Soot-Steeped Knight (LN)
“…A strength,” Theodor reflected, “superior to Sister’s? As I am now?” Together his lips pressed, as though to some pain. “…A beloved, lost. A strength, gained. This wound wails, Rolf Buckmann, when in so reckoning, you rub into it the salt of irony!”
“What irony, Theodor Östberg?” I returned. “That only torn from Viola could you attain to your potential? Or that you ill-see your soaring strength for what it truly is—a fitting sendoff for your dear sister?”
Viola’s creed had walked in lockstep with the cruelty that was Londosian canon. Why, she’d sacrifice a Nafílim child if it furthered her fortunes. And for that, I could feign no fellowship with her. For that, she full-deserved her defeat.
Still…
Still, to label her as little more than an enemy, some mere hurdle to be hewn, would’ve been blithe of me, or baleful, even. As I ought bear the blade of resolve in my hands, so I ought make of my eyes the clear mirrors of measure, that I might judge my enemy justly, and even vouch for any valour he has revealed. Lest I in turn fashion myself a foe deserving every profanity spat at me. Lest I lose my way and betray, too, the people to whom I’ve made my promises.
And so do I look to Viola Östberg, and see the faceted soul that she was: a callous sellsword, a capable commander… and a caring sister with true cherishment for her brother. For what else accounts her last words? Her last thoughts for Theodor?
‘…I… I’m…’
…”sorry”.
For leaving too soon.
For living no longer by your side.
Till the bitter end did this sister worry for her brother. Then so should his newfound strength well-lay her worries to rest. Theodor, now strong upon his own two feet, stronger than even his loving sister—indeed, what better keepsake for her parting spirit?
“…”
Unbroken was that quieted brother’s stare upon me, with eyes distant, with ears yet ringing with my words. In his mien was enmity, of course. But something else, as well. Something, misting in and out of sight.
“…‘Look ill beyond the ungraced label’…” he seemed to recite. “…Always the fool that falls for his own folly…” Such introspection earned my puzzlement. But that moment soon ended as keenness glinted again in Theodor’s regard and a thunder returned to the air: that of his voice. “Enough! It’s high time I bled you dry, Rolf Buckmann!”
Thus resumed his lightning-flash offence, flickering in and out of reach, striking as he pleased, leaping away from any retaliation of my trying, only to lunge back in for another bite. Against such fury, I could but defend desperately and more desperately still.
“Gghh…!” I groaned with grinding teeth, drowning again in this sea of chanceless exchanges, of dodging Death time and again by mere slices of a second. Would that Theodor’s spear were slower by even a mite, then most certainly could I have answered it in full. But that selfsame mite of a difference gave the Östberg brother all the advantage he needed: over and on were dealt grazes and gashes upon my person, with none given in kind to the offender. Diverting odyl from his spear to his sinews, then, had proven to my opponent the champion’s choice.
—Bshhrr!
Across my thigh opened a slit most straight, drawn by Theodor’s low-lunging thrust. From it flew fresh blood.
How deeply I desired to endure it all, that I might glean some gap in his rhythm and mount a timely counter. But at this rate, defeat by futility seemed my singular fate. Had I some way to strike my foe from a distance, if only to check or distract him… yet my only means here was held in my very hands: a sword.
A furrow twitched upon my brow. This was the exact same situation when I’d faced Felicia: unceasingly assailed from a distance, with no sword-swing of mine ever reaching its mark.
…Hold there.
Felicia?
Surely I’ve gained something from her, from fending off those fey spells of hers. Indeed this must be so. As Theodor himself had moulded his mettle to vie with mine, so should I assay the same. To vie with him… must I vie with myself. My yesterself.
To moult into a mightier man must Rolf of today triumph over himself of yesterday.
But needed for that feat were the boons of today’s battles.
Then, I remembered it. A spark in the dark. Felicia’s final offence: the Igniēns Ĭcendō. The dart of death, the surestriking shot—sundered by a swing of this soot-steel. If even that could be cut, then Theodor himself ought fall to the same sword.
I had but to recall the moment.
When Felicia’s blood-black levin collected.
When that blistering line then lunged forth.
Against it, I…
…At once, I eased my every sinew. A taut string sooner snaps; in looseness, too, lives power. A tenet of the sword; a lesson I’d long left half-learnt. But aface Felicia had I felt closer to its secrets than ever before.
Be as Nought. Sense the instant to strike. And as it comes, let Nought become Numberless. There shall prodigious strength and speed be born.
This all, I ventured. Voided of vigour and unfettered from faculties, I then sought Theodor’s flickering form, waiting, waiting, waiting for the moment of his arrival, for when the very shimmer in his eyes could be seen with all clarity.
And when that moment came, I flooded my body full with brunt, and brandished forth the lightless blade.
“Ssyah!!”
Sword and spear instantly intersected. Two blades blazing trails, a contest to sooner scythe the other’s master.
—Zzkkhrr!
The sound and sensation of rupturing flesh.
“Ghhh…!” came a rasping groan…
…from whose throat but mine.
Naught but air did the soot-steel savour, whilst given to Theodor’s spear was a feast of ungraced flesh, ripped fresh from my flank. Still, not yet was my life forfeit, a fact perhaps espied by the Östberg brother, as rather than wreak the mercy stroke, he once again retreated and stared me down from a distance.
“A close one, cur!” Theodor cried in concession. “Full-maimed might I’ve been right then and there, had some prior wound of yours not stayed that sword!”
An eagle-eyed estimation. Indeed was I yet harried by the hid wounds from Felicia’s Kōkūtós, enough that any deftness dared by my sword seemed a dullness. But such was too poor an excuse—it was my guess that had failed me, and made of my sword a fool’s swing. Theodor’s was a thinking mind, not some insentient magick, loosed upon a mark like some fevered foxhound—even if such magick were mighty as Felicia’s Igniēns Ĭcendō. Answering his spear as I did my sister’s spells, then, was a blunder from the beginning.
“You really are too perilous a prey,” my foe hissed. “Not till your beheading can this huntsman breathe in peace!”
Pouncing, Theodor began once again his gashing and gouging rampage. And true to his word, my death by a thousand cuts seemed his most desired design.
“Kh… ghuh!” On and on I struggled, blood and sparks spitting every which way with each exchange. Little by little, Theodor’s lancing lunges whittled away at my flesh. Most miserable amongst them was the wound through my side as it gushed with greater crimson. At such a rate, my collapse loomed nigh.
Yet there was hope, one hid from Theodor with all stealth—step by step had I been sidling up to a certain spot, all the while warding off the speeding spears with as best a play at desperation as I could feign.
“Soon! Soon!” Theodor almost seemed to sing. “You’ll see it soon enough! Your ender’s end, Sis!”
It was right anear that very same sister of his where I next arrived. This was it. My second scheme. As fancied before: a means to strike my foe from afar.
“Hha—ah!” roared Theodor, returning fleetly for another joust.
Foreseeing his approach, I kicked up Viola’s weapon from the ground and, catching it in one hand, reared myself back to readiness—for a last resort of a spear-throw.
How utterly leaden it felt in my fingers. Certainly not a thing to be thrown, this. But neither was the sword of soot a thing to be swung. Yet if even that could I master, then—
“Sseh!!”
Full-fast flew the Zaharte spear. Only, where it went was not the body of its late wielder’s brother, but only his feet.
In other words: exactly as aimed.
“Nngh!?” Startled, Theodor jerked and jumped to escape my schemed attack. But such was his momentum that the mere jump became a long and shallow leap—and a prison besides. Airborne, no longer could he correct either course or career.
Taking the opportunity, I bolted forth and heaved the blackblade in an overhead slash.
“Zzyaa—ah!!”
Fine soot misted, trailing the sailing steel. Thereafter shrieked shorn armour and flesh—
—the sound of Theodor sundered in his flight.
Chapter 137: Volume 3 - CH 6.4
“What irony, Theodor Östberg?” I returned. “That only torn from Viola could you attain to your potential? Or that you ill-see your soaring strength for what it truly is—a fitting sendoff for your dear sister?”
Viola’s creed had walked in lockstep with the cruelty that was Londosian canon. Why, she’d sacrifice a Nafílim child if it furthered her fortunes. And for that, I could feign no fellowship with her. For that, she full-deserved her defeat.
Still…
Still, to label her as little more than an enemy, some mere hurdle to be hewn, would’ve been blithe of me, or baleful, even. As I ought bear the blade of resolve in my hands, so I ought make of my eyes the clear mirrors of measure, that I might judge my enemy justly, and even vouch for any valour he has revealed. Lest I in turn fashion myself a foe deserving every profanity spat at me. Lest I lose my way and betray, too, the people to whom I’ve made my promises.
And so do I look to Viola Östberg, and see the faceted soul that she was: a callous sellsword, a capable commander… and a caring sister with true cherishment for her brother. For what else accounts her last words? Her last thoughts for Theodor?
‘…I… I’m…’
…”sorry”.
For leaving too soon.
For living no longer by your side.
Till the bitter end did this sister worry for her brother. Then so should his newfound strength well-lay her worries to rest. Theodor, now strong upon his own two feet, stronger than even his loving sister—indeed, what better keepsake for her parting spirit?
“…”
Unbroken was that quieted brother’s stare upon me, with eyes distant, with ears yet ringing with my words. In his mien was enmity, of course. But something else, as well. Something, misting in and out of sight.
“…‘Look ill beyond the ungraced label’…” he seemed to recite. “…Always the fool that falls for his own folly…” Such introspection earned my puzzlement. But that moment soon ended as keenness glinted again in Theodor’s regard and a thunder returned to the air: that of his voice. “Enough! It’s high time I bled you dry, Rolf Buckmann!”
Thus resumed his lightning-flash offence, flickering in and out of reach, striking as he pleased, leaping away from any retaliation of my trying, only to lunge back in for another bite. Against such fury, I could but defend desperately and more desperately still.
“Gghh…!” I groaned with grinding teeth, drowning again in this sea of chanceless exchanges, of dodging Death time and again by mere slices of a second. Would that Theodor’s spear were slower by even a mite, then most certainly could I have answered it in full. But that selfsame mite of a difference gave the Östberg brother all the advantage he needed: over and on were dealt grazes and gashes upon my person, with none given in kind to the offender. Diverting odyl from his spear to his sinews, then, had proven to my opponent the champion’s choice.
—Bshhrr!
Across my thigh opened a slit most straight, drawn by Theodor’s low-lunging thrust. From it flew fresh blood.
How deeply I desired to endure it all, that I might glean some gap in his rhythm and mount a timely counter. But at this rate, defeat by futility seemed my singular fate. Had I some way to strike my foe from a distance, if only to check or distract him… yet my only means here was held in my very hands: a sword.
A furrow twitched upon my brow. This was the exact same situation when I’d faced Felicia: unceasingly assailed from a distance, with no sword-swing of mine ever reaching its mark.
Felicia?
Surely I’ve gained something from her, from fending off those fey spells of hers. Indeed this must be so. As Theodor himself had moulded his mettle to vie with mine, so should I assay the same. To vie with him… must I vie with myself. My yesterself.
To moult into a mightier man must Rolf of today triumph over himself of yesterday.
But needed for that feat were the boons of today’s battles.
Then, I remembered it. A spark in the dark. Felicia’s final offence: the Igniēns Ĭcendō. The dart of death, the surestriking shot—sundered by a swing of this soot-steel. If even that could be cut, then Theodor himself ought fall to the same sword.
I had but to recall the moment.
When Felicia’s blood-black levin collected.
When that blistering line then lunged forth.
Against it, I…
…At once, I eased my every sinew. A taut string sooner snaps; in looseness, too, lives power. A tenet of the sword; a lesson I’d long left half-learnt. But aface Felicia had I felt closer to its secrets than ever before.
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Untangle all tenseness. Empty all exertion. Cast from the conscience the boundary between flesh and atmosphere. Meld the mind with the ambiance about. Envision flesh as water, free and flowing.Be as Nought. Sense the instant to strike. And as it comes, let Nought become Numberless. There shall prodigious strength and speed be born.
This all, I ventured. Voided of vigour and unfettered from faculties, I then sought Theodor’s flickering form, waiting, waiting, waiting for the moment of his arrival, for when the very shimmer in his eyes could be seen with all clarity.
And when that moment came, I flooded my body full with brunt, and brandished forth the lightless blade.
“Ssyah!!”
Sword and spear instantly intersected. Two blades blazing trails, a contest to sooner scythe the other’s master.
—Zzkkhrr!
The sound and sensation of rupturing flesh.
“Ghhh…!” came a rasping groan…
Naught but air did the soot-steel savour, whilst given to Theodor’s spear was a feast of ungraced flesh, ripped fresh from my flank. Still, not yet was my life forfeit, a fact perhaps espied by the Östberg brother, as rather than wreak the mercy stroke, he once again retreated and stared me down from a distance.
“A close one, cur!” Theodor cried in concession. “Full-maimed might I’ve been right then and there, had some prior wound of yours not stayed that sword!”
An eagle-eyed estimation. Indeed was I yet harried by the hid wounds from Felicia’s Kōkūtós, enough that any deftness dared by my sword seemed a dullness. But such was too poor an excuse—it was my guess that had failed me, and made of my sword a fool’s swing. Theodor’s was a thinking mind, not some insentient magick, loosed upon a mark like some fevered foxhound—even if such magick were mighty as Felicia’s Igniēns Ĭcendō. Answering his spear as I did my sister’s spells, then, was a blunder from the beginning.
“You really are too perilous a prey,” my foe hissed. “Not till your beheading can this huntsman breathe in peace!”
Pouncing, Theodor began once again his gashing and gouging rampage. And true to his word, my death by a thousand cuts seemed his most desired design.
“Kh… ghuh!” On and on I struggled, blood and sparks spitting every which way with each exchange. Little by little, Theodor’s lancing lunges whittled away at my flesh. Most miserable amongst them was the wound through my side as it gushed with greater crimson. At such a rate, my collapse loomed nigh.
Yet there was hope, one hid from Theodor with all stealth—step by step had I been sidling up to a certain spot, all the while warding off the speeding spears with as best a play at desperation as I could feign.
“Soon! Soon!” Theodor almost seemed to sing. “You’ll see it soon enough! Your ender’s end, Sis!”
It was right anear that very same sister of his where I next arrived. This was it. My second scheme. As fancied before: a means to strike my foe from afar.
“Hha—ah!” roared Theodor, returning fleetly for another joust.
Foreseeing his approach, I kicked up Viola’s weapon from the ground and, catching it in one hand, reared myself back to readiness—for a last resort of a spear-throw.
How utterly leaden it felt in my fingers. Certainly not a thing to be thrown, this. But neither was the sword of soot a thing to be swung. Yet if even that could I master, then—
“Sseh!!”
Full-fast flew the Zaharte spear. Only, where it went was not the body of its late wielder’s brother, but only his feet.
In other words: exactly as aimed.
“Nngh!?” Startled, Theodor jerked and jumped to escape my schemed attack. But such was his momentum that the mere jump became a long and shallow leap—and a prison besides. Airborne, no longer could he correct either course or career.
Taking the opportunity, I bolted forth and heaved the blackblade in an overhead slash.
“Zzyaa—ah!!”
Fine soot misted, trailing the sailing steel. Thereafter shrieked shorn armour and flesh—
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