Roland sighed as he walked through the streets of Royal Carnava. He was in an unfamiliar town and he was sorry that he had left his home in the mountains far beyond Carnava's borders. Everyone kept staring at him, and it annoyed him. He guessed that his clothes were part of the reason people stared. He was dressed in a long red coat that fell to just below his shins and was split at the bottom; twice in the front and once in the back. The coat fit him perfectly, almost like a second skin and its blood-like color made him stand out from the crowd. He had spent considerable time customizing the coat; it was made of an extremely rare material called mythril, while it was as flexible and soft as silk, it provided an effective barrier against physical attacks. The mythril that he had used to create the coat was even rarer than regular mythril, for the mythril of his coat was a special kind that repelled some magical attacks in addition to repelling physical attacks. This gave him a great advantage over most adversaries. He wasn't invincible however; his head, neck, hands, and boot encased feet were not protected by the coat so he had to be careful to keep his sword skills sharp. Roland preferred using the katana that was sheathed on his left hip. The sword was forged of the same mythril as his coat but the blade was an iridescent silvery-white color. It was an unusual sword; it had an elegantly designed hilt with alternating bands of black and metallic-grey metal and a metallic-grey metal hilt guard that looked like a straight fang; rounded on one side and pointed on the opposite side, positioned so that the pointed side would face the enemy, and had a matching scabbard. Also the sword would only leave the sheath if, and only if, Roland drew it. Roland was a master swordsman and this mastery had saved his life on more than one occasion, when thieves or Beast Fiends attempted to end his life. Although he almost never used it, Roland was also a very skilled magic wielder. He had learned his spells from the books in his mountain home. Although he preferred using his sword, Roland had also worked hard to master the six elemental magical styles of Fire, Wind, Water, Nature, Light, and Shadow Frost. He had studied all the styles for nearly as long as he had studied swordsmanship and as a result, Roland could incorporate any magic element into his combat style.
Roland moved out of the way of a battalion of soldiers that were patrolling, he didn't want to have to fight those incompetent lackeys just because he was having a bad day. Their captain, though, was different; he was a bear of a man and held a long handled battle axe that could have doubled as a spear. His armor was light grey, large, and bulky with a red cape hanging from the back of the shoulder pieces. His armor identified him as a front line fighter, one that mowed down his opponents. He carried himself like a true warrior, despite his graying hair, which stuck out of the bottom of his helm. His hair was curled into rolls at the end, signifying that the man was of nobility. To round it off, he had a short grey moustache and a close-cropped short grey beard. His movements were not those of an amateur, this was no snobbish pampered geezer that bought his way into the military. No this man was a true soldier; one that reached his position through blood, sweat, and hard work. This man had earned his rank. As they passed each other, Roland's eyes met the old soldier's and gave a curt nod as a sign of respect to the older man's skills.
The old man's reaction was similar, although his eyes slightly widened at the sight of the dark haired young man in his late teens to early twenties, clothed in a coat the color of fresh blood, carrying a strange sword on his hip and walking like a true warrior. He nodded his head in turn at the young man's sign of respect for a fellow warrior. The old man knew that the oddly clothed young man was no mere amateur trying to impress somebody. No, this young warrior knew how good he really was, and if the way he walked was any indication; he was a warrior of unbelievable caliber. 'By the Queen!' The old veteran thought to himself, 'If I had half a score of soldiers like him, the Beast Fiends would be eradicated in no time!' Turning to his men, the older soldier barked out commands, "Alright men! Continue your patrol and when you're finished return to the castle and help with the preparations for the festival tonight. I will join you later at the castle."
"YES SIR, CAPTAIN GASTON!" The men bellowed and moved to carry out their orders.
Gaston turned and hurried after the young swordsman. "Excuse me, young man!" He called out as he caught up with his quarry. The young man turned around, but didn't speak. Instead, he cocked an eyebrow and waited. "My name is Gaston, leader of the Tusk Squad. I couldn't help but wonder why someone as talented as you are hasn't joined the royal army in the service of Queen Sophia."
The young man regarded Captain Gaston with an expressionless face before replying. "I am not a subject of this country."
Surprised, Gaston blinked. "So you are a foreigner?" The young swordsman nodded. "Well in that case, please forgive my assumptions. To apologize I would like to invite you to the annual festival that this kingdom holds once a year, being held tonight. If you like I could have two of our knights in training show you around."
The young man nodded. "That would be most appreciated."
Gaston smiled. "Well then lad, come with me." Gaston strode off with the mysterious young man walking beside him. After a minute or so Gaston asked, "So where do you come from young man?"
"Far beyond Carnava's borders." Was the reply.
"Are there more people like you?"
"In what way?"
"Are there more people who are as skilled with swords as you are?"
"Perhaps, but I've never met anyone who was." The red clad youth glanced at Gaston. "Certainly not within Carnava."
Gaston nodded sadly. "Unfortunately we haven't been able to train our soldiers as well as we want because of the Beast Fiends and the Witch Conflict."
Puzzled, Roland looked at his companion. "Witch Conflict?"
"I'm surprised you haven't heard about it." Gaston remarked. "Apparently the Shadow Frost Witch is going against the Rev Magical Academy which is where the Brilliant Witch, the leader of the Magical Association lives."
"I see." The young man looked lost in thought.
Soon they arrived at the training grounds. Roland saw three people; one man about the same age as Gaston, wearing darkish blue hued armor, yelling instructions to two young people about Roland's age. Roland observed the older man with a critical eye. He was at least fifty years of age, but still carried himself like a young man. His head had no helm upon it, revealing that the man had his mid-length black hair tied back in a spikey ponytail. His armor was not as bulky as Gaston's, yet it still was enough to protect its wearer. Roland noted that his dominant hand was always near his sword. An experienced veteran then, one that has fought in many battles over the course of his life. Roland then turned his attention to the two younger persons that the old veteran was instructing. The first was a young man who was wielding a spear. He was encased in black armor with fur lining the collar. His head was free of any helm, exposing his short cropped red hair. The armor had few gaps that Roland could see, and hazard a guess that the boy relied more on defense then speed. Roland observed that he was handling the spear, which had a black shaft and a diamond shaped grey-black blade with a curved top and had a horsehair tassel hanging from the base of the blade, quite competently, but nowhere near master level. The last figure was a girl who carried a metal bow that had feather like protrusions extending from the end. She wore very light armor to allow for quick movement and agility. Although Roland mentally questioned why an archer would wear armor that appeared to only protect her modesty, as the armor only covered her breasts and nothing but a very short red skirt with white frills covered her lower region. Over her armor, the girl wore a brown short sleeved jacket that was cut off just under her chest armor. White sleeves extended from underneath the jacket sleeves, encasing her arms in the material. A quiver of arrows hung from her belt and her legs were encased in armor. Upon her brown hair, she wore a red beret. From what Roland could see, she was a skilled markswoman, but traded defense and protection for speed and maneuverability. Gaston led Roland over to the trio as the old man in blue hued armor called out. "Alright that's enough training for now!"
"Finally!" The young man said leaning on his spear. "Old man ya think you could go a bit easier on us next time?"
Outraged, the older man slapped the spear wielder with enough force to send the spear wielder staggering. "In battle you won't have the chance to rest so you might as well get used to it now!"
"Training again Steven?" Gaston called out as he and his young companion approached.
Steven spun around and saw his old friend. A smile lit on his face. "Gaston! What brings you here old friend?"
Gaston smiled, "Well I was hoping to borrow Rasche and Rina for tonight."
"Why's that? And who is your young friend here?" Steven regarded the silent red clad swordsman, noting his perfect stance and the determination in the youth's eyes as the two young people he had been drilling walked up and stood beside him.
"I'm afraid that I insulted this young man and to make it up to him I was hoping that Rasche and Rina here could show him around the festival as I will be needed to manage the fireworks display." Gaston explained.
Steven continued to stare at the young man, who met his gaze unflinching. A smile curved Steven's lips. "Well that would be fine with me. But first I'd like to see just how good this talented swordsman is."
"Oh c'mon dad. How do ya know he can even handle that sword? He doesn't even wear armor!" The young man complained, just before Steven turned and slapped him again. The young woman sighed.
"Rasche, this is exactly why you'll never become a great knight!" Steven exclaimed in frustration. "He may not wear armor but he is definitely one of the most talented swordsmen I've ever seen!"
Roland spoke up. "Who do you want me to fight?"
Steven turned and grinned. "Me." Gaston, Rasche and Rina gasped and looked at Steven in shock. Roland merely nodded and walked a short distance away. Steven looked at the others and said "You might want to back off to a safe distance." As the others backed up, Steven drew out his sword. Roland studied it, mentally mapping out his plan of attack. The straight edged-blade was of very fine quality and indicated care for it on almost a religious level. The hilt was wrapped in brown leather, with a simple grey cross guard. The pommel was capped in an elaborate design with a gemstone at the end. The sword was a hand-and-a-half style. This told Roland that Steven was more accustomed to using one hand but was well versed in using two hands. "First blood?" Steven asked.
"Agreed." Roland said as he drew his blade. The spectators and Steven stared at the sword; it was an unusual sword, of a design that none of them had ever seen; it had an elegantly designed hilt with alternating bands of black and metallic-grey metal and a metallic-grey metal hilt guard that looked like a straight fang; rounded on one side and pointed on the opposite side, positioned so that the pointed side would face the enemy. The actual blade itself was curved, indicating that the blade was designed more to cut and slash than to pierce and batter down an opponent. The color of the blade was also as unique as the rest of the sword; the blade was an iridescent silvery-white color, unlike the grey metal of his opponent's sword. He saluted Steven, who returned the salute, then Roland dropped into an unusual ready stance; evenly distributing his weight on both feet, with one foot ahead of the other forcing Roland's body to turn slightly, sword held so that its tip was pointed directly at Steven's eyes, while the hilt was held directly in front of him with both hands. Steven was impressed; that stance had no openings that could be exploited, and furthermore, he couldn't tell where his opponent would attack from as the stance held near unlimited possibilities. The two swordsmen studied each other for a long time. Finally Roland made the first move. "Good luck." That was the only thing he said before he charged at Steven.
Steven had barely enough time to marvel at his opponent's speed and grace before he was forced to bring his sword up to parry his opponent's strike. The older man was forced to continuously give ground as his adversary kept up a relentless assault. Steven tried every trick he knew but each of his strikes was met by the strange sword. His opponent moved with a combination of speed, grace, fluidity, agility, accuracy, and power that Steven had never encountered before. The young man had a perfect balance of offence and defense. Suddenly Roland disengaged from the fight and back-flipped away from Steven. Sheathing his sword, he bowed and turned away.
"What are you doing!?" Rasche demanded.
"It's over." Roland said.
"What do you mean?" The young woman, Rina, asked.
"First blood." Roland said as Steven walked over, sheathing his sword.
"Young man, where did you learn to fight like that?" Steven asked, wiping away the blood that was dripping from a shallow cut on his neck.
"Far away." Roland said. "You might want to have that looked at."
"If only we had more knights like you." Steven marveled. "I don't suppose you would consider teaching swordsmanship to our knights?"
Roland shook his head. "Sorry but I don't think that life would suit me very well."
Steven nodded with a sigh. "I understand. Rasche, Rina, you two are excused from patrol duty for tonight. Instead, you will escort this amazing swordsman around the festival."
Rina's eyes lit up. "Oh thank you Uncle Steven! Come on let's go!"
Rasche sighed. "Fine let's go."
"Before you go, I would like to know the name of the only man who ever beat me in single combat." Steven said.
"Roland." Came the reply as the red-clad swordsman set off with his two escorts.
"For one so young, he certainly knows how to handle a sword." Gaston remarked to Steven.
"Indeed." Steven said, "I wonder where he learned that style, I've never seen it before. It certainly caught me off guard. I wish Rasche were half as devoted to his training as that one is." Steven sighed. "But tell me; how did you insult someone like him and live?"
"I made the assumption that he was a citizen of Carnava and asked why he hadn't joined our ranks." Gaston explained "Although with his natural talent, he could have easily become a general, at the very least he would have made the rank of captain."
"Well it is of no consequence." Steven said, "If he had wanted to join us, he would have done so. Let's just let them enjoy the festival."
Just then a page ran up. "Sir Steven, Sir Gaston!"
The two men looked at the page "Yes?" Gaston asked.
"The messenger from the Rev Magical Academy has not arrived at the palace yet, though the messenger is in the city." The page said, "The Queen would like you to organize a searching party and find the messenger."
"Very well." Steven said. "I'll go. Gaston you need to attend to the fireworks."
"I almost forgot!" Gaston exclaimed as he dashed off with the enthusiasm of a man twenty years younger. Steven chuckled as he set off to organize the searching party. Some things never changed.