uneasy about this situation with the beasts... and your escort's intentions.

Even someone like him shouldn't underestimate what might roam the woods.

Those phrases kept reappearing no matter how hard she tried to ignore them, like heads of a hydra multiplying when cut by a sword's blade. Besides that and the traditional pre-meal prayers, her mother hadn't said anything more during and after lunch. Quite unusual for someone who, despite requiring long periods of solitude for her work, was quite talkative with her family and friends in her leisure time.

She and the others know something they don't want to tell me. Something very serious... Maybe Mavros won't have it as easy as I thought... Maybe he could be really in danger.

Her hands clenched tightly.

Why? Why does everyone treat me like a child? her conscience protested at such helplessness. Being underestimated and given special treatment despite all her displays of self-sufficiency irritated her greatly.

She said she would go back to working on her sculpture. Not to look for her until she comes out of her studio, she remembered the last thing her mother had said after lunch.

She stepped away from the wall, raising her gaze with determination.

But I don't care, she nodded a couple of times. Yes, I'll go see her right now. Until she's honest with me, I won't let her touch that marble.

***

Coerced by his captor's sword, Mavros continued walking, venturing deeper into the forest. The only companions of the two were now the multitudes of trees stretching in all directions, and the occasional tones of the blowing wind and the song of some birds.

I must keep my composure, the knight told himself. He had never imagined he would get into such a mess. Despite being accustomed to dealing with danger frequently, he couldn't help but feel genuine fear. I've already made an unintentional mistake; it's my fault that all of this is happening. Now I must think twice about my next words and actions... If she were a man like me, I'd be calmer, I'd know how to handle it, but there's nothing more terrifying than the unpredictable nature of a lady who knows how to defend herself.

Suddenly, he heard her stop in her tracks.

"Halt," she ordered.

Mavros complied. The fencer inspected her surroundings with a critical eye.

"This place will do," she judged. The last remnants of her unease evaporated after that confirmation. "Turn around."

Mavros turned to face her. The fencer lowered the point of her sword.

"You can lower your arms."

"Ah?" The wandering knight blinked a couple of times. He thought he had misheard her new instruction.

"I repeat, you can lower your arms," she reaffirmed.

Thank goodness... At least it seems like she's much more relaxed now, Mavros noted with relief as he released his limbs. Since they had left the camp, 'Macario' had become more composed. Her voice no longer sounded altered in the slightest, and, without losing her firmness and strength, her natural femininity shone through, which she had previously tried to conceal with forced masculinity.

"Look, I apologize for hitting you," she offered sincere and serious apologies to the knight, much to his surprise. "I'm ashamed to have acted so unprofessionally. Someone like me should never have done that, but you completely caught me off guard when you discovered my disguise. I thought all those commoners were also going to find it out because of you…"

Huh?... So, she was more concerned about what they might think than anything else? That revelation caught the knight's attention. He could relate to those concerns.

"And that brings me to the first question I want you to answer," the masked figure continued. "How did you figure it out? How did you know I wasn't a man?"

Mavros remained silent for a few brief moments.

"In truth, from the outset, I hath perceived a peculiar essence within thee. Aye, a most curious 'artificial' aura, words do fail me to aptly describe," he said, directing his gaze with particular emphasis towards the area of her wound. "Yet it was this revelation that didst indeed validate mine apprehensions."

The fencer lowered her gaze to the cut.

Damn it! The skin around her eyes reddened. She stifled a choked cry with a gulp as she realized what her male counterpart meant. Curse that Ashaim!

Although only a small, well-concealed edge of her right breast had been exposed to the outside world, that didn't make the detail any less uncomfortable. She cautiously covered it with her left hand.

"Alright! I get it now!" she snapped at Mavros, making it clear that she didn't find it amusing at all, even though it wasn't his fault. To make matters worse, she had nothing but her left hand to cover the cutout at that moment. "Why are you still looking?" she asked, her irritation evident. "Do you want to die?"

"Ah!"

That final threat made him abruptly return his gaze to her blue eyes.

"Thine... Thy name is not 'Macario,' doth it?" Mavros ventured to inquire.

The fencer shook her head.

"There's no point in pretending with you anymore," she said. "No, of course not. Nor is my real surname Villaral."

"So... Why dost thou trouble thyself with that feigned guise?" the knight replied with a new round of questions, unable to contain his curiosity. "Who art thou?"

The masked woman's brow furrowed slightly.

"Firstly, that's none of your business. I have no obligation to tell you," she clarified sharply. "As for the second question... I could ask you the same thing because, now that I think about it, you never introduced yourself. What is your name? Which Holy House do you serve?" She countered with her own inquiries. "Depending on your answers, I might consider you worthy of my trust and reveal my true identity."

"My, my name is…"

Mavros's tongue stumbled when he was about to utter his name.

Wait... She's a warrior of the Holy House of the Royal Rose, he realized, noticing the rose embroidered on her worn jacket. It's highly likely she's heard about what happened in Cirencre yesterday. If I tell her my knight's name, she might figure out who I am and decide to stop me, or worse, try to kill me, he reasoned, facing the dilemma of what to say after considering these disadvantages. I can no longer use my Mathias of Mandygnog persona, and any other improvisation runs a high risk of being exposed as a charade... What can I do?

Seconds passed, and the fencer began to grow impatient due to his prolonged silence.

"And?" she urged. "Your name is...?"

"I doth lament to impart upon thee that I must abstain from revealing mine own identity. I wouldst cherish to do so, but the mandates of mine own quest doth hinder me," Mavros finally replied.

What?! The masked figure raised her right eyebrow in irritation. The last thing she had expected was to hear such a response, whose vague excuse only fueled suspicion. "So, you can't identify yourself due to a 'mission'? What 'mission'?"

The knight glanced around.

"I can't reveal that to thee either; all its particulars art forbidden," he rebuffed. "I hath the right to deny. How could I consider one who just lied to me and didst admit it, worthy of my trust?"

He swallowed hard.

If I say I don't belong to any Holy House, she won't believe me because theoretically, all those skilled with nefesh are trained by them. But if I claim to belong to one, she'll ask for a 'password' to prove it. It's a common practice among Holy Warriors who don't know each other beforehand and find themselves in special circumstances like this, he recapped, aware of why he was doing what he was doing. The effort he put into maintaining his composure and appearing convincing far exceeded that of the strength and agility he displayed in combat. Amina once told me the passwords of the Holy House of Magnolia, but I can't remember them well right now. At least with these excuses, I'm running less risk of appearing like a complete fraud.

A similar tension to Mavros's gripped the fencer, who was now more exasperated and distrustful due to these new words, yet couldn't deny that they could be justified.

"I don't understand what you're trying to accomplish. I don't buy these excuses you just told me. I hope I'm wrong, and you're not pulling my leg like I suspect you are," she said with unflinching honesty. "Either way, what matters now is that we both have our reasons for not wanting to cooperate."

She turned her gaze away, contemplating the endless rows of trees, her thoughts deepening.

"There's only one foolproof way I can think of to settle this. A fair and honorable way for both parties."

She turned her gaze back to the mysterious knight.

"A wager," she announced with an eerie calmness.

"Eh?"

A suggestion that was completely unpredictable for Mavros.

"A... wager?" he thought aloud, expressing his astonishment.

The masked figure nodded a couple of times by way of confirmation.

"Yes, a wager. And that wager will be..." She withdrew her left hand from her wound and assumed a fencing stance, brandishing her sword in the direction of his neck. "...a duel between the two of us."

A... a duel?! Between us?!... Is she serious?

This new detail shook Mavros like an earthquake. His irises gleamed like pure amethysts.

"If you manage to defeat me, I will tell you everything you want to know about me," the fencer continued to explain. "But if you lose, you will be the one who has to do it with me, and I won't tolerate any convoluted excuses as an answer... Is that clear?"

The knight looked at her with utmost seriousness, pondering her audacious proposal.

"I prithee pardon me, but I cannotst raise mine hand 'gainst a fair lady such as thee, especially if she be wounded. My code doth forbid it."

Another one spouting such nonsense. The fencer was by no means deterred by this well-worn comment she was accustomed to hearing from time to time. It was one of the many reasons, though not the most important one, why she favored her "Macario" disguise in certain situations.

"I already told you it's nothing serious. It doesn't even need to be treated with bandages because it's already healed," she assured him.

It's true! It's already healed! To his surprise, Mavros could see that the wound had closed. Apart from the dried blood around it, there was no sign of infection or any other health risk.

"And in case you haven't grasped it yet, allow me to illustrate another reason why I brought you here, far from the camp and prying eyes," the fencer continued. "If it came to a point where I was forced to fight you, I wanted to spare you the embarrassment of being humiliated in public."

INAN?! Mavros suppressed a startle at the subtle and confident provocation from someone who was determined to be his opponent.

"You don't hesitate to face an abomination like the Ashaim, but when it comes to testing your skills against a woman... Are you afraid of losing to me? Is that what concerns you the most? Such cowardice and insecurity are unworthy of a man who dares to wear the armor of a knight," the fencer concluded, launching new verbal daggers aimed at his pride.

The composure she displayed gradually stripped her rival of any reservations he initially had.

"Thou dost appear excessively confident, and I cannot deny that the evidence doth favor thy claim," Mavros drew the metallic staff from his back, brandishing it with both hands. "Very well, my code doth permit an exception to such a rule. I shall engage in thy game."

Suddenly, the masked figure brought the tip of her rapier within inches of his throat. Once again, Mavros felt momentarily more intimidated than with any other opponent.

"Please, don't be foolish, don't see this as a 'game.' Look at it for what it is: a duel," she cautioned him politely. "I may be a lady, but I am also a warrior who will defend her honor, just as you. If you forget that, if you hold back due to any foolish prejudice you may harbor, I will make sure you regret it."

Heavens... She's really serious, Mavros thought.

A smile crept beneath the knight's helmet, and he felt an indescribable cocktail of emotions coursing through his veins. On one hand, he still harbored reluctance to fight a woman. But on the other, he was overwhelmed by the excitement of facing what promised to be his best opponent in quite some time. The enthusiasm she had instilled in him with her presence and determination had thoroughly convinced him of that.

Even if she's a woman... I have to best her! If I don't, this could become the end of my journey, he motivated himself. And, to be honest, I would love to get to know the face behind that mask.

A duel in which his identity and his own fate depended on the outcome was about to begin.