A Day With Olivia and Riful
A refreshing breeze wove across the plains, carrying with it the scent of flowers. Olivia was lying there asleep when a shadow fell over her face.
“Is that you, Riful?” She said, not opening her eyes.
“You didn’t even look...” Riful mumbled. “How did you know?”
“You feel different from other people,” Olivia explained. There was also the way she walked—in particular, the way she shifted her weight—but there was no need to go into that much detail.
“No one other than Major General Olivia...ever sensed...me.”
“Really?” Olivia opened her eyes and saw Riful peering at her, puzzled. “Do you need something?” She asked, brushing herself off. In response, Riful asked her for a duel.
“Why do you want to duel me?”
“ I’m...one of the ten...swords... They call you Death God Olivia...so I want to know how...you fight.”
“I mean, I don’t mind...” Olivia drew her sword, thinking as she did so that Riful looked pretty sleepy for a person who claimed to be interested. But the moment Riful drew her own sword in response, the sleepiness vanished, replaced by a knife-like intensity.
“Now we...fight.” Riful leaned forwards before closing the distance between them in an instant. Olivia caught her sweeping strike in the middle of her blade, and Riful twisted gracefully to come around and throw a kick at her side. As Olivia blocked this with her arm, she noted that Riful’s fighting style seemed to combine elements of both swordplay and martial arts.
Riful leapt far back, putting distance between them.
“You Ten Sword fighters aren’t too shabby, are you?”
Riful didn’t reply, but began to advance again, holding her blade directly in front of her and letting the tip weave through the air. As she approached, slow but unflinching, the single blade of her sword seemed to multiply, coming in to strike at Olivia in a strike from a myriad of angles. Olivia planted her foot solidly on the ground, then—
Riful was too shocked to move as the point of the ebony blade came to rest against the back of her neck. She dropped her sword, after which the orchestra in Olivia’s stomach launched into a rousing tune.
“I’m hungry,” she announced. “We can wrap this up, right?”
“Thank you, Great Master...Olivia. I am glad to see...there is more for...me.” Riful picked up her sword and returned it to its scabbard, then bowed deeply.
“No need to thank—did you just call me ‘Great Master’?”
“Riful will let you...go...Great Master Olivia.” And humming to herself, Riful left Olivia there utterly confused.
“I wonder what she meant by ‘more’?” Olivia watched Riful go, unable to work out how Riful could be so cheerful even when she’d lost.
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