THE FORTUNIST

Wuxhia

“Salem's Flower is the cryfix of Salem House coveted for centuries by the Dropp House.”

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"Before you ask," Wuxhia says with a flourish, "Yes. I took the comb, Salem's Flower."

"You know it does not belong to…"

"To our house? What does that matter if we have it? I don't think you had any intentions of returning it to its proper owners. That's what I thought. It's just supposed to sit in your pretty little cupboard while Salem flounders."

"Quiet, that is disrespectful."

"And are you one to know respect? You tell me what is respectful then. Hiring someone to tie a noose around my servant's neck and putting him to a premature death?"

"It was a quick death. Bala is a servant of the Dropp household and if anything my servant, not yours. I have lots of servants. Get one, get two, get three and officially proclaim them yours. Bala was not the only fish in the sea."

Wuxhia's eyes slant. "He was like my little brother. He was like the second son Mother never had, because of you."

"Not because of me Son. Because of the Fortunist."

"Oh really?" Wuxhia's voice dips with sarcasm, "For a war general, I do not see why you decide to traipse about without your sword. Tricky. How shall you fight now?"

"Even if I had my sword, I shall not fight you."

"Hmmn, well said. Then I should remember to thank your departing soul in the future for making things a bit easier for me."

"This is not to make things easier for you. How… how can I fight my own son?"

Wuxhia chuckles as he swings the sword over his shoulder and stares down at his feet. "For a general's son who follows the general wherever he goes, you never really taught me anything. You would spar with anybody else that wasn't me. Tell me honestly, was it the bias of me being your only child or was it something else? Something else like not being sure if you can defeat your only child in a one on one combat. I see what's going on here. You desire to go down as a disadvantaged hero. Very well, I'll give you what you want."

Wuxhia releases a war cry and lunges for his father. Xihan, on reflex brings out a small dagger hidden in his boot which he uses to counter the attacking sword.

Wuxhia's warcry, on one hand has unsurprisingly alerted Xihan's guards. Wuxhia swears as he starts feeling the thud of heavy rushing footsteps. "Tell your guards to stay out of this Father."

"Why should I?"

Wuxhia parries away his father's dagger and rushes for the study's door where the first guard is about to come through. He plunges his father's sword into the guard's chest and kicks him backward, pulling the sword out in the process. The other guards change course to assisting their wounded groaning companion.

"This is between me and my father, stay away!" Without waiting for expressions of obeisance, he slams the door shut and bolts it in three places. Xihan attacks from behind putting him in a chokehold. Wuxhia hisses, changes his grip on his sword. He slashes at Xihan's abdomen but Xihan manages to pull back in time.

"What was that?" Wuxhia taunts, "You would not fight your own son?"

"I shall not die by my own son's hands either."

"I can think of no better person to do the task Father, and who said anything about dying?" The duo go into another clash. Xihan is mostly on defence as he blocks most of Wuxhia's oncoming blows with his dagger. He does manage to perform a feint that leaves him sleekly taking a slice on Wuxhia's chin.

They both stop in the heat of the moment. Wuxhia touches his chin and glares at the blood that bathes his fingers. "That's one strike for you," he murmurs, "Let's do round two."