Chapter 165: Vol 3.5 Chapter 1 : Fiora’s Tale — The Gates of Galahad (Start of the Myriad Tales Arc)

ForestDweller

And the start of the next arc begins!

This is what I would call a side arc of sorts, since it just consists of small story arcs involving characters that aren't Hugo. Well, mainly Sherry.

Thanks for FailerQt for editing this chapter! And thank you HansTrondheim for designing the cover! Sorry for only using it now when I asked you to design it a month ago!

Fiora

Hmph, that’s the bridge? I expected something more.. daunting. I would even settle for more pompous, but alas. 

Behind all the towering greenery and white mist obstructing my sight, lied one of the three bridges that the Galahad Order was renowned for. If my memory is correct, as it always has been, it was baptized as Solum Bridge. It was the First of Three Bridges, separating the Five Sword Shrines of  the Order of Galahad. Each shrine was located on a plateau of a great mountain, and at the utmost peak, was where the Sword Goddess herself resided.

It was not some mammoth-sized diamond bridge or a gem-encrusted golden bridge like those you would often hear about in fairy tales. No.. it was a simple, unpretentious wooden bridge, wide enough for two carriages to cross at the same time. Accompanying it, like a chaperone of a maiden at her social debut, stood a wooden gate and a small enclosure made out of stone. And standing in front of said gate were two men, wearing what looked like bedroom attire. Each also possessed a sheathed blade with them, attached to their belts.

The Adept-ranked sentries, I imagine. 

Each bridge and corresponding gate are supervised by two sentries, and the further inside you go, the higher their ranks would be. The second gate ought to have Expert-rank guards and the final gate should have Champion-rank guards—each presenting a significant upgrade in difficulty. To stroll along the bridges, without either pummelling said guards with overwhelming force or vaulting over the wall, which would trigger the sentries to chase after you, one must either be an exalted sojourner or be in possession of the necessary documents to pass through. Local farmers carrying food and other provisions would belong in this classification. Another method was, of course, to be part of the Order yourself, and to possess the Sword-rank qualifications necessary for the sentries to let you through. For the first bridge, it was mandatory to be at least an Expert-rank in Galahad swordsmanship. For the second, a Champion. And for the third, only the elite few Virtuosos are welcomed.

So, naturally, they weren't going to let, in their eyes a rug rat, go through.

"Halt! State your business!"

They drew their blades at me, not unpoised in the slightest by my abrupt presence. It’s something I already anticipated. To them, I would inexorably display the presence of a fragile and meek little lady who could never stand to their blades. If I were to utilize a flower analogy, I would merely be a virgin lily, ripe to be plucked by their mighty shears. 

*sigh* How unfortunate

Just by witnessing how excruciatingly sluggish they plucked their steels from their belts, I could already tell with absolute confidence that my victory was assured if we were to come to blows, even with this mere wooden stick instead of a proper sword. No need to sully the edge of my mithril sword with their blood. Once, I questioned my folly of surrendering that sword to him, but now, I recognized that the blade is residing in the grip of someone who required it far more than I did.

Now that I was merely a few steps away from them, I witnessed their well-chiselled and hairy chests, displayed proudly by the sizable neckline of their robes, and how the loose trousers they wore were made out of light grey cotton. As for their swords, well the saying two peas in a pod would apply quite nicely here; long and thin, with a light curve in the middle.

"Peacock School, I presume?" I smirked. “The school that prioritizes agility over defence. Never seen wearing any armour in battle. Most fitting for my style."

The two men exchanged looks in confusion. It seemed that in their arrogance, they didn't expect for such bold and confident words to escape from the mouth of a 13-year old girl.

"Silence! We ask you a question and you shall answer! If you believe we would show you lenience just because you're young, then you are a fool! This is a holy land, built by Galahad himself! Only those who follow in his footsteps are allowed to enter!"

I rolled my eyes. Not only was I having an audience with weaklings, but buffoons as well. "Business? Isn't it obvious? I'm here to join your Order."

"A brat like you? Don't make me laugh! You don't even have a weapon! And look at those fancy clothes! You're just some runaway noble girl from the outside, aren't you? Scram! We have no need of your kind here!"

I had heard how the Galahad Order didn’t take too kindly of nobles joining their ranks, for they never lasted long here, thanks to the gruelling training they had to endure every day. They couldn’t bring their servants as well, meaning, they had to wash their own clothes, make their own bed, and dress themselves every morning. 

Hmph, to think they would lump me with those fools.

I opted to respond with a confident smirk, firing back at them at the same time. "What's wrong with these clothes? This dress is both fashionable and really easy to move in. And it's really comfortable as well. I'd rather wear these than those dull clothes you're wearing."

As expected, my words roused their anger.

"How dare you?! These are the type of clothes Lord Galahad himself wore when he was still alive!"

Still keeping up my smirk,  I ignored their mindless words and continued my taunt. "As for me being a noble, true enough. I'm glad you can tell just by my dignified appearance. As for my weapon though…"

In a flash, I took out the wooden twig from my pocket and leaped forward, swinging it to the first man's head, hitting him in just the right spot that it knocked him unconscious. My strike shouldn’t be so hard that it caused a haemorrhage inside his brain. Hopefully.

The other man, realizing that he was under attack, swung his blade to counter. Only to find a foot right between his legs, causing excruciating pain that only men could know. It knocked him out as well. I wasn’t particularly proud of kicking men in their family jewels, but the fact remained that it was an effective manoeuvre. In combat, you are a fool if you believe your opponent will always play fair.

The two hit the ground with near-simultaneous thumps. Just for added measure, I gave each of their heads a good kick with my right boot. No response. They were truly down for the count.

“Pathetic. Mere adepts really are no match for me anymore.”

Anger, a detrimental emotion to have when in a fight. “If you have to be angry, then hone that anger like a blade. Temper it and make it sharpen your senses, instead of blinding them.” That’s what that woman always said.

I pocketed the wooden twig back before taking a sword from one of the unconscious men. I also procured what looked like an ordinary block of wood from one of their pockets—a key for me to continue my journey. I then walked up to the gate behind them and pressed the wood into the crevice in the middle. It matched perfectly.

And then, with a creak that echoed through the silent mist, the wooden gate opened.

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The bridge was around the length of a thousand steps, and underneath it was a bottomless chasm, smothered with cloud-like fog, as if the clouds themselves had descended down from the skies and chose to settle there. They said that no one who fell into the chasm had ever returned, to the point that some even called the chasm a doorway to the afterlife. The remaining bridges had identical chasms under them, separating the mountain into three sections.

The pleasant scent of morning dew entered my nostrils, carried forth by the wind blowing from the distant summit. It blew away the fog permeating the air, allowing a momentary reprieve from the sea of white surrounding me. The bridge gently swayed back and forth like a pendulum—something that would terrify the hearts of lesser women. Like an ocean wave retracting and revealing seashells on the beach, I could see the pure white peak of the mountain in the far distance, before another white fog swallowed it.

The mountain was called Galahad’s Peak, named after the myth told throughout the ages, as the chosen resting place of the mythical/legendary warrior. He built himself a humble abode at the tallest peak/ledge, away from the affairs of men. Once he left this world, his students decided to build a sword school here in honour of him, and thus the Order came to be.

I didn’t dally once I crossed the first bridge as I made my way straight to the second bridge, bypassing the second shrine. That shrine was intended to train swordsmen and women of the Expert rank, and I had no need of such a facility, being an Expert-rank swordswoman myself. And since the building itself was located around thirty minutes from both bridges, it was all too easy for me to avoid it entirely, especially since there were barely any guards surveying the area.

Only to find that there were no guards guarding the gate.

I clicked my tongue. Well, this is troublesome.

I considered just cutting the gate open, but that would be impolite, wouldn’t it? I knew how these sword maniacs worked. If I were to be accepted, I had to prove my strength, fair and square according to their standards. I just did so by beating up those two Adepts from before, and now I was supposed to beat up two Experts here. And yet, they were nowhere in sight.

Haah, I guess they just got bored standing here all day. I’ll go check the shrine then.

Turning back, I made my way to the large pagoda-like building I had avoided before.

--------------

“Haa! Haa!”

"Put all your power into it! Don’t laze around! Hey, you! Don’t you dare loosen your stance! It’s only been an hour and you’re already tired? You’ll never reach Champion-rank at this rate!”

A chorus of spirited yells filled the morning air, followed by the ballad of swords cutting through the fog. It originated from the forty or so men and women standing in the building’s courtyard. They were in the middle of their morning training, as they were required to practice their form for a good three hours before they were allowed to have their breakfast.

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This was the Shrine of The Cymbal, the Second of The Fourth. It was where the Order trained those who had reached Expert-rank swordsmanship. The students were of varying ages, from older men and women to their twenties and thirties to teens who were still full with their youth. The Order didn’t really care about your age. You would be placed according to your ability as a swordsman or woman and nothing else.

Standing in front of them, I assume, was their teacher, which made her a Champion-rank swordswoman, since her students were all Expert-level. She was a slim woman in her middle to late thirties, and judging by her attire—a loose white robe with not a single armour in sight, she should belong to the Peacock school, just like those two I had just pummelled.

I could just stop my journey here and ask her to accept me as her student, but it wouldn’t be sufficient. I need to become a Virtuoso. No, I need to go beyond that. A Maestro, just like the Sword Goddess. So I could defeat the Imperial Knights and crown myself the Empress.

"You know, it's quite rude to just stand there and not introduce yourself."

My heart leaped. 

She somehow made her way beside me with a smile on her face. 

A blink. That’s all it took. If she were an enemy, she would’ve sliced my head off before my hand could even touch my sword.

“Hmm, can’t follow my movement, can you?” She giggled. It was adorable in a strange, somewhat awkward way. “That’s okay. Do you know what they call me around here? The Flash-Footed Peacock. Quite the grandiose name for a humble swordswoman, no?”

"Flash-Footed— but that's—"

"Oh, so you've heard about me before." Her smile grew wider. "Yes, you are now speaking to Lady Frida herself—the current head of the Peacock branch of Galahad."

...I was terribly wrong. She wasn't some Champion-rank swords woman. She was a Virtuoso—one of the three.

I didn't hesitate. I knelt down and lowered my head.

"Please, take me as your student!"

If I had to sacrifice my pride, then so be it, for I needed another mentor. One who wasn’t beholden to the throne, and she just so happened to be the perfect candidate. Her style matched mine to the letter, unlike the style of my old mentor. If she took me under her tutelage, I would be able to obtain even greater strength.

“...I see.” Her cheerful voice vanished, replaced with a severe speech of an experienced warrior. “Pray tell, who are you exactly, miss? Another daughter of some noble who decided she was better-suited for the blade than the ballroom? Or are you someone else, someone with an exact purpose in her mind, someone with the determination to devote her body and soul to the way of the blade?”

I gulped. I had thought about this oh so often throughout my journey, should I reveal my real identity or not. I had left Helen at the nearby village, so I could probably pass off as some no-name noble’s daughter.

...No. I couldn’t lie to her—someone who would teach me for years. I had to be honest, even if it meant risking her and the rest of the Order throwing me out to not involve themselves with the politics of the Empire.

I straightened myself, gazed at her azure eyes, and said, “My name is Fiora Guinevere Pendragon, the Second Imperial Princess of the Holy Milicis Empire. But I arrived here not as an imperial princess, but as a student. I swore an oath, to my name and the Saint’s, that I would do everything you ask of me without a single word of complaint, just like any other student of yours.” I then lowered my head and knelt down once again. I couldn’t see her expression afterwards, but I imagined it was one of surprise, as she was made speechless from it.

*step* *step*

As I grovelled there, waiting for Madam Peacock's reply, I heard footsteps approaching.

Oh lovely. Someone is about to interrupt us.

“Who is this?”

The voice, oozing with a crude volume of suspicion and hostility, came from a girl much younger than Frida's. If I had to divine a guess, it belonged to someone much closer to my own age.

I stood up once more, turning my gaze at the uninvited guest, finding the girl who spoke was a youth not that much older than yours truly. I shall ascribe her attributes to a blazing sun, as such was the impression she graced me with: flaming hair tied in twain, descending all the way to her thighs, and sharp scarlet orbs peering into me, unabashed and unreserved. The girl wore an outfit much different than Frida's: leather vest, gloves, and boots (Frida opted to wear sandals), complemented with a sword attached to her hip. Black stockings adorned her long legs, ending at the short white skirt midway up her thighs. Hmm, makes one wonder if she doesn't flash people with a skirt that short, not that there's anything fundamentally or morally wrong with such an action. Giving the masses a nice view of your legs and buttocks from time to time could add to a maiden's charm significantly, though you always had to be careful not to show too much, or else they would believe you're a whore with loose morals. Most men don't like whores except when they lied down with them.

...Hmm? You're inquiring why I donned an ankle-length dress then? Hmph, it's inconceivable for a lady of my stature to mesmerize the male sex in such a manner. They would have to perspire blood to even attain a glimpse of my knees. Akin to a thorny rose, one must injure their hands before they are permitted to pick me from the horticulture of aristocratic women. With the exception of Helen, only one boy ever saw me in my undergarments and he had certainly earned it, for he had beaten me in a fight. His wind spell, being too strong for me to block, shredded my clothes completely, exposing my frilly regal whites to his eyes and the rest of the world.

Ah.. such fond memories I have of him.

"Greetings." I smiled, for the sake of cordialness.  "My name is Fiora. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I bowed, pondering if she had caught my name.

“Cut the crap! You just said that you’re an imperial princess! Do you expect us to believe that?!”

Ah, so she did.

“You are correct. I am Fiora Guinevere Pendragon, the second imperial princess of the Holy Milicis Empire. But rest easy, for I shall not demand any preferential treatment. Interact with me as you would interact with the rest of your peers.”

"Hmph, I see it now. You're just the usual runaway noble brat. How did you get here anyway? Bribed those two guards?"

"Why, I took them down. Fair and square."

I gave her a haughty smile. As expected, it made her even more mad.

"You expect me to believe that?" She yelled.

"Now now, Sara," Frida smiled. "No need to be rude. If you don't believe her words, then why don't you test her strength on your own?"

Oh? She's suggesting a duel? Now this is interesting.

The ill-tempered girl, however, was taken aback by the suggestion. "You want me to spar with her?"

"Of course!" The sword master’s smile widened. "As the sword genius who became the youngest and strongest Expert-rank swords woman in the entire Order, it should be an easy feat to teach her a lesson." She gave a mischievous glance towards my direction. Heh, she's enjoying this. What a troublesome teacher.

"I'm up to it. I don't know about Miss Redhead over there though." I smirked.

"O-of course I’m up to it! Who do you think I am?” She drew her blade and pointed it at me. “Fine! I, Sara of the Gazelle, challenge you to a fight!”

I smirked. This is exactly what I wanted.

ForestDweller

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