The Sun Blade

A Blade Alone is a Blade Condemned

"The First Blade was...?" Evaluator Driego regarded the class expectantly, awaiting the answer.

"Dmitri Otriad, Evaluator." The class answered in unison.

"And his Directive was...?"

"Heartrender Natalia Forikova, Evaluator."

Blade history was easily the most tedious part of The Institute's training program. Cresana never quite understood the purpose of memorizing inane facts about Blades long dead. Besides, she knew the history of The Blades better than The Evaluators, although she would never voice that sentiment aloud. Her father had made sure of that.

'Sixteen generations of Militovas come before you, Cresana, and sixteen more will follow. The Blades' history is our history. To ignore history is to condemn your future.' She could hear her father's rehearsed speech as if he were delivering it to her now. And she, ever the dutiful daughter and future Blade, had studied the history, despite finding it maddeningly boring.

"Weapon of choice?" Evaluator Dreigo droned on.

"Whip and Great Sword." Fewer voices this time. Dreigo sensed that he was beginning to unearth the class' shortcomings. Memorizing the weaponry of former Blades was an arduous and largely fruitless pursuit, but one that The Institute insisted on as a formality. The Institute demanded its pupils develop mastery over all weapons, but each Blade would ultimately choose their weapons upon receiving their Directive. Blades were often recognizable on the battlefield by their weapons, since they all wore the same uniform and had largely identical fighting styles. It was helpful to know the weapons of choice of those in your unit, but that was the difference between a dozen or so Blades you fought next to day in and day out versus hundreds of Blades long since dead.

"Name of his sword?"

"Rajbit." This time, it was only Cresana's voice. Her classmates stood silently around her, their arms clasped behind their backs, and though none moved or turned to acknowledge her, the tension in the class was palpable. By many estimations, Cresana's (correct) answer to the question would single her out as the sole pupil who had sufficient knowledge to satisfy The Evaluator. But in the world of The Blades, to be singled out was to be dead. Blades were taught to act as a unit. Your success as a Blade largely depended on your ability to fit seamlessly into the group style fighting that Blades were known for. Since Blades were always at the vanguard of the Second Army, it was imperative that you fought in tandem with those around you, otherwise you would be left exposed and weak. Fjerdans, Shu Han mercenaries, any opponent that the Second Army faced would be waiting to exploit a Blade who broke rank to penetrate the line.

Cresana gulped, lapsing into silence, maintaining her face in a mask of indifference.

"Militova." Driego motioned her to step forward. She obeyed, weaving through the columns of pupils around her until she stood alone in front of him.

"Evaluator."

"What is The Blades' Rule of One?" Driego's voice was its usual monotone, his expression unreadable, his posture relaxed and stationary, but somewhere Cresana detected a hint of sadistic pleasure in the punishment she knew he would exact upon her for this mishap.

"A Blade alone is a Blade condemned." Cresana recited the Rule of One, internally bracing for Dreigo's next move.

"Indeed." His impassive brown eyes bored into her, an odd mixture of dispassion and fervor. Dreigo, of all The Evaluators, was a zealot if ever Cresana had met one.

"Hold out your hands, Militova," he commanded. Cresana did as she was instructed, palms facing down and fists clenched in the traditional Blade salute.

"Choose a finger." His voice was cold, although Cresana knew that wasn't why she felt a shiver run up her spine. She stuck out the pinky finger of her left hand, chosen by a quick calculation of which fingers she needed most for combat drills and weaponry training. She felt a twinge of regret realizing that this was the same finger she had broken six years ago while hunting a wild boar in the hills outside her home and it had never fully healed, but the decision was made and there was no going back now.