A Typical Walk for the 'Hero'

The weather was nice today, no cold wind or cloudy sky, let alone rain or worse, so today's walk was a gentle stroll, still with purpose, but relaxed and so far pleasantly peaceful.

Tracey Spikelet was going down into the bigger town of Aspley, from her smaller and friendlier home in the Moore Hills, so was finding the mild downhill trek well and comfortable, while her white coat gently flapped over her blue dress, that she often wore together.

She was a swordswoman, only 19, so young and sprightly, and often described as innocently and fair, with gentle coral hair and a typical girlish figure, Tracey didn't feel different to the average person who walked by, but there was a big difference.

She was gifted with her abilities, so much so that she'd earned reputation, admiration, fame, nicknames, even jealousy and scorn from far and wide.

Most of her attention was hardly fair, or warranted, as all she'd done in life was hone her skills, get an education and luck out on being exceptional at whatever she dedicated herself to.

Amanda - Tracey's friend and carer, kept to the slow pace a few strides behind Tracey, as the careful and helpful older lady, who likewise carried a sword, followed on, ready to be of any assistance the gifted younger one needed.

"While we're here... is there anything else the school needs?"

Tracey brought an end to the quiet travel, which now nearer to the town had lost the more calming sounds and smells of nature, which separated the short walk between her home village and the larger collection of homes and businesses.

"I don't think so..."

Amanda replied knowingly, since she sort of ran the place now, despite Tracey's standing and position, Tracey was more like the figurehead of the famed Sword Skill School.

The much longer and darker haired lady, still deliberated as she followed along, leaving Tracey to dwell on other things.

I wonder why the Senator is calling for me... I hope it's not another one of those boring ceremonies... again...

Since stumbling into the role of a 'Hero', Tracey's life had gotten more complicated, in such a short time, but things were still going along alright, for the most part

Maybe it's going to be another parade - to show off my skills and status parchment...?

Everyone in the world had the ability to 'indicate their status' - a little quirk that almost magically produced a coloured parchment that had different achievements, among other traits and it was jokingly referred to a 'game stats' - like some sort of playable characters info.

But this was serious - life and death, so definitely no game.

Tracey's appeared as a light-silver scroll - denoting her speciality and more uniqueness - as the colour showed others how rare a status she had.

That colour alone probably brought her so much fame - as silver was extremely rare - a once in a lifetime sort of occurrence and lead to her being labelled as a 'Hero' - despite doing nothing heroic in her life so far.

The holder of these 'scrolls' could show as much or as little of the information upon them to anyone they chose to, and whenever they wanted to too - and often they were used as a pre-warning, of sorts, to others that would challenge another. As there could be quite a bit of information revealed on these visible parchments; from names, relations, to physical status and all the gained abilities, but as all the numbers and lists could be a little overwhelming, most didn't really go in too deep into it all.

While some seemed to brandish some of these numbers they had, some kept them mostly hidden, but it was almost the expected thing to give out some of the more important indications, when a true contest was about to begin.

The top indicators usually were; your name, Ty, Pr, V, D and then KC.

Ty - or Type; was pretty self explanatory, showing the persons favoured method of fighting - set into classes and even ranks and often left off the indication parchment.

Pr - was Prestige; a numerical amount that somehow indicated a 'score', though many speculated it was a addition, multiplication and subtraction of a 'self-worth', once it had been the demoting and major showcase of the individual, but now was seen as an arrogant display if it was a high value, so it too was more and more less likely to be shown.

V - Victories; also pretty straight forward - the number of wins a person had had, mostly in combat.

D - Defeats; the total number of losses someone accumulated.

And finally - the recently popular and brandished about; KC - Kill Count.

A Kill Count was the amount of times one had slain another, amid a fight or otherwise caused death through another action, it wasn't something most would take pride in, but in the recent times it had been turned more into a 'badge of honor' to some, or a mark of prowess and dangerous intent.

Tracey always hated it - a sign of how someone had taken another's life - murdered them callously or intently, yet many in this day and age gave it more notability amongst the people - like it was the greatest achievement, which made her always feel a little ill whenever the number was high.

Just like today.

It was a typical day though - as yet more challengers saw fit to take on the young woman in a contest, to prove something to someone, or like most; to get some kind of ego boost.

Tracey had been minding her own business - going into town for her own errand, just like any normal person would, but then with her unique status and notoriety, she was not all that normal.

"I challenge you 'Bloodless Hero'!"

It always seemed to start like that.

Tracey stopped her casual stroll to see another man, in his mid-twenties and some combat gear, standing proudly on the street, facing her after finally recognising her.

"Face me 'Bloodless Hero' - here and now, as I'm ready."

She sighed a little, again hearing that latest nickname, and that it brought another fighter her way, hoping for some sort of achievement if they could best her.

"Very well then..."

It was a usual occurrence, almost mind-numbingly regular, but she obliged; per some sword-slinging code she'd accepted long ago, that meant that every bout needed to be taken seriously.

"If you're sure..."

Tracey flashed her silver scroll, which appeared beside her - revealing her 'stats'; V: 634, D: 2, KC: 0.

"I... I am..."

He got notably nervous, but returned his own dull-brown one; V: 19, D: 25, KC: 3.

They drew swords, and then Tracey waited for the other to make a move, which was all too predictable nowadays.

Most started with attempting to overpower the 19 year old, believing her to be fragile, like her appearance generally let on, so an effortful and hard initial swing usually came at her.

However, she was far stronger then she appeared, with many years of drilled in skills and now plenty of experience, she easily parried and in a single sweeping motion, followed through to landing her own decisive blow.

But it was always non-lethal, aiming to both disarm and incapacitate.

He fell to the street clutching his chest that had taken her hilt to the centre of his ribcage.

"No more killing."

She gave her usual command - something that the victor could give, either before the duel commenced or when finished.

The man who failed to even introduce himself didn't bother getting a second glance, as Tracey moved off, while he spluttered helplessly for air.

"So harsh today."

Amanda said quietly, a few steps behind.

"I'm not in the mood..."

"When are you ever though?"

Fair point...

The dark-haired lady in her late-twenties gave her a little smile, hoping to lift her spirits a fraction, as she always seemed to try and assist the younger woman out, no matter the situation.

"We have that meeting anyway..."

Tracey went to put her long-sword back into her sheath - but was rudely stopped again.

"'Bloodless' - today is the day you take a knee to me - the greatest swordsman in town!"

Uh... again...? Already...?

This more stocky man with lots of unwarily hair on his head stood before Tracey, flanked by his own trio of lackeys, all wearing rather busted up looking gear, as they blocked the path forward.

Tracey figured he'd witnessed the last 'fight' that she'd not put much effort into, and believed he had the ability to then take her on, which annoyingly happened fairly frequently too.

Amanda gave her space again, sidestepping away, while Tracey readied her trusty sword.

"This is my town - so I expect you to give me the respect I'm owed."

The bulky muscled man smiled broadly, as he brandished his sword and revealed his name and numbers proudly on a dark scroll.

Dean Gillon - V: 63, D: 13, KC: 57.

Tracey felt her stomach roll uncomfortably.