Archmund reached for Catherine’s sparring sword — she didn’t evade him — and gently pried her fingers off of the hilt. She didn’t stop him.

  He took the bde out of her hands without facing much resistance at all.

  He stepped back. Facing her so closely had been… stressful, frankly. He wasn’t a fan of how uncertain she’d been, how she’d seemed almost scared of him, and he really didn’t want to further damage his reputation by looking like a brute who beat up women.

  “Sister,” Archmund said, raising both swords in front of him and making an X. “I believe this is your loss?”

  “I surrender,” she said, her voice measured, the pink in her cheeks rapidly fading. She cracked a slight smile.

  “You weren’t attacking,” Archmund said. “At all?”

  Catherine shook her head. “Not at all. You were right. I let them tire themselves out against me, either through exhaustion or demoralization. If they dropped their swords, I took them and decred victory. If they didn’t, I simply held out.”

  “And if they tried what I did, you lost. I didn’t think the teachings of the Goddess required pacifism,” Archmund said.

  “Not universally,” Catherine said. “But wouldn’t it be unfair for someone blessed with training to go against farmers who spend their days picking wheat?”

  Archmund frowned. So she wasn’t okay with deploying her trained swordsmanship against peasants, but she was completely fine with deploying her divinely-gifted blessing that distorted the air around her and made it harder to physically hit her. There was something incongruous about this, but perhaps he was simply adhering far too strongly to his own mores and ideals.

  “Wait. Are you referring to my participation?”

  “No, certainly not, I would never make such an untoward implication,” Catherine said. “Especially since you’ve availed yourself of the strongest opponents here. You have stood and fought nobly, Sir Granavale.”

  Archmund sighed. “And the other nobles who’ve participated?”

  “It would be most improper for those outside of the nobility to question a noble’s inherent goodness and dedication to service towards the people of Omnio. Beating peasants into total submission merely is a manifestation of that utmost grace, surely.”

  All said while smiling gracefully, like an angel or an emissary of the sun.

  He frankly couldn’t tell if she was sarcastic or not.

  That had been the final round.

  They would take a break to before announcing the ten winners. These ten individuals had generally robust track records. They would be suitable for his honor guard.

  They would have a chance to refuse the honor, but if they accepted they would be granted their Gemstone Rapiers right there and then — and one of them would participate in a final ceremonial duel to show the power of the Gemstone Rapiers.

  The tournament setup had been somewhat convoluted, so Barst and the referees were tallying the matter. Additionally, towards the end some of the matches had devolved to pyground brawls — kids just having fun hitting each other far past reasonable stopping points, until the referees had to forcibly separate them.

  He wondered if this newfound bloodlust would become a public health hazard, but it was unlikely. With luck, he could channel it into a martial culture, turning the people of his home into a vicious military force.

  As if. Granavale County, with its fertile soils and crafts-based economy, was far too comfortable a pce to breed a warrior culture. Sparta, on earth, had been mountainous and rough, and had led to a people as hardened.

  He returned to the box. Beatrice Bckstone, Rory Redmont, and Gelias Greenroot were all resting there as well. Beatrice gave him a teary-eyed gre, Rory gave him a good natured wave, and Gelias appeared to be deep in meditation, clutching onto his wooden bow like an old friend.

  He’d have to look into what meditation practices in this world were like as well. Maybe there was something he could borrow.

  “Well, Princess?” he said to Angelina Grace Prima Marca Omnio. “What did you think?”

  The other nobles gasped. Oops. Had he been too casual?

  “You didn’t completely disgrace yourself,” the Princess said, drawing more gasps from the other nobles, both young and old. “Which, well. It’s better than I expected from you.”

  “Do you really think so little of me?”

  She grabbed his colr and pulled him close enough so no one could overhear them. “Granavale, the st time we fought together, you suicidally charged into a chamber infested with Monsters and tried to take them out solo because you thought ‘it would spare lives’. You act alone, like a glory hound, cim noble intentions, and then win enough anyways so your intent ends up not mattering. But hey, you managed to mostly only fight nobles, which makes you look a lot better than Redmont or Bckstone for beating up peasants. Bloodying the nose of Redmont probably made you a few fans, even, given how unfair his fight with Greenroot was.”

  He couldn’t really argue with that.

  She shoved him away. “I think,” she said, projecting her voice so that everyone else would overhear but think they were eavesdropping, “your gentle touch towards dyfolk is to be commended as a part of noblesse oblige. While your tactics against stronger opponents are… overly practical, and reflective of your background as a noble from an ill-favored County, you have dispyed a mastery of the traditional sword forms.”

  She raised her voice even further, now intending her words to be heard by those in the box. “As a representative of Emperor and Empire, I authorize your endowment of Gemstone upon those of less fortunate birth and support your efforts to raise an Honor Guard. With the gods as my witness, so speaks the child of Omnio.”

  There was a gravity to her words, a ceremonial resonance. He almost wondered if they echoed with magic, or if it was merely his own anxiety made manifest in the world.

  “Take a seat, Granavale,” the princess said imperiously, gesturing at the chair besides her, getting more gasps from the nobles. He did, disregarding that technically these were his chairs and his event that he was hosting.

  “So,” she said, whispering in his ear, “who was that st opponent, really? Can you tell me anything about her?”

  He looked at her, probing her expression, but she remained a stone mask, like when he’d first met her. “Why do you ask?”

  “The fighting style suggests Church doctrine,” Angelina said. “A lower level of it, but fundamentals. Exhaust and outst your opponents.”

  They really did look alike, perhaps distant cousins. Which was highly unlikely. If Omnio succession was as contentious and as simir to a college admissions process as she’d described, then what would be gained by having one of the contenders being raised basically in the middle of nowhere? How did a royal family, dedicated to leveraging every advantage, hide or lose track of a child to the point where the Crown Princess was in the dark?

  Though maybe that was the idea.

  “That’s Sister Catherine,” he said. “Raised by the Church.”

  Angelina’s eyebrows arched. “A Sister? Within the age limits you set? Impressive.”

  “She hasn’t actually sworn any vows.”

  Angelina hrmmmed. She reached into her pocket, pulled out her Topaz of Electricity, and grabbed onto it. Her hair started lifting from her head from the static. He was vaguely aware of the eyes of the other nobles upon them.

  “Uh.”

  Angelina raised an eyebrow, and he gestured vaguely at his own hair. She flushed. Her hair forced itself taut, restoring her blonde ringlets.

  “Helps me think,” Angelina said. Archmund couldn’t think of a logical scientific expnation for it, but he took her word for it.

  “I didn’t realize your Shield Gem allowed you to control your hair as well,” Archmund said in a whisper.

  “Why wouldn’t it?”

  Hair didn’t have muscles. Hair was dead. Hair was keratin. Those were the scientific expnations. Clearly, though scientific knowledge could be used to enhance and unlock stronger aspects of magic, it didn’t constrain it.

  “It’s very helpful head and neck protection,” Angelina said. “I’ve been hardening it since I was six.”

  Archmund nodded slowly and deliberately.

  “Why does one person who knows Church swordsmanship in Granavale County interest you anyways?”

  “It’s odd,” Angelina said. She didn’t eborate further. He really hoped this wouldn’t come back to bite him.

  Archmund decided not to press her. After gncing to make sure no one else was near there, he reached into his waist satchel and pulled out his Gemstone Tablet, hiding it beneath his cloak.

  Angelina’s eyes widened. “What are you doing?”

  “As if you don’t carry yours everywhere?”

  “I told you it’s a state secret. Besides, mine is… discreet.”

  She reached into a pocket on her dress and pulled out her journal, which was actually her interface with the System.

  “Don’t get caught with it,” she said.

  StatValueStrength10->11Dexterity10->11Constitution8->9Intelligence8Wisdom8Charisma7->8Luck5

  Skills (new)Channeled Rage of the Dead

  Titles (new)Vicious FighterStudent of the Sword (2)

  His Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution had been above for a while. He’d been training diligently with Garth, and that had helped him continue growing in strength ever since doing push-ups had fallen off as a strength development technique. Though he could do 100 pushups real quickly now, they didn’t lead to meaningful improvement in strength compared to actual real-world training. There was something hyperbolic to the growth curve, or maybe mundane actions had diminishing returns.

  “Vicious fighter,” he muttered. “Student of the Sword (2).”

  Those wouldn’t be great for his public perception, but it didn’t seem like there were any stat or reputational numbers associated with it. He could poke and prod if he got the chance, but now was decidedly not it.

  But what surprised him was his Charisma improvement. It had been at 7 when he was working with Garth, and the only thing that could’ve changed was his interactions with the other nobles in the dueling tournament.

  It wouldn’t be too hard to disguise the tablet as a ledger or a trading book. If he wrapped it in the leathers and bindings that tablet computers usually had back on Earth, it would be pretty elegant.

  “Does it ever feel like,” he said out loud, just enough so others around them would think him doing one of his weird musings again, “that sometimes you do a whole bunch of training and work. You do a whole bunch of practice, or skill-upping, and for a while it seems like it doesn’t actually lead to anything — but then just in the nick of time, at just the right moment, it becomes something?”

  Angelina gave him a practiced neutral look. “Perhaps effort is only rewarded when you actually put it to use.”

  He deliberately and slowly stowed his Gemstone Tablet away. She raised her eyebrows.

  “I suppose I have noticed something of the sort,” she said. “But I’ve been far too busy with matters of Empire to give it much thought.”

  That was as clean a shutdown as he could’ve possibly gotten.

  The matches had been tallied, and the final victors had been determined. It was time for the ceremony, and then the exhibition match.

  Another person one had performed far and beyond all the others, cinching 4 victories. And it would only be proper for the best performers, that victor and Archmund, to face each other.

  That victor was Xander Cooper.

  It seemed there was a little substance behind his bluster after all.