Book 1: Chapter 45: The Sands Once more

Book 1: Chapter 45: The Sands Once more

Every strike must be filled with the deadly intent of damaging your opponent. Your attacks your defense, your defense your attack. You must be the discord in your opponent’s sword song.Ñøv€lRapture marked the initial hosting of this chapter on Ñôv€lß¡n.

- The Living Sword by Fen Vaigorus circa 520 AC.

We flowed with the tide of the cloth city, distancing ourselves from the scene of the crime, my mind understanding what I had just done and my steps growing lighter. My senses soon picked up on another rumbling, as my eyes laid upon a large gathering of people, the sounds and howls of combat familiar to my ear. Kidu and I made our way toward the origin of the sound.

A crowd of people surrounded a large primitive fighting pit dug into the ground with crude wooden walls around its perimeter. Its floor was lined with white coarse sand the color of bleached bone with rough benches and boxes to hold the spectators. The fervor of the crowd swelled like a living, breathing beast, its very pulse stirring the air with a palpable ferocity. The place was bereft of the scale and thin veneer of civilization and pomp of the place where I had made my first kill. This sordid arena was just a place to satiate man’s bestial base desires.

Two men, clad in archaic-looking armor and weapons resembling the Greek hoplites of antiquity, were fighting to the raucous cheers of the crowd. Money was constantly changing hands, as people looked to make their fortune on the next clash of steel.

I asked Kidu to clear us a way to the edge of the pit so that we might observe the fight more closely. His bulk parted the crowd like a leviathan of the deep cutting through a school of lesser fish, and I followed closely in his wake until we reached a good vantage point.

A man with a spear and shield was facing off against a man equipped with two straight swords of differing lengths. They seemed evenly matched in terms of speed and skill, but the sword wielder appeared to be tiring. The spearman was willing to accept the brunt of his attacks, keeping his distance and baiting the swordsman with his spear’s longer reach.

The two fighters disengaged from each other, and I took that moment to quickly cast Identify on both. The magic came to me easily, but for the first time more slowly, as if the energy was flowing through a resistor. I surmised that my slower casting may have something to do with my new thick armor.

Arvan Azzarik - Gladiator (Human lvl.13) Health 191/191 Stamina 24/39

Mana 9/9

Gaven Tolaris - Gladiator (Human lvl.15) Health 187/187 Stamina 12/38

Mana 7/7

The two fighters were, unsurprisingly, Gladiators. The casting confirmed what I had previously observed without the aid of my spell; they were closely matched in ability. However, the spearman Arvan, having more Mana than the swordsman Gaven, seemed to be the ‘smarter’ fighter. His wily tactic of baiting his opponent into making ineffectual attacks was slowly draining away the Stamina of his enemy.

Suddenly, the swordsman engaged in one last desperate gamble. He seemed to split into two identical images, as he began his new assault against the spearman. Gaven’s blade became a whirlwind of steel, crashing against the spearman Arvan’s guard in a lightning tempest of blows. In turn, Arvan’s shield became a blur of motion, intercepting all of the savage blows. The display appeared to be as if born from magic, well beyond the scope of normal martial prowess.

Why isn’t he shouting the skill?” I whispered to my companion, remembering my own fight with Jongshoi.

Vidone was a clear plant. The human’s physical attributes were clearly superior to the orc, despite appearances seeming otherwise. He was also eight levels higher, which clearly cemented his chances of winning. Thanks to my magic, this was clear to me; although apparently not to others in the crowd, who clamored to place their bets with a bookkeeper behind a long wooden counter.

At a wooden counter behind iron bars, money was quickly exchanged for stamped betting slips. A man was writing down names under the watchful eye of two burly guards, who loomed menacingly. On the other end, at a different station, a bored-looking man was shuffling papers and taking a few bets from the braver members of the crowd, who placed their fortunes on Vidone’s delicate blade. Kidu and I moved over, and the bored man behind the counter looked over at us before greeting us in a dull monotone voice bereft of the spark of interest.

“How much...and your name, please? Odds are twelve to one on the Quassian,” he said in utter disinterest, barely looking up to meet my eyes.

“Two silver, the name is...” I paused for a fraction, suddenly realizing that it wouldn’t be the best of ideas to give my real name. “Elwin Tucker,” I finished confidently, causing Kidu to tense up for a moment before relaxing again.

Placing the lion’s share of our remaining funds on the counter, I gave the bored man an assured smile. He quickly wrote the amount, alongside the false name I had given on a small piece of parchment before marking it with a stamp that glowed a dull blue as it made contact with the paper. This was the third magical artifact I had encountered since coming to this world, and for a few minutes, I gaped like a fish out of water.

The betting clerk, noticing my reaction, explained matter-of-factly, “A truth-seal, it guarantees that bets are honored at Ansarai’s Fighting Pit,” before passing the slip of paper to me and then turning to take the bet of another man.

I had to fight to suppress my excitement. I had never gambled before in the old world, preferring to always play things safely. For the first time in my life, I felt the seductive thrill of truly risking something, similar to how I had felt when I had been engaged in battle. It was even better, for I was almost one hundred percent certain that I would win, and at that moment, I understood why some fell on the addictive path of gambling.

An unspoken communication was made between the bookkeepers and the woman who was strutting on the sands, her mix of latent violence and sexuality still intoxicating to behold. The woman exited the fighting pit, a signal for the fight to begin. The crowd returned to the edges of the ring as the two fighters began to warily circle one another.

The orc beat his chest in savage fury, challenging the diminutive man. In response, Vidone simply raised his rapier to his face, kissing the hilt, before adopting an en garde position. The bestial brute then charged directly at Vidone, waving his giant cleaver in front of him in wild arcs, seeking to overpower the Duelist with his raw strength and brutality. But wherever the orc swung, the small human simply wasn’t there, the green monster’s dark iron blade missing him by inches as he swayed left and right, ducking and weaving through every blow.

The crowd went wild, lusting for blood. Dodging a particularly clumsy thrust, Vidone took a moment to bow to the crowd. Like a lone matador baiting a bull in the tercio faena, he knew how to put on a show. He danced around his opponent with eminent skill. The orc was beginning to weaken as exhaustion took its toll.

The duelist met Gnarlug blade to blade, needle-thin rapier against brutish war cleaver, parrying each and every one of his attacks with a delicate flick of the wrist, to the astonishment of all. This time, Vidone was beginning to draw blood with blindingly fast two-tempo counters. His elegant sword wrote the script of death in sweeping strokes and flourishes, leaving shallow red lines across the barbaric green warrior’s skin.

Seeing the vast difference between physical skill and ability, I knew then that the orc’s loss was all but certain. Still, with the likelihood of him losing, I did not want his potential death to go to waste, so I readied a spell. His death would add to my power. Gathering my magic to me, I cast Drain silently, sending the thin threads of the darkest gossamer midnight to attach to the now rabid orc as he swept a mighty horizontal slash at the small man. Unlike my use of Identify, my Drain spell seemed to be unimpeded by my new heavy equipment. I surmised that perhaps this was because they were different types of spells.

I would have to leave such musing for later, as I observed the results of my magic come to fruition. Sensing something afoot, the skilled swordsman paused for a fraction of a moment, which threw his next parry off. Unable to divert the kinetic energy of an upwards slash, the lighter blade failed to stop the cleaver from smashing into the Duelist’s guard. Although the two combatants were probably similar in raw Strength, the same could not be said for mass, as the force of the blow lifted the willowy man several meters into the air only for him to crash down a second later.

Nonplussed by this turn of events I kept my spell going, still reeling from surprise as I held my breath, praying for the slight man to get up as the orc’s life energies kept flowing into me. My greed for sweet experience and power was ruining my plans. The crowd was silent, until Gnarlug followed up with a smashing blow, seeking to end the life of the duelist. By some miracle, Vidone evaded it by a hair’s breadth, desperately rolling to his left with none of his practiced elegance. This caused the crowd to go wild once more as the fight to the death resumed.

The playfulness had left the smaller fighter’s eyes. Gnarlug’s lucky blow had served as a call for greater caution on the pearl sands, the duelist’s confidence clearly shaken. Through a gash in his elegant blue jacket, I saw the silvery flash of delicate chainmail that had stopped the edge of the blade, if not the full force. The blow that connected must have been so powerful that, even partially deflected, it had grazed his chest.

The much smaller man’s moves were now less flamboyant and a lot more practical, as he lightly avoided his opponent's attacks, his facial expression growing more serious as the exchange drew on. Then, almost without warning, it was suddenly over. The small man bent slightly at the knee and then moved so quickly that he simply seemed to appear behind the large primitive warrior, before plunging his thin silvery blade through the back of the orc’s heavy skull.

You have slain Gnarlug Bonegrinder 75 experience gained You have gained 1 Intelligence

A great silence descended on the crowd. As the notification of the orc's death filled my vision, the giant monster slumped to the white sand with a heavy thud. My eyes darted over the scene before me...those movements were too fast for someone of the mortal realm to accomplish unaided. I shifted uneasily; the realization dawning that beyond doubt some form of the arcane arts had been employed to assure Vidone’s victory.