And how he loved him oh so much,
and all the charms he did possess...

*

Mike let down the rope and began helping the man in navy up from the Cliffs of Insanity. Within a few minutes, the mystery man reached the ledge and joined Mike on solid ground.

“Thank you,” said the man in navy.

“Wait. Wait until you're ready,” Mike told him. He climbed all that way while I let Sam carry me. It's only fair to him, thought Mike.

“Again, thank you.” The man in navy sat down on the rocky terrain across from Mike. He had had the troublesome feeling of pebbles in his boots for nearly half the climb up. He removed his navy boot, turning it upside down and let several small rocks fall out.

A nagging question bothered Mike. He had asked this question about a hundred times. Probably more. He couldn't help but ask the man in navy. It was like a reflex.

“I do not mean to pry, but you don't by any chance happen to have six fingers on your right hand?”

“Do you always begin conversations this way?” the man in navy questioned back. He could definitely say he has never heard that one before.

“My father was slaughtered by a six fingered man...”

The man in navy couldn't help but feel something for this poor swordsman. He held up his right hand. Five fingers. Mike knew it was a long shot.

“He was a great sword maker, my father. When the six fingered man appeared and requested a special sword, my father took the job. He slaved a year before he was done.” Mike held out his sword to the man in navy. He took hold of it, admiring the details. It was flawlessly made. There were beautiful hand crafted diamonds sat within the gold of the handle. The sword was glistening in the morning sunlight.

“I've never seen its equal,” said the man in navy, handing Mike back his weapon.

“The six fingered man returned and demanded it, but at one-tenth his promised price. My father refused. Without a word, the six fingered man slashed him through the heart. I love my father. So naturally, I challenged his murderer to a duel. I failed. Six fingered man left me alive. But he gave me these,” Mike pointed to the symmetrically made scars on both cheeks.

“How old were you?”

“I was eleven years old. When I was strong enough, I dedicated my life to the study of fencing. So the next time we meet, I will not fail. I will go up to the six fingered man and say 'Hello. My name is Mike Chang. You killed my father. Prepare to die'.” Mike's words were calm, yet full of passion. When he talked of his father and his past, Mike seemed to be in another world entirely.

“You've done nothing but study sword play.”

“More persue than study lately. You see, I cannot find him. It's been twenty years and I am starting to lose confidence. I just work for Sebastian to pay the bills. There's not a lot of money in revenge.”

“Well, I certainly hope you find him someday.” The man in navy stood up from his seat on the rocks. This conversation couldn’t go on forever. After all, he had a mission to fulfill.

“You're ready then?”

“Whether I am or not, you've been more than fair.”

“You seem a decent fellow,” Mike said with a smile and unsheathed his trusty sword. “I have to kill you.”

“You seem a decent fellow. I'd hate to die.” Whoever this mysterious masked man was, he certainly was polite. Mike truly did feel sorry to have to kill him. But boy, did he look forward to a battle. He had a great feeling about this one.

“Begin.”

Their swords clashed, creating the clanging sound that Mike lived for. Mike swiped close to the man’s face, but missed - the masked man had dodged too swiftly. They prowled around each other only to have the man copy Mike’s exact move. Luckily, Mike was quick enough to read his movements and escaped the counter attack. The steel clang echoed across the mountain on which they fought. Both men appeared equally matched.

“You are using Bonetti's Defense against me, eh?” Mike called out. Of course, he knew every technique or move known to the art of fencing.

“I thought it fitting considering the rocky terrain,” the man merely replied.

“Naturally, you must suspect me to attack with Capa Ferro.”

“Naturally, but I find that Thibault cancels out Capa Ferro. Don't you?” His voice sounded calm and collected. The man gave off no hint of struggle or tiredness.

“Unless the enemy hasn't studied Agrippa, which I have.” Their battle that had started near the cliff’s edge had now progressed to the far side of the mountain. Closer to the path that lead beyond.

“You are wonderful,” Mike couldn’t help but compliment. He hadn’t fought a battle like this in a long time. It was remarkable and rather refreshing.

“Thank you. I've worked hard to become so.”

“I admit it. You are better than I am.” The man had claimed the upper-hand and now forced Mike back to the cliff’s edge.

“Then why are you smiling?” asked the man, rather confused.

“Because I know something you don't know.”

“And what is that?”

“I am not left handed.” Mike effortlessly switched his sword to his right hand, his dominant hand. Immediately, he had turned the tables on the masked man, now forcing him towards the cliff. Nothing like the element of surprise against the enemy.

“You are amazing,” admired the man.

“I ought to be after twenty years.”

“There's something I ought to tell you.” He stood so close to the edge, Mike thought it inevitable that this was the masked man’s end. Might as well hear his final words.

“Tell me.”

“I'm not left handed either.”

At that, the man’s own sword swapped hands at lightning speed and fought his way away from the ledge. Mike stopped out of astoundment to ask, “Who are you?”

“No one of consequence,” the man replied with a cheeky smile.

“I must know.”

“Get used to disappointment.”

This stranger proved to be an excellent opponent, but now Mike had to finish him off for good. With one last attempt, he gave it everything he could muster from inside him and swung with desperation. It was no use. The man in navy ripped Mike’s sword away from him with his own. It was over. He had lost.

“Kill me quickly,” Mike pleaded and fell to his knees. He had no desire to suffer. He had suffered enough in his lifetime.

The man circled Mike as if he was his prey, but his words remained calm and courteous. “I would soon destroy a stained glass window as artist like yourself. However, since I can't have you following me either,” The man struck Mike’s head with the butt of his sword and hit the ground hard.

“Please understand I hold you in the highest respect,” the man said to Mike’s unconscious body. He then ran across the rocky terrain to the path down the mountain.

*

“Inconceivable!” Sebastian cried. There he was, the man in navy running down the mountain. How could he have beaten the best swordsman in the country? “Give the prince to me,” he told Sam. “Catch up with us quickly.”

“What do I do?” asked Sam.

“Finish him. Finish him your way!”

“Oh good, my way. Thank you Sebastian... Which one’s my way?”

“Pick up one of those rocks, get behind the boulder, in a few minutes the man in navy will come running around the bend. The minute his head is in view, HIT IT WITH THE ROCK!”

“My way's not very sportsmanlike...” Sam pondered to himself. He picked up the closest rock that could do some very nice damage to someone’s head and retreated behind the only boulder in sight that might be able to hide a guy his size. He waited some time before he heard rapid footsteps approaching. Sam waited until the perfect moment to chuck the rock at the man. The rock just missed the man’s head and left him startled.

“I did that on purpose. I didn't have to miss,” Sam confessed and armed himself with another rock.

“I believe you,” said the man carefully. “So what happens now?”

“We face each other as God intended: sportsmanlike. No tricks, no weapons. Skill against skill alone.” Sam always faced his opponents this way. It seems fair, until most of his opponents try and cheat against him with tricks and weapons. However, Sam is bigger and stronger than most so he ends up winning anyway.

“You mean, you'll put down your rock and I'll put down my sword and we'll try and kill each other like civilized people?”

Sam raised the rock in his hand. “I could kill you now.”

The man carefully put down his sword and sized up his competition. How on Earth could someone take down someone this big? “Frankly, I think the odds are slightly in your favor at hand fighting.”

“It's not my fault being the biggest and the strongest. I don't even exercise.” Sam tossed the rock away. He wouldn’t need it anyway. This guy looked like a tiny blue bug. He’d be squashed in seconds.

They stood there sizing each other up for a few moments until the man in navy decided to make the first move. He lunged at Sam, wrapped his hands around him. He tried to move him with all his might, but with no avail. He acted like a brick wall to the man and just stood there.

“Look, are you just fiddling around with me or what?” The man asked with annoyance in his voice. He let go of Sam.

“I just want you to feel you are doing well.” Sam came towards the man, ready to attack but the masked stranger ducked and rolled out of his way.

“You're quick,” Sam remarked.

“Good thing, too.”

“Why are you wearing a mask? Were you burned by acid or something like that?” Sam began throwing punches with great force. Although the man in navy was far too good at evading them.

“Oh no, it's just they're terribly comfortable. I think everyone will be wearing them in the future.” Before Sam had the ability to process it, the stranger jumped onto his back and gripped his throat. Sam found it terribly hard to breathe and needed a way get the man off him. So he backed up and rammed the man onto a rock wall several times. No matter how hard he tried, Sam could not rid himself of the masked man. He grew terribly light headed and before long, the last thing he felt was hitting the ground hard.

The man rolled over Sam’s body and checked to see if his heart still beated in his chest. Yes, the heart still thumped.

“I do not envy you the headache you'll have when you awake,” the man said to Sam’s unconscious body. “But in the meantime, rest well... and dream of large women.” He grabbed his sword and flew along the grassy path, ready for what crazy obstacle might lay next.

*

Prince Karofsky examined the footprints made in the rocky terrain at the top of the Cliffs of Insanity. He happened to be an excellent hunter (of not only beast, but man as well).

“There was a mighty duel,” he announced. “Ranged all over. They were both masters.”

“Who won?” inquired Karofsky’s right hand man, Azimio. “How did it end?”

“The loser ran off alone, and the winner followed those footprints towards Westerville.”

“Shall we trap them both?”

“The loser is nothing. Only the Prince matters. Clearly this was all planned by warriors of Westerville,” Karofsky told his men. “We must all be ready for whatever lies ahead.” He mounted his horse with grace.

“Could this be a trap?” Azimio questioned his Prince.

“I always think everything could be a trap, which is why I'm still alive.”