Chapter 5, Champions

"How did this happen?" I groaned to myself. The room Flavia provided was fit for visiting dignitaries, if she ever got any, but instead of enjoying this brief moment of luxury I was pacing restlessly in front of the grand fireplace.

I'd impressed Lon'qu a bit too much, as he now wanted to travel—and learn—from me of all people. Wasn't he originally supposed to become Basilio's champion one day, making the one-eyed giant regnant Khan? Perhaps today was to be their fated meeting, but like an blind idiot I tripped over that particular plotline and crushed it beneath my stupid face.

Did I want Lon'qu to come with me?

Not a chance. I had too many issues to be the mentor Lon'qu needed, which was why I was going to turn the kid down.

A knock on the door interrupted my thoughts.

"Huntsman," the servant on the other side said, "you have a—"

Bang!

Basilio kicked the door open before strutting in. "Yo, Huntsman! Fancy meeting you here!"

"Yes, fancy meeting me here, in my room, the one Flavia lent to me," I deadpanned.

"Bwaha ha ha! Why so dour?" Basilio asked as he slammed the door close in the servant's grimacing face. "Really, you need to lighten up! But don't worry, I'm here to fix that!" The West-Khan made himself comfortable in a nearby chair and slammed a large bottle of alcohol on the table. "Come, come! Tell old Basilio what worries you!"

"… you're calling yourself old now?"

Basilio froze, then groaned as he rubbed his brow. "Damn it, Flavia. Now you've got me saying it!"

I couldn't help but chuckle lightly at Basilio's expense, taking the seat across from him. "I have a question."

"Ask! After all, I have my own!" Basilio said as he procured a pair of goblets and filled them to the brim with mead.

"Was our meeting today a coincidence?"

"Well I certainly wasn't expecting it," Basilio replied. "Truth be told, it was the pup I was tracking. Kid's been wandering around all of Ferox, picking and winning fights wherever he goes. Gotta say, he peaked my interest! But on my search for a guppy, I ended up running into a shark! Bwa ha ha!"

I wanted to groan in frustration. So that really was supposed to be Lon'qu and Basilio's destined meeting.

"Hey, I wanted to meet you too," Basilio continued, taking a sip from his cup. "Same with Flavia. We've been searching since we first got the report that you passed through Longfort, but you just refused to stay in a single spot!" He glanced at my untouched cup. "Something wrong with the mead?"

"I don't drink."

"You know, it's considered rude to refuse a cup offered by a Khan."

"I've been called worse."

Basilio snorted. "Eh, whatever. It's your loss in the end. So, my question: is there a limit to what kinds of stuff you can magic out of thin air?"

I avoided glancing down at the Fierce Deity's Mask hanging from my belt. "There are some things, objects so powerful they defy common sense."

"Like my axe?" Basilio asked hopefully, gesturing to the giant weapon hanging off his back.

I Traced Basilio's Heartbreaker, grunting as its silver head struck the floor with a clang. Damn thing was way too heavy for me to carry with one hand.

"Damn, was hoping to get one over on Flavia," Basilio grumbled as he took the Traced battle-axe from me. He studied every inch of it with an expert's scrutiny before grunting, "Troll's smelly pits, it really is my axe. Down to every last detail. How do you do it?"

"Magic." I said before dismissing the Projection.

Basilio rolled his one eye. "Fine, fine, deny your friend Basilio the juicy answers."

"Since when are we friends?"

"Since today! We've dined at the same table and shared the same drink! All we need now is a battlefield to conquer and we'll practically be blood-brothers!"

I pointed at my untouched cup.

"Eh, one out of three. I'll take it," Basilio shrugged as he poured himself another round. "So, what's bothering you, Huntsman?"

"Nothing," I said automatically.

"Hogwash," Basilio snorted, downing his drink in one go. "I might've only seen your mouth while you ate, but everyone noticed you didn't crack a single smile. Then there's the way you walk: aimless, like a shuffling corpse. So come on, tell your best friend Basilio what's on your mind. But no crying. I don't comfort boys. Unless you're actually a beautiful dame under that silly mask of yours."

I scoffed. "Again, nothing."

"Stubborn punk. Alright, how about this: what're your plans going forward? You've basically curtailed the bandit movement in Ylisse and Regna Ferox. What great prey will the Huntsman focus on next?"

"I'll be heading to Plegia."

"Right, Plegia, you want to go to …" Basilio paused mid-drink, then snapped his head towards me. His previous cheer was utterly gone, replaced solely be incredulity. "Plegia. The same Plegia that tried to wrangle up Ylisse's bandits so they could stick their swords through you. The same Plegia whose not-so-secret plans have been kicked in the kisser because of you."

"You know another Plegia?"

Basilio set his goblet down. "Huntsman, from what little I know of you, I can say with certainty you're not a brain-addled moron. If you go to Plegia, you know the Mad King will do everything he can to have you killed. You won't just be fighting bandits, but likely Plegia's standing army as well."

I shrugged. "I guess so."

Basilio's eye narrowed, and I became distinctly uncomfortable. It was like the older man was seeing directly into my soul, despite my Keaton Mask, searching for something. Whatever it was I think he found it, as his lone pupil widened in understanding, then softened into something akin to pity.

"Ogre's balls, you're one of them."

"One of who?"

"The Dead Men Walking. You're looking for a place to die."

My shoulders stiffened. I hadn't expected Basilio to make such an accurate assessment. So softly it was practically a whisper, I asked, "How'd you know?"

"I'm a Khan," Basilio said, rubbing his bald head. "I've led armies into battle, and seen what loss can do to good men. How old are you?"

"17."

"Practically a whelp," Basilio groaned. Silence passed between us for a prolonged minute, making me antsy. I'd no idea what was going through the West-Khan's surprisingly keen mind. I'd underestimated Basilio, almost having dismissed him as a clown because of his boisterous attitude, but the man had layers I didn't expect. That was until the Khan resolutely patted his knee and said to me with a shit-eating grin, "We're getting you laid."

"… what?"

"I'm bringing you back to my territory and finding you a fine lady to spend a randy night with!"

"What?!"

"What's with the shouting? You ugly as sin? Disfigured? That why you never take that stupid mask off? Don't worry, the women of Regna Ferox don't care for crap like that. Once they hear you're the Huntsman, you'll have a line of Ferox's finest waiting outside your door!"

I sputtered underneath my mask. "That's not … I don't—!"

"After that, we'll break open my finest casks and drink ourselves dumb! Visit the local arenas to flex on some upstarts! Oh, my favorite traveling troupe's visiting my capital! I'll get us first-class seats to their play! You haven't seen real drama until you watched their rendition of Talrul and Nex, a damn fine play that's got everything a man wants! War! Comrades-in-arms! Backstabbing! Brotherly bonding! Dramatic reveals! Wild plot twists! And somehow they always find a way to keep the story fresh! By the gods, I've never missed a single one of their performances! It's a shame that everyone dies in the end, but … ah, oops; spoilers. You … uh, wanna pretend you didn't hear that last part?"

I groaned, for once wishing I wasn't under the legal drinking age. "Why are you doing this?"

"Kid … you okay being called 'kid'?" I shrugged, and he continued. "The best way to cure a Dead Man is to show them they're still alive."

"Sage advice," I retorted.

"Cheeky brat. You know what I'm talking about. I don't know why you've given up on living, nor do I need to know. That's your tale to tell, and yours to share or keep from whoever you want. But the least I can do is show you this world ain't all doom and gloom. Yeah, parts of it suck, but that's life. You take those hits, heal 'til they scar, and keep marching with your head held high."

I sank into my seat, staring up at the ceiling. "Why are you so concerned about me?"

Basilio leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees. "Huntsman, you've no idea how many Feroxi lives you've saved doing what you do; my people. As their Khan, I owe you this much."

"Saving people was never my intention."

"I know, but who the hell cares? If there's one thing I've learned as West-Khan of Regna Ferox, it's that how you see yourself and interpret your own actions is often wildly different from how others will view you. To yourself, you're a lost man looking for a grave to lie in. To many others, you're a hero that wanders the land, hunting thieves and murderers so the innocent can sleep soundly at night. And to me, you're a damn fine young man who needs to lighten up."

I huffed, but on the inside Basilio's words were heartening to hear. I just couldn't bring myself to stay annoyed with the massive Khan. "You know, someone else gave me similar advice. Saying I should try and find something that'll make me happy."

"They sound smart. Guy or gal?"

"Girl. Why?"

"Cute?"

"Uh, yeah? I guess so."

"Very nice." Basilio flashed me a thumbs-up. "You should bed her."

I Traced an empty goblet and threw it at the Khan's head; he dodged. As my Projection faded, I asked, "Well what does the great West-Khan do for fun?"

"You mean what don't I do?" Basilio laughed. "Good food? Check! Great booze? Double check! Fine women? … I'll find someone who falls for Basilio's irresistible charms one day, don't you worry! And when my castle gets too stuffy, I strike out on my own and do what I want to do, whether it be selling my services as a sellsword or joining the occasional theater troupe or two! Helps me work on my acting chops! Also drives my guards and counselors steaming mad, which is why I often have to sneak out! Bwa ha ha!"

I smiled at the picture the Khan was painting, and couldn't help but joke, "Maybe it's a good thing Flavia's the reigning Khan, you sound like you'd goof off way too much."

Basilio gasped in mock-hurt. "I'll have you know I was an excellent sovereign Khan, at least before Flavia found her current champion and won the last two Grand Tournaments," he pouted. "The more I worked, the harder I played! It's how I rewarded myself for being such an amazing Khan to my people, and a way to de-stress so the burden of leadership doesn't strangle me by the balls. Even Flavia lets her hair down on occasion, like when the seas boil over and the skies come falling down."

I sat up a bit. "I used to have … hobbies, stuff I did for fun back home." Like hanging out with my friends, sharing stupid stories and getting into nonsensical hijinks; reading obscenely long books that would make the hours pass by in seconds; pampering my loveable pet husky, Samwise; playing videos games on my monster of a PC, and so on and so forth.

But here, in this world of Fire Emblem … I couldn't do any of those.

I missed my dog. I missed my friends. I missed my parents. I missed my home.

"Then why don't you do that?" Basilio asked.

I had to clear the emotions swelling in my throat. "They're not things I can do here."

"Damn, you must be from a long ways away."

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"Hey, just means you need new hobbies," Basilio pressed on. "How long have you been in Ylisse for?"

I mentally counted the days. "A little over a year, I think."

"And how long have you been bandit-hunting for?"

"… probably about a year."

"Balls, no wonder you're such a downer. Look kid, find something to do—anything—and give it a fair shot. You won't know if you love it or not 'til you try it. This might not be the life you wanted for yourself, but it's the one you're stuck with. Now you can either let yourself be life's whipping boy, or you can call it out for being a bitch, punch it in the face, take a few teeth as souvenirs, and show everyone what you've really got."

I sat there, drinking in the West-Khan's advice. A rumble shook my chest, escaping from my pursed lips as a chuckle, before evolving into a full blown laugh. I couldn't help myself: the way he said all that just cracked me up.

Basilio patiently waited until I was done. "Well?"

"I think … I think I'll give it a shot," I said, taking his words to heart. "I don't know how it'll all turn out in the end … but I want to try."

"Good!" Basilio cheered, slapping me on the shoulder and nearly dislocating my arm. "See? All you needed was Basilio's words of wisdom!"

"Indeed," I nodded. "The elderly always have the best advice."

Basilio glared at me with his one eye before snorting. "So he does have a sense of humor hidden beneath that dour exterior. I'll give you that one for free, kid, but the next time you sass me like that I'm dragging you to the nearest arena and beating some respect into you."'

"Of course, respecting our elders should be a given," I chuckled, enjoying the wide range of emotions warring across the Khan's face. "Hey, I've a favor to ask."

"First you insult me, then you make a request of me?" Basilio growled, right up until he burst into another fit of laughter. "Bwa ha ha! You'd fit right in at Ferox! Well, speak up? What does the Huntsman wish of me?"

"Lon'qu. He wants to travel with me, but I'm going to turn him down."

"And?"

"And I'm worried about what'll happen to him afterwards. So I'm asking you to take him in and train him. When I said he had potential, I meant it. With proper instructions, he'll make a fantastic champion for you one day."

Basilio rubbed his chin in contemplation. "I get where you're coming from. That pup's a messy ball of pride and rage, but properly tempered he'll become a fine sword. BUT!" The Khan grinned as he held up a finger. "I did say you only got one freebie, so your second bit of cheek is going to cost you. A favor for a favor."

"As long as it's nothing extreme," I conceded.

But Basilio's widening smirk put me on edge. "It was actually I reason I came to see you in the first place, but this works to."

And so he told me his "favor."

I blinked once, twice … thrice.

"But … but I've never done anything like—" I wanted to protest.

Only for Basilio to stop me and smugly say, "What'd we just go over? About trying new things?"

I glared at the bald cyclops before grabbing my cup of mead, and spitting "Fuck it, I'll do it," and chugged the damn thing, nearly choking as the harsh beverage burned my throat as it corroded its way to my stomach.

Basilio was uproariously cheerful, slamming the table in glee as he roused, "That's the spirit, Huntsman! Oi, maid! Keep the drinks coming! It's time for a celebration!"

~

17 days later …

The audience exploded into cheers as the winner of the pre-tourney was announced, tens of thousands of cries combining together to generate a veritable storm of applause. The coliseum was packed to the brim, with its spectators' cries nearly shaking the gigantic stadium down to its stone foundations.

From where she sat, a balcony section reserved for the East-Khan and any of her VIPs, Flavia watched with pride as Kristin, son of Alexander, a member of her warrior clan, cut down his foe and emerged victorious. That ought to put another wrinkle on the oaf's face.

This year's Grand Tournament was a resounding success. With the distinct lack of bandits and raiders harassing the brave folk of Regna Ferox, people freely came in from all corners of the nation to either take part or watch their country's most important event. The city built around Arena Ferox had never seen so much traffic, as nearly all the local inns and taverns were bursting at full occupancy with visitors, bringing with them their gold and business and injecting fresh blood into the Feroxi economy.

But there was a mild damper on her spirits. With the benefit of hindsight, Flavia was forced to admit that perhaps the oaf had a point: Plegia was going to be a problem in the future. As ruling Khan, the safety of her people was her responsibility, and to ignore a potential threat to her kingdom would be the height of folly. While she wanted to rally Regna Ferox's armies and launch a preemptive strike on the Plegian dastards, only a fool blindly rushed into the dragon's den. They needed more information, and Flavia's prior decision—made when she was still a young and naïve Khan—to pull back their spies had come back to snack on her arse.

Bah, it was pointless for her to linger on past mistakes. She was Khan Flavia! Blunders could only be corrected through action, and she was never one waste time dithering. After the Grand Tournament was over, and her champion extended her sovereignty, she would have Ferox's spies seed themselves throughout the continent once more.

Plus, they might learn what truly happened at Border Pass.

Yet this brought up another bothersome issue: her champion told her this would be his final Grand Tournament. He claimed his growth was stagnating, and it was time for him to brave the world once more to further his training.

Flavia did not begrudge her champion the chance to become stronger. She understood his desire, and was grateful for his service to this day. Still, it would be annoying (and difficult) to find another who was even half as qualified. At least her current victory was secure; it was the next Grand Tournament she needed to worry about.

"WARRIORS!" the announcer boomed, their voice amplified by a clever application of Wind magic on top of being naturally loud. "The time has come for the moment you've all been waiting for! The battle! Between!! CHAMPIONS!!!"

The indoor coliseum's audience exploded into applause and anticipation, the many tiered seats looking like a wave of excitement from where Flavia was sitting.

"Introducing the current regnant Khan's champion! He's been fighting for Khan Flavia since the age of 13, winning the previous two Grand Tournaments in her honor! You all know his name, his strength, and his feats, so raise your swords for PRIAM!"

The coliseum practically erupted as Flavia's champion strode into the battle arena, his broad shoulders square and his wild navy hair held back by a headband. Slung over his shoulder was his iconic weapon, a chipped and faded sword that nonetheless conquered countless seasoned foes. The boy who'd approached her all those years ago, demanding strong adversaries, had truly matured into a powerful warrior with few who could claim to be his equal.

Yet Priam never rested on his laurels, dedicating his every waking moment to becoming the greatest warrior under the blue skies.

She truly pitied whatever fool Basilio fished off the streets to fight him.

"And his opponent for today!" The audience hushed as the announcer continued. "My, my, we've a special treat for you all! Although this is his first time making a formal appearance with us here, you've all heard this warrior's name! His deeds belong in songs, to be immortalized by legend, for he is the hero we asked for and the one the gods delivered! I give you … THE HUNTSMAN!!!"

"WHAT?!?" Flavia screamed over the explosive ovation threatening to topple Arena Ferox.

Although his gear was different, wearing a brown jerkin with paddings of boiled leather protecting his vitals, plain leather gauntlets, steel-tipped combat boots, and a simple fleece cloak, there was no mistaking the bearer of that mouthless yellow fox mask.

["Oh, I think my current champion's going to make yours work for it."]

Flavia glared across the arena, where the West-Khan's box was located. Although she could barely make him out from here, she knew that oaf was smirking at her. There was no rule stating a Khan couldn't recruit an outsider; it was actually preferred, a way to prevent blood feuds. Ogre's balls, Priam was an outsider! It simply never crossed her mind the oaf would ask the Huntsman to be his champion!

Now, the future of Regna Ferox would be decided between two warriors she personally approved of. The match was up in the air.

"THAT SON OF A BITCH!!!"

~

As expected of my 0 luck stat. No matter where I went, I was destined to bump into named Awakening characters. For god's sake, I was fighting Priam?! The descendent of the Radiant Hero?! I just knew whatever deity that'd dropped me in this world was taking great amusement at my misfortune.

I really should've asked Basilio who my opponent was going to be. Shame on me for assuming it'd be a random nobody.

"I bet a king's ransom that you'd win this! Don't let me down now, kid!" I heard Basilio happily roaring over the audience's incessant cheering. I thought I'd be nervous fighting in front of so many citizens of Regna Ferox, but felt unexpectedly calm. I guess after everything I'd been through, stage fright was a silly thing to be worried about.

"Win!" Lon'qu cried, also sitting in Basilio's VIP box.

I wanted to sigh, but put it aside for later. I could lament my terrible fortune afterwards. For now, I put my head in the game.

Priam and I marched forward from our respective corners, eventually meeting in the middle of the enormous arena. Holy shit, he resembled Ike to a frightening degree. His hair was longer, and his face broader, but there was definitely a familial resemblance.

I used [Structural Analysis] to get an idea of what I'd be facing.

NAME: Priam, Descendent of the Radiant Hero

AGE: 19

CLASS: Hero

LEVEL: 4

EXP: 99 / 100

HIT POINTS: 50 / 50

STRENGTH:21

MAGIC: 2

SKILL: 25

SPEED: 19

LUCK: 16

DEFENSE: 25­ (+5)

RESISTANCE: 14

STATUS: Very Eager

His stats were comparable to Flavia's! Hell, I'd wager he could fight her at her best and get away with a draw; a real draw!

Then I glanced at his sword, and quietly gulped in apprehension. After getting into Awakening, I'd went back and played Path of Radiance and Radiant Dawn. I was also an avid fan of Super Smash Bros, so I'd recognize that iconic weapon anywhere.

Ragnell, the sword of Ike.

Without thinking, I used [Structural Analysis] and—

~

… blessed by the Goddess Ashera, and bestowed upon the first Apostle, Altina to vanquish …

… wielded by Gawain, the Divine Knight of Daein's Four Riders, where he …

… presented to Greil, formerly Gawain, by Zelgius the Black Knight, who desired to face Greil at his full strength, but refused when …

… by Ike to defeat the Black Knight and fell the Mad King Ashnard …

… returned to Apostle Sanaki after the …

… bestowed upon Ike after being appointed commander of the Apostle's army …

… driven into Zelgius' body during their second confrontation in the …

… imbued with the power of the Goddess of Chaos as it landed the finishing blow upon the Goddess of Order, ending the …

… carried with Ike as he stepped through the gate, forever leaving the continent of Tellius without a …

… passed down to his son, who used it to …

… passed down to his daughter, who …

… passed down to …

… passed down …

… passed …

~

—nearly collapsed as an overwhelming volume of information threatened to cripple my mind. Even with the SYSTEM's assistance, the tremendous amount of history this one sword contained was staggering. As it was, I almost tripped over my own feet; that would've been embarrassing.

Finally, the SYSTEM complied everything I'd learned into a simple screen.

[Ragnell (Antique), Rank: B]

The legendary sword of the Radiant Hero. Blessed by the Goddess Ashera, this peerless weapon was once the national treasure of the Begnion Empire, used to fell tyrants and deities. However, centuries of use have reduced this once mighty sword to a shadow of its former glory. Its blessing by the Goddess of Order is now no more than a meager spark of flickering divinity, waiting to be snuffed out. What power that remains confers its user an aura of protection, boosting their natural DEFENSE by +5.

Might: 13

Hit Rate: 65%

Critical: 0%

Durability: 14/25

Magic Cost: 2

[<Ragnell (Antique), Rank: B> has been added to the SYSTEM's Catalogue!]

Well, that explains the +5 Priam was getting to his defense. Still, there was something sad about seeing Ragnell in such a pitiful state. The golden blade lost its luster, and was a dirty rust color. Its edge was marred with hundreds of tiny chips and cracks, and its black handle and guard seemed to be held together by spit and prayers.

"Yo, you okay?" Priam called out to me. The two of us were now a few yards apart.

"Just studying your sword," I replied.

"This old thing?" Priam said, rapping his knuckle against Ragnell's blade. "Given to me by my dad, who got it from his dad, and so on and so forth. Pa would tell bedtime stories about how it belonged to some legendary hero from another world, but that's all they were: stories. Far as I can tell, it's a sturdy and reliable sword, and that's all that matters. I'm more interested in you." His grin became joyful. "The Huntsman. The minstrels say you're a warrior without peer, slaying bandits by the hundreds for the sake of the people."

"Stories often exaggerate."

"Believe me, I know," Priam chuckled. "But then Flavia told me you fought her to a draw."

I grimaced under my Keaton Mask. "She held back."

"She also doesn't lie. Says it's beneath her."

Damn it, Flavia!

"Now, enough talk!" Priam roared, reading himself for combat. "I'm grateful you'll be my final opponent for the Grand Tournament! I couldn't have asked for a better challenger if I tried! I'd ask you to draw your weapon, but you always have one ready, don't you?"

Please underestimate me a little. Thankfully, I'd asked to peruse Basilio's armory beforehand, filling the Catalogue with steel and silver weapons.

For this instance, I Traced a silver sword.

[Silver Sword, Rank: B]

A sword superior to its iron and steel counterparts. Its lighter weight and sharper edge make it a more dangerous weapon, but at the cost of toughness.

Might: 11

Hit Rate: 85%

Critical: 0%

Durability: 30/30

Magic Cost: 1

I didn't Project either of the Khan's personal weapons or Priam's Ragnell, as those were going to be my trump cards … if I lasted that long.

"Excellent," Priam smiled ferally at my display of magic. "Let's enjoy our fight!"

I didn't nod or visibly acknowledge his words. Instead, I focused, concentrating solely on my adversary, drowning out the audience's boisterous cries until they were nothing but white noise.

Then, by an unspoken signal, we attacked.

The distance between us closed until there was none left, and our blades met. I already knew I was heavily outmatched simply by calculating the difference in our stats, but the instant our weapons clashed that fact was hammered home.

I was instantly pushed back, my boots skidding across the arena floor. There was a deep dent in my silver sword, while Ragnell suffered no such damage.

Knowing a defensive battle would be the end of me, I grit my teeth and charged in again. This time, I threw all my body's weight behind my swing, forcing Priam to block with Ragnell. I could see the muscles in his arms ripple as he intercepted my strike, but otherwise he remained as immovable as a mountain.

Undeterred, I pressed the attack, unleashing a barrage of stabs and cuts as fast as I could to prevent him from retaliating. I built up momentum with every strike, slowly becoming a whirlwind of slashes struggling to blow Priam away. Yet he parried, blocked, and diverted everything I threw at him. His face was a mask of intense concentration, watching my sword with absolute focus.

Nothing I threw at him was working. Even knowing his fighting style did me no good, as the knowledge was gulfed by the sheer difference in our basic attributes.

I needed to switch things up. As I positioned my silver sword overhead for a downward strike, Priam raised his Ragnell to block it.

Exactly as planned. Mid-swing, I dismiss my crumbling sword and instantly Traced a silver axe.

[Silver Axe, Rank: B]

The strongest basic axe. Extremely useful for hewing armor and cleaving lances, but—like many silver weapons—lacks durability.

Might: 15

Hit Rate: 65%

Critical: 0%

Durability: 30/30

Magic Cost: 1

I caught Priam by surprise as my heavier weapon slammed into Ragnell, smashing the flat side of his sword against his armored chest.

With a defiant roar, Priam easily overpowered me with an all-out push, flinging my Projection from my grip.

Fine, next tactic! My silver axe vanished in midair as I Traced she-bandit's rapier. The extremely lightweight sword allowed me to unleash a flurry of stabs, forcing Priam to backpedal lest he be filled with holes.

That was until Priam's eyes became accustomed to my new speed, and caught the rapier with his bare hand. He snapped it in half with a squeeze, then delivered a kick to my stomach, hurling me away.

Fuck! If close combat was a bust, then it was time for magic! With the new distance between us, I rolled to my feet and immediately Traced a tome of Waste.

"Shrivel and die!" I howled as I bombarded Priam with blasts of the withering curse, forcing my foe to shield himself behind his sword.

The descendent of the Radiant Hero ended up with a few dark burns, but none were debilitating. Waste might've been Rank B Dark magic, but my own magic was limited to 10, allowing Priam's resistance of 14 to let him tank the hits without succumbing.

Still, I was doing damage, no matter how little. So I went to blast him again, determined to bombard Priam until he was a twitching wreck on the floor.

He didn't let me, hurling Ragnell like a spear directly at my chest. I evaded by leaning to the side, letting the blade pass me unscathed. I prepared to cast Waste again, but Priam was already barreling towards me at full speed! Could I finish my spell before he reached me? No, he was too close! No time to dodge either!

Shit, I'd have to take the hit! I exhaled all the air from my lungs, clenched all the muscles in my body, and let Priam slam into my chest. It felt as though I'd been struck by a runaway truck, but since I'd prepared for it I could retaliate accordingly. I slipped his head underneath my right arm and trapped him in a headlock, determined to suffocate him into submission.

Priam thrashed like a wild boar, nearly breaking free several times. He buried several punches into my liver, damn near making me puke my guts out.

Yet I stubbornly endured.

That was until Priam got his feet underneath him and, in a feat of brute strength, stood while lifting me right off the ground.

Oh fu—!

Priam slammed me against the hard arena floor. It hurt like all hell, and my consciousness flickered, but I refused to let go.

So he picked me up a second time, and re-introduced me to the stone flooring. I blacked out for half a second, long enough for Priam to slip his head free and scramble away, taking billowing breaths of air.

I could taste the blood filling my mouth, and spat out a glob onto the underside of my Keaton Mask. Whatever magic kept the mask stuck to my face also let the blood flow off it like water.

Then a shadow loomed over me. I turned in time to see Priam rushing towards me with Ragnell back in his possession, ready to skewer me through the chest.

Empowered by a fresh dose of dread, I rolled like my life depended on it, feeling Ike's sword embed itself deep in the spot I previously occupied. Taking a sharp gasp of air, I kipped up to my feet and hit Priam with a trio of kicks. The first struck the side of his right knee, barely phasing him; the second connected with his side, my steel-tipped boot leaving nothing but a shallow dent in his armor; the third cracked against his face, jutting his head to the side and briefly staggering him.

I had an opening, if barely. Frontal assault? No, with his training he'd expect that; I needed to hit him with something he wouldn't. So I Traced a silver sword, leapt into the air, and executed Link's Helm Splitter.

Like everything else I threw at the descendent of Ike, it didn't take. Priam's reflexes, sharp enough to knock down arrows midflight, let him recover and react in record time. Grabbing Ragnell's handle with both hands, Priam roared as he met my vertical downward slash with a powerful rising strike of his own. Our blades connected … and mine broke into fragments.

Bewildered, I responded too slowly when I landed. Upon spinning around to face whatever Priam would throw at me next, my opponent was already in the middle of executing his next attack.

Even when activating Bullet Time, I was simply too late—and my body too slow—to react in time. I could only watch as Ragnell's tip passed through my jerkin like paper and enter my hip before bursting out the other end.

Ike's sword finally wetted Arena Ferox with my blood.

With a grunt, Priam yanked his ancestor's blade from my gut, allowing my blood to pour freely from the massive wound. I collapsed to my knees, the searing pain damn near debilitating, as my hand clenching the open laceration in a futile bid to stem the bleeding. It wasn't pleasant, feeling my blood soak my hands as it spilled between my fingers.

[HIT POINTS: 4 / 28]

The sound of the audience's deafening roars returned as our engagement ended. I could almost hear Basilio's groan of resignation, though Lon'qu's shouts for me to get up and keep fighting were much easier to pick out.

"Well fought," Priam panted, rubbing his bruised face. "But ultimately disappointing. I expected better of you, Huntsman."

I flinched. The hell did he just say?

"Don't misconstrue my words. You fought better than many of my previous opponents, yet you're by far the greatest disappointment!"

I wanted to ask—demand—to know what Priam was babbling about, but couldn't unclench my teeth from the pain. Already, my blood was starting to pool beneath my knees, and if I didn't do anything I'd bleed out and die.

{But wasn't that what I wanted?}

Maybe another day. Carefully, I traced a Heal Stave with my free hand, purposely keeping it hidden beneath my cloak; the thick material covered up the light of my false circuits nicely. I used its healing magic on myself, nearly shuddering in relief as the pain gradually faded.

[HIT POINTS: 5 / 28]

[HIT POINTS: 6 / 28]

[HIT POINTS: 7 / 28]

I kept the process continuous but deliberately slow so the resulting light show was dimmed, to avoid tipping anyone off. Even so, I could feel my organs and flesh leisurely knitting themselves close as the stave restored me. Sure, this could be considered cheating, but I found I didn't give a damn.

I didn't see myself winning this fight. Unlike Victor the Berserker, Priam was on a whole different level. None of my usual tricks worked against him, not when the difference between us was this much. Should I keep fighting? No, there was no point. I tried, Basilio, but my best wasn't enough. I'd save everyone time if I just surrender now and—

"Did you really think you could defeat me while holding back?!" Priam angrily roared, slamming Ragnell against the floor and cracking several tiles.

What? Holding back? First Basilio, then Flavia, and now this guy! What sort of mushrooms was everyone on?

"Your weapons are empty!" Priam kept going, rather passionately. "Your attacks lack pride, and your techniques hold no spirit! Did you truly mean to defeat me with such wanting resolve? You were chosen to represent Khan Basilio, thus should be battling me with all your might and soul! To do any less is an insult both to myself, your opponent, and Khan Basilio, who placed his faith in you! Even his prior champions, martially lacking as they were, let their spirits ablaze as they challenged me with all their hearts! I thought better of you, Huntsman, but this match has shown me the folly of my expectations." He slung Ragnell over one shoulder, and with a flippant grunt, asked, "Why are you even here?"

It felt like being struck by lightning. I knew what Priam meant, but with my mind and body both weary from combat and this year-long nightmare, his words were warped into a question I'd been avoiding: why did I choose to still exist in this world?

I thought I knew the answer: because it was the life Chelsea died for.

{Lies. If that were true, you'd never be planning on heading to Plegia. You know you don't value this life of yours. You've known for a while.}

I know that … I KNOW that! It was a distressing truth I'd learned about myself while staying with Robin!

{Then why do you still persist? Why do you still walk this road, knowing where it ends?}

Because I … I … I don't know what else to do! I feel like I'm stuck in a dull and lifeless world, covered in fog so thick I could choke on it. I followed this beaten path because it's the only one I know!

{And you're fine with that? You've chosen to accept that?}

…

…

…

… damn it.

… DAMN IT …

… DAMN IT!!!

NO! I don't want to live like this!

[Now you can either let yourself be life's whipping boy]

I hate living like this! Wallowing in my misery, trapped by excruciating memories dictating what I do, and acting like I'm the most pathetic person in existence!

[or you can call it out for being a bitch]

I desperately missed my old life; my friends and family. I'll forever despise myself for letting my first friend in this world die for me. And if I'd been brought here by some higher power's machination, I wanted to drag them from their shiny thrones and crush their throat beneath my heel.

[punch it in the face]

But I couldn't let what I'd lost mandate my future. What's gone was gone. It still hurt; it would always hurt. However, I wasn't doing myself any favors by constantly feeding my suffering.

[take a few teeth as souvenirs]

I still didn't know why I was here, in this Fire Emblem world, nor did I know what I wanted or what I would do; that was fine.

I would figure it out, one day at a time.

[and show the world what you've really got.]

Today, I was going to beat Priam's face in. Not because I owed Basilio a favor, not because I wanted the Khan to take Lon'qu in, but because it was something I wanted to do.

Because listening to him prattle ticked me off.

[HIT POINTS: 20 / 28]

"Errrm," the announcer spoke from his podium over the crowd's dimming applause. "It appears the Huntsman has taken a mortal injury. Does he forfeit?"

"He does," Priam shouted. "He's in no condition to continue fighting. This is my victory, as unsatisfactory as it is. Call the—"

I stood up, dismissing my stave Projection before throwing open my cloak to reveal my wound. While the front of my pants and jerkin were soaked in blood, the injury itself was reduced to an angry red cut.

Priam's eyes bulged as he beheld this, and in the stunned silence that followed it was easy to hear Basilio elatedly bellow, "That's my champion! I knew you couldn't be beaten that easily! Show that blue-haired prick what you've really got!"

"Shut up, oaf!" Flavia shouted from the other side of the arena.

"… impressive," Priam mumbled, astonished by my "miraculous" recovery. "I see there is more to you than the stories told, Huntsman." Still, he swiftly regained his composure. "Nonetheless, the difference between us is clear. I refuse to waste my time battling someone who won't take our match seriously." He pointed Ragnell at me. "Surrender. End this farce."

Oh, I planned on ending it all right.

In a way, Priam wasn't wrong: I had been holding back. Physically, I'd been fighting with every ounce of strength at my disposal, but he was right when he said my heart wasn't in the fight.

Not anymore. Now I really wanted to introduce my fist to his face.

On top of that, I had the SYSTEM. It'd been easy to disparage it, but I shouldn't forget it was the single most impossible power at my disposal. It could permanently fortify me through special actions and defeating enemies, grant me abilities belonging to other works of fiction, revive me from the dead, and give me items from other universes.

Before, it was an irritant that lingered in the back of my mind.

Now it was time to embrace it.

For starters, my seemingly "aesthetic" magic circuits, which only lit up when I used [Projection]. I really did regard them as nothing but a visual add-on granted by my Personal Skill, and gave them no further thought. In my defense, I wasn't in the best headspaces at the time. No longer; it was time to find out what they really were.

Magic circuits, a pseudo-nervous system that spread throughout the human body. In its original universe, they converted life force into magical energy. But in this Fire Emblem universe, they weren't required to use magic. I could always feel my 10 points of magic thrumming in my chest, beating alongside my heart. So what would happen if I deliberate injected that energy into one of my circuits?

I gave it a shot, injecting a stream of arcane power into a circuit and—

"GAAAHHHHH!" I cried, clutching my arm as heat lanced through it. Before my very eyes, one of my emerald circuits changed colors, shifting into a brilliant gold. It … it didn't strictly hurt, merely filling my arm with a wonderful sense of vigor.

Without a second thought, I flooded all my circuits with my magic, filling each with golden light.

[Ding!]

[You've finally discovered an untapped wellspring of potential, granting you a new skill! <Reinforcement!>]

[Reinforcement]

[By taking manual control of your magic circuits provided by the SYSTEM, you can now enhanced the "existence" of a selected target, including your own body. Example: by spending a single point of MAGIC on yourself you can temporarily increase all other stats by one! <Reinforcement> also includes the sub-skill <Alteration>, allowing the user to imbue magical energy into an object and change its structure or grant it an additional property or effect it did not previously have!]

[Ding!]

[By taking manual control of your magic circuits, the SYSTEM will now activate your remaining dormant circuits provided by your first Personal Skill, <Projection, Trace Version>. Please stand by.]

Wait, remaining dormant—?

"AUUUUGH!!!" I screamed as the circuits on my arms began to spread, flowing up my shoulders, across my back, up my face, down my torso, and reaching all the way to my legs and feet.

The initial activation was the worst. It was like a limb, one I never knew I possessed until now, had been asleep all this time, and was only now waking up. It was accompanied by all the usual discomfort, intensified a hundredfold. Sparks of magical energy crackled throughout my awakened circuits as they were forcibly made functional. Gradually, the stifling pain was burned away by the familiar sense of heat being pumped throughout my body, leaving me brimming with restless energy.

My status menu popped up.

NAME: ???

AGE: 17

CLASS: ???

LEVEL: 5

EXP: 9 / 100

HIT POINTS: 20 / 28

STRENGTH:16­ (+1)

MAGIC: 9 (-2)

SKILL: 14­ (+1)

SPEED: 12­ (+1)

LUCK: 0

DEFENSE: 12­ (+1)

RESISTANCE: 13­ (+1)

I nearly laughed when I saw my luck remained unchanged, but then again I suppose it'd be hard to Reinforce such a metaphysical concept. Still, while I was pleased with my success, this wasn't nearly enough to contend with Priam.

So I directed more magic into my pseudo-nerves.

Power lashed out from me as concentrated bolts of lightning, running up and down the length of my limbs as the light from my magic circuits increased.

STRENGTH:20­ (+5)

MAGIC: 5 (-6)

SKILL: 18­ (+5)

SPEED: 16­ (+5)

LUCK: 0

DEFENSE: 16­ (+5)

RESISTANCE: 17­ (+5)

I quickly realized the [Reinforcement] granted to me by the SYSTEM was very different from the magecraft of the Fate-verse. In Fate, there was a limit to how much you could Reinforce an object before it reached critical failure.

I didn't have that restriction. The SYSTEM had modified the skill so it could accept as much magic as I could provide it.

"BWA HA HA!" Basilio bawled exuberantly. "THAT'S MY CHAMPION!"

"THIS IS BULLSHIT!" Flavia howled.

"You really were holding back," Priam muttered, observing me from afar. I could see him struggling to maintain a façade of calm, but underneath his fighting spirit boiled.

"And I'm not done yet," I announced, holding out my right hand. I still had magic to spare, and could Reinforce myself further if I wanted, but chose not to. My Projections still required magic as well, so I couldn't afford to recklessly spend everything on [Reinforcement]. Instead, reading my new skill's description gave me a fresh idea. "Trace, on!"

One of my circuits briefly reverted to its former emerald luster as the SYSTEM accessed its Catalogue, bringing up the history and blueprint of the weapon I desired. A moment later, and Priam's antique Ragnell appeared in my left hand, in all its former glory.

Priam cocked an eyebrow. "Heard about that from Flavia, how you can perfectly copy any weapon you see, even replicate their owner's fighting style to an extent. But that won't work on me! My blade is more than a weapon! It's my other half, an extension of my will and soul! Our bond is something you cannot replicate through trickery! Your fake will never be a match against the original!"

I snorted in derision, and my opponent heard. "Mine might be a fake, but in my hands it can surpass the real thing."

Priam frowned, his grip tightening. "Bold words."

I held out the Traced Ragnell horizontally before me.

"Allow me to demonstrate."

I activated [Reinforcement], this time using it on Ragnell. Golden circuits spread across the worn blade as my skill enhanced it. [Reinforcement] worked by "reinforcing" the purpose of an object's existence. Reinforcing armor would make it tougher; Reinforcing food would make it more nourishing; Reinforcing a living being, like myself, boosted strength and durability, hence the rise in my attributes. For basic weaponry like swords and axes, my skill would increase their sharpness.

But Ragnell was far from basic.

As diminished as it was, the sword of the Radiant Hero still contained a minute spark of divinity, a lingering ember of Goddess Ashera's blessing, and my [Reinforcement] pushed the purpose of that spark's existence to its utmost limit. It was akin to dousing a dying campfire with a gallon of gasoline; it exploded to life, growing into a raging bonfire.

Quite literally, as azure flames erupted from my Traced Ragnell. The heatless fire twisted and turned like serpentine dragons as they enveloped the blessed sword, filling in the countless cracks marring the blade while burning away the layer of corrosion defacing its surface.

The sword was being reforged.

When the hurricane of divine flame vanished, everyone in Arena Ferox beheld the end result of my [Reinforcement].

The legendary sword, Ragnell, held the world in awe once more. Its golden blade reflected the arena's light in a way no mortal metal could replicate, and not a single blemish stained its excellence. Flickers of divine fire trickled from the sword's flawless edge, as if signifying the overflowing divinity contained within, causing it to radiate an aura commanding respect.

"Ragnell," I proclaimed, my unwavering voice carrying throughout the dumbstruck arena without hindrance. "The legendary sword blessed by the Goddess Ashera, and used to strike her down when she sought to end the world."

A small, childlike part of me was absolutely giddy that I held Ike's iconic sword in my very hands, and I let myself relish in it. Then I discovered it wasn't just like the Radiant Hero's Ragnell.

It was better.

[Ragnell (Enhanced), Rank: S+]

The legendary sword of the Radiant Hero. Blessed by the Goddess Ashera, this peerless weapon has been remade to surpass its original legend. Each swing can unleashed devastating blasts of divine fire, and its aura of protection now bestows its wielder +5 to DEFENSE and +5 to RESISTANCE.

Might: 23

Hit Rate: 95%

Critical: 25%

Durability: ∞

Magic Cost: 5

[<Ragnell (Enhanced), Rank: S+> has been added to the SYSTEM's Catalogue!]

I gave my status window a brief glance to see my overall condition.

NAME: ???

AGE: 17

CLASS: ???

LEVEL: 5

EXP: 9 / 100

HIT POINTS: 20 / 28

STRENGTH:20­ (+5)

MAGIC: 0 (-11)

SKILL: 18­ (+5)

SPEED: 16­ (+5)

LUCK: 0

DEFENSE: 21­ (+10)

RESISTANCE: 22­ (+10)

I had no more magic in reserve. I couldn't Trace anything else unless I dismissed Ragnell (Enhanced) or lowered my body's [Reinforcement].

I was all out of ass-pulls. Now, it was a fight to see which of us fell first.

Across from me, Priam was a conflicted mess of emotions. His gaze continuously flickered between the divine Ragnell in my hands, and the rusted stick in his own. Then he threw back his head and laughed, blowing away all his haunting doubts as he accepted the truth before him.

"Huntsman, may I know your name?" Priam asked.

"I don't use it anymore."

"I see. A true shame. I would've been honored to know the identity of he who taught me humility," Priam chuckled. "I never put any stock in pa's stories, how could I? They were so outlandish, fairytales told to impress young men. But now I have to say"—his eyes were filled with Ragnell's true splendor—"your bedtime stories didn't do it justice, pa."

"Are you ready?" I asked, hefting Ragnell with both hands.

Priam nodded, bracing himself. "Show me what you've got, Huntsman!"

I did so with a swing of the blessed sword, sweeping Ragnell in an arch before me. A wave of blue fire burst from its tip, raging towards Ike's descendent.

Gaping, Priam tried to weather the shockwave, but he was little more than a leaf swept up by an azure tide, blown off his feet and blasted away. When he hit the ground, he bounced twice before tumbling to a stop, having flown nearly 50 feet backwards.

I chased him down with my enhanced speed, leaving a trail of golden sparks from my Reinforced body. Priam scrambled to his feet, his armor scorched and his exposed skin covered in varying burns, but he didn't let any of that slow him down.

Roaring in defiance, he met my charge head-on. The two Ragnells collided with a booming CLANG, trapping us in a deadlock. While Priam was still stronger than my Reinforced self, the difference was bridged by my vastly superior weapon.

We broke away, then exchanged a flurry of strikes that would've killed an ordinary fighter 10 times over. Like a pair of violent storms, we hammering away at one another in a battle for dominance, with either side refusing to accept anything less than an incontestable victory. Sometimes we would forgo blocking and dodging entirely for the sake of landing a hit.

I slashed Priam across the shoulder, rending his pauldron in two; he sliced my left forearm, cutting through my gauntlet and scraping my Reinforced skin; I tore through his armor, painting a diagonal tear across his chest; he opened a deep gash on my waist; I slammed my Keaton Mask into his face, breaking his nose and making him flinch; he kneed me in the stomach, nearly winding me; I scored a series of cuts on his right bicep, left thigh, and side; he locked his Ragnell with mine before using a free hand to hammer his fist into my cheek.

We kept hacking away at one another until the two of us were standing in a pool of our combined blood. [Reinforcement] kept most of my wounds from bleeding too badly, but it couldn't stem everything. Meanwhile, Priam stayed on his feet through sheer stubbornness and willpower, putting his life on the line for the sake of defeating me.

[HIT POINTS: 2 / 28]

I was nearing the end of my rope, but I knew Priam was going to hit his hard limit soon too. I needed to finish this, and my Ragnell (Enhanced) gave me the answer.

When Priam swung his Ragnell to behead me and I raised my own to block it, I allowed him to knock me away; doing so gave me distance and breathing room. Priam instantly realized I was up to something, as tried to chase me down. I threw a haphazard shockwave at him; my lack of focus drastically reduced its power, but it was enough to stall Priam.

Now!

Gathering what strength I had left, I threw Ragnell high into the air; nearly 20 feet. A stream of divine fire trailed behind the blade. The circuits in my legs crackled and thrummed as I gave a mighty leap after the legendary sword, catching it by its handle when it reached the apex of its flight.

Then, I gave physics the middle finger as I spun my whole body like a vertical top, the flames spilling from Ragnell (Enhanced) intensifying with every rotation.

"GREAT … AETHER!!!"

Like an azure meteor, I descended upon the bewildered Priam. Using reflexes belonging to a wild beast sensing its impending death, Priam threw himself backwards with every fiber of his being. By the skin of his teeth too, as my Traced Ragnell collided into the spot of the arena he'd previously been standing, cratering the floor and fracturing it with a spider web of fissures.

Priam would've been split in two had he been a second slower.

But he hadn't; he'd dodged.

Now I was wide open, my Ragnell lodged deep in the arena floor.

Priam saw this, knew this, and lunged; his sword perfectly poised to deal the winning blow.

He should've run instead.

Because all that divine energy I'd shunted into the floor came rising back up. Like an erupting volcano, cerulean fire exploded forth from the fissures I'd created, igniting a geyser of blessed flames that nearly reached the roof of Arena Ferox.

The eruption was as brief as it was explosive, knocking nearly half the arena's spectators out of their seats. It also took everything I had, and when it was over I collapsed to my knees in utter exhaustion. My concentration slipped, breaking my [Reinforcement] and reverting my stats to normal while my Projection of Ragnell (Enhanced) faded away into nothingness.

The legendary sword's protective aura spared me from the blast.

Priam was another matter.

When the smoke and debris settled, he was there; standing tall a few feet in front of me, his armor scorched into irreparable pieces and leaving him in his charred smallclothes. There was barely a square inch of him that wasn't burnt, yet his face refused to show of modicum of pain.

He cough, choking out a plume of smoke. Then, with titanic effort, he raised his chapped lips into a smile—causing them a crack and bleed—and murmured, "Great … fight …"

Like a mountain that'd weathered a volcano's wrath, Priam finally crumbled, slumping forward and hitting the ground. The only thing that remained standing was his antique Ragnell, its tip thrust into the arena floor.

[Ding!]

[You've overcome a vastly superior opponent! +100 to EXP!]

[You've Leveled up!]

NAME: ???

AGE: 17

CLASS: ???

LEVEL: 6­ (+1)

EXP: 9 / 100

HIT POINTS: 2 / 30­ (+2)

STRENGTH:16­ (+1)

MAGIC: 11­ (+1)(-1)

SKILL: 14­ (+1)

SPEED: 12­ (+1)

LUCK: 0

DEFENSE: 12­ (+1)

RESISTANCE: 13­ (+1)

Huh, I leveled up. Beating Priam sure gave me a lot of EXP … oh CRAP! Did I get carried away and accidentally kill Priam?!

"P-Priam!" I wheezed, crawling over to Ike's medium-rare descendent. I wanted him beaten, not dead. I tried searching for a pulse, but my fingers were trembling from exhaustion far too much to accurately find one.

I frantically Traced a Heal Stave and activated it. Gentle waves of restorative magic ebbed from the gem embedded in the head of the staff, and to my immense relief I watched as Priam's numerous burns started to heal.

I, on the other hand, doubled over in agony as my heart felt like it was being twisted into knots. For the first time since I'd arrived in this world, I'd utterly exhausted my pool of magic.

My vision dimmed, the world swirled, and unconsciousness claimed me.

~

[HIT POINTS: 30 / 30]

That was the first thing I saw when my eyes slowly opened. The next was the looming face of a Feroxi cleric as she tried to remove my Keaton Mask with zero success. Her fingers found no purchase on my mask's rim, and whenever she thought she had they'd slip right off. It seemed no one but me could take my Keaton Mask off. Very useful information.

"Can I help you?" I spoke, causing the cleric to blunder backwards as I scared 10 years off her life.

"K-Khan Basilio's!" the cleric blubbered. "He-He's awa—!"

"Huntsman!" Basilio shouted, picking the cleric up and nearly throwing her into a nearby wall before giving me a face-full of his beaming one-eyed mug. "Awake already? Damn, you youngsters bounce back fast!"

"How long was I out?" I asked, concluding I must've been in Arena Ferox's infirmary. With me was the immensely chipper Basilio, a disgruntled Flavia, an awed Lon'qu, and a team of priests fussing over a different patient: Priam.

"Not even half a day!" Basilio laughed, smacking my shoulder as I sat up, much to the horror of the Feroxi healers. Yeah, if I'd still been badly injured that hit would've sucked. "It's little wonder the cutthroats of Ylisse fear your name! Nothing keeps you down for long!"

"Shut up, oaf! You're supposed to keep quiet in the infirmary!" Flavia grumbled, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Hmm?" Basilio held his hand up to his ear in an exaggerated fashion. "Does the former regnant Khan have something she wishes to convey to the current regnant Khan?"

Flavia ground her teeth so hard I thought they'd shatter, but with great mental discipline the East-Khan took a deep breath and blocked out her fellow Khan's incessant bragging. Then her dagger-like gaze snapped onto me, and for a second I was worried she'd found a new target for her ire.

Thankfully, Flavia merely wore a defeated smile as she patted me on the opposite shoulder. "That was an superb match, Huntsman. The two of you had me on the edge of my seat. Were it allowed, I would've leapt into that area and relished the opportunity to face you both."

"How is Priam?" I asked.

"You did a number on him, that for sure," Basilio said. "Our healers reckon he'll be tied down to a sickbed for a couple weeks, even with healing magic."

"It's a testament to Priam's resilience that he survived at all," Flavia added.

"Of … course …" the subject of our conversation weakly murmured. The Feroxi healers hovering around his bed moved aside so I could see him. I'd turned the poor guy into a mummy! He was bandaged from head to toe, leaving only his eyes and mouth exposed. "No plans … on dying … not after … what I learned."

I moved to stand from my bed, but the Feroxi cleric who tried to remove my mask stopped me. "Y-You mustn't stand! You shouldn't even be moving! Not after the injuries you incurred!"

"I'm fine," I assured, gently nudging her aside. I noticed I'd been stripped down to my bloody trousers, leaving my scarred torso for all to see. I'd collected a number of mementos over the past year. "What happened to my clothes?"

"The priests needed to remove them to see the extent of your wounds," Basilio answered.

Eh, I could get a new one. More importantly, the Fierce Deity's Mask and my Colossal Wallet were still hanging from my belt. I shuffled over to Priam, standing by his bedside.

"How're you feeling?" I asked.

Despite the layers upon layers of bandages, Priam accurately conveyed an "Are You Serious?" look.

I chuckled. "Sorry, stupid question. Hope you don't mind losing."

Priam's bandaged chest rumbled. "Lost … but lived. Best kind. Get to learn … from my mistakes. But … please tell …" his eyes were imploring "… how did … you know?"

I already knew what he meant. "You mean Ragnell?"

Priam couldn't move his neck to nod, but his eyes conveyed his plea.

"I confess, I'm equally intrigued," Flavia said. "All of Ferox must've heard you when you said Priam's sword was blessed by a Goddess none of us have heard of before."

"And used to take her down! Talk about irony!" Basilio laughed. Flavia socked him in the ribs to shut him up.

I winced. I'd been so caught up in the moment that I never stopped to consider my actions. With so many witnessing the rebirth of Ragnell, it was only a matter of time before tales of the sword blessed by Ashera spread to every corner of the continent, and possibly beyond. There was no telling what the repercussions of my rash actions would be.

How would the Grimleal respond should they learn of a sword that defeated a Goddess?

A tactician and deep planner, I was not.

Regardless, Priam, Basilio, Flavia, and Lon'qu were waiting for my answer, and while the priests and clerics were trying to appear nonchalant their ears were wide open. No doubt whatever I said here would get passed around Ferox as gossip, and when news was repeatedly distributed through word of mouth there was no telling what sort of twisted monstrosity it'd end up becoming.

… whatever, I'd deal with that later too.

"It's part of my magic," I explained, glad to have a convenient (and completely true) excuse at hand. "When replicating a weapon, I have to scan it with my magic first. I call this spell [Structural Analysis]. Using it, I not only instantly understand the structure and design of a weapon, but its history and experiences as well."

"You mean you can see everything a weapon's been through?" Basilio murmured, stroking his chin. "Damn handy ability to have."

"And explains how you saw through and used my own fighting style mere moments after meeting me," Flavia added, intrigued.

"So … that's how …" Prima mumbled through his bandages, his gaze becoming faraway. "Read … the history … of Ragnell … and saw … everything."

I nodded.

"So when you mentioned how it took down a goddess …" Basilio began.

"It wasn't hyperbole or anything. Ragnell was used by the Radiant Hero, Priam's ancestor, to take down Ashera, the Goddess of Order, when she tried to exterminate all life in the world because she believed humans were too chaotic without her guidance. Basically, she wanted to wipe the slate clean."

"Bitch," Basilio grunted. "She obviously never met Basilio! One look at my unforgettable mug would've changed her mind!"

"More like she would've kicked off her genocide the second she saw you," Flavia snorted, then asked, "But why have none of us heard of Ashera?"

"This was an extremely long time ago." And on a completely different world, I thought, but refused to say aloud. "Even a goddess can be forgotten if no one bothers to remember her."

"She's one god I don't mind forgetting," Basilio said.

Priam made a noise that sounded like a strained laugh. "Ragnell's … been though … so much. Never knew. Only thought … it was an very old … but reliable … sword." He looked to me, and his gaze deeper than before. "Could you … tell me? The story … of Ike."

I smiled underneath my mask. I didn't mind, not in the least. Whatever tiny grievances I held against Priam had long since been resolved. Flavia claimed a seat for herself, Basilio beckoned for the servants to bring in the booze by the barrel, and Lon'qu had yet to say a single word since I woke up. None gave the slightest inclination that they were going anywhere.

So I pulled up a chair, made myself comfortable, and began, "It all takes place on a continent once known as Tellius …"

~

Khan Basilio threw a party celebrating his victory that lasted five days and five nights. He extended an invitation to Flavia, but she "politely" rejected his invite; at mach-fist velocity. Still, having his remaining eye blackened failed to damper his mood, as he imbibed enough alcohol to drown a small town. As his champion, my attendance was "mandatory." I felt like he was making this stuff up, until he loudly declared, "It's my arse that's on the big seat now, so when I say you're going to join me in drinking every last drop of alcohol in Ferox, what I really mean is that you're required by law to be my drinking buddy! Now come! Women, food, and booze await!"

I could've run. Could've made an excuse to be excused. The "me" from yesterday would've.

I didn't. I threw myself headfirst into the celebrations, living each day like they were my last, and Basilio was right there with me. We drank booze like it was water, and partied so hard we ended up demolishing several taverns; literally, as in they were smoking ruins by the time we were finished. No harm was done, especially when Basilio gave a Khan's word he'd personally reimburse all establishments and then some. If anything, our contagious festivities drew in more and more people with every property we inadvertently destroyed, until nearly the entire city around Arena Ferox was reveling loud enough for the gods to hear our cheers. Can't leave out the drunken brawls either; so many whippersnappers wanted to test themselves against the fabled Huntsman, despite watching me cook Priam until he was well-done. I couldn't say no to my adoring fans, and beat their asses with my bare fists.

I think at one point I accidentally clocked Basilio, and he piledrived me into the floor. Hard to tell, my memories were foggy by that point. I flat-out don't remember what happened on the fourth and fifth days but I'm sure they were wild, especially when I got another skill out of the entire debacle.

[Your excessive indulgence of alcohol nearly spelled your ignoble end, but your iron will would not let you fall, thus granting you the skill <Poison Immunity!>]

[Poison Immunity]

[You are now immune to any and every type of poison in the world!]

Worth it.

[Poison Immunity] ensured I could never get drunk again, but also saved me from the horrific hangover I would've surely had without it. My gratitude increased tenfold when I spotted Basilio shambling around like a millennium-old Risen, begging for someone to end his miserable existence. Flavia was tempted to take him up on his offer.

Now, the West and East Khans were seeing me off at Longfort. While I'd enjoyed their company, I was more than happy to put the cold lands of Regna Ferox behind me. Ye gods, I wasn't a winter person.

Warm weather of the halidom, here I come!

"Make sure you come back to visit, especially in three years!" Basilio said as he clasped my arm. "With you as my champion, my rule is guaranteed!"

"Sorry, but that was a one-time deal," I said, much to Basilio's disappointment and Flavia's delight. "Still, a friendly visit sounds nice." As long as I packed proper winter gear.

"Regna Ferox will always welcome you with open arms," Flavia assured me. The armored Feroxi soldiers manning the fortress all banged their shield in agreement.

Lon'qu stepped forward. He was wearing fresh Feroxi clothes, an outfit lined with thick pelts to better protect its wearer from the elements. On his back he bore the symbol of the West-Khan.

I'd made it clear to him that I wasn't interested in a travel companion. When the kid tried to protest, Basilio made himself useful for once and stepped in. The West-Khan said, rather harshly, that Lon'qu was too weak to walk beside the Huntsman, and if he wanted the privilege he needed to become stronger first, and there was no better place to train than Regna Ferox, a country teaming with powerful warriors.

Lon'qu took Basilio's words to heart, and was prepared to throw himself into training like there was no tomorrow. Watching my fight with Priam had lit a fire in his heart.

"The next time you're here, I'll be much stronger!" the kid declared, his gaze unwavering. His brashness was now tempered by determination, better resembling his future counterpart. "When I am … I ask for another match!"

I nodded. "I'll be stronger then too. You best be prepared."

If I squinted, I thought I could see Lon'qu smiling. "I ask for nothing more."

Priam wanted to be here as well, but he was literally tied down to his bed after his healers found him sparring with several Feroxi soldiers in the arena despite his recovering injuries. A pity, but I was certain I'd bump into Ike's descendent again. After telling him the tale of the Radiant Hero, I offered to Reinforce the original Ragnell for him. Priam declined, stating he wasn't worthy of such a magnificent weapon; not yet, at least. He was determined to become stronger first, and when he finally felt Ragnell "speak" to him, he said he'd seek me out to fulfill my promise.

"You sure you want to leave so soon?" Basilio asked, trying for the nth time to get me to stay, mainly so he'd have more opportunities to convince me to be his champion. "You're leaving behind a whole city of ladies disappointed they never got invited into your sheets."

I rolled my eyes beneath my mask. "Basilio, I'm not so desperate that I need your help getting laid. Hell, if anything you should be grateful I'm leaving. With me around, your chances of finding a special someone would've been zero."

The new sovereign Khan was gobsmacked by my gall, while Flavia merrily threw back her head and howled in amusement.

But Basilio wasn't insulted. In fact, his one eye glimmered with relief as he placed a hand on my shoulder. "Keep it up, kid. I'm glad for you."

I returned the gesture. "I owe you one, Basilio."

"Nonsense. The only one you owe is yourself."

"I suppose so. Glad I didn't have to sob all over your shoulder to realize that."

"I wouldn't have minded."

I tilted my head, puzzled. "But you said you don't comfort crying kids."

"Kids? Hell no," Basilio scoffed. "But a fellow warrior? Nothing wrong with that."

We said our farewells, and I slung my travel bag—filled to the brim with provisions freely given—over my shoulder before passing through Longfort's open gate. The soldiers atop of the wall saluted, and I gave them a cursory wave as I headed south.

I didn't know what I wanted with this new life just yet, but that was okay.

There was plenty of time for me to figure it out.

~

Chelsea watched him leave Longfort, walking tall while his head was held higher than before. There was no need for him to see her, not this time. Instead, she let herself slowly fade back into the nether, smiling happily all the while.

~Current Stats~

NAME: ???

AGE: 17

CLASS: ???

LEVEL: 6­ (+1)

EXP: 9 / 100

HIT POINTS: 30 / 30­ (+2)

STRENGTH:16­ (+1)

MAGIC: 11­ (+1)(-1, Projection)

SKILL: 14­ (+1)

SPEED: 12­ (+1)

LUCK: 0

DEFENSE: 12­ (+1)

RESISTANCE: 13­ (+1)

~Current Skills~

PERSONAL SKILL 1: Projection, Trace Version

PERSONAL SKILL 2: N/A

PERSONAL SKILL 3: N/A

SKILL 1: Too Angry To Die!

SKILL 2: Reinforcement (NEW!)

SKILL 3: Poison Immunity (NEW!)

SKILL 4: N/A

SKILL 5: N/A