Lucien wiped Akula's blood-covered blade on a dead man's ragged clothes. "I honestly don't know what to do any more," he admitted. "It seems like the promise of a long and peaceful life is inconsequential compared to the honour of impaling oneself upon your blade."
"I'm not complaining," Akula joked. "If it weren't for the noble sacrifice of these good men, our trip would be boring."
A regular traveller needed two weeks to make the trip from Bonta to Brakmar, using main roads and known Zaap portals. Ten days, if everything went well―which it never did. Bandits were more than common, and if travellers wanted to stay alive and well they had the choice between being poor, or able to defend themselves.
Lucien was both, and that always cut it, one way or another. Some robbers still attacked him, and then they stopped both their attack and their basic biological functions.
"I don't know," he admitted. "Akula, do you remember when I lost my passion for this job?"
She paused thoughtfully. "Um, Tuesday?"
"Was it? It feels like if you kill one bandit, you've killed them all, as if they're all created by some generic bandit factory."
"Well, if the senseless slaughter doesn't mean anything any more, what about the, uh, betterment of mankind?" She said the last few words with audible contempt.
Lucien shrugged as he climbed onto his dragoturkey. "Sure, these men did not deserve to live, but the chances they would find and kill someone who did are, well, non-existent."
They rode most of the day, stopping only for a quick lunch. They spent the night at one of the travellers relay inns that doted the main road. Lucien could have ridden much longer, not even minding the obscurity, but dragoturkeys were not machines and they needed to rest once in a while.
After two more Zaaps and a few days of riding through verdant forests under a pleasant sun, the landscape became barren, the trees scarce, and the sky bleak. They were approaching Brakmar, and they could tell long before they saw the actual place. Its giant volcanic rift affected the weather for miles and miles around. Massive cinder clouds frequently drizzled acid rain, deadly for the plant life.
The city had expanded inside the rift itself. From outside one could only see a gigantic gash in the earth, like an open wound, glowing red from the lava flowing at the bottom. Even if the founding of the city remained in mystery, its people widely believed it to be the work of Djaul, a Shushu who had ascended to become a protector of the months. And a quick look at the place made it perfectly plausible it was the brainchild of a demon.
The main road descended into the bowels of the city through a gigantic tunnel, buzzing with activity. Travellers and merchants were legion, attracted by the great opportunities arising from Brakmar's completely unregulated business. Everything had a price in Brakmar, even life. Lucien knew it better than anyone else.
They entered the city and made their way through crowded narrow streets, hailed from all sides by merchants selling a wide choice of more or less lethal products. Generally more than less.
"Why would you need poison anyway," Akula said nonchalantly. "It's not like people being stabbed into the heart need to be poisoned on top of that."
"Not everyone has our skill."
"Which makes it even worse. If they don't know what to do with a blade already, add that poison and a clumsy cut to their finger will kill them. It's downright retarded. True professionals would never need stuff like that."
"You can also pour it into a drink," Lucien noted. "That's a coward move, but efficient."
"What? And waste the joy of a perfectly pleasurable knife kill? If you do that to me, I'll go on a strike."
The Sram laughed light-heartedly. "There will be no need to resort to such extreme measures," he said.
It was one thing they could agree on. They were both blade purists and Lucien would rather master every way to kill with knives, swords and daggers than condescend to use some sort of artifice. The Sram thought this way because it was more efficient, whereas Akula just found it more enjoyable.
Brakmar kept growing over time, with new buildings and new bridges each year, generally dug directly into the stone or attached to the large rocky peaks that emerged from the lava. Even though the Brakmarian engineers had outstanding skill, earthquakes often shook off some buildings and their inhabitants into the magma below. Such was life in Brakmar.
The Guild had been built into one amongst the largest peaks of the city. It had been one of the first buildings in Brakmar, but somehow it still stood pretty much alone, like some invisible, evil aura had discouraged any expansion into it's neighbourhood. Which wasn't that far from the truth, now Lucien thought about it.
They quickly crossed the last bridge leading to the Guild's entrance, marked by a gigantic skull sculpture that seemed to swallow them as they went through. Lucien dismounted his dragoturkey and attached it in the courtyard. It was surrounded by stairs and doors leading in all directions, and filled with people in black hooded cloaks who silently attended to their own business. One of them advanced towards the Sram.
"Oath-sworn Lucien. You've returned," the hooded man noted coldly.
"Yep," Lucien answered cheerfully. "How's it going, pal?"
The man seemed a bit baffled by that display of familiarity. He cleared his throat. "The Master has been waiting for you."
"I figured so. May I see him now?"
"You may."
"Cheers mate."
Lucien knew the place perfectly well and he didn't need directions. He headed straight for a nearby staircase, carved directly into the volcanic stone just as about everything else in the Guild, including the furniture. The beds were kind of an issue.
When they were out of earshot, Akula giggled as quietly as she could. "That face he made when you called him 'Pal', it was brilliant."
"I hate these guys. They always seem to have a stick up their ass."
"Well, it's pretty obvious they hate you too."
"Of course they do. We have nothing in common," Lucien said as he climbed the narrow spiral staircase, lined with torches. "Most of them have been here for generations and they're more concerned about living up to the name of their ancestors than actually doing the job. Of course they're going to hate someone like me, who came from the streets and climbed every rank with hard work. They can't even begin to understand what it's like to actually earn something."
"My hero," Akula said gleefully.
Lucien sighed. It was not the first time they discussed it. He never considered himself to be part of the Guild as a whole. Its cumbersome ceremony seemed so frivolous. The Guild would have been so much better off if someone took the tumour of its traditions and just severed it.
He reached the top of the staircase and followed a narrow corridor. For any outsider the Guild was like a maze, but Lucien had been trained to remember floor plans and his own home had been his first practical exercise. The Guild's intricate architecture was contrived by the dense magmatic rock it had been built into, and the incredible effort required to dig any new room had made everything rather narrow and oppressively small.
The Sram didn't cross any guards, as there wasn't any need for them. One had to be seriously disturbed to sneak into a place crammed with professional assassins.
Lucien arrived into the Master's room, which served both as his office and personal quarters. It was small and simple, functional without any superfluous decoration, and opened on a balcony that gave a nice view over Brakmar and its lava rivers.
"The Master isn't here," Akula noted.
"What a perceptive Shushu you are, I don't know how I'd survive without you. We'll just wait for him," Lucien said while taking a seat. A pile of paper reports sat on the desk, but the Sram resisted his urge to look at them.
The Master arrived shortly after, stooping and coughing even worse than Lucien could remember. His health had been frail for ages and it didn't seem to get any better.
For someone in charge of a legion of spies and assassins, the Master didn't impress for sure. His craggy face and bald skull showed his great age while his simple black robes, the same as the other regular agents, weren't meant to display any kind of hierarchical prevalence. His small and thin frame didn't intimidate either, but his piercing stare chilled murderers to the bone.
He had the power to sign a death warrant for any person in the world, and people who wielded that ability didn't need to look impressive at all.
Lucien stood up and bowed respectfully, but the Master impatiently motioned him to sit down while coughing some more. He stood by his desk, pressing his hands on the stony surface for support.
"They tell tourists that the Brakmarian weather can cure anything," the Master sneered. "Sulphuric fumes ain't doing me any good for sure."
His voice was hoarse and gravelly, like pebbles rubbing against each other. Lucien smiled back politely at him, but the well-being of the only person in the world he respected wasn't a subject he'd joke about. The Master caught his stare and smirked at him.
"You look at me just like that little boy I found on the streets years ago. Everybody dies, you know that Lucien. Of all people I'd expect you to be especially aware of that. And by the look of it, I'm getting there rather quickly."
"I know Master. It's just that...the Guild won't be the same without you."
The Master had another bout of coughing before he could speak again. Lucien respectfully waited for him.
"For sure it won't. Especially for you. That's why we need to talk. Where's Farkas?"
The Sram shifted on his seat uncomfortably when he realised he hadn't given a single thought to his so called team-mate for days. "I have no idea," he admitted.
The Master cast his hard, soul-piercing stare directly at Lucien. "You have no idea," he repeated. "You have no friggin' idea. Ain't that great?" He slowly sat down at his desk across from Lucien. "Do you have any idea how it's important for you two to stick together?"
"Honestly? No. I can do the job alone. Farkas lacks the subtlety needed to avoid unnecessary confrontations. He's just a burden for me."
The Master joined his hands before his face, letting an uneasy silence settle. "A burden," he said finally. "I'll make it crystal clear just for you. I'll be gone in a few weeks at most, and the next Guild Master will be someone from the inner circle, 'cause that's the way it works. Whoever it turns out to be, he won't have any patience for you and your manners. He'll do everything to get you killed. You'll get all the suicide missions until you don't make it back."
More coughing, then the Master grabbed his handkerchief to spit some blood into it. Lucien tried not to show it, but he found it painful to see the old man like that.
"Farkas is the only other outsider besides you," the Master continued. "And you're on the same boat together. That's why it's important you stop bickering just because he doesn't do the job the way you'd have done it. He may be an annoying brat, but you'll need him to watch your back, and vice versa. Is that clear?"
"It is," Lucien answered firmly. He would never trust Farkas to watch his back, especially since he could make his back disappear altogether if he wanted to, but the Master's words made sense. Being part of the Guild would become tricky once his protector would be gone. Maybe he shared more with Farkas than he cared to admit.
"Right. From now on you'll be a good boy and do some efforts if you don't want to end up cold. It's really up to you. There's another matter we need to discuss."
The Master picked up the messy stack of papers on the desk, arranged them into a neat pile and held them out for Lucien.
"This is for you. Do you know about the Eliatropes?"
The Sram looked up from the papers onto his Master's face with a puzzled expression.
"The Eliatropes? No, but the name isn't unknown either. Aren't they an ancient people that died out aeons ago somehow?"
"Yes. And apparently they're going to come back, and it's becoming a world issue, with diplomatic councils, angry talks between major rulers, everything. We don't know what they're up to or what they're really capable of, but some people are already rattling their swords in expectation."
Lucien looked quickly through the report of the Council of Twelve that had taken place in the Sadida Kingdom a few weeks before. Apparently an agent from the Guild had attended. It always amazed him to see how they were able to infiltrate everything.
"Their whole people is only children?" he asked with surprise. "The most powerful leaders of the World of Twelve are afraid of mere children?"
The Master sniggered at him. "You've ever heard of Nox?" he asked.
Lucien nodded. Not much was known about the power-mad Xelor. He wasn't the kind to leave survivors, just a vacant ruin that travellers would later attribute to the Ogrest's Chaos. "If I remember correctly, he was defeated by the Sadida army after he tried to consume their Tree of Life."
The Master chuckled bitterly. "Do your homework, kid. The entire Sadida army barely slowed him down. He was defeated by one Eliatrope child." He held up a bony finger. "Just one. And now ten thousand or more of these things are ready to spill everywhere like rabbits. So we're going to keep an eye on this matter, and if it turns out they have plans for world domination after all, children or not, we'll deal with the problem our way."
Lucien raised an eyebrow at these words. "Please forgive me but... You'd be ready to order the killing of children? Isn't it forbidden by one of our most sacred rules?"
"If you can kill one children to save a thousand, and you don't do it, then you're killing one thousand children. It's the end result that matters. We never take justice contracts against children, but if a child climbed on the throne of Brakmar and started a war to exterminate some nation, I'd kill him without hesitation. The same applies here. Until we know for sure they really have those peaceful intentions they speak of, we have to stay wary."
Lucien nodded. "I see. Is there more to it?"
"Yes. No matter what their intentions are, some people don't want to take chances with them. In fact, most of the Kingdoms have already said they don't want to see the Eliatropes come back, but they ain't going to start a war over it. Except..."
"...Brakmar," Lucien completed.
"Of course. They've been designing a lot of shiny toys lately, costly toys too, and building them would be great for the economy. Truces are getting old, and the Prince is looking for an excuse, anything really, that would allow Brakmar to start another good war."
"And the Eliatropes just offered them the perfect reason on a silver platter."
"Exactly. Those kids are not even back and they're already allied with the Sadida and Bonta, the arch-enemy of Brakmar. All Brakmar has to do is to vilify the Eliatropes, convince their own allies the youngsters are up to something bad, and when the Sadida move to protect them the situation will escalate into another full scale war. It will make everything that already happened into your short lifetime look like peace in comparison."
Lucien exchanged a meaningful glance with Akula. "There's been other wars before," he said. "The world has survived every one of them."
"So far, it has. But with all the new technology involved, no one can predict how this one will end. Here, have a look," the Master said while handing a blueprint to Lucien.
"What is it?"
"A siege machine. The design seems a bit inspired by the fortress Nox used, with those arachnoid legs to go everywhere."
"Wow…the scale has to be wrong."
"It's not, it's really that huge. And it's supposed to spew out molten boulders or something. It would be a shame if the next opponent Brakmar manages to find had a forest-covered territory that could burn, right?"
Lucien examined the blueprint more closely. Indeed it looked very much like a metallic arachne, and a gigantic one for sure. "Are the Sadida aware of the threat?"
"Of course not," the Master said with a tired sigh. "That would only make things worse. There's also warmongers on the Sadida's side, like the crown prince Armand. We sent false intelligence their way to keep them nice and quiet while we deal with the situation."
"But if things escalate, they will be unprepared," Lucien noted.
"That's the risk, yes. But as I told you, if things really go downhill this time around, prepared or not there won't be much left to be saved."
Lucien frowned in confusion. "Still, I don't see what's new. If there is any clear indication that one of the Kingdoms wants to escalate the situation into a full scale war, we're here to stop it as usual. The mere threat of us intervening is usually enough to keep everyone from acting."
"That's exactly the damn problem son. I don't know who'll take charge after me. If it's someone who has a personal interest in the matter, maybe even a relative of the Brakmarian Prince, I can tell you that the well-being of innocent children won't be a major concern any more."
The Sram started to get a clear idea of what his Master wanted him to do. "You want me to kill the new Master if he allows that war to happen?"
"Hold on. We're not there yet. But if it's down to that, I expect you to use your judgement, and not fail me. Whatever happens we must stay true to our creed. Justice and order."
Lucien nodded. "I'll see to it. Although to be honest, I'd have preferred to get a new list of people who had escaped their due punishment instead. It would have been so much simpler."
"Life ain't easy, and wishes are for children. In the meantime you can do whatever you like. I just want you near the Guild if something happens─or rather when something happens."
Even though it was clear Lucien was dismissed, he didn't rise from his seat.
"A problem son?" the Master asked.
"Not really no, just...what do you think will be the outcome if this war really happens?"
"Innocent people will die by the thousands," the older man snapped. "What kind of a question is that?"
"Of course, sorry, I mean...because of the fight, Kingdoms will be weakened and won't be able to maintain their authority. Do you think their peoples will be able to revolt and take control?"
The Master sighed and considered him silently for a moment. Lucien shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"You seem to think it'd be a good thing," the Master said. "Let me tell you son, it ain't."
"How so? People here in Brakmar are barely more than slaves, forced to work until exhaustion just to pay for their food and housing, when they're not literally slaves. The elite exploits them and would mostly evade justice if it wasn't for us. How could it end up any worse than it already is?"
The older man had a wry snicker that sent him on yet another coughing bout.
"You're blinded by youthful idealism," he continued in between coughs, before spitting blood into his handkerchief once again. "The Guild has had its fair share of philosophers like you over the years, but we already drew the conclusions long ago. We maintain order and do our best to ensure justice is done, because it's best for the people. They ain't going to achieve anything on their own, apart from killing each other to survive. Do you think it would be any better?"
"But people aren't free," Lucien pointed out.
"Would they rather be free, or alive? If they were free, they'd be free to murder, steal and rape to their hearts' content. It would be somewhere between the law of the jungle and total chaos. That's why we're here son. People are much better off with that crappy system, instead of no system at all. There's no discussion. Off you go."
The Master switched his attention to the piles of papers on his desk, and Lucien had nothing to add. He stood up and left without another word.
"That went rather well," Akula said jokingly once they were back in the staircase, on their way to the courtyard below.
"Shut up," Lucien retorted sullenly.
"Oh come on, you're not going to have a sulk on me now, are you? You knew he wouldn't like your ideas."
"That suits you well, cause unless I'm mistaken you agree with him."
"Of course I do," Akula said kindly. "But I have different reasons. If everyone murders each other, what's left for me to kill?"
Lucien shook his head with amused disbelief. "I wonder how you can be so vicious," he said.
Akula chuckled happily. "Thanks. I'd be blushing if I knew how. So what now? We have so little free time usually, I have no idea what to do with it. I suppose killing random people for shit and giggles isn't an option ?"
"You suppose right. How about having a walk down town? It's been ages since we've been there and I don't have a better idea anyway."
"Sounds boring, but I can't think of anything either. Hopefully there'll be a good fight going on somewhere and we can get involved. That would make my day."
Yugo was in trouble.
Truth be told, he'd been warned beforehand. Adamaï had told him countless times his eagerness to accept any and every challenge that came his way would cost him dearly one day. And clearly this time he realised he had bitten on more than he could chew.
The boy raised his shield to block the incoming blow. Sharp pain shot up his right arm as his opponent's weapon struck with a loud thud. Yugo didn't let out any sound, gritting his teeth in a futile effort to make it look like he was still coping with the onslaught.
The next impact was strong enough to force him to let go of his shield, leaving him with only his short sword as a makeshift defence. He held it clumsily with the blade in front of his face, having no clue what to do with it.
With portals and magic forbidden by the rules, Yugo was just feeling hopelessly inadequate.
The next sequence of attacks was too quick for him to fully realise what was happening. One powerful swing, and his sword was suddenly ripped out of his hand, landing a dozen feet away. A sharp elbow struck him square in the chest, making him fall on his back in the dirt. Then the killing blow came, aimed right between his eyes and about to split his skull open.
It stopped an inch away from his face.
"Come on Yugo, you're not even trying," Tristepin taunted.
"We're supposed to be training, but you only tried to kill me so far," Yugo retorted, looking back at the Ginger Knight. Tristepin's wooden sword was right against the boy's face, splitting his field of view neatly. Yugo angrily pushed the blade away with the back of his hand.
"Hard training, easy war," the Iop recited cheerfully as he straightened up. "With everything you said about magical Wakfu swords and all that stuff, I expected a lot better from you."
"I have no clue what to do with that thing. That's why I asked you to train me before you turned it into a competition, in case you already forgot. Also, Wakfu weapons don't weigh anything."
Tristepin just laughed at him, unnerving him even more. "You're telling me your wooden gear is too heavy? Even Az weighs more than that."
The little Tofu chirped happily from the bench he was sitting on, next to a very bored Rubilax and a sulking Adamaï.
They were in the Sadida arena, the fighting pit right next to the palace where Tristepin and Prince Armand had brawled the year before. Yugo had no memory of that since at this time he had been busy going after a Dofus on the other side of the world, but he had heard the story afterwards.
When no event was taking place, the royal guards used the arena for training. A few of them had come to watch, attracted by the promise of two legendary warriors from the Brotherhood of the Tofu having a spar, but what they had been presented so far had left them rather disappointed, if not downright bored.
Yugo sat up, his clothes covered in dirt and his hair matted by sweat. As a stark contrast, The Knight's hair was as impeccable as ever, and the absence of any mark or bruise on his bare chest clearly indicated that Yugo hadn't hit him even once. It enraged the boy even more to notice that Tristepin wasn't looking any more tired than if he'd been sitting down doing nothing, let alone having a fight.
To be fair, their 'fight' was so one-sided it was a bit presumptuous to call it a fight.
Yugo sighed from the frustration. "At least teach me something," he said. "There's no point going on like that. I'm well aware I suck at sword-fighting by now."
"Oh really?" Adamaï yelled from his seat. "I couldn't tell from here. You sure you're not pretending to be so hilariously hopeless bro?"
"Shut up!" Yugo shouted back furiously. "I'd like to see you try," he added under his breath.
Tristepin smiled at him gently. "Come on buddy. I just wanted to see what you could do. I'll teach you the basics then." He offered Yugo his hand and yanked the young Eliatrope back on his feet.
"Right. First thing you need to understand is that staying under your shield without fighting back is only good for turtles and Fecas. Maybe I have a problem with my eyesight, but I'm quite sure you're not a turtle. Of course that's nice to have a shield, especially if it's magical and all, but if you never attack you're just buying time. Sword only now."
Yugo shook his head in disbelief. "That doesn't make any sense. If I couldn't hold against you with a shield, how's it going to be any better without one?"
Tristepin put his hands on his hips and let out an impatient sigh. "Hey, remember you asked me to train you. I made my point showing how you would have ended up dead in ten seconds if it was a real fight. So how about you just accept the lesson, instead of questioning everything?"
Yugo blushed slightly as he realised his friend was entirely right. His performance didn't entitle him to any remarks, and he was much better off listening to the advice the Ginger Knight was kindly willing to provide him with.
Without adding a word, Tristepin took his wooden sword by the blade and offered the hilt to Yugo. The boy took hold of it firmly with his right hand, but as soon as he did, Tristepin looked at him quizzically.
"What? I'm not even able to hold a sword properly?" Yugo said with a smirk, half expecting his friend to confirm he was really that bad.
"No, it's not about that... Are you really right-handed?"
The boy raised an eyebrow. "Of course I am. Why?"
"You were holding your shield with your right hand earlier."
Yugo paused, staring blankly at the sword in his right hand. Tristepin was right. He had the sword in his left hand before.
"I...really don't know," he hesitated. "That just felt more natural, I guess. When I summon my Wakfu shield it's on my right arm too... Or at least it was, when I could do that."
"I really thought you were left-handed because of that. It's strange, 'cause usually in two-handed combat you use your weapon with your dominant hand, it's only logical."
Tristepin frowned thoughtfully, obviously trying to figure out the reason behind that oddity, and Yugo didn't have a better explanation either.
"Anyway, nevermind that," the Iop said finally. "Now get into a defensive position."
Yugo assumed the same position he had before, his sword straight up in front of his nose. Tristepin shook his head at him, and Yugo started to wonder if he was really that hopeless.
"Keeping your sword in front of your face like that is silly," the Knight said. "If I strike hard enough, I'll kill you with your own weapon."
To demonstrate, Tristepin pushed hard on the blade to hit Yugo on the forehead.
"Ouch! I understood you the first time! You don't need to hit me all the time to drill it in," Yugo said, rubbing his sore brow.
"Like my Master always said, important lessons have to be struck into your skull to be remembered."
"Yeah but I'm not Iop you know, in fact I'll understand less if you keep hitting me on the head."
"Well it's pretty obvious you're not a Iop. You fight like a pansy."
"One point each, it's a draw," Adamaï called.
"Shut up Ad'!"
"Come on now. Focus and listen," Tristepin said sternly. Yugo nodded and took a deep calming breath, trying to ignore his brother's stupid giggles in the background.
"That's the spirit. So, about your defence problem. If you only try to block my attacks, it won't work, because I'm much stronger than you. Your only concern is to make sure I don't hit you, and to do that, you can either dodge or deflect."
Tristepin went to retrieve the second wooden sword that was still on the ground.
"I'm really not worried for the 'dodge' part, since you can use your portals to move around. Now deflecting is more tricky. Let's try something. I'll attack you, and you're going to block it."
"Okay, but―"
Yugo barely saw the attack coming. He raised his own sword just quickly enough to block it right on top of his head. For sure, when Tristepin trained, it wasn't a game. He pushed on Yugo's sword with such force that the boy had to put his other hand on the wooden blade to hold his ground.
"Perfect. Now attack me," the Iop said casually.
"What? I can't!" Yugo grunted through gritted teeth. He had enough trouble to hold his position, and it was pretty obvious that if he stopped doing that Tristepin's sword would come crashing into his face immediately.
"Of course you can't. That's why blocking is useless," Tristepin said as he lifted his blade, allowing Yugo to catch his breath. "Deflecting is much better, because that'll leave you in a position to counter-attack. So, I'm going to attack you again..." He smiled when Yugo immediately assumed a defensive position, expecting the attack to come just as quickly. "Nice, you're learning. Don't worry, we're going to do that in slow motion this time, because if you screw this up I might actually kill you for real. We'll practice the move a bit, then do it at the normal pace."
"The pace where you can kill me, right?"
"Exactly. So I'm going to strike downwards again, and you'll meet the attack then deflect it to the side. Let's do it."
Even though Tristepin said he would slow down, it still went a bit too fast for Yugo's comfort. But thanks to his quick reflexes, he timed his swing perfectly to meet his opponents blade and push it sideways as far as he could in a wide arc, nearly touching the ground. Then not knowing what to do next, he just froze, noticing that Tristepin didn't move either.
"See the difference?" the Knight asked.
"Yeah, it was much easier than blocking."
"And?"
Yugo observed the awkward static position they were in.
"My blade is on top of yours, not below like before."
"Exactly, so now you can attack me and I'll have a hard time defending. Let's do it again at normal speed."
"What? We only did it once, and―"
Yugo understood that he had to be constantly wary, without realising it was exactly what Tristepin was trying to teach him. The attack came down faster than the last one and even with a wooden sword, any hit would hurt badly. Luckily for him Yugo managed to repeat the gesture perfectly, the swords meeting with a loud noise as the boy cleanly drove his opponent's blade sideways. Then he proceeded to strike back immediately, swinging his weapon at a seemingly defenceless Tristepin.
It went much faster than his brain could process. A powerful hand grabbed his wrist just below the hilt of his sword, he felt his feet leave the ground which became the sky then the ground again, and the next second his back was slammed against the dirt, winding his breath out of him. He barely registered the sword pressing at his throat.
"That was very good!" Tristepin cheered.
"Very...good?" Yugo managed to articulate, bewildered. "You just...wasted me once more, I don't even know how."
"Well of course I did, otherwise you were going to hit me. Still, the deflect move and then the counter-attack, it was very well done. You're learning quickly. But if you expected to hit me after ten minutes of training, you're going to be disappointed. Come on, let's do it again."
"Wait, I need to rest for a sec," Yugo said. He was still recovering from having his back painfully slammed flat on the ground.
Tristepin frowned at him severely. "Really? The day you'll get into a real fight and it's too difficult for you, that's what you're going to do? Ask the other guy to be nice enough to give you a little time out?"
"Come on Pinpin, it's not a real fight."
"It is, or that means I'm not making it hard enough for you. If training doesn't prepare you for the real thing, it's useless. And if you think you're going to get a special treatment because you're a kid or something, you can forget about it, right here, right now. Now back on your feet and let's do it again."
Yugo understood what his friend meant. Hard training, easy war. Even thought he would endure a lot more than he had bargained for, the training had to teach him to fight like his life depended on it, or he wouldn't survive a real sword-fight anyway. As the great friend he was, Tristepin did his best to make sure Yugo wouldn't get disillusioned the hard way.
Of course Yugo had found himself into many fights already, alone or with the Brotherhood. Even if he didn't win all of them, at least he survived every occasion. But trading his portals for a sword was entirely new, and even though it meant he had to start from scratch, he could see how this knowledge would have turned his fight against Qilby into something entirely different. More based on him actually winning, rather than being saved by a lucky intervention.
With the boy's motivation renewed, they kept on sparring. Yugo had always known the Ginger Knight to be a fierce warrior, but getting a first-hand experience of Tristepin's mastery of both sword-fighting and martial arts was impressive for sure. And painful too. Every single blow was carried out with full strength, making every defensive move on Yugo's part an exhausting effort. He ended up crashing in the dirt more times than he could count.
Whenever they had fought together, Yugo never doubted of Tristepin's worth as a fighter. The Knight always made it look like fighting was easy as he swung his Shushu-sword at the monster of the day. But Yugo started to understand how sword-fighting was all about quick thinking and careful decision-making rather than brute strength alone, and he realised how Tristepin's skill was in fact exceptional and people name-calling Iops for being idiots were far from the truth.
Sure, Iops weren't skilled for intellectual matters, but it was because they invested their cerebral capacities into a way of fighting that was just short of being an art. When Yugo fully realised that, he felt blessed and honoured to be trained by one of the best Iop warriors the World of Twelve had to offer.
Quickly, the young Eliatrope became better, and even if his skill couldn't begin to compare he was making good progress. Or at least, he wasn't as ridiculous and hopeless as when they had started.
For what felt like several hours they didn't slow down, with Tristepin driving Yugo to his physical limit. When fatigue made the boy accumulate mistakes, Tristepin deemed it was too dangerous to continue.
"It's time for the lunch break anyway," the Iop said cheerfully.
"You're always hungry," Yugo retorted in the middle of his heavy breathing. His whole body ached, and he felt dizzy. "How come you don't even look tired?"
"Because I spent all morning fighting a beginner half my size. How's that tiring? Anyway, are we getting back to work after lunch?" Tristepin asked eagerly.
"No, I'll spend the afternoon with Adamaï. I also need to learn how to summon those Wakfu weapons to make your training useful. And to be honest I don't feel like going through more of that today..."
"Pansy."
"Iop-brain."
They grinned sheepishly, and Yugo realised how they could taunt the hell out of each other and laugh about it.
The difficult moments they shared had glued them together like brothers. They were side by side in Rushu's arena, prepared to make their final stand. Tristepin was the only person who managed to cheer Yugo up when he was dealing with Adamaï's suffering. Then he was the last person Yugo spoke to before he took off to fight Qilby, an ordeal that drained him of his very last ounce of resolve, courage, and strength.
At that moment, Yugo fully realised how Tristepin had been a vital presence in his quest to find his origins. Sure, it all started with Yugo saving Tristepin from the possession of his Shushu, but everything afterwards would have failed badly if Tristepin wasn't part of their little group.
Yugo couldn't resist the urge to hug him. Tristepin laughed as he patted the top of the boy's hat gently. "What is this for?" he asked.
"Thanks for training me," Yugo answered, looking up at the Ginger Knight. From the fond look they exchanged, it was clear both of them realised there was a lot more than that to explain Yugo's sudden outburst of affection.
"Bah, that's my pleasure," Tristepin said kindly. "Like always."
Adamaï joined them, with Az perched on top of his head and Rubilax in his hands. They all seemed to be getting along better every day, Yugo noted.
"The last part was a lot more interesting," the Dragon said lightly. He handed the Shushu sword to Tristepin. "There seemed to be a real risk of grievous injury, and I liked it. With Rubi and Az we made a friendly bet about which limb you'd be the most likely to lose."
"I chose the head," the Shushu sneered. Then much to Yugo's surprise, Az chirped and waved a wing, showing how he had placed his own bet on the boy's right arm. That annoyed Yugo, and Adamaï could see it. "Joking aside, you got a lot better bro," he concluded hastily.
"Not thanks to you," the boy retorted.
"Oh come on, cry me a river. You're such a good client for taunts, it's hard to resist." Adamaï jostled his brother in the ribs teasingly. "Anyway, sorry Pinpin, but we have work to do. I'll let you kill my brother another day, I promise."
"For the love of everything that's sacred, I'd never harm my best buddy. You do know that, don't you Yugo?" Tristepin asked as he turned towards the worn Eliatrope with a worried look.
Yugo smiled back warmly. "Of course Pinpin. I know you do that for my own good, don't worry. Besides, I asked for it."
"Indeed! We're cool then. See you tomorrow?"
"For sure."
The Ginger Knight turned his back on them and walked away, whistling happily. Yugo felt light-headed from the exhaustion, his knees somewhat weak and shaking. Adamaï looked at his him cautiously.
"Everything's all right bro? You look a bit pale," he said.
For all answer, Yugo doubled over and vomited on the ground.
"Ewww. You didn't eat enough at breakfast? You're running low on sugar or something?"
Yugo straightened up cautiously, fighting his body's urge to pass out. "No, I don't need sugar..." he said with a weak smile, holding his ribs. "I just had too much Tristepin."
"Iop-brain," Akula hissed angrily at the ginger, broad man who just pushed Lucien aside in the crowd. The streets were wide enough, but they were packed with onlookers and tourists, too much for the Sram's comfort. And Akula didn't make it any better.
"Stop throwing insults at random people, you'll drag us in a fight," Lucien warned.
"Would it be such a bad thing?"
The Sram sighed from the exasperation. "If you get us into trouble, I'll use only the sabres for a whole month."
"Meanie."
They were strolling into one of the main arteries of Brakmar, lined on both sides with hundreds of shops selling everything they could ever want. It was as noisy at it could get, with merchants playing a stupid game of who would hail their potential clients the loudest. As they kept on wandering, finally Lucien spotted a darker, quieter alley.
"Let's have a look over there. Feels a lot more bearable than the main street."
Much less people walked around them now, and Lucien quickly noticed that most of the shops were selling things that would have been illegal anywhere else in the world, including living people for different purposes. Lucien cast the owner of a slave shop a dirty look as he moved on.
"Nothing we can do about it," Akula said sympathetically.
"I know," Lucien answered curtly. They turned at the next intersection.
"Shaggy's Shushus Shack," Lucien read aloud as they walked in front of a little boutique that wasn't much to look at otherwise.
"Sounds promising. Very few people are brave enough to trade Shushus, even in Brakmar."
"Brave or stupid, I'm curious now."
"I'll keep you safe, don't worry Lulu," Akula sneered.
The shop was larger than it seemed from the outside, brightly lit with many torches, and filled with demon possessed objects of all kinds, shapes and colours. Numerous swords and other classic weapons covered the stone walls, and several tables curved under the weight of trinkets and baubles which use was much less obvious. Lucien knew prison-objects could be pretty much anything, but 'anything' covered some very curious stuff that he would never have imagined.
He gave a prolonged and curious look to a Shushu whose shape didn't leave any doubt about its purpose. The demon glared back at him. "I've made more women scream than anything you'll ever meet," he sneered.
"You'd be surprised," Akula retorted before Lucien could say anything. "Although we're not talking about the same kind of screams I'm afraid."
At that moment every Shushu in the room noticed Akula. Then they all started jeering and whistling as one.
"Hey sexy lady, want to see my big sword?"
"What's that weakling you're hanging out with? I can get ten times larger than him!"
"See why I hate them all?" the Shushu lady yelled to cover the cacophony. "They're uncouth, brutish, lacking any class. They only understand basic urges like rampaging everything and so on."
"Don't worry, I don't plan to exchange you with any of them." Akula flashed him an outraged stare for even considering the idea. "I'm just having a look around, keep calm."
"Shut up, Shushus!" came an angry bellowing from the back shop. The storekeeper emerged, and his rather expansive black hair made it clear where his nickname 'Shaggy' came from. He had the dark blue skin typical of the Osamodas, and somehow managed to be more wide than tall. He immediately cast a glance at Akula, then smiled at Lucien.
"Greetings dear customer. I can see you're not one of those tourists who think they can visit my shop like it's a zoo or something. You're here to buy?"
"Actually I was just here to play the tourist," Lucien replied politely. "And also wondering, do you have a license to sell that kind of...merchandise?"
"A license, in Brakmar?" The plump man emitted a raucous chuckle. "Let's just say I can put enough money in the hands that matter, and it's all the licenses I need. This job doesn't require a license anyway. It takes someone who will never fall for their dirty tricks to get free."
"Show-off," sneered a rather threateningly large war hammer on the wall. Shaggy cast him a dark glance and the Shushu didn't insist. Lucien was surprised to see the man have such authority over demons, but maybe it was the same Osamodas' trait that worked with wild animals.
"Anyway, what are you looking for? Weaponry? Mass-killing tools?"
"I'm already equipped for that," Lucien retorted, raising his right arm to show Akula on his wrist. The Shushu casually extended her blade while fluttering her eyelashes seductively.
"It's...rather small," Shaggy noted.
"Size doesn't matter, it's how you use it," Akula jeered. Lucien raised an eyebrow but he said nothing.
"Fair enough. What else then? I have shields, armours, jewellery..."
Lucien hesitated. He hoped to find something he didn't already see before. "Anything more original than that?"
"Hmm...I might have something for you, it's original enough not to be on sale. Follow me."
Shaggy led them to the back shop, a small, badly lit room with a workshop occupying most of the space. More Shushus were stored there, and Lucien could understand why. Every one of them looked battered and worn, blunt blades, dented shields, and nobody in his right mind would ever spend a single kama on them.
"It's all the broken stuff I'm refurbishing to make them saleable," Shaggy explained. "Shushus are extremely resilient, but given enough abuse they'll waver like anything else. These little guys here have been through a lot. Anyway, here's the thing I wanted to show you."
He gestured them towards a furry black cloak laying on the workbench, its single eye encased into a golden frame. The eye kept staring upwards, as if the Shushu didn't notice them.
"I've no idea what it is," Shaggy said.
"Well, it's a cloak," Lucien offered.
"Thank you very much, mister obvious. I can see it's a cloak, but I don't know what it does. He didn't say a word since he arrived here yesterday. I have some contacts who provide me with unknown Shushus to resell, as long as I don't ask stupid questions, like, 'How did you get this?' and, 'Does your government know about this?'"
Lucien nodded as he understood perfectly well what it meant. He was not entitled to judge about the morality of other people's businesses, but if it was bad enough to justify an execution he would know soon enough anyway.
"This one here was on a boat a few days ago, and I got it for a handful of kamas since no one knows what it's really worth. Apparently it was buried at the bottom of a mine when they found it first, that's why it looks all ragged like that."
Lucien suddenly felt Akula constricting around his wrist almost painfully to get his attention. He raised her close to his face.
"We have to get out of here," she whispered urgently.
"What's up? It's just a cloak."
"It's not just a cloak. Listen to me for once. We need to get away."
Lucien sighed heavily. It wasn't the first time she threw a tantrum when other Shushus were around, and Lucien knew why. Her only fear was to be abandoned again. And every time there was a remote possibility that another Shushu would enter their lives, she became irrational and jealous. It wasn't anything new.
She was the only reason Lucien had to use regular sabres. He had found twin Shushus years before that were perfect for the job, but Akula became so irritable in their presence that he finally had to get rid of them.
There was no doubt in his mind that she was acting like a child again, just because he found a ragged Shushu-cloak to be remotely interesting.
"A problem?" Shaggy asked.
"No," Lucien answered lightly. "Did you try putting it on?"
"Yes. It does nothing."
"May I try?"
For all answer, Shaggy gestured him towards the cloak. Lucien put his hands on the thick black fur, realising that the cloak was likely much better looking before being buried in a cave for a while. The black fabric had been punctured all over. In any case, a Shushu cloak was unheard of, and...
Lucien noticed that for the first time, all the Shushus around were silent. They stared intently at him, as if they were...afraid of something. Then he looked down and realised that the one eye of the Shushu-cloak had moved to meet his own gaze.
Pain.
Lucien had a life-long experience of pain, every sorts of pain, but the pain of someone or something brutally forcing the entrance to his mind was definitely a new kind of pain.
"What an interesting little worm of a human we have here..." came a deep, growling voice. "Your soul is so dark, I've never seen anything quite like this with a human."
Lucien had lost touch with the real world, and he realised he heard the voice right inside his head. Scenes from his recent contracts came back to him. The Shushu was probing into his memories.
I'm going to die, Lucien thought as the pain flared.
"Oh no, don't worry about that. I'm just having a little look around. So you kill people for your master? At least we have that in common."
Images flashed before him as he watched impotently as the Shushu searched his past, reading his life, knowing him, back earlier and earlier.
"How can a mere human be filled with so much bitterness. What did they inflict on you that made you so cynical?"
Memories from his first years as an agent of the Guild came back, from his time as an idealistic youth, correcting the injustice he had been the victim of.
"That's some youthful naiveté I see there, when you still thought some humans had good inside of them. I've seen into countless humans, both figuratively and literally. They're always filled with rot."
His training at the Guild passed before his eyes, when he was barely more than a boy. The Master had taught him personally everything there was to know about sword-fighting, infiltration and assassination. He was thirteen on the day he killed his first man. He had hoped that swift, bloody justice would sate his hunger for vengeance. It didn't.
"He hurt you, so you hurt him, only to find out that it doesn't make the pain go away."
Lucien wished the pain would go away. It was like a drill piercing through his skull.
A little boy, a skeleton with skin, begged on the streets of Brakmar to starve more slowly. If he hadn't crossed the path of the Master, his pitiful life would have ended just like that.
"You weren't pampered, that's for sure. Everyone learns that life isn't fair eventually, but you didn't waste any time finding that out."
At six years old he didn't understand much, but he did remember. He lived with his single mother in a tiny room under the roof of a large, lavish manor in Brakmar. He was not allowed into the building, but he sneaked out often, developing his gift for discretion. His mother was doing chores for the owner. She didn't get paid, and they were starving.
At that time Lucien didn't realise they were slaves, but he didn't realise much anyway.
Then one day the owner decided he had had enough of them. He wanted a younger, prettier slave, for different purposes, and most of all one that didn't have a little kid to feed. He showed up into their room armed with a sword.
"It's time to terminate your employment, leach," the owner said.
"You're selling me?" his mother asked fearfully. She always spoke with fear when the man was present.
The parody of a man laughed. "Who would want to buy a thing like you?" He drew his sword. "No, you're going to entertain me until your bits stop twitching."
In an instant, his mother dropped her frightened façade. "Lucien, run," she ordered.
"What? But—"
"I said run!" She lifted him up off his feet and thrust him out through the open window. He fell, rolling and bumping down the slanted roof, Brakmar's red cityscape swirling around him. He caught himself on the gutter, his legs dangling over the edge, and for the last time in his life he saw his mother.
The man pulled her from the window as Lucien's fingers slipped, and he heard a scream as he hit the ground. He fled the manor grounds and hid among the streets, always nearby, waiting for his mother to find her own way out, to find him.
She never did.
Are you happy now? he thought bitterly as the Shushu still tortured him.
"I am. A human who has good reasons to hate humans. The occasion is too good to pass. I could possess you, make you my toy, but that would be an incredible waste of potential. We could achieve great things together. If you get me out of here, we'll discuss a plan to make your dreams of seeing the world burn come true."
And if I don't?
"Then nothing. I'll wait for the next worthy candidate. I'll release you now, so the rest is up to you."
Lucien came back to reality just as abruptly as he had left it. He was surprised to see he was still standing, his shaking hands still on the cloak.
"What happened?" he asked urgently.
"What...what?" Shaggy answered, confused.
"What did I do just now?"
"Nothing. You just put your hands on that thing. What is that supposed to mean?"
Lucien realised his own private nightmare had lasted for only a moment. But he didn't doubt it actually happened, albeit only inside his own head. The Shushu-cloak was still looking at him, and he knew enough about what a Shushu could express with only its single eye to know what relaxed confidence was like.
There wasn't much of a doubt anyway. He knew perfectly well it was a dangerous move to trust a Shushu, but the beast had touched him into some parts of his mind that had been hurting forever. Countless people everywhere were maintained into various degrees of servitude by an unfair society, and fate just sent his way a powerful ally who promised he would allow him to make a difference. An occasion too good to pass indeed. Curiosity got the better of his judgement, and Akula's whimper didn't change anything.
"It does nothing but it's rather unique," Lucien said calmly. "Let's say, fifty kamas?"
A/N
Sorry for the long wait! I'm trying to do a chapter each month, and with a size equivalent to one chapter, Memories kinda replaced the last update. It was intended to be a side thing, and real life unexpectedly got in the way, leaving me with too little free time for everything.
Nothing much to say about this chapter except I had to split it earlier than intended seeing how the length was getting out of control. The fighting scene between Yugo and Tristepin was a pleasure to write, after all what is a good moment for Tristepin apart from a good fight? Also I'm sorry if I offended sword-fighting purists, I don't know anything about it and had to look up online for some hopefully reliable info. The right-handed shield seems to be a real oddity, and yes, it's in the show. Here is the most funny thing I came across about it :
"Stabbing, slashing, or punching a disabling blow is going to take a lot of strength, and if any civilization used its dominant arm for shielding instead of swording, it's not likely to have lasted long enough to have a written history."
I have no clue how well I'm doing with those OCs, so if there's something you don't like about them feel free to tell, it's never too late to correct mistakes.
A Iop, a Cra and an Enutrof play nose goes. Why does the Iop always lose?