Fate In Time 18 Chapter 18

This was why he had allowed Arturia to decide on all her decisions, and he simply being there to keep her safe. The experiences she had to shape her into the woman she was in the future, he had no inkling of, and as such, he would not force her to follow his own decisions.

For her sake, he could never be selfish. This was why, even at the end of the Holy Grail War, he had still conceded to her wishes, and lost her forever…or so it seemed.

However, the feelings he had for her never changed.

No matter how strong willed he, or any man in particular may be, there was just something about men that thoroughly infuriated them when their woman or children were wronged. It was an irrational sort of thing, yet in any case, it was currently what was spurring him into action; that, and the injustice done to a friend he understood had matured to be a better man.

As an advocate of saving all, he didn't normally indulge in such behaviour as he did in fact loath it, but irrationality was not something to be reasoned with; even more so when he noticed the paleness of Arturia's face, and the slow and dull breath that escaped past her mouth.

He was, and still is the man who had dared fight against the Servants of the Holy Grail just to stand side-by-side with the woman he loved. His level of recklessness had never changed. Thus, his foresight was not exactly the greatest in times of agitation or helplessness even as he grew older; in truth, it had probably only become worse. This was why when he had once been put in a situation where all he could do to prevent injury to Saber was to take the blow onto himself, he didn't hesitate in the slightest.

That recklessness was the exact same now.

He just could not sit still any longer.

The thin stick in his hand near an inch in diameter and a meter in length, swerved in a crescent to tap gently against the ground in a provocative manor. "Ten moves," he spoke clearly. "I will give you ten moves before I defeat you in one."

"He thinks himself a jester," someone in the crowd laughed.

The notion of defeating Petris, a Son of Vernier trained in the sword since young, in a single move was unheard of. Even more so when the party threatening to do so was armed with a stick that could be snapped in half with just the s.h.i.+fting of one's hands let alone against a blade's edge. If even that was not enough, the offending party had even given ten free moves. It was literally as if he was throwing the match.

Off to the side, Arturia had her brows creased, and even the Son of Wolfred with a hand pressing a cloth to his wrist to staunch the blood from his injury was frowning. Emily's expression was more confused if anything. She had never been one to train in the sword or spectate a bout between Knights.

"You?" Palamid eyed him as if he was crazy.

"Just hold off the other guy for now, and be sure to watch out for his blade," he spoke.

He didn't need to explain to Palamid that the blade was poisoned, its effect on Arturia was evident enough. Still, the fact that the compet.i.tion management didn't make a big deal out of it, and was turning a blind eye meant that they were allowing this breach in the rules.

Palamid shrugged before his gaze hardened beneath his helm. "I can do more than just hold him off, but that special service from myself is reserved for another more deserving vermin."

Palamid then turned to Arturia's previous opponent. "I will not offer you any terms, but the low and foul found within Roan are quite evident within you."

The freckled follower smiled before replying, "Victory is what matters."

Palamid grunted as his grip around his sword-hilt loosened, his body relaxing into a state of chilling calm. "In all my life, I have only ever been defeated once by one opponent," he spoke, tapping the pommel of his sword to his chest-plate and creating a resounding ding. "That opponent is the one previously defeated by you."

"Then that makes me, Edw-"

"I have no need for the name of someone like you," Palamid interrupted coldly. "You need only know that the strength of your previous opponent was not at his max capability." His sword came up in an arc and pointed squarely at the freckled youth's chest. "This I a.s.sure you. If not for a mere coincidence that you managed to land a graze, it would not be that d.a.m.nable Petris standing over there."

A warm sort of inner pride stemmed from within Arturia's chest, knowing what Palamid thought of her. As someone who she believed was similarly hiding away her gender, and was thus able to relate to her, it was an invigorating sort of emotion. In a way, she could completely understand what Palamid was implying. First, she would have defeated her opponent, and then promptly moved on to defeat Petris alongside the Son of Wolfred should he need the help.

"Useless words," Petris who had remained silent for the longest time finally spoke. Not only had s.h.i.+rou's words stunned him, but they completely infuriated him to the point of speechlessness. To be allowed ten moves, and then be defeated in a single blow? It was a humiliation. Even if he managed to win, what pride or justification of his ability could he speak of knowing that he defeated an opponent using a mere stick? Either outcome was a blow to his self-image, and should he lose, how could he ever face his father and older brothers?

"You, poverty ridden swine, pick up your blade!" Petris raged.

Many in the crowd had startled expressions after Petris's words. Looking at s.h.i.+rou's attire alone, what part of him screamed poor? This was obviously a means to slight the other party. The majority of them had only a single thought.

As expected of n.o.bles.

s.h.i.+rou stared at Petris before he shook his head. "This thin piece of wood is enough," he repeated his words. Looking carefully at the situation, he could determine exactly the root cause of Petris's behaviour. However, he didn't place social image in high regard in the first place.

He turned towards the compet.i.tion administrators, motioning for them to begin the match. His actions were not breaching the rules of the compet.i.tion as he did not technically bring his own weapon for use. Besides, not only was the stick found within the compet.i.tion grounds, but no one truly regarded a thin piece of wood as a weapon.

Reluctantly, the administration called for the start of the match.

"Ten moves," he reminded, standing still with his hands pointing the shaft of the wooden stick out.

Petris regarded him coldly, but the match did not start with his provocation, but rather Palamid's initiative.

Palamid did not waste a single breath as the freckled youth opened his mouth, but rather began an opening salvo with the blade he had in hand. His movements were like flowing water, his blade mercilessly exploiting any of the natural openings created due to the freckled youth's portly body. After all, body shape dictated the flexibility and maneuverability of an individual. In fact, it was in direct proportion to physical ability.

By the time the freckled youth could even take a breath, Palamid was already forcing him to the edge of the arena grounds.

This was the exact situation Arturia could have had achieved if she had not paid too much attention to her opponent's smell, nor held back to get an accurate gauge on the enemy. Sometimes it was just best to press forward with all of one's ability, and that was exactly what Palamid was doing.

All of these actions happened in less than three breaths of time, causing Petris to click his tongue. This was exactly as he had expected. The enemy possessed too great a sword skill then even he himself possessed. Without a few underhanded tactics, there was no way his side would have had won without relying on his elder brother, and doing so would bring him no great honours. As a matter of fact, it would probably be detrimental to his family standing. Yet his current situation was already forcing his hand.

"Draw. Your. Sword!" Petris yelled. He could not bring himself to endure such embarra.s.sment, but he also knew that if he did not act soon, Palamid would over power the freckled youth, and soon be on his way.

s.h.i.+rou simply stood rooted, his actions forcing Petris to act.

Agitated, Petris swung his sword down utilizing half of his body weight. Normally this should have been more than enough to cleanly sever even a block of hard wood, yet the stick in s.h.i.+rou's hand was just too weird. Rather than break or bend due to the pressure, it seemed to twist around the blade before deflecting the strength of the attack down to the ground.

"One," s.h.i.+rou spoke.

Petris felt like someone just punched him in the gut. This was too much of an embarra.s.sment. "You cur!" He yelled before attacking again.

The second blow.

The third.

The fourth.

The Fifth.

By now, the crowd had already gone completely silent. The only difference between individuals was the varying degree of emotion on one's face. While the majority where caught in a state between bewilderment and incredulousness, others on Petris's side were ashen faced, while others like the Son of Wolfred could not help but beam. The focal point of the entire match was no longer on just Palamid and the freckled youth, but on Petris and s.h.i.+rou alone.

"H-How!" Petris spoke, unable to hold in his growing resentment.

s.h.i.+rou kept silent as he methodically redirected Petris's sword before poking him on the forehead, a red welt developing and resembling a horn as Petris staggered back. Clearly, as impossible as it may be, s.h.i.+rou was winning with just a stick.

However, in s.h.i.+rou's hands, the stick was not an ordinary stick, but an object as hard as steel. s.h.i.+rou held no notions that if he had not reinforced the stick, it would have long broken by now despite the technique involved in dissipating the force behind Petris's attacks.

He had seen first-hand how Saber had dealt with the attacks of the Berserker cla.s.s Hercules, the great hero of Greece. Her strength was in no way equal to the famed hero, and yet before him on that distant night, in the face of that famed hero's strength, she stood at the forefront with her blade in hand. That steady figure was one he could never forget. The way her sword moved, and the fierce protectiveness in her eyes, at this moment, he unknowingly embodied it all in the eyes of his friends.

Regardless, he closed his eyes.

The sixth blow.

The soft thump of wood echoed out once more. The image of her lived on in him: Techniques, ideals, and even her hards.h.i.+ps. Throughout the time after the Holy Grail War, he had taken them all to heart.

To recreate that which he had once seen. It was not just in his ability to understand the history of a weapon and its owner, but on the emphasis of the importance the ability had on him. Otherwise, how could he remember every technique he had ever witnessed without first tracing out the owner's weapon? The stick in his hand, was a simple stick. No history aside from how it was chopped down from a tree, yet the manner in which he wielded it was extraordinary.

The seventh blow.

The eigth.

Petris's face was pale. If before he felt like someone punched him in the gut, now as he was approaching the tenth strike, he felt like ripping his own hair out in dismay. It just didn't make sense. Even if s.h.i.+rou was redirecting the strength of his attacks, the feasibility of wood and its make to fend off sharpened steel was impossible. Take for example how a carving knife can shape wood with the smallest exertion of force from the hands by placing the blade's edge to dig slightly into the surface. The situation was similar. His sword was sharp, one of the best from the local blacksmith, and even the craftsmans.h.i.+p was evident for all to see. However, despite pressing up against the stick in s.h.i.+rou's hands, it didn't so much as shave a millimeter of wood off, his sword sliding down the shaft and smashed against the ground.

Swinging his sword again, Petris fell back onto the teachings of his family's sword style. His two hands loosened around on the grip of his hilt as he struck forward.

The ninth blow.

As expected, the swing was once again blocked, but due to the loose grip Petris had in his hands, his sword was knocked out of his grip and flung twisting in the air above.

s.h.i.+rou's eyes widened for a moment when immediately after he disarmed Petris, Petris grabbed the blade edge of his sword and struck down with the hilt.

He had once heard of this technique, half-swording. By grabbing the central part of the sword blade with the left hand, a stronger thrust could be produced to even kill heavily armoured opponents. In this case, Petris had used the pommel-end of his sword to attack. By doing so, it was clear that he hoped to power through with blunt force.

Furthermore, the hilt itself would stop s.h.i.+rou from s.h.i.+fting the weight of Petris's swing to the ground.

"You're mine!" Petris exclaimed.

It really was a maneuver that reflected Petris's skill with the blade, but unfortunately, he was paired up against a steel wall.

s.h.i.+rou's gaze did not falter in the slightest, instead he stepped forward.

Petris's eyes widened as he realized what had just happened. The maximum power of a thrust or a swing was not found in close combat, but at the furthest point of the swing or thrust. By stepping forward, s.h.i.+rou had already reduced the force of the incoming attack by more than half.

The tenth blow.

With a clang, Petris's sword was forcibly ejected from his hands, blood seeping from between his fingers, a stunned look over his face. Ironically, the hilt he had used to try to disarm s.h.i.+rou was what lead to his own disarment, the hilt catching against the sword and providing leverage.

"My turn," s.h.i.+rou spoke as he struck out with his stick.

"No," a calm voice suddenly called. "Allow me."

A pained scream echoed out for what seemed like the entirety of Roan.

Before the compet.i.tion administrators could even call for a stop to the match, Palamid had already made his move, his sword gleaming in the light before directly stabbing through Petris's hand.

"An eye for an eye," Palamid vindictively spoke before pulling out his sword. As the crowd had been transfixed on Petris's fight, they had neglected to witness Palamid defeat the freckled youth and make his way over before it was too late.

s.h.i.+rou furrowed his brows. He didn't intend to go too far in this match against Petris. In fact, from his understanding, reputation meant a lot more to a n.o.ble than a defeat. This was why he had gone to such lengths to secure victory with a stick.

Still, there was a sense of ironic justice in the situation that the Son of Wolfred couldn't help but rejoice in.

"Arrest him!" One of the compet.i.tion administrators spoke. It was embarra.s.sing enough that they had altered the rules to gain favour with the Vernier family, but now that a son of Vernier was injured, if they did not act, they could possibly be held liable for negligence.

Yet no one moved.

What had happened was just too shocking. Not only was Petris unable to defeat an opponent using only a stick, but he could do nothing to retaliate when he was forced into the defensive.

Soft murmurs travelled throughout the crowd, none more aware of it than Petris himself. Moreover, looking at his hand, he knew that he would no longer be able to hold a sword properly ever again. He glared at Palamid. There was no way he would ever let this go.

Silently standing on his feet, Petris glanced at the freckled youth who had already been thoroughly beaten on the opposite side of the arena and sneered in disgust. He then turned to address Palamid. "This isn't over," he spoke firmly before walking off the stage.

Left uncertain with how to proceed, the initial administrator who called for Palamid's arrest began discussing with his colleagues. They then decided to put a hold on the compet.i.tion's finale.

Returning to their side, Arturia and Emily began to question s.h.i.+rou on the swordsmans.h.i.+p he had displayed.

Meanwhile, Palamid was met with an unreadable look from the Son of Wolfred.

"Thank you," the Son of Wolfred said simply.

"It's not something worth your thanks," Palamid replied before staring at the enemy camp as he crossed his arms. "Rather we best prepare for a coming storm."

Cursing, Petris shattered the cup provided for him by a servant against the floor. "Get out! All of you out!"

Terrified, the servants that had come by the orders of the compet.i.tion administrators scampered out of the Vernier family tent, leaving behind only a few individuals.

"Is this any way to act foolish brother?" A man standing with his arms crossed stepped forward.

The man's brown hair was pulled back in a knot at the back of his head, giving him an orderly kind of appearance. With a square face and a scraggily beard, he projected an aura that was quite domineering. The acute narrowing of his eyes made it even more apparent.

"Marvic," Petris spoke coldly. "I do not need your opinion."

Marvic snickered. "Then I suppose you can handle things yourself with that useless hand of yours?"

Petris didn't answer, but the friends he had brought with him cursed at Marvic on his behalf. Marvic however, didn't care and continued speaking.

"Father had asked us to come partic.i.p.ate in this compet.i.tion to increase the influence of our family name such that there will be no opposition when our family becomes the new sovereign of the land." Marvic shrugged his shoulders. "And now look at you, the youngest child. Not only have you not done what father and the madam had asked of us, but your performance had the opposite effect."

"Shut up," Petris warned.

"Oh? And what could you possibly do to make me?" Marvic fingered the hilt of his sword. "Petris, the beaten dog of the Vernier family. By now news of your defeat by this s.h.i.+rou character should have spread across the entirety of Roan."

Petris clenched his fist, and glared. "What's your point," he spoke. "Enough with your useless talk."

"Humph, at least your smart enough to understand. Then I'll cut straight to the point." Marvic grinned. "What bet did you make to go as far as to poison a blade and ask the compet.i.tion administrators for help?"

Petris froze for a moment before thinking things through. Perhaps he could use this situation to his advantage. After all, he would no longer be able to use his own sword, therefore, he should use a barrowed one. However, he still hesitated. There was a reason he didn't want his elder brother to be involved, and that was precisely because he loathed Marvic, his second eldest brother. Not only did Marvic have aspirations to succeed his father over his eldest brother in the n.o.ble house of Vernier, but he was also on the closest terms with the madam.

Still, vengeance at this point far out-weighed anything else. Thus he, he reluctantly began to explain.

"You are a fool, Petris," Marvic smiled. "If not for me being here, would you not be forced to grovel at that low-born n.o.ble's feet? Thus, it's only natural that that sword belongs to me in the end."

Petris didn't say a word, only hoping for a mutual fatal-defeat between Marvic and the ones named Palamid and s.h.i.+rou.

"You," Marvic pointed at the freckled youth who had lost previously in the compet.i.tion. "Call the administrators here, my partic.i.p.ation has long since been overdue."

LINE BREAK

When s.h.i.+rou heard the recommencement of the compet.i.tion, only he and Palamid were left to partic.i.p.ate from their group. Arturia and the Son of Wolfred were already defeated in the previous round of the semi-finals, and only four of them had chosen to compete in the first place.

Now that the finals of the compet.i.tion were going underway, from where he stood, he could make out the back of the famed Knight of Roan mentioned in the prize of the compet.i.tion.

As stated in the boards they had seen just outside the tavern they were staying in, a knight of Roan would impart some teachings onto the young lad who won the compet.i.tion. To him and those in his group, it wasn't much of a prize, but for the squires of Roan, it was definitely a big deal. Thus, if it weren't for the bet that was previously made, he would have had conceded defeat to his opponents long ago to give them a chance at instruction.

"Don't you guys think that man is too old to partic.i.p.ate in a young blade's compet.i.tion?" Emily asked.

From the direction Emily was staring at, she was indeed correct. Most of the partic.i.p.ants of the Young Blade's compet.i.tion were around thirteen to fourteen like themselves. However, the man that had stepped out of the Vernier family's tent appeared to already be over the age of eighteen.

"You're right," Palamid observed.

The difference between an eighteen-year-old and a young youth was simply too difficult to overcome for most people. Not only did an eighteen-year-old have superior strength, but they possessed superior reach and experience.

"He wouldn't be allowed to partic.i.p.ate, would he?" The Son of Wolfred asked, wincing as he continued to bandaged his wounded hand.

Contrary to expectations, the administration not only allowed the man to compete, but by doing so they had exempted him from both the preliminary's and semi's, and placed him straight into the finals. This action drew much resentment from both spectators and compet.i.tors alike, yet they had no say in the decision.

He watched carefully as the man seemed to stare in their direction before grinning and motioning to the sword tied by his waist.

"How far are these people willing to go for a bet?" Arturia furrowed her brows. "I should speak with them and try to point out the error of their ways. Especially that man that just came out," she spoke self-a.s.suredly.

Based on the way she was raised by Sir Ector, it would only be right. Despite being poisoned by her opponent, and although she felt greatly wronged, she knew it was her duty as a knight to correct an individual's wrongs given the opportunity.

"Don't," he spoke before placing a hand on Arturia's shoulder. "Looking at the extent of their preparation, you may as well give up now."

"s.h.i.+rou's right," Palamid spoke. "Bors and Sir Anders had once taught me how to differentiate between men you could trust, and men you should never approach," he spoke matter-of-factly. What he didn't know, was that at the time Bors and Sir Anders were lecturing him, they were lecturing him on how a lady should be conscious of the men she decides to interact with. Therefore, most of his knowledge was in fact common knowledge that most n.o.ble ladies were taught from a young age.

If Palamid knew this fact, he would probably grow increasingly infuriated at Bors and Sir Anders. Still, the point of the matter was that he was taught the difference between a decent man, and an indecent man.

"Look at his eyes," Palamid spoke as he uncrossed his arms. "Looking closely, you can see that he appears to be belittling everyone. Aside from that, you all saw from that smile of his that his teeth appear yellow."

There was a silence that Palamid did not take note of as he continued.

"Even if I didn't take off this helmet, I can smell him all the way from here," Palamid begin to list off with his fingers. "He seems obnoxious, self-centered, and his long-crooked nose is a sign of future misfortune."

Pausing, Palamid narrowed his eyes before finis.h.i.+ng his evaluation. "The only good things I can say is that from his clothing, he has wealth and a substantial amount of power. Still, I or anyone in this group should never approach a man like him." Palamid turned to Arturia with a nod. "The only men worth approaching are those who have a clear conscience, bright eyes, and are increasingly faithful. A trait shown in their actions," Palamid finished with a nod.

The people in the rest of the group like the Son of Wolfred, Emily, Arturia, and even himself, were stunned for a moment. When men normally sized up one another, it normally depended on the bearings of the other man, and the invisible aura they exuded: Either one of confidence, ferociousness, or even dedication. Yet the way Palamid was sizing up the man, it seemed to be more on the side of a marriage prospective.

"P-Palamid, you?" The Son of Wolfred swallowed, remembering the beauty of the face beneath the helm. "I swear I'll make you happy one day."

Palamid stared at the Son of Wolfred in confusion before laughing good naturedly. "Friend, I'm already quite happy that you've moved away from the brat I used to know."

The Son of Wolfred's face coloured before he turned away.

Meanwhile, Arturia was staring at Palamid in awe. One first had to remember that she, like most people, believed Palamid to be a woman. Thus, she believed that the two were in similar situation of hiding their genders. After all, common knowledge said that men were the ones who possessed the authority to dictate the world. Because of this, it was imperative that the secret remained a secret, yet Palamid was being too bold. What if others found out? Yet because of this same boldness, she couldn't help but admire Palamid, wondering to herself if she could ever be the same with her own feelings. After all, wasn't Palamid? The words Palamid spoke seemed to be her exact preference in men.

"Uhm, yeah, let's just put this aside for now," he spoke. "The compet.i.tion has already started."

While Palamid had been talking, many of the finalists had begun fighting. As the rules were changed part way into the semi's, the finals after a long discussion were going to be held in the same way with two-vs-two battles.

After waiting for only a short moment, s.h.i.+rou and Palamid were once more called up to take to the stage.

"Hey, isn't that the lad who beat em Petris with a stick?"

"Y-Yes it is!"

"Look, he's even still holding onto that stick of his!"

Voices from the crowd cheered as he stepped onto the stage. Exactly on what the crowd had said, he did indeed still wield the stick he had in his hand. At this point, it wasn't because he wanted to continue using it, but the sword he was supposed to use for the compet.i.tion was already taken away. Of course, he had asked for a sword, but the cheers from the crowd dissuaded the administrators from acceding to his request.

If he could defeat Petris with a stick, he might as well continue using it, was what most of the crowd thought.

"So, you were the one who defeated my youngest brother," the eighteen-year-old spoke. "My name is Marvic, and I do hope you remember the stakes of the bet you made."

Palamid grunted, and even he couldn't help but smile wryly. Seconds after just stepping onto the stage, and already the first thing out of the opponent's mouth was a reminder for the bet.

"See, exactly as described," Palamid said as he moved to his corner of the arena to face his opponent: a robust looking youth whose hair was shaved bald, and also possessed a scar that travelled down the side of his face.

His opponent was once again a son of Vernier.

He brandished his stick, and only then did the expression on Marvic's face change.

"Looking down on me huh?" Marvic laughed, his eyes narrowing. "Gonna offer me ten moves too?"

"No," he replied.

Marvic's eyes brightened. "Does that mean you now understand how hopeless you are against me, the future King?"

His brow creased upon hearing Marvic's words. From what Sir Ector and he knew, it was a long way before a future King could be decided. Even more so when the proposed jousting match was nowhere near soon. Pondering over this fact, there was only one answer hidden in between the lines of Marvic's words.

His face blanked before he spoke. "Regardless of what you do, you will never draw that sword," he said.

Marvic was caught surprised for a moment, his mouth opened but no words coming out. "And why is that?" He inquired after a moment, hands tightening around the hilt of his sword in warning.

"Because you are not worthy," he answered simply.

He could envision it plainly, the reason why this bet had garnered the interest of Marvic.

A sword that could cut through stone could not only be insurmountable on the battle field, but there could be a more specific use such as freeing the Sword in the Stone. However, even if the rock surrounding the Sword in the Stone were to be chipped off, the sword itself would either just sink deeper into the ground, or find another stone to lodge itself in. After all, Caliburn was the sword of choosing. One who was not worthy to be the King of Britain would never be able to wield it no matter how hard or what methods one tried.

"Is that all you have to say?" Marvic asked, drawing forth his sword.

He didn't reply, and along with Palamid, patiently waited for the Administrators to begin the match.

Calling for the start, Palamid nodded in his direction before moving to face his opponent.

Moments later, s.h.i.+rou stood in front of Marvic.

Neither of them spoke and just eyed the other.

It wasn't until the loud bang of Palamid's blade meeting against his opponent's did the two act.

One was like lightning, moving swiftly and weaving around heavy blows, while the other was like a fierce typhoon, blowing everything away.

In Marvic's eyes, the stick before him was no longer just a mere stick, but a mighty weapon. Facing off against it, he now understood how Petris was defeated. What gave him chills however was a familiar feeling. It wasn't until the third exchange that he was able to accurately identify it. The stick he was facing off against gave off a similar feeling as one of the madam's possessions.

A trace of fear flickered across Marvic's eyes, yet it only caused him to fight harder.

Against the madam, he was nothing.

Not even worth more than a bug.

That was just how strong she was and how she viewed the world.

Still, Marvic could not bring himself to lose, his attacks becoming more hurried.

In s.h.i.+rou's eyes, this change in battle tempo was not missed in the slightest. In fact, he had even seen traces of wariness in Marvic's eyes after each exchange after the third. Did he somehow recognize that he was using magic to reinforce the stick? If so, then how?

Spittle flew as an erratic swing managed to graze him on the side of his head. Luckily, he was only struck by the flat of the blade. However, the fact that Marvic was able to get a blow through greatly improved Marvic's confidence.

Still though, he wasn't worried.

After a few more exchanges, Marvic's breath became laboured, and it was then that s.h.i.+rou chose to speak up. "Although your attacks are stronger and faster than Petris's, and although you may also have superior technique, your flaw is far too apparent," he said.

A pained groan sounded out as the stick in his hand managed to flick Marvic's nose. Not only did the attack act to infuriate, but it also revealed the fine skill and control he possessed.

Roaring, Marvic pushed forward with a single step, his form like a fierce jumping tiger as he thrusted out.

Instead of panicking, he only shook his head.

"You are simply too impatient," he spoke, subsequently whacking Marvic's lead knee and causing him to stagger before kneeling against the ground.

"You!" Marvic struck out with the sword he still had in his hand, twisting his body to generate more power.

His eyes narrowed yet he did nothing as the sword edge neared his neck. After all, he didn't need to.

Marvic's sword stopped inches before it could even touch his neck.

"H-How?" Marvic spoke, his right arm going limp.

The answer was simple. Throughout the series of exchanges that had occurred between him and Marvic, not only did Marvic neglect to defend against the stick attacking his arm, he merely brushed it off as the attack did not inflict much pain. However, by doing so, Marvic did not take into account that an injury inflicted on the same place multiple times would eventually hinder him in the most crucial of moments.

"You lose," he spoke, disarming Marvic with a kick before attacking.

With an echoing thwack, another Son of Vernier was defeated by a simple stick.

LINE BREAK

The crowd went into an uproar.

Arturia, Emily, and the Son of Wolfred were quick to show their encouragement, but Petris was far more conflicted.

On one hand, he enjoyed seeing his second eldest brother get thoroughly defeated, but on the other hand, he knew that he had lost his bet, and that his vengeance would not be fulfilled on this day.

It didn't surprise him that moments after Marvic's defeat, Palamid and s.h.i.+rou withdrew from the compet.i.tion. After all, all they had to do to win the bet was finish the compet.i.tion in a higher spot than those in Petris's side. In which, those that Petris had brought with him today had all already been defeated.

The injury on his hand stung, and the feelings of hatred once again surfaced from within him. Even more so, when Palamid walked up to him and casualy reminded him that he would have to grovel at the Son of Wolfred's feet.

His body was trembling in repressed rage. There was no way he could do it. Never.

"Petris? Marvic?" A voice spoke. "What is going on here?"

The one who spoke within the Vernier's area, was the eldest child of Vernier. As Duke Vernier placed an emphasis on this compet.i.tion, the eldest child was also sent to make sure everything would go smoothly. This being the case, the eldest child of Vernier had just arrived as he did not believe his two brothers could not handle the situation. Unexpectedly, they weren't able to.

"Brother," Petris spoke seeing the light. He was on far better terms with his eldest brother than with Marvic who shared an antagonistic relations.h.i.+p.

Marvic grunted, nursing his injuries. Therefore, it was Petris who began to explain.

"They wish for a son of Vernier to grovel at the feet of a low-born n.o.ble? Preposterous," the eldest son of Vernier spoke calmly before his eyes narrowed on Petris. "To think they would even injure your sword-hand; this matter will not slide as it is," he spoke.

"They were truly barbaric," Petris said. All he had done was injure a simple low-born. In fact, if his life was compared to the Son of Wolfred, his life would obviously be worth more. He was the son of a Duke.

"Where are these people?" The eldest son of Vernier spoke.

Noticing the look on the eldest son of Vernier's face, Petris immediately beamed before leading him towards where s.h.i.+rou and his group stood.

"So, you are the ones who have stained the reputation of the Vernier house," the eldest son of Vernier spoke. Already he could feel a headache coming.

From what the eldest son of Vernier's father had instructed, the purpose of partic.i.p.ating in the young Blade's compet.i.tion today was to garner more of a reputation amongst the younger generation. However, such plans had already failed, and in fact the opposite had occurred; the Vernier house's reputation had been dragged under the mud.

The notion of garnering more of a reputation amongst the people was not entirely the idea of Duke Vernier, but also the madam which made things even more difficult.

"Did you come here to fulfil the bet?" The Son of Wolfred asked, crossing his arms.

"He will do no such thing," the eldest son of Vernier spoke. "In fact, for injuring him you all are lucky that I haven't called in the guards to arrest all of you. As compensation, humph, that sword of yours will be enough."

"I'm afraid not," s.h.i.+rou spoke. "We have done no wrong, and only partic.i.p.ated within the compet.i.tion's rules."

The eldest son of Vernier frowned before stating. "You were the one to beat my brothers with a stick."

s.h.i.+rou nodded as there was no use lying with all the witnesses.

"Quite skilled indeed, but you have made a mistake in making an enemy of the Vernier family in Roan. That I a.s.sure you," the eldest son of Vernier spoke.

"Like we care," Palamid spoke indifferently.

"And you, the coward who hides his face away after injuring my brother unjustly. What do you have to hide if not for your own guilt?"

Palamid was infuriated. "Me, hide?"

"Yes hide. What kind of man wears a helmet over his head in a friendly compet.i.tion between youths-"

Palamid resolutely removed his helm after a long moment of consideration, the implication that he wasn't a man in the eldest son of Vernier's words too hard to bear.

The eldest Son of Vernier's words died in his throat, for beneath Palamid's helm,

Was a beauty like none other.

BREAK

The eldest son of Vernier's words were caught in his throat.

Even the watching crowd grew quiet.

The level of beauty was just too mesmerizing.

Was this not a princess in hiding spoken of in the household-stories of commoners and n.o.bles alike? The kind where a valiant knight would come on a white steed and whisk the maiden away? People couldn't help but imagine the circ.u.mstances of why a woman, as viewed in the crowd's eyes, was in knight's armour.

Everyone was stunned, and that included Arturia who was stunned for other reasons.

It was then that a voice called out.

"Alright," Bors's voice cut through the crowd before he pushed past and walked up besides Palamid. "That's enough here," he then spoke curtly, lightly grabbing Palamid's helm and then placing it back over Palamid's head.

Everyone soon regained their senses afterwards. The contrast between the rugged and fierce looking helm, and the face of perfection beneath, too much of a heavy blow.

Of course, with Bors stepping in, Kay was not far behind. The two had just finished touring the town when they saw such a huge crowd forming and couldn't help but grow curious. This lead to the current situation.

"Man enough?" Palamid goaded, feeling quite proud that he had put the eldest son of Vernier in his place. Surely, he had just shown off his masculinity in the face of provocation.

The eldest son of Verneir coughed into his hand and didn't answer, instead silently staring at his two brothers before directing them to awkwardly leave along with him.

"But we can't just put this incident behind us. They injured me," Petris argued, creasing his brow.

"Petris, that's enough," the eldest son of Vernier spoke, suddenly becoming courteous as he discreetly sent a glance at Palamid before politely apologizing to the rest.

Soon after, the Vernier family and the people a.s.sociated with them left.

"What the h.e.l.l did we just miss?" Kay asked, scratching his head and looking to Arturia for his answers.

Interlude:

Off within the dissipating crowd, a man quietly walked away before entering a small-time tavern located adjacent to the compet.i.tion grounds.

Unhurriedly, the man sat himself down in front of a counter, and ordered a small drink before turning to the person beside him. Another man idly sipping at his drink.

"Tired of watching the brothels and frolicking within the lady's courts?" The man asked.

"I don't frolic, Sir Ector, I mingle," the other man responded.

Sir Ector shrugged before speaking. "It was quite hard to find you in all actuallity."

"Makes things more interesting, no?" The man said.

Sir Ector could only sigh before speaking in a defeated tone of voice. "You knew the Vernier's were partic.i.p.ating in that contest. There's no way you wouldn't have given how long you've already spent here in Roan."

The man froze before contemplating for a moment.

"Do you enjoy these games you're playing, Merlin?" Sir Ector moved straight to the point.

"Quite so, yes indeed," Merlin spoke before he took a sip from his drink.

Sir Ector kept silent for a moment before becoming more frank.

"You're testing that child?" He said.

Shrugging, Merlin placed down his gla.s.s and stared off into the distance past the window, not saying anything more until after a moment. "More than that," he said. "The Witch has begun to move, and that's is why I have called you here."