If someone asked which Stand in JoJo’s Bizarre Adventure benefited the most from later revelations and expanded interpretations, there would be plenty of room for debate.
But if the question were reversed—if someone asked which Stand had suffered the harshest downgrade over time—Lucian Vale would answer without hesitation.
Silver Chariot.
Before Lucian ever awakened a Stand of his own, he had learned swordsmanship while fighting beside Jean Pierre Polnareff.
He studied the wounds Polnareff left on his enemies, observed the changes in air pressure created by every slash, and reconstructed the principles behind Silver Chariot’s attacks through sheer biological perception.
Silver Chariot possessed a Power rank of C and a Speed rank of A.
Lucian’s own body possessed both Power and Speed at A.
In raw physical performance, he had eventually surpassed Polnareff even before gaining Earth Song.
That fact depressed Polnareff for quite some time.
The one comfort was that Silver Chariot allowed its user to see other Stands—something Lucian, before awakening Earth Song, could not do on his own.
After obtaining Earth Song, Lucian had naturally tested Silver Chariot’s ability for himself.
He expected that reproducing such a famous Stand might reveal hidden techniques or some deeper secret.
Instead, the result was painfully disappointing.
Silver Chariot was almost a completely blank combat Stand.
It could not share its vision with Lucian.
Worse, Earth Song’s imitation did not inherit the armor-shedding technique or the ability to launch its rapier like Polnareff’s original Stand.
Activating Silver Chariot merely transformed Earth Song into another version of Lucian—one that knew swordsmanship and little else.
After a single experiment, Lucian never bothered using it again.
He did not yet know that, far in the future, this supposedly simple Stand would become the only one capable of crossing the boundary of time and space to affect his state of mind.
For now, however, Jean Pierre Polnareff and Silver Chariot truly were an ill-fated pair.
The moment Frederica Gunnhildr saw Lucian’s stance, every trace of contempt vanished from her face.
A swordsman’s level could often be sensed before the first clash.
Breathing.
Balance.
The distribution of weight across the feet.
The line connecting shoulder, wrist, and blade.
At that moment, Lucian no longer resembled the lazy foreigner who had been drinking in the plaza.
In Frederica’s eyes, a silver-armored swordsman seemed to stand behind him, perfectly aligned with the white blade in his hand.
The sense of danger was immediate.
It had been years since Frederica encountered an opponent who stirred her fighting spirit so completely.
What could be more satisfying than testing oneself against a true master?
“Come!”
Frederica gripped her sword in one hand and surged forward.
She intended to seize the initiative before Lucian established control of the duel.
Below the arena, Barbara stamped her foot in frustration.
How could her mother behave like this?
Frederica was already challenging someone who appeared far younger than she was.
Now she had attacked first without even offering Lucian the courtesy of an opening move.
Barbara did not understand swordsmanship well enough to recognize what the experienced fighters in the crowd had already noticed.
Before the first blade crossed the air, Frederica had placed herself at a disadvantage.
Several skilled swordsmen among the Knights of Favonius exchanged uneasy glances.
Could Lucian truly defeat the Alder Knight with swordsmanship alone?
Frederica unleashed Favonius Bladework at full force.
Her sword flashed through a sequence of sharp, precise attacks.
Each thrust aimed directly toward a vital point, forcing an ordinary opponent either to retreat or risk being pierced.
Lucian did neither.
Holding Aquila Favonia in one hand, he made a short, almost casual thrust.
The tip of his blade touched the flat of Frederica’s sword at exactly the right angle.
Clang!
Her first attack collapsed.
Frederica changed direction instantly.
Her wrist turned, converting the failed thrust into a diagonal cut.
Lucian tapped her blade again.
The second technique broke apart.
Then the third.
And the fourth.
The difference in pure technique was not wide enough for Lucian to crush her immediately.
Frederica was no ordinary knight.
Decades of training had polished her instincts, and every failed attack flowed naturally into the next.
But swordsmanship was not decided by technique alone.
The difference in their bodies was an uncrossable chasm.
Lucian’s strength was not merely exceptional.
A normal sword striking his bare skin at full force would be more likely to throw sparks than draw blood.
Their blades met seven times.
Then eight.
With every exchange, Frederica’s unease grew.
She used nearly seventy percent of her strength in each attack, preserving the remaining thirty percent so she could change direction or defend against a counter.
Lucian barely moved.
His arm did not tremble.
His breathing did not quicken.
His feet had not shifted by even half a step.
What kind of monster was he?
“Bastard!”
Frederica jumped back, fury burning across her face.
“Take me seriously!”
The shout did not match her refined appearance in the slightest.
She could accept defeat.
What she could not accept was being handled like a child while her opponent showed no effort at all.
Lucian’s expression became solemn.
“You asked for it.”
“Come!”
Lucian tightened his grip around Aquila Favonia.
Frederica’s instincts screamed.
This was the real attack.
She focused every bit of attention on his blade.
Her gaze locked onto the movement of his wrist, prepared to react the instant the sword changed direction.
Lucian’s forearm tensed.
Muscle gathered beneath his skin like coiled steel cables.
Veins rose across his arm, and the air around the blade seemed to tighten beneath the force waiting to be released.
Then Aquila Favonia disappeared.
Frederica’s eyes widened.
The sword had not truly vanished.
It was moving too quickly to see.
Like the blades of a fan spinning at impossible speed, only pale streaks remained in the air.
A dense curtain of white afterimages filled Frederica’s vision before she could process the first thrust.
A thousand needle-like stings touched her body.
Shoulders.
Arms.
Torso.
Legs.
Each impact was perfectly controlled.
The tip of Aquila Favonia struck with enough force to be felt, but not enough to pierce fabric or break skin.
Frederica could not move.
She could not defend.
She could not even determine how many times she had been struck.
Clang.
Her Favonius sword slipped from her numb fingers and fell onto the arena.
The metal rang once against the platform.
The duel was over.
Frederica staggered backward and dropped onto the ground.
Her eyes lost focus.
“I lost…”
Her voice was hollow.
“I apologize for failing to let Master Lucian enjoy the duel.”
Barbara’s heart nearly stopped.
For one terrible moment, she thought Lucian had seriously injured her mother.
Then she looked closer.
Frederica’s clothing remained intact.
There was no blood.
No wound.
Only the devastated expression of a master who had been overwhelmingly defeated in the field she valued most.
Being crushed at one’s greatest strength was a pain few people could endure gracefully.
Lucian lowered Aquila Favonia.
“Thank you for the match.”
His voice carried genuine respect.
Frederica was mortal, and yet she had refined her swordsmanship to an exceptional level.
For a human of her age and circumstances, the achievement deserved recognition.
He looked toward the edge of the arena.
“Barbara, come help your mother.”
Barbara hurried onto the platform.
As she passed Lucian, she looked at him with an expression too complicated to name—part admiration, part resentment, part curiosity, and something warmer that she did not yet understand.
He had defeated Frederica in the very discipline that made the Alder Knight famous.
And he had done it without leaving a single injury.
How?
Barbara knelt beside her mother and helped her stand.
The crowd’s mood changed as Frederica left the arena supported by Barbara.
Lucian had defeated the Alder Knight without using his full strength.
That much was obvious.
The speed he displayed at the end had exceeded normal human perception.
Against an attack like that, possessing a Vision would make little difference unless the opponent abandoned the rules and flooded the arena with elemental power.
Where had this monster come from?
The crowd had originally assumed that overwhelming the arena with numbers would guarantee victory.
Now that confidence began to crumble.
Could sheer numbers defeat someone who moved faster than their eyes could follow?
Attention shifted away from the “master and two disciples.”
Now everyone watched Lucian alone.
Amber’s jaw nearly dropped.
“He won…”
That was Frederica Gunnhildr.
The Alder Knight.
One of Mondstadt’s finest swordswomen.
Lucian had defeated her as easily as if he were correcting a training exercise.
Beside Amber, Eula’s eyes softened.
Her gaze rested on Lucian with such warmth that it seemed almost liquid beneath the morning sun.
“He really is amazing…”
Lucian had not even disturbed his breathing.
He turned toward Eula and gave her a brief wink, his expression reassuring.
The message was clear.
Trust me.
Excitement surged through Eula.
She seized Amber’s hand and pulled her back toward the arena.
This time, Amber did not resist.
The fear she had felt earlier was gone, replaced by the overwhelming security of standing behind someone absurdly powerful.
Lucian was strong enough to defeat the Alder Knight without effort.
What did they have left to fear?
The larger today’s commotion became, the better.
At this rate, the entire event might be recorded in Mondstadt’s history.
Amber stepped onto the platform and looked provocatively toward the people below whose orange lights still exposed their prejudice.
“Come on!” she called.
“You were all so eager to talk before.
Why are you quiet now?”
No one answered.
But as the spectators looked from Lucian to Eula, something in their expressions began to change.
The first emotion was not acceptance.
It was envy.
Eula Lawrence had someone powerful enough to stand before an entire city for her.
And that was something many of them could not help but desire.
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