Unwilling to Stay Ordinary

"This is Alden the Bear-Hunter, the man you wanted to find," Raul said after the two men came before Alden. He pointed to him by way of introduction.

"Lord Bear-Hunter, my name is Rowly. I am the blacksmith's son here in Bitterbridge." The young strongman stepped toward Alden awkwardly, drew a deep breath, and spoke with great formality, his expression tense as if he had made some grave decision. "I can no longer find an opponent in Bitterbridge, and the knights will not lower themselves to fight someone like me. I have heard your legend. I also heard in your camp just now that you crossed swords with Lord Vortimer, so I wanted..."

He faltered halfway through. Difficulty showed on his face, as if he did not know how to say the rest.

"You want to test yourself against me?" Alden said for him.

The young strongman let out a breath of relief, nodded, and then asked with some worry, "May I?"

"Of course." Alden nodded, then looked at Raul. "Has he already tested himself against you?"

Raul smiled bitterly. "He has. The fellow is too strong. None of us could beat him." He glanced at Rowly. "When we were in Highgarden, we heard that the lord of Bitterbridge had a formidable man under him, the son of a blacksmith. Not yet twenty, but already stronger than most grown warriors. Now I know the rumors were not exaggerated at all, just like your own tales, Lord Alden."

Alden looked Rowly over with some curiosity. Then he drew the twin swords at his waist and gestured to him. "In that case, let us begin."

"Wait." Rowly stared at the movement, stunned. "With real swords?"

"Of course," Alden said in a low voice. "Practice swords are safer, but they cannot produce the effect of real combat. Deep down, you know that being struck by a training blade will not kill you. It will only hurt you a little. That belief makes you do the wrong things when you attack and defend. Those habits may not matter in practice, but on a battlefield they are deadly."

Rowly did not fully understand the explanation, but it sounded reasonable enough. He turned and hurried back toward the castle, apparently to fetch his sword.

After he left, Raul asked with visible confusion, "Lord Alden, how do you have time to instruct this lad today? We have wanted you to help improve our swordwork all month, and you always said you had no time."

Alden heard the trace of resentment in his words. "I told you before. For low-ranking soldiers like you, what needs improving is not swordsmanship, but the battle formation and cooperation that keep you alive with other men. Fine swordwork will not help you survive a melee of thousands. A squad of comrades that works together perfectly can."

Raul twisted his mouth and said nothing more. He knew Alden was right. Still, he would have preferred to possess fine swordsmanship, catch some knight's eye, become a squire, and perhaps someday earn a knighthood, rather than remain a guard until death took him.

Perhaps because Rowly had caused too much noise in the camp earlier, several people came out to watch. Mostly they wanted to see how Alden would handle the blacksmith's son of Bitterbridge and satisfy the resentment left by their earlier defeat.

By the time Rowly returned with his longsword, twenty or thirty people had gathered around the open ground. Some were Tyrell guards, while others were guards from Bitterbridge.

Seeing so many onlookers did not make Rowly timid. From his expression, it excited him instead. He came before Alden, drew his longsword with impatience, and took the most common attacking stance.

"Begin," Alden said. He did not assume any preparatory stance. After the single warning, he walked slowly toward Rowly, looking less like a man entering a sword match than one taking a casual stroll.

Rowly, who had prepared himself fully, felt enormous pressure instead. In his eyes, Alden seemed to become a beast slowly approaching its prey. He had to retreat two steps before the pressure eased even slightly.

Alden did not stop. He continued closing in at the same unhurried pace. The pressure that had just weakened returned, stronger than before.

Perhaps Rowly realized that if he remained passive, he might lose even the courage to swing. He forced himself against that invisible weight, roared, and hacked at Alden with his sword raised.

His stroke was fierce, but the fiercest blow was useless if it could not touch its target.

Alden shifted one step to the side and easily avoided the falling longsword. At the same time, the hand-and-a-half sword in his left hand swept toward Rowly's neck, while the sword in his right thrust forward at a slight angle. In almost the same instant, one blade rested against Rowly's throat and the other touched his chest.

The surrounding noise vanished. Then the guards of Bitterbridge cried out in astonishment. Rowly was a famous strong fighter in the castle. Since the previous year, no guard there had been able to beat him. Only a few of the castle's knights might have been stronger. Seeing such a man defeated so easily left every Bitterbridge soldier who had once lost to him stunned.

The Tyrell soldiers had already grown used to Alden's strength during the journey. They were not surprised by what had happened and showed far less reaction.

Rowly himself stood completely dazed. When he felt Alden's pressure, he had known there was a gap between them, but he had never imagined it would be this wide. What had just happened could hardly even be called a match. Alden had taken one step and made two casual swings, and Rowly was defeated. A frustration he had never felt before surged through him.

"Again," Alden said calmly as he withdrew the two blades and stepped back. "Continue."

Rowly blinked, gathered his battered confidence, drew a deep breath, and gripped his sword once more. Then he attacked Alden in the same manner he usually used.

The result was exactly the same. Alden took an oblique step, avoided the attack with ease, and struck the exposed flaws, subduing him once again.

After a second blow to his confidence, Rowly began to think that perhaps he was not as strong as he had believed. Perhaps the castle guards had only let him win because he was young. Perhaps he should give up his dream of becoming a knight, inherit his father's forge, and spend his life as a blacksmith.

"Do you know where your weakness lies?" Alden saw that he had damaged the young man's confidence and did not continue. Instead, he spoke with a serious expression.

"Weakness?" Rowly looked entirely lost.

Like a teacher, Alden said, "I would guess you have never received proper sword training. Your swordwork comes from watching the castle guards and the Caswell knights train, then imitating them. It is rough, and it works only because of your natural body. Against those with weaker bodies, you may win. Against someone with better physical ability, or someone who has mastered skilled swordplay, every advantage you rely on disappears."

Rowly's face went pale. He had never imagined he possessed so many flaws. Perhaps because he was still young and his mind had not matured, that small blow was enough to make him doubt himself. The pride he had built over the years began to shake.

Alden then offered a little advice. "If you want to improve quickly, practice dodging and defense. Of course, if you can hire a sword teacher, that would be better."

"The son of a low blacksmith should stay where he belongs. Hands meant to hold a hammer have no right holding a sword." A thin, harsh voice cut in from beyond the watching crowd just as Alden finished speaking.

At the sound, the Bitterbridge guards, Rowly included, seemed to know who had spoken. One by one, they lowered their heads slightly toward the voice. The others looked over with curiosity.

A small figure came through the back of the crowd, surrounded by several well-equipped household guards and servants.

The figure was a sickly-looking boy. His face was pale, his cheeks hollow, and his eyes dull enough to make him look as if he might faint at any moment. His fine clothes and the reactions around him made his unusual status obvious. He was very likely Lord Caswell's son.

The boy stopped beside Rowly. He ignored the young man with his head lowered and looked at Alden first. His eyes held undisguised jealousy, resentment, and something close to hatred.

That look, almost the gaze of an enemy, puzzled Alden. In his memory, this was the first time he had ever seen the boy.

The boy's eyes lingered on him only briefly before turning to Rowly with the same hatred and a face full of contempt. "You are only a blacksmith's son. All your life, you should stay beside the forge, like that low old man in your family."

Rowly kept his head lowered and said nothing under the insult. The hand gripping his sword hilt, however, made his anger plain.

The household guards beside the boy saw the movement. Their hands all moved to their weapons. If Rowly made even the slightest move, they would attack together and cut him down.

The Bitterbridge guards watching did not show the slightest concern for their fellow soldier. Instead, many wore smiles and expressions of open delight at another's misfortune. Rowly's relationship with his comrades was plainly poor, perhaps even hostile.

"What? Do you mean to attack me with that sword?" The boy naturally noticed Rowly's movement. He showed no fear. If anything, the contempt on his face grew stronger. He walked up to Rowly and, before everyone's eyes, slapped him hard across the face.

The boy seemed weak, but the slap carried real force. Everyone nearby heard it, and Rowly's head jerked to the side. The boy's own hand must have hurt as well, because he rubbed it unconsciously after lowering it.

Even under such humiliation, Rowly did not resist. He kept his head down and held tightly to his sword.

Seeing that Rowly did not dare move against him, the boy said with extreme disdain, "Useless. Crawl back to your filthy hole. You shamed Bitterbridge tonight. Tomorrow, you will report to the castle front for punishment."

At the order, Rowly turned to leave. After two steps, he seemed to remember something. He turned back, bowed to Alden, and then walked toward Bitterbridge Castle with his head lowered. His steps grew faster and faster until he broke into a run and disappeared from sight.

"A man should do what his birth allows. He should not harbor thoughts above his station. Knighthood is not for low creatures like that." Even after Rowly left, the boy did not seem satisfied. He turned his aim toward Alden. "I have heard of you, Alden the Bear-Hunter. A hunter's son belongs in the forest, not..."

Before he could finish, Alden said coldly, "Do you think I have the courage to kill you?" He looked at the guards around the boy. "Or do you believe these men can protect you?"

As Alden spoke, the killing presence inherited from Peacekeeper burst from him and struck the boy and the men beside him.

The boy, already weak of body, fainted in terror at once. The guards were suppressed by the pressure until they trembled all over, unable even to grip their swords properly. As for the servants, they collapsed weakly to the ground.

Seeing that the lesson had been delivered, Alden stopped pressing them. He returned to normal and said with contempt, "Take your master and get out. Remember to change his breeches when you get back. A boy that old wetting himself truly brings shame on Lord Caswell."

The men did not dare say another word. They hurriedly lifted the unconscious boy, helped the servants who had fallen, and fled.

The Bitterbridge guards who had come to watch lost all desire for entertainment. They had seen the boy's ugly display, and given his character, he would surely take revenge on them. Their faces turned extremely grim.

"You should not have threatened that lordling," Raul said, coming to Alden's side with a warning. "He should be Lord Caswell's only son, the future lord of Bitterbridge. This will put Lord Garlan in a difficult position."

Alden only smiled at Raul's worry. He did not take the matter to heart at all.

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