The Vend military barracks had finally fallen quiet.
K-10, Milfern, Kimlorn, Tomand, and Hazelthorn had returned to the barracks after the long and exhausting day. Seralyth had remained at the royal castle to speak privately with Ilriath.
It was late into the night.
K-10 lay motionless on the top bunk, staring at the ceiling.
Below him, Kimlorn was fast asleep, exhausted from the day’s events. Milfern was sleeping in the adjacent bunk, equally unaware of his surroundings.
Tomand occupied another bunk nearby.
He was completely unconscious.
A deep, rhythmic snore echoed through the barracks.
“HHHHRRRRNNNNK.”
K-10 glanced toward him.
Tomand continued sleeping.
“HHHHRRRRNNNNK.”
K-10 returned his gaze to the ceiling.
His body had no need for sleep. He did not become fatigued, and his stamina never diminished. While the others recovered from the day’s events, K-10 simply waited.
Eventually, he silently climbed down from the top bunk.
Neither Kimlorn nor Milfern stirred.
Tomand continued to snore.
K-10 left the barracks and made his way toward the training grounds.
A handful of Vend soldiers were still training despite the late hour. The reinforced training dummies bore the marks of countless weapons, and the muted sounds of steel striking wood and metal echoed across the grounds.
K-10 stopped near the edge of the training area and observed.
One soldier swung his Lunarium sword and channeled his Affinity through the blade.
Flames erupted along its length.
Another soldier practiced nearby. She channeled her Affinity into her sword, and compressed spheres of water fired from the blade like projectiles.
K-10 watched closely.
The Lunarium weapons were not merely weapons. They were conduits.
The concept interested him.
After several minutes, K-10 stepped forward.
He drew his twin Lunarium kodachi.
The next movement was almost too fast for the watching soldiers to follow.
Clang.
Clang.
Clang.
The practice dummy rocked violently beneath a series of precise strikes.
Several soldiers stopped what they were doing.
A blonde Vend woman with yellow eyes approached.
“What swordsmanship is that?”
K-10 lowered one blade.
“Neither Sariyazene nor Geldanosian,” a male soldier with bluish hair said. “At least, I don’t recognize it.”
K-10 looked at the weapons in his hands.
“It isn’t either.”
“What is it, then?” the woman asked.
K-10 considered the question.
His training had never belonged to one traditional school. The Kronos Group had taught him to take what worked and discard what did not. His combat education had drawn from numerous systems, disciplines, and battlefield experiences.
“It is an amalgamation,” K-10 said. “Different systems. Different techniques. Different principles.”
The bluish-haired soldier studied him.
“So it has no name?”
K-10 paused.
“Kronos Style.”
The soldiers exchanged glances.
“How effective is it in actual combat?” the woman asked.
“It is effective.”
The soldier with bluish hair gave a short laugh.
“Then perhaps we should see.”
He looked toward the woman.
“Jemma.”
She stepped forward.
“Bring it on.”
The spar began.
Jemma attacked aggressively, using her Lunarium sword with practiced skill. Her movements were fast and deliberate, but K-10 quickly identified the pattern behind them.
He avoided her first strike.
Then the second.
Then the third.
Each time Jemma committed to an attack, K-10 repositioned himself just outside its effective range before countering.
She adjusted.
K-10 adjusted faster.
When Jemma began channeling Water Affinity through her sword, compressed water bullets shot toward him.
K-10 moved between them, closing the distance before she could fire again.
Moments later, Jemma was on the ground with K-10’s blade positioned beside her.
The spar was over.
Jemma looked up.
“What is your Affinity?”
“None.”
That answer drew more attention than the fight itself.
K-10 offered his assessment.
“Your aggression is effective against opponents who retreat. Against an opponent who studies your movements, it becomes predictable.”
Jemma listened.
“You commit before determining how your opponent will respond. Your footwork becomes linear when you attack. Your Water Affinity also telegraphs your intended direction. You should vary your timing and firing angles.”
She nodded slowly.
“Your greatest weakness is recovery,” K-10 continued. “After a failed attack, you immediately attempt another. Reset your stance. Recover your center of gravity. Create distance if necessary. Make your opponent commit before attacking again.”
Jemma looked at her sword.
“And relying too much on my Affinity?”
“Your Affinity should complement your technique. It should not replace it.”
Jemma accepted the assessment.
The bluish-haired soldier stepped forward.
“I’m next.”
He wasn’t the last.
One soldier relied on overwhelming strength. Another specialized in defense. Another attempted to integrate his Affinity directly into his swordsmanship. Another depended on speed.
K-10 fought each of them.
He defeated them all.
But he did not simply tell them that they had lost.
He explained why.
Power without control created openings.
Defensive fighters could become predictable when they refused to leave their guard.
Speed became useless when movement could be anticipated.
Affinity could become a weakness when a fighter became dependent upon it.
Again and again, K-10 analyzed their techniques and explained how an opponent could exploit them.
The soldiers began to understand that K-10 was not merely an exceptionally capable swordsman.
He was studying them.
And teaching them.
Eventually, the training ground became quiet.
A figure had entered the area.
Commander Alderond.
The soldiers immediately straightened.
Alderond’s eyes settled on K-10.
“Kaiten.”
K-10 turned toward him.
“Commander Alderond.”
“I have heard that you have been instructing my soldiers.”
“I’ve been giving them tactical assessments.”
Alderond looked toward the soldiers.
“They seem to value them.”
He returned his attention to K-10.
“You have known these soldiers for minutes.”
“I can identify weaknesses in their techniques.”
Alderond studied him.
“Can you?”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps you should assess mine.”
The soldiers fell silent.
K-10 drew his kodachi.
Alderond drew his Lunarium sword.
The atmosphere changed immediately.
This was no longer an ordinary spar.
Alderond had spent four centuries refining the art of combat.
K-10 could sense it before their blades even met.
They moved.
Steel struck steel.
The first exchange was brief.
The second was faster.
Then faster still.
K-10 attacked from an angle that had worked against the other soldiers.
Alderond was already prepared for it.
Their blades collided.
K-10 changed direction.
Alderond adapted.
K-10 increased his speed.
Alderond adjusted his timing.
Neither gained a decisive advantage.
The watching soldiers slowly realized what they were witnessing.
K-10’s physical capabilities were extraordinary.
But Alderond possessed something that could not simply be overcome through strength or speed.
Experience.
Four centuries of it.
Alderond had fought opponents who relied on power.
Opponents who relied on speed.
Opponents who relied on magic.
Opponents who had attempted to deceive him.
Opponents who had attempted to overwhelm him.
He had seen variations of almost everything.
K-10 was different.
But not so different that Alderond could not adapt.
Their blades separated.
Alderond lowered his weapon slightly.
“You fight differently from our soldiers.”
“Yes.”
“You do not appear to rely upon a fixed form.”
“I don’t.”
“Why?”
“Because a fixed form creates predictability.”
Alderond raised his sword again.
“Then what governs your movements?”
K-10 answered without hesitation.
“Situation. Distance. Timing. Position. Rhythm.”
Alderond’s eyes narrowed.
“You adapt.”
“Yes.”
“That philosophy is dangerous.”
“It is necessary.”
They collided again.
Alderond changed his rhythm.
K-10 adapted.
K-10 changed his distance.
Alderond adapted.
Their swords struck repeatedly, neither fighter willing to give ground.
“You believe combat is simply adaptation?” Alderond asked.
“No.”
K-10 deflected another strike.
“Combat begins before the fight.”
Alderond pressed forward.
“Explain.”
“You understand the opponent. You understand yourself. You understand the terrain. You understand the objective.”
K-10 slipped past a strike.
“You determine when to fight and when not to fight.”
Alderond countered immediately.
“And if fighting is unavoidable?”
“You determine how the fight occurs.”
Alderond stopped for only a fraction of a second.
K-10 continued.
“The battlefield is part of the weapon.”
Alderond attacked again.
K-10 blocked.
“Terrain. Weather. Supply. Morale. Intelligence. Timing. Logistics.”
Their weapons separated.
“An army is more than its soldiers.”
Alderond watched him carefully.
“A stronger army can lose.”
“If the enemy determines the conditions.”
Alderond nodded slightly.
“And what determines those conditions?”
“Information.”
The two moved again.
“If your information is wrong,” K-10 said, “your decisions are wrong. If your decisions are wrong, your strategy fails.”
Alderond’s sword came down.
K-10 caught it.
“The commander must determine where the enemy fights, when they fight, and how they fight.”
Alderond forced K-10 backward.
“Yet you still speak of survival.”
“Because survival is necessary to complete the objective.”
“And if the objective requires sacrifice?”
K-10 paused.
“Then the sacrifice must serve the objective.”
Alderond studied him.
“You speak like a commander.”
“I was trained to think like one.”
They resumed.
The exchange continued for minutes.
Then hours.
Neither seemed willing to end it.
Eventually, Alderond changed tactics.
Lightning began gathering around his body.
The Lunarium sword crackled with energy.
The soldiers watching stepped farther back.
K-10 watched the lightning carefully.
Alderond raised his sword.
“Your philosophy accounts for adaptation.”
“Yes.”
“Then adapt.”
Lightning exploded across the training ground.
K-10 met it head-on.
The first surge traveled through his armor and into his body.
Pain erupted through his nerves.
His muscles tightened.
His bones felt as though they had been struck from within.
K-10 did not retreat.
Alderond attacked.
Their swords collided again.
Another electrical surge passed through K-10.
It hurt.
He adapted.
Another strike.
Another surge.
The pain remained, but its intensity diminished.
Alderond noticed.
He changed his attack pattern.
The Lightning Affinity continued to tear through K-10’s body, but each successive exposure became less effective.
K-10 adapted to the Affinity.
Alderond did not stop.
He changed his timing instead.
K-10 responded.
For hours, the two fought.
Lightning illuminated the training grounds.
Steel rang through the night.
Neither could establish dominance.
K-10’s physical advantages could not erase Alderond’s centuries of combat experience.
Alderond’s experience could not completely overcome K-10’s ability to analyze and adapt.
Eventually, the battle slowed.
Both stood several paces apart.
The Lightning Affinity still crackled around Alderond’s sword.
Alderond looked at K-10.
“You adapt quickly.”
K-10 said nothing.
“But adaptation has limits.”
“Yes.”
“You understand that.”
“Yes.”
Alderond lowered his sword slightly.
“Then there is one thing I still do not understand.”
K-10 waited.
“Where does your loyalty lie?”
K-10 stopped.
Completely.
The question was different from everything that had come before it.
Alderond lowered his sword.
The Lightning Affinity faded.
K-10 stared at the ground.
For most of his life, loyalty had never been his decision.
He had received orders.
He had followed them.
He had served organizations, commanders, and missions.
His life had been structured around objectives determined by someone else.
He had never needed to decide what mattered to him.
Until now.
K-10 looked toward Alderond.
“I don’t fight for a nation.”
Alderond listened.
“I don’t fight for a cause.”
K-10 continued.
“I don’t fight for an idea.”
His voice remained calm.
“All my life, I received orders. I followed them.”
He paused.
“Now I have something I never had before.”
Alderond waited.
“Choice.”
The word hung between them.
K-10 looked toward the distant lights of the royal castle.
“I choose who I fight for.”
Alderond followed his gaze.
“Who?”
K-10 answered immediately.
“I choose to fight for Seralyth.”
Since the question was asked, Alderond’s expression changed.
“Why?”
K-10 considered the answer.
“She watches out for me.”
A pause.
“She protects me.”
Another pause.
“I have never had anyone do that before.”
Alderond lowered his sword completely.
“Seralyth is your friend.”
K-10 looked at him.
“Yes.”
The answer was simple.
There was no hesitation.
No political obligation.
No military command.
No oath demanded by a nation.
No ideology.
No debt imposed upon him.
It was a decision K-10 had made for himself.
Alderond finally understood.
K-10’s loyalty was not something that had been assigned to him.
It was something he had chosen.
The legendary duel had begun as a test of swordsmanship.
It had become a contest of philosophies.
And in the end, Alderond had learned something far more important about the man standing before him.
K-10 was not simply a warrior who followed orders.
He had chosen someone worth fighting for.
And that choice belonged entirely to him.