Carlisle Cullen—pale, handsome, middle-aged vampire—looked genuinely stunned when he heard why Bella had come.
A woman. A modern woman. Actually wanted to challenge him to a fencing match.
Carlisle was old. Very old. Born 1640. He'd studied fencing, trained for years. Honestly, he hadn't been a master even back then—but definitely above average.
Problem was, his wife and children had all been turned in the late 1800s or early 1900s. By then, guns ruled the battlefield. Armor, cavalry, crossbows—all tossed into the trash heap of history. Who bothered with swords anymore?
Only in modern times had fencing resurfaced. A hobby for rich people with too much free time.
Carlisle wasn't sure if Bella was acting on impulse, just messing around, or had some other motive. He glanced at Alice.
The short-haired vampire immediately egged him on. "Bella's swordsmanship is amazing! Well, I think it's amazing. Come on—spar with her! Don't hesitate!"
"That's right, Uncle Carlisle. Let's spar. When I practice alone, I always run into small problems." Bella kept it polite. Sincere.
"Yeah, try it!"
"Let us see!"
The other vampire "children" joined in. A human woman in the modern age challenging ancient vampires to a fencing duel? How could they resist? If they didn't stir up some excitement, they'd be letting themselves down.
Carlisle couldn't resist the enthusiasm. And if Bella—a human outsider—wasn't afraid, why should he worry? After thinking it over, he agreed.
His original sword from centuries ago was long gone. They both used modern fencing rapiers.
Carlisle stepped into the clearing, swinging the blade gently, trying to find the feeling again.
At least three hundred years.
He'd trained seriously once. Survived real battles. In theory, a skill mastered was never forgotten—but that applied to human lifetimes. Not vampire ones.
After centuries of disuse, the sword felt completely foreign.
He searched for the rhythm. Bella waited patiently.
Ten minutes later, Carlisle smiled and signaled he was ready.
Strictly speaking, both used épées. Bella's blade: ninety centimeters, seven hundred twenty grams. Carlisle's: slightly longer, slightly heavier.
No formal match rules. No protective gear. No "first to eleven" or "first to twenty-one."
Carlisle flicked his wrist. Blade tip covering all her attack angles. "It really has been a long time. Hope I don't lose too badly."
Bella replied modestly. "Go easy on me, Uncle. I just started learning."
Next second—the "just started learning" girl launched a vicious assault.
Pirates understood swordsmanship differently than nobles. Fast. Precise. Ruthless. No etiquette. No elegance. Kill your opponent as quickly as possible. That was pirate swordsmanship.
Carlisle had planned to defend first. Age and experience gave him the advantage, right? Modern person? Fencing was mostly recreational—how good could she be?
Few exchanges later, he felt real pressure. He'd wanted to keep defending, but the relentless barrage forced him to switch to offense, using his height and reach to counter.
Both moved incredibly fast. Footwork, transitions, rhythm—all clean and sharp.
Bella's technique prioritized speed above everything. Open sea, boarding actions, drop opponents instantly. Pirate swordsmanship in a nutshell.
Carlisle gradually went full strength. Noble swordsmanship emphasized stability over reckless aggression. Upper class had no reason to risk their lives like common soldiers. Survival and proper defense came first.
Bella attacked fast but lacked experience. Carlisle used small feints and tricks to mislead her several times. He lacked explosive offense but had centuries of accumulated experience to maneuver around her.
Their duel moved from ground to trees. Standing on branches thick as an arm, blades clashing, crisp metallic rings echoing through the forest. A symphony of steel.
Bella felt a twinge of regret. If someone would just play the Pirates of the Caribbean soundtrack right now, her swordsmanship might improve another twenty percent.
Carlisle, meanwhile, found more of his old rhythm as the fight continued. The elegant middle-aged vampire fought beautifully—attacking or defending.
The vampires watching from a distance were visibly stunned. In their era, they'd never seen genuine swordsmanship. This art was ancient history to them.
Carlisle's skill wasn't surprising—he was from that time. But Bella? Where had she learned this? School? No way. The Forks High PE teacher definitely didn't have this level.
The spar ended quickly. Swordsmanship wasn't like a battle that dragged on for days. Only so many techniques. Sparring was about exchanging strengths, learning from each other, refining personal style.
"Your offensive form is sharp, but that small lunge earlier—follow it with a straight thrust instead of a charging attack. Better results."
Pure swordsmanship? Carlisle was still superior. After the match, he offered several pointers.
Bella recognized her own weaknesses too. Her techniques were too lethal. Fine in real combat—kill the enemy and be done with it. But if she wanted to stand out in a college fencing club? She'd need to refine her style. More elegant. More aesthetic. Less "stab the eyes, stab the heart, stab the crotch."
Compared to her original world, these vampires were different. But as they spent more time together, Bella grew close to the whole "vegetarian" vampire family. She visited often to learn from Carlisle.
Eventually, she designed two sword styles for herself:
One: "Pirate style." Rapid strikes. Suddenly pulling a gun mid-fight.
Two: "Performance style." Elegant, flashy movements. Designed to look beautiful.
The Cullen children trained with her for a few days. Lost interest fast.
Emmett—the burly one—declared that fencing was inferior to boxing in practical terms. Weapons inconvenient to carry. Rules restrictive. What use did it have in modern society beyond looking cool?
Exactly. I'm learning it precisely to look cool.
Bella's goal was crystal clear. She'd already pictured herself dazzling the Stanford fencing club. Legions of fanboys and fangirls screaming her name in admiration.