Chapter 38: Reunion and Duel

Abel's horse whinnied. He gave it a pat and looked around. Surrounding him was a sea of mounted knights — the second company of Remno's rapid response force. A sharp, commanding voice boomed at his side.

"Have we still heard nothing from the rebel army?" asked Bernardo Virgil, the company commander.

He was a tall man with a thick moustache and the piercing gaze of a falcon. As one of the strongest warriors in Remno, he was referred to as the Adamantine Spear, which was a tribute to his prowess as well as a physical description of the weapon he favored. Unlike standard issue spears, which had metallic tips grafted onto wooden shafts, his was a monster of a weapon — a metallic behemoth forged entirely from a single bar of steel. Despite the punishing weight, which precluded most people from using it, he wielded the spear with ease. He was no Diamond Legionnaire, but an experienced knight with a distinguished career. Many victories against neighboring nations bore his name. Countless bandits cursed his existence, and countless more would, if only they'd lived to tell about it.

I see how this is supposed to work. Bernardo does the actual commanding, while I sit here, look pretty, and claim credit for my first campaign.

After observing the dynamics of the company for some time, Abel came to the conclusion that Bernardo was, for all intents and purposes, sent here to decorate a young prince's budding military career.

"Your Highness, how would you like to proceed? I am of the opinion that we have given them more than enough time... Fortunately, Senia's walls are low, and the rebels have fortified it with little more than a few feeble barricades. Breaking through should be a simple task."

Contrary to Abel's prediction, however, Bernardo diligently deferred to him for every significant decision. Despite the prevailing tendency to make light of the notoriously weak-willed prince, the veteran commander always lent a willing ear to Abel's thoughts. It was a display of immaculate respect for both the chain of command and his person, but it also weighed heavily on his conscience. It meant that the suppression of his people would proceed not by chance or circumstance, but by his own judgment and command.

"A prince's duty, huh..." he mouthed quietly to himself. Then he straightened himself and looked forward. "This place will be a thorn in our side if we let it be. The troops will also appreciate a morale boost. We should strike hard and fas—"

"Report from the town!"

A scout rushed into the encampment, and the air thickened with tension.

"What's the deal? Did they send a messenger?" asked Bernando, his eyes narrowing.

The young soldier hesitated for a second before replying in an uncertain tone.

"No. I mean, not exactly... Two kids came, and... they want to speak to His Highness Prince Abel."

"A ludicrous request. The rebels wish to see His Highness in person? We'd have to be out of our minds to permit such nonsense. And what's this about kids?"

"W-Well, that's just it. They're kids. But, um... not regular kids, apparently. They claim to be classmates of His—"

"Excuse us."

Brushing aside the scout's sputtering explanation, a boy stepped onto the scene. He walked with the grace and gravitas of a natural sovereign, and soldiers found themselves reflexively stepping aside to clear a path.

"Prince Sion! Why are you here? Wait, but... that means..." Abel's eyes widened as a second figure appeared from behind Sion. "Princess Mia..."

"Prince Abel. I've missed you."

Her argent hair reflected the sunlight, emitting a soft glow like the moon. Wisdom radiated from her eyes, deep and coruscant. Then, there was her pearlescent skin... It was all as he'd remembered. With all the breathtaking beauty of that night at the dance party, Mia Luna Tearmoon appeared before Abel.

"And I you. Alas, how I wish seeing me were the aim of your visit..."

"Oh? And what other aim do you suggest for my visit?" She gave him a quizzical head tilt, which Abel knew to be an act. Seeing him was certainly her intention, but it was nothing more than a corollary — an afterthought — of what she'd really come here to do. The purpose of her visit was undoubtedly to put an end to this foolish conflict. The Great Sage of the Empire, he reasoned, was not going to come all the way here just to say hi to him.

She... probably won't take my side. But even so, I...

For one vulnerable moment, he allowed himself to waver. Then he put his heart aside and donned the armor of resolve.

"Prince Sion," he said, his voice hardening, "what about you, then? Surely, you will not make the same claim as her? I trust you are not here for tea and talk."

"No, I am not. At first, I'd only intended to accompany Princess Mia as her guard. Now, however... I've seen too much to stand idly by." Sion placed his palm on his sword hilt. "The chance has come earlier than expected... but it's time to fulfill my summer promise. You shall have your rematch."

The declaration caught Abel off guard, and he stared blankly for a second before quickly collecting himself.

"I take that to mean... you're challenging me to a duel?"

"Yes, though, should you choose to return to your capital with your sword still sheathed, I will be more than happy to wait until winter for the next tournament."

Abel stared hard at Sion, who cocked a provocative brow. Just as Abel was about to speak, Bernando stepped forward.

"Their words bear no weight, Your Highness. Disregard them. To challenge the prince and commander of an army to single combat is ludicro—"

"Stand down, Bernardo. This is no mere duel. The Crown Prince of Sunkland has just placed his life on the line for the justice he believes in. Turning down his challenge would deal a serious blow to our soldiers' morale."

Abel dismissed Bernardo's advice. He glanced at Mia. A bitter smile flashed across his lips.

And... a part of me just doesn't want to back down with her watching.

He let out a short breath.

"So be it, Prince Sion. Let us duel."

M-My? How odd...

Mia looked from Abel to Sion. She scratched her head. Then she looked at them again.

I... did just say to Prince Abel that I came here to see him, right? Based on what I know from Elise's story, isn't the next step supposed to be... you know, a hug, maybe? Or at least some smiles here and there, and then everyone pats each other on the back and goes home and the problem is solved?

That was, after all, why Mia had been standing there with her arms outstretched, waiting for Abel to embrace her. To her bewilderment, the story no longer seemed to be revolving around her. There were two new protagonists, and all eyes were now focused on them.

Is it just me or have I been in this situation before? Ah, right. It was during the swordsmanship tournament when we were eating sandwiches for lunch. Just like now, those two went off into their own conversation and left me hanging...

"The roads of my kingdom are broad and level. They will suffice as an arena for our duel."

Mia looked up to find that the two princes were already walking away.

"Prince Abel! Wait! A duel? You can't—"

She rushed to catch up, only to be stopped by a muscular arm.

"Bernardo," Abel said, turning his head back toward her, "by my authority as prince, I command you to protect the Princess of Tearmoon. You are to ensure that no harm befalls her."

"Are you certain, Your Highness?" asked Bernardo, still holding Mia back.

"I need the princess to bear witness to the legitimacy of our duel. She holds a neutral voice, belonging to neither Remno nor Sunkland. Should the King of Sunkland question the outcome, her word will surely appease him."

"No! You can't! Prince Abel! This is all wrong!"

"I... was looking forward to our reunion, Princess Mia. I only wish it had happened under better circumstances. I wish... we could have..." His voice wavered. He shook his head and huffed out a short, mocking laugh at himself. "All that purpose and resolve, and when the time comes, I get cold feet..."

He set his jaw. Then he turned away, severing their gaze as surely as if he'd used a sword.

"Prince Abel!"

Her scream failed to move him. Their gazes failed to meet. His eyes were now locked firmly on the boy standing in front of him.

"Are your ears deaf to her words?"

"They are deaf to all words. The die has been cast. There is no stopping now, Prince Sion. I thought you, of all people, would understand."

"Rot covers your throne, Abel Remno. Do you choose to rot with it?"

"Rotting or not, a kingdom needs a throne. A world without order is a world in Hell. Chaos breeds suffering, and the people will be its kindling."

Wipe the kingdom clean of royals and nobles, and bandits would swoop in to fill the void. Order would collapse. Peace would end.

"If corruption has tainted the throne, then it is my duty to cleanse it, not destroy it."

There was a tone of finality to Abel's voice. He said no more, and quietly drew his sword.

"I cannot allow you to trample over your people," replied Sion.

To that end, he was willing to initiate a military intervention to depose the entirety of the corrupt regime, going so far as to consider long-term occupation, in which Sunkland would assume the duties of governing until a new administration was established and operational. Irreconcilable was his stance with that of Abel, whose loyalty lay with kin and kingdom.

"Should you choose to partake in this brutality, Abel Remno, then I shall end you here with my own sword."

With a flash, his sword leapt from scabbard to hand. The finely honed edge gleamed, its sharpness second only to its wielder's gaze.

Just like that day in the arena, Abel lifted his weapon high above his head in his trademark stance of all-out aggression. Sion, meanwhile, held his blade with a loose arm, its tip angled down in a stance primed to parry and counter.

"Nostalgic, isn't it?" said Sion. "But the way this ends will be anything but. Today, you will not catch me off guard."

"Nor do I intend to. We both know I'm a one-trick pony, so let's see if the trick still works."

Suddenly, there was a burst of movement... and it came from Sion! He dashed in for a surprise attack! Keeping his body low to the ground, he lunged forward into striking distance. Having previously seen that Sion employed a reactionary style, Abel was unprepared for the abrupt assault. With a reflexive step backward, Abel broke from his stance, giving Sion the opening he sought. His advantage, however, proved short-lived, shattered by the devastating arc of Abel's strike as he, balance impaired and feet unplanted, nonetheless brought his blade crashing down in the middle of his retreat. His sword was a blur, and Sion rushed to react.

"Ugh!"

The speed and power of the swing far exceeded Sion's expectation, and he whipped his arm up just swiftly enough to catch the blow with his own sword. The two weapons met with bone-rattling force, and he had to take a step back to soften the impact.

"A mighty blow for an unready foe. How mightier, then, were you not off your tempo?" Sion quipped as he continued to back off. "Well then... It appears that I'm not the only one who has been preparing for this rematch."

"Unlike some people, I'm no natural. When you're training to beat a genius, you learn to go the extra mile."

"Your effort is commendable," replied Sion. "It has bought you time and respect, but victory will not come so cheaply."

Abel resumed his overhead stance. Then he went on the offensive, smoothly transferring the momentum of his forward dash into a powerful strike. Sion responded by angling his blade, using it like a rail to lead the strike awry. Sparks flew as metal rode metal, but the force was so great that it still drove the offending tip through his arm, leaving a bloody gash.

It didn't faze him.

"Haa!"

Though known for his vicious ripostes, Sion had never demonstrated his signature strike — not even on the day of the swordsmanship tournament. That all changed as his sword broke from the clash and lashed out in a ferocious sweep that traced a trail with surgical precision through Abel's side... Who took it without wincing. Instead, he roared and drove his shoulder into Sion.

"Ugh! Okay... So that's your game. You dodge into me instead of away, huh. Not bad, Abel Remno."

"You're no pushover yourself, Prince Sion. One wrong move there and I'd be a dead man," said Abel before glancing at his bloody side. He patted at it. "I'm wearing chain mail, and you went through it like a hot knife through butter."

He laughed. They went at it again in a fountain of fiery sparks and crimson petals. Each bone-shattering blow from Abel was answered with a parry and riposte. The Sunkland prince fought with deadly grace, spinning and twirling as though in a dance. The spectating soldiers all held their breaths as they beheld a dizzying flurry of motion, accentuated by arcs of bright red blood.

Faced with the relentless onslaught of a genius swordsman, Abel brandished his only weapon — his staunch refusal to yield. When staring down a blade, hesitation was the norm. Abel cast that norm aside. Where a normal person would freeze or flinch, he did not. As each strike approached, he stepped into it, closing the gap that recoil should have widened. Then he forced down his fear and stepped forward more, putting himself even closer to his enemy but farther from a lethal blow. With the added protection of his military armor, he could be wounded, but he would not fall.

"Well, color me surprised... I didn't think you'd be such a tough nut to crack," said Sion.

"Hah. Glad to know I don't disappoint," replied Abel. He smiled, but the expression was strained.

Genius is the swordplay of Sion Sol Sunkland. Abel could tell that Sion's blade was striking him with more and more power. For a prodigy like the Sunkland prince, readjusting his spacing in the midst of battle was a trivial task.

I doubt I'll last much longer... The next... is probably the last...

Abel dropped to one knee, his face a mask of pain, and let out a breath. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar figure. It was Mia.

Ah... She's watching. I can't afford to throw in the towel.

He drew a deep breath and forced himself to his feet.

"En garde, Prince Sion. Let's end this!"

He tightened his grip on his sword, willing all his remaining strength into his arms for one final strike.

"Enough! Please stop this, both of you! You're going to die!"

The sight of the two princes preparing to trade one final blow chilled Mia to the core, and she raised her voice in another desperate plea. To her horror, neither paid her any heed. Their weapons remained drawn, and despair filled her heart.

Ahh... In the end, my words are meaningless, aren't they? Just like before...

Her vision blurred, and suddenly, she was back in the old empire. Led by Ludwig, she raced from place to place, trying to placate the resentful masses. Again and again, she pleaded with them, speaking as the Princess of Tearmoon, but her words were lost in a sea of anger and hatred. Ultimately, her efforts had proven futile. She'd failed to win their trust.

It's the same as back then...

Helpless and hopeless, she watched as both princes dashed forward. Her whole world seemed to darken as they raised their swords, each ready to plunge theirs into the chest of the other. In a way, she thought, perhaps this was inevitable. Perhaps she was the fool for ever thinking otherwise. Faced with people who'd already drawn their swords and resolved to fight, words were ultimately powerless. And hers, especially, reached no one.

...Or did they?

Did her words truly reach no one? No! Absolutely not! Though they fell on the deaf ears of the dueling princes, the bonds she'd forged would carry her voice. Whither would it go? Who was listening? Why, her faithful subjects, of course!

"Now aren't you two a bloody handful..."

A form flew past Mia in a blur, leaving a burst of wind in its wake that caught a tear on her cheek and lifted it into the air. The crystalline droplet sparkled in the sunlight.

"Time to break it up, boys. You're making our dear princess cry."

The form continued to surge forward like a sentient gale, soaring up into the sky before crashing back down between the two princes just as their swords were about to meet. Abel swung his blade down. Sion swept his up. There was a sharp clang— No, two! Then a pair of swords twirled through the air and landed on the ground. The two princes, both disarmed, froze and stared down the blades now pointed at their chests toward the man who held them.

Dion Alaia, a sword in each hand, smiled. "See, our princess is a bit of a crybaby, so I'd appreciate it if you stopped giving her more reasons to make a scene."

"Ahh..."

The sudden appearance of an ally brought a wave of relief that washed through Mia and turned her legs to jelly. She swayed a little before toppling backward, but she landed, not on the hard surface of the ground, but in the tender embrace of something warm and soft.

"Milady!"

A familiar voice rang in her ear. She spun to find an equally familiar face.

"A-Anne!"

Her first and most faithful subject held her in her arms, tears streaming down her face.

"Anne... Anne..."

Mia wrapped her arms around Anne and squeezed, burying her face in her chest. The precious moment, however, was interrupted by a roar of fury.

"Insolent knave! You dare brandish a weapon at His Highness Prince Abel? Lower it at once!" The man who had been guarding Mia, Bernardo the Adamantine Spear, glared with rage at Dion.

"Have you no honor? No shame? You have intruded upon a sacred duel between princes!"

Dion chuckled.

"Well, well, well, I guess I have. Yeah, I can see why you'd be pissed, what with your precious prince dueling to the death while you grind your teeth resisting the urge to help out. Meanwhile, little old me just strolls in and joins the fun. Infuriating, isn't it? Thing is, my allegiance is sworn to neither of Their Highnesses."

"Silence, scoundrel! Your impudence is deserving of death! Consider your life forfeit!"

The enraged commander rushed toward Dion who, in response, dropped the sword in his left hand and switched to a two-handed grip for the one in his right. He watched his approaching foe with a wolfish grin.