Revan Returns (Ch 36) (Patreon)

It takes another ten minutes before the opponent Grandmaster Yoda chose enters the room, and I can’t help but feel irritated.

Not only did he keep me waiting for five minutes, but then I was also able to do several spars! Overall, I’ve probably been waiting about thirty minutes at this point. Self-important prick.

I can tell he has an important position in the Order  just by his appearance. It’s in his stride, in the way his head is tilted just enough that he can look down on the person he’s talking to.

But most noticeable is his eyes. His eyes convey the message that he knows that he’s better than you. At least, that’s what they convey to the people who shy away when he looks at them.

Me?

All I see is someone who’s become comfortable in their position of power. Of course, he wouldn’t have gotten his position if he wasn’t capable. The question then, is how deserving is his confidence? Or has he simply become arrogant?

He looks me up and down, the light reflecting off of his bald head. “You are the one Master Yoda has arranged for me to fight?”

I nod. “That’s correct. Your Grandmaster seems to think highly of your skills. I hope you won’t disappoint me.”

“Arrogant, aren’t you. I suppose that he wished for me to humble you.” Someone from the gathered crowd steps forward and hands him a training lightsaber. He takes it without so much as looking at the boy, who silently backs away. Judging by how nobody else is reacting, this must be a common occurrence.

Though I suppose that it isn’t any of my concern. I think as I prepare my own blade.

We face each other, studying our opponent’s form. I’m surprised that he’s taken form seven, Juyo, considering he’s a Jedi. Its use had largely fallen out of favor for the Order due to how often its practitioners fell to the Dark Side. Though his stance is slightly different from what I’ve seen. Perhaps a new variation?

Either way, the base form is likely the same. The fact that he’s obtained such a position while not succumbing to the form speaks well of his skill.

Seemingly running out of patience, the man charges at me with an upward swing. Instead of trying to block, I let it flow upwards along the length of my blade. With that out of the way, I duck low, bringing my weapon around to slash at his stomach.

He manages to twist out of the way, a power-filled overhand blow falling towards me. I continue my previous movement, stepping out of range of his attack and letting it fall behind me.

I turn back around and quirk an eyebrow at the look in his eyes. It was a quick exchange of blows where neither of us actually hit our opponent. But the skill in our movements was obvious.

“Well now,” I say. “This might be more interesting than I thought.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” he replies, adopting a serious expression.

We charge, exchanging a rapid flurry of blows as aim to land even a single hit on our opponent. But it’s in vain, as they are all either blocked or deflected. Neither of us plans to back away anymore.

But as we fight, I notice something odd. He seems to be getting faster. His blows are striking harder. To describe it more simply, he seems to be putting more passion into his attacks than when we started.

As we continue to exchange blows, I start to notice what’s going on. It’s not that he’s finally getting warmed up, but that he’s drawing upon the Force.

The Dark Side of the Force.

Somehow, he’s managed to draw power from the Dark Side of the Force without letting himself be enveloped by it. An impressive feat. Especially for a prominent member of the Jedi Order.

Too bad that won’t be enough to defeat me.

I open my own connection to the Force, letting it flow through me. Enhancing my body. My opponent’s eyes widen as my own movements become even faster than they were before.

He’s starting to get pushed back, his own technique and skill failing to measure up to my own. And I know why.

His attacks lack thirst.

They lack a thirst to land a hit. To strike me down. They lack a thirst for my blood. For my life.

His attacks are confident, no hesitation when he strikes.

He’s killed before, his skills show that much.

But he has never been in a true battle.

He has never been to war.

He lacks bloodlust.

He lacks the desire for the kill.

In times of peace, this could be acceptable. Perhaps even lauded. People would be reassured by his presence. By the surety that while he can keep them safe, he is not dangerous.

But this is not a time of peace. The fact that the Force decided that it was needed for me and my crew to be shot four millenia into the future is proof of that.

This is not a time for peacekeepers.

It is a time for warriors. A time for fighters.

And I’ll make sure that they’ll be up to whatever challenge they’ll face.

And to do that, I have to teach my opponent the difference between a desire to win, and a desire to conquer.

He’s purely on the defensive now, putting his all into blocking the flurry of blows I send to him.

The observers watch in awe at the dazzling display of skills before them. They’ve never seen anything like it. More to the point, they’ve never seen Master Mace Windu pushed back like this before.

I alter my next attack. Instead of striking at his arm like he had thought, I quickly bring my weapon down on his leg. He grits his teeth though and keeps fighting. Using the brief window of opportunity landing my blow gives him, he brings his own saber down with a yell.

But a quick push of the Force from my feet propels me safely out of the way. He looks at me with consternation, knowing what this means. But he wouldn’t be a Master of the Jedi Order, a member of the Jedi Council, if he simply surrendered when something got difficult.

He dashes to me, the leg I struck limping the slightest bit. Just enough that it dulls his reactions.

After one final clash, I disarm him. His lightsaber arcing away, lost in the crowd now. With my blade’s tip under his chin, I smile at him.

Knowing his position, he nods his head, careful of my weapon. “I yield. The win is yours.”

Shocked silence permeates the room for just a moment. Then it breaks out into shouts of awe at the display they’d just seen. They excitedly speak to each other about it, though none of them approach my opponent.

Meanwhile, my crew gathers around me, sending smug looks at the assembled Jedi. Their thoughts are all the same as they watch them.

That’s right. Our captain did that. And you haven’t seen anything yet.