[Job/Kirahunter] Trained by an old knight

“We’re now arriving at Beanstalk Village. A friendly reminder that the train stops here only 3 times a day by request of the locals. Be sure to get on one of the trips back.” Vorpal took note of the warning as he disembarked off the train even though he had just got off one of 3 train stops for the entire day there was hardly anyone there. It seemed Beanstalk Village really did like to keep to itself. Which in a way made sense, it was the retirement grounds for many old Rune Knights, Vorpal imagined there were at least a couple of paranoid ones who wanted to keep an eye on all comers and goers. Also the distance just kept them safe from any past cases come back to haunt them in their retirement. Which was an unfortunate reminder to Vorpal that he was probably not generally welcome there, but he was there on a mission and had a trump card up his sleeve. The aforementioned mission of course being to receive training from a veteran swordsmen. His old mentor and creator had been a very powerful mage but actually had little experience in weapon lore, and especially not swords, so Vorpal sought to receive proper instruction on how to use himself in battle. It was after all very inappropriate for a sword to not be trained in swordplay. Leaving the train station Vorpal glanced at a crudely drawn map he had been given by his master that seemed to indicate a building not too far from the station. Reminded of his destination Vorpal set off into Beanstalk Village. He hurried through the bustling but rather empty streets where just a handful of farmers seemed insistent on creating a full city’s worth of traffic, the sentient sword gathering suspicious glances at every turn. He had tried to be inconspicuous, he even wore a shirt today, but there was no denying he looked several decades younger than the next youngest person in the village. But fortunately he had not far to go, his particular target was not one who retired to Beanstalk for the quiet life but rather just because he did not want to be separated from his old Rune Knight comrades after they left the service thus their house wasn’t too terribly far from the station. So he quickly located the well sized building, it looked surprisingly rich and urban compared to the more homely surroundings but Vorpal figured that was more indicative that he was at the right place than anything, this man never meant to be a farmer. So he knocked on the door.

Just as he did so he heard a large crash come from inside the building. Vorpal panicked and reached for the door knob, only for the door to be opened regardless. Standing behind it was a short and thin old man, he was dressed more like a lawyer then a farmer and stared at Vorpal expectantly behind his spectacles. Vorpal was momentarily lost for words, still concerned about the crashing sound he had just heard. Seemingly of short patience the old man snapped at him, “What do you want boy? I’m busy.” Vorpal shook his head to recollect himself, “I am Vorpal from the land of Ca-Elum, I come seeking the retired Rune Knight Archibald Smith.” The old man squinted at him, “Ca-Elum ey? I am Archibald and you’ve my attention but only for a moment, in detail, and quickly, what do you want?” Vorpal understood the old man’s hurry and quickly explained himself as best he could, “I’m a mage trained in a sword base magic. My master was a little near sighted, and only taught me the ma-” The door was almost slammed in his face but Vorpal caught it with his hand right before it could shut. The old man grumbled, “I’m no swords master, and I’m no trainer of anyone. There are a million old swords here you could bother for the trouble. Go away.” Vorpal glanced around, and fortunatly not too many people were nearby, “Sir, Simon sent me.” The door opened again. Archibald looked him over, “I should’ve figured that is what the Ca-Elum business was about. Let me guess, he’s gone off to his homeland to handle some business there but didn’t want to leave his business in Fiore unfinished. So he half-assed training an apprentice in you and sent you back here to finish what he started?” Vorpal nodded, “I suppose that’s close enough to the truth. He told me, even if you can’t train me yourself that you could find me someone who could.” Archibald nodded, “Yes that much is true. Back in the Rune Knights I served as a dispatcher and coordinator of efforts. Keeping track of the Wizard Saints was also among my duties, Simon was my last charge, and easily my most troublesome. But I do owe my early retirement to my being associated with his accomplishments, so I suppose I can return the favor.” Archibald seemed to amuse himself with a thought, “To be accredited with another great wizard of Fiore, they’ll have to write my name in history books if I can make something of you.” Vorpal, now more than any point in his life, suddenly felt like an object.

With that Archibald invited Vorpal into his home where he found the source of the large crash. A few younger men were in there doing some work on a wall and apparently one had just been broken in a clumsy accident. The old Rune Knight dispatcher hurried Vorpal into a separate room dismissing the workers, “The useless youths, I had them come in to install four walls and they go and break the last one for no good reason.” Vorpal now found himself in a rather large sitting room, it seemed Archibald like to have guests which made sense all things considered. Vorpal was made to sit down in a particularly sturdy chair, which didn’t look half as cushy as any other of the twenty seats in the room. Finding himself curious he tried to ask a question that Smith cut short, “I keep that one around for brutes such as yourself. The nice things are for the guests I invite. Now stay here while I fetch someone. Do not touch anything.” Vorpal had long since learned that being told to not touch anything did in fact mean to not touch anything, and proceeded to not touch anything. As he did so Archibald left the room back towards the way they came in. After a while the old man returned with an even older gentleman trailing behind him. The second man was almost certainly an entire decade or two older than Archibald but was far larger and stronger looking, Vorpal couldn’t tell if looking at him was supposed to make him impressed or depressed. On one hand it was impressive he maintained such a physique at his age, on the other it reminded him of a recent mission where he found himself killing a warrior of comparable age. It reminded him that no one escaped time. The two gentleman sat themselves down in two chairs, creating a triangle of themselves. The second man looked over Vorpal, “So this is the punk? What kind of boy from Ca-Elum doesn’t know how to use a sword?” Vorpal shrugged, “Well I didn’t exactly have a normal upbringing.” The old man snapped, “That’s vague. Stop being vague. Your deal, now, what is it.” Vorpal was initially taken aback by the harsh interrogation but again tried to quickly answer, “I am Vorpal, a human weapon forged in the great volcano of Ca-Elum. My master is not just my master. He’s also my creator. I’m an artificial human, part man, part sword, mostly sword. To be clear I am enchanted sword with the power to turn into a human form. My creator didn’t see any need to teach me how to use a sword, but I’ve found myself feeling incomplete without the knowledge.”

The two retired Rune Knights exchanged a look. Archibald seemed intent on remaining quiet. The large man spoke again, “Well that’s quite something. Not the oddest thing I’ve ever heard but I’ll give you a solid 16th place. Not too bad to get that high on a list I’ve been accumulating for 80 years. I’m Ponk, I used to train the Rune Knights back in the day. I even gave little Baldy here the few combat lessons he received.” Archi”baldy,” did not seem to want to respond to this. Ponk stood up, and indicated Vorpal to do the same, “I’ll admit I’m interested in your case. I’ll give you a hand but you’d better be ready to work your rear off you iron welp.” The old trainer lead Vorpal out of the room as Archibald stayed behind, scribbling on a notepad. As he was led out of the house Vorpal wanted to ask Ponk something, or rather anything, just something to understand who would be training him but failed to come up with a good question and thus remained quiet for fear of annoying him.

So Vorpal was guided out towards the edge of the village, exchanging no words with his new mentor, until they reached a fenced in dirt patch next to a shed. Ponk explained, “This here is where we old timers come to keep our skills sharp. Those of us who bother anyway. Here I'll be breaking you into the way of the sword. Mind yourself, I'll be neither kind or forgiving. That won't do you any good.” Vorpal rolled his shoulders as he seized up the ring, “I wouldn't dream of it. So how are we-” Without warning Ponk spun around grabbing Vorpal by the collar and literally threw him over the fence and into the ring. Vorpal landed on his side with a metallic thump, but he quickly scrambled to his feet. Before he could even protest Ponk tossed a sword at his feet from the shed. Ponk explained, “You're a living weapon. Battle should be your instinct. You'll learn best by doing.”

He pulled a long locked case from the shed, apparently freeing it from some chains to do so. The old warrior spent but a moment unlocking the case but Vorpal couldn't help be curious. It was a locked case, chained up in a locked shed, it had to be something of note. From it he pulled out a large blade, honestly it looked big enough to be two blades, but more impressive was the intricate design. Ponk looked at it fondly, “This here is the River Master no finer blade in the land. I can't wait to see how it handles against a Ca-Elum blade.” With no further ado he jumped straight over the fence, River Master in hand bringing it down in an overhead slash straight at Vorpal. Vorpal reflexively dive rolled forward, collecting the training sword at his feet as he did. Ponk landed behind him, careful to not let River Master’s edge touch the ground. With that the battle was afoot.

Vorpal quickly turned around and held the practice sword in his right hand out in front of him. He hadn't even realized it but his footing already took the proper stance. Ponk whirled around already taking calculated and swift swings at Vorpal. Much like the ancient warrior he fought a few weeks ago, Ponk fought like a madman showing no signs of age in his, speed and strength. Even though Ponk was fighting with a two handed sword he swung it like it was made of nothing. It was everything Vorpal could do to dodge and block Ponk’s onslaught. The old man was unrelenting but it also seemed he had been onto something, very quickly Vorpal’s untrained flailing of his sword became refined, properly blocking and deflecting strikes as opposed to recklessly throwing his sword between him and attacks. But even still Vorpal was on his back foot. Every time their blades met it felt like River Master was about to break and generic sword. Vorpal was still too slow to ever counter attack. Just when Vorpal thought he was at his limit of the dangerous game Ponk suddenly stopped and jumped back to a distance. “This is going nowhere. You're not fearing me proper. I can see you've got the instincts, you want to hold and has that sword right. But you're too removed from those instincts, to sure of your own survival.”

Vorpal scratched his head with his free hand, “So what do we do now?” Ponk shook his head, “You're not going to do anything, I'm going to decomission an unworthy weapon.” Vorpal did not get his meaning. Then Ponk’s finger hit a button on his sword and suddenly River Master split into two smaller blades, “River Master, once more I call on you to split thy stream. I've grown to old and tired in this farm life, once more I need you to lend me your strength.” He pointed the right twin blade at Vorpal, “River Master this pretender from Ca-Elum would call himself a sword, declare your supremacy!”The next thing Vorpal knew he had nearly died. His back was to the fence, his own sword had split into twin blades as well and he didn't rightly know how. But what he did understand was that the insane old man who stood across from him holding those two menacing blades, wanted him dead. Ponk charged him and Vorpal had no choice but to leap to the side to avoid the attack. The fence he'd been leaning against was obliterated. In the very next moment Ponk was on him again, River Master raining down on Vorpal like unending flood. He deflected, dodged, blocked, parried, and still it felt like he couldn't stop half of Ponk’s attacks. Cuts began to appear on Vorpal’s torso criss crossing his steel flesh in an attempt to carve in towards his metal heart.

Then the incredible happened. As death was imminent Vorpal’s blades grew faster, as River Master looked to severe his life stream the current rose where it should've been dried up. Previously unsure of how to even hold a sword Vorpal suddenly dibs himself matching against Ponk’s attacks. He was The Vorpal Sword, forged by a Wizard Saint in the great volcano of Ca-Elum, the country of blacksmiths, created for the purpose of slaying an immortal metal demon and he could not afford to have that purpose cut short by some farmer with a bad attitude. Just as it seemed Vorpal was about to overtake Ponk the twin blades shattered in a simultaneous collision their the blades of River Master, and just like that Ponk’s blades formed a cross pressing his thoat. Vorpal dropped the broken blade hilts and was about to turn his hands into bladed claws when he processed the look on Ponk’s face. All that wild aggression, that elder fury, was gone and replaced with a rather satisfied smile. Ponk lowered his blades as the realization washed over his face. Vorpal groaned throwing his head back, “I feel for the oldest trick in the book didn’t I?” Ponk laughed at him between labored breaths, “Come now, it was for your benefit. You should be glad you fell for it. Although I can’t believe I’m that convincing of an actor.” Vorpal shook his head, only now realizing how tired he was he whined, “I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed okay?” Ponk recombined River Master and went to return it to its case, “That’s not a great saying for a living sword to get into.” Vorpal had to agree that it was a bit ironic.

Vorpal was insistently offered to join Ponk for dinner, he had wanted to shove off as soon as possible but when an eighty year old master swordsmen insists he insists. Thus Vorpal found himself at a long oak table sitting across from Ponk and Archibald who had also apparently been invited. Ponk’s wife was bringing in plates of home cooked meals and Vorpal had to admit they looked rather more curious than delicious. It seems being a farm grandma does not automatically make one a master cook. As Vorpal started into a plate of bean casserole with a side of beans Archibald spoke up, “I hope you understand we’re not helping you out of the goodness of our hearts.” Vorpal looked up surprised, “Am I going to need to pay for this?” Ponk waved him off, “Not that you moron. The training, and all that. You’ve got something we want.” Vorpal didn’t quite understand what they meant so he made his misunderstanding obvious, “I can’t imagine what you could possibly want from me. I don’t have much to my name.” Archibald furrowed his brow, “We want information Vorpal. Simon was the 8th most powerful wizard in Fiore. Then he vanishes without a trace. He was connected to Fairy Tail before they went to the dark side. He was connected to the Garou Knights before they disappeared. He was connected to Infinity Hydra and now HE disappears. We’re noticing an alarming trend, and we’re concerned now Ardere and Infinity Hydra may be caught in the crossfire.” Vorpal had to try very very hard to not drop his fork, he was taken back by the accusations against Simon. So much so he stood up and was immediately speaking at a half yell, “Simon had nothing to do with the fate of Fairy Tail and the Garou Knights! He was a Wizard Saint how dare you talk of him in such a way!” Ponk gestured in a assuring manner, “Remain calm Vorpal. We just want the truth. Simon’s erratic behavior and the sudden discontinuation of communication have shined him in a very unfavorable light. If you can prove us of his innocence, it serves to both of our benefits.” Archibald added his own insistence, “We’re both invested in him being innocent. We don’t want to doubt our young friend. So please tell us, what exactly happened to Simon the Phoenix?”

Thus began a very long story.