The audience is solemn. Every single person is observing intently, watching a possible future of their kingdom shaped in real time. There won’t be any more cheering going forth.

  General Cassmus is across from me. His straight white hair laying upon his shoulders and catching the sun, shining brightly. Basic fatigues—a gray bordering on black, light yet durable. A sword sheathed by his hip.

  He glances at my left hand, resting on the pommel of my own weapon.

  I grab my shortsword with my left and pull it out by the guard. Cassmus mirrors my movement. We approach each other and exchange.

  The sun hits the steel of his sword. The reflection along the silvery blade, ornately carved and inlaid with cerulean, brighter than it should be.

  The ancient demon hums softly as my own sword drinks in the rays, looking darker. “A beauty.”

  “A work of art,” I compliment his.

  Up in the balcony, Xyll turns to Elisa. “Ah, he’s one of those.” ‘Those’ being hurtfully emphasized.

  The elf replies with a ‘don’t talk to me’ face.

  I study the edge of his weapon closer. “Very few give the appreciation these pieces deserve.”

  “It is so.” He checks the balance of mine. “Madame Hrumindotter?” I affirm. A gentle pulse of mana radiates out of the general. “The red alloy is of your make, yes?” I affirm again. “Spectacular.”

  “You shall be its first opponent.”

  “How thoughtful,” Cassmus says. “You shall be the latest in a long line of fallen.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

  We exchange again. The weapons are both sheathed back in place.

  We exchange places. A deep gouge is running next to Cassmus’ feet, splitting the sand. A seam appears along my chest, mended by a green glow. Our weapons are sheathed.

  “Sloppy,” Cassmus comments. “But your fundamentals are passable. Please convey my commendations to your instructor.”

  We exchange places again. A deep crimson streak is painted by my stroke. A cerulean arc follows Cassmus’ own. The two connected in a single point. Our weapons are once again sheathed.

  “Good enough,” Cassmus comments again. “I won’t take offense at your holding back. It seems you are who you say you are.”

  “Even I cannot overcome that.”

  “Archmage Elisa of Deepgrove... I knew of her. Before your arrival.” The demon smiles, faint wrinkles and gentle creases darkening his face. “It has been a long, long time since I last felt fear. So, I concede a point to you, Lucius. Stagnation, you have not and will not bring.”

  “My collection of Earth literature contains a... substantial amount of romance.”

  The general is frozen for a full three seconds. During which, he probably contemplated ending me and disposing of the witnesses. Then he unfreezes, heat rising from beneath. “Is that so?”

  My life depends on not cracking a smirk. “Verily, my good sir.”

  “Mayhap, one of those tomes finds itself to me?”

  “Have you already decided the outcome of our match?”

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  Cassmus smiles, slowly drawing his blade. “I have.”

  I draw my own and ready my stance. “A personally curated selection is awaiting your return, General.”

  “Then, let us dally no more.”

  A slash passes through my left arm, severing it right above the elbow, my smidge too slow dodge proving such. I feel my fingers still under my control, the muscles starting to close them, which is normal for me, but the sensation is a bit different this time. The nanobots usually tasked with assisting my advanced biological shell in its reconstruction are shrugging their teeny-tiny shoulders.

  His blade slides along mine, pushing me back.

  Green glow forms around the perfectly cut surface, doing absolutely nothing. My mana senses also shrug their—much broader—shoulders.

  My thrust is parried. Enemy blade trying to tangle and disarm. Cassmus’ eyes don’t leave my chest as a sailing detached hand is avoided with a slight lean back, the distraction enough to disrupt his attempt.

  Metal replaces the missing limb. But just as the spell completes, an unseen slash passes through the location previously cut, severing the magic prosthetic and unraveling it back into mana. ...Okay. I’m so stealing that.

  Two blades meet with a clang. His flowing into another pattern of attack before mine has recovered. I rotate my hand, repositioning my sword to stop his slash inside myself.

  Lunge. He pulls back faster. I am staring at a quickly approaching point.

  No need to keep this one a secret, as everyone has already seen it by now.

  A slight aquamarine glow flashes, producing a square grid on every surface in the arena, including myself.

  My body moves, tugged away from his sword. My right arm draws a crimson arc with my shortsword, barely brushing against his neck, dodged in the last possible moment.

  As crimson seeps from the demon’s skin, a deeper color hides the blood.

  The world is split in two, the halves sliding apart with a jerk and halt. A pulse of aquamarine shifts them back into place, exactly as I want them to be.

  Lightning wreaths my form, arcing from both body and blade, snaking around my skin. A dashing slash skids along his sword, easily deflected.

  I am behind Cassmus, preparing another attack. His sword blurs, passing through empty space. Zipped along by lightning, I strike again. His body leans to one side. The tip of my blade opens his right shoulder.

  While green glow battles with deep crimson, the swordmaster decides to demonstrate why it is I called him that. His grip switches, offhand now dominant. The world is split in two. Then in four. Then in seven.

  Just as he prepares to thrust through the isolated seventh piece, I assert my vision of reality. The world follows. The path of his sword leaves a cerulean wound on space itself.

  I step forward. My sword falls in an overhead strike. He meets my blade with his, the blocking clang sounding duller.

  Cassmus pushes against me, one leg stepping forward too. While still clashed with me, he goes through the movement for a slash, steel sliding against superalloy, shoving me back still. Another cerulean wound opens.

  The demon takes another step, passing harmlessly through his own lingering magic, and slashing faster at the same time. My block is a moment slower.

  He repeats again. And again. And again. Wounds on reality amassing in his wake. My blocking lagging behind but not yet having failed.

  Cassmus prepares a touch longer before his next slash. As his blade moves, each wound his strikes made moves too. I brace my shortsword with a left hand that wasn’t there, now just an aquamarine outline, covering me whole.

  Cerulean streaks overlap with his sword. Two blades meet. His continues through, jagged metal nearly digging into my side, intact cerulean accomplishing the task, connecting with another cut.

  Our forms freeze, allowing most of the audience to actually see us again. The top half of his broken sword quietly thumps to the sand.

  The old demon leaves his stance. What remains is sheathed back in place. I do the same.

  “Why do you yield your sword?” he asks, no exhaustion evident in a steady voice.

  “Simplest reason there is, to protect those I care about. ...And because I love smacking monsters.” Elisa sends me an emoji of a person smacking their forehead. I reply with a heart.

  “Who do you care about, Lucius?” I smile at him. “I... We all need to hear it,” he says.

  “I care about everyone.”

  Cassmus starts to laugh. His gaze wanders over to the audience, settling in on a balcony up high, three demons and a dragon looking back at him. “The two biggest fools, fighting one another to accomplish the same thing. If His Majesty was like you... do you think he would have restrained himself so?”

  “No, he wouldn’t have.”

  “You’re wrong. His belief needs to be painfully earned. Yours...” He glances at the piece of steel at our feet. “Can never be broken.”

  “‘Painfully earned’ doesn’t sound like ‘impossible’.” I make a fake wince, clutching at my already healing sides.

  Cassmus grins. “You owe me a new sword.”

  “How about a sword for a favor?”

  “Let’s hear it, then.”

  “Why haven’t you visited a physician yet?”

  “Oh fine, if it means you cease with the nagging.”

  “Thank you, General.”

  He murmurs softly, “Biggest fools, indeed.” Then he loudly says, heard by all, “I concede. Lucius has merited my approval.”

  The response from the audience, while still solemn and reserved, is audibly conflicted. A possible future is one step closer.