Chapter 119: The Next Line Towards the Truth
"The border between Brugge and Brokilon? Isn't that exactly where Lynbach village is located!"
James's breathing became ragged. He quickly apologized to Arthur and strode toward the captive, roughly grabbing the man's tunic collar and demanding: "Was the massacre outside Lynbach village your doing!"
The captive let out muffled 'oohs' and 'aahs,' indicating his mouth was gagged.
"May I?" James turned to Arthur, ready to tear the rag out of the man's mouth.
"Of course, but... watch out for his spit." Arthur shrugged indifferently. With Mousesack present, even if the man bit off his own tongue, he wouldn't succeed in killing himself.
"Pah!"
The moment the rag was removed, the previously subdued captive suddenly lunged his head forward, aiming to spit at the Guardsman's face. Forewarned, James moved like lightning, slapping the man's cheek and narrowly avoiding a mouthful of viscous phlegm.
But that was the extent of it. Though the Night Crows man was mediocre in skill, he was a professional brute. No matter how much James pressed him, he yielded no useful information.
"Calm down. We lack proper interrogation tools right now. Beating him achieves nothing but venting frustration and risks killing the only living witness."
Arthur stopped James and asked: "He said nothing, so why are you so agitated?"
The fire in James's eyes, fixed on the captive, was nearly enough to burn: "The facts line up perfectly this man has the typical appearance of a Verdener, and he bears clear signs of training. He is absolutely connected to the Lynbach village massacre!"
Arthur examined the captive with curiosity. Apart from being ugly, he saw no distinct difference between this man and the Temerians or Bruggers he'd seen along the road. He wondered how James had managed to distinguish him.
James looked from the captive to Arthur, and then declared suddenly: "You wanted to spar, didn't you? When we cross swords, I will use all my skill let's use this bastard as the stake!"
Arthur smiled and shook his head: "You'll have to beat me first!"
James leaped over to the cart, grabbed a sword, and quickly scraped the edge flat with a rock. Then, he stepped forward with his right foot, holding the crossguard near his knee and pointing the tip upwards: "Then what are we waiting for?"
"Beautiful." Arthur offered sincere praise, looking at the sword's profile which was nearly reduced to a single point in his vision.
James was employing an impeccably standard Iron Gate stance, which excelled particularly against slashing and thrusting attacks.
"Hold on a moment, though. The point hasn't been dealt with." Arthur pointed to the cold gleam of the sword tip. James was already losing patience: "Where are we going to find tip protectors out here? We can just agree to forbid thrusting moves."
"Absolutely not. The thrust is an essential component of swordsmanship. A fight without thrusts is like a feast without fine wine," Arthur said, shaking his head. "Hold still. This will only take a second."
He extended two fingers and held them, hovering over the sword tip. In just a few seconds, the tip rapidly melted. When it cooled again, it had been reshaped into a harmless spherical ball.
"Now, we can safely practice our swordsmanship." Arthur flicked the newly formed spherical tip with his finger, and James heard a hollow clink.
"Are you a sorcerer?"
"I've only learned a smattering, but don't worry, I won't use magic in the spar." Arthur said, performing the same blunting treatment on the sword he had chosen, and gestured for James to attack him.
Geralt frowned, watching the two men exchanging moves on the main road. The horse beneath him irritably tossed its head and backed up a few steps further.
Having secured safe sparring weapons, James attacked without reservation, just as he had promised.
The Verden longsword sliced through the air with loud shrieks, raining blows down on Arthur's neck, torso, and limbs. Each one was parried. The force behind their strikes was so immense that the sound of the steel blades clashing sounded nothing like metal, but rather a piercing, acute wail nearing the limit of human hearing.
But Geralt frowned not only because of the unpleasant noise. In the Witcher's eyes, Arthur's swordsmanship was clearly inferior to James's, and his reaction speed was half a beat slower than normal. The only reason he hadn't lost yet was pure brute force bolstered by extensive combat experience.
Beside him, Zoltan squinted and muttered: "Since when did this lad switch to a one-handed style?"
After a few more exchanges, James's fighting spirit soared. He raised his longsword as if to deliver a downward chop, forcing Arthur to raise his blade to block. James's feet, however, nimbly shifted sideways, and he simultaneously slashed at Arthur with a backhand strike.
CLANG! Accompanied by a thunderous sound, a twisted, deformed Verden longsword flew high into the sky. The duel finally concluded.
"I lost…" James gazed at his sword lying far away in the wilderness, speaking as if in a daze. His right hand trembled uncontrollably, and blood trickled from his wounded palm.
But confusion outweighed his defeat. He was certain his final stroke had perfectly exploited the moment Arthur's strength was spent. He thought it was the decisive blow, yet he suffered a lightning-fast counter-attack instead.
"No, I am the one who lost." Arthur claimed defeat, though his smile was bright: "The timing of your last stroke was excellent, forcing me to use abnormal strength and speed."
"From the perspective of swordsmanship, you are the undisputed winner."
But James still shook his head: "When we first engaged, you were holding the sword two-handed. Although you switched to one hand after the first move, you cannot believe that a swordsman like me wouldn't notice the difference between the two."
Arthur watched James with a beaming smile, secretly admiring him. At the very beginning, he had indeed used a two-handed sword style. But he quickly realized that even suppressing his strength and speed to the level of an ordinary human, James couldn't keep up with his rhythm, which led him to temporarily switch from two-handed to one-handed.
He thought he had managed to hide it, but James saw right through it truly worthy of a man who earned his Guardsman title through battle!
James shook his head, a hint of remorse flashing in his eyes:
"I regret that in a moment of impulse, I staked the safety of my nation on a duel. Your willingness to admit defeat to uncover the truth is truly admirable."
"But as a swordsman, I cannot accept a fabricated victory against my conscience."
Seeing James so conflicted, Arthur chuckled:
"Don't rush to torment yourself. Now, try to recall who first told you about the massacre, and if there was anything unusual about him?"
James's eyes stared off into space as he recalled the memory: "Mmm, it was a middle-aged man. He claimed to be a mercenary, but his clothes were fancier than a nobleman's and, he had a very irritating smile!"
"It must be Corvo!" Zoltan exclaimed, slamming his fist into his palm: "That's the bastard who caused us trouble yesterday!"
At this, James suddenly realized: "That man used magic to influence my mind, didn't he!"
Arthur glanced discreetly at Mousesack, then smiled brightly:
"Influencing a mind is a complex matter. The short time you spoke wouldn't have been enough for that. At most, he injected a small surge of magic into your body to temporarily disrupt your judgment."
"This method is easily broken all you have to do is focus your attention to a high enough degree, and the concentrated mental energy will automatically push out that small pocket of foreign power."