Chapter 1

Writers note: this is my first fanfic, I wanted to do this to improve my writing skills, I'm a big fan of this series and have tried to make it as accurately as possible to the rangers universe, complete with a new nation based off the way Flanigon creates his nations.

I would love some yummy reviews, they make this story a priority, which could get to a chapter a day state, letting us finish this story within a month :)

if you haven't read any of the rangers books (1-11) spoiler alert i want to make references to everything add bait of nostalgia for you all, this is years after, so, yeah, there should be an appearance of all of major characters, enjoy :)

Horace sighed. These men where excellent, in perfect unison, perfect discipline, and also, perfect form. One on one, they were vicious, quick, skilled and deadly, Very deadly. They were the legionnaires, men that were raised to fight since they could walk, in every discipline a man could learn; shooting, spear throwing, sword fighting, and unarmed combat.

He was in the country of Itilaner, a recently discovered race that the Silesian commission quickly sent embasitors to collect royal signs and presses for. Under the treaty of recons, that king Duncan recently formed with italinese, a few expert fighters from both nations from would be sent to each other to analyze military might. For Horace, this had been his third military mission, so protocol was easily picked up upon.

Horace stared, once again, at the ensemble of men in front of him, they were brilliant in every way, but he needed to know just how well. "General lageine! Can I speak with you?" he said in the common tongue.

"ALL STOP" said the general; every man stopped their actions, and stood fast, awaiting orders. "At ease men" and they stood easier a small murmur from one man to another, but general silence.

"General, I wish to know just how good your best man is with the sword, I wish to spar with one" Horace said in an under-tone, the general grinned, so far this young man simply watched his soldiers, in perfection, performing drills, tactical moves and positions, but not there sword skill, he'd be in for a surprise, he thought.

In truth, Horace knew a fair bit of Italinese fighting, both of which, he was suppose to see, and what he shouldn't of.

While being prince of castle Araluen had some responsibility's, but there was seldom little to do, the country had been at peace for some time, he had gone past the expertise of all of the sword masters of Araluen and kept his sword skill to that level. But he wanted to learn something new, so over the years, he would take extended leave to Redmont, to seek tut-age in silent and unseen movement. Some years previous he had the enjoyment of being able to wear halts camouflage cloak, and as one of he's gifts that halt got him, was, to his thorough enjoyment, a cloak, that was his size. Although he went to whiteby fief for instruction of the sword from Gillian, he also asked about unseen movement. And he now became quite the sneaker, he thought.

So for the month he stayed in the battle schools of itilaner, at night, he would put his cloak on. And sneak around to see the privet instruction that was given to men who were talented in the art of swordplay. What he saw was not foreign, but impressive none of the less, he knew what he was up against. And he knew that none here was a massive threat, he knew many styles of sword art, and even indulged in learning the art of the senshi blade, the katana, and incorporated it into his own style.

Horace's thoughts snapped back into focus "you won't be disappointed, ci Horace" the general replied, with a stilted common tongue, and a wolfish grin. " In fact, I myself, will face you in a spar of swordplay". A non-humorous smile was what Horace replied with, "You wont be disappointed either, general," thought Horace grimly.

That night he got himself equipped, recently he had visited shigeru in nihon-ja and had been given the gift of a senshi katana, shorter then a normal sword it was thinner but still to the standard of nihon-ja master smiths, it was meant to be worn on the back, across the shoulder blade, for easy unsheathing, his shield, usually a bigger then the one he wore, he recently acquired a well made skandian shield, but it was big and lumber some, meant for open battle, today he was wearing a smaller spanion-shield, designed with expertly tempered metals able to block the mightiest of swords. At his waist was the familiar shape and feel of his sword, crafted by a long time friend, perfectly balanced. A sudden wave of calmness swept over him. He was ready.

As he walked down the corridor to the arena that was built in the battle school, he once again marveled at the beauty of such a place, all of the government buildings were made with no wood but stone, carved pillars that would tower three Horace's above himself. There were no doors in Itelian but instead cloth drooped over in its place.

Walking into the courtyard where the battle would take place he saw many of the soldiers were perhaps thirty, were clean-shaven and had shaved heads, creating a certain uniform.

All men were named like so: 1a17

You would be in the first legionnaire of the A legion unit of the seventeenth platoon. You weren't a person in Itelian if you didn't have a number. And you didn't have a number if you weren't trained in the army, the result? Slaves and women were dirt. Every italinese man was a soldier by trade, politically eligible by the age of 40 and ascended in the same ranking system of the military. It's effective, but harsh.

As he walked into the circle he saw the general standing there, a shield that was rectangular and had a star, indicating rank, his sword was a plain steal temper, around his waist, and a battle spear in his hand.

The rules were spoken, with an indifference that only formality could deliver but in the corner of his eye, he saw last minute bets made. The rules were simple, no neck shots, or vital body shots. The battle lasted until yield was called.

Horace was calm, circling his opponent, sending an ever so slight feign in one direction, to test the generals reaction, the feign was obvious, and purposely so, it was to draw his opponent out. The general made his feign also, but not as smooth, as it was with a war spear. Horace saw something; it's been his hand. Fidgeting, the man was a short sword fighter. Horace decided to show the general how silly he was to make a lumber-sum log a shield. He quickly dashed in, inside the range of the gruesome war spear, rendering it useless. He was mistaken; the general was prepared, already digging his spear in the ground hiding behind his shield. But it was a trick; Horace realized and quickly danced backwards, with the gracefulness of a dancer. The big shield was a trick, there were two leather thongs attached to a smaller shield, a man would carry the smaller shield, attached to the bigger shield, that could be quickly be detached. The resulting general hopped out side the cover of the barricade-like shield. With a small shield, and his short sword drawn, swinging it in experimental arcs, he was winning this battle.

Horace grinned, this is what he came for, he knew that the legions had a knack of making tricky battle preparations, there were three weapons they would carry, a sword, war spear, and short sword, and be masters at all of them. The man was wickedly fast, he was a professional, he was born and raised to fight, senior to Horace in years, and experience.

The man circled with Horace in quick and weary circles, "this man is strange" he thought. "How can he stand against me being tricked about my style three times, and sitting here as cool as a cucumber?" he was not sure of Horace's ability, though he assumed it would be good, or at least adequate. He decided he needed to test Horace's abilities, he quickly lashed out, with a sequence taught to him since he was five, and was retained in his head till this very day. He lunged forward with his short sword quickly twisting his wrist so the sword flicked up at his opponents face, easily parry-able, followed by a side step and a back hand and forehand stroke, the replied parries were done with an ease known only as contemptuous.

Horace smiled, this man was quick, he liked men who were quick, they were a finer fight. Horace decided he would draw out the fight as much as possible, to assess all the abilities of this man. Horace quickly replied with a deadly movement of a sweeping blow, replied by a hasty block from the mans shield, reversing the grip and using a senshi grip to finish four devastating blows, that were a blur of motion. They were all blocked, only just. Horace decided he had one more ploy to try.

General lageine was panting. This man was toying with him! He was deadly skilled, he knew techniques that were very foreign, not even to his knowledge did he see some kind of reverse grip like that. Well, he needed to do something. Lageine decided to attack textbook style, hitting textbook combinations of strokes, hoping to make up for skill with his astonishing speed that he always relied on in battle. And it worked! The man was faltering in his blocks, losing his ground, this was his match.

Horace kept his face in a frown of concentration, feigning a sense of worry. Deep down he was smiling, he was playing with this mans mind, getting him to make desperate moves, and to see what he would do when he thought he had the fight under control. Stroke after stroke, his shield was becoming weaker, he wanted to make all appearance of loosing a battle, and he wanted to see what the man would do. The man was fit, he was strong and athletic able to keep a constant barrage of sword strokes.

"So" Horace thought "there all very fit, that's evident, he doesn't seem to slow, now, lets finish this show now." and Horace did something that would frightened any man when he was in a fight thinking he was winning, he smiled.

Horace also did something else, he undid his shield, and slid it off at the same time as the next strike, making a stumble in the mans rhythm, Horace drew his katana and his sword, doing something he invented, the hybrid wield, now with blindingly fast speed, he released a labyrinth of strokes, dazzlingly fast, extremely complicated. Stabbing with reaping in the other hand, the general saw that he had now way of defeating this man, he was blindingly fast, and with no reprieve, this man was not only fast, he was inconceivably complex, his moves and strokes varying in speed and velocity, strokes, Horace could tell you, that were drawn from Galician and Hibernian, and even from Nihon-ja art forms of the sword. The man actually trembled under the weight and quick speed of Horace's strokes, he was defeated, he knew. "YEILD, I YEILD PLEASE!" lageine gasped.

Horace stopped mid stroke and offered the man his hand, as he had fell on the ground. "You fought well today general. I'm honored to have of fought against you." Horace said in front of a completely astonished crowd, Horace bowed, and left the room.

The day after Horace left Itelian. He needed to get home. Quickly.

the reason why will be soon, there will be some rich back storying, hopefully, remember to review, it will inspire me to push pass any writers block, and give me super human strength, kinda like coffee is to the rangers, and spinach is to pop-eye (yeah, i went there)