My Father's Sword, chapter 3
Wandering Cat

Back again! I'm updating this first because people seem to like it more than Caged Bird. My Father's Sword now has three favorites and three alerts. Funny though, because the people who did that generally don't review. Same thing happened for Till Your Binds Break. It's sorta funny. Does that happen to everyone, or am I just special?

Review Responses:
somepersonxP: Well, I don't really care if you hate him or not --smirk--. Oh, sorry about my mistake. I meant to write "A page", but I accidentally put "I page", right? I don't proofread well...Don't ask me about him being a rival. Is that in one of his supports?

Cool-chan: True, other's surpass him most of the time, but he's always been a great backup character, or good for whacking most of a boss so a weak character can kill it. I did that a lot, too. Well, thanks for reading!

IceBlade28: Thanks. POWER TO THE JEIGANS! I don't really consider myself a writer.

Lao Who Mai: That's right, I love Marcus like an imaginary uncle and I dont' care who knows it! In my opinion, there's more than enough enemies and EXP for him to snap away some random annoying warriors.
PS--thanks for reviewing both A Few Seconds and Till Your Binds Break. For a long time, you were AFS' only reviewer.

raedyn-l: Thankya.

I need some suggestions for characters, y'all. The only character I have on deck is Mist, but I don't have enough on her to write about her. I'll continue on without suggestions, but it'd be nice to know what characters people want to read about. I'll do anyone, even Eliwood, as long as a sword is or can be part of their arsenal.

This chapter's star: Karel, and Karla, all in one! Oh boy... This is gonna be tough. I mean, the other two had happy, warm relationships with their dads, but Karel killed his. Hm. I'm not bumping the rating up because of Karel. So there will just be vague violence...Nothing to rant about today.
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KAREL'S POV:

Only one can have the sword. There were five children, four boys, in our family. The girl is nonexistent. It was a tradition in our family to decide who gets the Wo Dao by having the boys fight one another.

I hate my ancestors. There can be no bloodshed in those battles. We were mocking each other by attacking with sticks. My eldest brother doesn't see it that way. He was an idiot. I hate him, too, so I made sure to hit him very hard. The battle lasted less than two minutes. Not a drop fell from him as he stood back up, and he gives me his idiotic smirk, as if to tell me that I won. My other brothers fell the same way, though one is harder than the other. The youngest, though small and frail looking, was very fast and for a moment, I could not keep up. His battle lasted exactly two minutes, not less. Ultimately, I was the chosen wielder of the Wo Dao. My little sister looked at me admiringly. I hate her, too. There was not a single red stain on the floor, and though I didn't quite notice it then, it annoyed me.

My father stared at me from across the room with his emotionless eyes, my mother nothing more than a pathetic shadow. He stood, Wo Dao at his hip, and approached me. With no use of dramatics, he ripped the sword from his hip and thrust it into my hands. "Use it well and wisely, Karel." was all he said.

My father was a pig. I never knew why I called him that, but he was. When I was little, a mere boy of ten, he snapped at my sister and hit her. She ran from the room crying. I didn't hate her then, so I went to find her. When I did hours later, the sunset had the sky glowing crimson. She had managed to sprain her ankle and had expended all of her energy crying. I picked her up and swung her on my back. It was at that moment that I came to truly hate my father. My hatred for my family was growing, and some had been placed on my annoying little sister. She whispered into my hair, "Thank you for finding me, big brother. I love you.", and that was when I replaced the hatred for her on my father.

The pig beat me when I got home. I hated him even more there, because all I did was help my sister.

That year I began learning swordsmanship under him. He was a brutal teacher, but I was a stubborn student. Hour after hour, sometimes for as long as a third of the day, he forced me to work like a beast of burden. He hung me by my feet from a tree, upside down, until I did one hundred crunches. He forced me to carry boulders as large as I was tall up the face of the small mountain near our home. They were common practices in training warriors of Sacae, but he took it too far. Many times I wish I weren't a man so I could cry.

It wasn't long before even the beast was satisfied with my skill. He didn't expect me to train by myself and build upon the mediocre skills he bestowed upon me. With a demon like possession, I continued my study, becoming more and more demented as I went. My sister often brought food to me. I always told her to go away and that I hated her. She always said that she loved me. And that she wished I would stop before I became a true demon. I just told her to go away again.

I had been training for five years, three on my own, when I fought my brothers and gained possession of the Wo Dao. It was a dark night when I snapped. My brothers fell first. Even the quick one, who was armed, fell immediately. The Dao screamed and gleamed with pleasure as I killed them. My mother was next. She didn't even try to run away or scream. I suppose it was better to die than keep living as a shadow. I almost felt remorse.

Father glared at me almost calmly with his sword drawn. Perhaps he did care for us, because he looked from my brothers to mother, then lunged at me. I blocked, he parried. I spun, he ducked. I lunged, he keeled over. I smiled. All that was left was my sister. I felt no inclination to look for her, for she wasn't in the room.

For six years, I paraded around, killing off worthy opponents as the Sword Demon.

Years after that, I became the Sword Saint. As I look down at the sword that used to be my father's I feel the remorse of five years of killing.

I do not hate my sister. She found me during that war, and I remembered the times when she told me she loved me. I remembered what it felt like. Better than any kill. My sister didn't hate me, and that was enough. I don't hate her either. I haven't killed in years. Though, I do issue a regular threat to her moronic husband. Their daughter, who looks just like her mother did as a child, is what keeps me sane. Sister died from illness when Fir was three, but her love still lingers on that man and it absolutely radiates from her daughter, who is now 10. I imagine I stink of it, too. Nothing will happen to Fir as long as I live, even if it means drawing that forsaken blade again.

KARLA'S POV:

Women do what men say. That was the law of our family. I imagine it was always like that. In Sacae, women are not usually the equals of men. I was the youngest of five children, with ten, eight, seven, and four years between my brothers and I. They were nice to me, except for the youngest boy who was distant from us all. His distance would cause a disaster when I was eleven. But until then, I lived like a regular girl. I did chores, usually helping my mother cook or sew most of the time, but when we finished early, I would go outside of the ger and play in the fields. Sometimes, one or more brothers would come and play with me for a bit, but only when father wasn't home. He didn't approve of boys playing meaningless games when there were always deer to hunt and crops to harvest. I couldn't fathom why, but we weren't part of a tribe. We lived out in the middle of nowhere.

Another thing I couldn't understand then was my attraction to the family sword, a Wo Dao. I knew it would never happen, but I sometimes dreamed of being a great swordsman. Girls were never to hold a sword, and if they were caught, they were punished. The Wo Dao was in a glass case in the central part of our home, a ger and a few tents for individual rooms. During dinner, I would steal glances at it. The only person to notice was Karel, the youngest boy. He glared at me when I did it, but just continued glowering at the rest of our family.

I was six when I dared to touch the hilt of the sword. Very carefully, I grasped the sheath as well and pulled several inches of blade out. It was a beautiful thing, so smooth and shiny. And sharp. I poked the edge with my finger, little more than a feathery touch, and it drew blood. I had an odd feeling in me when I touched it. I did it again, more boldy and less carefully a week or so later. This time, when I turned to leave, father stood in the doorway. For the first time, I was truly frightened. He screamed at me, calling me every degratory name he could think of. Three of my brothers poked their heads in the door, remorse in their eyes. I only noticed them when I ran from the room crying.

Several hours after I ran away, I sat afraid and defeated under a craggy maple tree, the blood red sun bright on my skin. My ankle was swollen from when I tripped over a root coming from the very tree I sat under. Soon, a figure broke the sunset, slicing in in half as he walked toward me. It was Karel. He picked me up and put me on his back, and took us home. I felt safe with him, and I was so tired. "Thank you for finding me, big brother. I love you." I told him quietly.

He got beaten when we returned. I felt sorry because it was my fault.

It was then that father made the biggest mistake of his life. He took Karel as his student after finishing with our other brothers. I often brought him food during his training, the times without father. I could see Karel's insanity, so why couldn't he? Couldn't he have guessed what havoc would be wrought? I did, and that's why I stole away into the wilderness whenever I got the chance, starting when I was eight, two years after Karel. Instead of playing in the fields, I trained myself in the woods. A stick as long as my leg was my weapon, my enemies and sparring partners were the trees.

It wasn't long before my skill started to show, and there were gashes in the tree bark where I had slashed at them. One night when I was eleven, I was practicing in the forest again, not caring if anyone found out anymore, when I heard sickening screams from the direction of our house. I knew what had happened. I knew they were dead, so I didn't go back. Instead, I merely gathered up my supplies and walked off into the direction of the blood red sun.

I never used the Wo Dao. I ended up finding a good steel sword in an abandoned bandit camp. I continued my training, entering an arena for the first time when I was fourteen to gauge my skill. I beat the stupid mercenary down with no trouble. I decided to wander the continent, looking for my brother and for a worthy opponent. I was sixteen when I ran into a certain warrior in an arena in Pherae. Another two years later, he would convince me to join the band of mercenaries and knights that my brother also resided in. The warrior would become my husband, and Karel would be an uncle.

I never liked fighting, ever. I am devastated that my daughter began showing interest in it at her young, young age, no matter how her father and I discourage it. Brother comes to see us often, but the visits are less joyous as I grow sicker. I fear I will leave this world soon and my family with it. I worry for my husband, who isn't the brightest man but I love him anyway, and my daughter, who may die by the sword I hate so much. Brother told me he was going to give her the Wo Dao when she turns ten, but forbid her to use it. I am too sick to argue. I am to sick to think anymore...
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WC: Holy crap I'm finally done! Soooo...yeah.

Again, I need suggestions!

Notes: I had a huge issue with keeping with the past tense in the beginning. The last few paragraphs of each POV is in present, hopefully, because I wanted to put in their insight from Fuuin no Tsurugi. Of course, Karla dies before Karel's present tense crap, so the timeline is a little screwed up. Whoops. And also, when Karel says "my youngest brother", he means the third oldest of the four boys, himself being the youngest. I didn't make a mistake.

Next up:...I dunno. Maybe...Gerik. Or Franz. Dunno.