Do people remember this fic :kekw: Wanna try and bring it back from hiatus man...

For the second time that day, the blade followed one of his new masters into town.

Phil's house was a bit secluded from all the rest. This didn't strike the blade as very odd since the castle was also built some distance away from any farmsteads or villages because all the land around it was owned by the master. And they needed plenty of space for their gardens and their stables, plus sprawling forests to go hunting in whenever the mood struck them. Sometimes the blade was tasked to go with them. It was a tiring thing, he had to run to keep up with the riders and collect their kills for them - sometimes when their arrows went astray he had to collect those too.

He never minded much though. When they were done hunting, the blade had to help the stableboys tend to the horses and he liked doing that.

What did strike him as odd was that Phil's house was… small, compared to the houses in the town.

Phil's home only had one floor (and also a little hatch in the ceiling that led to an attic where they had put a lot of the items they'd sorted through earlier today). In total there were five rooms. The largest one was the one you entered when coming in, where the couch also was. It confused the blade because it seemed to combine a lot of functionalities that his old master had separate rooms for. There was a table to eat at like in the grand hall, though much tinier. There was a kitchen, definitely much more compact than those of the castle and really only taking up one corner. There was a desk for Phil and space to sit and relax.

Then there were three bedrooms - one for each of his masters. The final room was the armory, the room where the blade slept. His masters also referred to it as a bedroom but the blade thought that might be a joke, or maybe being a bedroom was the original intention of the room before he came along and took up space.

He called it an armory because an armory was where weapons were usually kept.

Outside there was the barn and an outhouse, but the blade could walk from one end of the white picket fence that Phil had around his home to the other end in less than twenty paces. He didn't know how to feel about it.

Well, he didn't feel anything about it. His master's splendor was irrelevant to his drive to be a good blade for them. Even if it was just to protect a tiny plot of land, the blade would give up his life to keep it safe for his masters. If they told him to fight in the defense of a single ounce of hay, he would do it without question.

But in the smallest corner of his mind, he could feel that confusion gnaw at him.

The houses in town were bigger, multiple-level clay buildings with shingled roofs. Wilbur hummed as he walked, much like the singing he did during the journey over when they were still on the road. He was carrying one crate of clothes and scraps of fabrics in his arms. The blade carried the other. He could probably carry both and it had been on his mind to offer. He hadn't though. His old master didn't like it when he offered his help, they saw it as the blade overstepping. It wasn't his place to tell them what to do. His only task was to listen.

These new masters seemed more receptive to him speaking up even when no questions were asked. In fact, they seemed to expect it - encourage it. The blade couldn't tell if that was going to endure, perhaps they were only trying to size him up. Determine the worth he could have to them. What sort of chores they wanted to give him.

"You met Niki, right?" Wilbur asked. The sun was shining and it was warm, the mid-spring air fresh but pleasant. The blade nodded.

"Yes s-" He stopped himself. Phil had told him not to call him sir. Wilbur had not given him that direction, but the blade had gotten good enough at reading people to make a fair judgment of their likes and dislikes. It saved his hide from punishment quite a few times already. "Yes," he settled on.

Wilbur glanced at him but didn't comment on him stumbling over the words. "Good. She's probably going to be coming around a lot, but I think you two will get along. Or maybe it's more that Niki gets along with everybody."

The blade also got along with everybody. Mostly because he didn't really get what it would mean to not 'get along'.

"Tubbo will be around a lot too, though Tommy will keep him busy. They're close. Kinda inseparable, really."

Wilbur made a weird face when he said that. The blade had seen that expression before, on his master when another lord kept prattling on and on about some subject that annoyed them. Did Wilbur not like Tubbo? The blade thought back to their afternoon spent cleaning out the armory, shifting through supplies and making small talk.

No, his behavior towards Tubbo wasn't hostile or unfriendly. Wilbur interacted with Tubbo in a very similar way as he did with Tommy.

Then it was something specific about the relationship between Tommy and Tubbo that was vexing Wilbur?

"Here we are!"

Wilbur's voice snapped him out of his daze. He had been so consumed in thought, the blade had been zoning out again. He hadn't noticed they had arrived at their destination already. He traced the outside of the wooden crate with his thumb until he felt a splinter, digging his finger into the crevice. He wiggled it a little so that the sharpness was just on the edge of hurting. It helped him draw his mind back to the present.

He had to pay attention. He had to remember his purpose.

Things were going to go wrong if he stepped out of line.

"Sir."

Their glare was wicked, lips curling into a snarl over yellowed teeth. The prolonged war had been troublesome for them. Word of their men dying came back from the front more and more often. The blade knew they would ride out soon enough.

But for the moment, there were only the figurines posed on their map to show the approach of enemy soldiers and where they were in opposition of the master's troops. And the blade had been foolish to speak up.

"What?" they spat.

Fear flared alive in his gut and stayed his tongue. He knew the mistake he had made.

"Out with it!" They stood up in one motion and the blade wanted to cower but that would only make the punishment more severe. He had already messed up. If he showed some grace, they'd be merciful.

"If you move your men to the north, they'll be caught in the ravine when the enemy pursues," he said, so soft it was more of a mutter. "You'd do better staying at the end of the valley and laying a trap."

The master looked down at their map with a scowl. The blade couldn't relax even with their eyes removed from him. He had been disrespectful in a way he hadn't been in a long, long time. And after decades in their service, he should have known better.

He had been bad.

Enraged, they turned on him. Their fingers grappled for his throat, trying to hook into the collar. There was no purchase there, the gold sat too tightly against the blade's skin. But their nails could catch on the edges and they dragged him forth. They slammed him onto the table and the blade winced when his nose cracked on impact. The corner of the table dug into his stomach, bringing him close to puking.

"If I ever want tactical insight from a mindless thing like you, I will ask for it. But until I do, you are to keep your mouth shut. Am I understood?!" Their hand had moved to the back of his neck, shaking him about.

"Yes sir," the blade tried to answer. Though it was hard when blood from his broken nose was spilling into his mouth, across his lips.

He was reminded of the arena in a way his heart wasn't often anymore. Longing for it.

They pulled him back to throw him to the floor. "Get out of my sight!" they said. The blade didn't need to be told twice, scrambling to obey.

The master send their men into the ravine and none of them survived.

A little bell hung on the doorframe of the store they walked into, much like the bell in Niki's bakery. It alerted a tall woman with long auburn hair to their presence and she came from the back to greet them. Her eyes were striking and green. When she saw Wilbur, she smiled warmly.

"Oh, you're back! We were all taking bets in the pub on how long you'd be gone for this time and Jack owns me money now." She walked around the counter with a laugh.

"Hey, Sally." Wilbur set the crate down on a nearby table. The blade held onto his because he hadn't been told what to do with it yet. "Are you going to share your winnings with me this time?"

A teasing smile answered him. "Perhaps I could use it to take you out. Would you say yes?"

Wilbur leaned on the table, with his back turned half toward the blade so he couldn't quite tell his reaction. Wilbur's cheeks flared with a bit more color though as he reached up to adjust his glasses. "Ah, I-"

The woman - Sally - slapped his shoulder lightly. "I'm just messing with you. Who's your friend?"

"Oh, right." Wilbur shook his head, and with it the awkward embarrassment at Sally's proposition. "This is Blade. We met him during our trip and he's come back to stay with us for a while."

Sally smiled at him. He hauled the crate a little higher, partly so he wouldn't drop it and partly because it allowed him to hide his face behind the heap of clothes. The blade hadn't realized how much he hated direct eye contact before because nobody would bother to look at him. It was fine when Phil, Wilbur, or Tommy did it. He didn't mind as much. But when anybody else did it, he felt all prickly and uncomfortable.

"He's a bit shy, hm?" Sally said, amused.

Wilbur shrugged. "He's not been around people much."

"I'm sure there's a story there."

When Sally put her hand on her chin, she reminded the blade of the girls that used to work in the kitchen, alive with curiosity and vigor. They would fawn over the soldiers and hope one would marry them, so they could stop cleaning floors and scrubbing pots and trade their servitude for a more mundane existence.

The blade had been told to hate those girls for their ungratefulness to his master. He had tried to hate them.

But when he saw Wilbur roll his eyes at Sally's comment and tap her on the back of her head in jest, the red curls bouncing when she flinched away from him with a laugh, he didn't think he could bring himself to hate her.

"Fine, fine, I won't pry. Not yet anyway." She batted Wilbur's hand away as if it was a particularly bold fly. "But do tell me why you're here because I know it's not just for a courtesy visit."

"We brought you some old clothes Phil had lying around. You might find some use for them?" Wilbur gestured at the box and with a twinkle in her eye, Sally wasted no time starting to dig through the fabric. She held up a white cotton blouse, stretching the sleeve to check the material.

"Is that even a question?"

"We also would need some new stuff made for him," Wilbur said. He motioned the blade over and finally, he managed to unstick his feet from the ground, where they seemed to be glued to the floorboards. Wilbur showed him where to put the box down.

Sally nodded, checking the second box of clothes as well. "I can do that. Just let me take some measurements and I'll send you on your way."

On her instructions, the blade stood in the middle of the room and stiffly held out his arms while she used a tape measure to check on him. His tail flicked a little when she pulled it down the length of his spine. "There'll have to be a hole in the buttocks area," Sally said contemplatively. "You know, I never get to make clothes for other hybrids. This is pretty exciting."

The blade blinked at the curious comment, staring at a spot on the wall to try and distract himself from the tight feeling in his chest at being made to stand at attention. It was the closest thing to what his old master had him do that these new masters had demanded of him thus far.

When Sally was done, she saw them off. Wilbur waved her goodbye but even while walking back he shot strange looks over his shoulder. His hand was shoved in his pocket.

The blade didn't say anything. It wasn't his place.

When they got back to the house, Tommy and Tubbo were still out. Phil didn't seem concerned about the matter, despite it being close to dusk.

There really must be peace currently, if nobody was worried about going out so late at night. The blade hadn't seen any defenses or soldier patrols in the village either. If a war came, these people would be painfully unprepared.

He knew there were training weapons up in the barn though. Phil had moved them from the armory to there to make room for the blade so he could sleep in a bed. A real bed, not a cot. He was expected to sleep in a real bed tonight.

It was something he was trying not to think about.

Maybe he could use the training weapons to keep in shape. He had to be prepared to defend his masters when they needed it.

Phil was walking around the kitchen, making food. In the middle of the room, near the couch, there was a sort of white rune drawn on the floor in chalk. Wilbur walked around it, so the blade followed his example.

"You spoke to Kristin?" Wilbur asked.

"Only for a little while. The veil wasn't thin enough." Phil turned around and walked to his desk. "I'm trying to connect some dots, so to speak. But it looks like I'll have to wait for Pete to get back to me first." He picked up a piece of paper from the table and held it out to the blade. "Can you tell me if any of these names or places sound familiar to you?"

The blade took it from him, looking at the jumbled mess of black lines. They didn't mean anything to him.

Very, very long ago, the blade had been able to understand a bit of writing. He'd never been taught, but when he was very bored during war counsel there was not much else to do but look at the maps and documents his master was occupying themself with. For a lot of specific drawings or symbols, the blade knew what they were. And he came to recognize the scribbles next to them as letters.

Then it was as easy as searching for specific patterns and he could figure out some basics.

After several centuries of not keeping up with it, the blade had forgotten almost anything he had learned. The library in the castle had been destroyed by the mob. Some books had survived but the blade had not dared to touch them.

He would never steal from his master.

"I can't read," the blade said when he noticed Phil and Wilbur were just staring at him, waiting for him to speak up and answer their question. A question he had barely registered. He really was getting out of shape. Lowering his head, he handed the paper back.

"Oh, that's… Yeah, that's my bad. Kind of a major oversight on my part." Phil took it from him again. "Did you get any kind of education?"

"I was trained for combat, survival techniques, field medicine-"

"I meant a formative education," Phil cut in. Not unkindly, yet it still made the blade falter.

(He was being very bad at the only thing he should be good at)

"No sir."

Phil's frown deepened. He had disobeyed a direct command again, he had-

"I'll ask Niki about it once she comes by to pick Tubbo up," Phil said, putting his paper back down with a sigh. He picked up a cloth from the table instead and threw it at the blade. "Will you please wipe up the chalk, we can't have somebody stepping in it. That'll be a whole mess to sort out."

Immediately, the blade was on his knees.

This was good, this was familiar. This was him following an order as he had been taught to do. This was him being a good blade.

Wilbur knelt down next to him, also with a rag in his head. "I'll start on the other end, get this done quicker." It was an offer of help, of kindness. It was his master kneeling too, to work at a chore that should be as easy as breathing for the blade but which they were inconveniencing themselves with because he wasn't good enough.

The blade bit his tongue until he tasted blood, scrubbing at the floor even when his fingers felt raw with it.

"I know it's a big favor to ask of you." Phil was clasping his hands in front of his face, looking at Niki pleadingly. "But you're the only one in town with experience. And the only one I can trust."

"There's really no reason to butter me up, Philza Minecraft." Niki rolled her eyes. "You know I'm going to say yes."

"Pretending it took some major convincing on my part will make me better about not being able to pay you," Phil said.

"I do kind of want you to feel bad about that, just a little bit."

The blade was standing near the wall. He usually did, when nobody was telling him what to do. And that was a much more frequent occurrence than he'd like it to be.

He didn't know what to do with himself without direction.

"Get out of my sight!" His old master pushed him away when he was underfoot. Those words, the blade had taken as a lifeline. If his master told him to get out of sight, he went to the stables. Or the garden. And he could remain out of sight until he was called on and given some new command without it being a disobedience.

These masters never told him to leave. But they barely ever told him what to do either. So the blade just… stood there.

"That's settled then," Phil said. "I get to feel bad and you get to teach Blade how to read."

"Probably some other stuff too." Niki walked up to him. She was smiling still, but it wasn't the same as Sally. It was subdued, a little more patient. The blade thought about the cinnamon buns he had earlier and how he didn't know how to thank her.

(He thought about the dead woman in the castle's kitchen whose grave he had abandoned)