It was my last run, and my second time meeting him, this time on English soil.

  He was already old when I trounced him at Patay, his hair back then a steel-gray. Now, it was ash white. The red lion was still painted on his chest plate, though streaks of blood had smeared the shape into something unrecognizable.

  On his back was a purple cloak that he didn’t have last time.

  Perhaps we gave it to him when our side ransomed him back, like a receipt for payment.

  We ransomed him back… We ransomed de la Pole back…

  There’s a joke in that, especially for me…

  Just like last time, he was standing in the field of his own dead men, surrounded by enemies.

  But he, John Talbot, held himself straight, like a worn pillar against the storm.

  “We meet again, peasant girl. But I finally figured out your secret. It’s witchcraft.” He growled at me, pointing a gnarled finger. “That sword of yours has some black magic. You’re only winning because of that.”

  I raised my sword and looked into its malevolent red eye.

  In a way, he’s right, I only survived being burned at the stake because of this. But I had defeated him countless times without the sword before.

  I paid the price.

  I stabbed the demon sword into the ground, and reached a gauntlet fist to D'Aulon.

  “Passe-moi ton épée. Ce vieil homme mérite une dernière le?on.” — Pass me your sword. This old man deserves one final lesson.

  —

  All around the battle-torn courtyard, the effects of [Divine Guidance] took hold, sword points found hearts or throats. Spears pierced an eye, or punctured through armor to an organ within.

  A lance skewered the head of a minotaur, and its body slammed into the ground, kicking up dust.

  Arrows perforated an imp, knocking it out of the sky.

  Winthrop’s [Mana Bolt] knocked a red-skinned demonic creature off its feet, and knights set upon it with swords.

  Lightning arced from Mama’s hand over to three horned creatures, charring them black.

  “What in the abyss is this! You!” Karnsar’s red slit eyes roamed over the ongoing slaughter in the field.

  “No, this isn’t what we are here for! Open a path! Retreat!” he growled in Demonic, his voice now edged with desperation.

  He heaved his axe in a wide arc, trying to clear Father away.

  “Ice Riposte!”

  Father shouted. Magic currents swirled around him, and the blue of his hair blurred. His ice-sheathed blade shot forward, piercing the flames that shrouded the towering demon, and impaling him. Frost bloomed across the monster's chest, radiating from the point of entry.

  “You’re going down with me, Prince of Ice!” he howled, swinging his axe down upon my father’s head. But I was already surging up out of the shadow beside him. I swung my sword upward and the void blade vaporized a clean line through his shoulder. His entire arm and axe hit the gravel with a heavy thud.

  “Glacial Spike!”

  The Duke drove his white blade up into the demon’s head, staggering him to his knees. Arcs of electricity shot over Karnsar’s dead body as points of soul light streamed out of him.

  “It’s over…” My father sagged back, yanking the rapier free from the corpse. On the field, the remnants of the demon troops were being finished off.

  He turned toward me, his jaw locking as his eyes met my shadow-shrouded form. For a heartbeat, the battlefield went silent as we stood caught in an awkward, heavy stare.

  “Sister!” Ben’s voice broke the spell.

  Sister.

  My gaze fell to my hand, the one that had touched Elise’s belly, where my unborn sister stirred.

  Something was wrong.

  I spun to Winthrop. “Any word from Captain Soren, or my Lady Mother?”

  “None, but that’s a good thing. It means they haven’t been attacked.”

  I shook my head. Tomas had said the Consort wanted to ‘make an example of that ungrateful harlot.’ It made no sense for them to send attackers and not strike there.

  The demon had said, ‘this isn’t what we are here for’ and if the reserve troops were to ‘hold the path’ then it meant they weren’t supposed to stay and fight.

  A distraction! To pull the main force away while they hit elsewhere.

  I had Elise’s wing monitored with [Shadow Fingers], but there were surely stealth skills that could get past even those.

  A sudden movement, and the fighting had broken out in a grand living room. Masked men were engaged with Captain Soren and his men. A figure strolled confidently through the melee, cutting down anyone who approached.

  “I need to get to Elise! Winthrop! I sent troops to the north woods to trap anyone trying to escape. Move there with your troops and smash any stragglers into their anvil. Now, the rest to the northwest wing!”

  Not waiting for a reply, I cast [Hasted Steps] and burst away.

  —

  I got there as fighting was winding out, our dead were strewn over the ground, while those left alive were backed into a corner. Elise stood defiant, her green eyes ablaze, chin held stiffly up. She was surrounded by her servants, and a few younger guards. I recognized Hans and Forn, their blades rattling uncontrollably in their hands.

  Captain Soren was engaged with the figure that I had seen remotely, but he was being whittled down by cuts and punctures all through his armor. Each step left another bloody footprint on the floor.

  His opponent seemed to be sadistically playing with him. “Oh, the famed First Captain of Bloomcrest. Turns out to be rather underwhelming.” The oily voice hissed from behind his mask.

  I chained [Hasted Steps] to get there on time, and so I was still speeding toward them, dragging columns of air in my wake. I use the bodies of attackers to kill my momentum. Their bodies exploded as I plowed through them, until I came to a stop after bursting through the third body, with blood and gore raining down.

  “Demon!”

  “Monster!”

  “I thought they were on our side!”

  “Don’t just stand there. Get him!”

  Five of the attackers jumped at me, and impaled themselves upon the spikes that I formed from the nebulous fabric of my shroud. Their bodies twitched as their weight pushed them down the length of the ink-black spikes, leaving trails of red gore.

  And just like that, it was just me, Captain Soren and his opponent left in the fight. His head shot toward me. A twitch of the eyes, a constriction of the throat, and I knew he was activating a skill.

  His outline blurred into streaks and he phased out of view. He then appeared behind and sliced his sword through me. My [Shadow Clone] dissolved into shadowy fragments. I rose out of the shadow behind him, while hands from [Shadow Snare] grabbed at him. But he blinked out of view, and reappeared where he stood before.

  “Impressive.” He faced me in a side stance. His eyes were wary. “Though I have no time for games. It’s time I do what I must and take my leave.”

  I was conscious of the others behind me.

  This was bad. He obviously has some spatial magic skill or spell that allows him to teleport like that foreign lord. Which means he could get to Elise at any time. I could perhaps trap him after that, but that’s not a trade I’d ever take.

  Despite the oiliness of his voice, his words were refined. He was high born. Pride was the way in.

  Straightening up, I pulled my hood back to reveal my face, my eyes staying locked on to him. “My Lord, I thought this was a dance between you and I. Are you really going to leave me hanging?”

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  “Josephine! No!” Elise shouted behind me.

  “Blue hair… Ah, so you’re the welp of that stuck-up prick. But no, I refuse to cross my blade against whatever that is.” He wrinkled his nose as he pointed his sword at the edges of my writhing shroud.

  “So, you’re scared.”

  “No.” The man flinched, but he kept his sword leveled at me. “Just not foolish. I know there’s black magic in that robe and sword. You have some foul witchery in you. I doubt you even know how to use a sword properly.”

  “Oh, then how about just a contest of swords? I will forgo all my spells, including these.” I gestured to the writhing fabric of my shroud, and the black sword in my hand.

  “My Lady! Do NOT do this!” Captain Soren protested behind me, but I waved him back.

  This is the only way to ensure he won’t bypass me. But judging by the hesitant look in his dark eyes, I knew I had to sweeten the deal.

  “You’re now standing alone. Your men are dead. The demons are dead. Your transports out in the woods are smashed. It’ll be a long way home. If you win, I promise you safe passage. The Captain bears witness.”

  “No!” Multiple gasps sprang up behind me.

  The man paced from side to side, staring at me. I could see the wheels turning in his head.

  Invasive, unseen hands felt over me. He was identifying me. I didn’t bother returning the favor, my senses told me he was way past my level, but levels weren’t everything, not to me.

  His eyes widened briefly, but he quickly regained his composure. “I see why you’re so confident. Your stats are phenomenal for so low a level. But do not discount experience, and years of blood and sweat. Are you sure you wish to do this?”

  I raised my chin and glared back at him. “I give you my word as a Bloomcrest.”

  “Just like your old man. Always so damn smug, and rubbing it in our faces. But I accept.” He turned an open palm facing upwards to me as if asking for my hand for a dance. “As you will. Lady Josephine, yes?”

  I stabbed my sword into the ground, and released my shroud, letting the fabric dissolve away.

  “Ah, the hubris of youth.” The man laughed as he ripped off his mask, revealing a wicked grin beneath his well-manicured mustache. He dipped his head in a bow. “Let me introduce myself properly. I am Count Dorlin of Wintermist.”

  “Count… Dorlin… the blade master!”

  “See… even your esteemed Captain heard of me. I’m that and more. And I’m level forty-five—many, many folds more skillful than you. Without those tricks, you’ve just forfeited the lives of everyone else here.”

  The way he curled his words at me derisively brought a sharp, peppery spice to his already bright soul. It made my mouth water.

  His twinkling eyes didn’t notice. Instead he looked past me, chuckling. “Well, maybe except for the Captain. I need that passage home after all.”

  Captain Soren turned to me, his eyes frantic. “Please, my Lady, don’t do this! I can’t let you!”

  I held out my hand to Captain Soren. “Pass me your sword. I keep my word.”

  My eyes were trained on Dorlin and his movements.

  He might think he had to endure a lot of blood and sweat to reach his level.

  But I had endured hundreds of lifetimes, of not just blood and sweat, but also battle, and death.

  That must be worth something.

  I had trained under one ma?tre d'armes after another, each imprinting upon me their unique style and perspective. I had lived and breathed their mantra, fought and killed by them. Those lessons were my prized possessions, the few real things I could hold on to. Even the flames could not burn them away.

  The skills they had taught me were ingrained into the very fiber of my being.

  They are always on. No Activation needed.

  Monsieur Liancour would probably chastise me for not taking what’s given. But I want to prove their worth even in this world of game skills, that the lives I had lived endured.

  I pulled my sword back, and a sneer twisted over Count Dorlin’s lips, much like the one John Talbot had in our first duels.

  “Come. Let the lesson begin,” I beckoned to him.

  —

  The count’s silhouette blurred. He was already gone from where he had stood. But I had tracked his eyes. I saw his foot inching forward, the twitch of his hand upon the hilt of his sword. I felt the flow of magic shift, the direction it was moving toward, and swung the borrowed sword behind me to my right.

  Clang!

  My blade collided against his, knocking him back.

  “How did you know?!” His voice shrilled.

  “You’re easy to read.”

  His face grew red. Anger flashed in his eyes. The lump at his throat moved. The currents of magic stirred.

  Another skill activation.

  He used words, just not out loud.

  I stepped into him before his arm could get into motion.

  My blade caught his, sending ripples through the thin metal. I chopped at his arm, forcing a retreat. I drove my weight against his blade as he scrambled to recover.

  Metal shrieked as steel ground against steel.

  His activated skill fizzled, and he nearly lost an ear to my slicing sword upon his second attempt.

  He was fast. He was strong. But his use of skills made his movements rote. He was predictable.

  All of them were.

  I had grasped the pattern.

  Click… Click… Click…

  My blade hissed as its edge carved through the currents of magic, cutting off another skill before it could take shape. He raised his sword to parry, but the jarring impact of my sword against his knocked him stumbling back.

  I closed in on him, not giving him any room to maneuver.

  “What the fuck are you! You shouldn’t be able to disrupt skills like spells!”

  He thrust his blade at me, but I sank lower and slid behind him. My pommel slammed into his shoulder blade, sending him tumbling forward, gasping in pain. “Impossible! No one can move that fast!”

  “I’m not moving fast, your body just told me where to go.”

  “Arrrgghhh!” He swung his sword madly at me, in wild drunken arcs. I deflected a few blows and then stepped back to give him the space he so desperately wanted.

  Click… Click… Click…

  It was like a Rubik’s Cube… a chess board… the layers of possibilities merged as my fingers pushed each piece into its inevitable square.

  Finally, he could activate his precious teleport. He mouthed the words without sound. His muscles tensed for a strike. His body blurred, and he appeared to my left. The side I kept leaning away from.

  He was trapped in the pattern.

  My sword was thrusting at him when he appeared.

  He blinked out of view, and just like last time, he reappeared where he started.

  At that instant, he would be planning his next move, his guard dropping ever so briefly as he worked through the frustration of being countered at every step.

  But just as he raised his head, my flying sword plunged through his throat.

  All of my ma?tres d'armes had often insisted that I never let go of my weapon. I must always hold on to that which was an extension of me. But sometimes, one must know when to take what’s given, and follow the thread of inevitability.

  Click...

  That is the mark of a master.

  I didn’t need a message to tell me I know how to use my weapon.

  Though, the mana cost is interesting. There must be two-handed sword skills that use magic.

  I walked over to Count Dorlin, whose bloody hands were still desperately trying to pry the blade free of his throat. Being level forty-five meant he had a lot of HP to go through.

  His bloodshot eyes bulged at me, and a strangled gurgling escaped his lips. Probably another protest about how impossible it was I beat him at such a low level.

  I placed my hands on the hilt of Captain Soren’s sword. It was actually a longsword, but for my size it functioned as a greatsword well enough. I was glad its throwing characteristics weren’t that far off either.

  A panicked scream shattered the silence of the room. “Fire! Fire has broken out down the hall. Get everyone out of here!”

  The wounded were carried out. A string of servants and guards led Elise toward the exit. “Josephine! Let’s go!” she cried out to me.

  Captain Soren rushed over to me, but I waved him back, turning back to the Count.

  “It’s time we end this.” I leaned closer and whispered, “If it makes you feel any better, know that I have been level fifty, many, many times over.”

  I pushed with my weight down on the hilt until the blade pierced his spine with a heavy crunch that vibrated up my arms. The struggle ceased, and his body went slack against the cold stone.

  Images of the fight surged into my mind. And that rush of exhilaration hit me again.

  But there wasn’t any time to dwell on that. Behind the message in my vision, a sea of red plasma had spilled across the ceiling.

  Whoomp!

  The air was sucked out of the room, and smoke rushed back in.

  I was about to run out with Captain Soren, when a pathetic, lone voice cried out behind us. “Help me please! I don’t want to die!”

  A maid was on the ground, pinned by a fallen beam. Her tear-filled eyes found mine, and her hands reached for me.

  “Leave her! We need to go!” Captain Soren screamed.

  But neither [Virtuous] nor I would allow another to take my place.

  This was fate.

  I ran over to the girl and lifted the beam off of her. “Take her out of here!” I ordered the Captain, and he dragged the maid away, disappearing into the smoke.

  And then it happened, like some kind of idiotic, Divine Comedy. A larger, burning beam fell toward me, and even though I sensed it, I couldn’t move. I was rooted in place as it slammed me into the ground, the weight of the timber crushing the air from my lungs and sending white-hot agony through my chest.

  Another beam stabbed into the earth beside me, the embers hissing as they formed a glowing, burning cross.

  Really?! Was my hubris that bad?

  I wanted to scream at Him, to tell him to fuck off.

  But I couldn’t muster any more anger.

  All I had was smoke-choked laughter mixed with tears.

  My clothes burned.