Chapter 33: Bones of Steel

Chapter 33: Bones of Steel

Swords clashed and Mariannes weapon broke first.

Her bone blade, crafted from her own harvested forearm, cracked above the pommel as it parried Lord Bethors strike. The shattered edge of her weapon went flying and bounced off a steel wall. Marianne barely had the time to take a step back to avoid a strike to the throat and manifest a new sword from her bloodied forearm; the fourth since the beginning of the training session.

The process was starting to take a toll on her. Although she had been fed on a steady diet of calcium and nutrients before the fight, osteomancy couldnt violate the laws of conservation of mass. The bones had to come from somewhere, and now she was drawing material from her own ribs.

Use the environment, Lord Bethor admonished her as he chased her through the metal maze. His armors heavy, steady footsteps echoed across the steel walls, his stance showing no weakness. Strike from unpredictable directions.

Hes toying with me, Marianne realized. She was giving her all, wasting not even a single breath, while the Dark Lord could afford to chat. His physical might eclipsed hers by a colossal amount, to the point that she often dropped her weapon when their blades connected. While her hand remained strong, her bone blades instead cracked or shattered.

And to add insult to injury, Lord Bethor was beating Marianne with her familys own rapier.

Unlike his students aggressive, fast-paced style, the Dark Lord favored a slow and methodical approach to swordsmanship. His defense was impeccable, his movements calculated and deliberate, his thrusts mighty enough to pierce through steel. Marianne felt like she was facing a glacier, an impenetrable block of ice creeping in on her inch by inch. And unlike his pet machine, the Lord Bethor shrugged off illusions before they could take hold.

At least he has the grace not to hold back his punches, Marianne thought. Some of his strikes could have easily killed her had they connected. The noblewoman had managed to survive for now, but she couldnt afford to let the Dark Lord push her back further. She had grown familiar enough with the maze to know that he was slowly forcing her towards the closed exit, where she would find herself with her back against a steel door.

Deciding on an aggressive strategy, Marianne gritted her teeth and lunged at the weak spot in her foes helmet. Her enhanced senses gave her a perfect vision of the battlefield. She could hear Lord Bethors muscles contracting, sense hisherrapier push air, see the slight inflections in his armor indicating which way he would move next. She could even observe the changes of ambient temperature from the lights reflection in the air.

Lord Bethors weapon moved to match her own, and Marianne ignored the pain as she called upon the Blood. One of her ribs vanished as a second bone sword burst out of her wrist, shooting a spurt of blood as it came out. Grabbing the new weapon with her free hand, Marianne struck from below by surprise. She moved so fast that even her enhanced eye struggled to keep up with the strike.

She thought Lord Bethor would parry her first sword and leave himself open to the second.

Instead, Marianne noticed the slight inflection of his feet as he adjusted his stance and she instinctively stepped to the left. The motion saved her life, as Lord Bethor forewent defense for a surprise lunge aimed at her stomach. The tip of the Reynard familys rapier grazed against Mariannes shirt, cutting a thin line across the cloth but failing to reach her skin.

Why? Marianne thought angrily as she found herself stepping back again. Why cant I hit him? My senses and reflexes have never been sharper!

Your swordsmanship matches mine in finesse and you have experience in all basic styles, Lord Bethor scolded her. Your weakness lies not in your lack of experience, but in your lack of imagination. You rely on speed, skill, and strength to overwhelm your opponents, yet inevitably you will face foes who are faster than humanly possible, stronger than you, or skilled enough to predict your attacks.

He raised the rapier at her in a stance that Marianne found chillingly familiar. In a blink of an eye, the crimson knight before her vanished, replaced with a handsome noble with long black hair and piercing blue eyes.

Now die, vile woman, Jrme said.

Mariannes heart skipped a beat, and the shock almost cost the noblewoman her life. Her fiancs ghost lunged at her so fast that even her enhanced eyes struggled to keep up; the Reynards rapier turned into a blurring flash of steel hungry for her blood.

Acting entirely on reflexes, Marianne raised both her swords in a cross formation and pushed Jrmes sword towards the ceiling. The inhuman strength behind the blow almost tossed her backward, and the tip of the blade cut through her left cheek even as she deflected it. Mariannes blood dripped on the ground with a thunderous sound.

But though the ploy and the pain unsettled her for a second, the noblewoman quickly regained her composure. This is not Jrme, she thought, and even if he were I should not hold back.

However, although her defense didnt collapse, Lord Bethor proved relentless. He unleashed a flurry of blows and forced Marianne back. From the echo of their blades, she realized he had pushed her into the dead-end leading to the exit.

Poetic, he said with Jrmes voice, his words as sharp as his blows, you will perish by the same sword you killed me for.

I cant maintain an effective defense against him, the noblewoman thought as she remembered Bertrands lessons. Like most of Mariannes fencing teachers, he had put emphasis on controlling the blade, timing, and distance to maintain an equilibrium between attack and defense. She had been taught to anticipate angles of attack and control her opponents center, waiting for a gap in the defense to launch a counterattack.

But Lord Bethors stance had no weakness. Trying to defend was only buying her time with no progress.

Youre wrong, Marianne said, her eyes squinting dangerously.

About what? the ghost asked. You didnt slay me?

The false Jrme lunged at her again as if expecting her to back down again.

I didnt fight you for the sword, Jrme.

Instead Marianne surprised him with an aggressive flurry of blows. Wrong-footed, the Dark Lord found himself on the defensive for the first time in the training.

I fought you for myself.

Memories flashed before her eyes with each clash of their weapons. Once happy memories of ballroom dancing in Saklas, of drinking tea alone with her fianc in the gardens. Once Marianne had looked at these moments with maiden-like innocence. She had always seen Jrme through the prism of nostalgia.

But now?

Now, she could see the smugness and ambition walking side by side with the pleasantries and the kindness. Valdemars words had recontextualized many hints that Marianne had done her best to ignore.

I would have been happy to be a dutiful wife, if only you had let me be myself, Marianne said bitterly what she had thought deep down for years. Was that too high of a price to ask?

Use the unpredictable, the noblewoman thought as she attacked again and again with both blades; she dropped all attempts at defense to fully focus on offense. Dominate the fighting space to keep the initiative.Read latest chapters at novelhall.com Only

It was a dangerous strategy as she left herself exposed to a counterattack. The moment her assault weakened and Lord Bethor regained the initiative, he would strike back with lethal force.

The moment came quickly.

The Dark Lord appraised her question with a calculating gaze. And what am I?

Marianne cleared her throat before answering. Power.

Lord Bethor crossed his arms, his eyes turning distant as if remembering a terrible memory. Have you ever been burned, Marianne Reynard?

Briefly, she admitted. But never for long.

Be thankful then, the Dark Lord said, his voice grave and haunting. I have been wounded by countless things, but none of them ever felt as painful as being burned alive. Once they have taken hold of you, flames eat you alive. They spread through the skin and melt the flesh, boil your blood in your veins and dry your eyes. Beasts leave when they are satisfied with their meal, but a fires hunger knows no bounds.

You told Valdemar that you had your own baptism by dragonfire, Marianne remembered with a deep frown. Did you

Lord Bethor looked up at the ceiling, as if he could see something invisible Mariannes enhanced eyes couldnt perceive. Long ago, I was an arrogant battle mage who believed himself invincible. I had defeated other mages, derros, and monsters aplenty. Becoming a dragonslayer sounded like the next step of my military career. The feat would shower me in glory. So I ignored the warnings of my superiors and ventured into forbidden tunnels known for leading to a dragons lair. The caverns floor was littered with the bones of all the would-be dragonslayers who had preceded me, but I paid them no mind.

Marianne listened in silence. She had heard tales of famed dragonslayers, but she had always wondered how many had perished before one could triumph. The history books did not record the names of losers.

We find the Strangers terrifying because we do not understand them and dragons scare us because we know exactly what they are, Lord Bethor said. We humans have deluded ourselves into thinking we stood at the apex of the food chain of this stone shell of a world, when we are but an intermediary chainlink. The moment the dragons head emerged from the cavern, the instant I first laid my eyes on it, I understood the simple truth: I was prey, and it was a predator.

To hear a Dark Lord say that left Marianne unsettled. They were the benchmark of strength in the empire; mages so powerful that they could control an entire Domain unchallenged. To have one admit weakness shook her to the core.

The beast answered my spells with fire so hot that none of my wards could stop it, Lord Bethor said. My nerves were set ablaze, and the pain I felt that day has never left me. Nor the memory of my bones shattered as the beast casually swept me away. If I hadnt fallen into an underground crack too difficult for a giant beast to access, I would have died. It took all of my magic to keep my soul anchored to my burnt husk of a body.

Mariannes own escape from Verney Castle now looked like childs play. To survive without skin and flesh she thought. Lord Bethor was alive, so he hadnt embraced the cold apathy of undeath.

Yet I knew that the dragon could have devoured me if it had made any effort, Lord Bethor continued. But you do not eat a flea biting your skin. You squash it and forget. That was its mistake. Though it took me three days of agony, I crawled my way back to civilization. But it wasnt my survival instinct that allowed me to survive.

His eyes brimmed with cold fury.

It was hate, Marianne, the Dark Lord whispered. Not for the dragon, but for myself. For being weak. After that day, I swore never to feel so helpless again. I would elevate myself above even the gods and stand at the apex of the world like that beast of legends.

And now, the Dark Lord ruled his own world from atop a spire, looking down on the mortals toiling in his forges Lord Bethor had surpassed his fear by becoming it. What happened to the dragon? Marianne dared to ask.

Lord Bethor scoffed. I killed it, he answered as if it were obvious, his voice echoing with quiet satisfaction. I shattered its skull with my hands and showered myself in its blood. Then I raised this tower over the lair the animal once called home.

Marianne shivered, as she remembered that Valdemar had mentioned seeing a dragons bones as being part of the towers heart. Had it been the first corpse added to the foundations, the Dark Lords greatest trophy?

Take this as a lesson, Marianne Reynard, the Dark Lord said. Pain and fear are the fires that light the human will. One who has never suffered a defeat will not fight as hard as one who has experienced helplessness.

I know, Marianne replied. She had had her own defeat when she had watched Bertrand turn into a monster, helpless to do anything. That feeling will never leave me.

Then you are ready to learn my combat spells, Lord Bethor declared. You are middling in the Blood, correct, but you have a keen understanding of your body and a flexible mind. Osteomancy is perfect for you.

He raised his left hand, his armors gauntlet turning into blood. A long, flexible chain of spine erupted from his wrist, covered in spikes. He swung it like a harsh taskmaster with a whip, cutting through the air.

This is the Spine-Chain spell, Lord Bethor said, before materializing a skull at the end of the chain. And the Flail upgrade. The skulls density is such that although it feels light, the impact will break stone and pierce through armor.

To illustrate his point, he swung his weapon at a wall. The flails head bent the steel on impact, causing the entire room to shake.

You have mastered the sword, but it cannot solve all problems, the Dark Lord scolded Marianne. A true warrior must use the appropriate weapon for each encounter. The spear when you need a greater reach, the flail when you need the power to shatter armor too thick for your enchanted rapier. Osteomancy can manifest all of them, and I shall teach you how.

But at what cost? Marianne asked warily. My body only has so much bone and calcium to draw from.

Do you think my body holds as much blood as a commoner? Lord Bethor asked with a hint of disdain. The Blood requires nutrients to work its spells, yes. But with magic, you can train your body to hold more than humanly possible.

Wouldnt it make me heavier and slower?

I will teach you to alter your bones density and malleability. Though you may weigh more than others, by adjusting your mass you will move faster than they do.

Lord Bethor let out a growl, and two enormous batlike wings erupted from the back of his armor. Mariannes senses told her that they were made of hollowed bones bound by thin cartilage. The Dark Lord now looked like a demonic knight in an armor of blood.

A human-shaped dragon.

Osteomancy can do more than manifest weapons and armors, Lord Bethor said. By manipulating your bone density and altering them in a specific way you will even learn to fly.

I could fly? Marianne blinked in shock. She knew some powerful mages could by lifting themselves up with telekinesis or by shapeshifting into beasts, but due to her own middling spellcasting, the noblewoman had long given up on achieving the same feat.

If you train to. Lord Bethor appraised her silently. As a reward for your efforts, I shall let you pick your first choice of weapon to train with.

Mariannes thoughts turned to Bertrand and the beast he had become. If I could fly she thought, trying to imagine herself chasing her old friend in the air. What would be the best weapon to save him?

The chain, Marianne said after some consideration. To catch a friend.