Chapter 67. Old Soldier.

As night slowly fell on Fort Rondale, Willem gritted his teeth and willed himself to be patient as his old friend began to nag worriedly at him over the great battle to come.

"Are you certain you can face this monster alone?" General Aden Adler asked Willem Van Claren, also known as Willem the Silent Storm, for what felt like the hundredth time that day as he impatiently waited for nightfall. "There's no shame in having backup. Whoever this rogue swordsman is, they're clearly on the level of a Sword King."

"I don't doubt your expertise, Aden," Willem said to the other man reassuringly. "But please remember that I am the silent storm! I've never once needed assistance defeating my prey once I got them in my sight. This will be no different. Whoever this spree killer is, they'll soon regret challenging the authority of the king."

Willem was the longest serving member of the Ten Blades, the greatest swordsmen of the kingdom who answered directly to the king. Once, he'd been ranked first among them and held a position of authority and power within the country that few could match. He'd been so mighty back then; the very embodiment of relentless ferocity.

What glorious days those had been. But now here he was, no longer the first blade, but instead the tenth and weakest of them all. A holdover from the previous regime who refused to go quietly into retirement. He'd once commanded armies and lived imperiously. Now he was sent as a glorified enforcer for tasks the other blades refused to undertake.

He was a custodial service.

Willem didn't regret it in the slightest. The Tenth Blade might be the least among his brothers in the order, but he still walked tall and commanded the respect and awe of more common men. Willem had raised his family to wealth and nobility with the strength of his sword. Retirement wasn't for the likes of him. He was destined to die gloriously in the mud, still clenching his weapon and snarling at the one who felled him. That was the death he deserved, and by the gods, one day he would have it!

Which was why he dearly wished that his old friend would grow a pair and stop trying to spoil his fun.

"My Lord, I keep trying to tell you, this person…there's something different about them! My instincts tell me so!"

"Adler, I already told you I'd see to things," Willem said impatiently. "Go pour yourself another glass or six of wine and go to sleep. I'll have this killer hunted down before dawn."

"I won't lie, Lord Van Chalen, having you on the case does bring me a great sense of relief," General Adler said. "This constant harassment has the men on edge. More than a few are worried we're being stalked by some leftover demon from the Bremburg incident."

"Oh, that's unlikely," Willem said. "That temporary Paladin the temple recently appointed has been doing an excellent job of picking the foul things off left and right. And whatever she misses, gets quickly dispatched by that new champion the adventurer's guild has raised."

"Lance of the Lance, you mean?" Adler asked.

"The very same," Willem said. "Isn't that a stupid name? Lance of the Lance. Not a lot of creativity there. I'm amazed no one laughed at him when he first announced himself."

"You sound unimpressed," said Adler. "But he must be powerful indeed, to have attained a Sky-ranking at his age."

"You and I are old, Adler. We have the right to be annoyed by the young for whatever reason we choose," Willem said scornfully.

"Well, that's true enough," the general agreed. "When will your hunt begin?"

"Soon," Willem said. "Once the trap has been set."

"And the plan?" Adler asked next.

Willem thought about it for a few moments, then said, "Dispatch three patrols simultaneously in three different directions. Have that spirit wielding girl you're so proud of keeping on staff contact each patrol once every five minutes or so. The first unit she loses contact with will undoubtedly be under attack by this killer. After that, all you'll need to do is guide me in their direction and we'll soon have this business settled."

Adler frowned deeply at his friend's words. "So, I'm to dangle the lives of my men before this shark, in order to expediate your hunt, am I?" he asked bitterly. "What happened to doing things on your own?"

"It's a regrettable necessity," Willem answered with bitter honesty. "I don't like it either, Aden. I wouldn't do it if I was younger and more confident of my speed, but I'm an old man now, and I need their help drawing this monster out. I'm the only one here who can stop these killings, and this is the fastest way to see it done. I'm sorry."

"Gods, now you're apologizing for your behavior," Adler said sardonically. "When you held the first seat of the Ten Blades, you were the most condescending bastard I ever met. What a terrible thing time is, if it can humble someone as arrogant as you."

"Ha!" Willem laughed. "It's funny, isn't it? A sword can easily shorten the length of a man's life, but it can't do a damn thing to extend it."

"The young want to grow old and the old want to be young," Adler said philosophically as he extended his bottle towards his friend. "No one ever really knows what they want, do they?"

"The human condition is always an uncertain one," Willem said before accepting the bottle and taking a large swig.

__

The business that brought Willem to Rondale was a grim one. Winter was soon approaching, and with it, the annual cessation of the Summer Campaign, the war to conquer to the Republic of Oldstead and reabsorb the rebellious breakaway nation back into the kingdom where it belonged. It seemed that this would be the last winter respite for the Republic. Their army was battered, their resources drained, and their morale low. As soon as next spring, the King's army would be ready to march. And when it did, that would signal with absolute finality, the end of the war.

It was at this point, when the days were darkest for Oldstead, and hope for a reversal of fortune had all but vanished, that an unknown factor had interceded on the Republic's behalf. A third player had appeared in the game.

The stories were different depending on which survivors you asked. Some claimed a legion of the dead would suddenly appear from nowhere to descend on them with gnashing fingers and fangs that tore men apart while they yet lived. Merciless ghouls that also chased them down when they attempted to flee.

Others spoke of a mysterious maze of shadow and fog, where men would seemingly wander for years, hearing maddening whispers and receiving awful personal insights that convinced them that they were damned. Many of them, upon learning that they'd only been lost for one night, killed themselves in a sudden fit of despair, while whispering of a place of unbearable horror they called the Rat Room.

Don't leave me there, they'd brokenly weep. Don't leave me in the rat room. I'm sorry…

The worst stories spoke of an arrogant knight. One who toyed with his prey with a massive steel sword and fed off their fear and desperation to live. Who fought dozens of the kingdom's finest warriors and brutalized them with contemptuous ease.

A monster in blackened armor who laughed like a child.

When Willem heard that particular tale, his instincts told him that this was the one that would tie the other stories together into a cohesive whole. He couldn't articulate it with any greater precision than that. He just knew that he was right. He had to find the mocking knight and silence him. If he could do that, then all would be well.

Lord Willem. Patrol two has gone silent, whispered the urgent voice of Adler's assistant into his mind.

Willem leapt to his feet and grabbed his massive great sword, Silencer.

"Lead me to them," he commanded her eagerly.

__

Willem found his target just as he was finishing with the last member of the patrol.

Around the two combatants, men lay broken and sprawled around them in a circle. The black knight was shorter than Willem expected, with a slighter build as well. From the armored figure's movement's, Willem suspected that what he'd assumed to be a man was in fact a woman.

Interesting. Could this be the infamous Black Lioness I've heard of? Willem wondered to himself.

But wasn't the lioness known to fight in simple leather armor, with a curved sword? The person before him was encased in steel and wearing a cape that had been colored bright purple. And that sword she swung with such murderous force was no dainty easterner's blade. It was a ridiculous sheet of steel that was a sword in the same way that a gateway was a door. An ugly slab of iron that had no business being wielded so skillfully.

"ARRRGH!" screamed the last member of the patrol as the knight brought the sword down with bone crushing finality cross his collarbone. It was a killing blow that even a temple cleric would have difficulty healing. The man lay on his back, desperately gasping for air, as the knight loomed above him, passively watching him die. Like a child watching a crushed insect continuing to spasm and twitch even after it had already been crushed.

In fact, her attention was so taken up with her opponent's slow death, that she nearly lost her head when Willem came crashing from the sky with a thunderous downward swing of his blade that should have split her head down the middle.

Looking up just in time to see him coming, the knight stood still as Silencer connected with her helm. A crack appeared on either side of it before it broke in half with each piece falling to the ground at her feet, revealing an amused looking young girl with her blonde hair tied in a bun, smiling at Willem.

A thin trickle of blood began to flow from her scalp down her face. The girl dabbed a finger in it and gave it a lick. Then her smile grew wider, even as her eyes narrowed.

"Dirty," she said to him. "Dirty, dirty, dirty."

"War necessitates our actions," Willem replied without shame. "Besides, if that had been enough to kill you, you wouldn't have been worth my time."

"That's one way of explaining things," the girl said thoughtfully. "But another is, you're a coward who's afraid of fighting fair."

"As fairly as you fought these weaklings?" Willem asked skeptically as he gestured with his head towards the bodies surrounding them. "Aren't you the real coward for picking fights that you know you'll win?"

"Hey, I'll have you know that I gave them options," the girl said defensively.

"Was one of them sparing their lives if they surrendered?" Willem asked doubtfully.

"Noooo," the girl admitted reluctantly. "But they still had options!"

Willem didn't reply. Instead, he swung Silencer in a wide arc, intending to use his greater mass to knock the girl to the ground where he would then incapacitate her with a kick to the head. As strong as she was, her immature manner revealed her for the neophyte she surely was. He decided that he'd capture her alive and drag her before the king in chains as a trophy. Whatever happened to her from there, didn't matter.

Instead, she calmly reached out and grabbed Silencer by the edge of the great sword's blade. Then with a twist of her hips and shoulders, she made a speedy whiplike motion to the side that sent him flying away like he'd been catapulted. Willem managed to land clumsily on his hands and the soles of his feet, digging into the earth as he did to slow his motion next to a tree. Then a rush of whistling air compelled him by instinct to throw himself to the side to avoid Silencer taking his head off as it embedded itself violently in the trunk of the tree.

Okay, he thought glumly to himself. She's not a neophyte at all, actually.

"Almost gotcha!" laughed the girl.

All right. I'm going to die, Willem realized.

How strange that realization was. This moment was the capstone of his career as a Sword King, one that he'd allegedly been looking forward to his entire life. But now that the moment had finally come, a strong reluctance to depart this veil had set itself over him. Why couldn't he have just retired and taken up a hobby like other men did? Grown fat eating delicious food, surrounded by his laughing children? How old was Kelsie now? Almost eighteen. When was the last time he'd spent any time with her?

Expectation and reality sure had a way of showing a man what mattered in life, didn't it?

"Something on your mind, Sir?" his opponent asked Willem as he stood there, lost in thought.

"Oh, just pondering the vagaries of our strange existence," he replied. "Are there anymore of you that I should be aware of?"

"No," answered the girl. "Just me, kicking up a little dust."

"Well, that is something of a surprise," Willem said. "Given how much trouble you've been causing the lads, I expected there to be more than one of you. And you're a girl at that! You look as though you should still be in school. May I ask how old you are?"

"Seventeen and a half," Everly answered. "And I technically am in school right now. I just took some time to myself to have a little fun out here on the border."

"And have you been enjoying yourself?" Willem asked her.

"I have!" she responded brightly. "There's nothing but good fun and exercise to be had out here. Your men are well trained, by the way, Sir. They're tough and persistent, and only start begging for mercy when I really start sawing into them. They're stoic as heck!"

Willem nodded to himself, pleased by the girl's words. "That's good to hear. These are proud warriors of Winstead, you know. They're of a far higher caliber than the scum they produce in Oldstead. I'm glad you approve of them."

"I really do! I could kill men of their quality for ages!"

"That's a troubling thing to hear someone your age say," Willem said reproachfully.

"It is, what it is," the girl said with a shrug.

"May I ask for your name?" Willem politely requested.

"Oh, of course. I'm Everly Skolder," the girl said with equal politeness.

"Everly, is it? Well, that's a lovely name," Willem said warmly, before continuing. "Now, Everly, I can't help but notice by your accent that you yourself seem to hail from Winstead as well. The middle-country if I'm not mistaken. If I'm correct, then I'm curious as to why you're committing treason against our glorious nation. Would you be able to answer that question for me?"

"Oh, of course!" Everly replied. "It's not for any particular reason. I was just looking for a good fight. Winstead has the best army on the continent, so why go anywhere else?"

"I don't know, Everly," Willem said thoughtfully. "It feels like you're not being completely honest with me."

"Shoot, you're pretty perceptive, Sir," Everly said with a slight frown. "Okay, I admit it! This is all part of a wicked scheme that I'm enacting to gradually overthrow this kingdom and set myself over it. I'm going to kill King Septis and steal his throne! Pretty sweet, right?"

"It's definitely ambitious," Willem agreed, while thinking, What the hell have I stumbled upon? "But Everly, although I've never been a king myself, it seems as though ruling a nation takes a lot of commitment and hard work. It's not something one does out of a sense of entitlement. It involves working well with others, too."

"Nah, I don't have to do any of that," Everly said with a shrug. "I'll just get my own way through overwhelming force. If anyone disagrees, I'll butcher them as thoroughly as I did your men."

"Everly, that's not sustainable," Willem chided her. "Even kings must make compromises in order to govern their realms."

"Sure," agreed Everly. "Weak kings."

"Jeeez," Willem sighed. "You really should still be in school. Which one did you say you attend?"

"The Royal Imperial Academy," Everly replied.

"Ahhh, you must be a capable girl then," Willem smiled. "I attended that school myself. I don't suppose you've met my daughter by chance?"

"Hmm. Maybe? What's her name?" Everly wondered.

"Kelsie Van Chalen," Willem said proudly.

"You know, I thought that shade of blue in your eyes looked familiar!" Everly exclaimed. "Wow, you look way too old to be her father."

"She was a surprise, that's for sure," Willem chuckled.

"She had to be!" Everly said with a chuckle of her own.

You really are a brat, Willem thought irritably. Then he asked, "So, you and Kelsie have met then? That's wonderful! How's my little angel been?"

"Oh, Willem, Willem," Everly said sadly. "It's no good, bro. No good at all. Your sweet girl is a horrid, classist bitch and a vicious bully."

"Excuse me?" asked Willem, who was certain he'd heard her wrong. "I believe you're mistaken."

He didn't even take a moment to wonder how she knew his name.

"I wish I were," Everly sighed. "But your kid is rancid. What's truly sad is that she thinks she's scoring points with poor widdle Prince Ian by keeping me underfoot. Does she have princess syndrome or something? Does your little girl aspire to be royalty?"

"My daughter is a strong, assertive young woman with steel running throughout her veins!" Willem insisted.

"How could you possibly know that?" asked Everly. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't look like someone a daughter could confide in. You know, an absent father can lead a girl to make all kinds of terrible choices. Take me for example. I'm nuts!"

"I'd like to move past this conversation," Willem said icily.

"So soon?" Everly asked. "Wow, if learning about Kelsie's rotten personality upsets you this much, wait until you hear about the heavy sexual subtext she and I have going on," Everly managed to say, just before Willem sprang at her with his sword and took another swing at her head.

Everly kept her feet in place and met Willem's blade with her own, channeling harada throughout her body as she did so. The two massive blades collided in a shower of sparks that at first glance seemed like a meeting of equal force. However, the fact that Everly swung with only one hand, while Willem used both of his, showed who the stronger between them was.

Willem, who had been seething with white hot anger at this strange girl's mockery of his daughter, was quick to regain a calm mindset when he remembered just how powerful his opponent was. Everly, for her part, was content to smile sweetly at him before taking a step forward to press him back.

"I appear to be at a disadvantage," Willem admitted as he was gradually forced away. "How are you this powerful at your age?"

"Willem, the answer to that question is so convoluted," Everly said casually before driving an uppercut into his center that dropped him painfully to all fours. As he knelt there, gasping for breath, Everly drove a knee across the side of his face that sent him rolling onto his side.

"Let's just say I did an ungodly amount of practice at a young age, and it helped me develop quickly," she said. "Training wheels, training bra, training brawls, always training for something, you know? And then there's all my terrifying magical powers and stuff. My life is such a story, not even joking, man."

"Who was your teacher?" Willem groaned.

"The Mountain Splitter," she replied.

"That's not even possible, girl. He's been banished to the north longer than you've been alive," Willem said in disbelief.

"See? I told you; my life is such a fucking story!" Everly said cheerfully before bringing her sword down towards his neck. Willem managed to roll away in the nick of time, then spun quickly, channeling harada into a forceful projection of will that shot like a bolt from his blade and rushed towards the girl.

This was a surefire technique that Williem had used thousands of times before. His special technique. His ace in the hole. Upon reaching her, it should have split Everly in half at the waist.

Instead, she parried it.

Out in the distance, far from where they dueled, an animal screamed in pain as it was sundered.

"That really shouldn't have been possible," Willem said flatly.

"No doubt," Everly smirkingly agreed.

"Come on, kid, at least pretend I'm putting up a fight here," Willem said. "I'll have you know that an old man has his pride!"

"Where I'm from, they say pride comes before a fall," Everly said.

"Whoever told you that nonsense, achieved very little in their life," Willem said sourly.

"I completely agree with you!" Everly said. "It's not about cautioning people not to be blinded by ego, it's about making unambitious losers feel better about themselves. If you can do something that others can't, you ought to feel good about it! That's what I think, anyway."

After blocking another one of Willem's strikes and easily kicking him away before he could retaliate, Willem yelled in frustration, before asking, "You're just toying with me, aren't you?"

"Sorry," Everly said. "That's just my villainous nature asserting itself. If it makes you feel better, you're only a step below the Mountain Splitter. I think you would have made a fine teacher as well."

"I don't suppose there's an offer for mercy coming my way?" Willem asked her hopefully.

"Oh. Um…okay, Willem, it's not that I don't find you interesting. It's just, I've already got a sword king in my collection, and, uh, a big part of my plan depends on killing you to set an example of my threat level so they'll keep sending strong fighters against me. I mean, you do seem very sweet, it's just…"

"Okay, all right, you need say no more," Willem sighed. "I really should have retired years ago. What can I say? The allure of war is a deep one. A heady brew not easily discarded, no matter how far past one's prime they are. This is simply the outcome of a life spent living by the sword."

"Wow," Everly said with genuine admiration. "Now that's the sort of stoic demeanor I wish I had."

"It took years to attain it, kid," Willem said. "Peace of mind isn't something one acquires overnight. I've strode upon hundreds of bloody battlefields and seen humanity at its very worst. If I didn't have a strong mindset to guide my path, the sheer horror of a life spent at war would have broken me years ago."

"Fucking metal," Everly said with a nod. "I'm sorry for being honest about your daughter."

"Were you really being upfront with me?" Willem asked. "That wasn't just psychological warfare?"

"No, it was the truth," Everly said. "She's the absolute worst. I'm sorry."

"Damn," Willem said quietly. "Well, maybe the news of my fate will drive her to change life for the better. Perhaps my sudden death will instill within her a newfound appreciation for life's ephemeral nature."

"I kind of doubt it," Everly told him.

"Maybe you're right, Everly. But optimism is what fuels a man's dreams," Willem said with a wry smile.

He then stood up and pointed his sword at his opponent.

"I am Willem the Silent Storm," he informed her proudly. "Formerly the first seat of Winstead's Ten Blades, currently its tenth. I've killed more warriors than you'll ever meet, girl! I'm adorned with blood and glory! My very name is synonymous with despair! Do you have the courage to face me?"

"I'm Everly Skolder," his opponent replied boldly. "This kingdom will be mine! Nations will tremble at my approach! The very earth will cower at my every step! Who are you to oppose me, old man?"

"I AM THE STORM!" Willem shouted as he rushed towards her with a magnificent thrust of his blade. Everly met his charge with her own sword. It was over quickly.

A moment later Willem lay on the ground, with his back exposed to the night sky.

Dead.

Would you like to harvest his mind, Everly? Eris asked her.

"No," Everly replied. "Not him."

Does he not meet the requirements to be one of your chosen?

"Honestly, he meets all of them," Everly replied. "He was someone I would have enjoyed having around."

Then why did you refuse to spare him? asked the curious Eris.

Everly stared at her hand and imagined she could see blood on her palm. That she could feel a girl's heart slowly growing still in her grip. She remembered the face of someone she might have possibly cared for becoming slack as the light left her eyes.

"If you spare one person you like then you have to spare them all," she answered quietly. "Otherwise, it's not fair."

So, it's all about staying committed to your vision, then?

"Yeah. Sounds right," Everly muttered. "It's all about commitment."

She looked back at Willem's body.

Then she walked away.