The Gamer Chapter 1597 – Chivalrous Finale – Combat and Knighthood (Patreon)

John did not see Ehtra again until the end of the third and final day of his stay. It had been a much harder day to get through, courtesy of him having to do all of the same things he had done the day before. What had been minorly interesting due to novelty on day 2 was just a slog on day 3. John pushed through anyway, pretending well enough to be diligent and interested. No one around could make out the difference.

After spending hours upon hours shoe-shining, relic polishing, floor mopping, book sorting, and rust removing, he was finally called to the highest floor of the tower.

As a connoisseur of impressive vistas, John had to give the Alpine Knight’s base of operations quite the high rating. The tower itself was impressive enough, its contents historical and practical and its environment wonderfully chosen.

Putting a combat arena on the ceiling was the half-literal cherry on top.

The ring was not a simple open circle, but a large space interrupted by cobblestone pillars. Corridors wove through half-destroyed walls, some of them going all the way to the edge of the roof, with no barrier between the ground and the drop. A fall from this height would not be deadly to the level of people accepted into the knighthood here, but it would hurt – a lot.

Here and there, watching areas rose from the base level, clearly demarcated by using a different kind of stone for the construction. The floor was enchanted marble, keeping the destructiveness of spars between the Alpine Knights confined. The cobblestone pillars were less sturdy – by design. It was clear that this place went through constant cycles of destruction and renewal, shifting the landscape.

As far as sparring grounds went, it was both impressive looking and simulated real combat environments reasonably well.

Rekt stood between John and Marcelia, the tip of his sword resting on the ground. The Gamer knelt, his body clad in the greyish white stone armour. It was his to keep, provided he made it through the final trial. It would be a nice keepsake.

Up above, in the watcher’s area, stood Ehtra among the permanent residents of the tower. Her emerald gaze burned with passive contempt.

“Today we witness the final trial of Squire Newman! May his sword swing true! Combatants, stand!” Upon Rekt’s order, John rose and then looked at Marcelia. She was as much clad in armour as he was, both of them clutching a blunt stone sword. A sword that Marcelia suddenly raised above her head. “Yes, Lady of the Echo?”

“In accordance with our traditions, I acknowledge my own inferiority to the Innate Ability of my squire. For the sake of a proper trial, I wish to call upon a substitute.”

This turn of events did surprise John, although he immediately worked out where this was going.

“Your request is granted, name your substitute.”

“I ask that the visitor Ehtra fight in my stead.”

The First of Hatred reacted too quickly for this not to have been planned over the past couple of days. A gust of wind accompanied the grey angel’s heavy landing. She straightened up, grabbing the sword Marcelia handed her without taking her eyes off John. “I accept this offer,” the ancient weapon spoke loudly and with confidence. “I will fight with honour and according to your traditions!”

‘Well, this complicates things,’ John thought and rolled his shoulders. The code of the Alpine Knights for this trial was straightforward. No magic, only swordsmanship. The intent was to test skill with the blade, not overall power.

Which meant John was in for a struggle.

Marcelia swiftly retreated, leaving John and Ehtra to stand across from each other. The monkish robe was swiftly covered by the First of Hatred’s heavy armour. Black plates, rimmed by the lead grey of Astrotium, encased her in a thick protective layer that managed to be alluring despite covering every bit of skin. The ornate chest plate, especially, underlined the womanly shape of her bosom.

After three days without relief, it was quite distracting.

“By honour!” Rekt shouted.

“”BY HONOUR!”” John and Ehtra echoed, holding their swords with both hands in front of their chests. The pose was broken after exactly three seconds, the combatants picking their stance.

Ehtra’s emerald eyes stared at John. Her helmet was the only part of her armour missing. The Metracana wanted them to be on equal footing in that regard. Rekt took two steps backwards, then shouted a singular word: “BEGIN!”

John immediately twisted sideways. He narrowly escaped a lunge by the First of Hatred, who immediately drew her hand back and went for another swipe. The second attack followed the first so fluidly, that the Gamer was given no opening to retort. A desperate block was all he could do, bracing the sword against the armour of his offhand.

The manoeuvre let him withstand the force of the impact. The impact was too weak and the speed too slow to match what he knew her to be capable of. Her wings remained folded on her back, only tilting to help her balance.

She was holding back, but only enough to give him a chance.

Ehtra went into a flurry of blows. Each strike came at a different pace, prodding John for the speed of his reflexes. Each deflected blow was met with rising contempt on the Metracana’s face. Step for step, John was driven back and step for step she followed.

All the uncertainty Ehtra had for this new age she found herself in was clawed away by the storm of swords she represented. The First of Hatred was more than aggressive – she was relentless. Every swipe of the grey blade was followed by another motion.

John could see Metra’s influence in the attacks. No quarter was given, ground was conquered, and the Gamer found himself driven against one of the pillars. He ducked under a sideways swipe that turned the cobblestone into a scattershot of gravel and plaster.

The pommel nearly connected with John’s temple on the backswing, but he managed to just narrowly get out of the way. Ehtra could have grabbed him with her off hand, pulled him down by the collar and rammed her knee into his face. That was the Akkadian way to fight.

It was to John’s favour that they were fighting an honourable duel.

Ehtra went for another aggressive lunge. This time, the combination of Ehtra holding herself back and John being prepared locked into each other to let his fencing knowledge kick in. He knocked Ehtra’s weapon aside in a technically impressive display.

Ehtra clicked her tongue, then immediately went into an assault of her own again. Three swift strikes connected with John’s pauldrons, making her weapon sing from the impacts. Finding a moment to aggress, the Gamer went for a lunge of his own.

His attack wasn’t just parried, his blade got caught between Ehtra’s own blade and crossguard. Twisting her wrist, she tried to pull the weapon out of his grip, but John managed to predict and move along with the motion.

Again clicking her tongue, Ehtra let his blade dislodge on her terms – which caught John off-guard enough that the blunt edge of the weapon suddenly lay against the side of his neck.

John stopped as he was. It took almost a full second before anyone reacted. The whole exchange had happened at a speed that very few among the knights were capable of following. “Would any of those present doubt this squire’s ability with the blade?” Rekt asked.

The Gamer felt mildly irked by the question and the position he found himself in. The situation, however, was that no one presented any doubt. His showing hadn’t been poor, it had simply been that he was fighting someone he could not hope to beat, even when she was holding back.

Pulling the sword back, Ehtra stepped back and let the remaining ceremony play out as planned. John knelt; Rekt stood before him. “By the power invested in me by the sovereign of Rex Germaniae, her majesty Lydia Augusta the Fourth of House Hohenzollern, I accept you into the order of the Alpine Knights as one of our own.” The flat of the blade landed on one of John’s shoulders. “In accordance with the traditions of the knights of the kingdom, your name will be written into our annals, so that all who doubt your knighthood may find it confirmed.” The blade wandered to the older shoulder. “Now rise, Sir Newman.”

John stood up and immediately blocked the swing of the flat of the blade aiming for the side of his head. “No blow shall meet me unprepared,” he spoke the general vow. Then, as was customary, he spoke his own, “By honour, I am grateful for your hospitality.”

Rekt gave a deeply approving nod. That phrase would become part of his entry into the annals, so presenting something celebrating them was a final sign of good manners. “The final gift of the order,” the old knight said, as a servant approached with a light, smooth stone. “A whetstone, to sharpen your blade and make it one of your own.” The serious conduct broke the moment John took it. “Not that you will need it, Mister President.”

John smirked and rolled his shoulders. The energy in the air shifted, now that the three days had run their course. It had been an interesting experience, all in all. “I will keep them among the rest of my treasures,” he promised. “The blade will be sharpened and the armour well maintained.”

“Good.” Rekt gave John a pat on the shoulder. “I know that you’re not of the same cloth as us true knights, but you honour the traditions and that is more than I can say about even most lords and ladies. You’ll make a fine king-consort.”

John took the compliment with a deep bow of his head. It was doubtlessly among the highest a man like Rekt could give.

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John tugged on his sleeves. After three days in that squire uniform, being back in his suit felt almost uncomfortably comfortable. The fabric was lighter, smoother, and more flexible, all things he enjoyed, but his skin took a moment to get used to it again.

Ehtra was also back in her previous clothes. The maid uniform looked especially odd at this time of day, for some reason. Night had fallen over the Alps. The two of them stood at the edge of the road, waiting for their ride to arrive.

The silence was uncomfortable. Nothing about Ehtra’s body language gave John an in. Her arms were crossed, her eyes closed, and her shoulders turned away from him. If they had been closer, John would have considered grabbing her by the sides and tickling her until she snapped out of it. They were not that close and, by consequence, John had no idea if that even was a solid plan. If he did that with Salamander in a situation like that, he knew it would work. If he did it with Nathalia, there was a 50/50 chance he’d get his nose broken by a flying elbow. If he did it with Undine, he could have just signed his death sentence.

He had not yet worked out what Ehtra’s signs of true anger were and so it was best to wait until she said something.

Which she did just as the car rolled up.

“It has been six days since you contracted me, hasn’t it?”

Those were words. Very cryptic words. Her eyes were still closed, the lids borderline clenched shut, her expression extremely annoyed. The Gamer felt like that was somehow his fault. Ehtra certainly had the unique gift of making him feel like a normal man, in the sense that he had no idea what he had done wrong or if he even had.

Fortunately, he was not actually a normal man. Scanning through his memory and past conversations with her, he swiftly put 0,59 and 1,41 together. The car came to a halt in front of them. “Hello, Sir,” Lydia’s butler greeted them, after rolling down the window. “Back to the airport, I assume?”

“Actually,” John spoke up, watching Ehtra smile slightly at that single word, “I’d appreciate it if you could sacrifice an hour for us. We’d like to have a look around Milan.”

“Most certainly, Sir.”