Chapter 31: Halcyon Days (Part 2)

Leon Fou Bartford,

I hope this letter finds you in good health and even better spirits. Saint knows I would be in either after being made to step away from the military and liberated from the yoke of such terrible women. It does my heart well knowing that a youth with your potential is no longer a pawn to some greater scheme and remains loyal to the Kingdom.

As you may remember from our previous conversation aboard the Bright Blade not too long ago, I offered you the opportunity to stay at the Arclight Estate so my son and I may help hone your swordsmanship. I made no jest when I said that you have much untapped potential; it was proven to me that night when you drove off the Black Knight in single combat all by yourself. A feat even I, the best swordsman in the Kingdom, could not manage on my own.

So I would send my son Chris to you, in the hopes that he may help bring out that untapped potential within you– so you may become an even greater knight and better support the Kingdom.

But I would be lying if I said my reasoning is wholly altruistic. In truth, there is another reason why I sent my son to you.

I love him, truly I do. He is my flesh and blood, and I want the best for him even if he may not agree with me. And I know now that he needs to be more than just a swordsman.

I have been training him since he was but a boy, not too long after his mother and my own wife passed. He is not a prodigy like I was at his age; so the blade comes to him slowly. But such is his determination that he does not let his lack of talent stop him from trying. But after seeing you in action… perhaps he needs to be open to other methods of warfare.

The gun, the cannon, the armor, the army– he is my heir, and thus he is expected to have some knowledge in a broad number of subjects. And in these changing times, he will need more than just a strong sword arm and endless determination to win. He will need tactics to overcome superior odds, leadership as to lead men and armors, and skill in Armor piloting as to survive battles waged between warmachines as well as men.

Please teach him your ways, Leon. As best as you are able while he remains present at your family manor to hone your swordsmanship. Ready him for his future responsibilities in a way that I cannot. You needn't hold his hand, he would hate that. Impart onto him your wisdom as he imparts onto you the skills I have taught him.

And if the two of you manage to become friends… well, there's certainly no harm in that.

Best Regards,

Harvey Fia Arclight

=X=X=X=X=X=

"...well?"

Leon glances at Chris, who sits across from him on a wooden crate; training sword leaning in the crook of his right elbow. Both of them sit at a dedicated training arena that Barcus had ordered to be made in the time before Chris had arrived, musing how serious this must be if a Marquis had taken interest in Leon. They were even able to build a comfortable wood cabin in a matter of days; thanks to Hustler One's aid in lending the Little Buzzard's crew to assist.

Many men were emasculated when the women of the Little Buzzard hauled twice as many logs and worked twice as fast as the best male worker. Even Barcus felt embarrassed, which only spurred him and the others to work even harder.

The end result speaks for itself, however; 4 well-made log cabins, fully furnished with quality furnishing that Hustler One had bought on its own dime, and a training ring made with packed dirt and dozens of training weapons– heavy metal cores with a wooden external covering; functionally mimicking the real deal without being as deadly.

The reincarnate snorts and hands the letter to Hustler One, who tucks it into the valley of her breasts. Chris watches the motion for a brief moment before looking away with a slight flush that has Leon chuckling.

"Oh, your father sends me his best regards and hopes I won't get any sore feelings with whatever teaching methods you decide to use on me." Leon laughs. "What's a little rough-housing between boys, right?"

"Quite." the young swordsman pushes up his glasses. "Though, rough-housing is not the sort of word I would use in my attempts to educate you in proper sword fighting form. For a war hero, you are far from a good swordsman. Your comprehension on the basic forms is only just passable, and though you may be stronger than me that means little when I your opponent can just dodge out of the way."

"...I really wonder how many wars he's fought in?"

//"He's only 14, Leon. Be nice."//

"I'm no older than him! Hell, him talking shit is grounds for a punch to the face!"

//"You are also over a century old mentally. At least be more mature."//

Leon grumbles in his mind at the A.I. Outwardly, he maintains his pleasant demeanor and nods at the Arclight heir's scathing critique. He gets up again and stretches, popping the kinks in his back and joints as he limbers up for the next sparring match.

(Chris watches the dark-haired boy without a word, swallowing at the musculature rippling beneath scarred skin. Small scars, barely noticeable, but no less significant in their meaning. Once more, the swordsman is reminded that he speaks with a man who's taken lives and fought in two separate wars– both of which ultimately he played an instrumental role in and ended with him conquering them through honorable duel and superior tactics.)

"Alright, so," Leon starts. "Watch my footing, look at where my opponent's going not where they currently are, and keep a good grasp on my sword with both hands." he pauses, looking over his singular training sword. "Hm. Maybe I should consider switching to dual blades?"

"Whichever you are comfortable." Chris rises, his blade spinning with a flourish. "You will still fail to best me."

"Oh, I know that." Leon laughs. "But hey, it's all part of the experience."

"You sound particularly eager to lose again." Chris narrows his gaze.

"Nope! This is not me being eager– this is me trying to make the best of things." Leon shrugs. "I have no illusions about my odds of winning against you. You have spent most of your life practicing with the blade, I can't close that distance in what little time you'll be spending here. So I suck it up and make do."

"...that is quite the admirable mindset." Chris acknowledges, assuming a stance. "Indeed, even I doubt you will be able to accomplish much in so little despite your hidden talent."

//"Leon."// Hustler One warns as Leon assumes a stance.

"No, I won't hurt him too badly."

//"You shouldn't hurt him at all!"//

"Regardless, I'm not too hung up on my inability to properly swing a sword." Leon shrugs, rushing forward. "There's more to combat than having a good sword arm."

Chris brings up his sword to block and slide backwards under the force of Leon's blow. He winces and side-steps Leon's follow-up slashes, countering with quick thrusts and slashes through the many gaps in Leon's guard. The hits sting, but Leon forges onwards– his endurance great enough to let him continue swinging. Chris, like his father before him, is skilled enough to negate Leon's endurance and raw strength; but still winces under the strength of the blows he blocks.

In a battle of attrition, Chris would lose. But then, this isn't a battle of attrition; even as he blocks, Chris searches for an opening that he can use to end the battle with. It's what he did for the past few sparring matches after all, but Leon's getting better at hiding any windows that the swordsman could exploit. It would be a matter of how well Leon can hold out.

Their training swords clash again, with Chris sliding back under Leon's strength.

"U-Using guns is–" the bespectacled bluenette starts.

"I don't mean just guns, Chris. Stuff like tactics, strategy, and teamwork." Leon clarifies, not sounding the least bit winded as he bears down on the swordsman. "You know, the stuff I used to win 2 wars and conquer 2 separate kingdoms."

"H-Hmph. I suppose there is merit in that." Chris acknowledges, trying to angle his sword so Leon would be thrown off-balance. But the reincarnate sees the motion and repositions appropriately without letting up on the strength he's applying on the swordsman. "Even if some of the tactics you used were–"

"Dishonorable? Unchivalrous?" Leon shrugs. "I had to choose between those values and keeping my men alive. It's an easy decision."

Leon suddenly eases up on the pressure and steps aside, letting Chris stumble forward; very nearly tripping over but managing to stay upright.

"War isn't glorious. And neither is it chivalrous and honorable." Leon tells him. "Oftentimes, the men in the trenches and piloting those Armors and crewing those ships only want to do their job and go home to their family and loved ones. And most of the time, they aren't afraid to screw over the enemy to do just that."

"That's why we nobles exist! To keep the fodder in their place and remind them of honor and chivalry!" Chris snarls, rushing forward. "How could you call yourself a knight when you don't even believe in the knightly values you are meant to champion?!"

"I do believe in them." Leon moves to block but steps aside at the last possible moment, tripping Chris and send him falling into the dirt. "But there's a time and place for honorable, chivalrous duels. The reality is that war is nothing like what the history books and stories say, and not all duels you fight will be against equally honorable and chivalrous opponents. You need to be prepared to face that."

The blue-haired youth glares up at Leon, glasses askew. The reincarnate just shrugs.

"The truth hurts. But better you learn it here than out there against someone who thinks that killing you is the only way for them to get home alive." Leon tells him. "Now c'mon, kick my ass. Who know, you might even be able to get me take back what I said."

That proves enough reason for Chris to get back on his feet and stomp back into the ring sword raised.

=X=X=X=X=X=

Her name is Sybil, a member of the Bronzehounds Clan. A relatively decent-sized Demi-Human clan who's main source of income comes from its members working in various fields of labor– from the moving of freight, to the assembly of ships, to the maintenance of Armors.

Sybil had been one of the few Bronzehounds born with a pretty face; something that many human men liked to have. And were she a lesser beast-woman she may have been content to live as a nobleman's consort. But she wasn't.

Once, Sybil had taken a ship to one of the Holfortan noble houses for a delivery. There, the ship she had been riding came under attack by sky pirates and their Armors. The ship had scrambled its own Armors and fought back, and in that mayhem of fire and spinning debris, Sybil saw it; her dream. Her destiny. That which she would spend the rest of her life trying to achieve, and likely die trying.

Armor piloting.

Oh, how she pleaded and begged her family for their approval. But alas, the inability to pilot was not something determined by the decision of her family– but also her own nature as a Demi-Human.

Armors could only be piloted by Humans– not because of some law or something equally as mundane. But because Armors required an outside magic source to activate their reactors, and keep it active throughout the piloting process. Elves and Demi-Humans, unable to cast magic, were thusly unable to pilot. The revelation crushed her for a time, and long did she mope in her room as she lamented her circumstance. How cruel it was, to be unable to pilot due to something she had no control over. It broke her heart, the pain worse than any that had come before.

But then she decided; if Armors of this day and age needed magic to pilot, then she would just make an Armor that didn't run off of magic. A magic-less Armor that would allow anyone, Elf or Demi-Human or Human, to pilot as well as the ones with magic. It would be difficult, it would be long, it would be grueling; but it would be worth it.

So she traveled all over Holfort, finding teachers who were willing to teach this odd Demi-Human woman the inner workings of an Armor. She studied at the feet of mechanics and engineers, and learned everything there was to learn about Armors. She spoke of her goal to those who would listen and took from them feedback after they stopped laughing.

What would a theoretically magic-less Armor need to function? Could it move and operate as well as magic ones? How long could it function before wear and tear set in?

All these questions and more, she ponders. And as she ponders, she works; earning the money needed to build her dream and grasp her destiny with two hands.

"Yes, yes, now take these and deliver them to the training cabins where Leon and Lord Arclight are." Lord Barcus tells her, handing the demi-human woman a tray laden with snacks. "My wife wants to make sure the boys are at home and you're the only one I have available. Now go."

Sybil pouts as she makes her way down a trail to where Lord Arclight's temporary lodgings are. As she approaches, she hears grunts of effort and the clash of wooden weapons echoing through the air; growing louder as she nears.

When she finally reaches the small residence area, she spots a blue-haired form being flung into some bushes.

"That's another win!" rings Leon's voice. "I'm up 2!"

"Where did you learn to count?! We are even!" the bush argues. "Ooh, just you wait until I get out of here you!"

"I'll be waiting for a while!" the other boy laughs, appearing into view just as Sybil walks into view. "Oh, hello again Syb."

"Hey Leon. Your dad had me delivering this; from your mom." she offers the snack-laden tray. "Your mom wanted to make sure you boys didn't starve or something."

"D'aww, she's too kind." Leon takes the tray with a warm smile. "I'll get this set up– go fetch Chris from his bush so we can all eat."

"Aye-aye!" the redheaded Demi-Human salutes, scampering over to the rustling bush. "Lord Arclight! Leon's mom made snacks and Leon wants to take a quick break to munch on them! C'mon!"

"Ugh– he's lucky I cannot just drag him back into the ring!" the nobleman grumbles. "Fine then, I will agree to lunch. Pull me out, please."

"Sure thing!" Sybil grabs Chris' arms and hauls him out of the greenery. "Hup! There you go!"

Chris sighs as he brushes off the twigs and leaves off his form. Sybil gives him a once over and grins, liking how well he's built despite his age– truly, Holfortan men were a different breed. No wonder most of the demi-human women in the clan never complained when they were snatched up; she wouldn't either if this was what she would be entertaining for a time.

"My thanks." the blue-haired boy sighs. "I apologize for the trouble, miss– hurk."

"It's no trouble at all!" Sybil. "I'm Sybil. Nice to meet'cha, Lord Arclight!"

The boy doesn't answer, eyes wide and mouth agape as he just… looks at her. Hm. Odd. Maybe that bush had poisoned thorns or something? It didn't look like but…

"Are you okay?" Sybil asks, worried. "Lord Arclight…?"

"Sybil, Chris, what's taking you two so– oh. Oh!" comes Leon's voice. "Oi, Sybil! Your top!"

"Hm? Oh! Sorry!" the redhead hastily covers her exposed chest. "My jacket has a habit of popping open sometimes. It gets annoying."

"Mmm." Chris nods, stiff-necked. "I see."

"Get your damn head out of the gutter man, c'mon." Leon grunts, walking over and grabbing Chris. "You can gawk at her in your own time– the snacks are getting cold. Lana, handle Sybil for us."

"Sure thing." a blonde woman in a red jumpsuit walks over, smiling amusedly at Sybil. "My, you certainly know how to make a first impression, don't you?"

"Look, it's not my fault my jacket can't keep these things contained!" Sybil pouts, letting the blonde work on her top. "It's stupid how flimsy the straps and locks are! Maybe I should get a new set of clothes? Oh, but that'd cut into my savings!"

"Hmm…" the blonde, Lana, narrows her gaze at her. "What are you saving up for?"

"Making a magic-less Armor." is the immediate, straightforward response.

"Huh. Really?" Lana blinks. "Well now, color me surprised… say, how much is Barcus paying you again?"