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In the meantime, Magnus had shown you what you and Yuliana would be dueling with. The razors for the “Moon Cutting.” Girdles, vests, and collars with light mail woven within were also part of the kit, apparently to prevent ugly disembowelment, though the rules of the duel banned lethal strikes intended for rapid exsanguination.
The “razors” weren’t what you thought they’d be. As predicted the blades had no stabbing point, but they were not lithe or small like a fighting razor might normally be. They were stout and broad, like cleavers- sturdy, graceless and brutal. The reason for that became clear on closer inspection. The edge was not steel, but rather, some sort of shell-like material set into the blackened metal, which glimmered like pearl.
“I was thinkin’ of something different than these,” you said to Magnus as you picked one up and tested its balance.
“They are authentic <span class="mu-i">Ciecieksiczyca</span> blades,” Magnus said, “The edges are nacre from crescent-buckler snails. Sharp, lustrous, but brittle.” These blades had not been used, clearly. Even their grips were unstained cords of some sort of very smooth, velvety leather of a sort you were unfamiliar with. “Tradition would dictate that you ready it for battle by declaring what you hold within your blade. Its purpose. Your strength, and what it shall sever.”
You glanced from the knife to Magnus. “To who?”
“To God, perhaps. Or whomever you wish to hear. The blade, certainly.” You weren’t really keen on prayer. As far as you figured, the holy high one didn’t do much judgement until you were dead anyways. Magnus wouldn’t have agreed with that, though. He was a follower of the Cathedra. A dusty old relic from before Alexander, before the Shattering. “It comes from knightly tradition. A small piece of a greater ritual.”
It was pretty clear to you that the one who wanted to hear it most wasn’t a piece of steel, a snail’s house, or an apathetic deity. That mattered more right now anyways.
“I’m going to find a place for you two,” Magnus said as he got up off the wall, “Don’t kill each other while I’m away.” He left, and shut the door firmly behind him, leaving you alone with the knives.
What you held in “your” blade, huh.
…Though your “blade” would be a tank, not this knife, you’d go through with it anyways. In your blade, you held…
>Ardor
>Passion
>Vigor
>Talent
>Hatred
>Another Single Word Concept
…and this would sever…
>Greed
>Order
>Silence
>Anarchy
>Injustice
>See above's "Other"
Also-
>Use Protection (Outfit Change)
>No Need.
>Other things/Stuff to deal with before the last duel?
