Supreme Swordfiend

Zerasos, to his credit, took Leon's rejection well. From the devil's trepidation-laden introduction of the offer, Leon had expected more pressure to take it. The second letter Zerasos wordlessly slid across the table did little to explain things.

"We greet you, fellow human. Your actions, while reprehensible, are expected of one so ignorant. Our species cannot stand divided, lest we fall alone to an uncaring world. We implore you, to show compassion. Take those who are weaker than you under your wing and we will reward you amply."

That was it, the letter hadn't even outlined what exactly Leon would be getting in exchange. A poor enticement on the sender's part. Unless they felt confident their identity alone could compel him to obeisance? They clearly hadn't done their research if they thought an appeal to emotion would work on Leon.

"Y'know I actually like the first prick more than the second one Zerasos- the answer to both offers is no."

The devil sighed, motioning for Leon to slide both letters back to him. Once they were back in Zerasos' hands, the devil incinerated both with one of his ever-useful fingertip flames.

"That second one was from the Shepherds Of The Flock. Another bigshot faction in this universe. Neither they nor the Hedonic Path will like the fact you spurned them kid. They can't touch you here- but they will interfere with certain markets I operate in so in the interest of profit I'll mediate on your behalf and try and calm this shit down, stop it from turning into a real shitstorm. Anything you want to convey back to them or would you rather I handle this PR disaster in my own way?"

Leon pondered, glancing around the house while mulling over his options. Taking either offer was out of the question. Killing other flesh and blood humans was a line Leon preferred to treat with a modicum of respect. Doing it at another's behest felt wrong. When Leon killed it was for himself- for his own reasons and own gains.

Taking on the burden of leading a group was equally unappealing. It had been a repulsive option when he'd first arrived in the Tutorial and after everything he'd experienced, Leon was sure he'd made the right call. He wouldn't have been able to throw himself into each new fight if he was busy worrying about a bunch of weaklings stabbing him in the back.

"Tell 'em to fuck off. I'm not about to tie myself to a faction while I'm stuck in here, doesn't matter what they offer. They can sit back and enjoy the show like everyone else."

The devil stepped back from the table, drawing a cigar from thin air, puffing on it while he responded.

"Alright, your funeral. Don't come crying to me when your planet's run by a bunch of psychotic thrill-seekers that will do anything they can think of purely for the fun of it. Worse, if the Shepherds take over they would lock you out of dungeons 'for your own protection' while their members retain exclusive access. Listen kid, Earth's prime fuckin real estate and every faction in this baby universe has their ears pricked up and their pricks lubed up, ready to go to town once this Tutorial ends. You fuck these guys off? They're gonna push back hard against your world, send every [H] on payroll in to colonise your planet and wipe out you and every other native they don't like. Can you live with that?"

While the issues Zerasos raised would have been important to a world leader or bleeding-heart hero, Leon only took away one thing- these people were willing to send their goons to Earth for him to hunt down once he was done with the Tutorial.

Leon met Zerasos' empty eyes, bright blue gazing into milky white, as he answered, conviction in his voice.

"Survival of the fittest. It's a phrase some scientist made up back on Earth, to explain why some organisms thrive while others perish. Earth's going to change, so those of us heading back to it have to change as well- at least we do if we want to keep our lives. The people crying, whining and struggling through this Tutorial aren't fit, they're mentally weak- they'll crack before long. The people who are just trying to get through it and can't wait to get back to Earth aren't fit, they'll break down when they realise this is the new normal. The people like me? The ones who are throwing themselves in, dominating this warm-up act and enjoying it? We're the ones who'll be fit for the new world. Some assholes want to invade my planet over hurt feelings? Let 'em. Human, devil, lizard, hedonist, shepherd or god. Makes no difference, they want a fight? I'll give 'em one hell of a fight and I'll enjoy myself while I'm at it."

The devil puffed on his cigar, waiting for a moment before replying. Gauging Leon from the looks of it, judging how serious the young swordsman was. He gave no indication of approval or disapproval, pulling his crystal from out of thin air and tapping on an interface that was invisible to Leon.

"Like I said kid- don't come crying to me when things go wrong. Got nothing major for ya right now- figured that Trial would have taken you longer. Still, don't get lazy. Circuits, swordsmanship and levels in that order. I gotta step out for a couple hours and deal with this shit. Don't burn the house down while I'm out."

With a puff of familiar blue smoke the devil vanished, leaving Leon alone with a foul smell of sulphur spreading through the room.

There was nothing else he needed in the house. While he could feel the mental strain from having undergone the Trial it was tolerable. Not enjoyable, but tolerable. Without his bloodline baying for blood he could keep his emotions in check and sink into the increasingly familiar routine of cutting down geckos and chasing power while being chased by lizards.

Take your emotions, bottle them up and one day you'll die and they'll stop being a problem. Leon's favoured solution to his own feelings was running into a stumbling block. He was running out of bottles and the contents he was bottling were growing darker. More temperamental and less pleased to be confined.

This was what he chewed on mentally while completing his gear check outside, making sure his new armour wasn't falling off after the walk back.

Catharsis. A release, a refreshing of body and mind. For Leon, this normally involved a weekend-long bender with Jin that culminated in both men waking up bleary-eyed on Monday morning with no recollection of what or who they'd done on Saturday and Sunday. This was, unfortunately, not an option while within the Tutorial.

It might never be an option again.

Pulling Bladeless off his back, Leon inspected the blade, making sure it wasn't falling apart. The enchantment it bore promised to repair the weapon, but Leon preferred to verify rather than blindly trust. Running his hands over the dark iron he continued running down the list of options.

Killing wasn't an awful idea. The dopamine release from levelling would do wonders for his mood.

It didn't feel right though. His heart wasn't in it.

The shadows of doubts he thought he'd resolved still hung over him. How much did he owe to his bloodline? Would he have died without it in the Trial?

Placing Bladeless within his storage ring, satisfied with the blade's state, he did the same to Wavecutter. Examining the blade for any defects before storing it away and retrieving a blade he'd thought he'd leave untouched.

Drawing the Sunlight Greatsword from within his storage ring, Leon took a proper look at the sword. He'd been more focused on trying to find a manual last time and hadn't fully taken in the sword's appearance.

Roughly a metre long, the crimson blade gleamed in the afternoon light, golden filigree running the length of the blade in a design that aimed to evoke the rising sun. The tip of the blade was of a lighter hue than the body, more a cardinal red than a deep crimson.

The forward-sloping quillons of the crossguard invited comparison to the Scottish claymore, though the quillons of the Sunlight Greatsword terminated not in the traditional quatrefoil style that characterised a claymore. Instead, the blade's forger had opted to have the crossguard end in a pair of pointed spikes.

An offensive guard, for an offensive blade. One built to take punishment. The alloy that comprised it was as foreign to Leon as the one which made up Wavecutter though he held no doubt it was just as durable.

Placing both hands around the sword's grip, Leon took up his stance and began swinging.

In all the chaos he had broken an old habit, one he'd forgotten about that had always centred him.

He owed himself six thousand swings of the sword, to make up for the days he'd missed.

While doing so he focused on his breathing, drawing in the water mana in the surroundings, refilling his drained supply.

After the first thousand Leon switched it up, plucking pebbles from the ground, tossing them aloft and slicing them as they fell. Another thousand swings reduced the difficulty of hitting the pebble from difficult to trivial.

So he continued, completing another thousand swings while keeping his eyes closed, relying entirely on his Air's Pressure insight to guide his blade. He missed more often than he hit. The lack of any wind in the tutorial meant Leon faced no interference in feeling his surroundings. Learning to use this insight as a sort of second sight might save his life if he was ever blinded.

It took another thousand swings to bring his hit rate up from twenty-five to fifty per cent.

The next thousand took him to seventy-five per cent. The last set had him hitting every one dead on, his sword batting the small pebbles away, slicing apart the ones that had been repeatedly used.

The sun hung low in the false sky as Leon repaired his muscles, burning energy without worry. His practice had achieved its goal.

No doubt, no conflict. Only himself, his blade and his goals.

Next on his list of goals was to master his circuit, to create Ebb and Flow quickly and with only a single point's worth of mana. Pulling up his status Leon carefully seized a point's worth and began guiding it through his limbs.

Failure was common. Either he would attempt to create the circuit too quickly, losing control and wasting a point of mana or he would go too slowly, progress measured in minutes instead of seconds.

The sun vanished leaving Leon alone in the dark, sword at his side and legs crossed, sitting with the ashes of what had once been a fire pit. His breathing never stopped, constantly refilling mana as it was spent on attempts.

A movement he detected shook Leon out of his meditation as he completed the circuit, the process having taken him five minutes to complete. Slow, still unusable in the heat of battle for now but it was a noticeable gain on a work in progress.

The movement had originated from the direction of the house, though Leon doubted it was Zerasos. The devil had been vocal in his distaste for the Tutorial's air.

Scanning the darkness, Leon's failed to detect anything, his eyes unused to the pitch blackness after having been closed so long.

Eventually, he moved forwards, nerves on edge and sword in hand. A monster would have attacked by now. Ironically, dealing with people was a scarier prospect considering powerful people had an interest in seeing Leon do so.

Leon smelt it before he saw her. Rot, festering wounds. The scent of a slow death. A lump against the door, clad in tatters, any semblance of the cool and flippant woman he'd met on Day Zero was gone.

The hair gave her away as Leon's recognised her. Selena. Haggard and broken. On death's door and on his doorstep.

Leon heard footsteps and voices in the distance, unmasked and loud. Angry and violent from the few snippets he picked out. Clearly, Mike's party had caught up with the 'traitor' and was about to make it his problem.

Letting out a low whistle Leon ran his hands across his scalp, settling into a squat and drawing Wavecutter and Bladeless, storing the Sunlight Greatsword and preparing for an uncomfortable few minutes and an even more uncomfortable decision.