Chapter 2: New limits

“Hmmmm. That’s quite a bit of information to take in, prodigy. Have you considered trying to become a bard?” Hardwin said once she finished her story.

“With my talents it’d be a waste of time, wouldn’t it?” Joan asked, unable to keep a smile off her lips. She hardly expected him to just accept it with ease, but he had heard her out at least. “I’ve never been good at making up stories, though. Everything I’ve told you is true.”

“Mmmm hm. So you’re the great hero, huh? The one destined to lead us seven?”

“Exactly.”

“And you tried, and failed, a thousand times? I’m honestly surprised your head hasn’t exploded, little missy.”

Joan gave a sigh. To be honest, it felt like she’d done it more than a thousand times. But so much of it was repeats, she’d just blindly done the same thing over and over again. “So you can imagine why I had to scream.”

“Oh, but of course,” he said with a light chuckle. “And, across all these timelines, you and I have been rivals, right? And somehow you’ve always been the one to get the better of me.”

“Well, usually. You won a few times, but I was the hero,” she said. “A leader is supposed to be strong, right?”

Hardwin gave his own sigh now. The sun was beginning to rise and she could now begin to make out the finer details of his form. He was taller than she remembered him. Or maybe she was just shorter. Possibly both. But his hair and beard were still that flame-like red. His eyes almost glowing in the slowly growing sunlight. “So then the fates intervene and you come back like this as an adorable little girl, right?” he asked.

“E-err, that last part isn’t important, I--” Suddenly she was cut off when a hand landed on her head, lightly patting her and drawing red to her cheeks.

“No, I get it. It’s a cute little story, prodigy. You’re hardly the first to try that ‘destined to be with me’ trick. But you’re a bit too young for me. How about we talk once you’re a bit older.”

Joan blinked a few times, her mouth falling open. She had not expected instance acceptance. But she had DEFINITELY not expected him to suspect her of trying to SEDUCE him. “You… you… you...” she said, trying to think of the correct words to say, but unable to imagine anything to properly articulate her annoyance.

“It’s adorable, Joan, was it? But--”

“You arrogant prick!” she yelled, her hands clenching and she couldn’t help herself. She lunged at him, swinging her right fist at his chest. He didn’t move, merely sighing. She’d make him regret that choice, though. He thought she was just a child, but she knew more than a few secrets to amplify her rather meager strength. She gathered her magic into her fist and released it the moment it connected.

Joan’s eyes widened the moment it connected and she stumbled back, her fingers covered in blood. It felt as if every bone in her hand had shattered and, as far as she knew, they had. “Hey! Prodigy, what did you do?” he asked, kneeling down before her and reaching out to grip her hand.

Joan stared at her hand, the tears welling up in her eyes from the pain. How? She’d hit him with everything she had. She didn’t expect to hurt him too much, but she should have at least knocked him down. He wasn’t even wearing his armor. Yet her fist had just bounced off as if his body was made of iron. No, stronger than iron. That had never happened before.

He pulled her hand up and she let out a soft whimper when he forced her fist open. “Your fingers are broken,” he whispered. “Damn it, what did you do?”

Joan stared at up at him, the tears now freely flowing from the pain. Damn it, she had one more card she could play if she wanted him to trust her. She couldn’t let it end on this note, no matter how much it hurt. “Y-your mother,” she whispered.

“What?”

“I didn’t want to have to resort to this,” Joan said softly, closing her eyes. How much would this hurt him? Memories of her friend’s rage, the burning, the destruction flashed through her mind. “Her murderer. I know who it is.”

“You don’t say. That’s an interesting thing for you to say. Especially with that look on your face,” he said before getting to his feet, letting her hand go. “Who, then?”

Joan stared, unsure of how to take this reaction. She’d expected him to be angry, instead he just looked concerned. Still, she had to push. “I don’t have the proof now, but I can. I just need you to believe m--”

“Who?” Hardwin asked, the temper rising in his voice. She saw his hand move to grip the hilt of his sword. That was closer to what she expected, though despite herself she felt a small inkling of fear. She wanted to believe in her friend’s self control and restraint. He wasn’t the ferocious, uncontrollable beast many thought him to be. But when this topic came up there was always the chance.

“Lord Onrol,” Joan said softly.

That, however, made the man pause. He looked confused now, more than angry. “Lord Onrol? Why--”

“The same reason they do anything. Power. Greed. To control you. They--”

“Draw your sword, prodigy.”

Joan’s eyes widened and she stared at her friend. He couldn’t be serious. She looked down at her broken hand, then back to him. “But my hand, it’s--”

“If you’ve beaten me across a thousand life times it can’t be very hard, can it?” he asked before stepping away from her. “Your blade.”

Joan gave a soft sigh before nodding. It seemed this truly was the only way to get through to her friend. She held out her left hand. It took only a moment, but with a small spark of light, her blade and sheath materialized in it, drawn from besides her bedroll. A simple spell, albeit one that made her more tired than she cared to admit. She tucked the sheath under her right arm and drew the sword out, before letting the sheath fall to the ground. It was hardly the first time she’d had to fight with her off hand, though she wished the circumstances were different. She’d fought with a broken hand more times than she cared to think about, this time would be no different.

Hardwin drew his own blade and she could barely resist letting out a whimper. The blade erupted into flames, surrounding a golden core. The hilt shaped like a maw of a lion, the blade sprouting from it. She’d fought this blade a thousand times, but never like this. They’d often called it the Lion’s Purity, a sword that could cleave through any weapon and armor as if it wasn’t even there. If it touched her, she’d be as good as dead. Worse, the sword could unleash its flames from a distance, so even if she had enough mana to pelt him with her own magic, she’d only be burned to a crisp. Worst of all, he was forcing her to fight him with her off hand, while he fought with his main.

Still, she couldn’t help but smile. Despite the disadvantages, this felt so familiar. She supposed it should, she had fought him so many times already. She supposed that was at least one advantage she had. More importantly, she knew how he would wield his sword. She knew every move he’d make. He was far less experienced now than he would one day be and she could exploit that. Yet he’d never fought her before.

“Shall we start?” he asked.

“Please,” she said. He didn’t hesitate. He ran straight at her. But that was who Hardwin was, he would always go on the offensive. He was far faster than her too. But his movements were so easy to predict. He was almost on her when she dashed to the right, narrowly avoiding a low swipe. He wasn’t taking her seriously. It was an attack meant to scare her more than anything else.

She’d seen it far too often to let it bother her. She gathered the magic in her arm and blade, driving it down. Even if he was stronger and faster than her, she had the edge. More importantly, she had the knowledge of every skill and ability she’d ever learned across a thousand lives. “Swanfall.” One of her more powerful spells, but a simple one. She’d done it a thousand times across her lives, though technically it was one she had stolen from him.

However, when she tried to draw the magic in her arm to unleash the spell, it refused. She frowned, taking another step back and avoiding another swing from her friend. What in the world was wrong? Why did she feel resistance? “Swanfall!” Once more she tried to cast the spell, this time pushing all of her magic into her arm and forcing the spell.

Her arm exploded in agony and she was sent tumbling back through the air, her sword clattering besides her. The only reason she didn’t scream was from the shock. She barely even noticed when Hardin was kneeling over her, lightly tapping her cheeks and gripping her agonized arm, sending more pain through it. “Hey? Hey! Prodigy? Prodigy! Kid! Don’t--”

But it was too much. The darkness started on the edges of her vision before quickly closing in on her. She didn’t understand. Swanfall was a simple spell, she’d done it a thousand times.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Was she really incapable of something so simple?

------

Consciousness returned slowly, albeit with a great deal of pain. She tried to move her hands and, fortunately, they both seemed to move correctly. Unfortunately they each felt as if the muscles inside them had been pushed to the limit and every twitch just made them ache more. She opened her eyes and looked around.

It seemed to be mid afternoon now. Hardwin was sitting by the fire, though she didn’t see Rab or Lyndis. He glanced to her and gave a sigh. “Feeling better, prodigy?”

“What happened?” she asked, trying to sit up, though her body refused to move.

“You broke one hand punching me and the other was nearly obliterated when you tried to use some silly spell I’ve never even heard of. What were you even trying to do?”

“Swanfall,” Joan said, staring up at the sky. “It’s an ice spell. I used to use it all the time.”

“Oh? And what did you want to do with it?”

“Hit your thumb. It’s always been a bit weak ever since that incident with the boar. I can’t beat you when I’m like this if I don’t fight a little dirty.”

“Huh, you don’t say. You know about the boar, then?”

“I should, I was there for it.”

Hardwin shook his head. “It’s strange how you know about that, but not Lord Onrol.”

“Huh?” she asked, glancing back towards him. “What about him?”

“He couldn’t have killed my mother, for two reasons. One, he died nearly ten years ago. Two, my mother is still alive.”

Joan froze, her mouth falling open. “W-wait… what? Your mother, she’s--”

“Alive? Yes. Probably going to outlive me at this rate.”

“But that’s impossible, she’s, but, that doesn’t, how?” She struggled to grasp that. There was no way his mother could still be alive. She was supposed to be dead. Onrol had killed her years ago. All in an attempt to gain more control over Hardwin and their household.

“But here you claim to know a lot of things about me you shouldn’t know. Also, the way you fight, it’s fairly obvious you’ve studied me.”

“Exactly! I’ve fought you a--”

“So I can only imagine you’re a spy of some sort.”

Joan stared at him, her mouth falling open. “A spy?” she asked.

“Your story isn’t really possible. So you can be nothing other than a spy. You seem human, at least. Perhaps a servant of the demons. There’s no other explanation. I’ve taken custody of you for the time being.”

“Custody?” she asked again, staring at him.

“Indeed.” He turned his fierce gaze on her and drew his sword, pointing the tip at her. Fire erupted across the blade. “Once I have finished with this troll, I’ll be taking you back to the kingdom with me. And you’ll… are… are you laughing?” he asked, the anger on his face turning slowly to confusion.

Joan couldn’t help herself. Despite her best efforts, she couldn’t stop the giggles from rising up through her throat. “I’m sorry. It’s nothing personal, Hardwin. It’s just so very laughable.”

“What?” he asked, his own cheeks going a little red. “Do you doubt the severity of your situation? Do not think just because you are a child that I won’t kill you. Demons come in all sizes, child.”

“I’ve seen you pull this act a thousand times. Those bandits in the desert, that nasty elf in the caves. Then there was that time when Chase threatened to sell your underwear during the coconut incident, you almost made him soil his. Besides, if I’m your prisoner, I know you won’t allow any harm to truly come to me.”

Hardwin just stared at her, his mouth falling open. He looked so incredibly perplexed that it only made her laugh harder. “Stop that!”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Just the idea of YOU taking me into custody! It’s hilarious!”

“How?” he asked, his voice filled with annoyance. She could tell his anger was starting to build, but she knew he was nowhere near his limits.

“Because you’re you, Hardwin. You’ll always be you. Across a thousand life times, the only one who never betrayed me, who never fell to the demon lord’s taint, was you and Andreas. The very idea that this would be the time you’d do it is just so silly. It’s like a comedy a bard would make. A dreadful one, at that.”

“Andreas?”

“Andreas the Gentle, he wields the spear. You’ll like him. He’s quite hard to get going, to be honest. Sleeps in far too long, but asks so very little for the great things he does. Frankly I believe he was too lazy for the demon lord to ever try with.”

Hardwin gave a soft sigh and the flame of his sword went out. He sheathed the blade before walking besides her and sitting down by her head. “You are perplexing, prodigy. I almost want to believe what you say.”

“I’d hope so. I imagine if our positions were reversed I would feel the same way.”

“Yet when we first met, you were so frightened of me. I thought you might faint if I so much as touched you.”

Joan frowned and thought back. She knew it was only a day ago, maybe less. She had been frightened. After all, he was one of the legendary warriors, chosen by the gods themselves. Talented she may be, but she was still only a rookie. “It feels as if that was a thousand lifetimes ago,” she said softly.

“Oh? How do you mean?”

She closed her eyes and tried to move her hands, though they didn’t respond. “It feels… I suppose… imagine your life ten years ago. You might be able to pick up bits and pieces of it, correct? But it’s still just a memory. Just something that was. That happened. You might not remember everything, but it’s still just that. A memory. The last twelve years of my life feel like that. Memories. It’s as if one day I went to sleep, lived a thousand lives, then this morning picked up where I left off. I feel more like that person now, than I do as myself. Yet I also feel more like myself now, than I do that person. To be quite honest, it feels maddening. As if both sets of memories are fighting, trying to figure out which I am supposed to be now, which are worth remembering and which don’t matter. A small part of me is afraid I have lost my mind.”

“And if you have?”

“Do you believe I have? Tell me, Hardwin, what would you ask of me? What answer would be sufficient to prove this isn’t madness?”

Hardwin sighed, crossing his arms. “Very well, what’s my full name?” he asked.

She stared at him, before once more giggling. “Oh, you do ask the rough questions, don’t you?”

“Oh? Then--”

“Hardin Lyron Dusklam. But Lyron isn’t a name your parents gave you. It was one you took on your own after Lyron died from those flaming hounds. You thought it silly, but you felt someone should carry his name on, to live the life he never had. So he would always be remembered.”

Hardwin looked stricken, the color drained from his face. “H-how do you know that story?”

“Hmmm...” She closed her eyes and tried to remember. How many times had he told her that story? Once? Twice? No, maybe a few dozen times. They all blended together. Her cheeks turned a little red when she remembered some of the times of when he told her a few of them. “It wasn’t a story you told me often. But there were lifetimes when we were quite close, Hardwin. We kept very little from each other. I imagine if I had known about this situation then, you would have been the only one I told.”

“I would have?” he asked.

“Sometimes. But not in all lives. There were a few where I could barely stand you and I would have been happy to shove you off a tall cliff, had I not had need of your sword. I imagine this will be one of those lives.”

He gave a light snort before shaking his head. “Very well. Say I do believe you. What then?”

“Easy. We save everything. You help me.”

“And if I refuse?”

Joan gave a sigh and stared at the sky above. How many times had she believed all hope was lost? How many times had she believed it was impossible? Not even during her lives, but in the time between? “Then I try again. And again. And again. I try over and over until I can try no more. Until my mind breaks and my very soul shatters. Because I can’t give up, especially not now. I’ve experienced the result when I fail. I will not give up. And if I do, I’ll find a way to come back.”

Hardwin stared at her, unable to tear his eyes away. Finally he spoke up. “Joan. I will aid you. On one condition.”

“Yes? Name your price.”

“Never make that face again,” he whispered before looking away from her. “No child should look to the heavens with such despair. It’s enough to break any man’s heart.”

“That sounds like a fair trade,” she said before closing her eyes. “I won’t make you regret it.”

“I already feel like I do,” he said softly. “I have a feeling you’ll lead me to the depths of hell and back.”

“Ehhh, we’ve only had to do that a few times.”

“Wait, what?”

“Err, nothing. It’s not important.”

“I disagree.”

“Details for later. Our first task should be killing this troll, then going on from there. Once we’ve slain it I’ll be in your custody, correct?”

“We?” he asked.

“We. It’s an easy kill. Once I can move...” She tried to lift her hands again and, to her annoyance, they refused to move. She gave a soft sigh of annoyance. “You know, before? I’d get a few cuts, maybe pass out. But after a few minutes I’d be right back on my feet and running about. I hate being so delicate.”

“You’re twelve.”

“I was younger than that when I killed the troll!” she snapped with annoyance.

“And a girl.”

Her cheeks turned scarlet and she shook her head. “That’s irrelevant. My mana control should easily allow me to over compensate for any weaknesses of a female body.”

“On that note. You said you were a boy, didn’t you? Why did you decide to come back as a girl?”

“I’m not sure. I was told that it was chosen by, well. I was, that is to say, that’s not important...” she said gently. “I think Fate thought it was amusing, maybe...” She couldn’t help but find herself asking that again though. Why didn’t it bother her? There had been times in many of her lives where she had wondered how things would have been if she were a woman. Of course she’d had those days where she would have given almost anything to be a woman, but what man didn’t? Was it really so wrong to try it? Was that why she was like this now?

Her life up to now hadn’t been easy, though. She hadn’t been a wanted child, but that had been her choice. Still if she had known she was coming back like this, how would she have changed her choices? Strangely she knew she didn’t want to change this new form. The last twelve years somehow felt oddly okay, compared to some of the lifetimes she’d had before. She supposed if she was going to have to live in this form for a thousand lives as well, it wasn’t so bad.

“Can you move at all?” Hardwin asked. “Rab said the magic should have at least healed your hand. But--” He stopped, looking up. He jumped to his feet, drawing his sword.

“What?” she asked. She didn’t hear anything for a few moments, then faint voices yelling. Something crashing through the foliage. It was coming closer.

“Drink this,” Hardwin said, kneeling down and pushing a small, blue vial to her lips. She drank it down. A mana potion? She was tempted to scold him for not using it already, but then she supposed he didn’t want her to be able to run. She felt energy returning to her body and quickly climbed to her feet.

“Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so good from a--”

“Lord Hardwin!” Rab’s voice cut off her words. She turned towards the sound of the voice, moments before Rab and Lyndis came racing through the treeline. “The troll! THE TROLL! Save us!”

Joan’s eyes widened when a tree came crashing down behind them, the massive frame of the Troll of Reflections visible. It had never looked like this before, though. As big as it was now, before its body had always been like glimmering silver, as opposed to the gray of normal trolls. Now its body looked more akin to polished obsidian.

“Huh. Would you look at that,” Joan said with a light chuckle. “So it seems the Troll of Reflections was just one of the Inferno God’s obsidian trolls. Well, an immature one. I never would have guessed.” She held out her right hand.

“What? You know what that beast is?” Hardwin asked.

“Yes I do. We used to destroy them by the dozens. This is going to be even easier than I thought, old friend.”