His heart beating rapidly, Fritz breathlessly sat, then fell into his Sanctum.

Excitement, relief and curiosity washed over him as he called up his Spire Sheet and discovered that the Technique glyphs of the Inevitable Blade had indeed changed from Novice to Journeyman.

He inspected further, focusing on the grey-silver words hovering before him.

---------

---

The Inevitable Blade (Journeyman)

Fencing, caging, a razored gaol, the thrust most perfect, too sure to fail.

Grants major benefits to Agility and Grace of parries and strikes with single-handed swords.

Your strikes with single handed swords are more difficult to parry or evade.

Awareness and Perception are more effective at evaluating foes' vulnerabilities and condition.

Focus is more effective when in battle.

Accuracy and evasion derived from Awareness and Perception are more effective.

You are more effective at predicting foes you have keenly observed.

These benefits increase over time when in battle with a singular foe.

These benefits are increased when in battle with Human and Human-strain foes.

---

You have studied, practised and understood the Inevitable Blade, learning under both an expert and a journeyman tutor.

---

---------

The changes were few, but they were still substantial. First, there was an increase from lesser to major benefits, which was an enormous gain. It was another doubling, from thirty per cent to sixty. Second, there was the added evasion and accuracy from his Awareness and Perception. And thirdly, he was more able to predict his foes. What it meant exactly by 'keenly observed' was a mystery, though it was simple enough to infer the main thrust from the description.

Each of these additions further refined both his offence and his defence, for which he was grateful. The increases all made sense as he reflected on what finally had him break through into Journeyman mastery.

He had been practising alone, using the very last of the dim light to work on his lunging thrust and the retreating recovery. He had been imagining his father and how he wielded his blade with mechanical precision. That wasn't what stood out from his memories now, though. Fritz remembered how the imposing man had moved, his impeccably firm stance and the way he had commanded the distance between him and his opponent.

It was that mastery of distance and movement, both his own and his foes', that Fritz found to be curious. He revised the old memories, gleaning what he could from them while he had tried to implement what he had recalled. Fritz concentrated most on maintaining that rigidly reactive stance while fencing with an image of his previous foes. Then he had applied what he remembered of his father's movements.

He had sensed that part of the Technique was hidden there, the way he advanced and retreated, always an inch out of reach, yet always able to strike true. At first, Fritz had just thought it was an advantage of arm span and a longer blade; in truth, that had little to do with it. As his father had shown with the use of a stiletto and a promised limit to how far he would extend his arm.

That was an embarrassing memory, and perhaps that's why he had avoided it. Fritz had been sulking, crying really, whining about how unfair the training was. He had claimed that without the longer arms and sword, he could have easily beaten his father. He was something of a petulant child when he was young, his ignorant arrogance hadn't yet been humbled.

He had screeched in frustration when he was proven wrong in a series of shameful defeats, and he had thrown his practice blade at his father's head, only for it to be deflected contemptuously. His father had not been pleased, at the childish tantrum and had sternly rebuked him. It was one of the few times Fritz had managed to make his father actually angry.

He starkly remembered the glaring green eyes and the admonishment.

"It is one thing to lose, but to do so without dignity is indefensible. Stop snivelling and retrieve your sword."

While Fritz had heeded that recrimination, he also discarded the harsh emotions that came with it and instead concentrated on the short-lived instruction he had received.

Envisioning the stance, the steps and the motions, Fritz had thrust forward, then slid back. It was wrong, so he had done it again, over and over, listening to the echo of the Technique that rattled in his limbs. Each time it had felt more correct until that last time when the tremor had run over his Sanctum.

That time it had felt right.

Previously, when he had practised, suffering Adam's watchful eye and critical tongue, he had focused too much on his blade, rather than his body and its positioning, thinking that the secret to the Technique. Now he had discovered that it was the control of distance, the space between his foe and himself, that was the true heart of the style. And he now realised Adam had been guiding him to this realisation with all his infuriating focus on stance and footwork that Fritz had quietly been dismissing as rote and redundant.

Though he hadn't voiced those complaints out loud, he worried if he owed the mountain of a man an apology for disparaging him silently every time he was made to do those dull drills. Still, Adam could have just come out and told him how to achieve Journeyman more directly.

Fritz sighed and left his Sanctum, then rose to his feet. He decided to find Bert and tell him of his great achievement. There was an eagerness, too, to find someone on whom to test his new mastery. He found Bert in his room, practising glyphs with Dale stuck stoically to his shoulder. The snail spun one stalk and goggled at Fritz as he entered, then let out a whistle of greeting.

Bert turned his head at the noise, then noticed Fritz.

"Given up the training for tonight?" he asked.

"Quite the opposite," Fritz said. "I need to test my new attainment of Journeyman."

"Journeyman? Really?" Bert grinned, then leapt to his feet. "Well done, Fritz! Just in time, too. What does it do?"

Fritz explained the new effects in simple terms, though he admitted he didn't know the exactitude of his greater mastery.

"Hence why you've come to me," Bert guessed.

"Correct, my good fellow," Fritz said magnanimously. "I need an opponent with whom to test this new height of skill. And of course, who could it be but my brother, the deadly Bloody Bert?"

"Alright!" Bert said, striding up to Fritz and slapping him on the shoulder. "Let's go."

Soon, they were in the yard. Fritz levelled his blunt blade, and Bert took on the compact stance of the Arte Pugilist.

Then they clashed.

Fritz was aware that in a true fight, he had no chance against Bert. The Brute was tough, wily and strong. He was also deceptively swift and decidedly slippery. His further training with the tumbler Adam had found for him to learn from had made him something of a nightmare to trip or trap, which rendered much of the Inevitable Blade's advantages moot.

It was frustrating to see Bert simply bend backwards under a thrust and use the motion to handspring away while sweeping a high kick at Fritz's face. The blow didn't connect, he had to thank his newfound expertise in distance control for that, but he soon realised that Bert was a horrible foe for a swordsman of any kind.

He had a whole arsenal of blade trapping tricks, then grapples and tosses that followed after he had caught your weapon or arm. There was also the fact that each of his limbs were as deadly as bludgeons and could easily break bones if he desired to.

Although it wasn't a good match, Fritz could still use Bert's help to refine his skills. And so they did, for a whole hour. Then the dinner bell rang and they both raced to eat, famished as they were.

There, Fritz announced his good news, and though it was met with smiles and congratulations, there was still a certain air of apprehension, a fear that it wouldn't be enough to survive the next day. He shared the same sentiments, though he didn't let it show. Instead, he smiled as if he hadn't a care in the world and that the duel was but a minor matter, that it wasn't as deadly as he knew it was to be.

They ate, the fare was good, it was almost a feast, a farewell feast if Fritz could guess Cal's intention. The man didn't meet his suspecious stare and raised a mug of weak beer to hide the guilt on his face.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"To Fritz's impending victory," he toasted.

The team around the table joined him, all around motes of fear mingled with those of hope while ripples of uncertainty churned overhead.

"To victory!" They each shouted, each stronger than the last, but none wholly sure.

Fritz smiled, raising his own mug. "To my utmost triumph and the absolute failure of my foes."

They drank to that, too.

Eventually, dinner ended.

Fritz yawned as he made his way up the stairs and to his room. Though he wanted to continue exploring his Technique, he knew he was far too tired to gain anything from any more exertion. He slipped off his clothes and fell into bed, and was asleep by the time his face struck his pillow.

Although he was exhausted, he slept poorly, jolting awake several times, fearing he'd overslept and finding it still dark. Each time, though, he'd fall back into bloody dreams filled with running and the slashing of his sword.

---

The dawn came, and with it Fritz's tutor.

The knocking like thunder had Fritz on his feet before he knew it. He hurriedly ate what was left of his breakfast, then made to greet Adam as he entered the hallway.

"Sir Needle," he called.

"Lord Hightide," Adam replied. "No time to dally, we must be away to the training hall. Every moment here is a wasted one."

"As true as the rain," Fritz agreed, and soon he and his whole team were off.

Adam didn't push them as hard on their morning run, likely, he didn't want to wear Fritz out.

He swiftly discovered that he had been correct, as the first thing Adam did when they reached the training hall was direct his team to go about their normal regimens while he prepared to personally guide Fritz's own training.

Elliot failed to appear. Fritz worried for him, though he knew why he was likely to avoid training. They had fought bitterly the previous day, having still come no closer to reconciling, even after all the time they spent sparring. Not that either wanted to, as they both held their grudges tight. It was foolish, Fritz knew, but he could bring himself to make peace first, not after all the vitriol his brother had spat.

"Lord Hightide, you'll only be doing your stretches today and a small amount of sparring with me. I want to impart as much as I can to you before the duel."

"Why the sudden change?" Fritz asked. "Surely we could have done this sooner."

Adam sighed. "I wanted you to grasp the next stage of Technique mastery on your own. It would have been better for you to learn it that way, but you haven't made as much progress as I had hoped. Now I feel I have to intervene to help your chance at survival. You're close, just at the edge, so it shouldn't harm you too much."

"Harm me?" Fritz asked. "How could your teaching harm me?"

"There are some truths you should arrive at on your own. Techniques especially, in order for you to be able to seek out and comprehend further mastery. However, you've run out of time, so forgive me if I'm blunt."

"Before you start the lesson, shouldn't you test to see how far I've come?" Fritz asked. "Perhaps I'll surprise you."

Adam looked at him sceptically, but shrugged and drew a training sword from his bag. He rolled his neck and raised the blade.

Fritz followed suit, making sure to set his feet just right and bend his knees just so, holding his awkward sword at the perfect angle. His tutor glanced over him, a slight frown creasing his brow as he noticed some small changes.

Adam stepped forward and thrust, Fritz stepped back, avoiding the sword's blunt tip by an inch.

Adam's frown grew deeper, and he pressed forward again, a swift lunge followed by a precise stab. Fritz could tell he wouldn't be able to dodge this strike, so he parried. With a ringing of steel, he deflected his tutor's blade, then riposted in one fluid motion.

Though the attack was aimed at Adam's chest, it was thrust in such a way as to catch him if he dodged left, forcing him to lean to the right instead. With a few more corralling cuts, Fritz felt he could cage Adam in a flurry of steel.

His tutor didn't let him do so, breaking free of the attempted trap with a leap and a laugh.

"You! You were able to reach Journeyman!" Adam grinned and lowered his blade.

"Correct," Fritz admitted. "Though it still doesn't seem enough to catch you, yet."

"You'd have to raise it to Expert, like your father had, before you have a chance at that," Adam said. "Still, what an improvement! You are Tomas's son, and I feel a fool for fearing you wouldn't grasp the Inevitable Blade."

Fritz basked in the praise for a few moments before his tutor continued to speak.

"Well, since I don't have to teach you that Technique any further, or rather, I can't teach you that Technique any further, as you're at the same mastery as I am. Let me instead teach you a trick."

"A trick? Fritz asked eagerly.

"Mhm. It's a Grace Pattern, most suitable for those with Dancer's Grace, like you and I," Adam explained. "It's called the subtle step."

Fritz smiled, excited to learn his first Grace Pattern. He wondered how it would vary from his own attempts to wrap himself in the slippery power or guide himself on its invisible strings.

"Now, I'm not sure if you'll get the hang of it before it's time to leave for your duel, but it's worth a try. You have been keeping aware of your Grace, haven't you?

"I have," Fritz stated.

"Good, then it should be easy," Adam said. "Let's start."

Fritz listened as his tutor talked through the mundane actions of feeling out the Advanced Attribute, then guiding it to his legs. Adam emphasised that he should pay the most attention to his calves, feet and knees, directing most of the energies around the joints.

"You want to focus on smoothness, on fluidity, like you're floating in an ocean of soft music," Adam said. "When you step, let the gentle waves carry you forward."

Fritz nodded and attempted to do so, taking one slight step. He moved Gracefully, but it was hardly different from how he normally moved under the Attribute's auspices. He frowned.

"Almost," Adam said. "Taking a step uses more minute motions than one is usually aware of. It is, in fact, the sequence and simultaneous flexing of tendons, ligaments and muscles all down the lower half of your body. You should empower each part, no matter how small, with your Grace and step in one flowing movement. You want to overrule the natural intents of mundane motion, replacing them with magic."

Fritz frowned and tried again, this time it was less smooth, now that he was made aware of all the 'minute motions', he couldn't help but notice each of them in turn, slowing his step.

"Watch me," Adam said.

He stepped forward. The motion was so smooth that he would have appeared as though he were gliding, if not for Fritz watching his feet step across the stone. It was odd, if impressive, but apart from the gliding quality, he saw nothing that could be considered useful.

"What's the point of this trick?" Fritz asked.

"Hmm? Didn't you see?" Adam asked, smiling slyly. He demonstrated again, though this time he moved swifter and further than before.

"It just looks like you're stepping smoothly. It's fascinating, I'll give you that, but how will it help in a fight?" Fritz asked.

Adam kept on his smile, raised his training blade, and, while using that same smooth step, thrust forward.

This time, Fritz understood.

The step was incredibly hard to read. He couldn't tell at a glance if Adam was stepping left, right or straight. It threw off his sense of distance, and where his current opponent would end up positioned after the movement.

A blunt tip poked his chest, and Fritz grimaced.

"All that learning the Inevitable Blade and it's foiled by a subtle step?" he grumbled.

"Ha. Not quite, you'll get used to it if you see it enough times," Adam comforted. "It's just a trick, after all. Though it is quite useful for feints and deceiving your opponent's sense of distance. Which is why I'm teaching it to you now. With your new mastery of the Inevitable Blade you'll appreciate its true value. And it's easier to teach when you have a solid grasp of stance and space."

Fritz tilted his head thoughtfully, then asked, "Could this subtle step be focused on the hands instead, like gloves?"

Adam nodded sagely. "It can, that's a more advanced stage of the Pattern, though. Master this one first, and the other will follow with some practice."

Fritz heeded the advice and repeated the step many times. Eventually, he was able to perform the Pattern. It was rudimentary, rough, or so Adam said, but an impressive feat nonetheless, especially seeing as he only had an hour to train it.

"This has to be the quickest I've seen someone take to the subtle step," Adam praised. "Though I suppose your talent with that Awareness Pattern you discovered helped. Still, well done. There are just a few more pieces of advice I can give you before you go."

Most of what he said next was practical: make sure you're sword is sharp, check your buckles are fastened tight and fill your Treasures before going into battle, many small but sometimes overlooked things that could cause much trouble if forgotten.

"And lastly, don't give up. Survive at all costs, and wipe the smug smiles off those noble bastards' faces, alright?" Adam said with a grim grin.

"Alright," Fritz agreed.

"You've done well so far, just another step," Adam said.

Fritz nodded.

The early morning passed while they continued to practice. After another hour, they both left the training hall, returning home in the gloomy morning rain. The clouds above were dark, an omen that it would storm later in the day.

Fritz ate a sparse breakfast, not because the table was bare, but because he couldn't force much down with his stomach squirming as it was. He took a few remedies, retired to his room and prepared himself for his duel.

He strapped on his breastplate and belted Quicksilver and Mortal Edge. He arrayed himself with all of his Treasures as well as the two new additions of the Circle of Potent Reflections and the Treasure the King had given him, which was called The Mermaid's Respite. He hid the indecent imagery carved upon its bone surface under the cuff of his sirensilk shirt.

He had debated on whether he should wear the decadent silk garment and had eventually decided to do so. It was tough enough to be armour, and if it were ruined saving his life, he could have it mended. If not, well, better a ruined shirt than a swift death.

Soon, he was ready to leave, and the hour of his duel slowly approached.

There was a knock at the door below, then some loud voices, then he waited for someone to fetch him.

Cassandra appeared, signing furiously. "Storm Guard!"

Fritz nodded, having expected them to come, and he made his way down the stairs resolutely.

He reached the landing, then the hall, and there in the front doorway was a grizzled drizzler officer and his squad of brutes.

Fritz strode right up to them without fear. "Good morning, Guardsmen. What ever is the matter?"

"Good morrow, Lord. I'm Lieutenant Mercer. Me and my squad are to escort you to the arena, for your protection," the Lieutenant claimed.

Fritz didn't like the way the drizzler had said escort and the badly stifled smirks that word brought on amongst the squad behind him. There were almost eighteen of them in total, a number that didn't bode well in Fritz's mind, being far too many for 'protection'.

Still, he couldn't refuse them, so he merely nodded.

"I'll be right along," Fritz said.

"Be quick, Lord," Mercer warned with a scheming grin. "We wouldn't want to have to drag you to the arena. It would be... undignified."

"Quite," Fritz said, before closing the door in the man's ugly face.

He turned to see his whole team staring at him worriedly.

"Are you really going to go with them?" Jess asked. "I don't mean to besmirch the good name of the Storm Guard, but they seemed to be brimming with ill intention."

"I will besmirch them," Bert said. "They looked ready to pull you into an alley and beat you half to death."

"Full to death," Cal muttered.

"Yeah, they were some mean lookin' drizzlers," Rosie agreed. "Hate them bastards."

Fritz nodded. "I hear your concerns and know them to be true. However, I haven't much choice but to go with them."

"You're awfully calm," Lauren observed. "Have you already got something planned?"

Fritz smiled mysteriously, and she rolled her eyes.

"Well, my plan is for you all to come with me," Fritz admitted.

"Alright, we've got your back, Fritz," Cal said.

"Hear, hear," George agreed.

There was a chorus of support from the whole team, and dark muttering of what they would do to the drizzlers if they laid a hand on Fritz.

He felt a warmth in his chest and was emboldened by his friends' easy agreement to help. Even Jess, though leveless, wanted to come to his aid.

Fritz smiled.

"Then put on your arena best, gather round, and we'll be off, together," he announced. "I have two duels to win. And I want you all to see them."

He opened the door to the vicious countenance of the lieutenant.

"This way then, Lord Hightide. The Captain can't wait to meet you."

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