Octophobia
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Spire's Spite - Arc 3 - Chapter 42
🕑 Added 2025-06-01 03:00:04 +0000 UTCUnder the eerie quiet and clear air caused by the cover of the rainshield, Fritz faced his tutor.
Sir Needle didn't make a move, he simply held his long, thin blade at the ready, watching and waiting.
Quicksilver in hand, Fritz observed his opponent. When he was certain that his tutor wouldn't act first, he stepped forward, a foot out of the rapier's reach.
While he approached with another cautiously short step, he couldn't help but compare their swords. The Reach-steel rapier, or the Little Prick, wasn't so little. It was just as long as Fritz's own blade and was forged of sleek steel, its edge was a razor and its point a keen sting.
Quicksilver by contrast was slightly thicker, glossy black and its length was lined with serrated ridges so fine one would miss them without close inspection. It had not resembled its name since it was tempered by eldritch fire. Down its cracked centre was the faintest glow of white light, tainted with blue-green motes.
Adam flicked his blade which caused Fritz to flinch and step back.
The Count laughed, and Adam tilted his head slightly in the nobleman's direction. The message was clear, "We have an audience, stop stalling and entertain them."
Fritz wanted to spit. Here he was, taking the duel seriously and his tutor wanted to make it a show for his noble friend. What right did he have to demand such? This was important, this was to show his skill and determination, not some farce.
He stilled those errant thoughts and enraged emotions, Adam hadn't led him astray yet. There must be some reason, apart from the promised help, that he had arranged this. Aggravating as it was, Fritz would just have to play along and do his damnedest to score a strike.
He exhaled slowly, seized upon his Grace, and stepped forward again. With a few flicks of his own blade, he tested his opponent's defence, which he found, unsurprisingly, impenetrable. That thin length of steel sprang up to foil any attack, pushing Quicksilver away with an irresistible, yet focused force.
It wasn't until Fritz had struck a sixth time with a swift thrust that Adam's riposte came. It wasn't particularly fast or smooth, his tutor hadn't been lying about restraining his Advanced Attributes, nevertheless, he couldn't avoid it. The point leapt straight for his heart and met the moonsilver breastplate which rang out like a high, clear bell.
"First point to Sir Needle," the Count declared, smiling wide. It seemed that he was the kind of man who enjoyed a one-sided duel.
Fritz scowled, then quickly hid his displeasure. His anger wasn't just at his easy loss, but that he hadn't felt the blade coming with his Danger Sense. He wondered why for only a moment as they retook their places for another round. The reason came swiftly, it had to be because of the armour's protection, he wasn't going to suffer any harm so it wouldn't warn him.
If that was the case it was strange that it warned him when his Umbral Phase was unsupressed. Did one Ability just take precedence over another? How exactly did Danger Sense work? Fritz knew these were all questions he should have been asking before, instead of relying on simple intuition, and now he was failing because he'd been so self-assured.
"Begin!" Count Tallmast announced.
Fritz stepped forward again, this time holding Grace more loosely while pulling his Awareness closer, denser, so as not to be distracted by anything outside the duel.
He thrust and cut, striking at Adam's centre, he was, of course, parried, and so precisely it felt pointless to try hitting the man cleanly. Still, Fritz pressed forward listening to the clanging song the swords produced. It had a certain rhythm, a familiar tone, a distant music at the edge of his hearing, but close to his heart.
He attempted to move in time with the beat and found it as easy as dancing. His feet moved lightly and his sword flashed and stabbed. Adam parried precisely and that ready riposte came again, but this time Fritz stepped just out of the blade's reach, then back in again as the point retreated. Returning the thrust with one of his own.
Sir Needle smiled and battered the strike away effortlessly. Fritz thought to put pressure on his tutor, now that he was guided by his Dancer's Grace. His arm swept out a smooth flurry of cuts and thrusts, parried by bare, efficient movements. But as Adam received and returned the attacks he was, finally, forced to take a step back.
"Ha!" Sir Needle cried. "Got a good grasp on that Grace I see."
Fritz smiled and advanced his assault, black against grey. Then the music changed. His eyes went wide. He lost the rhythm as Adam went on the offensive. The sudden shift caught Fritz off-guard and caused him to misstep, but he swiftly slid into his stance and slipped past a strike aimed at his chest.
He had to duck the next attack and dive and roll through the rest, relying on his Awareness to guide him through the rain of cuts. Another narrow avoidance, then another. An attempted parry brushed aside. Fritz always fell back, all while his tutor followed him closely, those threatening thrusts cutting off paths of escape and denying dodges. Soon, he was trapped by that flashing steel. Fritz parried again while backpedalling, determined to deflect and defend. Another brief exchange of blades, and the ring of steel on moonsilver chimed.
Fritz looked down to see that he'd been struck, just above the heart, again. With boiling frustration, he noticed a small scratch was left on the embossed stormhawk. He cursed, under his breath as the Count called out his second loss. After the third, this bout would be over.
"Better, but not enough," Adam said, swishing his sword back into line.
Fritz steadied himself and rapidly thought of additional tactics. None came to mind save some simple cheating with Lethargy. He disregarded that action, his tutor would know if he cast that curse, he had noticed it before and was aware of its effects.
He had other Treasures though, ones whose activations were more subtle like his Eelkin belt. Fritz decided not to risk it, not yet, he still had another round and another bout after that even if he was scored against again.
"Begin!" Came the call from the Count.
This time Adam leapt into motion, putting Fritz on the back foot immediately, they had barely traded two strikes when Fritz felt and heard his opponent's blade strike him again. Right in the same place, deepening the scratch on the brilliant silver surface of his breastplate.
Fritz scowled as Adam smirked.
"First bout goes to Sir Needle. Handily won. I believe there's a small pause between bouts to allow some recovery?" The Count asked.
"Correct, three to six minutes, milord," the servant provided.
"Six minutes then, it will allow me to procure another glass of wine. Come, Sir Needle, I want the duellist's honest opinion of the fight so far," the count said, motioning for Adam to approach.
His tutor strode to the nobleman and soon they were engaged in some light talk, some of which disparaged Fritz's skill, though most of that was from Tallmast rather than his tutor. To Adam's credit, he emphasised the fact the Fritz was a lowly Rookie fighting a Journeyman and it was far form a fair fight. The Count seemed not to care.
It was to be expected that Fritz was completely outclassed, but having his inadequacy so prominently displayed in front of the nobleman frustrated him to no end. No matter how many times he told himself he didn't have to win more than a point, he wanted to show his worth as a swordsman and put a scratch on his mentor's armour.
Fritz allowed himself some seething and began to unstrap his breastplate.
This caught Adam's gaze, who then barked out a question. "What are you doing?"
"Taking off this armour. I'm not used to it and it's slowing me down," Fritz stated.
This was only half true, the moonsilver was only slightly heavier than steel, and though it did impede his movement, Fritz was more concerned with the loss of his Danger Sense. He had come to rely on the Passive far more than he knew. And although that was a weakness he'd have to rectify in the future, now was not the time to fight at anything less than full strength.
"I won't go easier on you just because you choose to wear no armour," Adam warned.
"I'm counting on that," Fritz said, baring his teeth in a viciously confident smile.
"My, the lad is ferocious," the Count drawled.
"A fool," the Count's son grumbled. Though it went ignored, as seemed usual.
"Are you not going to follow suit, or rather, follow without a suit? Of armour, that is, Sir Needle?" The count chuckled at his own joke.
Adam laughed too, though his was false.
"No, no. I'm not foolish enough to trust an amateur to not accidentally skewer me," Adam espoused.
"Come now. Fair's fair," the count protested. "Match his foolishness with bravery."
"If you insist, milord," Adam accepted, hauling off his own rainsteel breastplate and the chainmail beneath, tossing it onto the springy clover. That left him in a thick grey tunic that hung from his huge muscles.
The Count nodded appreciatively.
Fritz took the rest of the minutes to work on his stance and footing, there was something still off, and it was this unconscious mistake that prevented him from grasping the Inevitable Blade. He closed his eyes and tried to recall the tremor in his Sanctum, the most recent one where a thug had walked onto his sword's point. There was something in that moment, the prediction and the path the man had taken, that led him straight to his death at the end of a blade.
A slight tremble let Fritz know he was close, but not quite there. He could almost touch it.
"Right, time's up! Places duellists!" The Count announced, his reedy voice shattering Fritz's concentration.
He could have cursed the man and his whole family, but he didn't. Instead, he took his place as instructed. He raised Quicksilver and watched his tutor level his own sword. There was something familiar in the stance, so Fritz decided to mimic his movement, mirroring his form and focus.
If Fritz didn't have the luxury to remember, he would steal the secrets while they fought. Adam frowned, noticing his intention, his eyes grew stern, shaded with a gleam of challenge.
Fritz tried to smirk, but it came off bitter and forced.
"Begin!"
They both moved in the same moment and a piercing pain bloomed on Fritz's chest. He heeded Danger Sense's warning and with Grace guiding his limbs Fritz was able to catch and divert the thrust he felt coming. Though Adam was stronger, faster and more skilled, he slid Quicksilver down the rapier, spitting small sparks where the edges ground against each other. His foe's sword twisted suddenly, nearly flinging his own blade away, but he kept his grip and retreated.
As soon as he stepped back, he noticed something strange. Fritz had been repelled and Adam wasn't taking advantage. Not as he should anyway. No, his blade didn't follow Fritz's body, but rather with a stab to the left and a cut to the right, stopped him from stepping aside, diminishing his ability to dodge. Then Adam thrust again, forcing Fritz to parry awkwardly.
The predicted pain bloomed on his chest again, but he couldn't escape it. His sword and feet were placed in such a way that Adam's rapier couldn't help but pierce his heart.
There was nothing he could do, the attack wasn't particularly quick, flashy or devious, but it struck him all the same. It was unavoidable.
Fritz hissed as the cold steel slid an inch into his skin, then stopped and slipped out.
"Another round to Sir Needle!"
Fritz grinned violently, he saw it, he felt it, he almost understood. He just needed to test his theory and the Technique would be his.
They stepped back, retaking their places. Adam stared at him, suspicious of his honest confidence.
Fritz smiled and set his feet properly, angled just so to head off a charge. That small adjustment elicited a frown.
"Begin!"
They both pounced forward, blades striking with a ringing note, then another. They thrust and parried. Fritz could see it now clearly, the trap weaved into the man's movements. Each attack cut off an escape, each slash was a steel bar, building a sharp cage. And now that he perceived the pattern, he knew the truth of the Technique.
Fritz deflected his tutor's sword and stabbed with his own, thrusting just so and setting up his own piercing encirclement. He embraced both his Awareness and Grace, the music of the duel rang loud in his chest. Stepping this way, stabbing that way. He cut and parried, slowly fencing off his foe's avenues of evasion with the precise placement of both his body and his blade.
Their clash continued, in his mind moments stretched into minutes. The beat of combat pounded. His sword danced a razor-edged web. All roads eventually narrowed to a singular path, and Adam had to walk it or completely retreat. He would never retreat, and Fritz realised he himself had also been caught by the net his opponent had been weaving.
They struck in the same moment, clean thrusts, each a perfect mirror. Both seeming to step onto the point of each other's swords. It was inevitable.
Fritz ignored the great tremor in his Sanctum. He didn't need that to tell him he'd succeeded. No, it was on the look of recognition on Adam's face and the sudden conflict in his eyes, like he didn't know if he should be proud, furious or sad. They stood there for a second, blades still outstretched. Conversing, sharing, through their swords. In that moment, Fritz saw that his tutor wouldn't teach him further, that some deep pain prevented him from doing so.
Adam might even call off the duel.
Fritz couldn't have that and the only way he could think of to press the man was to enrage him, to force him to acknowledge his skill. And that meant blood.
Adam's rapier had pierced Fritz further than an inch this time and Quicksilver had only just made contact with skin, not enough to draw blood. The difference in reach and skill was to blame, but he wouldn't let that stop him from taking this chance. Fritz pressed forward, letting the point sink deeper into his flesh, all in an attempt to slice his foe's skin.
Adam growled, pulling back his blade and stepping away from Quicksilver, foiling Fritz's sacrificial strike, keeping his flesh unmarred.
"A draw? A point for both sides?" The Count asked.
"No blood here, milord," Adam said, showing the hole in his shirt and the hairy, yet bloodless skin beneath.
"Ah, point to Sire Needle then," the Count said, happily.
Fritz looked down at his shirt and the two steadily growing patches of red. The cuts below were small and clean, they didn't sting too bad, the Ring of Suppress Pain saw to that.
It numbed him though it didn't quite block all pain, which, right now, he considered a boon. If it had made him completely unfeeling, he supposed that his Danger Sense wouldn't work. As it was he suspected it was already less effective, but that was the price he paid for being able to move about without all his aches.
"Want to surrender? See to your wounds?" Adam asked.
"No," Fritz stated, nearly snarling. "This is nothing and you know that."
Adam nodded.
Fritz took his place for what was to be his last chance. From his previous round, he knew he had to press his tutor further. To prove he was more than capable, to prove he was right. Just one cut would do it. One drop of blood. And for that, he'd do what was necessary. He'd even cheat. And due to the disparity in Attributes, he would feel no remorse.
"Begin!"
Fritz activated his Eelkin Belt and felt the world slow around him. His movements became more sinuous, and Quicksilver slithered forth in a series of stabs and feints. If his belt shined or gave off any clue that he had cast Aspect of the Eel, he didn't notice, not with his sole focus being striking his opponent.
Adam parried each thrust, though he was having more noticeable difficulty in deflecting the black blade.
No one called out a stop, so Fritz continued his attacks, cunningly carving a cage of cutting edges. Adam frowned and his parries became smoother, matching the beat of Grace. Both danced to that song and sought to trap one another in the Inevitable Blade's prison. The music of the duel intensified, it reached a fever pitch, then their blades caught each other, stilling the ringing clamour for a second.
Fritz smirked and released the very last of the Aberrant Eel's lightning stored within Quicksilver. There was only a tiny sliver of power left, a small stinging jolt that flickered for less than a heartbeat. But it was enough.
Adam grunted in surprise and his arm seized for a second. Fritz took the opening. He'd woven his web well, and there was no way for his tutor to dodge. He thrust and was met with a stab in return. Danger Sense let him sidestep it easily, but Adam couldn't escape Quicksilver's bite. Not this time.
The keen, black point stuck through cloth and sunk into skin. Adam stepped back and looked down on the small cut and the trickle of red.
Fritz had done it, he'd actually drew blood. Impossible as it seemed. He was elated. A sudden surge of satisfaction suffused his spirit and he nearly screamed out his triumph. Instead, he settled on lowering his blade lazily, as nonchalant as he could manage.
Still, he grinned wide and free.
His tutor scowled, glared up at Fritz, and was about to accuse him of cheating, but was brought short by the clapping of the Count and the light applause from the team.
"A draw on the last strike! Points to both!" He cried. "Marvellous! Sir Needle wins, three to one."
"To both?" Fritz asked, confused. Then he peered down at his own chest and found a long, red line sliced through his shirt and into his skin. It was shallow, barely the depth of a shaving mishap.
He said so, protesting the point.
"Blood is blood," the Count stated. "A fact you should very well know as a noble."
Fritz wanted to argue further, but a drop of blood trickled slowly from his newest 'wound'. That, and he didn't want to contradict the Count.
He didn't know how he was cut, he was sure that he'd dodged. He glanced suspiciously at Adam's rapier. Noticing this, his tutor hid a sheepish smile under the mask of stern surprise.
"Very good, very good," the Count extolled. "What talent. What drive. If only my son had half of your verve, why he'd be a Golden Climber."
"You're too kind, Count," Fritz said. "I hope it convinced you of my potential, or of my competence."
"It did. It did," the Count said, happily. "And I'll gladly seal that appeal of yours."
"Many thanks, Count," Fritz said, wiping the beads of sweat from his brow and realising he was breathing heavily. In contrast Adam's breath came easily.
"Have the document brought to me tomorrow," the Count commanded. "I would sign it now, though I haven't the time to dally any longer and must be away."
"Will not you stay for another duel, Count?" Adam asked.
"It can't be helped, Sir Needle," the Count said. "My duties, sadly, are endless."
"Very well, Milord," Adam replied. "Many thanks for allowing my student a chance to earn your favour." He sheathed his blade and bowed deeply.
"Yes, thank you, Milord," Fritz said, mirroring his tutor.
"You're both very welcome," the Count espoused. He turned to his son. "Will you be joining me, Mathew? Or would you like to stay and speak with your new training partner?"
Fritz wondered what was meant by 'new training partner', and what kind of deal had been negotiated by Adam, but held his tongue.
The Count's son glanced around the yard, assessing each of the team in turn. His eyes lingered Lauren, and when they did, Rosie, who was standing next to her, waved at him. He frowned, a slight disgust curling his lips.
"I'll leave," he decided.
Fritz and Adam made another round of polite, subservient goodbyes, while the team watched on, too common to matter to the noblemen.
And with that, the Count, his son, and his servant left. The rainshield overhead dissipated and drizzle sprinkled the yard.
Fritz sighed heavily. His exertions had left him exhausted, he wanted to crawl away and into his beckoning bed. But he still worried about what Adam had to say, now that the nobles had left.
From the dark, contemplative look on his tutor's face, Fritz was about to find out.
Comments
Darcyspride
WE NEED TO SEE HIS SANCTUM
Octophobia
Thanks for reading! :)
Octophobia
It was the other way around, but neither of them invented it. It's a long standing style. Some more of it lore will be explained more in the next chapter. :)
Noah
Did Adam invent this sword style? If he did and Fitz’s dad was the only one he ever taught it to, then that might explain his reluctance to teach another.
Pierre-jean Samaran
Thanks for the chapter !
