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The Skill Thief's Canvas - Chapter 79 (Book 3 Chapter 18)
🕑 Added 2025-05-28 18:56:21 +0000 UTC'Nobody ever quite looks at me', was not a rare thought for Ciro to have.
Tenver's father Gomez saw many different things in him as a child. He saw potential, he saw fear, he saw power...he even saw Ciro's little brother, and the love that nature dictated a parent should have.
But Ciro himself was not amongst those many things.
His noble supporters were a poison of another type, who viewed him as the Empire's only chance at maintaining its expansion and surviving against the Rot. They saw in him the genius that Tenver and his father lacked. They saw the glorious future that only Ciro could bring.
But none of them truly looked at him.
It was an odd feeling – one that often had Ciro forgetting who he was. Do I truly exist, he would ponder, if no one sees me for who I am?
"I swear it," the Blade O' Greenisle had declared, choking through his own blood. "One day...one day I'll kill you, CIRO!"
It was hardly the first time someone had sworn vengeance upon him. It hadn't even been the first time that afternoon. There was something about the way Nayt had gazed at him, however, that gave Ciro pause. Hatred was there, of course, and anger too–
Yet that was not all. The Emperor detected thought behind that murderous gaze.
He's trying to understand what made me this way, Ciro had realized. Trying to discover what forged me into the kind of person who would order the massacre of his people.
How positively novel! Ciro couldn't waste (well, he could, but he wasn't inclined to anyhow) such an experience.
And so he decided to keep Nayt around. It was dangerous to turn a sworn enemy into a high-ranked Hangman; twice so when you promised him Orbs to feed his goal of killing you one day.
Ah, but what of it? The Emperor of the World was to be allowed some vices, surely? He would merely entertain the elf for a few months, then kill him before he became a problem.
A few months quickly passed into a year.
"Nayt, will you play this game with me?" Ciro asked excitedly. "I carved the pieces myself."
"Do I get a choice?"
"Of course not. Unless you want to forfeit your Orbs, that is."
"Tell me the rules then, my oh-so-great Emperor."
At first it had been entertaining enough to torture Nayt by forcing him to obey orders on the battlefield. However, Ciro soon found that his company was an even more blissful way to pass the time. Making the elf play games with the one who'd ordered the genocide of his kind...now that thought had some poetry to it.
This was he hadn't killed Nayt yet, surely. 'I can always do it tomorrow,' Ciro reasoned.
In one of those tomorrows, his informant brought the Emperor the most dire of news – an Imperial heir had been killed.
It took Ciro a moment to remember the child. 'Who did I father that one with?' he absently pondered. The Emperor didn't give much attention to his imperial duties, though he was fond of his offspring at times.
Oh, right. The one with the half-elf concubine. Rather poignant, isn't it?
Tears never came to his face. Ciro didn't feel sad at the news so much as a sense of odd emptiness – a slight annoyance as if someone had misplaced something on his bookshelf. Whether he cared or not for the contents of the book, it was his shelf, and others ought to respect it!
I must kill whoever did this, he decided. After a moment, Ciro realized there was more than just a sense of duty prompting that thought. He was surprised to find that he must have loved the child, at least in some small manner. For my duty...and for myself.
It was then he realized that Nayt was the one who'd murdered his heir.
"What are you looking at me for?" the Hangman had asked lazily on that day, showing not a hint of emotion.
Mayhaps the elf was uneducated. Mayhaps he simply didn't comprehend how effective Ciro's Divine Knowledge was at uncovering secrets. Regardless of the reason, Nayt seemed wholly unaware of the fact that Ciro knew him to be the culprit.
He realized he cannot hurt me, and tried to hurt me in other ways.
One movement of his tongue would have condemned the man to unimaginable torture and an execution that was far worse. One flick of his wrist would have crushed the elf into an unrecognizable mess.
This man killed my child, Ciro thought angrily. I should kill him. By my duty both as an Emperor and as a father. It wouldn't even be difficult.
"Seriously, what are you looking at?" Nayt's voice sounded bland and uninterested, but his thoughts betrayed his guilt.
"Not a thing," Ciro calmly replied.
He pretended not to know that Nayt was responsible. It was a hassle, although somewhat fair. After all, he'd killed the man's entire family – how could he take it personally if the Hangman executed one measly child?
I can always make another son, the Emperor had mused, but finding another Hangman like Nayt would be quite troublesome. I'll let him live.
I just...feel like it.
On some level, Ciro had always known that keeping Nayt alive would be a problem one day. Especially as the elf continued to accrue Orbs and improve his Talent.
Despite that acknowledgement, Ciro delayed the arrival of that promised day by simply refusing to admit it had already occurred. Even the assassination of his heir hadn't been enough to make him think the Hangman was a threat. Try as he might, Nayt couldn't convince the Emperor that he was worth worrying over.
Today was the day that changed.
Nayt's blade met Ciro's aura – and the world twitched.
Floating rocks shook midair. Distance warped. Reality hesitated. Ciro felt his bones tremble, Nayt felt his blood flow backwards.
This was a clash between two Emperors in a world that allowed only for one...and it was that very world which paid the price for it.
Flashes of faraway lands filled their minds. Both men immediately felt the weight of what hadn't yet happened, of what they couldn't have known.
Somewhere, a distant shore would be consumed by a massive wave. Elsewhere, the ground would split in two. Anywhere, lightning would strike through a clear sky.
Neither man could stop it, no more than they could stop the other from threatening their life.
They jumped away from each other in a hurry – not that either feared death, of course. One was fully prepared for it, and the other was in disbelief that it could ever befall him.
But they still needed a second to take in the aftermath of their powers.
Ciro's mind wandered to the Painted World he sought to rule. You come to me as an Emperor, Nayt, and this reality cannot handle two people of our level. Much as I have loved playing with you...there is no longer a gap between our Ranks. Should I act carelessly, you might very well kill me.
The Hangman's thoughts ignored the broader scope of things, focusing solely on their duel. In a fair match, Ciro would undoubtedly be stronger. Still, two Talents are better than one, this isn't a fair fight. His Canvas is far too Stained for him to use the full might of his Talents, and his Realm was hastily reconstructed – he has no safeguard against his own Gravity.
Ciro spat on the ground, his face reddening with righteous fury. It was blasphemous of Nayt to allow that thought in his mind.
Twice so because it was correct.
Our confrontation could have terrible repercussions for my Empire, Ciro considered, seething at the notion.. I need to put him down quickly and quietly. How, though, if I can't use my Gravity, and my Lord Talent is limited?
The Emperor chuckled as an idea came to him. "It seems, Nayt," he said, stepping forward, "that I am kinder than I thought. I shall fight in accordance with your ideals."
The Hangman lifted an eyebrow and fell into a dueling stance. "What do you mean?"
"Seeing as my Gravity is unusable lest I wish to wreak havoc across the lands...why, it seems I must face you on your terms."
Ciro extended his hand and ruled, "Let there be a sword."
A majestic silver blade appeared in his hand, summoned from nothing in response to his command. Flowing ribbons trailed after its handle. It looked far sharper than an ordinary sword, as if crafted by a master blacksmith.
"Hangmen and Lords both have their physical capabilities enhanced by their Talent," Ciro noted. "Now, I have to wonder...who is faster? A 1st-Ranked Lord, or a 1st-Ranked Hangman?"
Nayt shrugged. "How am I supposed to know?"
"You never were good at academics, were you?" Ciro mused, with a touch of annoyance. "Always preferred experimenting."
"That I did. So what say you, bastard, that we skip the theories and find out?"
"Just as well."
Both men launched themselves at each other, so fast and so fiercely that it seemed less like a dash and closer to flight.
"–IGNITE!" Nayt commanded.
His weapon obeyed. The blade lit with a crimson red flame, swirling against the momentum of the elf's furious lunge.
"–BEGONE, FLAMES!" Ciro commanded.
This time, Nayt's weapon refused to listen.
For a moment, the blaze flickered – then stubbornly raged on, his blade's undying fire refusing the order of Ciro's Talent of a Lord.
Nayt's sword approached the Emperor, feeling less like a weapon and more like a Hangman's noose.
'His flames resisted my command.' The Emperor's eyes widened. 'His Talent has truly reached my level – I cannot annul his abilities with ease anymore.'
Nayt's merciless attack continued on, drawing closer with every moment, but Ciro's Talent of a Lord was hastening his thought process. He had all the time in the world to think of a counter.
'Now...let me consider my options. Utilizing Gravity without carefully adjusting my Realm could be rather calamitous for the world. Should I limit myself to my Lord abilities, then? Mayhaps Gravity would be stable if I lowered its output, but I have never known when to hold back. What if I were to–'
Nayt's blade sliced through the Emperor's shoulder, steel piercing flesh as it pushed out to the other side.
"What...the...?" Ciro gaped at the sword with a blank expression. The agonizing sensation of his searing, white-hot injury was less of a pressing concern than his confusion.
I...was hit? But Divine Knowledge quickens my thoughts. How could he strike me before–
"Extinguish," Nayt told his flames.
Rationality fell. A baser instinct, the animalistic drive to survive rose in the Emperor's mind. Without thinking, he commanded, "BEGONE, FLESH!"
A mighty ruler needs not explain his orders to have them obeyed. Ciro's body was a servant of his mind, and so it behaved appropriately.
Ciro's arm tore itself free with surgical precision – then shot forth at the elf. It was a swift projectile of a punch, carrying with it a curtain of the Emperor's own blood, nearly blinding the Hangman.
Nearly...in a clash of Emperors, that word was far from good enough.
With a sudden turn of his hips and a step backward, Nayt used the side of his blade to push Ciro's arm away. He deflected the attack nearly perfectly.
Nearly.
'Ah,' Nayt realized. 'I messed up.'
Ciro didn't understand how the elf had made a mistake, but he decided to act upon it the moment he heard. His thoughts surged like lightning, instinct overtaking reason, driving him forward with single-minded zeal.
'There's an opening.' The Emperor of the World opened his mouth. "BEGO–"
And then stopped himself.
We are of the same Rank now, and my Canvas is Stained besides. I cannot simply banish him away.
Though the Order may have succeeded, had he uttered it, Ciro couldn't afford a clash of Talents in his weakened state. His reluctant acceptance struck him with a multitude of conflicting emotions. It was shocking, shameful, and somehow...
Exhilarating.
'I can fight someone on even ground for the first time in my life.' That sweet, sweet sensation he'd felt inside the Palace of Eternal Life returned to him, singing ever more beautifully in his heart.
'My brother I needed to kill with treachery, for he held the Talent of a Lord. Before him, even the lowest output of Gravity was enough to slay anyone who dared bare their fangs at me. But now...now, I need to think. To figure out how to slay my enemy.'
An addicting thrill of mania pulsed through his veins.
Ciro had little experience in such quaint confrontations – yet he was a fast learner, a genius. And he'd observed Adam the Painter use his Talent to fight the much stronger Valente without damaging his own Canvas.
"Move," Ciro muttered. It wasn't directed at Nayt.
The Emperor had commanded himself.
'Move away from the Hangman. Create safe space between us.'
Reality obeyed.
Ciro's body suddenly ejected itself backward. In the blink of an eye, he'd put himself the length of ten rapiers away from Nayt.
"Never seen you retreat from my sword before," The Hangman remarked. He lifted his chin, face still expressionless, then raised the corner of his lips ever so slightly. "It's a beautiful sight."
"Your reward for your faithful service," Ciro fired back mockingly.
"Aye." Nayt's mouth crept up into a sad smile. "That it is."
"Very few followed me as faithfully as you did, my Hangman, and none as efficiently. Compared to you...Ernanda was more faithful, yet she failed some of the tasks I set upon her. Valente was stronger, yet his heart lacked the resolve to see through the darkest of duties."
The Emperor of the World laughed. "But you? You never balked. Never refused an order. Never stopped following the path I set for you."
"Rather gruesome path it was," Nayt muttered. "But don't call it following – I chased you. I needed my sight fixed on your back, lest the thought of justice ever stray from me."
"Was it worth it, Nayt?"
The Hangman shrugged. "That will depend on who survives today."
"I've always loved how practical you are."
'Ciro isn't bleeding out despite launching his arm at me...though stopping the bleeding is all he can do,' Nayt thought. 'His wound isn't healing beyond that. Canvas getting too Stained, huh? I should have the advantage. Looks like I'm faster for now, but there's always the chance he'll use Gravity, despite the fact that it could kill him too.'
'Nayt is as fast, if not faster than I am. However, if his flames touch me, all they can do is kill. Even if it takes some time, my Realm will bring me back to life.' Ciro gripped at his missing arm, its phantom pain bringing a smile to his face. 'But you won't be so easy to deal with, will you, Nayt? I'm sure of it – those flames of yours can burn hotter still.'
Nayt bent his legs and straightened his rapier. 'Before he grows desperate enough to use Gravity–'
The Emperor used his Realm to conjure up a blade of his own and stepped forward. 'Before he heats up his flames–'
Both men's minds united under a single thought.
I HAVE TO KILL HIM!
They charged straight at one another, each consumed by different regrets.
For the Emperor, he regretted choosing to meet a duelist in a swordfight. He was fully aware of Nayt's title, the Blade O' Greenisle, the greatest elven duelist in centuries. It was why he'd often engaged the man in direct combat – to strike at his pride.
Yet throughout the years, Ciro had enjoyed the advantage of a stronger Talent. No longer.
'His blade is dancing around mine. Pushing it away. What sorcery is this?'
For the Hangman, he regretted thinking that the most cruel man he'd ever met would have limits to his lunacy. He knew that Ciro wished to avoid harming the world with his Talent, and that the Emperor sincerely believed it his duty to care for his people. Time and again Nayt had watched the man act in ways that were consistent with his self-proclaimed creed, enough times for the elf to come to...trust it, to a degree.
Yet throughout the years, Nayt had watched the behavior of a Ciro without peers, a Ciro without fear. No longer.
'His eyes. He's...afraid of me. I shouldn't have cornered this fox; the shackles of his self-restraint are coming undone.'
Nayt's blade swept Ciro's aside. His counter came fast and never stopped: shallow cuts, measured stabs, each delivered quickly and without pause. Wrist, forearm – even bicep! The Emperor's remaining limb now bled profusely from many small wounds.
Even so, he did not dare attack at the man's vitals just yet. Ciro is a coward. If I threaten his life, he'll use Gravity and kill the world if he has to. When I go for his life, I can't give him any time to react. Need to...find...my...opening...
Had any souls witnessed this duel, they would've thought that Nayt was in control. However, the Hangman felt only anxiety dancing in his soul as each second passed where the Emperor still drew breath.
'I HAVE TO KILL HIM!' He pulled out his blade and delivered another strike. 'BEFORE–!'
Ignoring the danger, Nayt aimed for Ciro's head. His blade drew closer to the man's eye–
"REALM–RECONSTRUCTION!"
–And pierced it too late.
Ciro's decision was one born of utter desperation. Neither man had any idea what the few seconds of his Realm being undone while he was trapped in Solara's Palace had done to the world, though both certainly expected some damage to have occurred – for the Rot to have violently lashed out.
Nayt had expected for the Emperor to risk his life and use Gravity anyhow. He hadn't expected the man to willingly risk the world itself to reform his Realm for the third time today.
The Hangman immediately noticed Ciro's rapid healing as he grew back his missing arm. 'Don't hesitate,' Nayt told himself. 'I – I can still finish this, he's slower than me. even with both arms! Reconstructing his Realm accomplishes nothing!'
His logic was nearly correct.
Nearly.
"DIE!" The Emperor commanded.
Nayt braced himself, attempting to resist the Order like before – then had the breath knocked out of him as he was sent flying back. He tried to speak a counter-Order, but the words just wouldn't form.
'Oh...I messed up again. Fucking stupid of me. Even after all this time, I still thought too highly of his heart.'
His Talent had been strong enough to repel Ciro's Order, but not to avoid the worst of its backlash. His body kept flying until it struck – with great force – a cluster of floating stones.
The silence was broken by a sharp, wet sound as a jagged rock impaled him, holding him several feet above the ground.
"And that, dear Nayt," the Emperor began, "is why you should have focused less on revenge and more on academics. My Canvas is Stained, that has reduced my Realm's potency, yes. Which is why I reconstructed it to be much smaller than before."
He laughed. "Do you see the difference between a Realm encompassing an entire Empire...and one encompassing a few feet? It is pure, concentrated divine right."
"The world was already fucked enough from the twelve seconds you were in Solara's Realm," Nayt grunted. "Stop grandstanding and Reconstruct it agai–"
Ciro sighed. "Your people truly have no sense of grandeur, eh elf?" But he obliged anyway, speaking in a mostly – his ragged breath notwithstanding – serene tone. "Realm Reconstruction."
Once again his Realm spread to encompass the entirety of the known world. Was it too late, though? 'Counting the seconds from earlier, I left the Painted World unguarded from Rot for almost a full minute...that might have ruined everything.'
But the ecstasy of their fight was still thrumming too loudly for Ciro to care.
'Four times,' Nayt distantly noted. 'He reconstructed that giant realm four times now. His Canvas must be at its limit.'
Would have been a cheerful thought, were he capable of making good on that weakness. As it was, the chance merely felt all the more bittersweet because he couldn't take it.
'If he'd started the fight like this...I could have killed him. No, I mustn't complain. Solara got me a much better fighting chance than I could have asked for anyhow.'
"So!" The Emperor clapped his hands together. "This is a familiar sight – you standing a hairsbreadth from death, and me standing victorious. Here is where I offer you the same choice as usual. Would you like to live? That way you can seek vengeance in the future."
Nayt closed his eyes. He considered it for a moment...and discarded the thought. No. Not again.
"Do you need encouragement?" Ciro asked. "Allow me to help!" His tone was joyful, sounding positively jubilant when he added, "SUFFER."
Had Nayt been unsure whether he wanted to live and try this again, Ciro's royal order removed all doubt from his mind – albeit not in the way the Emperor wished. Rather than feeling empowered by revenge, the Hangman almost felt accomplished.
Was the first time he'd seen Ciro lose his cool that much. The man's physical wounds would eventually heal, yet his mind might not recover so easily.
That really hurt, Nayt thought, almost lazily, as if it were someone else's problem. Where am I again? With his eyes closed, he reached for his chest, then took his hand back when he grazed the protruding rock that had impaled him.
Oh...guess I'm actually going to die here, huh?
His face bore no anger, no urgency, no fear. He let out a weary sigh, as if the duel itself – as if his own death – was but a chore.
The Hangman was exhausted, injured, on the brink of losing consciousness...yet none of that was why he didn't stand up again.
It was because he had finally found a measure of peace.
This is enough, isn't it? Nayt's vision blurred. He paid it no mind – why should that matter? Mother of the Forest, how many innocents did I send to the pyre, crying thy name as my reason?
He laughed bitterly. Nay, burn that. Your name may have been engraved on my heart, yet my tongue spoke another: Ciro, the Emperor of the World. To avenge your people, I bent my knee to a devil most foul...and to find a measure of forgiveness for myself, this blade of mine soared forth.
Time and again it tried. Time and again it failed.
Today, I failed again.
The Hangman coughed. A mistake, he knew, yet he was no longer master of his own body. Has that not been the case since I swore loyalty to a monster?
Pain bloomed where the sharp stone had nestled inside his chest. Blood flowed from it like a river. He could raise a hand to the wound, press down, pretend he could save himself, cling to a few more minutes in this world...
But he didn't. What would be the point? It was over. The audience was already gone. He'd played his part.
Maybe...maybe I injured Ciro enough to slow him down, stop him from pursuing the elves that escaped. Does that make up for everything else I've done?
He knew it didn't. Someone like him was destined to burn in the coldest of stones, never to be embraced by the Forest.
Even the thought of eternal damnation couldn't motivate him to stand.
He'd done enough. Tried enough. Failed enough.
Can I...rest now?
Nayt smiled. It was a pathetic request of his Goddess, he knew, yet he couldn't find it in himself to feel ashamed.
Should just forget everything. The deaths he endured. The deaths he perpetrated. The deaths that he yet again would not prevent.
All that death, hailing from the whims of a single man.
Have to rest. Need...to sleep. I...surren–
A vision came to him. Memories of flashing steel, racing heartbeats, and a singularly piercing will.
The Hangman's eyes snapped open.
You! I almost...damn, how could I almost forget that?
Nayt, in his own arrogance, felt it possible to forgive himself for failing to save the elves. Even the crimes he'd committed in the name of the Emperor, deep inside his heart, he found forgivable, redeemable. I suppose the gates of death remind someone of who they really are.
His blurry vision illuminated a single image: the sight of a man's back, and their unfulfilled promise together.
A rush of adrenaline woke Nayt from his daze. He remembered now...the reason why he couldn't die here.
I should stop pretending to be a noble avenger.
The Hangman pushed himself forward. A crimson tide gushed from his wound, the jagged stone no longer blocking the flow of blood. It's not my duty to avenge my people that keeps me fighting. Not my chance to protect them that has me still drawing breath.
He locked eyes with Ciro, who glared back with glee.
That's exactly right, Nayt! The Emperor laughed. Your purpose is to entertain me – like no one else can!
As his gravity inverted, more stones fired upward from the ground, collecting into a sea of fragments floating above. Stand up! This is just another one of our dances, is it not? You try to kill me, fail, and then I order you to kill in my name to earn my forgiveness all over again!
"I can't die yet," Nayt choked out. His breath was ragged. His Canvas was Stained. His very thoughts were so scrambled and tired that Ciro could scarcely read them as coherent. "Know why?"
"Tell me," Ciro answered, a smile touching the edge of his lips. Remain my greatest and only vice, Nayt. "Why must you stand and fight?" Say it, my Hangman.
"Because I made a promise!" Nayt shouted, flecks of red flying from his lips. "A promise more important than redeeming my sins!"
"That's right!" Ciro shouted back. "You swore to kill me, didn't you? So survive! Claw your way back from the underworld, cling on to life, do whatever it takes to–"
"I PROMISED FERRERO ACERRO!" Nayt thundered. Memories of their battle flashed in his mind, empowering his weakened limbs in place of blood. The Hangman's stance grew firmer. "THAT HE AND I WOULD FINISH OUR DUEL!"
Huh?
Ciro stared at him blankly.
What did you...just say?
Nayt's blade extended once more, its bloody tip glaring at the Emperor. His eyes burned with renewed intensity.
And they weren't looking at Ciro.
They were looking beyond him.
No, you...you're the one who's supposed to look at...me. The Emperor opened his mouth, but no words came out. At me. Just me.
Just Ciro.
"You cannot value dueling over your people. Over your duty. You cannot value him over ME, NAYT! HASN'T OUR–"
The Hangman's flames burned bright and blue – hot enough to evaporate the blood caked to his body. "Suffocate in your crown of shit and die, Emperor."
Nayt lunged.
--
Thanks for reading!
Comments
mark harrell
Nayt appears to be the only person that Ciro has legitimate affection for. As a ...friend? Brother? Feels like a mirror of sorts of Adam and Eric.
Nathan Linder
Who would've thought that the single most damaging thing Nayt could do to Ciro was to want to fight another man.
