Sethion had lost all sense of his surroundings. Noises of what he thought to be words entered his ears without registering. He swayed on his feet, a mere breeze enough to topple him. Something held him back and forced him to remain standing. Jitters shook his body, taking over all semblance of control he once had. All the while, a single thought rang through his head, first quiet, then louder and louder, like a forever compounding echo.


    <i>No. </i>


    Sethion pushed away the outstretched helping hands. He tripped immediately afterward, barely remaining in the lucid world. Obscure words continued to fly at him, their meaning as abstruse as trying to decipher the sound of raindrops. His features contorted into a snarl. One lethal hit, that''s how much he needed to win the duel. That''s how much he would give before letting the illness take over. A guttural sound emanated from his throat, more an instinct than coherent speech.


    "I can fight."


    Saying those three words challenged him. His body hurt as if burning from the inside, a fire that could never be quenched. Sethion couldn''t make out a response, but the silhouette in his vision parted, the black outline receded, giving him space. He noticed he had dropped his shield. He didn''t know when it had happened, but there was an absence of weight there. His two hands gripped his short sword, just enough to keep it from falling to the ground.


    The rough armor he wore dragged him down - too heavy for a body engaged in the midst of a deathly battle with itself. Sethion lacked the coherence to do anything about it. His heart beat ferociously like a war drum in his chest. Rivers of sweat poured down his body. And then, Sethion took a step.


    For a moment, a single breath, he found tranquility. The situation reminded him of his escape from the estate when a fit had shaken him unconscious on the forest floor. Strangely, he didn''t worry this time. Certainty filled his mind, quenching all doubt. It wasn''t even optimism. He just knew he was going to win. Delusional, that''s how an onlooker who could read Sethion''s thoughts would describe it.


    His frail fingers pointed the blade upwards. Hopefully, Paulus had called the beginning of the next round; otherwise, this would have been pointless. Sethion took another step. Something swooshed by him, a sword strike. He hadn''t even tried to dodge, unable to see it coming. The patrician focused on the gestalt in his vision, as the black dots coalesced into what could be a person. One strike was all he would be able to muster. It had to suffice.


    Sethion struggled to move, his will fighting against every cell in his body. Unyielding, he continued, never leaving his target out of sight. A call for every bit of energy inside the failing body rang out, seizing every bit without consideration. He received a pitiful reply, not enough to keep moving, far from sufficient to swing a blade, and yet, he continued. The tremors that shook his body intensified with each passing second. Sethion would have to make it quick. The darkness in his vision spread. His will stood as the last bastion against the onslaught.


    Suddenly, something answered his call. Deep within his body, it resonated and pulsed. Its shape was broken and battered, a mere ruin of its past. Black veins streaked across it, each filled with horrible tar. Then, the pulse pushed forward, traveling through the unaffected parts, mustering currents of power.


    Sethion snapped awake, brimming with strange energy. He didn''t question it, already noticing the fatigue reappearing. The blade, which had been so heavy mere moments ago, felt light in his hands. He dashed forward at his opponent. The sword became a silver blur streaking toward his enemy.


    Then, it sundered. His very being torn, leaving the worst agony he had ever experienced. In an instant, he passed out.


    ?


    Paulus rushed to his apprentice''s side, his face marred with worry. He stepped over a dented shield lying on the ground.


    "Are you wounded?"


    Livius, quick to answer as always, shook his head energetically.


    "No, I don''t think so."


    The boy wiped his cheek, his fingers turning red with blood. Paulus inspected the shallow wound.


    "Thank the gods, it''s only a cut," he stated.


    Livius blinked in confusion, his eyes meeting the other fighter, who seemed to have gotten knocked out cold, lying sprawled out on the ground with his limbs facing in the four cardinal directions.


    "What happened? Is the boy alright?" he asked Paulus, his brows knitted in concern.


    <i>What a good kid. </i>


    After assuring that his apprentice wasn''t missing anything, Paulus checked on Sethion.


    "What an enigma that stranger is," he mumbled to himself.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    The moment the smith had seen the boy for the first time, only a few hours ago, he had noticed discrepancies. A young man in servant''s clothing acting like a patrician. A straight back, no calluses on the hands, and the gall to cause trouble.


    But the most memorable feature had been the boy''s eyes. Dark brown with a haunted look, staring straight through a person framed by circles so deep and black they appeared almost phony. At the time, he had wondered what it took for a young man to turn out that way. Now Paulus knew, or he had at least a strong assumption.


    The oldest man in the courtyard bent down next to the unconscious Sethion, pressing his index finger against the boy''s throat. A weak, unsteady heartbeat responded to his probing.


    "He will live," he announced to Livius, who seemed immensely relieved at the diagnosis.


    Quickly, his apprentice turned to another issue. Livius held up his iron shield, letting it reflect the remaining sunlight, as his knuckles tapped against the metal. His fingertips touched the nasty dent, which now took up around a third of the glimmering metal disc.


    "How did that happen? It doesn''t seem like the metal is faulty," he questioned audibly, indirectly directing the query to his master.


    Paulus reached for the shield, briefly evaluating it. Still, he knew there wasn''t an issue because he had forged the damn thing himself. In his mind, the final moments of the fight replayed when Sethion had suddenly moved at seemingly impossible speeds, almost sundering the shield with a singular strike before collapsing.


    "Nothing to do with that," Paulus stated.


    "Then what…?"


    Paulus cleared his throat. "I have seen such a thing before. It''s a Venator technique."


    Livius''s mouth hung agape. When he was growing up, the Venatores had been heroes of bedtime stories, making it troublesome to reconcile their lofty image with that of a certain knocked-out youth.


    "He was quite proficient with a sword, but a Venator?" he voiced his doubt.


    <i>Proficient? That boy played you like a fiddle. </i>


    Paulus shook his head.


    "Not what I meant, boy," he said as he stretched his back, feeling a satisfying pop.


    "Well, enough chatter for now. Help me bring our duel winner inside before the sun sets on us."


    Livius obeyed quickly, knowing better than to question him even though both were aware of the unasked questions burning on his tongue. Without wasting any more time, they stripped the youth of the armor and carried him inside to place him on a bed in their living quarters above the store.


    "So?" Livius broke the silence as they watched the sleeping youth''s features contort in agony. The sight tugged at the old man''s heartstrings, letting old memories rise to the surface, which he swiftly buried again. The emotions too raw, even after all those years.


    "So what?" Paulus answered.


    "So, I believe you promised a tale, old man," Livius responded.


    Paulus gave the brat a slight slap just to ensure the behavior didn''t go unpunished. He didn''t hit with much force, and Livius barely flinched.


    "Acting pretty cheeky for someone who didn''t land a single hit in a fight," Paulus mock-scolded his apprentice.


    Livius blushed in a beautiful bright red, which Paulus found hilarious, chuckling just a little. A look of realization dawned on his apprentice''s face, and Paulus found himself glad that the boy at least knew how to handle a hammer well.


    The young man, who had been with him for over three years now, let the slight pass without comment, a habit ingrained by experiencing many unnecessary arguments.


    "You compared him to a Venator." Livius pointed at the sleeping Sethion. "Why?"


    "The way he moved, you barely saw him, yes?" The master smith replied to the question with a question.


    Livius shrugged, more interested in the details of the comparison than his loss.


    "Yes, but I think I was a bit distracted. The kid looked half-dead."


    "No, you weren''t. He hit you quicker than a hammer strike."


    Livius raised an eyebrow without challenging the statement.


    "How did he do it then?"


    "If I knew that, I would be a Venator myself, don''t you think?" Paulus looked through the window, noticing the sun had finally set.


    Livius shook his fist theatrically in the air.


    "You messin'' with me, old man?"


    "Patience, boy. How are we ever gonna make a fine smith out of you? Don''t know how it works, so I won''t pretend, but from what I have heard, they can draw power straight from their soul."


    Livius looked down, staring at his stomach as if expecting to find something new.


    "Their soul?" he wondered.


    "Yes, their soul. Did I stutter, or are you just slow?"


    Again, Livius ignored his master''s teasing and fell into deep thought about the ramifications of his master''s story.


    "No, just sounds like it''s straight out of a …" Livius began voicing his thoughts only to get interrupted.


    "A myth?" His master interrupted.


    "I really should stop hitting him on the head," Paulus mumbled under his breath.


    "You think I could learn it?" Livius inquired, a dreamy expression on his face as he stared into nowhere.


    "What for?" Paulus shrugged. "Doesn''t help you much with forging anything. If I were you, I would keep the question for our little sleeping beauty here. Also, fetch me one of our little darling blades. I believe that boy won a bet."


    Livius shot him a surprised look.


    "You actually going to give him one?"


    "Well, only if he can afford it, naturally," Paulus answered wistfully.


    "No." Livius''s lips pressed into a thin line laced with concern. "I just mean, Gaius is clearly unwell."


    Tears gathered in Paulus''s eyes, and he turned his back toward his apprentice.


    "I know, boy. I know more than you could ever imagine."


    Livius bit his lip.


    "If it''s about …"


    "Quiet!" Paulus shouted.


    Livius recoiled in response to the tone of voice. He had just broken one of the unspoken rules under this roof.


    "Shouldn''t we at least check his possessions? Wouldn''t it be cruel to dangle them in front of him, only to tell him they''re too expensive?"


    The master smith''s eyes darted to the young man sleeping on Livius''s bed. He had to admit that he, too, felt tempted to gain insight into the strange swordsman. Finally, he shook his head.


    "He came here to buy one. So, if he doesn''t have the money, it''s his fault. Now fetch me the special swords, will you?"


    Livius let out an exasperated breath.


    "Should have just kicked the brat out of the store," he said to himself, not much different from the way his master often talked.


    The other youth shifted on the bed, not long after his apprentice had left. A scream of pain was the first thing Sethion let out. Afterward, he collapsed back into the sheets. Still, he seemed awake now. Slowly, the boy opened his eyes, only to then suddenly rip them wide open.


    Paulus sat down next to him with a reassuring smile on his face.


    "Don''t worry, brat. We didn''t go through your meager belongings."


    The words seemed to calm the youth quite a bit. Paulus decided to hit him with a big question next.


    "So, how long have you had the Rot?"