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VII.La Mémoire D'un Renard
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The scent of roasted meat filled the farmhouse kitchen, with the warm glow of candlelight flickering off wooden walls. The corner kitchen table was small but sturdy, worn with use, and the centerpiece of every evening's lesson.
Quintin sat across from his father, at ten cycles with his hands gripping the edge of the table, legs swinging slightly beneath his chair. Johanus leaned back, arms crossed, his piercing gaze set on his son as he spoke.
"The thirteen revenants," he spoke emphasizing the seriousness of today's subject.
Quintin had heard of them before, but only in stories. The legendary kill squad of the kingslayer king was still feared even now. He had overheard some other children and even adults talk about them in passing when going to the nearest village for supplies with his father. Johanus had told him prior to today's lesson that he once was one, but Quintin wanted to know more.
Johanus picked up his wooden cup, taking a sip before continuing, "I was trained by the one they called the Owl. And alongside me was Elyas, the Wolf. And myself? I was given the Fox."
Quintin's young eyes lit up, "Foxes are cool."
Johanus smirked faintly, shaking his head, "Maybe. But it was never meant as a compliment."
Quintin tilted his head not understanding.
Johanus set his cup down and leaned forward slightly, "The other revenants, those who would have now, from the rumors, formed the Council of Seven, cared about the names far more than I ever did. But the three of us? We didn't get a say. We were assigned them. Elyas was the Wolf, because he has a penchant for self interest, and the Owl… well, he was the oldest and was only ever seen at night. But me?"
He exhaled with passive aggression, "I was always under King Ghaldre's orders to report everything. I owed him. Every operation. Every casualty. No matter the collateral. Even if other revenants were stepping out of line. Not that he cared. But it gave me the reputation of being somehow two-faced to the others, I suppose."
Quintin scrunched his face, "Just because the king raised you to be his warrior? Doesn't seem fair."
Johanus smirked, "It rarely was." He picked up his knife and cut into his meat, ripping off a piece and taking a bite, "But today, we're talking about the Lion. Olan Ficar."
Quintin perked up. "Lions are cool too."
Johanus's expression darkened slightly, "He's different. Unlike the others, Olan wasn't trained in our ways. Because of Olan's true death."
Quintin's breath hitched, "What do you mean?"
Johanus leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, "His body was mangled in such a way that nearly every bone was shattered. A doctor in his homeland of Kelfnir, which is east of Centava," he said pointing to a map pinned up behind them as Quintin glanced, "Well, he attempted something unheard of. A surgery where his bones were fused back together… with steel."
Quintin's eyes widened.
"It took him many cycles to heal and reawaken," Johanus continued, "But when he did, he was something else entirely. A walking fortress."
Quintin was practically bouncing in his chair. "That's incredible."
Johanus nodded, "Too true. And worth having fear for."
The boy's excitement faltered slightly. "Is he… unbeatable?"
Johanus exhaled, looking down at his plate. Then, slowly, he met his son's eyes, "Now, I didn't say that."
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The ghosts of old lessons echoed in Quintin's mind as he stepped forward, drawing his sword. Olan's expression flickered with amusement. The golden revenant stroked his beard slightly before lifting a hand, signaling his two ravanger escorts forward in an excercise to gauge his new foe.
The two ravangers stepped forward, long swords drawn. They moved with precision, calculated steps. There was some truth in their revenant training as he saw the discipline in these ones rather than those he took by surprise the night before. Perhaps that's why these two were with the Lion at all. Even so, Quintin had already studied them.
Their armor was fine. Their blades were sharp. But they were not actual revenants. Quintin already knew the supposed revenant army does not possess the means to fully train and equip each ravanger as the true assassins of old. They were cheap imitations.
The first ravanger lunged. Quintin sidestepped effortlessly with his blade coming up in a smooth arc to redirect the attack, sending the soldier stumbling forward. The second ravanger struck from the side, expecting an opening from his partner. But Quintin pivoted, his movements fluid, catching the attacker's wrist with his free hand and twisting hard. A snap jerked out a cry of pain as the ravanger's sword clattered to the ground.
The first recovered and came back again, swinging for Quintin's head this time. But he was far too slow. Quintin ducked low, sweeping his opponent's leg from beneath him, sending him crashing into the dirt. Quintin's blade was at his throat, as he moved his gaze back to the Lion.
Olan smirked, watching with intrigue as the two ravangers of his lay on the ground, defeated in mere moments,
"Interesting!" the Lion roared with excitement.
Quintin slowly rose, keeping his stance firm, his breathing controlled. He had just confirmed what he already knew, that ravangers were not a threat. They were nothing to him. But Olan? Olan was something else entirely. Quintin could feel the intensity pouring from him.
The gold-clad warrior stepped forward, his massive frame looming as he slowly drew his own blade. A twin to Quintin's own weapon, except for the golden hilt and the lion's head pommel. Olan rolled his shoulders, testing the weight of his sword as though he hasn't had to use it in some time. Then he locked eyes with Quintin who stepped backwards from the ravangers.
The Lion approached slowly, as his excitement turned to disappointment as the ravanger with the snapped arm, who was clutching it and wincing in pain, came into his path towards Quintin. He moved swiftly and lobbed off his head with a flash of motion, then kicked the body of the road. The other ravanger that Quintin held his blade to, scrambled to his feet to get out of the way, but the Lion moved on him too. The weight of his attack cleaved the ravanger in half, kicking his halves off the road as well.
Olan's sword was now freshly bathed in dripping blood as he faced a stunned Quintin, "Now let's see if you're worth anything, Fox's son."
The clouded sky above Mount Scion loomed over the background of their battlefield. Quintin moved cautiously, sword steady in his grip, eyes locked onto Olan, a true revenant, and a legend his father had warned him about.
The towering warrior grinned as he stepped forward lazily, testing his grip on his golden-hilted blade. Mocking Quintin with every movement, "Come on, Fox's son," he said, tapping his sword against the ground, "Let's see what kind of fighter your father raised."
Quintin ignored the taunt. He circled, shifting his stance, studying every slight movement Olan made. Then he attacked. Their blades clashed, the ring of steel piercing the air. Quintin moved fast, forcing Olan to parry and counter, but the Lion's strength was monstrous.
Each time their swords met, Olan barely moved, while Quintin was pushed back. Then came a massive strike as Olan swung his blade with full force, and the moment their weapons connected, Quintin was sent skidding backwards, his boots digging into the dirt.
The force nearly knocked him off balance, but he recovered quickly, only to see that Olan had shifted his stance completely. His line of sight wasn't on Quintin anymore. It was on Selena.
Before Quintin could react, Olan struck her horse with brutal force, his blade cutting deep, cleaving into it's throat and gushing blood outwards into the air. The animal let out a terrible cry, its legs buckling instantly, sending Selena tumbling into the dirt as the horse collapsed. She hit the ground hard with a yelp, rolling away from the Lion and the horse.
Quintin's anger flared. His breath quickened as his grip on his sword tightened. Olan was standing over the dying horse, but then turned back towards Quintin with a mocking smirk.
Quintin's instincts told him that Olan wouldn't be easily distracted. This wasn't a man who lost focus in a fight. He had to make it count.
"You know," Quintin called out, drawing the Lion's attention back, "I've heard about your true death, and I honestly thought you'd be a lot uglier."
Olan's sneer deepened, the amusement still present in his one good eye, "Well, no one's died a true death like me," he scoffed, stepping away from Selena's fallen horse and turning fully toward Quintin, "I'm not ashamed. My body has its scars, but I am what I am."
"Yeah," Quintin's expression darkened as he readied his next attack, "A monster."
He darted forward, swinging low and fast. Olan's sword moved instantly to block, but instead of parrying, he spun his body and caught the attack with his gauntlet. For a split second, Quintin's blade was trapped, and Olan's free hand lashed out. Quintin barely managed to spin away, but not before Olan's sword sliced across his shoulder.
Pain flared and a sharp, burning sensation came across Quintin. While most blades could penetrate his leather armor, it was always about function and speed to him. However, a revenant blade against the armor was nothing. Despite the pain and fear of further injury, Quintin forced himself to keep moving.
Olan let out a booming laugh, shaking his head, "You know my story and think you can beat me, eh?"
Olan removed his golden gauntlet, tossing it to the ground with a loud clang. His bare hand was revealed. The skin was twisted and deformed with metal screws protruding at each knuckle and joint where the bones connected. Selena, still recovering from her fall, stared in horror.
Olan flexed his fingers, the movement accompanied by an unnatural grinding sound of metal shifting against itsself, "Want to try again?" he asked smugly.
Quintin didn't hesitate. He launched forward, his strike precise and confident. This time, he knew he'd land a clean hit. But Olan didn't even move to block. Instead, he opened the gauntlet-less hand and caught Quintin's blade mid-swing, and with it came a loud clang from metal on metal.
For a second, Quintin thought he had cut through, but then he saw it—Olan's fingers had gripped the sword's edge, holding it still, even as blood trickled down his palm. The Lion grinned.
"Now you see," Olan chuckled, tightening his grip, "It's already over for you."
Quintin's breath and confidence wavered as Olan took a slow step forward, still holding onto the blade, "You can't win. Not against me."
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"Keep this in mind," Johanus said, resting his arms on the table, "This applies to all men. No matter how strong. No matter how feared."
Quintin furrowed his brow, "What do you mean?"
Johanus met his son's gaze, his expression serious, "A brain and a heart," he said, gesturing to the two organs on Quintin, "That's what we all are. Nothing more."
Quintin blinked, confused and speechless.
"Without one or the other," Johanus continued, "You die. Plain and simple. No one is above this rule of nature. We may be outliers in a way but… no one is truly above death."
Quintin chewed on his lip, clearly still skeptical, "But Olan, er the Lion, he sounds crazy strong."
"He is," Johanus admitted, "But that doesn't make him an exception."
Johanus leaned back in his chair, his gaze flickering toward the crackling fire before he exhaled through his nose, "I'll tell you something," he said, leaning in closer as Quintin straightened in his seat, "Something only I know."
Quintin's eyes widened, and he practically shot forward in excitement, "Only you?!"
Johanus smirked slightly, but his expression remained serious, "I've seen the Lion with his armor off before. And I've seen the way his veins shift when his blood flows. That's his secret."
Quintin's jaw dropped, "Ew, what?!"
Johanus tapped a finger against the wooden surface of the table for emphasis, "When he was put back together, all the metal plates inside of him shifted around his organs." His voice lowered. "His heart is not where a normal heart would be."
Quintin gasped, never hearing of such a thing before, "Where… where is it then?"
Johanus held his gaze, "It's connected to his collarbone. I've seen it pulsing, like the heart just wrapped up underneath it."
Quintin's mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.
"So yes, when his chest is bare, you can see it pulse," Johanus warned, "Due to his deformities, he tries to remain very private about his body underneath. So, I've never seen him out of armor any other time."
Quintin exhaled sharply, his young mind racing with this newfound information, "Then… why not just go for the head?"
Johanus smirked slightly, "Any normal swordsman would assume that's the given. But," he continued, tilting his head slightly, "Catching him off guard by striking something he thinks no one knows about…"
His eyes gleamed at the twinkle in Quintin's eyes, hanging on his every word, "That's how you do it."
Quintin sat there, absorbing it. The idea of an unbeatable foe suddenly seemed… possible, "But," he asked after a moment, "Wouldn't he be wearing armor anyway?"
"Of course," Johanus replied, "I never said beating him would be easy. Just that it isn't impossible."
He reached across the table, tapping Quintin's forehead gently, "You have to ingrain it in your mind that anyone can be beaten."
Quintin swallowed, nodding.
"But sometimes," Johanus continued, "You have to change tactics. You have to think things through," he said as he leaned back again, crossing his arms, "That's why I show you all the styles. Even if I'm only better in one specifically."
His expression softened just a little, "See knowledge, Quintin, is a far greater weapon than most people realize."
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The memory flashed away like smoke, and suddenly, Quintin was back in the present, back in the fight as Olan still held his sword in his metal-infused hand, the blood from his palm dripping onto the ground.
The Lion grinned, "Now you see," he chuckled, pushing the sword back towards Quintin, "It's over for you. Foxes are formidable in their own ways, at least, maybe father Fox. But to a lion? Mmm, hardly a snack."
Quintin's grip on his sword tightened. He knew the truth. He couldn't beat Olan in raw strength. He couldn't outlast him in a direct duel. But his father's voice echoed in his head, "You have to change tactics. You have to think things through."
Quintin slowly exhaled, calming his nerves. He had to find a way to get him out of that armor.
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End Part 7
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⋆༺𓆩The.Fellow𓆪༻⋆