Two weeks later, Shadehill
Yuri sighed as he stretched his back after a long ride in the back of a wagon with only a window to show the outside world, being finally allowed to step out of the vehicle with the purpose of resting, instead of the usual mercenary work they did on every city, town or village they stopped. Usually it went for a few hours then they left, taking a few days to the next stop, hence and repeat. Now, they were outside of the East Border of the Confederation, doing the usual check-up of documents, purpose and other things that the Aborigine didn't really pay attention to. He was in a mission after all! He needed to secure the coin he safely stored on a undisclosed location so that they can pay for the future Runecrafter who will be pleased to get the payload as long as he does what he does best, and most importantly, keep his mouth shut about the whole plan of not being a slave anymore.
Anyway, the trip to Shadehill had some complications and some updates on the trio of slaves that got here.
One was that Zagul was still missing, despite being the one who departed first. It was weird as hell and no one could think of why he was taking so long to get here, but they had some theories. One is that he died somehow, but judging by how well he went on Tenure, it is most unlikely that it was the case. He was too good of a negotiator and improviser, a true politician if you can call it that, not to mention he was for some time Connor's sparring partner, so he is tough as hell. He survived more than a decade as a slave, so being on himself wouldn't make him completely defenseless.
After all he was the most paranoid of the group. Donovan can attest that.
Speaking of Donovan, he recovered almost completely of his injuries from the fight he had with Connor and is less fat than before, thanks to the constant mercenary work he did in all the stops. Even if he was hit or cut, it could be said that he was 90% recovered most of the time. Sure, not peak fitness, especially with his belly being round and all, but he was a behemoth of a fighter, even more thanks to his training at Askar. He could punch, and that was a nasty one. Sometimes Yuri almost winced at the punch, even if it wasn't the one full of Holy Magic that Connor took to the face.
And Connor? He is… better. The idea of killing people, even the scum of the scum, still doesn't settle with him. He did improve, hesitating less and less after each new gig, but he still loathes the idea. Some small scratches and scars being granted to him that's to these last second decisions, but nothing that his clothes couldn't hide. He was constantly thinking, of what Yuri can't really tell, but his face left a lot of room for speculation. Regardless of what he was or is thinking, he at least wasn't going in the direction that the Aborigine feared, thankfully becoming more decided and confident, even if not in a natural way.
A peaceful life made the act of killing way harder, so Yuri can't really blame him, nor could Donovan, even if he groaned a little at the Wood Elf.
Fuck, life is hard, not gonna lie.
Edhealrean was just a few hours of caravaning, but at least they could now walk instead of sit through it all. Quite honestly, his butt hurt from all the travel, so walking felt quite nice right now. The border was somewhat nice to receive them, as nice as they can get that is, since they only asked a few questions and checked the documents, Richardson being the man to keep everything smooth and just go ahead without much delay. After that, the first town was visited, a… well, not simple, but a village. If you accounted the fact that it had really, really really tall buildings.
Like five stores and above tall.
Yikes.
“That's… big.”, Yuri commented.
“That's what she said.”, Donovan snickered, “But seriously, the Confederation is not pulling their expenses, even on the outskirts.”
“Shit, last time I was here I don't remember these stuff being so tall.”
“Phrasing.”, Was the only comment the Wood Elf muttered.
“Sorry.”, He said sheepishly, “But it's true tho’. ‘Guess this place has seen some big upgrades to get this fancy.”
“And this is only a village. I wonder what will be like in the capital.”, Connor said as he absorbed how techy the town is.
It was like the 1920s, when electricity was first introduced world wide and people were using more modern clothes, even some women wearing pants of all things. The Wood Elf almost felt… normal after that. The buildings, stores and other establishments have a more 20th century architecture, some radios broadcasting a few news and the occasional machinery on the street performing something that wasn't particularly alien, but not quite comprehensive as well. Connor could also spot some magical stones being used, maybe as fuel or another thing similar, much to his surprise and disappointment.
This is a fantasy world, so of course they'd base everything in magic.
“It is the way they see forward, I think.”
Hughes hummed in agreement, “Magic is something too intertwined in Shadehill, Lad. I think they will never not use magic. Even more with the Light Elves and High Elves on command.”
Connor sighed, “That is the truth.”
“What?”, Yuri asked.
“Just taking to my soul.”
“Oh. Yeah, almost forgot about that.”, Donovan admitted shyly.
“Alright.”, Someone said, “We should be arriving at Edhealrean pretty soon. But I think we can all agree that we deserve some rest from constant travelling.”
It was Captain Zhivko giving a small reminder. The crew of marines and Eldorians sighed in relief as they now can have a day off. And to be honest? Yuri was relieved that he could rest too.
“Where to, Cap’n?”, A marine asked.
“I know a hotel that can host the majority of our people.”, Richardson offered.
“Does it also have people you negotiated before with?”
Despite the obvious accusation, the Foreman remained calm, “No, this time everyone of my crew can attest that this one is reliable.”
At that, some affirmative noises and comments surged. Faint, but there.
Zhivko sighed, “Fine. Lead the way.”
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The place was nice.
Well, for everyone that wasn't a slave.
Slaves were stored on a hut away from even the poorest parts of the town. It would take them a day to prepare to go to the Colosseum, so everything that would happen to the slaves was fool around at the huts before departing once again. At least the keepers had the decency to give them all some food, water and blankets, enough so they could properly rest. However, despite everything seemingly telling them to wait and rest, Yuri just saw Connor do a bunch of different exercises along with Donovan. Of course, one was doing to get fit, doing sparse resting periods and checking himself over and over, while the other was going ballistic and all out.
The one that was reckless was obviously Connor.
Push ups, sit ups, squats, one handed push ups with his whole body upwards, pull ups using the hut frames as support, burpees and a bunch of other calisthenics workouts, and a lot, a fucking lot of roadwork. The other slaves were kinda surprised that the Wood Elf wanted to perform so much in a small frame of time, especially one that they were told to rest until they arrived at Edhealrean. But Yuri could understand why that's the case. Connor will have almost no time to train when it comes the time to fight, maybe a week, even less if the Colosseum is eager to start, thanks to Winter. They are already half in the season and thankfully the snow is starting to stop falling, being just cold instead of constant snowing.
Donovan was following every exercise, but with way less enthusiasm. After all he wasn't as fit as Connor was and he didn't want to overtrain himself. That would put the two humans in a tough spot, since they will need to fill the gap that Zagul left to them. The Lacerta was the one to be the negotiator, while Donovan would spar with Connor and Yuri would gather the information needed to prepare for the most dangerous warriors of the Colosseum.
Connor then started shadow fighting, which again startled the other slaves.
This time, Donovan left the Wood Elf doing his thing.
“He truly is focused.”, The Zealous Human commented as he took the sweat off his forehead, “Even in my prime I'd be… Whoa this training is…”
“Making you queasy, ain't it?”, The Aborigine said as he looked at his fat friend. Not as fat as before, but still, “Man, his biology of the warrior race really puts in perspective the gap in physical fitness. The guy is a monster at cardio.”
Donovan nodded, “That he is. I guess he is really worried about losing.”
“I would too. Our whole damn future rides on his skills. No room to chill with all that heat when everything’s on the line like that.”
“Shit.”
They looked at Connor, who seemed to focus on something specific in his fighting style. Judging by how he is fighting, using his footwork more than anything, he is thinking about the flaws of his own fight with Donovan. But it was weird seeing he do mostly footwork of all things. He was more of an aggressive fighter, so the speed he was searching in giving precise and fast strikes were… something to ponder. Was it enough to grow and evolve his fighting style? Sure it would definitely improve it, but cementing it was something else altogether. He was focusing on basic stuff for now, his punches were sharp and strong, his adaptation to new techniques and tactics was phenomenal, but that alone won't make him a perfect fighter.
“Thinking of something?”, Donovan asked, since he saw how much deep in his thoughts Yuri was.
“Yeah, a lot of things, honestly. But I can’t exactly say what he should do. I know my routine, but what works for me might not cut it for him.”, Yuri shook his head in the end, “I’m short with way less reach than him, so my only edge is in grappling, whether it’s on the ground or in the clinch. Connor’s tall, got good reach and speed. His strength is keeping distance, and even when he didn’t play that card, he was solid enough to make people regret getting in close.”
“You should at least tell him something. Going blind can be tough if you don't know where to go or what to do.”, Donovan offered with a frown, “But I can see that he is a different brand of fighter. I've never seen someone so diligent before. Doing the basics from the start and then focusing on what to do? That remarkable.”
They looked as Connor threw a sequence of fast compact punches on the air, immediately backing up and then going back at striking distance. He then switched to Southpaw to strike a bit, but he immediately stopped, looked at his fists and got back at throwing basic sequences. That felt weird but then when Yuri noticed, he almost facepalmed himself. Connor was am Orthodox fighter, so Southpaw was not his style. He was training to get accustomed to the different stance as he punched and tried to walk on the stance. He appeared to get increasingly frustrated, so he just did basic footwork drills to get used to the stance.
“I guess he already has a starting goal.”, Yuri nodded proudly, “Thwarting his training won't do any good.”
“If you say so.”, Donovan said without much agreeemet.
So he went to sleep all the while the Aborigine watched the training intently.
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Edhealrean, Confederation Capitol
Elisha was, for anyone who was concerned, working in the leftover paperwork that Galadar left. The man took the more practical decisions and ideas while the woman was left with the technicalities and theories about what exactly could go wrong on the practical plans. Which mind you, was a lot.
Like a lot a lot.
Mostly, again, because Galadar used all his depleting resources to do everything possible to destroy the Nyëthilhand legacy, for the simple reason to make the world accept that thing she is forced to call her daughter. Apparent, it was never enough, but for her? For the woman that actually has the Nyëthilhand in her name? That was enough for a long time. Her plans were in motion ever since she made sure that the censorship thing happened, forcing Fynsell to leave and search for the Draconic Iridium. But that's not worth remembering right now, as all she needed to do was wait for Jester to come back.
For now the only thing she can do is occupy her mind with the duties she has as a Countess, for one, and the most important, organize the Colosseum Games.
She needs to invite at least three countries of each continent, set the themes, participants, availability for slave participants, prizes, rules, worthy mentions, political connections, famous people to attract the people, seats for the citizens, and ensure security. The Colosseum Games were a cornerstone event for the Confederation, drawing in spectators from across the world. But for Elisha, it was more than just entertainment or politics. It was a delicate balancing act, a way to secure her own influence and keep the Confederation stable while she quietly moved her plans forward.
Her office was filled with stacks of reports, diplomatic correspondences, and legal documents. The sheer volume of work felt oppressive, but she handled it with the same icy efficiency she applied to everything else. She had to, or she would be buried under the weight of Galadar’s impulsive decisions.
The sort of logistics work only someone expectant of better times could do without complaining.
Elisha allowed herself a brief moment of reprieve as she glanced out of her office window, overlooking the grand city of Edhealrean. The sight of the Capitol’s towering spires and bustling streets should have given her some comfort, but it only reminded her of the precarious state of things. The Confederation stood on a knife’s edge, and the Colosseum Games would be both a distraction and a test. A distraction for the masses, and a test for her rivals.
She picked up her quill and began writing formal invitations, addressing them to foreign dignitaries and rulers from across the continents. Each letter was carefully crafted, not just for the Games, but to weave a web of alliances and favors. If she played her cards right, the Games would serve to strengthen her position. If she miscalculated, it could expose weaknesses she couldn’t afford.
As she wrote, her mind drifted back to Fynsell, out there chasing the Draconic Iridium. She had orchestrated his departure with precision, knowing that his absence would buy her time. But she couldn’t afford to be complacent. The Nyëthilhand legacy loomed large over everything, a constant shadow threatening to unravel all her carefully laid plans.
"Jester..." she muttered under her breath. His return would mark the next phase, and she could only hope he would come through. Until then, the Colosseum Games would be her stage—a spectacle for the world to see, and a battlefield for her to win unseen wars.
With a sigh, Elisha turned her attention back to the task at hand. There was still so much to do, and the Games were fast approaching.
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Two weeks later
Richardson was silently fuming as he smoked. No pun intended.
The whole time he was thinking about what the hell he was set into, what kind of ploy and schemes were being made, as Edhealrean was everything he did not expect. The people he met, the elves that seemed to care but actually didn't, the atmosphere and overall looks of the place screamed deception, something not everyone can see, but the Foreman could.
And it was everywhere.
He jus got the official invitation letter of the Colosseum, its contents being hidden to the common folk, but Richardson could see that he was the least welcomed to the place. He was allowed to bring a single slave, not a problem since he only had one in mind to bring to the Games, but that single fact gave a big statement of how little he was recognized by the higher ups. But that's fine, the real problem was the Draconic Iridium. Since they arrived, politics have been on fire, the fact that the Nyëthilhand house was the center of it all seemed to be pretty obvious as Zagul was sent to gather that very one object. However seeing the consequences on effect? That made Richardson almost consider feeling guilty.
Almost.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
And that weird ass Jester that spoke with him, that still didn't settle right. He couldn't really accept that something was happening and he couldn't do anything about it or know a single lead to give him a chance. So he sighed, the smoke of the cigar leaving his lungs in a very tired motion, getting up to call Connor and company to the Opening Ceremony of the Games. He didn't stop smoking though, these are too expensive to just toss around, even coming from a Oligarchy.
He saw the huts where the slaves were staying, some laying around, others missing, probably working or with their keepers to do something, but a few are training. Well, helping Connor and Donovan mostly, as Yuri just watched them, nodding to himself from time to time. Richardson stopped near the Aborigine, doing the same thing as he did, assessing the rudimentary training they did.
“Hey Boss, how goes?”, Yuri said as he finally registered the Foreman's presence.
“I am fine, thank you.”, Richardson responded automatically, “What are they doing?”
“Mostly? Getting fit.”, He turned to stare at Donovan, who was almost fully drenched in sweat, “They’ve been like that for the last two days, with Connor grinding the basics again like he’s just getting started.”
“The basics?”, The Foreman couldn't help but ask. Why train the basics again when you were already a competent fighter?
“Yeah, having solid fundamentals is always a win, but he’s actually training to be a… switch-hitter now? Guess that’s the move he’s going for.”, Yuri struggled to remember for a brief second, “He said if he switches his stance so his right hand’s in front, he’s slower than when he’s in his usual stance, with his leading left.”
Richardson looked at the training, Connor landing right jabs on his sparring partner as he clunkily went forward with his feet. The discomfort was visible as almost tripped on himself, the janky footwork not working as intended, yet, with enough function to still be usable.
“It looks terrible.”, He said after evaluating.
“Compared to how he was before and his usual stance? Yeah, for sure. But two days were all it took for him to get to that level. Like always, adaptability is his real strength.”, Yuri smiled at the end, it was going to be a good practice if it had the Wood Elf involved.
Richardson nodded, but despite the improvement, he is here to get business going, “Everyone! Stop fooling around! Prepare yourself as we are going to the Opening Ceremony. Be glad you will actually be using good clothes this time. Can't afford looking like…”
“Slaves?”, The Aborigine offered.
“Yeah, that.”
He then turned his heel and left, sending a keeper to watch them until it was time to leave. As for the man himself, he also went to be more presentable as he returned to his chambers. Finally finishing the cigar, he opened his wardrobe, taking a few suits and thinking of what he should wear to the Ceremony. The themes are, funnily enough, sports, challenge and glory, with a hint of fame, coin and influence over others, as all ceremonies usually are. So he dressed in a very expensive, but simple colored suit, charcoal back with a yellow tie, the flag of Eldora proudly standing on where his heart would be, as any crests would usually appear.
When he left, some of the guards followed him, maybe to watch or to protect, either or, but he was more focused on meeting the man that did all of that whole thing way back at Eldora. The Jester was peaceful taking a sip of his tea at the local cafeteria in the outside tables. How the man could drink the tea with his mask still in his face was beyond Richardson, but he didn't care for that right now. The Jester used a similar outfit to himself, although the mask and hat were still present, gloves as back as the dark void and the eerie feeling of not being in control looming over.
“Oh, hello!”, Jester waved happily at the Foreman, “Been waiting for you. I assume you got the invitation, right?”
“And your hidden message with it.”, Richardson nodded, but didn't sit at the table. The guards now just being near the table, instead of right on his tail.
“Perfect. Please, do pick a seat, I have a lot to speak with you.”
The man sat down, “I am sure you do.”
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Connor gritted his teeth. Of course there would be an opening ceremony, but he really wished it didn't. He was trying to focus on his footwork, both on Orthodox and Southpaw! Why he, a slave at that matter, should attend a ceremony??!?! It just didn't make any sense!
He was trying to focus on his mistakes on the fight with Donovan. He could trade blows, but that showed that despite being way better at avoiding or mitigating damage, he was still slow. His footwork was off, especially at long range since he wasn't used to being an Out-Boxer, almost constant making minor mistakes that could be exploited. Besides, he didn't have a backup plan in case Donovan didn't focus on his own weaknesses and made amends to it. It basically was a brawl, punch for punch, blow of blow, but what really meant the most is that his speed was lacking. Even before his leg got hurt, he was slow as hell, so that's why Connor was focusing so much in speed and movement.
Flexibility and maneuverability.
But he just couldn't figure out what to do to make himself go faster. He could switch his weight with body placement and movement, the position of his legs and all that, but he just wasn't faster enough. It wasn't even about reaction, he saw the kicks directed to his leg, but his body wasn't fast enough so he could actually do something about it.
Wait, how couldn't he do it?
He could run as fast as a cheetah back at the Primate Village, so why can't he go as fast now? What was stopping him from—
“The rune on your neck.”, Hughes explained, “It is a rune with two commands actually. One is to force you to obey whatever order your master gives you and the other so your physical capabilities are limited.”
“Wait, really?!”, Connor actually gasped at the realization.
“If you were as capable as you were in that village when you fought either Sir Zagul or Sir Donovan, you would break their skulls with just a single punch, Lad.”
“Shit.”, The Wood Elf said aloud, “I guess my body has way more than it shows.”
Still, the problem was that even after looking at every nook and cranny, there was nothing he could think that could actually improve the speed problem. Unless he walked with weights 24/7 to the point where being without them would unleash some diabolical levels of velocity. That of course would never happen, since he isn't a ninja that used this on a daily basis to train under constant stress. That would tear his muscles and break his bones, since there is a reason people didn't do that.
Connor felt like he was referencing something.
The slaves were handed good clothes (for once), offered a shower and a nice meal before going to the Ceremony. The streets of Edhealrean were filled with people anxious for the Colosseum to open, various races and species looming the streets.
The Colosseum was massive, towering over the city like it owned the place. Its stone walls were covered in carvings of old battles, and banners flew everywhere, each one representing different houses, guilds, or fighters, be them new or seasoned. The streets were packed with people buzzing with excitement, ready to see the arena's big opening. Connor, Yuri and Donovan walked with the other slaves, blending into the crowd, but Connor's mind was somewhere else. The whole rune situation was still messing with him. It made sense now why he felt slower, why no matter how hard he trained, he couldn’t hit the speed he used to. That rune was holding him back, and it pissed him off. Sure, it explained a lot, but knowing it didn’t make it any less frustrating.
He glanced up at the Colosseum's gates, wide open, inviting everyone in. Even though he was annoyed, he couldn’t ignore how impressive the place was. The noise of the crowd grew louder, their cheers bouncing off the walls. The whole city had shown up to see fighters go head-to-head. Connor clenched his fists. This was supposed to be about getting stronger and faster, not standing in some overblown ceremony for show! But as much as he hated it, there was something in the air. It was electric, almost exciting. His body tensed up, ready for action, even though he knew today wasn’t his day to fight.
The Star Twinsoul was eerily calm inside him, in absolute control of how all of this was going. This rubbed a bit on Connor, and he was glad that it did. He needed to breath a bit.
They led the slaves into the center of the arena, open sky above them while the civilians and Nobles entered in a different gate. The stands were packed with thousands of people staring down, the noise like a tidal wave. It was overwhelming. Connor’s heart raced, and he fought the urge to back down under their stares. The ground felt solid, but everything else? Not so much. He felt like he was standing on the edge of something huge.
Is this what the pros at the boxing ring felt? Because if this was a reoccurring thing, they got balls. Connor just felt…
Intimidated.
A loud voice boomed across the arena, some announcer hyping up the crowd and welcoming everyone to the big event. Connor barely listened. He was more focused on sizing up the other fighters. Most were like him—slaves forced into this life. But then there were the seasoned gladiators, standing taller, like they belonged here. They weren’t here to prove themselves. They were here to win. Connor gritted his teeth again. He hated that. Hated that they seemed so comfortable in a place meant to break people. But maybe they didn’t have a choice. Maybe they were just doing what they had to, like him.
While the announcer droned on about nobles, tradition, and the glory of the Colosseum, Connor’s thoughts drifted back to his training. He couldn’t control the rune, but he could control how he moved, how he fought. Even with the rune slowing him down, he could still sharpen his technique, improve his timing. He didn’t need to be faster if he could outthink and outmaneuver his opponents.
The ceremony dragged on with all the usual speeches and showmanship, but Connor was barely paying attention. He was already thinking ahead to the next fight, the next challenge. He wasn’t just here to survive. He was going to win, one way or another.
He would break free eventually. And when he did?
He’d be fucking ready.
In the midst of all the speeches and hype, the tone of the ceremony shifted. Suddenly, the arena’s center was cleared, slaves being at the edge of the arena, as the performers flooded the space. Dancers spun onto the stage, their movements sharp and fluid, like water flowing across the stone floor. Some of them were doing intricate ballet, leaping and twirling with grace that made it seem effortless, while others moved in sync to the pounding rhythm of drums. Their brightly colored costumes whirled in the air, catching the sunlight, adding to the spectacle. A group of musicians followed, playing flutes and stringed instruments that filled the arena with a rich, vibrant melody. The music rose and fell, guiding the dancers through their performance, as they told stories through movement. One moment, it was a celebration of victory, the next, a haunting tale of loss.
It was mesmerizing, almost enough to make Connor forget where he was for a moment. The crowd seemed entranced too, watching with wide eyes as acrobats flipped and spun through the air, and dancers moved in perfect harmony. The energy in the arena shifted from tense anticipation to something lighter, almost festive. Even the gladiators seemed to relax a little, though they stood just as tall, their eyes never leaving the spectacle. The performance felt like a distraction from the harsh reality of the Colosseum, but it was clear this was all part of the show.
Connor couldn't help but watch the ballet dancers a little more closely than the rest of the performance. He crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes as they spun and leaped effortlessly across the floor. The way they moved, it was almost like they could defy physics. "That’s... really impressive," he muttered under his breath, almost forgetting his usual grumpy tone. "The way they just change direction, like it’s nothing... their control over momentum is insane."
They went at the tip of their toes, using them to quickly shift directions.
Once they were going left, then they were going right.
Forward, then backwards.
Left, right. Up, down.
Back and forth. Back and forth.
Back and forth…
…
Back and forth?
“Wait…”
Connor’s brow furrowed, a sudden thought creeping into his mind as he continued watching the dancers. They moved like they had no weight, like gravity was just a suggestion. One second they were spinning left, then right, stopping on a dime, and then surging forward again.
He leaned forward slightly, still muttering to himself. "How the hell do they do that?"
The answer started to click, bit by bit. It wasn’t just about raw speed; it was about control. The dancers weren’t stronger than him. They weren’t faster either. But the way they balanced their weight, how they used their whole body to direct their movements with minimal effort—that was what gave them their insane agility.
They weren’t fighting against momentum, they were using it. Just in a different way that Connor was acostumed to.
Connor straightened up, suddenly seeing the performance in a new light. "Maybe... it’s not about running faster. It’s about how I shift my weight, how I control the movement itself. But how they make it work?"
His mind was racing now, piecing together how he could take what he was seeing and apply it to his own training. Sure, he wasn’t going to be spinning around like a ballerina in the ring, but if he could figure out how to control his momentum like they did, maybe he could finally stop feeling so damn sluggish.
The crowd cheered as the dancers twirled into their final positions, but Connor wasn’t paying attention to that anymore. His eyes were still on the stage, his brain turning over the possibilities.
If those dancers could shift on a dime without losing any speed, so could he.
"Yeah," he muttered, more to himself than anyone. "I can work with that.”
The Colosseum roared with applause as the final act of the performance came to a close. The dancers held their final poses, statuesque in their grace and poise. The cheers of the crowd were deafening, but Connor barely registered them. His mind was elsewhere, still buzzing with the realization he’d just had. Those dancers had unlocked something for him—a new way of thinking about his own movement.
The way they controlled their bodies, how they shifted their weight and momentum with precision, it was nothing like what he was used to in the ring. But maybe that was the point. He’d been focusing too much on pure speed and power, trying to bulldoze his way through opponents. But these dancers weren’t strong, yet they moved in ways that would leave any fighter reeling.
Donovan, noticing his friend’s distant look, nudged him with an elbow. “What’s got you so deep in thought, huh?”
Connor blinked, shaking himself out of his daze. “Just… thinking. Those dancers. They’re not faster than me, but they can move like that.
Yuri raised an eyebrow, glancing between Connor and the now-empty stage. “Ballet’s not exactly combat training, mate. Unless you want to dance, that is.”
Connor snorted, “No, I am just fascinated by it. Like… pirouettes are not easy to do, yet they make it easy. I almost feel jealous about it.”
Donovan gave him a long look, then shrugged. “You might be onto something there. Just don’t go putting on a tutu for your next fight.”
Connor cracked a rare grin. “Fuck you.”
Yuri was about to say something, but noticed that both men's grins.
As the ceremony continued, with more speeches and pageantry, Connor’s mind stayed on the dancers. He kept replaying their movements in his head, analyzing how they shifted from one position to the next with such fluidity. This wasn’t just a show. There was a lesson buried in it, one he intended to figure out and use to his advantage.
The Colosseum might have been a place designed to break people, but Connor wasn’t going to let that happen. He had a plan now, something new to focus on. He’d take the control and finesse of those dancers, combine it with his own strength, and turn it into something that would leave his opponents guessing.
“Let’s see them try to keep up with that,” he muttered, a determined gleam in his eyes. He was ready for the next step.
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While the ceremony was to a close, the Noble's of different places and continents were taking notes, discussing plans, negotiating or just having a break from all their duties. The travel to the Colosseum was uneventful, for the most part, as whatever happened to them wouldn't be more than a passing thought while for others, well, it was anything but uneventful. They were either too important to be reached out by lesser nobles or they were overwhelmed by the things that were happening, always a new thing to do or to take care before eventually watching the Games.
However, there was just one that was extremely bored.
She walked the hallways, accompanied by her long-time friend, who happened to be missing her right arm. The two women were very distinct from the usual arrive that everyone else used, the first using something similar to a military uniform, although very different from any Petruvian or Vyzerian uniforms, the medals and achievement proudly shining in her chest, while the other seemed to be way too comfortable using something that, at first glance, looks like a big ass pajamas. In truth, the shoes didn't have ties to knot, the pants were grey, wide and very stretchy, the tank top showing a bit of her shoulders even thou she was using a jacket over it, a weird cloth on her waistband that left a piece of it hanging from her hips, some bracelets, bracers and talismans in her forearms and biceps, a collar coin-shaped in her neck and a short ponytail to her hair. Both were human.
The facial features of the duo, could only be described as “asian”.
“[This is ridiculous.]”, The carefree woman said with a sigh, “[I shouldn't be here, not should I be watching criminals, slaves and old geezers fighting over whatever they are after.]”
“[Don't say that. You are already in thin ice, even with all your status and contribution. We need something, even if just a little.]”, The militar woman said with a concerned frown.
“[I know, I know. I just feel too old for this kind of stuff.]”, She replied tiredly.
“[You are forty two.]”, The other deadpanned.
“[Case in point.]”
They arrived at the standings reserved for the VIPs, the door being guarded by overly armored and shining knights, who were looking for an excuse to enter and enjoy the games or eat some food.
“Welcome, and please, My Lady, enjoy your stay.”
The older of the two wanted to argue that she wasn't his lady, but the military woman just giggled, which was enough to prevent any problems.
“C'mon, Master Choi-Hwang, let's at least enjoy this invitation. Can't really hurt to have a nice moment, right?”
Choi-Hwang looked at her before sighing again, “I am a Martial Artist. You can enjoy the fights more than I do, because you don't see the technical part of it.”
“Like an actor judging other actors in a play.”, She nodded along.
“Exactly.”
They entered, the view being just the perfect place to enjoy the scenery and the spectacle that was the Opening Ceremony of the Games. Choi-Hwang had to admit that it was a nice change of pace from the usual speeches and overly organized presentations she saw at Canardis. Her home continent usuals liked visuals way more than practical effects. She even drink the tea she was served, which proved to be a mixed decision, as it was not as good as the previous teas she drinked, but also… good, in a different way.
The announcer appeared at the top of the Colosseum in his personal space ready to make new announcements, “I hope our visitors enjoyed the show! This is the first day, where we will go over the modalities all participants will take part into, be them in groups or individually.”
The crowd seemed to be excited to hear what came next, cheering the announcer and all that.
“We have special competitors, some of noble houses, as you may know, as well as some veterans looking to find a place to retire, hopefully with their lives.”, A snicker left his mouth at the end.
The stands also laughed a bit, even some of the competitors, at least the non-slaves laughed too.
Choi-Hwang looked at the part where criminals and slaves were watching all the way down. Some of them are terrified, others tried to maintain calm despite being anxious, some were almost done with waiting, ready to attack anything to satiate their bloodlust. Only a few were actually calm, mainly some that from what it seemed, wouldn't compete directly at the Games.
“Good for them.”, She thought.
She noticed something curious, one of them is a Wood Elf. Hmmmmm.
He was in another place entirely. Focused on something… what it was, she had no idea. But his focus was important to note, as he seemed to be deep in thought. Hopefully it wouldn't diminish his performance at the Games.
“As for the modalities…”, The announcer was listing the things every competitor would or could participate.
Most were things one would expect from a Colosseum, but others were just sports that some could even say we're from the Olympics. Weird, but nice at the same time. She could admit that it was at least enjoyable, but as soon as the explanation finished, more shows, plays and other theatrical stuff started, making the Canardian Woman groan again. When it was starting to get good, things turned out to be boring.
Even more when nobles from various places she had no idea where they came from started the small talk, be it to flirt or make alliances.
It was going to be a long stay at Edhealrean.