Chapter 66: 4.9 – Into Noviel

The lacquered wood of the practice dummy was grainy against Robin’s cheek as he pressed himself close to it in his hiding place. Perhaps a dozen strides away, Khavren was raging at him for his cowardice. Robin frowned, narrowing his eyes.

What a ridiculous position to take regarding combat. Fights aren’t fair in real life! Sentient vines try to trick you! Kobolds try to roast and eat you! Pixies ambush you with sleep spells!

And speaking of…Robin risked drawing attention to his location by uttering the syllables needed to cast [Minor Enchanted Slumber].

Khavren’s head whipped around, his eyes seeking, as he caught wind of the sound. The man had exceptional senses too! Damn his eyes. No. His ears. Damn his ears!

The knight blinked woozily for a moment, but shrugged off the effects of Robin’s spell without succumbing to them.

Not good. That was a sizeable chunk of Robin’s spellcasting energies gone to no purpose. Dare he try again? Or should he go for something else? [Cutting Words] was more than tempting.

‘Hiding is the act of a coward,’ Khavren shouted. ‘Come out and face me like a man!’

Robin’s eyes tightened and his lips thinned. He flashed his hands through the gestures of [Lesser Phantasm] to send his answer to the knight.

‘Ridiculous. I could as easily demand you face me in a battle of the bards, your performance against mine, or a mage’s duel with no swords or fists allowed. There’s nothing inherently manly about swinging around a hunk of metal when someone else has only their hands or their wits. You’re not some big man because you carry that hunk of iron. You’re just a bully.’

Khavren shouted something incomprehensible and lopped the heads off of two more training dummies. He was only three away from Robin’s hiding place at this point. The bard felt a trickle of sweat snake down his back.

‘You insult the honour of a thousand generations of knights,’ Khavren stalked around the training ground, having regained a modicum of self-control. ‘Your weasel-words cannot fool me, cannot do more than a trump upon the wind.’

Robin wasn’t fully listening. He was agonising over whether he should try sleep again or switch it up and see if fear worked any better. He had the cold and sneaking feeling that fear would be just as ineffective—if not worse—against Khavren. The man didn’t seem to have the sense to be afraid.

Still, might as well try something new. Robin breathed forth the [Whispers from Beyond] and hoped the terror gliding on the wind would find purchase via Khavren’s ears.

Again his hopes were in vain.

‘I told you! I care not for any whispers on the wind! Weak words! Pah! The weapon of fools and weaklings.’ Khavren shook his sword at the sky. ‘Come out and face me!’

He really seemed to be taking it as a personal insult that Robin wouldn’t present himself for a merciless beating. Should he step out with his quarterstaff and put up a token resistance? There was no question Robin would get his arse handed to him.

He didn’t fancy the bruises, if he could help it.

Robin could see Drev and Jhess. Both looked uncomfortable, and Jhess looked worried. She’d been pressing pretty hard that this guy was their best option. Would he be letting his new teammates down if he didn’t take the beating?

He did have [Healing Note]. He could handle a bit of a beating. Of course, by that token, Rerebos was hidden somewhere nearby, watching. The little dragon would be insufferable if Robin allowed himself to be humiliated in front of him.

What was the smart play here?

WWRD?

What would Rhyth do?

Rhyth had the powers of a god, so that was a pretty broad category. Robin was more limited. But he could still try to think like a trickster. Tricksters taught lessons, and even if they appeared to lose, they usually won something. Could he Xanatos Gambit this?

No. He didn’t have the time or the resources.

But he could think about what Khavren wanted out of this. If he could give him that, then he could probably also manage to get them what they wanted: Khavren on the team.

The man clearly wanted recognition of his own, freedom from his mother’s reputation. And he had very exacting ways he insisted on going about it. Honestly, he was like a kid, insisting that—

Oh. Oh no. That’s exactly what this was, wasn’t it? The shining armour. The sword. The insistence that there is a singular, correct way of doing things. No nuance, only black and white.

Khavren was caught up in the idea, in the story of it all, and he wouldn’t be satisfied with anything that challenged that worldview. So Robin could either face him and take a beating, or try to trick the knight and allow himself to be caught and ‘taught’ the lesson that Khavren’s way was superior.

The thought left a sour taste in Robin’s mouth. Rerebos was never going to let him hear the end of this.

At least he was wearing ‘Riv’’s face and not his own, for this.

Might as well get it over with. They needed this guy, and if this worked, at least Robin would have an idea how to nudge the man in the right direction when they needed to.

Robin pulled his quarterstaff out of storage and used [Visual Phantasm] to create a double of himself opposite Khavren. A plan took shape in his mind and he smiled grimly. Maybe he could get a couple of good hits in first. That would help take the sting out of his impending defeat.

As soon as the illusory Robin appeared, Khavren whirled on it, slashing with his sword. Robin leapt through some mental gymnastics to make the illusion dodge. He darted forward as quietly as he could, hoping Khavren would be distracted enough to—nope.

Robin’s quarterstaff whipped around toward the back of Khavren’s head, but the knight whirled at the last moment and parried with his sword, putting a solid nick in the wood of Robin’s weapon.

‘Treachery!’ The knight bellowed.

Robin really wished he was skilled enough to kick sand in the man’s eyes. Show him what real treachery was like.

Instead, he whirled into an attack pattern with his quarterstaff. Gotta make it look good, and maybe holding off Khavren long enough would win him some points.

Robin tried a quick thrust at Khavren’s face. The knight brought his sword up alarmingly fast and deflected the blow. That was the extent of the attacks Robin managed to get off.

From that point onward he was on the back foot, constantly on the defensive, retreating and trying to block the knight’s impossibly fast sword blows. Robin was lucky Khavren wasn’t using his full strength or he might have broken the bard’s quarterstaff in half!

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‘You see?’ Khavren panted between attacks. ‘Deceit cannot stand before the might-of-arms of a true knight!’

Robin fell back, resisting the urge to use [Visual Phantasm] to hide and regain the upper hand. Khavren would only take it as ‘cheating’ or some nonsense like that and that wouldn’t help them convince the man to join them.

The knight feinted. Robin barely managed to draw his staff back in time to block to real blow, which followed moments after.

‘Oh come on!’ Robin shouted. ‘What is a feint if not a cheating deceit?’

‘’Tis skill!’ Khavren roared, pressing his advantage. ‘Not some mummer’s trick!’

Robin bit back the [Cutting Words] on his tongue. That setup was begging for a joke at the expense of Khavren and his mother, and Robin knew it would hit like a ton of bricks, but no. Higher purpose.

‘I fail to see the difference!’ he shouted instead. ‘Might as well forego battle all together and decide the winner of any dispute by a weightlifting contest! At least there’s less cleanup!’

Khavren lunged. The edge of his blunted sword found Robin’s ribs and knocked the air out the bard. Robin stumbled back, gasping.

‘Ha! See? Words carry no weight in battle! Useless!’

Robin decided he’d put up enough of a show. He regained his footing and whirled his staff around, gathering momentum and spinning it into a powerful overhead blow.

You’d have to be blind not to see it coming. Khavren blocked it easily and then twisted his sword around the quarterstaff to slam Robin in the face with the pommel.

The bard went down.

Enough. Enough of a show. He waved his hands weakly, indicating surrender.

Thankfully, Khavren accepted his surrender.

The knight did not, however, do the gentlemanly thing and offer to help Robin up. He left him lying there in the dirt. Bleeding from the nose.

Robin whispered a [Healing Word] to staunch the bleeding and take the edge off the worst of his bruises. It exhausted his spellcasting energies but it was worth it. He hauled himself to his feet to see Drev and Jhess talking with Khavren.

The knight seemed to be in a better mood, at least, having ‘shown’ Robin the ‘superiority’ of his way of doing things.

‘Ah, at least you know how to get yourself up,’ Khavren said as Robin joined the group. ‘I was afraid you’d be too soft to manage even that.’

‘I’m tougher than I look,’ Robin said.

‘I should hope so!’ Khavren let out a booming laugh. ‘You look quite soft.’

Jhess was biting her lip to keep from laughing.

Robin added it to her ledger. The rogue would pay for this indignity. Not today, maybe not even soon, but someday.

Drev at least had the decency to ignore Robin’s humiliation.

He didn’t do anything to stop it, but at least he ignored it.

‘What do you think?’ Jhess asked. ‘Fancy joining us for a bit of treasure hunting and adventure?’

The knight looked them all over. It was clear he found them all lacking in some respect or another, but Robin also knew he didn’t have so many options he could afford to be overly picky.

In the end, it seemed pragmatism would win out over pride.

‘You conduct yourselves well enough in terms of battle skill,’ Khavren said finally. ‘I will consent to join your party.’

Yes! Result! And it only cost Robin a small fortune in dignity to achieve, too.

‘On one condition,’ the knight added.

Uh oh.

‘Name it,’ Drev said.

‘I want him—’ Khavren levelled a finger at Robin, ‘—to train with me daily, until he learns the true value of honour.’

‘Done,’ Jhess chimed in before Robin could say anything.

Oh for the love of—Robin mentally stopped the oath before he could offend any more deities.

Because he had to have offended one somewhere. Why else would he be saddled with a punishment like this? Honour? Really?

Honour, his perky bardic ass.

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