Ersia: Raven Dawn

There is no way for Lisabelle to convey what she is feeling to the others. She herself doesn't know what eats away at her soul. She also doesn't understand why as if she can smell blood and strong murderous intent coming from the man called Mr. Sunday. Not only that, but he also has an overwhelming anger that he fails to hide. 

When everyone is looking at Lisabelle, Mr. Sunday steps down from the hilt of his sword and pulls it out from the ground. He walks casually towards Lisabelle with an intrigued look on his face. He rubs his mustache and goatee and smiles as he tucks his sword back to its black scabbard.

"My lord, I suppose the young lady here is Lisabelle?"

"H-Huh? Oh . . . yes . . . Yes, she is," the disoriented Vincent answered.

Then, the masked man slowly rubs his chest and takes a deep breath. Meanwhile, Lisabelle is already standing readily in a stance, extremely wary of her soon-to-be opponent.

"I thought she was supposed to be more . . . fervent? Wait - Was that the right fancy word?"

"What do you want from us?"

Lisabelle is looking so serious. She looked almost exactly the same as she was during the incident at the flea market. Her body is stern and her eyes are so focused as if she is trying to predict something from the man in front of her.

"What do I want? Right now? Hm. A glass of apple juice would be nice, to be honest."

"Stop playing around! I'm asking you, why are you here?! What is your purpose?"

Mr. Sunday snorted at Lisabelle's attempt at intimidation.

"I beg you pardon this lowly mercenary's poor demeanor, but I do think that you are being too tense for no reason at all, Young Lady Lisabelle. Try to relax a little. I'm not going to do anything bad, I swear!"

After listening to his answer, Lisabelle loosens herself albeit just a little. She doesn't think that he is lying. However, she is still on alert. Her hunch tells her not to even blink in front of the man.

"I was here as per Lord Vincent's request. To have a little sparring duel with his uh . . . . what were you to him again? Niece? Ahem, all in all! So here I am, a humble man who is simply trying to get some coins for himself."

The other dozens of Vincent's personal guards are starting to murmur with each other. They are whispering to each other whether the rumor is true that the last line of the Arbon family is having trouble up on her head. The swirling words talk of Lisabelle who is inflicted with a curse that makes her disturbed with psychotic symptoms. Now that they are seeing how Lisabelle behaves for themselves, it's going to drag her already tarnished reputation even lower.

"Very well. Go back to your side and wait. I will fetch my weapons."

"Ah! You are finally awake! Let us start then!"

When the two turned their back on each other and walked to their respective positions, Lisabelle stopped midway.

"Mr. Sunday, wasn't it? You don't mind a girl using real weapons, do you?"

"Of course, young lady. You can even ask for others' help. Four people maximum though. I don't think I can handle more than that!" Mr. Sunday replied without a single pause or hesitation.

---

 

The two sparring duelist stand in their respective place. The referee of the match is a man named Groban, another mercenary of Vincent's. As for the judges of the match, there will be Alan and Gwen taking notes of the hits taken by the duelists. The training ground is now set to mimic a real place of combat, with some wooden dummies of various sizes and heights scattered through the field as well as uneven ground and certain muddy terrain.

"Hm. Very fancy. I like the set-up," Mr. Sunday sits on top of a dummy, relaxing.

"Duelists! En garde!"

Lisabelle holds her weapons. She chooses a short sword and a sickle as her weapons which at the end of their handles are attached with rubber bands that are commonly used in a slingshot. Meanwhile, Mr. Sunday is using only a simple wooden longsword. They are staring at each other, although their moods and thoughts significantly differ. 

". . . ."

". . . ."

"H-Hello? I said en garde, bro . . . ," Groban informed Mr. Sunday

"Ah, don't mind me. I'm ready whenever she is."

"Sure then . . . Ready . . . . Go!"

As Groban jumped back from the training ground to a safe distance, Lisabelle walked slowly towards Mr. Sunday who was still watching her from on top of a wooden dummy. Even when the two are finally within arms reach, none of them has made any move. 

"Now that I get so close to you, you really stink so bad."

"Hm? No way! I even took a bath twice today!"

"Tell me, Mr. Sunday, you have killed people, haven't you?"

Though the conversation between the two is hard to hear by the spectators, Mr. Sunday's laughter after listening to Lisabelle's question is loud and clear.

"Well, what can I say? Killing is my job since I'm a mercenary. But don't you worry, young lady, I only kill monsters."

"Liar."

As soon as she spoke the word, Lisabelle dashed and sent double wide swings with her weapons. Mr. Sunday parried it with his sword, and with his strength, threw Lisabelle above. Yet, the young girl hooked on to his wooden sword with her sickle and pulled herself with the momentum to propel herself towards her opponent.

Lisabelle's blade is so close to reaching Mr. Sunday's neck. Yet, suddenly the man let go of his sword and also let his body fall backward while giving a kiss to the girl's cheek with his left boot. The girl was thwarted to the side while Mr. Sunday landed a flawless backflip and grabbed his wooden sword that was spinning down from above.

"Creative, but poor judgment. You would have a better chance to slice my neck if you sent a swing instead of thrusting," said Mister Sunday as he inspected the damage to his wooden sword.

"Tch."

Lisabelle spits on the ground before getting back on her feet. She is walking slowly towards Mr. Sunday, encircling him with more patience this time. However, as if mocking her, Mr. Sunday doesn't even keep an eye on her and just stays still, propping his body with his wooden sword.

The second Lisabelle arrived at the optimum angle to strike, she dashes once more. This time she goes low, trying to capitalize the height difference between her and Mr. Sunday to her advantage. She is aiming for vital spots such as tendons, joints, and even arteries. However, once again, in the nick of time, the man employed one of the oldest tricks in the book of duels.

After assessing the earth contour of the training field, Mr. Sunday strongly kicked up the soil with his back heel and sent big crumbles of chunks on Lisabelle's face. The girl, being caught off guard, slowed down her advance reflexively. It was at this moment that Mr. Sunday sent his strike.

*Bhug - Whoosh*

A double-handed swing landed on the right side of Lisabelle's body. The girl was able to block it in the nick of time, yet it helped only a little. The force of the swing is so powerful that it sends her flying. She smashed into one of the smaller wooden dummies and broke it into two with the impact alone.

"Lily!" Viena screamed.

"Ugh, *Cough* Ack."

Lisabelle is coughing up blood and her right side feels numb for a moment before a great sense of pain rushes in her system.

"Oops. Sorry, my lord, I hit her too hard," Mr. Sunday closed his mouth. 

"S-Stop this! Stop this at once!" Liam hurriedly rushes down the stairs.

"Stand back, Uncle! DON'T YOU DARE!"

Lisabelle raised her hand, signifying her unyielding battle spirit.

"I will at least land one strike on him. I swear it,"

As the girl wipes the blood from her mouth and gets back on her feet, the onlookers are talking with each other. They are saying that the duel would've ended right there if it was them taking that brutal blow. They also noted that at this rate, Lisabelle could hurt really badly given the disparity of both skill and strength between the two.

"You still want to continue, young lady?"

"Hell yes, I am."

"Ahahah. How outstanding! Here's another tip if you may; It was a good plan to play it low, however, you should learn to think two or three steps ahead, and be more aware of your surroundings."

Now, the two are eye-on-eye with each other again. Unlike before, this time, Mr. Sunday is following Lisabelle's movement. They are mirroring each other movement, before suddenly, Mr. Sunday goes for the attack. He blinked ten meters with a single step and Lisabelle almost took another fatal blow when he swung his wooden sword aiming for her head.

"Kuh,"

Luckily, Lisabelle dodged in time, leaving her uncle and the others gritting their teeth watching it.

Following the sudden strike, Mr. Sunday lets out a flurry of strikes which all was parried well by Lisabelle. However, in spite of her efforts to not take too much of his brunt force, Lisabelle still struggles. It confuses her how a wooden sword can be so strong despite facing steel, and how come the seemingly light swings pack such extraordinary strength.

She immediately decides that even deflecting is not enough, so she tries dodging. Alas, dodging him is easier said than done since the man strikes so accurately on point and so precisely in timing. She is forced to think hard and fast. Then, she remembered what Mr. Sunday had just taught her; 'Be aware of your surroundings'. Thanks to the lead, now she is carefully leading the man towards muddy terrain where his heavier body tends to be more imbalanced.

Although it's very tough, Lisabelle sometimes dodges acrobatically while launching a counterattack from abnormal angles to keep Mr. Sunday's attention on her, so that he won't realize what she is trying to do. Eventually, her strategy works, and the fighting space is shifted to the left side of the training ground where the soil is muddy.

The masked man loses a significant amount of his strength behind his swings, and he actually notices everything the young girl is trying to do. Yet, seeing the grit and passion in Lisabelle's eyes, he is pretending to bite the lure and see for himself how she will manage him. The exchange of blows goes for dozens of seconds, and the scale is still tipping towards Mr. Sunday. Grazes are made on Lisabelle's face and parts of her gambeson are being torn.

Lisabelle keeps getting pushed back until they are out again from the mud zone, and enters the area where the training dummies lay many. A few times, Mr. Sunday's wooden sword strikes the dummies until they break, and he even uses those splinters as a weapon. He hits the flying broken parts of the dummies with the broad part of his sword and launches them towards Lisabelle.

As quick as Lisabelle's may, either with her feet or blocking reflex, some of the projectiles ended up leaving new marks on her. A splinter stabbed and stuck on her left ear and some others grazed her chin and cheeks. Unwilling to be toyed with, Lisabelle did the same. Knowing her opponent's reflex is godly, she sneaked up a tricky move during her striking combo.

During a very specific, minuscule second time window, Lisabelle hooks a small pouch on her waist with her sickle before swinging it towards Mr. Sunday. The masked man's intention to deflect the strike ended up creating a smoke screen, thanks to the flour inside the pouch. The girl then proceeded to take advantage of the opportunity and went for a decisive blow.

"HRAH!"

Suddenly, Mr. Sunday let out a thundering cry so loud it made everyone so startled, not to mention Lisabelle. The girl's body is stunned in place due to the shock while a terrifying counterattack is coming her way. The masked man grabbed her neck in a flash. The clench of his fists is so strong that Lisabelle's airway is instantly blocked, and it makes her brain unable to quickly process any thought.

Lisabelle knows he could've ended everything right there, but strangely, Mr. Sunday throws her instead until she bounces on the ground several times before stopping. Luckily the rubber on the hilt of her weapons held on tight, hence, she still had her weapons on her. The whole set up seems surely to be a big opportunity for the masked man to overwhelm Lisabelle, but instead, he pulled out a jest by clearing a throat and testing his voice.

"Aaa . . .  Uhm Ergh . . . Aaa eeee iiii oooo uuu . . . Yep, still sounds good. Sigh . . . Well, well. You are not too bad, young lady. It's been a while since I used that trick."

Soon after the quick pause, the two went on it again from the beginning. The damage sustained by Lisabelle is already too much and she had to pull out a lot of tactical retreat moves in between the clashing of their weapons.

At one moment, Mr. Sunday faked a swing and actually sent the sole of his shoe toward the young girl. Lisabelle, using her sickle, swings herself to the side after digging the blade of the sickle deep into a wooden dummy on her left side. The kick ended up missing and landed on a dummy which was previously behind Lisabelle instead, leaving a huge damage.

Then, she lets out a counterattack after swinging her body in a full circle on the wooden dummy. She brandishes her sword right to Mr. Sunday's nape. She even extends the reach of her sword by letting go of her grip and letting the centrifugal force of her body and the rubber band on the sword's hilt do the job.

Despite the great effort, Mr. Sunday was able to redirect Lisabelle's sword by blocking the trajectory with his sword scabbard, which he put on the left side of his hip. When the front side of the scabbard was pushed down, the backside flipped up and grazed the steel sword to lead its direction upward. As a result, Lisabelle's sword ends up cutting the ears of Mr. Sunday's cat mask.

Lisabelle's attack is not finished yet. Now that Mr. Sunday is in an awkward stance, with his left leg still on the dummy, his back arches, and his hands out of place, the girl is aiming for the back of his right knee to put him down. With her still retaining some power of the fast body swing, she strengthened her left leg to smash Mr. Sunday's footing.

"Hyaaah!"

The kick landed and Mr. Sunday is now on his knees. Lisabelle then ready up the sword on her right hand again to send a downward slash right to the masked man's neck. It is a sure kill for everyone to see, a fatal blow that is almost impossible to dodge. However, unfortunately for Lisabelle, Mr. Sunday has not run out of options. His right hand quickly reverses the grip on the wooden sword and then lunges it backward without even seeing where Lisabelle is.

*Crack*

The wooden sword stopped in its track and that turned into splinters. Mr. Sunday immediately does a forward roll and creates a space between himself and his opponent before looking at what just happened. Almost to everyone's surprise, Lisabelle's left hand had turned into steel, and it squeezes the wooden sword into pieces. She had let go of her sickle and used her magic.

"Hm. A hand of steel? That is very spectacular magic. Keeping your trump card for the last moment is a winning mindset."

". . . Why did you hesitate? With your power and flexibility, you could pull another weird stunt to get out of that pinch," Lisabelle undone her magic, and his hand returned to normal.

"Hahahah. I believe your opinion of me is a tad a little too high, young lady."

Then, Mr. Sunday raises his hand, signaling his surrender to the referee. Now that he has no more weapons at his disposal, he effectively lost the match. Groban nodded and entered the training ground.

"T-The winner is . . . ! The Young Lady! Lisabelle Arbona!"

The spectators' silence turns into big crowds calling out Lisabelle's name. They are rushing to the middle of the training ground, wanting to hold her high up above like she was a war hero. Yet, before the crowds gather, Lisabelle quickly approaches Mr. Sunday who is leaving the place.

"Wait! Mr. Sunday!"

"Yes? Do you need anything else of me?"

"How many . . . How many duels have you won to be this strong?"

.

.

.

"Sixty. And still counting."

When Mr. Sunday answered Lisabelle's question, he lifted a part of his mask. It's unknown whether it was intentional, or whether it was just him trying to feel up the broken part of the mask. However, one thing that is for sure is that it takes Lisabelle by a great surprise.

"Let this be our little secret, okay?"

". . . ."

Beneath the mask is a red eye as bright as ruby and as sinister as a demon's heart. It is brimming with hatred and madness and doesn't even look alive. It sends shivers to Lisabelle as much as the first time she saw him. If the door to hell exists, it must have resided in that eye of his. She couldn't even imagine what he had gone through, and it made her petrified, unable to say anything except one word.

"Mistari."