kamikazepotato
patreon
The Skill Thief's Canvas - Chapter 77 (Book 3 Chapter 16)
🕑 Added 2025-05-13 22:32:36 +0000 UTCValente possessed several titles. Some had been bestowed by Ciro – and some by the death he wrought. The Emperor of the World may have named him Lord of the Hangmen, but few called him that after his annihilation of the Puppet Mountain and its Lord.
'I remember being anxious about sending him to that war,' Ciro recalled fondly. 'He was capable, no doubt, but he was barely old enough to have a mockery of hair on his face.'
And that youth went on to be heralded as the Dark Captain of the Hangmen.
As the Strongest Man in the World.
Occasionally, Ciro felt bothered by that last title. Not out of concern, of course, Valente was his most loyal Hangman and harbored no evil ambitions. A man was allowed some vanity, though, and the Emperor liked to think of himself as the strongest.
Privately, however, he could admit that there would have been no shame – even if he still disagreed with the notion – in being considered a slight second to Valente.
Today was one of those days that reminded him of why.
"I beg of you, drop your weapons and surrender." Valente spoke with a calm sincerity. Ciro appreciated that the Hangman's earnestness would only infuriate his enemies further. "You cannot win against the Emperor and myself. Surely you know this."
"Aye," Vasco of Gama acknowledged through a heavy breath, a single knee touching the ground. The Lord forced himself to his feet and swung his mighty war axe at two Imperial Soldiers, splitting the men into bloodied, grotesque halves. "But I will not stand by and let you hurt more elves. I…I have already regretted enough."
'Why did they bother?' Ciro thought, glancing at the bisected remains of his men. 'These are supposed to be by my elite soldiers – they should know better than to try helping Valente. Useless.'
The Dark Captain eyed Vasco sadly. "I understand. Honor compels you to die here. I respect that, truly. I merely wish that I did not have to fight you."
"Yet honor compels you as well," Vasco muttered. He stumbled through the Imperial corpses, allowing himself a second to breathe in blood and smoke from the burning battlefield, and then shook his head sadly. "I wish the same. Though you slew many of my men during our last battle, I hold no ill will towards you, Dark Captain. You wield your Talent according to your sworn duty. I, too, respect that."
Their eyes met – not in challenge, but in the shared pain of their duty. It was a brief peace in this hell of their own making.
It occurred to Ciro that both men were quite similar. Each was a 'heroic' type that valued duty, honor, and the good of the people above all else. Their only difference was in who they'd pledged their loyalty to. The Emperor for Valente, obviously. As for Vasco…
Some would have guessed the Painter. But when imagining who it was that held sway over the Lord of Gama, Ciro thought of another.
'Were it not for that wretched man, Vasco would likely have served me as loyally as Valente.'
At that thought, Ciro shifted a sliver of his awareness to the enemies standing directly in front of him. Upon confirming that the Undying elven woman hadn't tried to unleash her Genius Realm yet, he shifted awareness yet again, focusing his attention on the battle between Valente and Vasco.
He'd only looked away for a few seconds…but that was evidently enough to have missed much.
Valente had drawn a sword – more out of honor than benefit – and mercilessly attacked Vasco. A Dragonforged sword met a war axe of Gama, sending sparks flying through the air. There was no technique, no strategy, only sheer forceful brutality.
Every clash of steel seemed to send the Lord reeling backwards, with only grit keeping him standing and fueling his resolve, pushing his legs forward once more for a clash he knew he would lose. 'He's far stronger than me,' Vasco thought desperately. 'Far, far stronger. And even so, he's – he's holding back.'
It was one of Valente's few flaws. Given his relative inexperience and common birth, he wasn't able to precisely control the destructive output of his Talents, especially given the fact it was of the highest possible Rank.
And because of that…
'I'm fighting at roughly one-twentieth of my maximum strength.' Valente's thought was calm, rational, and only mildly annoyed. 'It is surprising that the Lord of Gama can keep up.'
Ciro wondered if the man knew how arrogant of a notion that was, considering Vasco was among the most ferocious warlords in the Empire. Oh, but that was part of what made Valente so charming, wasn't it?
'If I raise my strength any further…it will destroy this village. Innocent people will die.' The Dark Captain shivered at the thought. 'Can't have that happen. Not again.'
In addition to his inexperience, Valente was still haunted by his duel with Aspreay at the capital city. Their clash had resulted in dozens of civilian casualties; the first assault on the Empire's pride since its formation. Even now, when he closed his eyes, he was beset by the grisly sight of the corpses he had been tricked into creating.
And it all happened because he'd unleashed too much of his power. He had to hold back this time. Needed to.
No matter what.
Which was why Ciro had little issue agreeing to the Elder's demand of being allowed to evacuate his people. Valente was unlikely to be of much use until all the innocents were safely out of range.
'I won't underestimate you this time, Painter – I am playing for checkmate. I'll have your head on a platter, or I'll seize this village as an outpost for my war effort. Regardless of how the day ends, your upstart rebellion shall end quickly thereafter.'
And all Ciro had to do was indulge the peculiarities of a heroic, lovable, painfully naive man. With every second that passed, the evacuating citizens got closer to the edge of the village…
Allowing for Valente to be more aggressive in his displays of strength.
'Just a bit more,' the Dark Captain thought, 'and I can end this.'
'Just a bit more,' the Lord of Gama thought, 'and I'll die.' His resolve strengthened, as did the grip on his axe. 'But not yet. I need to save more – to make up for my mistakes!'
Vasco fought like an incarnation of his regrets; screaming, sweating, stumbling forward with each shattered breath. His axe cracked. The Hangman's sword did not. Metal failed where his conviction had held strong.
Still, it was steel that determined the winner. Vasco fell backwards, finding a shadow where he should have seen the sky. Valente's blade, quiet and terrible, hovered over his head. Cold. Steady. Ready.
One last kindness from the world's most reluctant executioner.
It descended–
"Move away!" Gaspar shouted.
–And found nothing.
At the last second, Vasco's entire body shot up and to the left, as if whisked away by an invisible giant to avoid the Hangman's blade.
"Sorry for the landing," Gaspar apologized. "Didn't trust myself to stop his attack with an Order. Felt safer to make you dodge. Don't go dying now – think of Solara."
He gave the Lord of Gama a smirk. "I know firsthand how much it sucks to inherit a city from your father before you're ready."
"My thanks, and worry not," Vasco grumbled, forcing himself to stand. "I won't die before I atone for my sins."
"On this, we are of the same mind."
Valente looked in their direction, narrowing his eyes in concentration. "Who are you speaking to?"
Vasco's breath caught. "No one."
The Dark Captain stared in confusion, his lack of learning showing once again. Ciro knew the truth almost immediately, after only a second of confusion.
'Ah. The Lord of Ash.'
Gaspar of Asteria was not counted among the greatest of Lords. His Realm's speed was mediocre, taking as long as anyone to construct, and his Canvas couldn't support multiple Reconstructions in rapid succession.
But he did have the rare ability to move his Realm alongside him.
'That's why I didn't notice a Realm being constructed so close to me,' Ciro realized, biting his lip to keep an impressed smirk from forming. 'He created it a while ago…a small Realm, admittedly, but it has been moving with him throughout the fight. When did he do that? Before he entered the elven village? Troublesome fellow, this lord.'
Divine Knowledge confirmed as much. Shortly before entering the elven city, and without anyone's knowledge or approval, Gaspar das Cinzas had created a personal Realm and taken it with him. What if the elves try to kill us while we sleep? the man had thought to himself back then. I need protection.
Well, Ciro couldn't fault his logic…but damn, that meant the carefree imbecile hadn't even prepared it knowing of the attack to come! Lucky bastard.
And worse than lucky – tricky.
'My Realm is way, way too small to just order the Strongest Man to die.' Somehow, inside his thoughts, Gaspar sounded as if he was smirking. 'But if I concentrate my entire Realm into a narrow space…even Valente will accept the Order of 'Pretend I'm not here. Don't see or hear me.'
Ciro let out a groan. The Lord of Ash had picked the single-most annoying route to go about this fight. Resisting the Orders of a Lord was no easy task, but one that should've been doable when your Canvas was simply that much stronger given a superior Talent and Rank.
Unfortunately, Valente hadn't been trained from birth to notice intrusions on his Canvas. The man hadn't even awakened his first Talent until his thirteenth year in this wretched world. He didn't know how to be constantly on guard for a Lord's Order – especially one that wasn't a direct attack upon his person.
Between all of that, it was no surprise that even the Dark Captain had been mildly affected by it. 'Although in theory, it should also limit what the Lord of Ash can accomplish in this fight,' Ciro considered. 'His Orders to ignore him will falter if he takes significant action against Valente.'
Bereft of a weapon, the Lord of Gama had continued to fight against the Dark Captain with his fists alone – a gesture that the Hangman met by sheathing his own sword and meeting him with clenched fists of iron. At first the Hangman's superior strength, even held back, was overpowering the man.
'The Lord of Ash shouldn't make his presence more known. Otherwise, Valente's stronger Canvas will unconsciously rebel. That is how it should be.'
However.
"Dodge him," Gaspar ordered. "Then counterattack – faster than your top speed."
His orders, which Valente could not hear, were affecting Vasco rather than himself. Even the Strongest Man in the World was confused when his attacks – that surely should have landed – happened to miss. Or when the man before him turned his hips to shoot forward a massive punch, quicker and stronger than what he'd been capable of before.
'That shouldn't have hurt,' Valente gasped. 'My Talent should render me impervious to harm from someone of a lesser Rank. Are these his real punches, then? Is he injuring me without using his Lord Talent?'
'Yes, but actually – no, Valente, you simpleton!' Ciro cursed in his mind. He wished he could just yell at his Hangman, but the brilliant man could be quite dull at times. Distracting him might prove a lethal mistake. 'I won't let you panic me into making a blunder, Little Painter.'
The Dark Captain both was and wasn't correct. Vasco couldn't hurt him like this with mere strength – but the Lord of Ash was attacking him indirectly, using Vasco's body as a medium.
Ciro loathed that Gaspar dared to attempt it, and that it worked. This wasn't how the Painted World ought to function! Still, he told himself, it wasn't so different from the last war, when his nephew had–
'Wait…my nephew.'
The Emperor's eyes widened. He broadened his focus, observing past Valente and Vasco's battlefield, allowing him to notice a distant, terrifying echo.
'MY NEPHEW!' He turned his Divine Knowledge to his Hangman, screaming directly into Valente's thoughts. 'WATCH OUT FOR ARROWS FROM ABOVE!'
It was too late.
Tenver's giantslaying crossbow bolts had been shot from afar – so far away that neither Emperor nor Hangman could see where they hailed from.
Smoke whirled upward in a spiral as the bolts cracked down on impact. Valente didn't evade them, nor did he need to – his Talent would have repelled Tenver's arrows.
But it would not and did not repel the gravel hurled at his face, or the dust covering his eyes. His balance wavered, and for one infinitesimal heartbeat, the strongest man in the world looked small and human.
'Little Painter,' Ciro thought, with a grimace. 'You positioned Tenver away from the battle, near the fleeing citizens. You knew I wouldn't be able to detect his thoughts if he was being disguised by so many others…and that I wouldn't know he can fire from such a great distance.'
'There's more to it,' Adam finally replied. 'Thanks to the dust cloud, Valente can't see where Vasco is right now.'
'The same should apply in reverse,' the Emperor retorted. A moment later, he bit his lip. 'Bastard–!'
The Lord of Penumbria allowed Ciro to hear the laughter in his mind.
"Punch the Dark Captain," Gaspar ordered.
And a Lord's commands were absolute.
Though Vasco didn't know where Valente was located amidst that cloud of dust and smoke, his body moved forth regardless. A Lord's Realm warps reality to let their will become manifest – and it guided Vasco's body, helping his fists find their mark on a Hangman's exposed face.
'How can he see me?' Valente wondered. He struck blindly where the blow had come from, knowing his speed should have been enough, yet–
"Dodge now!" Gaspar commanded.
Valente couldn't even hear the order, but he could feel its effects – and how his counterattack passed through empty air. "What – what sorcery do you possess, Lord of Gama? Your Talent isn't this strong!"
Ciro bared his teeth. His anger reached such a point that he had to make sure his Gravity Shield hadn't faltered as his emotions trembled. 'I should have warned Valente earlier…not saying anything was the real blunder. He's too modest.'
That, above anything else, was the World's Strongest Man's weakness – Valente didn't really think of himself as such. Sure, he would claim to be among the best, yet never the best. He always allowed for the possibility that a stronger existence happened to be hiding somewhere in the Painted World, or even that Ciro himself was a better fit for the title.
Overconfidence could create fatal blind spots…but modesty was the same kind of killer.
So when the Dark Captain saw something he could not understand, it instilled a piercing fear within him – a simple, disquieting thought: 'Is he stronger than me?'
He was not.
Yet his doubt gave them the chance to masquerade as so.
'And I will not allow it,'' Ciro thought. This wasn't the time for half-measures. If the Little Painter meant to play his secret cards, so would he. 'VALENTE! USE YOUR OTHER TALENT!' he furiously commanded. 'THERE IS NO POINT IN HIDING ANYMORE – THEY KNOW ALREADY!'
'Y–your Imperial Highness?'
'DO IT!'
Ciro had wanted to keep this hidden, but that was no longer an option. The Pretender's side had most likely figured it out since the confrontation at the Capital, anyhow. Better to accept a loss than shut his ears and pretend otherwise.
Valente had two Talents. The Dark Captain was the only person in the Painted World who could claim such a thing – he was Ciro's masterpiece.
'The Painter's Talent allows him to plagiarize others, and can manifest copies of their abilities…but in the end, it is just one very versatile Talent. And whilst the Talent of a Lord can be inherited by someone with a pre-existing Talent, that Lord Talent is not truly theirs – it is closer to a Ghost that haunts them.'
Valente was different. He was singularly unique in that he wielded two Talents without having inherited Lordship.
First, there was his 1st-Rank Talent of Hanging. The one that earned him fear and reverence across the Empire.
And second, there was his Talent of Distance.
"This dust will not touch me," Valente whispered, "because it is now too far away."
The smoke suddenly cleared, blown away by a divine wind that never was.
"These arrows will not mark me," Valente declared, "because they shall never reach my person."
Tenver's giantslaying bolts froze in midair, trembling in place – then dropped to the ground, their momentum forever halted.
'I am disappointed, Painter,' Ciro taunted. 'Surely you've noticed by now. Did you not realize that no violence, empowered by a Talent or not, has ever managed to harm him? There were limitations that prevented outright teleportation, but the Painter didn't need to know that. 'He can control the distance between himself and any object.'
Valente withdrew a set of Orbs from his pockets. "It's time we finished this." His Talent of Hanging manifested through money. He could make a single Orb powerful enough to annihilate a mountain…and had done so in the past. "I should be able to keep the collateral damage to a minimum. No innocents will die from this."
He aimed his glare at Vasco. "You are no innocent."
'You're right,' Adam admitted to the Emperor. 'I should've seen this coming.'
An Orb shot forward at Vasco. It was too powerful to block, too fast for Gaspar to even give a command.
'But what makes you think I didn't?'
The Orb collapsed into ink, striking the ground like thunder. And on the battlefield, there he stood – the Painter himself, in the flesh.
Valente's eyes widened as Ciro's eyes narrowed.
'What the hell happened to my Orb?' the Hangman wondered.
'Where did you come from, Painter?' the Emperor wondered. 'Were you hiding nearby? Since when–'
No. He shouldn't dwell on unimportant questions and lose sight of what mattered – that the Pretender had just exhibited a new ability.
'I see…so this is how the Gryphon's Talent of Hanging manifests in your hands, Little Painter,' Ciro thought. 'Orbs aren't particularly hard to draw. Just a single sphere. You must have painted them across the battlefield before the cloud of dust dispersed.'
The Painter was the one person whose Rank was too high for Ciro to read his thoughts. The only one in the world who could have done such a thing and escaped his notice.
'Can you guess what's next?' Adam asked.
'Enlighten me,' Ciro answered dryly.
"REALM–RECONSTRUCTION!"
It wasn't as slow as Gaspar's, nor as swift as a master's. Faster than average, more tightly-built than most, the Painter's Realm manifested, a small set of Walls forming around them.
He shouldn't have been able to construct his Walls here – not without leaving Penumbria defenseless. In a flash, the answer came to Ciro.
'You stole Edmundo's Lord Talent and gifted it to someone else…so that they could hold Penumbria's Walls,' he concluded. 'And so that you could use yours to fight.'
'Guilty as charged,' Adam replied. 'Now, answer me this – Valente is confused, hamstrung by his fears, and now we have two Lords on my side. Do you really not think we can harm him? That we can beat him?'
The Painter gave a dark laugh. 'Maybe you should come to his rescue.'
'So that's your plan?' Ciro was struck by a fury he hadn't felt since his brother was alive. 'To make me drop my guard out of concern for Valente, so that your whore of an elf can trap me in her Genius Realm?'
'You have to admit, it's pretty clever.'
Out of nowhere, Gaspar manifested himself before Valente, now visible. 'Who…who is that?' the Dark Captain wondered. 'Is that the Lord of Asteria? What's he–'
"Dodge left, Valente!" Gaspar commanded.
"Dodge right, Valente!" Adam commanded.
Their conflicting orders, coupled with Valente's inexperience, had him feeling unsure which to refuse first – and his Canvas suffered the consequences. It stained itself mildly from shock, momentarily holding him in place.
"Don't forget about me," Vasco said, launching himself forward in a rage as he brought his heavy, armored fists down onto the man's face.
'I do admit it,' Ciro mused. 'It is a wonderful plan. You've played quite well today, Little Painter – no!'
He paused to consider it. 'In your final hours, I will call you by your name – you who moved your pieces as well as anyone could have. But alas, you have forgotten one thing...Adam.'
'Which is?'
'That my pieces are still simply better.'
Little by little, cut by cut, Adam and his subordinates had been weakening the Strongest Man in the World. With every slight injury, every taunt, they made him closer to a mortal man. Just a little bit more, and we can win, they must have thought.
Clever devils, those pretenders. Ciro had to admit he'd been outplayed in that regard.
But if the Dark Captain's strength were such that mere cleverness could beat him…he would never have earned his legend.
"I reject it all," Valente muttered. His voice dropped lower; not out of tiredness, but out of shame. How could he let these sinners defy him, the Emperor's most trusted man, to such a degree? The Dark Captain believed not in himself – but he did believe in his holy Emperor.
'And his Imperial Highness believes in me,' he thought. 'I must make him proud.'
Ciro laughed with anticipation. 'Don't you know, Painter? Valente is the Empire's true Hero. And in every work of art, the hero becomes stronger when faced with devils such as yourself!'
"Dodg– ah!" Gaspar's neck snapped back as if he'd just been sucker punched. He attempted to remain upright with a stumbling gesture, his nose bleeding. "He – he rejected my Orders!"
Adam fared only slightly better, breathing heavily to the man's side. "Mine too. All of a sudden, it's like he can block us out. Like he just got a lot stronger."
The Painter cursed under his breath as he realized what had happened. "The elven evacuees have reached the edge of the city by now. He's just…using more of his strength."
Mayhaps ten percent of his might, if that. That was enough to stop any attack or Order from touching him, to cause the very ground near his feet to become unsteady – and most importantly, to promise certain death for his enemies.
A Lord and a Hangman clashed fists once more. It wasn't close. Valente didn't fight; he demonstrated. Every one of his punches argued him as the strongest, and every one of Vasco's provided support for the theory. The Lord of Gama staggered, bled, stumbled, stood…
And crumbled.
The Hangman never roared, never smiled. His victory was as inevitable as Ciro's Gravity. He took no pride, no joy, in destroying the man.
Yet neither did he hesitate, for he knew the Pretender's side was villainous. It was the duty of those who were righteous to cut them down.
"I'll kill you quickly," he apologized to the Lord of Gama. "For I still need to take the Painter's head." Valente held out his fist. "With my Talent of Distance, I shall strike fast enough to crush your skull and melt your brain. Even a war Lord of your renown would succumb to that."
"STOP!" Adam's voice cracked with desperation. "STOP!" His Order backfired as Gaspar's had before, blood dripped from his own nose now. 'Shit! Have to stop him somehow! I can't let him kill Vasco!'
Ciro grinned. He'd read the Painter's thoughts just then. If Adam had let him do that, even for an instant, it meant that he was feeling truly overwhelmed.
It was all over now.
Valente's fist drew back like a guillotine – an unspeakable machine of efficient death, attempting at making killing a kinder act.
Then there was a sound. A voice.
A terror that sent a chill racing down the Hangman's very soul.
"–REALM–RECONSTRUCTION!"
It wasn't evident who had shouted, or what his Realm's effects were. No orders shot forth to save Vasco, nor to attack Valente.
Then why…?
"I would recommend decreasing your Talent's output," Aspreay Arcanjo said, chin raised, arms crossed, and his back leaning against the side of a burning building. "Lest you've strengthened your resolve compared to our last duel."
"You–!"
Valente leapt away from Vasco, drawing himself into a combat stance against the former Lord of Penumbria. "What – what are you doing here?"
Aspreay grinned, and the World's Strongest Man swallowed nervously. Regardless of his skill with Realms, the nobleman was the weakest of the three Lords in Rank – yet his presence seemed to inspire the Dark Captain with more uncertainty than any other.
"Must I repeat myself? I am here to pull on your leash, dog of the Emperor, and remind you of the consequences of using your Talent at a level unbecoming of your birth."
Aspreay regarded the Hangman with open disdain. "Come now, mongrel. Use less of your power. Make this more of a sporting match. Show me manners you weren't bred with, and suppress your Talent."
He paused. "Ah, unless you don't mind slaughtering innocents."
"What the devil are you talking about?" Valente demanded. "The evacuees should all be gone by now! The timing the Emperor gave me…everything should be flawless!"
"Is that so? Then allow me to enlighten you, baseborn filth – if that commoner mind of yours can be educated at all."
Aspreay held out his hand. "Enjoy the privilege of a Lord that creatures mothered by a dirty alley whore could never know. Behold my Divine Knowledge!"
He imposed the imagery of his Realm's border into the Hangman's mind, and by extension, Ciro.
It was such an evil sight that the Emperor failed to comprehend it at first.
"PLEASE! LET US GO!"
"WHAT IS THIS? W–WHAT IS THIS INVISIBLE WALL?!"
"ELDER! HELP US, ELDER! WHY CAN'T WE LEAVE?!"
"MOM! ARE WE GOING TO DIE? WHY ISN'T THE MOTHER OF THE FOREST SAVING US?"
"T–THE SMOKE! THE FIRE IS GETTING CLOSER TO US!"
"IT BURNS! EVERY TIME I TOUCH THE WALL – MY HANDS BURN!"
"PLEASE! ANYONE! I BEG YOU!"
In the timeframe Ciro had predicted, the evacuated elves had reached the edge of the city…yet they couldn't leave. Tried as they might. Pray as they did.
Aspreay didn't listen, didn't waver.
Ciro could scarcely believe what he was seeing, chastising himself for his neglect. He'd thought of the Little Painter's band as a group of optimistic, naive children. A band of upjumped miscreants who wanted better for the world yet knew little of sacrifice.
But he'd forgotten about Aspreay.
He'd forgotten about the Dark Lord of Penumbria.
"My Realm encompasses the entirety of the Elven Village," Aspreay announced, clapping his hands theatrically. "Care to surmise what Laws I created? No? Very well. I should have figured you would be too idiotic to hazard a guess – NO INNOCENT PERSON IS ALLOWED TO LEAVE!"
The Dark Captain of the Hangmen took a step back as if beholding a demon. "You…you monster. Have you no decency in you?"
The Dark Lord of Penumbria laughed like a madman. "Hardly. Have you forgotten, bastard, that you named me villain? Allow me to act the part."
Aspreay stalked forward towards Valente. "Blame yourself or your Emperor, I care not which – I decided to do this the moment you tried to hurt Vasco."
"You would kill hundreds of innocents just to save him?"
"Thousands," Aspreay promised. "I would burn down every child in this village in front of their crying mothers if it saved Vasco."
His laughter grew louder, more mocking. "And then I'd burn them to have your head on a pike."
--
Thanks for reading!
Comments
Zachary Sloan
I feel the same way; both this and Demonic Conqueror/Heroic Valor are a cut above almost all other web serials I've read. Practical Guide to Evil is probably the only other one I've read that has a similar quality of characterization. I think Tenver is probably my favorite character, but Aspreay is definitely up there as well.
Connor Barkley
I think I commented this back when Aspreay saved him in the capital, but your way of writing characters is tremendous. So much change and growth in how we see him, and Aspreay is still undeniably the same character he was at the start. You’re my favourite author writing in this serial format
Nathan Linder
Adam should never tell Aspreay about the Geneva Conventions or he might try a speed run of them.
KamikazePotato
Thanks for letting me know about the duplicated segment! Fixed now.
Horatio Bolton
Great chapter! I love the little vignettes into the mechanics of the world and how they affect fighting tactics. It also looks like there's a section that was duplicated in the final cut, starting with "'I won't underestimate you this time, Painter"
