Duellist's Road: No Shortcuts - A LitRPG Fantasy Adventure Page 2

  To me, this world where you won or lost by existing just felt like a mockery of the life my friends and I had lived. It was childish, I knew. But if I let this man’s [Swordsmanship] exist unchallenged…I felt like everything I’d done up to this point would be pointless. Not to mention…I wanted to show that those stats didn’t matter that much. To prove that Johan’s actions had been inexcusable, that what he had done for the sake of magic hadn’t been worth it. Failing to do that felt much scarier than dying.

  And so, there I stood. As something almost like a villain, wanting to push my ideals onto this world that had no reason to adhere to them. It suited me just fine.

  If I’m right…[Swordsmanship] should have a few flaws to exploit. If I’m wrong…well, I already died once. One way to find out. Magic versus skill. Let’s rock.

  “Look man!” he cried out. “Look at the difference in our [Skills]!”

  He swung his sword—a rapier—at the ground. The moment the sword touched the ground, it produced a giant hole, smoke still coming off it seconds later. “Do you see?” he asked desperately.

  I did see it. [Swordsmanship] in this world lets you do fatal amounts of damage the moment the sword connected with its target. I had witnessed it before in a street duel a little while before.

  That explosion doesn’t happen every time though—the user has to will it to occur. This was good—duels were a sport here and most people didn’t have a reason for trying to kill their opponents. Not just that, but the explosion comes from the tip of the sword after it makes contact with its target. This was good because it meant my arm wouldn’t just explode the moment our blades touched—though I’d like to avoid the steel colliding if I could, anyhow. While I could theoretically parry him without triggering the explosion, I didn’t think I would have the strength to do so.

  “I’m sorry for putting you in such a bad position,” I said, slowly. I meant it, too. “You seem like a good man. But please understand, I’d rather die than give up here.”

  Valle hesitated. “Allow me to give you a handicap, at least. The Champion of Cresna must not partake in a massacre, let me make it into a real match—if you hit me once, I’ll surrender.”

  I shook my head. “In my land, we go to fifteen hits—or five, at a minimum.”

  “Five? That’s the custom in your land, you say? I understand. We go to five here as well, usually.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I will not forget your bravery, Carr the Duellist,” Valle said, as he fell into his stance. “From the bottom of my heart—I respect you more than many with superior numbers than you.”

  Don’t say that, you’re making me feel like the villain.

  His stance distracted me from any thoughts of morality. The man wielded a rapier, but both his shoulders and both his feet were pointed straight at me, like he was about to jump at me like a frog. What atrocious footwork. Then again, maybe he didn’t need footwork when he could evaporate people with a touch of his sword. But lord, it looked so awkward and wrong. Like the sword was never meant to be held that way. How did a weapon like a rapier even develop in a world like this? The question burned in my mind. If I survived, I would consider it later.

  I fell into my stance too, and here the murmurs of the crowd showed everyone was confused at what I was doing. It wasn’t anything too spectacular. It was a traditional fencing stance, epee in my right hand, right foot pointed forward, and left foot trailing behind me pointed sideways, my feet forming an L-shape. I bent my knees slightly and raised my free hand up in the air, fist semi-closed and lined up near my left shoulder for balance’s sake—this part varied among fencers, though people can get weird about where they place their off-hand.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Fencing,” I replied. “What are you doing?”

  Before we could talk more, the announcer’s booming voice indicated the start of the fight. “START THE DUEL!”

  Hesitantly, Valle pointed his blade at me, the tip aimed straight at my heart. In response, I pointed my blade away from his, the tip pointed nearly at the sky. This confused him greatly. “Why—do you not intend to parry? Must you allow me a free hit?”

  “Parrying someone like you? Are you insane?” I cried out. “The only way to fight someone like you is through absence-of-blade. It’s a strategy from back home for dealing with people who had stronger bladework than us. And when it comes down to it…that’s just what you are, aren’t you?”

  I had a theory regarding parries, but frankly I was unwilling to test it. Even if I were correct, I wasn’t a fan of parries to start with—absence-of-blade was my preferred method of engagement even back on Earth. Point your blade away from your opponent and fight by controlling the distance between the two of you with your feet—that’s how I liked to fence.

  “You—” Valle rushed at me, unwilling to finish his own sentence.

  Time to test my next assumption about the magic [Swordsmanship] here.

  Valle was incredibly fast—but not too fast for me to follow.. His [Swordsmanship] appeared to guide his body forward, his muscles the puppet and his [Skill] the strings. I kicked the ground with a bounce and retreated backwards to avoid a cutting action—why was he trying to cut me with a rapier as his first move?—and maintained distance. Valle was as confused as I knew he would be.

  I watched some duels in this world. Here, they clashed sword against sword, and tried to break them with their overwhelming magic power. The amount of damage dealt and deflected by each swordsman depended on their [Swordsmanship] as well as the angle where the attack came from, so at least a little bit of skill was at play, though a high [Swordsmanship] would never lose to a low one.

  Not until today.

  Looks like assumption number two is correct as well.

  [Swordsmanship] increased their speed to a degree—not an inhuman one so far—but it did not increase their range. Whatever their regular reach would be on a lunge didn’t change, they just finished their lunge movement faster. More importantly, the recovery time hadn’t changed. If anything, it was slower than a regular lunge because of how fast the movement was without having the muscles to compensate for it.

  When Valle attacked me a moment ago and missed, he took a while to return to a position where he could attack again. This was normal for regular fencing but it was interesting that it also worked like this for their magic [Swordsmanship]. Why does this magic have these limitations? This meant I had a chance.

  Of course, the question of why the magic had such limitations persisted, but that was a concern for a different day. Today was about winning.

  Valle lunged at me, and I saw my chance. In this world where clashes—they were too unrefined to be called parries—were all that existed, he wasn’t going to be ready for this. Before his movement started, I had moved my sword hand high and angled the tip of my blade downward as I took a step back. His lunge became faster, but at that point it didn’t matter—my trap was already in place. His forearm met the tip of my blade, raised over his own, and the impact stopped him immediately while I took a step back.

  The crowd gasped.

  “THE CHALLENGER HAS LANDED A HIT!”

  “He hit Valle?”

  “With zero [Swordsmanship]? That’s impossible!”

  “Maybe he has a [Skill] to hide his stats?”

  “That’s the only way! He must’ve cheated!”

  It was impossible for them to understand, but only because they didn’t see swordsmanship as I did. After all, in this world, [Skills] reigned supreme. And it wasn’t as though I didn’t understand their confidence.

  Particularly after that exchange.

  My arm was shaking a lot. Though I landed the first hit, that speed was borderline inhuman, and I knew that if the blade touched me, I would have died. If I hadn’t put up my blade as a precaution…

  His top speed is so much faster than what he was showing up until this point. That was horrifying. It was still something I could follow with my e
yes albeit only barely. It was like the difference between an average fencer and an Olympian. If that’s how fast he is with 735 [Swordsmanship] and 132 [Sword], how fast would someone with higher numbers than he be? Could I beat them? No, more than that, I have to focus. This match isn’t done yet—

  “Hey,” Valle asked, in a low voice. He didn’t sound angry, but he didn’t raise his head and looked at the ground as he spoke. “What was that move?”

  “It was a stop-hit.”

  “A stop…hit?”

  “It’s a common technique back home. Parries stop the opponent’s momentum. Stop-hits are about letting your opponent attack, but stopping their movement by having them run into your blade. You place the tip of your blade where you think their arm is gonna be when they lunge, and control the distance by stepping in and out at the right time. Even if they’re much faster than you, fencing isn’t just about speed, it’s also about timing. I put my blade up before you started attacking me—it’s something you are trained to do when stepping backwards in case they give chase. I don’t think I could have done it on raw reflex.”

  “Timing, huh…” He said, slowly. There was a deep sigh, and then, suddenly, he looked up at me with a smile and dropped his blade. “It is my defeat. You hit me once, Carr.”

  “W—what?” I cried.

  The crowd echoed my concerns, albeit much more loudly. A sort of pandemonium seized the arena. Many shouted, some cried, a mixture of shock and horror taking them over at once.

  “I said five hits!” I protested. “I only got one!” Don’t you dare give up now! If you fence me at that speed I don’t know if I can win. Let’s finish the match!

  “And I said one,” Valle replied. “I said I understood the rules of your land—I ask you that you understand the rules of my land. This is our compromise.”

  I had no argument against that. I saluted him to acknowledge the match — and then, the only stat I truly cared about changed before my eyes.

  [Carr the Duellist]

  [Wins]: 0 → 1

  VS. Valle the Champion of Cresna

  [Losses]: 0

  [Draws]: 0

  —

  [Valle the Champion of Cresna]

  [Wins]: 97 → 96

  [Losses]: 3 → 4

  VS. Carr the Duellist

  VS. Lezander the Master of Steel

  VS. Stefano the Second Blade

  VS. Estella the World Champion

  [Draws]: 0

  It had been a beautiful match. Despite his apparent calmness, Valle’s fist was shaking and he was looking at the ground. And even so, he refused to fight for more than one point. He’s holding himself to a promise not even I would have asked him to.

  I had come to this world full of anger and hatred. For the system and for those who took part in it. But looking at the man across from me, I could not help but feel wrong. My hatred for those stupid goddamn numbers won’t change. But Valle, you really are…someone I can respect.

  Sometimes, I wonder. If I hadn’t met Valle that day, if instead I had merely crossed blades with an ignorant swordsman who relied on their numbers and cared little for the art. Yet I had come across this man, the one man in this goddamn place who stood at the top of the food chain and yet somehow did not resent me for beating him. He was frustrated, yes, but he blamed no one but himself.

  After that match, there would be times when I couldn’t sleep and always came back to the same thought, Valle, if it hadn’t been for you, I would have lived and died in this world like a bitter lunatic. This match meant more to me than I could say. “Thank you,” I whispered, though I doubted he could hear me.

  The crowd did not seem intent on quieting down enough for my words to carry.

  Have you ever stood at the centre of a stadium and looked up at a screaming crowd? It’s a disorienting, alienating feeling. You feel their energy, their passion, but it can actually be incredibly hard to discern whether they love or hate you. I frankly had no idea which one it was, at that moment. I knew only that they were loud enough that I could feel their screams.

  “This could be bad,” I muttered to myself.

  Chapter 2

  Celle

  I have to act fast, goddamn it. I hate this job so goddamn much.

  Ten months I had been working here and not once had I seen a riot, but neither had I seen a man defeat the champion this city was so proud of. Valle was their ray of hope, the one duelist with stats high enough to make Cresna a respectable city compared to the others in the Empire. To see him lose his 97 duel streak to a duellist with zero stats was beyond outrageous.

  “—Damn it Valle, you—”

  “—This is what you get for playing around—”

  “—It was bound to happen sooner or later—”

  “—That’s why the goddamn town is never gonna—”

  Valle accepted the screams without complaint. He raised his sword to the sky and took in the jeers, but something about the way he stood there stoically in spite of his loss got him a few cheers as well. Wisely, he retreated into the waiting area before the mood shifted further and I couldn’t help but follow him. I didn’t know Valle too well, but I saw him often enough at work and it was hard not to be a little concerned with him. I was interested in Carr as well, but he appeared to be awkwardly dealing with the announcer raising his hand and introducing him to the crowd as the winner. I should have the time to check up on Valle and still make use of him. Carr had defeated someone much stronger than him…I could benefit from that a lot, financially speaking. Oh, the gambling odds—! Good thing I’m an idiot and bet on him at the start.

  Why had I done that? Were it not for a miracle, I would just have lost a large amount of money. Because the odds were that appealing, that’s why.

  “That…was some bad luck out there,” I said as I walked into the locker room. Valle was sitting by a corner, a towel draped over his head and looking down. “You think he used some sort of [Skill]? Or did you…” There was a question I wanted to ask but didn’t dare: Valle had a reputation for lowering his own [Swordsmanship] during matches for reasons only he understood. No one liked his habit, but, well…he won every time anyhow. Nobody could really complain. Things were different now that he had lost.

  “He wasn’t hiding his strength and I didn’t go easy on him. I did not lower my stats at any point—well, not more than normally. My stats were maxed out in that last exchange, but he beat me in a fair match.”

  “But how?” I asked. It occurred to me that it was rude to ask someone who had just suffered the worst defeat of his life that question, but my curiosity got the better of me. “How did he land that hit?”

  “You know…if two [Swords] meet, their power ends up being drawn to each other like magnets, yes? So you end up clashing them against each other over and over and the winner is whoever has the superior [Swordsmanship]. That guy, Carr…his sword didn’t have any stats either. My sword wasn’t attracted to his. So he just worked around my blade and hit me.” Valle spoke with a low quiet tone throughout all this, as if at a funeral. Then, at the end, abruptly, he laughed. “Most interesting, do you not agree?”

  “Insane, more like it. What’s wrong with him? Yeah, this gives him a chance to get a hit in but…without the magnetism, there’s nothing keeping his opponent’s sword from hitting him. And he had no [HP] either! If one of your moves had landed on him, they would have killed him!”

  “Yet none of my strikes landed, did they now?” he asked thoughtfully. “I do not think anyone ever realized…just how far you can push yourself if you resolve to throw away your life.”

  “This isn’t how I expected you to react,” I told him frankly. His winning streak he was so proud of had been destroyed by a nobody. How could this not affect him? No. It definitely affected him. Valle was smiling, but he was breathing heavily, and his fingers were shaking slightly. He’s taking this well, but he needs his privacy. I should leave. “I’ll leave you alone now,” I told him, trying to sound casual. “Don’t
worry, the crowd will stop their heckling soon. This wasn’t a title match, and you’re still their precious champion. They’ll remember that. Embarrassing loss or not—” Valle winced at the word “—you winning so many matches is the reason Cresna is a province of the Empire instead of a minor city. They can’t forget that. They won’t.”

  Just as I was about to leave the room, Valle said, “It is fine if they do.” I didn’t turn around, but I waited for him to finish. “If I win, chant my name. If I misstep, let me have it. I need not any mercy…the cheers and the jeers, I shall take them both. Any regrets I have I’ll leave on the duelling piste.”

  There was a kind of barely contained frustration in his tone; the sort of angry blame one usually directs at everyone but themselves. Here, however, it seemed as though he revelled in the blame. A possessive tone was about: this is my fault, don’t you dare steal it from me, his tone seemed to say.

  Not knowing what else to say, I nodded and left.

  Now, time to find sword boy. Carr…I bet some gold on him for the hell of it, but the odds were so ridiculous that I still made a lot of money from that. If I can get him to fight some more matches…I just might make enough money to make that impossible dream a reality.

  I was going to solve that murder, and if it meant buying the goddamn crime scene then that was fine with me. All it would take would be a few more upset wins from Sword Boy.

  When I entered his private waiting room, he was sitting down and appearing to inspect his blade for damages. Upon taking notice of me, he flashed a smirk, the kind that says “Showed you, didn’t I?”

  That you did. But let’s not let you know what your value is just yet. “Valle has a bad habit,” I said, trying to appear nonchalant. “He likes to lower his [Swordsmanship] to around the level of his opponent.”