Mizu isn't sure how much books cost in Lore, but she knows she cannot summon the right one to tell her everything she needs to know so vaguely. She's better off using the library and sometimes talking with a librarian. Months in the library. She's basically becoming a scholar of London. A shocking turn of events compared to the rest of her life. Her reading skills are much better than when she arrived.
She listens to Vergil, however, because he loved books from childhood. He comes from a childhood with books in it. Given how powerful his father was, that shouldn't be surprising. It's the rich and powerful men (and demons) who have libraries. It matches the pride and the search for power, in so much as that more frequently comes from men in those parts of society. Taiden has ambition, and he has pride. It's the pride of someone scraping to prove himself and drag himself up, rather than one who was born to be there. That might have made Mizu dislike Vergil, except they discussed it in the context of their mistakes costing so many people their lives. It felt different, even if it was something they had to share to ever leave that library. Now, it seems, the two closest people to her in Folkmore come from that wealthy kind of background. Vergil. And Rin.
Vergil's adolescence is particularly relatable to her current activities. It speaks to where they are in their journeys. Vergil no longer is trying to amass as much power as possible, but Mizu still walks the path of revenge. At best, she'll soon be half done. The second half of such journeys are likely harder than the first. They only ever get harder. A small sigh. She has enough difficulty learning about London. She can't imagine trying to learn the truth behind his father's power, something that would be a much more guarded secret. No jealousy there, strange as it is to learn about a place around the world that she's never been to and for which so much information is about the future.
"It's what you like, so it makes sense you would," Mizu says. She's never cared about poetry herself, but she doesn't say so. No need to insult what Vergil likes. It's not like Mizu's been exposed to much poetry in her life. She leans back against the wall, more interested in Vergil than the books themselves. "What do you like about them?"
Better to let him talk on the matter. Mizu can listen. Not everyone is as single minded as she is, and Vergil had more exposure to various things before his life went to shit than she did living in a shack in the woods. Her stories were always of the bad men who would find her if she went outside.
It's a question that takes Vergil a little off-guard, resulting in him opening and closing his mouth without saying anything at all at first. It's not that he doesn't necessarily know why he likes his books and his poetry. For as little insight as he's proven himself to have when it comes to certain aspects of his internal world, he knows why he likes what he reads specifically and just the act of reading alone. But no one has ever asked him the question before both given that he had given it up as a hobby at such a young age and because he isolated himself for so long. So, he's never anticipated anyone would ask never mind actually had to articulate the answer before.
"When I was a child, I liked it because it was something I didn't have to share with Dante. We're twins, so we were expected to share most everything together."
Albeit, Vergil always felt more pressure around sharing with Dante than the other way around. Dante was always so happy to let Vergil have anything, and he could never particularly understand why Vergil rarely reciprocated. Even when it was things he wasn't all that interested in like Vergil's books, he couldn't understand why Vergil didn't want to let him have them and why he'd get so angry with Dante every time he'd hide one of Vergil's books on him.
"I used to mark the things I didn't want Dante touching with a 'V'," he says, drawing the letter in the air with a finger. "Although in hindsight it was a foolish choice. It just told him which things of mine he needed to try and steal from me in order to get my attention if I kept refusing to play with him.
"Anyway, he was never much for reading. He thought it was boring, and couldn't understand why I'd rather read than play and train with him. So, the books and poems were something for me."
But it certainly grew to be more than just avoiding his brother's insistence to fight with their wooden swords, or establishing something for himself as time went on. And it wasn't even about that sense of escapism either. It was actually more about seeking a connection more than anything. Vergil found an emotional world in his reading. One that he's known so very little about in his daily life as even as a child, he found himself struggling to articulate all that he felt and saw. It's why he fell in love with Blake's poems, works that dealt with both the beautiful and uglier sides of nature and life. Vergil briefly mulls over how much of that to share, how much of it is even relevant or something Mizu would even care to know even if he did ask the question what it was about books and poetry that drew Vergil's interest before he answers.
He looks back over towards the balcony.
"I have never been...particularly skilled when it comes to connecting with others. Even as a child, I would watch Dante befriend almost anyone and I could never understand it. How he drew people in and spoke to them so easily as if they had been friends the entirety of their lives.
"But I found that connection for myself in poetry. Blake, in particular."
And then his mother was killed, and he presumed his brother was dead, and that the same fate was about to befall him as well. And the devil awakened within him, and he survived, but he swore off such connection, such emotion. It was weakness to be so human, so connected that he would grieve anyone ever again, that he would ever allow himself to be reliant upon those connections for his own protection and well-being. The colder he was able to be, the stronger he was, he thought. And so he spent years on his own, refusing help, refusing to hide who and what he was. He fought viciously for his survival, and he remained so single-minded in his pursuit of power that he let all else fall by the wayside.
"I wanted more of it, so I read as much as I could."
Mizu smiles at Vergil's response. As little as she expected to stun him with such a basic question, it amuses her greatly. That alone makes asking worth it, even as she understands the isolation and loneliness inherent in the reaction. It's only surprising if it has never happened, if it is thought it never would happen. Sad, yes, but they're both cut off from people. Separate. No one honestly asks such questions of them. Rather than be sad about it, however, Mizu enjoys Vergil's surprise. One day she'll see that face when they spar.
Siblings or other young people not trying to beat the shit out of her is... a foreign experience for Mizu. It sounds like the kind of thing that must be normal to other people. It's like peering through the slats in her shack as a child and seeing the village children play together. Something observed not experienced, not fully understood. Dante reminds her a little of Ringo and his insistence in following Mizu, joining her, and coming along on her quest. Not the same, mind, but it's the closest she has to someone bothering her when she repeatedly tells them to go away.
She finishes eating the rest of Vergil's vegetables while he talks. The way he looks away, looks distant, when he continues leads her to still. Mizu wipes her hand on the napkin and sits quietly. While it makes so little sense to her that connection could be found in words on a page, Mizu understands the difficulty connecting with others. How much she tried when she still gave a damn about it. It takes effort not to mull over certain events, certain mistakes in her past. She won't think about them. Better to rip open her side again than revisit foolish moments.
Mizu gazes at Vergil's books and tries to see what Vergil said he found there. Her reading has been factual accounts. What stories she's read, she's focused on the details about London, not on connection and people. That superfluous information. None of it has been poetry. Mizu notes the name Blake and looks back at Vergil. The point is what it did for him. There's no expectation it would ever do the same for her. She found herself a different way.
That way doesn't involve words. Mizu's glad to listen to Vergil speak about his interest in books, in poetry, but she doesn't know what to say. Conversation isn't a skill she's developed or needed. "I didn't know you could find that in books," Mizu says, "I didn't grow up with them."
Mizu's still not sure she could find that in books, but she hasn't tried. Connection isn't what she seeks. Connection is for other people. Even, it seems, Vergil. He's in a different place than she is, no longer simply seeking power (though his continued work to regain his sword relates to it). He has room for more in his life. Poetry again. Connection. Vergil and Rin, in their own ways, have been in similar places to Mizu, but they both are in different ones now. Something past, pushed beyond, the goal itself. It raises the question: what happens after? If Mizu kills Fowler and Routley and Skeffington. She doesn't know. If she survives the process, she can figure something out then, though she will be far from anyone she's met in Folkmore at that point. These connections, what little they are, will be gone. That shouldn't matter. It doesn't. The ache is simply her wounds not fully healed.
"Then again, all I did in my youth was make knives and swords and practice my swordmanship."
Vergil hums thoughtfully as Mizu acknowledges he never really had the opportunity to read books. It's not entirely surprising given that Mizu comes from a much earlier era than Vergil, and that he's never once come across as someone born into wealth. Wealth likely could not have necessarily entirely protected Mizu from the suffering that he endured, but it could have very well buffered him from much of it. Therefore, the chances that Mizu received any sort of formal education was unlikely. He learned what he needed to learn to survive long enough to begin enacting his revenge. Nothing more. Nothing less. Even his interest in swordmaking likely stemmed from his desire for revenge than wholly an interest in the craft itself. Otherwise, he probably would have stayed much as Vergil would have stayed with his books and poetry.
He sets the pitcher of water on the nightstand for Mizu to be able to still refill his glass as needed before gathering up the tray.
"Even if you did grow up with books, you didn't have a need for them," he says as he stands up. And Mizu isn't the sort of person to waste his time on something he doesn't place value in. "You had your smithing instead."
Vergil steps away to the kitchen, tossing out the used napkins.
"Have you considered smithing more while you're here?" Vergil asks as he sets the plates in the sink and opens the cabinet from where he pulled the tray out. Vergil feels like he already knows the answer. Mizu's never been unclear about his focus on his task of revenge. Swordsmithing doesn't exactly align so neatly with that beyond the ability to repair his own weapons as he continues to train both sharpening and maintaining his skills. But he would like to be surprised by hearing otherwise. So, he asks regardless of the certainty that hasn't likely crossed Mizu's mind all that seriously.
Neither smithing nor swordplay can be learned from a book. Moving the body, completing the actions right again and again and again. That's how one learns. Master Eiji had her make a thousand kitchen knives before she ever approached a sword. They sold. There's no whirlwind of kitchen knives in swordfather's home waiting to make a pincushion of Vergil or anyone else. As much boring work as there was sweeping up and putting tools away, Mizu remembers it all fondly. Every single time Master Eiji hit her on the head with tongs. They were good years. She left when she needed experience more than practice with the sword. When she thought she was ready (and had enough experience).
Mizu sips more of the water and watches Vergil go about cleaning up. She will probably leave soon. She can walk, and Vergil doesn't need her imposing on him, his space, or his time. He's been more than fair. Still, she wouldn't have minded if he stayed sitting there longer.
"I am making a sword for someone," Mizu says, "They were searching for someone who can make katana, rather than simply summon one, and he's going to pay me in Lore." Mizu smiles, almost a smirk, at Vergil. She knows Vergil works hard to build up Lore, to have enough Lore to regain Yamato. Here she is getting paid half the cost of her healing ability to make a single sword.
"It's ensuring I make sure the forge is set up just right. I'm approaching the work as Master Eiji taught me, though I admit he's never had to make a sword for someone from another world. I'm curious to see how well I match it to him." His words about her sword, about it being too pure, too brittle, ring in her mind. Sephiroth's sword will not break on him. She'll see to it.
The near-smirk about earning Lore for his swordsmithing earns Mizu a flat look from Vergil over in the kitchen. They both know why he's smiling and what he's teasing about, but Vergil doesn't give him the satisfaction of getting a further rise out of Vergil than just a look. Looking at the dishes in his sink, Vergil opts to leave them for after Mizu leaves. He has, after all, more to clean than just their plates.
"And how exactly do you match a blade to a person?" he asks as he moves the pan, cutting board, and knife to the sink.
Vergil isn't ignorant to the idea of a blade matching its wielder. Yamato was his father's blade once and Vergil's own son has wielded it as well. But he would be lying if he attempted to deny he feels a stronger claim to it than anyone else in his bloodline, including his father. By now, Vergil has full command of the Yamato's power. When he wields it, the sword is an extension of him and his will. Vergil moves with grace and speed, the blade itself enhancing his own natural abilities further. And when he transforms, the blade and its scabbard become physical parts of him. There is, in some ways, no separating Vergil from Yamato or Yamato from Vergil. Not for long. But Yamato isn't an ordinary blade made purely of steel by the hands of everyday men, and it wasn't forged with Vergil in mind. When Sparda divided his power into the blade, it was so that the gate between worlds could be properly sealed, not with the intention of one passing the blade down to a son. Vergil's connection with the blade came far later and unintentionally.
So, the question and its associated curiosity is genuine. Vergil abandons the dishes for now to return to his spot on the bed.
Mizu does not brush the fact in further. It is what it is, and Mizu has neither interest nor the character to hide the fact she's getting paid for her work. It inherently brings up what Vergil's doing, and well, it is amusing. She's not sure there is the same demand for poetry... or that Vergil writes it. Interaction is not easy for either of them, or it would not matter.
The question is simple but difficult at the same time. No matter how many times Master Eiji explained it or how many swords she saw made, it's not so easy to define. It requires a deep understanding of the warrior, while a swordsmith also will not observe them live in combat. Master Eiji cannot see at all but manages to understand simply touching someone as they go through their moves, an ability Mizu could not match. He is incredible, far beyond anything else she has seen.
"In its most basic form, you need to understand how a blade will be used," Mizu explains, "You have to observe their techniques. Master Eiji refused to make a sword for anyone who would not demonstrate each and every one of his techniques, even the secret ones. Some refused, so they did not get swords." That's the simplest most basic level. A sword must be suited to the ways it will be used. However, that could lead to the same sword for every student of the same dojo, a most laughable idea.
"Those observations also reveal temperament, preferences, ticks, and other expressions of who a warrior is. Though in truth, every interaction with someone before making them a sword feeds into the understanding of them and what suits them." That's only the observations, not how it comes out in the sword.
"There are hundreds of decisions that go into making a sword, and each of them affects the outcome. Even what wood you burn to heat the metal, each piece of wood I mean, not only the kind of tree or the dryness of the wood. I don't know that I could explain each decision I make throughout the process, but attuning yourself to it and ensuring your mind is in the right state. You have to empty yourself and..."
Mizu doesn't have the words. She knows when it's right.
"You let the sword be what it should be."
A wholly unsatisfactory answer, she is sure. No one asks Master Eiji how he does it, only satisfied that he does. She learned from him, a thousand little lessons along with the larger ones. Mizu shrugs.
Vergil sits facing Mizu this time, one knee resting on the bed while the ankle is propped up by the opposite knee. He doesn't fold his arms this time, one hand resting over his ankle while the other rests upon his thigh. Without the need to sit upright for food and the odd sense of vulnerability associated with answering Mizu's earlier question, Vergil's overall posture and demeanor is a little more relaxed and casual. He's attentive while Mizu explains, allowing him the space to think of how to articulate it to someone who has no experience in such matters when he seems to need it. He's quiet for a moment longer after Mizu explains it to him, but not because he finds it unsatisfactory. Rather he's mentally comparing the process to that of making a Devil Arm.
His father's blades would be perhaps the closest comparison. Others are a little less comparable given that they require another demon to suffer defeat and submit to the will of its better for its continued survival. But rather than steel, they were forged of Sparda's power, and rather than to match its wielder, they were matched to a purpose given that the wielder was the same as the creator. But even those small differences make the processes seem incompatible. Sparda putting himself into his blades was not an extension of something more metaphysical like what Mizu describes. It was merely funneling raw power and manifesting it. Then again, that woman... What was her name? Vergil's brow furrows a little as he tries to recall it. Nico. Nico had been capable of forging Devil Arms. The arms that Nero used and the hat she gifted Dante had seemed appropriate to each of them. Perhaps there is some overlap that Vergil just cannot parse entirely on his own given the only Devil Arms he's possessed he either inherited or forged after defeating the devil whose power he was taking for himself.
"I'm sure you will make a blade that matches him," he says, breaking his quiet and lifting his gaze back to Mizu. "You're attentive in battle. You read my moves better each time we cross blades and apply that knowledge well. I imagine you'll understand him well enough, too, to make a blade that suits his needs."
Hopefully, Mizu will not need to explain her process to someone else. If Vergil hadn't talked about books first, she's not sure she would have explained so much. Anyone coming to get a sword could see Master Eiji tap a piece of wood for his apprentice to pick out of the pile, but they might take those action for granted. Explaining them feels far more revealing. Mizu pays as much attention to the wood she uses as she did for Master Eiji. Since Sephiroth knocked down so many trees demonstrating his technique, they gathered them. She tracked eat piece and considers which are right to use with his. It's all that wood, none of the wood she gathered before. It feels right.
A small nod at the compliment. It's not praise she's used to hearing. Even when she made the sword, it was always under Master Eiji. Except for her sword. No one complimented her on her work, especially not beforehand. They thanked Master Eiji for the sword. That was that. Master Eiji gave praise and criticism as deserved. No memory stands out stronger than the broken blade, the one Mizu assumed was her fault. Her impurity. Master Eiji identified the problem cleanly with one touch of the assassin's hands. They did not match his story. Nor, in hindsight, did his treatment of Mizu learning swordplay. Chiaki is dead now, and the stories about him will fade. The sword reclaimed. For his part, Vergil is also fair with his words. He means it.
She runs a hand over the sheath of her sword and draws it into her lap. "He didn't have a sword. He doesn't want one of the ones lying around Folkmore or that could be summoned. So I let him demonstrate his techniques using my sword," Mizu says. Her sword but not one of her make. "I could see the ways it doesn't suit him."
Not that it's a perfect match for her either. She'd need to make a sword for that. She'd need to remake it, no matter that Thirteen returned it to her whole and unbroken. Mizu knows the impurity is there and cannot wield it. Will not wield it. Nor has she remade it, though it needs remaking. They spoke about it at the bonfire. She's not sure what will make her ready.
He watches as Mizu lays his sword across his lap, his gaze dropping down to the sheathed blade. He remembers what Mizu said at the bonfire about not being ready for his true blade, and needing to reforge it. But the time wasn't right, according to him. Not yet. Silently, Vergil counts the months since they arrived. Six months. Six months and there's nothing to suggest or indicate that Mizu feels any more ready to reforge his blade and wield it anew. He looks up at Mizu again, scrutinizing him as though somehow the answer as to what Mizu feels still needs to change about him to be worthy of it. Nothing reveals itself to Vergil though. And how could it possibly when Mizu himself didn't seem entirely certain of it?
Vergil turns his hands over in his lap and summons Mirage Edge, the flat side of the blade resting in his other palm.
"This is based on one of my father's other blades, Force Edge." A blade that Vergil only ever had the opportunity to use once before he was proven not strong enough to take hold of his father's power and suffered a crushing defeat. He tries not to taste the bitter taste the memory inspires in the back of his throat and offers it to Mizu. For as many times as Mizu has been struck by Mirage Edge, he's never had the opportunity to actually examine it.
If Mizu takes it, Mirage Edge will feel no different from any other blade. It has weight and balance of its own even if it's not made from any sort of tangible materials. Without any means of sensing magic, there's nothing that belies all that Mizu has seen it can do. Really the only thing that seems to speak to its nature at all is the fact it's the same sort of warmth that had been Vergil had been exhausting when he transformed. It's almost as though Mizu has been able to physically hold the sensation of warming his hands over a fire.
"I tried to claim it for myself once, but it was not meant to be. I only came to use this phantom version of it when Yamato was..." he says, hesitating as he tries to find the right word. There are many he could use. Lost. Nearly destroyed. Broken. Ripped away. He finds a middle ground. "...Taken."
Swordfather offered Mizu a sword when she left for Edo, but she refused. She left the reforged steel in his care and said he could decide whether she was worthy of a sword when she returned. At the time, she thought it would be a short period of time, days, but with Folkmore, it has turned to months. Would he consider her worthy of a sword now? What has she done to truly earn that opinion? It is a foolish measure when she can never know the answer, but Mizu hasn't found another one. No one else's opinion matters more.
Fortunately, Vergil speaks of his sword, Mirage Edge. He summons it, and something thrums through Mizu's blood. Yet it's not that time. Little is more serious than a warrior speaking of his sword. Mizu listens with intent interest. Though the sword is more than steel, a fact Mizu's wounds time and again attest to, it is still a sword, a blade.
She accepts the sword and immediately notes the unnatural but familiar warmth. It raises the immediate, if foolish sounding, question: is the sword a part of Vergil? A sword and an extension of himself both. It would explain why he has it, why he had it when he arrived in Folkmore when the fox spirit takes everyone's weapons. Mizu tests its balance, finding the point upon which it will rest on a single point. Her movements are slow, respectful, though she wants to learn everything she can about it with a hunger that comes from making swords.
Her gaze returns to Vergil when he continues talking. It gets more difficult for him, and Mizu wonders at the circumstances under which Yamato was taken. Vergil is so strong a fighter it's hard to imagine almost anyone defeating him and taking his sword. There's no satisfaction in confirmation it's possible to defeat Vergil. She already knew she can. Instead it feels akin to the moment her sword broke in Fowler's castle. Not the same, she knows, but it's as close a moment for her as that could feel like.
"I haven't seen Yamato or Force Edge, but Mirage Edge is an incredible sword," Mizu says. Her head tilts slightly. A phantom version. "Did you... make it?"
Her heart beats faster, and Mizu awaits the answer even as she continues to inspect the sword. It's incredible, and she wants to know how such a sword is made.
There's no reaction to Mizu's compliment on his blade, but it's not out of a sense of humility or arrogance that Vergil does not react. Manifesting a blade through his own power is not anything particularly unique to Vergil, but he would anticipate a human would find it more fascinating. And even more so that Mizu of all people would find it so given his training under Master Eiji. Thus, he lets it rest as more a statement of fact than any particular praise directed towards him or otherwise. At least, that seems a little easier in allowing the words to rest as such. The last time Mizu paid Vergil somewhat of a compliment when it came to matters such as this, it hadn't ended quite as well as Mizu likely intended.
"In a sense, yes," he says, answering his question in brief first before providing the fuller explanation. "After my mother died, my demonic power had awakened. I knew my father was able to manifest his power as his blades, and I wanted to learn the same.
"My father loving humanity as he did is a rarity among his kind. Most demons would sooner use humans as fuel for their own power than even entertain the notion of anything else. So, for my father falling in love with a human woman, and siring two sons was exceptional." On its surface, it could seem as though Vergil were once again boasting about how extraordinary his father was, how disciplined he was to defy his very nature to not only see value in and protect humanity, but to have found someone among the humans to begin building a life with together. But Vergil is not propping his parents and their love upon a pedestal any more than he is truly boasting about his own power right now. It's more statement of fact than anything else. "So, I had to learn through my own methods."
There was no Master Eiji to teach and guide Vergil. There wasn't anyone. So, Vergil arguably has not learned what his father could do. But in a somewhat rare instance, Vergil doesn't view it as a failure or shortcoming on his part in not living up to the full extent of Sparda's legacy. What he's capable of doing suits his needs well, and unlike what Sparda did in forming Yamato, Rebellion, and Force Edge, Vergil will always be able to retain his power with Mirage Edge. There is no danger of it falling into the hands of another or someone Vergil did not will to wield it.
"I began with the smaller blades that you've seen, but I didn't possess such mastery over them immediately. I was only able to summon one at a time and slowly in the beginning." But as with anything, practice led to greater and greater speed and skill. Vergil eventually began to experiment as his confidence and ability grew. Now he can summon them just as easily as he draws breath, arranging them as he sees fit for each situation. "Each blade that I summon is made of my own power, including Mirage Edge. Without me, it would not exist."
So, the seemingly foolish question has an answer: Mirage Edge is a part of Vergil. It is a physical manifestation of his power and will that Mizu holds in his hands.
Manifested power. Mizu knows Vergil means that in a literal sense. Her hands are warm, warmer than being indoors ought to make them, because the sword generates heat. It is not only as though the blade hasn't finished cooling down. Even the hilt is warm. She remembers scales under her hand. Mizu hopes Vergil walks about the way he wishes to look, though she could not blame him if it is not. Undoubtedly people would judge him for that form and make assumptions about him off it. It would be even harder to earn Lore should people avoid him out of fear.
Half-demon Vergil called himself and meant it literally. Mizu doesn't know what his demons are like, but she's familiar with how people treat someone born a mix of two types that should not mix. That in Vergil's case, people think should not mix. Just as she lacked a teacher to learn swordsmanship, Vergil did not have someone to teach him to make Mirage Edge. Her admiration for Vergil increases, different though the process of manifesting his power and forging a blade may be. It underscores how much of his fancier fighting style is self-made, and Mizu smiles a little. No matter how insane fighting him is, Mizu enjoys it, and she'll enjoy it even more after this.
The urge to rise, to take a fighting stance, and to practice with Mirage Edge is there, but Mizu remains sitting. Vergil did not give her permission to do that, and she will not take liberties with his sword. She runs a hand down the flat of the blade, enjoying its warm and design. Mizu does not covet Vergil's power. She relies on what she can do, but she respects it. She respects making this. Though she's seen all she needs to see of Mirage Edge, she holds onto it a little longer. Vergil could take it back at any time, not only by etiquette or force but by will. He lets her hold it and inspect it.
"That must have been hard," Mizu says. Not a compliment or an insult. "Now you are always armed, even when a fox spirit brings you to a new world."
"On the off-chance something like that were to happen, yes," he says with a faint smile.
It's only when Mizu makes a motion to return it that Vergil will dismiss the blade. He has no issue with Mizu taking his time to inspect and admire the blade, and doing with as he wills with it. It's not as though Mizu could do anything to damage it and he certainly doesn't have command over it to begin tearing Vergil's apartment apart. Not that he thinks Mizu would consider the latter even if it were possible. Limiting themselves to just a training session with no weapons had been more out of respect for Vergil's space than concern for his still healing injuries for Mizu from what Vergil could discern. But barring Mizu attempting to return it to him, he leaves the blade entirely in Mizu's hands.
"It's arguably more useful when a swordsman with a degree of earned confidence but too much ambition decides he must make defeating me an impossible goal of his."
It's a teasing taunt and in his typical fashion, Vergil doesn't draw too much attention to it, but there is a compliment embedded in his words.
Mizu has seen and felt how Mirage Edge can be used. For much of it, she would not recommend being on the receiving end, a statement true about any decent sword. She takes those observations, including its use in hand and out, to inspect its form. The longer she has the sword, the more surprised Mizu is still to hold it. So she treats it seriously, a connection of form to function. It may be more enjoyable to wield the blade herself, at least through a series of exercises, but most people are protective of their swords, and Mizu has learned better than to need that. Besides, it's easier to see what decisions were made or how those decisions were manifested this close (this close while not being stabbed). It's never crossed her mind mid-combat to excuse herself with his sword for close inspection.
"Impossible," Mizu repeats, her eyes on the sword but nearly laughing. It hurts too much to laugh. "Arrogance like that will only set the foundation for my victory."
She looks up for a moment, a challenging gleam in her eye. "Some day you will exhaust the supply of surprises you have in store I have not seen yet. Each time you are forced to reveal one, you lose."
It's a quiet, rare sound. Few ever really get to hear it both due to the overall limited amount of company he tends to keep and his own natural demeanor, but Mizu's returned assertion earns quiet chuckle.
"Is that so?" Vergil raises an eyebrow as he reclines back ever so slightly, resting some of his weight back onto a hand. Not that Vergil had his doubts that Mizu had recovered sufficiently in the time allotted for a short nap, some meditation, and a bit of food, but the look in his eyes, that spark of his usual fire tells Vergil that he is certainly recovered well by now. It's good to see even Vergil doesn't know quite how to articulate exactly why it is. He just knows that he goes looking for it every time they clash blades. "So, you must change the parameters of defines a victory in order to secure your success by declaring what's clearly been my victory my loss instead?"
That rare laugh is its own sort of victory, though Mizu could not compare it to one with the sword. She knows Vergil is confident in his skills and abilities. Rightfully so at his level, but Mizu will get there. She will scratch and claw and bite her way better and better until she does defeat him in a way he cannot question.
"It's your actions, your choices, that see them losses. Some supernatural ability you would not otherwise use being forced upon you," Mizu says, "If you did not pride yourself on holding them back, it would be meaningless. I said it was your loss, not my success. It is but a stepping stone which I will use to defeat you."
She hadn't brought multiple grenades today. Would they have done anything to that thick scaled skin that her sword did not? What properties are needed to breach it? Could Vergil have done the same while clearly struggling from internal damage? Mizu cannot claim pleasure at seeing Vergil stagger, injured as he was, but it is useful information, information she might need to win. With all he can do, there's no such thing as fighting fair. There never was.
She runs her fingers slowly across Mirage's Edge, feeling more than she can see with her eyes. This too will help her, not that she needs that reason to get to know it so closely.
Even Vergil has to admit that Mizu's logic is sound. Vergil has been adamant about holding back his true strength during each of their sparring matches. The simple fact of that matter is that it's for Mizu's safety more than anything else. Well, that's the primary reason for it. Secondary to that, the fight would be over before it began if Vergil expended more energy into their fights than he already does, and that serves no purpose to either of them. No doubt it would not dissuade Mizu any, of course, but Vergil would find himself quickly bored of the whole affair. There would be no more fighting between them, and it would be a loss for them both even if Vergil wouldn't necessarily recognize it as such without these previous experiences.
Regardless, Vergil was pushed a little harder today. The cuts and bruises still on his body, one of the latter being so prominent upon his face, are the lingering evidence of that. Even Mizu must have noticed by now that not all of Vergil's wounds have healed or even shown any visible signs of progress towards healing since the end of their latest bout. He supposes that as much as it is a bruising to his own ego, he can understand the pride Mizu takes and why it most certainly feels like an accomplishment. Vergil will never unleash his full strength against him, and that is a fact. But today, Vergil bled and bruised, and if it wasn't for his other form today, there's no telling if he wouldn't have been the one woozy and unable to walk straight for long.
He opts not to lecture or chastise Mizu for the use of his explosives. He doesn't balk or bristle at the feeling of defeat or the beating his own ego takes over it. Nor does he offer any further praise or acknowledgement of skill. Vergil simply lets it be, deciding neither to spoil nor encourage the other swordsman's pride. Mizu could rest well in his knowledge of a job well done today, and hold it close to his chest that for as invulnerable as Vergil is to a human like him, he's capable of pushing past Vergil's defenses and abilities.
"You may try it for yourself," he says instead, nodding at Mirage Edge. He's been watching Mizu touch it and examine it this whole time, but even Vergil is aware that touch and sight can only say so much about a blade. Wielding it is the only way to know its true nature. As Vergil gives his explicit consent, Mirage Edge crackles with just a little more energy. Not enough that it looks entirely as it does when Vergil begins tapping into its power with quick slashes that carry far beyond the initial strike. It's more akin to a blade being removed from its scabbard than that. Except Mirage Edge bears no scabbard, and so the sword somewhat comes alive with power instead.
Vergil knows it won't feel natural to Mizu's hands. The blade isn't at all similar to those Mizu has likely held before beyond just its origins, but also in its design and style. But he's seen enough of what Vergil does with it to likely understand some basic movements with the blade as it is that he can experiment whether through mimicking what he's seen of Vergil or trying something of his own making or knowledge. Vergil gestures with his free hand over towards what ought to be a living area that Vergil has left open for the sake of a training space. "Over there."
There isn't much in Vergil's apartment that could be potentially destroyed with any sort of reckless swinging, but better for Mizu to have more space than necessary than any sort of restrictions all the same.
Vergil says nothing to Mizu's words, something she knows better from personal experience than to take as acceptance. It still feels a victory, steps further down the right path, the path Mizu follows in sparring with Vergil. Honestly, the restriction on not killing each other limits Vergil far more than her. Today was the closest she's come to need to be concerned with it at all, those split moments of sudden doubt. Mizu is free to fight by all means necessary, while Vergil cannot. Yet Mizu doubts that spoils any fun because she too takes only a modicum of enjoyment in defeating men far lesser than her. Usually it's more about destroying their pride and egos, after their acts of superiority to her, than anything to do with the physical feat.
Even as thoughts and memories of Shindo dojo come to her, Mizu knows Vergil does not look at her the way she looked at those swordsmen, at all those swordsmen except Taigen. (Presumably the master of the dojo could equally be a challenge if he has not grown soft, but it would take far more for him to deem to fight her, and she did not need that from him). He never would have handed over his blade, never would have... she doesn't know, so much of what they've done, if he thought of her that way. His opinion of her won't change her opinion of herself, mind, but she would be disappointed, yes disappointed, to lose his company in sparring.
Instead he offers the use of his sword. Mizu's head shoots up, and she stares openly at him, mouth dropping open a little. After a moment or so for it to sink in as a serious offer (it's Vergil, it wouldn't be like him to joke about something so serious and personal), she pushes the covers further back, unfolds, and steps out of the bed onto the floor. Her foot is much better than before, and this opportunity makes her more grateful for it than she would be otherwise. What is limping around for a while compared to getting to take Mirage Edge through its paces?
"Yes," Mizu inhales, excited.
Mizu moves to the center of the training space, takes a deep breath, and despite the pain across her ribs and continued soreness in her arm takes up Vergil's ready position, the one he usually takes with Mirage Edge. Mizu pauses and adjusts her position to make it more correct in small details. Then she works through a series of basic moves Vergil regularly uses. She stops when she needs to in order to correct the technique. It's not her usual way of moving, but this has always been how she's learned. Observing and copying others. Mizu repeats herself over and over. Each movement focused on having the correct technique more than power or speed. That can come with time and experience.
Silly perhaps, but everything else falls away. The lingering pain. The enjoyable argument with Vergil. All of it, compared to a man and a sword and copying techniques. They will not work with her sword as she has, but the fox spirit offers different weapons at different times. This work, this from the inside out, is Vergil.
Vergil suppresses a smile at Mizu's reaction to being given permission to practice with Mirage Edge. The disbelief and immediate enthusiasm is almost childlike in its earnestness and the quiet anxiety that Vergil might be joking or about to change his mind and rob him of the experience if he's not quick to take Vergil up on it. Whatever years of isolation and heartache and hardship Mizu has experienced seems to slough off him in an instant at the opportunity. He watches Mizu rise from the bed and quickly pad over to the training area to begin.
Whatever jest or teasing remark Vergil might have conjured up as Mizu begins to work through the movements that he's seen time and again from Vergil quiets long before it can reach his lips. Watching from where he's seated near the foot of his bed, Vergil is quietly impressed. For one who accused Vergil of cheating in his innate ability to understand a weapon by mere touch, Mizu is not too far off that mark himself. He's been on the receiving end of Vergil's techniques a few times now, and he moves carefully through each set of moves. Without Vergil needing to say a word, he spots his own mistakes quickly. He pauses. Corrects. Finishes. Tries again. Each repetition carries the intent of perfecting it. There is nothing else beyond Mizu and Mirage Edge, following each step that he can of Vergil's repertoire. He'd anticipated that it wouldn't be a series of undisciplined, wild swings or some dull experimentation with the balance and weight, but Vergil hadn't expected this.
It's not exactly atypical for Vergil to have nothing to say. He's always been quiet and more reserved than most, leaving others to often wonder and speculate what it is going through his mind. But now isn't a moment of Vergil's typical silence so much as it is speechlessness because he wants to say something. Anything about Mizu's dedication and attention to detail to immediately recognize his own mistakes. The grace of his movements even while still recovering from injuries and no doubt experience his own degree of soreness. Vergil uncrosses his legs so that both feet now rest on the floor, sitting up straighter with his hands in his lap as words come to him.
To see a World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wild Flower Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour
They are not his own words and he does not speak them. But they and their meaning settle with each pulse of Vergil's heart because it's true. There is something inherently magnificent and greater than it seems about something as mundane as Mizu running through Vergil's movements and attempting to perfect them in his replication. Something that Vergil would not likely have been able to see or understand years ago, but he can come to appreciate now.
Vergil purses his lips slightly and almost wishes they were still outside with more space. Mizu wouldn't be able to control the other things that Mirage Edge can do beyond that of a typical blade. Mirage Edge isn't a fully realized Devil Arm wherein its wielder can access the full extent of its power like that if it accepts them as its master, but Vergil would still be able to exert his will over it. It would be interesting to see if they could work so in tandem with one another like that. He itches for more, wanting to summon his clone once more to give Mizu something to practice against or hell, to spar with Mizu again himself for another exhilarating bout.
But he makes no more suggestion than he does pay a compliment. It's greedy and selfish to want more right now with the state Mizu is in. His wounds may be closed, but he's lost a significant amount of blood and he's still not yet in his peak condition once more. Pushing him past his limits and encouraging that sort of behavior would likely only lead to disaster. Perhaps not today, but eventually. Vergil glances away to look outside the balcony, drawing an intentionally slow breath and releasing it before looking at Mizu again. This is enough, he tells himself. It is enough that Mizu practices as he does now, working with the strength and skill that he now possesses.
Small sounds of focus come with the movements, with each correction. Where Mizu must correct herself more than twice, a small huff of frustration with herself, no matter the unfamiliarity of the sword or movements to what she usually does. She's seen them and felt them more than enough times to copy them. She learned to copy techniques from a single demonstration—having to work through the mistakes for herself and discover the proper form by feel and memory—so the abundance of examples from Vergil should make it far easier, along with the years of experience. That frustration melts away, however, each time she gets something right.
It's the start of properly learning both this kind of sword, in so much as Mirage Edge represents a sword made of steel in the same shape, and the techniques. Mizu hardly expects to wield Mirage Edge in sparring, much less actual fighting where her life is on the line. That doesn't matter. Learning it is in and of itself a reward. It demonstrates so much more about the sword and the way Vergil uses it. Feeling her muscles go through the movement with the right sword teaches her a great deal. Mizu could readily go through it for hours with no thought to any other considerations (it is not as though Mizu ever has plans for the rest of the day, when she spars Vergil, this being the first time she heals at all the day of).
She moves into small combinations Vergil frequently uses. It takes up more of the space at a time, but there is plenty. Mizu remains aware enough to know she won't hit anything. That's all she needs. Focused as she is, Mizu enjoys herself immensely. It carries on she's not sure how long, but her body in time shows its limits. There's some soreness, but she also feels somewhat woozy. Those aren't things that concern her terribly, save that her technique, carefully practiced, starts to slip and need more corrections. That simply won't do. Mizu will not compromise her body's learning of the moves. With some regret it's already over (already? after how long?), Mizu lowers Mirage Edge.
She walks smoothly, by force of will, back toward Vergil on the bed, bows with the sword resting across both her hands, and offers it back. Once he takes it, Mizu returns to the other end of the bed and sits. Before she practiced with Mirage Edge, she was ready to go home under her own power. For a short bit, she needs another break. That's all. It will be short before she's ready again. She's no invalid.
"Mirage Edge is incredible," Mizu says. Her face would be flush had she more blood in her body. Instead, her breathing is harder. It doesn't matter. She's lit up from within. "Very different from what I'm used to. I'd have to make a hundred terrible swords like it to finally make one of that shape and balance properly. It still wouldn't be Mirage Edge." She knows it's not steel the way her swords are.
When Mizu's technique begins to gradually slip more and more, Vergil half-expects that he will need to intervene and tell Mizu that he's practiced and experimented long enough. Thus, it comes as more of a surprise when Mizu actually brings it to an end before there can be too much sway or wobbling in his movements. Vergil still watches carefully as Mizu returns to the bed, watching for signs that he might not quite make it there after that exertion. But Mizu is steady on his feet, and he bows while returning Vergil his blade without any threats of tipping over. Even when he sits back down on the bed itself, it isn't the collapse that occurred before. Mirage Edge dissipates once more in wisps of blue smoke that disappear quickly as Vergil lowers his hands back to his lap. He supposes after a moment of recuperating from all that motion and activity, Mizu will likely take his leave then if he's recovered that much.
Vergil isn't sad or disappointed about the fact Mizu will take his leave, and return to his home in Wintermute, but Vergil can't say he's...minded this extra time with Mizu either. It hasn't been unpleasant.
"Drink," he says, nodding to Mizu's glass and the pitcher still on the nightstand. It will help with his breathing, forcing him to slow it back down to something gentler, and continue re-hydrating him after the day's activities. Vergil doesn't leave Mizu's words without a response though. Prompting him to care to his physical needs merely took some priority. "You seemed to take to it quickly. For as different as it is to you. You've been keeping a close eye on how I wield it."
Which perhaps goes without saying, Vergil finds impressive. It's one thing to watch Vergil's swordplay alone and be able to replicate it well. It's another to watch it when it's being used against Mizu and replicate it well. He was attentive to his footwork, where his hands ought to be with each movement, and how he should be angled toward and imaginary opponent. Even with Vergil's natural abilities and his own discipline, he couldn't claim to be able to do the same in return.
Mizu waves a hand at Vergil when he insists she drink water. Yes, yes, water. She knows. She would have gotten there on her own in time, if he'd provide a modicum of patience. Still, she drains the glass quickly and pours herself some more. It would be easier to be flat, lying down, than vertical for the lightheadedness, but Mizu doesn't mean to monopolize Vergil's bed all day. Nor his time. She doesn't mind however much time they spend together on a sparring day. Together or apart, she sets aside a whole day for it, so there's nothing else, no other demands on her time. The library and the forge can wait.
Her breathing is a little better, and Mizu grins tiredly at Vergil for the compliment. A small nod. It is often easy in Japan to identify the school a swordsman trained in and know what techniques he will use. Those fights take little effort as she uses the techniques that best counter that style, and that is all. It takes a particularly skilled fighter and/or an unfamiliar one to demand that much of her. But oh, what fun it is to learn by fighting someone.
"I mean to defeat you," Mizu says, "I must know how to predict what you do, down to every detail, so I can more effectively create and utilize openings and advantages. It is even better practicing with Mirage Edge to understand the movements. Not as easy to incorporate for use with my sword, but can't have things be too easy. That'd be boring."
There's few people she's meant to defeat she gets along with well, none she's explained that she's doing that. Then again, no one's been interested in or paid attention to the fact she does it.
"You've seen only a sliver of the styles I know. So many of them are useless to outright foolish against you."
Some would think it foolish to challenge him at all, Vergil thinks but gives no voice to it. Even if he were less talented or skilled with a blade, Vergil's raw strength and speed outclasses Mizu entirely. Most wouldn't likely even bother trying, and they would be quick to yield the moment the tide turned in Vergil's favor. But not Mizu. Mizu pushes forward and pushes himself hard to stay on his feet and in the fight for as long as he can manage, and it's Vergil that has to bring the fight to its end.
Instead, Vergil hums thoughtfully.
"You're beginning to sound like Dante," he says. "But I would hazard there's more truth to your words than his."
Dante and Vergil have fought one another more times than either of them could possibly count. So, Vergil could never reasonably claim that Dante knows nothing of his mind or what he might do when they fight one another. They both know each other well after all these years and conflicts between them. But Vergil would struggle to believe Dante is nearly as consciously thoughtful about it as Mizu is in navigating his knowledge of Vergil. He doesn't read Vergil as an open book as he claims. Dante moves on instinct, quick to react and change his approach if necessary, but it's never a carefully selected decision to counter what Vergil does. He doesn't intentionally bait Vergil into creating vulnerabilities that he can exploit. He's just as wild and unpredictable as Vergil is calculating and controlled. Fighting Dante is akin to taming the wind in that regard. He does as he wills for better or for worse, and perhaps that's why there's always been a part of Vergil that's enjoyed their bouts with one another. There is something of merit there with Dante's approach even if Vergil would be loath to acknowledge as much, and he knows he's doing well when he's able to defeat someone as unpredictable as Dante.
"You would find his approach more difficult to memorize than mine. He has good instinct, but that's the trouble with trying to predict what he will do."
Mizu wonders what Dante says that sounds similar and whether or not she would agree with it—or believe it. Vergil expresses some doubt, and Mizu trusts Vergil's ability to assess his own opponents. It might not be exactly true, whatever Dante says. Should he arrive, Mizu will assess his words for herself, same as she does everyone. She wouldn't take Vergil's word with blind faith.
Her smile doesn't go away. Instead it lops to one side. "I welcome Dante to arrive. I will defeat him as well, should he be willing to fight, and enjoy the process along the way. I never tire of getting better, and an unpredictable opponent forces other skills to improve."
By the time she defeats one, much less both, of them, Mizu's fathers shouldn't stand a chance. That alone would make her smile were she not already smiling. It is strange to feel so happy. The anger remains, as ever, but it isn't forefront as usual. Mizu stretches and checks how she feels. Not the best, but she can walk.
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She listens to Vergil, however, because he loved books from childhood. He comes from a childhood with books in it. Given how powerful his father was, that shouldn't be surprising. It's the rich and powerful men (and demons) who have libraries. It matches the pride and the search for power, in so much as that more frequently comes from men in those parts of society. Taiden has ambition, and he has pride. It's the pride of someone scraping to prove himself and drag himself up, rather than one who was born to be there. That might have made Mizu dislike Vergil, except they discussed it in the context of their mistakes costing so many people their lives. It felt different, even if it was something they had to share to ever leave that library. Now, it seems, the two closest people to her in Folkmore come from that wealthy kind of background. Vergil. And Rin.
Vergil's adolescence is particularly relatable to her current activities. It speaks to where they are in their journeys. Vergil no longer is trying to amass as much power as possible, but Mizu still walks the path of revenge. At best, she'll soon be half done. The second half of such journeys are likely harder than the first. They only ever get harder. A small sigh. She has enough difficulty learning about London. She can't imagine trying to learn the truth behind his father's power, something that would be a much more guarded secret. No jealousy there, strange as it is to learn about a place around the world that she's never been to and for which so much information is about the future.
"It's what you like, so it makes sense you would," Mizu says. She's never cared about poetry herself, but she doesn't say so. No need to insult what Vergil likes. It's not like Mizu's been exposed to much poetry in her life. She leans back against the wall, more interested in Vergil than the books themselves. "What do you like about them?"
Better to let him talk on the matter. Mizu can listen. Not everyone is as single minded as she is, and Vergil had more exposure to various things before his life went to shit than she did living in a shack in the woods. Her stories were always of the bad men who would find her if she went outside.
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"When I was a child, I liked it because it was something I didn't have to share with Dante. We're twins, so we were expected to share most everything together."
Albeit, Vergil always felt more pressure around sharing with Dante than the other way around. Dante was always so happy to let Vergil have anything, and he could never particularly understand why Vergil rarely reciprocated. Even when it was things he wasn't all that interested in like Vergil's books, he couldn't understand why Vergil didn't want to let him have them and why he'd get so angry with Dante every time he'd hide one of Vergil's books on him.
"I used to mark the things I didn't want Dante touching with a 'V'," he says, drawing the letter in the air with a finger. "Although in hindsight it was a foolish choice. It just told him which things of mine he needed to try and steal from me in order to get my attention if I kept refusing to play with him.
"Anyway, he was never much for reading. He thought it was boring, and couldn't understand why I'd rather read than play and train with him. So, the books and poems were something for me."
But it certainly grew to be more than just avoiding his brother's insistence to fight with their wooden swords, or establishing something for himself as time went on. And it wasn't even about that sense of escapism either. It was actually more about seeking a connection more than anything. Vergil found an emotional world in his reading. One that he's known so very little about in his daily life as even as a child, he found himself struggling to articulate all that he felt and saw. It's why he fell in love with Blake's poems, works that dealt with both the beautiful and uglier sides of nature and life. Vergil briefly mulls over how much of that to share, how much of it is even relevant or something Mizu would even care to know even if he did ask the question what it was about books and poetry that drew Vergil's interest before he answers.
He looks back over towards the balcony.
"I have never been...particularly skilled when it comes to connecting with others. Even as a child, I would watch Dante befriend almost anyone and I could never understand it. How he drew people in and spoke to them so easily as if they had been friends the entirety of their lives.
"But I found that connection for myself in poetry. Blake, in particular."
And then his mother was killed, and he presumed his brother was dead, and that the same fate was about to befall him as well. And the devil awakened within him, and he survived, but he swore off such connection, such emotion. It was weakness to be so human, so connected that he would grieve anyone ever again, that he would ever allow himself to be reliant upon those connections for his own protection and well-being. The colder he was able to be, the stronger he was, he thought. And so he spent years on his own, refusing help, refusing to hide who and what he was. He fought viciously for his survival, and he remained so single-minded in his pursuit of power that he let all else fall by the wayside.
"I wanted more of it, so I read as much as I could."
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Siblings or other young people not trying to beat the shit out of her is... a foreign experience for Mizu. It sounds like the kind of thing that must be normal to other people. It's like peering through the slats in her shack as a child and seeing the village children play together. Something observed not experienced, not fully understood. Dante reminds her a little of Ringo and his insistence in following Mizu, joining her, and coming along on her quest. Not the same, mind, but it's the closest she has to someone bothering her when she repeatedly tells them to go away.
She finishes eating the rest of Vergil's vegetables while he talks. The way he looks away, looks distant, when he continues leads her to still. Mizu wipes her hand on the napkin and sits quietly. While it makes so little sense to her that connection could be found in words on a page, Mizu understands the difficulty connecting with others. How much she tried when she still gave a damn about it. It takes effort not to mull over certain events, certain mistakes in her past. She won't think about them. Better to rip open her side again than revisit foolish moments.
Mizu gazes at Vergil's books and tries to see what Vergil said he found there. Her reading has been factual accounts. What stories she's read, she's focused on the details about London, not on connection and people. That superfluous information. None of it has been poetry. Mizu notes the name Blake and looks back at Vergil. The point is what it did for him. There's no expectation it would ever do the same for her. She found herself a different way.
That way doesn't involve words. Mizu's glad to listen to Vergil speak about his interest in books, in poetry, but she doesn't know what to say. Conversation isn't a skill she's developed or needed. "I didn't know you could find that in books," Mizu says, "I didn't grow up with them."
Mizu's still not sure she could find that in books, but she hasn't tried. Connection isn't what she seeks. Connection is for other people. Even, it seems, Vergil. He's in a different place than she is, no longer simply seeking power (though his continued work to regain his sword relates to it). He has room for more in his life. Poetry again. Connection. Vergil and Rin, in their own ways, have been in similar places to Mizu, but they both are in different ones now. Something past, pushed beyond, the goal itself. It raises the question: what happens after? If Mizu kills Fowler and Routley and Skeffington. She doesn't know. If she survives the process, she can figure something out then, though she will be far from anyone she's met in Folkmore at that point. These connections, what little they are, will be gone. That shouldn't matter. It doesn't. The ache is simply her wounds not fully healed.
"Then again, all I did in my youth was make knives and swords and practice my swordmanship."
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He sets the pitcher of water on the nightstand for Mizu to be able to still refill his glass as needed before gathering up the tray.
"Even if you did grow up with books, you didn't have a need for them," he says as he stands up. And Mizu isn't the sort of person to waste his time on something he doesn't place value in. "You had your smithing instead."
Vergil steps away to the kitchen, tossing out the used napkins.
"Have you considered smithing more while you're here?" Vergil asks as he sets the plates in the sink and opens the cabinet from where he pulled the tray out. Vergil feels like he already knows the answer. Mizu's never been unclear about his focus on his task of revenge. Swordsmithing doesn't exactly align so neatly with that beyond the ability to repair his own weapons as he continues to train both sharpening and maintaining his skills. But he would like to be surprised by hearing otherwise. So, he asks regardless of the certainty that hasn't likely crossed Mizu's mind all that seriously.
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Mizu sips more of the water and watches Vergil go about cleaning up. She will probably leave soon. She can walk, and Vergil doesn't need her imposing on him, his space, or his time. He's been more than fair. Still, she wouldn't have minded if he stayed sitting there longer.
"I am making a sword for someone," Mizu says, "They were searching for someone who can make katana, rather than simply summon one, and he's going to pay me in Lore." Mizu smiles, almost a smirk, at Vergil. She knows Vergil works hard to build up Lore, to have enough Lore to regain Yamato. Here she is getting paid half the cost of her healing ability to make a single sword.
"It's ensuring I make sure the forge is set up just right. I'm approaching the work as Master Eiji taught me, though I admit he's never had to make a sword for someone from another world. I'm curious to see how well I match it to him." His words about her sword, about it being too pure, too brittle, ring in her mind. Sephiroth's sword will not break on him. She'll see to it.
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"And how exactly do you match a blade to a person?" he asks as he moves the pan, cutting board, and knife to the sink.
Vergil isn't ignorant to the idea of a blade matching its wielder. Yamato was his father's blade once and Vergil's own son has wielded it as well. But he would be lying if he attempted to deny he feels a stronger claim to it than anyone else in his bloodline, including his father. By now, Vergil has full command of the Yamato's power. When he wields it, the sword is an extension of him and his will. Vergil moves with grace and speed, the blade itself enhancing his own natural abilities further. And when he transforms, the blade and its scabbard become physical parts of him. There is, in some ways, no separating Vergil from Yamato or Yamato from Vergil. Not for long. But Yamato isn't an ordinary blade made purely of steel by the hands of everyday men, and it wasn't forged with Vergil in mind. When Sparda divided his power into the blade, it was so that the gate between worlds could be properly sealed, not with the intention of one passing the blade down to a son. Vergil's connection with the blade came far later and unintentionally.
So, the question and its associated curiosity is genuine. Vergil abandons the dishes for now to return to his spot on the bed.
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The question is simple but difficult at the same time. No matter how many times Master Eiji explained it or how many swords she saw made, it's not so easy to define. It requires a deep understanding of the warrior, while a swordsmith also will not observe them live in combat. Master Eiji cannot see at all but manages to understand simply touching someone as they go through their moves, an ability Mizu could not match. He is incredible, far beyond anything else she has seen.
"In its most basic form, you need to understand how a blade will be used," Mizu explains, "You have to observe their techniques. Master Eiji refused to make a sword for anyone who would not demonstrate each and every one of his techniques, even the secret ones. Some refused, so they did not get swords." That's the simplest most basic level. A sword must be suited to the ways it will be used. However, that could lead to the same sword for every student of the same dojo, a most laughable idea.
"Those observations also reveal temperament, preferences, ticks, and other expressions of who a warrior is. Though in truth, every interaction with someone before making them a sword feeds into the understanding of them and what suits them." That's only the observations, not how it comes out in the sword.
"There are hundreds of decisions that go into making a sword, and each of them affects the outcome. Even what wood you burn to heat the metal, each piece of wood I mean, not only the kind of tree or the dryness of the wood. I don't know that I could explain each decision I make throughout the process, but attuning yourself to it and ensuring your mind is in the right state. You have to empty yourself and..."
Mizu doesn't have the words. She knows when it's right.
"You let the sword be what it should be."
A wholly unsatisfactory answer, she is sure. No one asks Master Eiji how he does it, only satisfied that he does. She learned from him, a thousand little lessons along with the larger ones. Mizu shrugs.
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His father's blades would be perhaps the closest comparison. Others are a little less comparable given that they require another demon to suffer defeat and submit to the will of its better for its continued survival. But rather than steel, they were forged of Sparda's power, and rather than to match its wielder, they were matched to a purpose given that the wielder was the same as the creator. But even those small differences make the processes seem incompatible. Sparda putting himself into his blades was not an extension of something more metaphysical like what Mizu describes. It was merely funneling raw power and manifesting it. Then again, that woman... What was her name? Vergil's brow furrows a little as he tries to recall it. Nico. Nico had been capable of forging Devil Arms. The arms that Nero used and the hat she gifted Dante had seemed appropriate to each of them. Perhaps there is some overlap that Vergil just cannot parse entirely on his own given the only Devil Arms he's possessed he either inherited or forged after defeating the devil whose power he was taking for himself.
"I'm sure you will make a blade that matches him," he says, breaking his quiet and lifting his gaze back to Mizu. "You're attentive in battle. You read my moves better each time we cross blades and apply that knowledge well. I imagine you'll understand him well enough, too, to make a blade that suits his needs."
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A small nod at the compliment. It's not praise she's used to hearing. Even when she made the sword, it was always under Master Eiji. Except for her sword. No one complimented her on her work, especially not beforehand. They thanked Master Eiji for the sword. That was that. Master Eiji gave praise and criticism as deserved. No memory stands out stronger than the broken blade, the one Mizu assumed was her fault. Her impurity. Master Eiji identified the problem cleanly with one touch of the assassin's hands. They did not match his story. Nor, in hindsight, did his treatment of Mizu learning swordplay. Chiaki is dead now, and the stories about him will fade. The sword reclaimed. For his part, Vergil is also fair with his words. He means it.
She runs a hand over the sheath of her sword and draws it into her lap. "He didn't have a sword. He doesn't want one of the ones lying around Folkmore or that could be summoned. So I let him demonstrate his techniques using my sword," Mizu says. Her sword but not one of her make. "I could see the ways it doesn't suit him."
Not that it's a perfect match for her either. She'd need to make a sword for that. She'd need to remake it, no matter that Thirteen returned it to her whole and unbroken. Mizu knows the impurity is there and cannot wield it. Will not wield it. Nor has she remade it, though it needs remaking. They spoke about it at the bonfire. She's not sure what will make her ready.
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Vergil turns his hands over in his lap and summons Mirage Edge, the flat side of the blade resting in his other palm.
"This is based on one of my father's other blades, Force Edge." A blade that Vergil only ever had the opportunity to use once before he was proven not strong enough to take hold of his father's power and suffered a crushing defeat. He tries not to taste the bitter taste the memory inspires in the back of his throat and offers it to Mizu. For as many times as Mizu has been struck by Mirage Edge, he's never had the opportunity to actually examine it.
If Mizu takes it, Mirage Edge will feel no different from any other blade. It has weight and balance of its own even if it's not made from any sort of tangible materials. Without any means of sensing magic, there's nothing that belies all that Mizu has seen it can do. Really the only thing that seems to speak to its nature at all is the fact it's the same sort of warmth that had been Vergil had been exhausting when he transformed. It's almost as though Mizu has been able to physically hold the sensation of warming his hands over a fire.
"I tried to claim it for myself once, but it was not meant to be. I only came to use this phantom version of it when Yamato was..." he says, hesitating as he tries to find the right word. There are many he could use. Lost. Nearly destroyed. Broken. Ripped away. He finds a middle ground. "...Taken."
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Fortunately, Vergil speaks of his sword, Mirage Edge. He summons it, and something thrums through Mizu's blood. Yet it's not that time. Little is more serious than a warrior speaking of his sword. Mizu listens with intent interest. Though the sword is more than steel, a fact Mizu's wounds time and again attest to, it is still a sword, a blade.
She accepts the sword and immediately notes the unnatural but familiar warmth. It raises the immediate, if foolish sounding, question: is the sword a part of Vergil? A sword and an extension of himself both. It would explain why he has it, why he had it when he arrived in Folkmore when the fox spirit takes everyone's weapons. Mizu tests its balance, finding the point upon which it will rest on a single point. Her movements are slow, respectful, though she wants to learn everything she can about it with a hunger that comes from making swords.
Her gaze returns to Vergil when he continues talking. It gets more difficult for him, and Mizu wonders at the circumstances under which Yamato was taken. Vergil is so strong a fighter it's hard to imagine almost anyone defeating him and taking his sword. There's no satisfaction in confirmation it's possible to defeat Vergil. She already knew she can. Instead it feels akin to the moment her sword broke in Fowler's castle. Not the same, she knows, but it's as close a moment for her as that could feel like.
"I haven't seen Yamato or Force Edge, but Mirage Edge is an incredible sword," Mizu says. Her head tilts slightly. A phantom version. "Did you... make it?"
Her heart beats faster, and Mizu awaits the answer even as she continues to inspect the sword. It's incredible, and she wants to know how such a sword is made.
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"In a sense, yes," he says, answering his question in brief first before providing the fuller explanation. "After my mother died, my demonic power had awakened. I knew my father was able to manifest his power as his blades, and I wanted to learn the same.
"My father loving humanity as he did is a rarity among his kind. Most demons would sooner use humans as fuel for their own power than even entertain the notion of anything else. So, for my father falling in love with a human woman, and siring two sons was exceptional." On its surface, it could seem as though Vergil were once again boasting about how extraordinary his father was, how disciplined he was to defy his very nature to not only see value in and protect humanity, but to have found someone among the humans to begin building a life with together. But Vergil is not propping his parents and their love upon a pedestal any more than he is truly boasting about his own power right now. It's more statement of fact than anything else. "So, I had to learn through my own methods."
There was no Master Eiji to teach and guide Vergil. There wasn't anyone. So, Vergil arguably has not learned what his father could do. But in a somewhat rare instance, Vergil doesn't view it as a failure or shortcoming on his part in not living up to the full extent of Sparda's legacy. What he's capable of doing suits his needs well, and unlike what Sparda did in forming Yamato, Rebellion, and Force Edge, Vergil will always be able to retain his power with Mirage Edge. There is no danger of it falling into the hands of another or someone Vergil did not will to wield it.
"I began with the smaller blades that you've seen, but I didn't possess such mastery over them immediately. I was only able to summon one at a time and slowly in the beginning." But as with anything, practice led to greater and greater speed and skill. Vergil eventually began to experiment as his confidence and ability grew. Now he can summon them just as easily as he draws breath, arranging them as he sees fit for each situation. "Each blade that I summon is made of my own power, including Mirage Edge. Without me, it would not exist."
So, the seemingly foolish question has an answer: Mirage Edge is a part of Vergil. It is a physical manifestation of his power and will that Mizu holds in his hands.
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Half-demon Vergil called himself and meant it literally. Mizu doesn't know what his demons are like, but she's familiar with how people treat someone born a mix of two types that should not mix. That in Vergil's case, people think should not mix. Just as she lacked a teacher to learn swordsmanship, Vergil did not have someone to teach him to make Mirage Edge. Her admiration for Vergil increases, different though the process of manifesting his power and forging a blade may be. It underscores how much of his fancier fighting style is self-made, and Mizu smiles a little. No matter how insane fighting him is, Mizu enjoys it, and she'll enjoy it even more after this.
The urge to rise, to take a fighting stance, and to practice with Mirage Edge is there, but Mizu remains sitting. Vergil did not give her permission to do that, and she will not take liberties with his sword. She runs a hand down the flat of the blade, enjoying its warm and design. Mizu does not covet Vergil's power. She relies on what she can do, but she respects it. She respects making this. Though she's seen all she needs to see of Mirage Edge, she holds onto it a little longer. Vergil could take it back at any time, not only by etiquette or force but by will. He lets her hold it and inspect it.
"That must have been hard," Mizu says. Not a compliment or an insult. "Now you are always armed, even when a fox spirit brings you to a new world."
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It's only when Mizu makes a motion to return it that Vergil will dismiss the blade. He has no issue with Mizu taking his time to inspect and admire the blade, and doing with as he wills with it. It's not as though Mizu could do anything to damage it and he certainly doesn't have command over it to begin tearing Vergil's apartment apart. Not that he thinks Mizu would consider the latter even if it were possible. Limiting themselves to just a training session with no weapons had been more out of respect for Vergil's space than concern for his still healing injuries for Mizu from what Vergil could discern. But barring Mizu attempting to return it to him, he leaves the blade entirely in Mizu's hands.
"It's arguably more useful when a swordsman with a degree of earned confidence but too much ambition decides he must make defeating me an impossible goal of his."
It's a teasing taunt and in his typical fashion, Vergil doesn't draw too much attention to it, but there is a compliment embedded in his words.
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"Impossible," Mizu repeats, her eyes on the sword but nearly laughing. It hurts too much to laugh. "Arrogance like that will only set the foundation for my victory."
She looks up for a moment, a challenging gleam in her eye. "Some day you will exhaust the supply of surprises you have in store I have not seen yet. Each time you are forced to reveal one, you lose."
Sorry, humility is not among Mizu's skills.
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"Is that so?" Vergil raises an eyebrow as he reclines back ever so slightly, resting some of his weight back onto a hand. Not that Vergil had his doubts that Mizu had recovered sufficiently in the time allotted for a short nap, some meditation, and a bit of food, but the look in his eyes, that spark of his usual fire tells Vergil that he is certainly recovered well by now. It's good to see even Vergil doesn't know quite how to articulate exactly why it is. He just knows that he goes looking for it every time they clash blades. "So, you must change the parameters of defines a victory in order to secure your success by declaring what's clearly been my victory my loss instead?"
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"It's your actions, your choices, that see them losses. Some supernatural ability you would not otherwise use being forced upon you," Mizu says, "If you did not pride yourself on holding them back, it would be meaningless. I said it was your loss, not my success. It is but a stepping stone which I will use to defeat you."
She hadn't brought multiple grenades today. Would they have done anything to that thick scaled skin that her sword did not? What properties are needed to breach it? Could Vergil have done the same while clearly struggling from internal damage? Mizu cannot claim pleasure at seeing Vergil stagger, injured as he was, but it is useful information, information she might need to win. With all he can do, there's no such thing as fighting fair. There never was.
She runs her fingers slowly across Mirage's Edge, feeling more than she can see with her eyes. This too will help her, not that she needs that reason to get to know it so closely.
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Regardless, Vergil was pushed a little harder today. The cuts and bruises still on his body, one of the latter being so prominent upon his face, are the lingering evidence of that. Even Mizu must have noticed by now that not all of Vergil's wounds have healed or even shown any visible signs of progress towards healing since the end of their latest bout. He supposes that as much as it is a bruising to his own ego, he can understand the pride Mizu takes and why it most certainly feels like an accomplishment. Vergil will never unleash his full strength against him, and that is a fact. But today, Vergil bled and bruised, and if it wasn't for his other form today, there's no telling if he wouldn't have been the one woozy and unable to walk straight for long.
He opts not to lecture or chastise Mizu for the use of his explosives. He doesn't balk or bristle at the feeling of defeat or the beating his own ego takes over it. Nor does he offer any further praise or acknowledgement of skill. Vergil simply lets it be, deciding neither to spoil nor encourage the other swordsman's pride. Mizu could rest well in his knowledge of a job well done today, and hold it close to his chest that for as invulnerable as Vergil is to a human like him, he's capable of pushing past Vergil's defenses and abilities.
"You may try it for yourself," he says instead, nodding at Mirage Edge. He's been watching Mizu touch it and examine it this whole time, but even Vergil is aware that touch and sight can only say so much about a blade. Wielding it is the only way to know its true nature. As Vergil gives his explicit consent, Mirage Edge crackles with just a little more energy. Not enough that it looks entirely as it does when Vergil begins tapping into its power with quick slashes that carry far beyond the initial strike. It's more akin to a blade being removed from its scabbard than that. Except Mirage Edge bears no scabbard, and so the sword somewhat comes alive with power instead.
Vergil knows it won't feel natural to Mizu's hands. The blade isn't at all similar to those Mizu has likely held before beyond just its origins, but also in its design and style. But he's seen enough of what Vergil does with it to likely understand some basic movements with the blade as it is that he can experiment whether through mimicking what he's seen of Vergil or trying something of his own making or knowledge. Vergil gestures with his free hand over towards what ought to be a living area that Vergil has left open for the sake of a training space. "Over there."
There isn't much in Vergil's apartment that could be potentially destroyed with any sort of reckless swinging, but better for Mizu to have more space than necessary than any sort of restrictions all the same.
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Even as thoughts and memories of Shindo dojo come to her, Mizu knows Vergil does not look at her the way she looked at those swordsmen, at all those swordsmen except Taigen. (Presumably the master of the dojo could equally be a challenge if he has not grown soft, but it would take far more for him to deem to fight her, and she did not need that from him). He never would have handed over his blade, never would have... she doesn't know, so much of what they've done, if he thought of her that way. His opinion of her won't change her opinion of herself, mind, but she would be disappointed, yes disappointed, to lose his company in sparring.
Instead he offers the use of his sword. Mizu's head shoots up, and she stares openly at him, mouth dropping open a little. After a moment or so for it to sink in as a serious offer (it's Vergil, it wouldn't be like him to joke about something so serious and personal), she pushes the covers further back, unfolds, and steps out of the bed onto the floor. Her foot is much better than before, and this opportunity makes her more grateful for it than she would be otherwise. What is limping around for a while compared to getting to take Mirage Edge through its paces?
"Yes," Mizu inhales, excited.
Mizu moves to the center of the training space, takes a deep breath, and despite the pain across her ribs and continued soreness in her arm takes up Vergil's ready position, the one he usually takes with Mirage Edge. Mizu pauses and adjusts her position to make it more correct in small details. Then she works through a series of basic moves Vergil regularly uses. She stops when she needs to in order to correct the technique. It's not her usual way of moving, but this has always been how she's learned. Observing and copying others. Mizu repeats herself over and over. Each movement focused on having the correct technique more than power or speed. That can come with time and experience.
Silly perhaps, but everything else falls away. The lingering pain. The enjoyable argument with Vergil. All of it, compared to a man and a sword and copying techniques. They will not work with her sword as she has, but the fox spirit offers different weapons at different times. This work, this from the inside out, is Vergil.
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Whatever jest or teasing remark Vergil might have conjured up as Mizu begins to work through the movements that he's seen time and again from Vergil quiets long before it can reach his lips. Watching from where he's seated near the foot of his bed, Vergil is quietly impressed. For one who accused Vergil of cheating in his innate ability to understand a weapon by mere touch, Mizu is not too far off that mark himself. He's been on the receiving end of Vergil's techniques a few times now, and he moves carefully through each set of moves. Without Vergil needing to say a word, he spots his own mistakes quickly. He pauses. Corrects. Finishes. Tries again. Each repetition carries the intent of perfecting it. There is nothing else beyond Mizu and Mirage Edge, following each step that he can of Vergil's repertoire. He'd anticipated that it wouldn't be a series of undisciplined, wild swings or some dull experimentation with the balance and weight, but Vergil hadn't expected this.
It's not exactly atypical for Vergil to have nothing to say. He's always been quiet and more reserved than most, leaving others to often wonder and speculate what it is going through his mind. But now isn't a moment of Vergil's typical silence so much as it is speechlessness because he wants to say something. Anything about Mizu's dedication and attention to detail to immediately recognize his own mistakes. The grace of his movements even while still recovering from injuries and no doubt experience his own degree of soreness. Vergil uncrosses his legs so that both feet now rest on the floor, sitting up straighter with his hands in his lap as words come to him.
To see a World in a Grain of Sand
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand
And Eternity in an hour
They are not his own words and he does not speak them. But they and their meaning settle with each pulse of Vergil's heart because it's true. There is something inherently magnificent and greater than it seems about something as mundane as Mizu running through Vergil's movements and attempting to perfect them in his replication. Something that Vergil would not likely have been able to see or understand years ago, but he can come to appreciate now.
Vergil purses his lips slightly and almost wishes they were still outside with more space. Mizu wouldn't be able to control the other things that Mirage Edge can do beyond that of a typical blade. Mirage Edge isn't a fully realized Devil Arm wherein its wielder can access the full extent of its power like that if it accepts them as its master, but Vergil would still be able to exert his will over it. It would be interesting to see if they could work so in tandem with one another like that. He itches for more, wanting to summon his clone once more to give Mizu something to practice against or hell, to spar with Mizu again himself for another exhilarating bout.
But he makes no more suggestion than he does pay a compliment. It's greedy and selfish to want more right now with the state Mizu is in. His wounds may be closed, but he's lost a significant amount of blood and he's still not yet in his peak condition once more. Pushing him past his limits and encouraging that sort of behavior would likely only lead to disaster. Perhaps not today, but eventually. Vergil glances away to look outside the balcony, drawing an intentionally slow breath and releasing it before looking at Mizu again. This is enough, he tells himself. It is enough that Mizu practices as he does now, working with the strength and skill that he now possesses.
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It's the start of properly learning both this kind of sword, in so much as Mirage Edge represents a sword made of steel in the same shape, and the techniques. Mizu hardly expects to wield Mirage Edge in sparring, much less actual fighting where her life is on the line. That doesn't matter. Learning it is in and of itself a reward. It demonstrates so much more about the sword and the way Vergil uses it. Feeling her muscles go through the movement with the right sword teaches her a great deal. Mizu could readily go through it for hours with no thought to any other considerations (it is not as though Mizu ever has plans for the rest of the day, when she spars Vergil, this being the first time she heals at all the day of).
She moves into small combinations Vergil frequently uses. It takes up more of the space at a time, but there is plenty. Mizu remains aware enough to know she won't hit anything. That's all she needs. Focused as she is, Mizu enjoys herself immensely. It carries on she's not sure how long, but her body in time shows its limits. There's some soreness, but she also feels somewhat woozy. Those aren't things that concern her terribly, save that her technique, carefully practiced, starts to slip and need more corrections. That simply won't do. Mizu will not compromise her body's learning of the moves. With some regret it's already over (already? after how long?), Mizu lowers Mirage Edge.
She walks smoothly, by force of will, back toward Vergil on the bed, bows with the sword resting across both her hands, and offers it back. Once he takes it, Mizu returns to the other end of the bed and sits. Before she practiced with Mirage Edge, she was ready to go home under her own power. For a short bit, she needs another break. That's all. It will be short before she's ready again. She's no invalid.
"Mirage Edge is incredible," Mizu says. Her face would be flush had she more blood in her body. Instead, her breathing is harder. It doesn't matter. She's lit up from within. "Very different from what I'm used to. I'd have to make a hundred terrible swords like it to finally make one of that shape and balance properly. It still wouldn't be Mirage Edge." She knows it's not steel the way her swords are.
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Vergil isn't sad or disappointed about the fact Mizu will take his leave, and return to his home in Wintermute, but Vergil can't say he's...minded this extra time with Mizu either. It hasn't been unpleasant.
"Drink," he says, nodding to Mizu's glass and the pitcher still on the nightstand. It will help with his breathing, forcing him to slow it back down to something gentler, and continue re-hydrating him after the day's activities. Vergil doesn't leave Mizu's words without a response though. Prompting him to care to his physical needs merely took some priority. "You seemed to take to it quickly. For as different as it is to you. You've been keeping a close eye on how I wield it."
Which perhaps goes without saying, Vergil finds impressive. It's one thing to watch Vergil's swordplay alone and be able to replicate it well. It's another to watch it when it's being used against Mizu and replicate it well. He was attentive to his footwork, where his hands ought to be with each movement, and how he should be angled toward and imaginary opponent. Even with Vergil's natural abilities and his own discipline, he couldn't claim to be able to do the same in return.
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Her breathing is a little better, and Mizu grins tiredly at Vergil for the compliment. A small nod. It is often easy in Japan to identify the school a swordsman trained in and know what techniques he will use. Those fights take little effort as she uses the techniques that best counter that style, and that is all. It takes a particularly skilled fighter and/or an unfamiliar one to demand that much of her. But oh, what fun it is to learn by fighting someone.
"I mean to defeat you," Mizu says, "I must know how to predict what you do, down to every detail, so I can more effectively create and utilize openings and advantages. It is even better practicing with Mirage Edge to understand the movements. Not as easy to incorporate for use with my sword, but can't have things be too easy. That'd be boring."
There's few people she's meant to defeat she gets along with well, none she's explained that she's doing that. Then again, no one's been interested in or paid attention to the fact she does it.
"You've seen only a sliver of the styles I know. So many of them are useless to outright foolish against you."
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Instead, Vergil hums thoughtfully.
"You're beginning to sound like Dante," he says. "But I would hazard there's more truth to your words than his."
Dante and Vergil have fought one another more times than either of them could possibly count. So, Vergil could never reasonably claim that Dante knows nothing of his mind or what he might do when they fight one another. They both know each other well after all these years and conflicts between them. But Vergil would struggle to believe Dante is nearly as consciously thoughtful about it as Mizu is in navigating his knowledge of Vergil. He doesn't read Vergil as an open book as he claims. Dante moves on instinct, quick to react and change his approach if necessary, but it's never a carefully selected decision to counter what Vergil does. He doesn't intentionally bait Vergil into creating vulnerabilities that he can exploit. He's just as wild and unpredictable as Vergil is calculating and controlled. Fighting Dante is akin to taming the wind in that regard. He does as he wills for better or for worse, and perhaps that's why there's always been a part of Vergil that's enjoyed their bouts with one another. There is something of merit there with Dante's approach even if Vergil would be loath to acknowledge as much, and he knows he's doing well when he's able to defeat someone as unpredictable as Dante.
"You would find his approach more difficult to memorize than mine. He has good instinct, but that's the trouble with trying to predict what he will do."
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Her smile doesn't go away. Instead it lops to one side. "I welcome Dante to arrive. I will defeat him as well, should he be willing to fight, and enjoy the process along the way. I never tire of getting better, and an unpredictable opponent forces other skills to improve."
By the time she defeats one, much less both, of them, Mizu's fathers shouldn't stand a chance. That alone would make her smile were she not already smiling. It is strange to feel so happy. The anger remains, as ever, but it isn't forefront as usual. Mizu stretches and checks how she feels. Not the best, but she can walk.
"Thank you for... all of this."
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