Fritz woke before dawn, having caught only a scant few hours of sleep. The rest was nowhere near enough to refresh him and had seemingly only worsened his aches and weariness. Still, he rose from the sheets and made his way down the stairs and towards the sounds of breakfast being made.

There Cal was, intent on his cookbook and the sizzling pans and boiling pots in front of him. He was aided in part by the maid, who would fetch ingredients at his request and could lend her observant eyes to the watching of the oven. They worked together well and made a decent pair, barely getting in each other's way and both were quietly diligent.

Cal eventually noticed Fritz watching them.

"Fritz? You're back?" He asked.

"Indeed. And maybe you should be the Scout with such powers of observation," Fritz mocked. "Though I see you've taken well to the role of cook. Maybe that's more befitting for one of your skill."

Cal frowned.

Fritz mirrored the expression and the kitchen grew tense. Frustration simmered for some moments.

"You have that duel today, don't you," Cal stated, turning away to watch some hissing sausages.

Fritz frowned further. "I do. What of it?"

"Nothin'. Just explains why you're being such a prick first thing in the morning," Cal said. "Breakfast will be ready in ten minutes. Go brood in the dining room."

Fritz nearly growled, and his Dusksong spat at the affront, but he rapidly realised the man was right. He was picking a fight for no real reason, or rather because he was wracked with worry and couldn't contain his temper.

He forced down the anger, let out a long breath and attempted an apology. "I believe you could be correct. You must forgive me for my... discourtesy."

"I don't know if I 'must' forgive you, but I will," Cal said, letting out a sigh.

"You're too kind," Fritz said, almost meaning it.

"But I have another bone to pick with you," Cal said, seemingly remembering some other slight.

"And what is that?" Fritz allowed.

"The scribe, the one you found to teach us," Cal said, turning to scowl at Fritz.

"Jess? What's wrong with her?" Fritz asked, actually perplexed.

"What's wrong with her?" Cal repeated scathingly. "How am I meant to learn from her?"

"She's brilliant and a wonderful teacher. She taught me plenty and I could also stand to learn more from her. There should be no troubles there," Fritz said earnestly.

That earnestness seemed to frustrate the man more, he struggled to find his words. He glanced to Cassandra whose gaze darted between the two of them and held some desperate desire not to be present for their dispute.

Fritz dismissed her with a sign and after a quick curtsy, she left in a hurry.

"Speak freely, what has you so angry? Did she mock or belittle you?" Fritz asked, not truly thinking she had.

"No, she didn't," Cal admitted

"Then what has you so adamantly against her?" Fritz asked

"I'm not against her!" He said a little too loudly.

"Then what is it?" Fritz asked exasperation getting the better of him.

"She's, she's... she's bloody beautiful, Fritz," he blurted.

"I don't see how that's a problem. Some could consider it an incentive," Fritz argued.

"You don't get it. She's perfect," Cal said.

"She's pretty, but hardly perfect," Fritz protested.

"How can you say that?" Cal asked, affronted. "Are you blind? Maybe I should take over as Scout as you said."

Fritz frowned, he wasn't convinced that she was as lovely as he was insisting, but he knew better than to keep arguing. Such, apparent infatuation tended to cloud one's judgement and could fan quaint quarrels into fiery feuds.

"I still don't see the peril," he said.

"When I talk to her. I can barely think, let alone learn," Cal said.

"That sounds like the fault lies with you," Fritz said. "And I don't see how you could blame me."

"You did it on purpose," Cal accused.

"On purpose," Fritz repeated, dumbfounded.

"A trick to mock me. To embarrass me, in front of the team and Jess," Cal said.

"I don't know where such a notion came from. I simply had a friend, who happened to be a scribe and in need of some coin," Fritz explained.

Though now that the man's frustration was explained, it did amuse Fritz somewhat. And he likely would have done such a thing on purpose if given the opportunity. However, this time, coincidence was the true trickster.

"And it never entered your mind that she was beautiful," Cal asked, scoffing.

Fritz smiled helplessly, then shrugged. "It didn't occur to me."

Cal searched his face for a few seconds, then deflated.

"Bastard. It really didn't, did it?" he said grumpily.

"Not at all!" Fritz declared, then laughed.

Cal scowled, but it came off more sheepish than serious.

"What do I do then?" He asked.

"Endure it. Build up that conditioning, as Sir Needle might suggest," Fritz said. "Or I can find another scribe. An ugly one if you'd prefer. To keep you focused."

Cal sighed. "I'll endure."

"How very brave of you," Fritz stated drily.

The comment wrested a smile out of the resigned man.

"I think something is burning," Fritz said as an acrid scent assailed his sensitive nose.

Cal turned back to the stove and oven, pulling off one of the pans filled with toad meat.

"Hah, just saved it," Cal said, wiping some sweat off his brow.

"Good man," Fritz said.

"Breakfast is nearly ready, could you go get Casandra to help me with the last bits?" Cal asked.

"Very well," Fritz said, then left the kitchen.

He found the maid standing in a corner of the dining room, pretending she hadn't been listening to the entire argument, and signed Cal's request to her. She nodded and leapt into action.

Fritz remembered his original purpose and returned to the kitchen in the wake of her flapping dress.

"You're back? Did you want to help or something?" Cal asked.

"No. However, I am in dire need of some remedies and require the pantry," Fritz explained.

"Go on then," Cal said.

Fritz did, and upon leaving the dark dryness of the pantry he noticed that Cassandra looked a little dejected, a mournful glint entered her eye whenever she glanced at Cal. Fritz stifled a sympathetic smile and said nothing.

He left the kitchen, took the head seat at the dining table, consumed his remedies and waited on breakfast.

As he did so, his team gathered and joined him. First was to appear George, then it was Rosie, then Lauren. Then the food was brought out on wooden platters, Cal took his seat and they dug into the meat and mana heavy meal. They bantered and bickered, as all teams were prone to do, but it was lighthearted. Apparently, Fritz wasn't the only one awaiting the duel, the air hummed with anticipation.

He hoped he could meet both their expectations and his own.

---

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Fritz and his team were already in the yard, going through their exercises for an hour before Adam arrived with his customary booming knock. He was far later than he usually was, as he would staunchly arrive at dawn no matter how hungover or sloshed he still seemed.

They waited for him to wade out into the rain and begin berating them, but instead, Cassandra came and with a swift set of signs explained that their tutor had three other men with him and they wanted to meet in the lounge.

"More men?" Fritz asked, rising from a set of push-ups.

"Nobles," she signed back.

Fritz raised an eyebrow.

"Nobles?" Lauren asked with some apprehension, glancing down at her stained training robes.

Cassandra nodded.

"Very well. I'll meet them in the lounge," Fritz said.

The maid curtsied and left to inform the waiting men of his decision.

Fritz followed, dried himself in the hall and continued onwards.

Inside the lounge, warming themselves by the fire, sat three men. One was the mountainous mound of muscle that was Adam, seated on the couch. Sat across from him, relaxing in an armchair and nursing a glass of wine, was a finely dressed figure. Beside him, was a younger man, of similar stature and countenance. Though he held no drink and was also dressed finely, he looked more scruffy than Fritz felt.

There was also one other man, a servant by the looks of clothes and manner. He stood by the door, awaiting the orders of his masters.

"Lord Hightide, Thank you for receiving us," Adam greeted, standing swiftly and bowing.

He was stiffer than normal, his bearing more proper, even if he still had the scent of wine on his breath. Fritz supposed his demeanour was a warning to be polite and to observe the customary formalities.

"Sir Needle, there is hardly need for thanks. I welcome you and your guests. I just apologise for my lacking hospitality," Fritz replied with an appropriate incline of his head.

"May I introduce the Count Tallmast, and his son," Adam announced, motioning to the men still sitting.

"Count Tallmast!" Fritz exclaimed, bowing at the waist. "It is my great honour to have such an esteemed guest."

Count Tallmast, turned his head and gazed over Fritz lazily, his grey eyes drinking him in. The man, as attested to by his name, was tall, he was in his late forties with quaffed, sandy blond hair.

"Quite," he drawled, twisting his bland expression into a kindly, if condescending, smile. Then he waved a hand. "You may rise, Lord Hightide."

Fritz did so and glanced to Adam for more cues. His tutor cleared his throat.

"I was enjoying the Count's company over some drinks and mentioned your situation to him,"

"My situation?" Fritz asked.

"Your appeal to reestablish your House," the Count said. "It piqued my interest."

"It did?" Fritz asked.

"It did. Adam here was telling me what a talented young man you are, and how your prestige is likely to rise quickly," the Count explained.

Fritz smiled at the praise, hiding his surprise that his tutor was exalting him to such high company. "I'm afraid I can't speak to that. I merely do my utmost to embody the honour and virtue that runs in my noble blood."

"Arrogant arsehole," the Count's son muttered, staring gloomily. The Count and Adam ignored the comment, so Fritz followed their example.

"And so supremely humble as well?" Tallmast chuckled, breaking the quiet.

"Not humble, Count, just unproven," Fritz corrected.

"Ah, you thrust right upon the point," the Count said. "Unproven indeed. Though your tutor here has said he was set to duel you this morning."

"That's correct Count. Sir Needle is an expert swordsman, and I want to learn all he can teach me. However, he wanted me to display my diligence and determination in mastering the blade," Fritz said.

"Yes, Adam has always been exacting, and a hard teacher," the Count said, smiling slyly. "Though that is neither here nor there. His story of your struggle to find any support amongst the peerage moved me. I would have gladly witnessed your appeal. Without hesitation, if not for the sins of your father and the lingering grudges that such an endorsement would attract."

"You're too kind, such a thing would be of great benevolence," Fritz flattered.

The man smiled, but the halo of hazy light around his shoulders flickered with some annoyance. A sure sign that Fritz should lessen his overly obvious obsequiousness.

"Quite, however, those political risks still exist. And I need some proof as to your potential. Especially if I am to have my son join you," Tallmast explained.

"Your son? I'm afraid I don't follow Count," Fritz said.

The Count's son scoffed, and ran his hand through his shoulder length black hair.

"Nevermind that for now," Tallmast said, again ignoring his son's impoliteness. "I've come to observe the duel and put my doubts to rest. If you impress me I'll sign and seal your appeal."

"My thanks, Count. I will endeavour to entertain you," Fritz said earnestly, even if the man's presumption irritated him.

"Endeavour to excel," the Count corrected.

"I will," Fritz said.

"Splendid," the Count said. "I'm sure you have preparations, I will be along once I'm done with my wine," he added tilting the glass in his hand.

Adam rose and bowed to Tallmast. "My thanks as well, Count."

Fritz joined the bowing, saying his own thanks for a second time, then left. He was soon followed into the hall by his tutor. He had many questions for him, but was quickly cut off.

"Go put on some armour, we'll use sharp blades," Adam instructed. "We need to put on a bit of a show to please this patron."

"Shall I use Quicksilver?" Fritz asked.

"Do so. I'll be using my own sword," Adam said.

"The Needle?"

"Hah! That's my name, not the sword's." He laughed.

"It's not?" Fritz asked.

"It's not, it's called a Reach-steel Rapier. Your father would call it the Little Prick," Adam said, smiling.

"And call you the big one?" Fritz guessed.

"Hah! Just so!" Adam barked, then his face went stern and his voice serious. "Go on, get moving, we don't have much more than three minutes. You want to do this properly, not only your reputation depends on this."

"Right. And how well do I have to do to earn your swordsmanship lessons?" Fritz asked. "Will it be solely at your discretion or are there a number of points I have to win? Will I need to draw blood?"

Adam scoffed. "A single point is all you need, and that would be a miracle. There's no way you could draw my blood. Put that aspiration out of your mind and get going."

Fritz nodded and sped up the steps and into his room, he lifted the moonsilver breastplate and put it on for the very first time. It fit him rather well considering he hadn't intended it to. He and the smith had only approximated Sid's measurements after all. They had used Fritz as a base as they were of similar height and build. Or at least, they used to be.

He had asked the smith to make the chest a little larger than normal, to account for her womanly differences and that seemed to serve him just as well as his own chest had grown broader and more muscular from his training and adventures.

Fritz tightened the straps and fastened the buckles, the cool metal pressed against his shirt and encased him surely. It was heavier than a normal steel breastplate, the smith had warned, since the metal was both denser and harder. A wonderful metal to work with and wield, or so he said.

Fritz found the weight a comfortable one, far more agreeable than when he had first received his moonsilvered bones. Still, it was an unfamiliar burden and made moving a little more difficult.

He slapped on the rough remnants of his swamp buck leathers, mainly the thigh, shin and arm guards, and set off to meet his tutor in the yard. Vanity prodded him and he took a small detour, crossing to Lauren's room to look into her tall mirror. He found it already in use, its owner stood before it in her proper, now mended, battle robes and brushing out her hair.

"Want to look good for the nobles?" Fritz asked, trying to peek past her and see his own reflection.

"I want to look presentable. I'm not content appearing as a beggar in front of the nobility," Lauren said.

"Ah, vanity. To think you hold with such a womanly weakness," Fritz mocked lightly.

He stepped up to the left of her, nudging her gently out of the way with his hip, before finally getting a glimpse at his shining armour. The bright silver of the metal gleamed like an unclouded moon, unfortunately, its colouring also clashed with the dark green of the leathers. He ran a hand through his hair, smoothing and tussling it to set it most handsomely.

Lauren scoffed and slapped a hand on his breastplate playfully. The metal rang dully like a dropped fork.

"Vanity? Womanly? You're the one barging in to use my mirror. And you're flittering worse than a virginal debutante before her first ball," she retorted.

"Lauren, as ever, your tongue is sharper than any sword and skillfully used. Maybe I should have it fight this duel for me," Fritz replied, smirking.

She laughed. "You're only half right about that. It's meant for far finer pursuits than duels."

Fritz smiled at that and steadied his shaking hand by gripping the lightly humming hilt of Quicksilver.

Lauren wasn't wrong about his nervousness, it took much of his Control to keep as still as he was. The fear of failing to meet Adam's standards, and losing his chance to learn swordsmanship from him, was bad enough. This added stress of earning the Count's high opinion was not something he had been anticipating, and it wasn't something he needed at all.

If it weren't for the risk of being rude, and the fact of the man's far greater rank, he would have asked the Count to leave in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, Fritz did need the nobleman's seal and whatever further support he could lend. Really, if he were more confident in his skill he would've welcomed this opportunity to strike two birds with one stone. But tired, sore and unpractised as he was, he wasn't so sure of his chances.

He activated both the Amulet of Repose and his Ring of Suppress Pain, and soon his aches were swept away along with much of his fatigue. Fritz exhaled, steadied himself, and looked at his reflection for just a moment longer before Lauren spoke.

"You can do it, Fritz."

"Thanks," he replied.

Fritz turned and made his way down the stairs and out into the yard. He strode to the centre where Adam stood stoically clad in a breastplate of his own, one more function than form over a coat of rough chainmail.

He looked Fritz up and down, his eyes drawn to the glitter of the moonsilver armour.

"Very nice. But too bright for a Scout," he observed. "You should get something to darken that metal and dull that shine."

"Of course," Fritz agreed, having come to the same conclusion long ago. "Any rules I should be aware of?"

"No Treasures or Abilities," Adam said. "We're competing with our skill."

"And Attributes," Fritz said.

Adam shrugged. "If there were a way to suppress them, I would. As it stands I'll just restrain my Advanced Attributes."

"You can restrain them?"

"Somewhat," Adam admitted. "It's not a pattern I've practised much, as there's little use for making oneself weaker. And duelling Rookies is no hobby of mine."

"You really don't teach the sword often do you?" Fritz asked.

"I don't," Adam said. "You're lucky I even considered teaching you."

"What about George?"

"What about him?"

"You're teaching him swordsmanship aren't you?"

"Only the basics that he desperately needs," Adam said.

Fritz frowned. "You should give him the same chance as me."

Adam frowned and Fritz glared back.

"That's asking a lot," Adam said tersely.

"You'll be teaching me anyway, why not teach him too?" Fritz said.

"There are secrets that I shouldn't share to wantonly," Adam said.

"Why?"

"It's just not done, these are hard-fought skills and having them spread would reveal too much of my style," Adam explained.

The excuses sounded hollow, to Fritz's ears so he pressed him. "You really think George, of all people, would spread your secrets?"

Adam glanced over at George who was finishing up a set of sword swings. His chest heaved under his armour. He waved and smiled when he noticed them watching.

"No, I don't think that," he admitted.

"Then what's the harm," Fritz asked.

"Fine. If you both measure up, I'll teach the both of you." Adam sighed. "He hasn't had a warning as you have had. Though, he'll likely be more prepared than you. What with all your gallivanting. Honestly, he might outshine you, in spite of your armour."

"Unlikely, I'm close to the Inevitable Blade," Fritz boasted, though he didn't feel as confident as he professed.

Adam noticed this, but didn't react.

Lauren walked into the yard, looking far more proper. She strode under the tree and joined the rest of the team taking cover under its high branches. There was some small chatter but it soon ceased, they, must have shared Fritz's tension. They waited for the Count's appearance for three minutes, then another three. He wondered, then hoped that maybe the noblemen had left, finding some other distraction.

Seeking to calm himself, Fritz drew Quicksilver and swished it through the air. While he did so, he considered the most effective strategy. His left hand found Mortal Edge, then he pulled it away, deciding to wield only his sword to try and coax out the Inevitable Blade. And even if his memories weren't enough, he hoped that, during the duel, he could glean more of the style from Adam's movements.

They waited for another three minutes and Fritz was about to go in search of the Count. Adam stopped him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"We wait on him, not the other way around," he said. "Remember our rank."

Fritz grimaced, he knew what Adam said was true but it still irked him that this moment was being delayed. His stress rose by the minute.

"Do you think he's making us wait on purpose," Cal whispered to Lauren.

She hushed him, but nodded.

"Why?" He asked.

She shook her head.

"Cause he's an arsehole," Rosie said.

Adam spun on her, glaring as hard as Fritz had ever seen. "Be silent," he warned.

Rosie was about to reply when she saw the steel in his gaze and thankfully heeded him. Which was the right thing as the Count appeared with his son and his servant following behind.

He strode into the rain, a cane of ivory held firmly in one hand. The falling rain, however, did not touch him. Three feet above his head, a wide dome of invisible power, nine feet across, caught the water and let it slide over and around him.

"Haven't started yet I hope," the Count said.

"Of course not, Count," Adam replied with a bow. "The Lord was simply practising his swing, getting a feel for the length of his blade."

"Oh, that is quite the odd weapon, and what delightful armour," The Count complimented. "I hope they can hold up to the fabled Needle."

"Well, we can only test them," Fritz said.

"In this rain?" The count asked. "No that simply won't do. Mr. Hamm kindly set up a large rainshield over this yard."

"Yes, milord," the servant replied. He waved his hand and suddenly the thin dome hovering above the Count was lifted high into the air and expanded to a great size. It soon covered the entire yard and a part of the house behind.

Fritz hid a frown. The rainshield Ability must have been evolved to encompass so much space, and he wondered why anyone would ever choose to improve such a power. Though, maybe the steady employment by the nobility was a good enough reason. Fritz set aside his disdain for the wasted power and returned his mind to the moment.

"That's much better, isn't it Sir Needle?" The Count said, leaning on his cane.

"Many thanks, lord," Adam said. "I hope it is no imposition for you to score for us."

"Why I would be delighted to," Count Tallmast said, beaming. "Unfortunately, we will have to keep the duel short. I have duties that need my attention. First to win three rounds, wins the bout, first to win two bouts, wins."

"You're too gracious," Adam said.

"Now, now. No more waiting and words. Now's the time for steel! Get to your places!" The Count announced, gesturing widely.

Adam bowed, and Fritz followed his example. They stood back to back, then strode six paces away from each other and turned.

Adam drew his blade, settled his feet and Fritz took his stance, pointing Quicksilver.

"Let the duel... commence!"

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