Hi sweeties, sorry about missing Sunday update but I just couldn't keep going without adding this part. Then I had a job interview and a final project. So yes, hard times.

He stopped smoking midway to look at his hands, they were battered and scarred now. Knuckles peeled and raw, palms cut from stopping blades and wrists and forearms bruised from taking bullets. And only now did they stop shaking. Excitement, nerves, and dread had played sick games in his head and left him with worse wounds than any pirate could have left. His hands had had the trembles, his breathe had been coming short, and his throat had been clogged the entire trip back.

No dead. The words repeated in his head like a catechism, they were the respite he needed. The escape from all the what ifs his head had come up with, it was the only thing that mattered. He had his sister to thank for that, even if she had taken a certain sadistic glee from their horror. He had to thank her for letting him live without a sinking conscience.

Finishing the half he had left in one breathe, he pulled out the steel case he kept his cigarettes in and sighed as all that was left were two miserable sticks side by side. The door coughed rust and splinters as Faithful kicked her way out, as if the hinges coming off was not one of her problems. Looking at her for a second, he begrudgingly obeyed the little voice in his head that told him to offer her a smoke. She took it, and if she saw the sad in his face she gave no hints of it.

"Thank you, my boy,"

They sat there in a silence that had him licking his lips. For Nicolas there was no such thing as a comfortable silence, it was but an awkward wait to see who spoke first.

"We did well today, didn't we?"

"Yes, you did,"

But there was something in the way she spoke without looking at him, without putting much of anything in her words that made him nervous. Why couldn't he have at least filled up one of his pouches beforehand.

"Tell me something Nicolas, what do you train for?"

"To protect Martina,"

"So you don't care what happens to yourself?"

"I don't go looking for fights like she does,"

"No, you don't. But you will still find yourself in the thick of it if you follow her,"

He didn't know where the conversation was going, but he knew there was something he wouldn't coming his way.

"So tell me this then. Are you actually ready to fight?"

"I fought today, didn't I?"

"That was no fight, that was a bullying. I want to know if you can give it your all if you ever meet someone that can match you blow for blow,"

"Well, I will know when I meet them,"

"What if it had been today? What if that Captain had been the one, how in hell would you have fought without your weapons?"

His gut grumbled as if it had been starved for years, he needed something nibble on or something to smoke.

"I would have-"

"died. Or been seriously hurt, I see no other ending to a fight between a cripple and a warrior,"

"I am no cripple now,"

"What is a swordsman without his swords if not half of what he is. Make no mistake boy, there is no one kind enough in the seas to wait for you to be ready. Me least of all,"

And with those words she shoved a rucksack at his chest, pressed the contents against him and made him feel some pain. Her face a shadow of sadness and regret before she caught herself and was all iron once more. He peeled the clothe and took both scabbards in one hand, lifted the handles to eye level and watched the steel caress the wind. Moving his head to the side he dodged the reinforced tip of Faithful's cane as she moved it from side to side trying to smack him, obviously holding back.

"From now on we will be fighting with live steel. No more blunted blades,"

"But what-"

She pushed against the throat and made him choke on his words, forcing him to use the weapons to block. He felt a fire burn each time she interrupted him, each prod and hit stoking the flames and making it grow. The hate smouldered his insides, pushing him to close his mouth lest he cursed, making his arms ripple as he held himself from striking. But it was all in vain. It was but a touch, a caress to his eye but it sent him reeling back in pain and confusion as he couldn't see a thing from his left side.

And he got up, unsheathed both blades and let go of a fury that had burned its way to his skin. Why couldn't she show some respect, why couldn't he speak and be listened, why! He dropped both his blades on her to which she pushed the flat without moving. A cut that went for her hips was jumped over and the one that went for feet was stepped on.

Martina chugged down a bottle of champagne as she made her way outside to sober up some with the cold and go back to drinking quick as possible. But when she reached the door she heard clashes, the sound of flesh, and grunts and complaints. Pushing the piece of wood while covering her eyes and hoping not to find Nicolas and Itse in some exhibitionist play, she came to face the two of them as they ripped the grass and upturned a tree.

Feeling a smile creeping to her face she took another bottle and charged into the melee. Her left coming down to break the empty one on her brother's head while trying to smack Itse with the one still full.

"Free for all!"

She screamed as she avoided a sweep and kicked the cane away from her legs. Using the chance bought by Nicolas' screwed up riposte she swung her bottle, now reinforced with some good armament, at Itse's sword arm. The woman grunted as she took the blow without moving a step and forced her to drop to the ground or have her head played like a football.

Punching her brother's shoulder she almost shrieked in glee as she realized what they had done. Vengeance! Sweet vengeance had been delivered. They had managed to land a hit on the odious woman, they had put some pain in her. She was ecstatic, so much so that she didn't see the terrible expression in Faithful's eyes. With a smile on her face that reached her ears, a cat in her arms, and a song in her mouth she set to goad her way to an early grave.

"We are the champions, my friends. And we'll keep on fighting till the end,"

Even the cat looked smugly at the older woman as she allowed herself to crack a small smile. Slapping his shoulder, she looked at him in the eyes.

"It wasn't so hard, now was it?"

"I don't want to kill people Itse,"

"Then don't. But let me tell you, battles may have no winners, but they certainly have losers. You don't want to find yourself asking what would have happened if I had kept my weapons at hand,"

That night he laid awake in his bed, chewing his teacher's words. He didn't like it, but he knew there was truth in them, he had never allowed a single piece of his life be marred by regret. And he didn't fancy starting now, not when regrets were all but shackles in this world and damn heavy as well. So he made peace with himself, the swords would stay by his side together with the worry.

Congratulations [Warrior] Class levelled up.

[Warrior] level 11.

Congratulations new Skill acquired.

[Menace] learnt.