Vlad moved through the six forms he could complete with ease.
The sixth involved a series of rapid strikes which ended with a sweep of the blade which should bring down a handful of enemies in one arc of steel.
As each strike was performed, he could feel the blood energy bubble in his veins and he let it out with an explosive shout as he swept his stick like a blade.
Crimson energy flowed out of his hands and up the stick as he swung.
He could feel the power building.
But before he finished the move, the stick exploded into splinters in his hand.
"Shit," he growled.
It was the seventh stick of the night to suffer this fate. The wood just wasn't good enough to endure the power of his blood energy.
This was a good thing. It meant he was getting stronger.
The refining of his heart had continued well. Every night he worked on it, expanding it more and more. Already the amount of energy he could store was more than he'd been able to hold in his previous life.
But it was also a bad thing because he would be limited in his training if he had to keep wasting his time by finding suitable sticks.
Sighing, he picked up one of the others he'd prepared.
After this, he'd only have two more.
What he needed was a steel sword. It didn't need to be particularly good quality. Just good enough to handle the first steps of the Black Dragon Great Sword Art.
With this in mind, he entered the sixth form once more.
Determined to finish the move.
Unfortunately, the stick wasn't in agreement and its splinters blew in all directions before he'd even started the final sweeping swing.
Scowling, he snatched the last he could use.
He wanted one left so he could beat the fledglings with it if he needed to.
Or felt like.
Gripping the stick in his hands, his eyes glowed with determination.
"Again!"
In the Great Hall, Martin bowed to the Count. His hands straight at his side.
"Is it true, my Lord?"
"It is. I will send Elder Miklos to the city with the merchant team. He will attempt to hire some more Renfields to help you with your work. He will also make enquiries in hope of finding some willing Dolls to return to the castle for a time."
Martin's eyes widened.
"Such a thing…"
"I know, old friend. It is shocking to me, too." He sighed. "We have used you poorly, I think. It is time to make amends."
"My Lord…" Martin fumbled his words, not sure what to say.
"I have instructed Elder Matyas to ensure a fund is created to provide for you, Farrah, and Bren." The Count pursed his lips. "The fund will also provide for future Renfields, and any Dolls who remain with us for a time. We consider it an investment in the Court."
"I don't know what to say, my Lord."
"Then say nothing, Martin," Count Bela said kindly. "Silence is often mistaken for wisdom."
The old Renfield chuckled at that.
He'd once said these words to the Count many years before.
"Then I shall still my tongue, my Lord." He dared to lift his head. "May I ask a question?"
"Of course."
"Was this a request from the new fledgling?"
"A request?" Count Bela's smile was wide. "I don't think that boy knows how to make a request, Martin. No, he did not request anything of the sort. It sounded more to me like a demand. One I should have considered myself long before now. It's no excuse, but sometimes we fall into complacency as we get old."
Martin nodded, looking down again.
"He's… strange, my Lord."
"Yes." Count Bela said with a deep chuckle. "Yes, he is…"
A dozen fledglings were sprawled on the floor in the common room.
Too exhausted to pick themselves up and return to their cells.
"I hurt," Bally whined. "Like, really hurt."
"We all do," Metto croaked. "Even my toes hurt. Why do my toes hurt so much?"
Tibor, splayed on his back with a wet towel laying over his face, snorted. "Maybe Vlad's trying to teach us how to use our feet to hold a sword."
"Our feet? A sword?" Bally rolled onto his side and stared at the other fledgling. "Do you really think he knows anything about swords?"
"You've seen how he swings that big stick of his," Ist said. "It's like a sword. And it's about the same size as one, too."
"Same size? But it's huge! I thought swords were smaller."
"Maybe yours is," Hans put in with a pained grin. "But mine's even bigger than Vlad's."
"Bullshit," Jenos chirped. "I bet yours is so small you only need one hand."
"At least I need my hand and not just my fingers," Hans shot back.
Bally groaned. "Can you guys be serious? Tibor, what do you think?"
"I think Jenos is right. Hans has a small sword."
As the other fledglings coughed, sputtered, or choked on laughter, Bally rolled his eyes and slumped onto his back again. "Come on…"
"I think he knows more than he shows," Tibor said, cutting the laughter as everyone held their breath at his words. "I think he's training us even when all we think we're doing is moving rocks. And I think he'll teach us the sword. I don't know how the Hell he knows what he does, but I've been watching how he swings that thing. And Ist is right. He swings it like a sword."
"Don't you think you're giving him too much credit?" Galosh asked. "When I hit him with the cane, I swung it like that, too. It doesn't mean I can use a sword."
"My father hired mercenaries, once. I watched them practice in the yard." Tibor pulled the towel off his face and wiped the sweat from his chest. "They moved like he does. I don't care what you think. He knows a lot of shit we don't."
"Elder Laszlo won't like it," Galosh sighed. "And the Knights are going to punish him stupid."
"You think so?" Ist asked.
"Yeah," Galosh said glumly.
"Maybe I'd like to see that," Bally said quietly.
"I wouldn't."
"Why not?" Bally asked, surprised. "I thought you'd love to see him get beaten the way he beats us. I mean, you've got more bruises than I do."
"Yeah, well. I ain't saying I wouldn't like to see it. But do you think he wouldn't come back and beat us all again with his temper?"
"Hmm." Bally closed his eyes. "This is all bullshit anyway. I don't think he knows the sword. Not really."
"What if he does, though?" Tibor asked quietly.
"If he does, I'll do anything he wants," Hans said calmly.
"Even polish his?" Bally sneered.
Hans turned his head and stared coldly at the small fledgling before nodding. "Even that."
"Gross."
"Who here didn't hear the legends of the Black Dragon Great Sword Art? Who hasn't picked up a stick and wished it was a sword?" Hans held a fist high. "If he'll teach me how to do that, he'll have my undying loyalty for the rest of my life."
"Don't you think that's too much?"
"Nope."
"I feel the same," Ist said. "I want to use the sword, not the mace."
"Same," Piers said in a soft voice which made everyone glance at him. "What?"
Bally blinked at him. "That's the most you ever said since you got here, I think."
"I didn't have much to say."
"Hmm."
"I'm with Hans, too," Tibor said.
"Me too," Jenos said, a little hesitantly. "I mean, it'd be amazing, right?"
"It would," Tibor said, smiling as he thought of swinging a heavy sword. Dreams of slashing through the bodies of his enemies flitted through his mind. "It'd be incredible."
"When do you think he'll show us something?" Bally asked.
"I don't know," Tibor admitted. "But soon. I think it'll be soon."
"You make it sound like he's got a plan."
The door crashed open as Vlad announced his presence by smashing it with his heel. Stomping into the room, he looked around the exhausted fledglings.
"What nonsense are you spouting now?"
"Nothing, brother," Ist called. "We were just saying how much we look forward to more training…"
Vlad squinted down at him. "Are you trying to be funny?"
"No, brother."
"Hmph." He dropped onto the bench and lay his last stick across his lap. "Look at you all. Sleeping on the floor like a pack of lazy dogs. Ah, well. It can't be helped. At least you cleared one tower. I expect two more tomorrow, though."
"Yes, brother."
"The rubble you removed belongs to Mezla. Count Mezla," Vlad said coldly. "He was the Swordmaster. He could cut you bastards to pieces before you could blink!"
Metto lifted his head to squint at Vlad. "Truly?"
"Truly." Vlad closed his eyes, smiling as a few memories tickled his brain. "His nickname was Fungus. Because he had a shit personality. But he kind of grew on you after a while."
"Sounds like Bally," Hans said without opening his eyes. "He's a fungus."
"Go to Hell, Hans."
"How do you know this, Vlad?" Tibor asked.
"I just do." Vlad wrinkled his nose. "There's books in the Library, right? You should read more."
"Yes, brother."
"As Swordmaster, he could perform all thirty-six steps of the Black Dragon Sword Art. He could conjure a spectre of the Black Dragon which would breathe Shadow Flame at his enemy. When he used it, thousands would die in a half-breath." Vlad smiled warmly. "Great to use against Turks and their stupid maces."
"I heard there were only twenty-four steps," Ist frowned.
"What bastard told you that?"
"Elder Laszlo."
"Tsk." Vlad snorted loudly. "That bastard doesn't know anything."
"I wouldn't say that to him," Galosh said warningly. "He's got a temper like… well… like…"
"Like what?"
"Like yours, brother."
"Hmph." Vlad shrugged. "He likes Turkish maces, so what can he do?"
"We're just fledglings," Galosh said. "Not elders. What can we do to stop him if he wants to beat us?"
Vlad eyed the other fledgling, who was refusing to meet his gaze.
He knew what Galosh was saying.
Knew what they were all thinking.
They thought Vlad would lose to the elder.
In truth, maybe he would. But it wouldn't be because the elder had more knowledge or was better at combat. It would because the elder should have more strength.
And strength counted more than anything.
With great strength and a good blade, a Black Dragon Great Sword could slice through armour as though through butter.
Vlad didn't have that strength.
Yet.
"See this?" Vlad held up his stick.
"If you're going to beat me with it again, brother, please hit my head first, so I can be unconscious for it."
"Look at it. All of you."
All heads turned, a little reluctantly.
"Tomorrow," Vlad continued. "Go to the forest. Cut yourselves some sticks this size. Hans, you might like one slightly longer. I want to see you in the courtyard within half a bell of finishing your mace training."
"Brother…" Tibor's eyes glittered. "Are you going to show us…?"
"I'll show you how to swing a stick," Vlad said with a wide grin. "It sounds fun, right?"
"Well…"
"It will be fun," Vlad said, his sharp fangs bright. "For me."
A dozen fledglings groaned as their excitement withered.