The courtyard trapped the rain. Water filled every crack in the stone, running down toward the drains in steady streams. Torches hissed when droplets hit them, throwing flickering light across the soaked banners and slick walls.
Maurice stood in the center with his claymore in hand. The weapon felt heavier than usual—like the weight wasn't just steel this time.
Across from him, the Kensei waited. The odachi rested along his shoulder, the armor glistening under the storm. His demon mask grinned with pale teeth and empty eyes.
The Kensei spoke first.
"There's a healing point inside that room. Go patch yourself up before we start. I don't want you whining about health disadvantages later."
Maurice chuckled, wiping water from his face. "Me? Complain about disadvantages? That's a first. I usually play better with handicaps." He gave a mock bow, then added with a grin, "But since you offered so nicely—don't mind if I do."
He jogged toward the indicated room, stepped inside long enough for the healing circle to pulse faint green, then came back out. His armor shimmered faintly, health bar restored.
The Kensei was already in position. Neither spoke as Maurice took his place opposite of him again.
The edges of the courtyard began to blur, the world losing detail. The shouts from the outer walls faded until there was only rain and the steady sound of his breathing. Maurice knew this was still the same match, still Steel Saga—but it didn't feel like a game anymore.
It felt like something half-remembered.
The voice came without a mouth to say it.
"You've got no purpose. You keep falling back into your old habits—locking yourself away."
Maurice didn't hear it through sound; it hit the back of his mind like a thought that wasn't his own.
"That's why everything feels empty," the voice went on. "Someone like you should've had it easy—yet you still don't know what you want."
His jaw clenched. Rain slid down his helmet, dripping off his chin.
"What the hell do you know about my life?!" Maurice snapped, eyes narrowing through the storm. Confused he looked at the Kensei, but he just couldn't place it if he said it or not.
The Kensei just looked at Maurice. His mask stared blankly back, unreadable. Then, slowly, the odachi slid from his shoulder into a two-handed grip, pointed towards Maurice.
"Enough to see you keep running from it," he said. "Pathetic."
The odachi came forward in three quick thrusts. Maurice turned his claymore half-side, catching each hit on the flat. The shocks ran through his wrists and elbows, forcing him back one step with every clash.
The fourth came disguised. The Kensei fainted high—Maurice bit, bringing his guard up. The real cut swept low across the wet stone. He barely pulled his lead foot clear; the blade scraped his armor and kept going, sparks chasing water.
He tried to reset his stance, heart thumping, only to find the Kensei already inside range again.
"Why are you still backing down? Move forward, coward!"
The odachi whipped high and came straight for his collar. Maurice didn't block edge to edge—he jammed his claymore's hilt upward, took the strike on the flat, and stepped in. Guards crashed. Shoulders met with a grunt. He used that moment of pressure, twisted his hips, and shoved the Kensei off balance—enough room to lift his blade for a clean downward chop.
The Kensei slipped on the wet stones, letting the blade cut through empty air. He stepped in and snapped his hilt forward, striking Maurice clean across the visor slit. The impact burst his nose.
Maurice grunted, blood spilling down his lip. He released one hand from the claymore and swung a heavy hook. His gauntlet smashed against the side of the Kensei's helmet, snapping his head left.
The Kensei didn't back off. He moved in tighter, closing the distance until there was no room for full swings. The fight turned rough—shoulders, fists, elbows. Maurice tried to overpower him, throwing quick, wide punches between half-swings of the claymore. The Kensei read the rhythm, parrying between strikes and deflecting just enough to keep the balance. Their armor clashed in bursts, boots grinding against the slick stone as both men fought for ground.
Maurice steadied his breathing. The rain seemed farther away now, the edges of the courtyard soft and hazy.
His own voice whispered somewhere in his head, quiet but heavy.
" I went to school, did everything right. I could've gone to university, but I dropped out. I felt like a failure, heck a loser that doesn't know what kind of future he wants. I told my parents I would figure it out but look at me now. I did nothing but game. Nothing interest me...everything feels like crippling boredom."
The Kensei stared at Maurice, the rain sliding down the edge of his mask. His voice came low and steady.
"Your mindset keeps you trapped in a loop. You hate how dull life feels, yet you keep running here just to feel something. Why?"
Maurice didn't respond. He stepped in hard, bringing the claymore up in a sharp rising cut that forced the Kensei to lift his guard. Without pause, he dropped the blade, dragging it down in a short arc, then whipping it across for a heavy follow-through. The pattern wasn't clean—tight swing, loose swing, tight again. It was meant to break the tempo.
The Kensei caught the middle swing with the center of his blade, but the wide follow-up slammed into the odachi full force. The impact jolted through both their arms and snapped the Kensei's wrists off line, rain spraying from the blade's lacquered surface.
Maurice stayed on him. He crashed in shoulder-first, cutting off space until they were nearly chest to chest, his thigh pressing against the Kensei's. He slammed the flat of the claymore into the Kensei's hands, forcing him to re-grip.
The Kensei snapped back fast, driving the hilt of his odachi into Maurice's chest to make distance. Maurice barely gave him room—he stomped forward and drove a knee into his midsection, keeping him trapped, too close for a clean swing but close enough to keep the pressure constant.
"Think before you act, fool!" the voice barked again.
"I am!" Maurice shouted, twisting his hips and throwing a heavy swing from the left. His heel turned with the motion. The odachi caught the blow but not clean—the edges scraped, metal grinding. He felt it travel through the claymore's grip, that rough vibration that meant lacquer had cracked or steel had notched.
The Kensei shoved forward, breaking their blades apart, then lunged straight for Maurice's throat. Maurice brought the flat of the claymore up in time to block, steel grinding against steel. He pushed back hard, then slammed his forehead into the Kensei's mask—crack. Both reeled from the hit. The Kensei took half a step back; Maurice followed immediately with a shove to the chest, trying to force him off balance.
The Kensei steadied himself and countered—cutting left to draw a parry, pivoting under the returning swing, then stabbing for Maurice's stomach. Maurice twisted; the tip scraped along his armor and sliced through the cloth beneath. He jammed his elbow down on the Kensei's sword arm to block the next motion, then used the same push to drive a short uppercut with the claymore's hilt toward the mask. The hit landed with a sharp crack, snapping the Kensei's head back a few inches.
Maurice could hear his own breathing rasp against the inside of the helmet. Every sound stretched—the patter of rain, the slide of boots, even the wind. Time felt heavy, slow, like it was forcing him to pay attention to every second passing. The only thing that moved fast was his heartbeat pounding in his ears.
You're not him. The thought slid through his head, clear and sharp. Stop comparing yourself to people who figured it out first. What's your choice? What do you want? Haven't you already seen it?
"Show it to me!" the voice said—like it came from inside him.
Maurice moved before thinking. He stepped in, pressing down on the Kensei's front foot, forcing a choice between guard or balance. The Kensei picked balance—smart—and released one hand from the hilt to shove Maurice off his shoulder. Maurice came down with the claymore anyway. The Kensei barely got both hands back on the odachi in time to stop the blade from splitting through his collar.
The impact ran up Maurice's arms and rattled his teeth. He didn't give the Kensei time to recover, and lifted the claymore again, slammed it down with full weight. The sound of steel snapping steel echoed all around them. A piece of the odachi snapped off, spun across the stone, and landed in the rain.
The Kensei glanced at what he held—half a sword. With a somewhat satisfied body language he dropped it without hesitation as he faced the warrior in front of him.
Maurice took half a step back, shifted his hips, and brought the claymore down in a clean, vertical strike. The blade split through mask, helm, and armor in one motion. The Kensei's body shattered into bright fragments and disappeared into the storm.
The courtyard stayed loud with rain. Maurice stood still, claymore hanging low. His arms burned. His breath came out rough. The shaking in his hands stopped. For the first time, his chest didn't feel hollow or rather the first time he realized what it felt to be compleet.
He tilted his head back and just let everything out.
"RAAAAAAAAH!!!"
When his voice finally cracked, the courtyard felt quiet again. The walls, the torches, the sound of soldiers—everything slowly fell back into place.
He lowered the claymore until the tip touched the puddle beneath him.
"Going pro," he muttered.
It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. His hands stayed locked on the hilt, and that said enough.
The courtyard started to fade. He stayed like that for a second longer, eyes closed, taking it all in. Then he exhaled and let it fade away.