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Chapter 23
It was difficult to describe the exact way in which Ezabel felt when she first stepped into the crowd. It was as if joy mingled with nostalgia, and was finished off with a small note of inferiority. At a glance, the yard contained four fields for training and all seemed to present candidates who knew what they were doing. She saw it in the way they moved and in the way they stared at one another. Purpose was clear on their faces.
Thankfully, she was simply too excited to entertain any thought of comparison. She smiled through it all with a bright face. Even as she weaved carefully through the web of bodies, her gaze would not stop switching from marvel to marvel. They were marvels to her, at least. To be surrounded by such a momentous event was intoxicating.
To say that she resembled a child on a playground would not be entirely inaccurate. Although, she would go to the ends of Ardyn to make sure that description never saw the light of day. - She had things to do. Important things. She would never forget it. But, how could she not get excited over being exactly where she always wanted to be?
She was consumed by the atmosphere and was captivated by every minute detail about her fellow candidates. She took it all in. How they stood. What they wore. Even how they spoke. Many had donned the training attire that the Citadel had given them. It was a leather chestpiece and guards which were all worn in varying arrangements. Some preferred to stay light while others chose to protect themselves fully.
Her mind toyed with the idea of putting a set on herself. Any instruction Bastion gave her before had only involved a single training sword. Even after her brother’s left Alm, she had kept to the same practice. She never had any real protective gear. Realistically, it gave her a hardy physicality, regardless of what her dainty figure said. Bastion has always said that was the point. Yet, in this moment, the allure of the equipment seemed to make her forget it all.
Maybe I’ll go get a closer look at them. She started toward the nearest rack of weapons and armor. Each field had its own. They were hefty and wide, built of wood and surrounded by candidates who adjusted their attire. Whether she could sense it or not, there was a prominent quality of focus among them.
“Pardon me..”, she muttered under her breath. The crowd was denser towards the actual sparring grounds; they stood shoulder to shoulder on the edge of the paved arenas. It was a bit difficult to squeeze between everyone and she occasionally bumped a few people. By accident of course, no matter what their scowls would say.
She drew little attention, but what amount she did always centered around her distinguishing attire. It was.. Well, it was plain. A simple jacket and shirt atop a pair of road worn pants. Brown and gray. She was simple, rustic. It was painfully obvious that the city was not her home. It saw many perked brows and plenty of bewilderment.
The ‘looks’ continued as she reached a few rows of racked equipment. They had been set up on the grass nearby and allowed for many people to walk their offerings all at once. It was almost like a market, only things were free and made for combat.
With her hands held neatly behind her back, Ezabel strolled by and leaned into whatever she found interesting. At first, it was a spear, tipped with an entire blade. Then, a tossed set of leather; it was scratched in many places and lost a shoulder pad entirely. It did not take long for her to realize that many of the offerings were real weapons. And, not a single person seemed to mind.
As a whole, the risk of the sparring grounds was something participants were to assume on their own. It was not until her verdant eyes fell upon a single sword that her anxiety returned. They’re all fighting for real? What if someone got hurt? The implications were startling. It would only take one accident to remove her from the trials. Why would anyone risk such an end?
She had half a mind to return to Dani and Zo. The corridor stood in the distance, she could see its lengthy pillars and stone shell. But then, a racket rolled through the crowd. It came from the field adjacent, where an audience of candidates practically squeezed together in order to watch.
Over and over again, metal rang sharp. Ezabel knew good and well that a duel was in progress. A duel with practical weapons. As if on cue, she pulled herself toward the fight with a tall and curious head.
“Yield! Yield!”
“Finish it already!”
It was a ruckus. Arms were waiving, heads were leaning, and lungs were groaning. As a whole, the crowd seemed to tire. She could not see the duel just yet, but all signs told that it neared its end.
“No wonder why no one sponsored him.”
“Aren’t nobles supposed to be trained better than that?”
“They’re really not a big deal after all.”
With every step, the gossip sunk into Ezabel’s ears. Finally, she managed to tip toe over a few shorter shoulders. She blinked the clutter away from her gazing, doe eyes and came upon the sight of a large omon. He was the first of his kind that she had seen in a long time. There was only one other, and she never got his name.
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He was a merchant’s assistant. Or bodyguard, as Bastion would say. He came through Vostia once or twice every winter alongside a wagon full of foreign goods. He worked for a dwarf named Angalo. She had always looked his way with shy curiosity, just so she could get a look at the horns on the side of his head. That was as much as she could recall.
This omon, however, was drastically different. There was hatred seeded deep in his eyes. His great axe was held tight and swung without prejudice. He pushed forward and loomed over his opponent as a bear did to a deer.
“Just quit, Hubert!”, he shouted. “You don’t stand a chance against me!”
The axe came down in a devastating swing and threw his target off balance. Hubert, who Ezabel could only see the back of, stumbled away. His sword hand was knocked away. Gilford then lowered himself without a wasted second and buried his shoulder into his gut.
The deep impact boomed throughout the ward and many of the spectators grimaced at the sight. The air had been knocked straight out of Hubert’s gut. A violent cough ripped through his throat. He was then lifted off the ground, onto Gilford’s shoulder, and thrown into the grass.
The bystanders parted like ants from a fire. Leather and grass muted the impact, but Hubert landed hard nonetheless. Those who were too slow to avoid him were rolled into and tripped. Being one person over, Ezabel had narrowly avoided the whole thing.
Concern came over Ezabel when she saw Hubert’s face. He had been badly beaten, struck purple on both sides of his face. His right eye was swollen shut. And yet, his arms lifted to right himself. They trembled and barely held his weight.
Is no one going to help? Ezabel turned from wall to wall, hoping to catch sight of an Attendant who could put this to an end with the flick of a finger.
“Stay down, Hubert! Or the next one will put you in the dirt!”, Gilford roared.
Battered, Hubert scrambled for his weapon. Reaching fingers combed the grass at his knees, desperate to find it. But, Ezabel had taken it away from him. She held it in reverse, behind her back. Behind his swollen eyes, Hubert lifted his head and saw the distress on her face.
“Hey, stop! You can’t continue like this!”. Ezabel leaned in and offered a hand, only to realize that she had caught the attention of most everyone around.
“W-who are you?”, Hubert struggled to ask. “Give me the sword, I need to-!”
“Ezabel! Your room is in the keep, not here!”. A flicker of light nudged through the surrounding people. Zo had finally caught up. Dani followed suit, panting heavily after having worked her way through the mess.
“Keep? You’re staying in the keep?”, Gilford demanded an answer. His resentment shifted from Hubert to Ezabel in an instant. “Are you another one of those sponsored cowards?”
“You’re one to talk.”, Ezabel rose. Her eyes steeled with striking clarity. “You’re the only weakling out here.”
“What!?”, Gilford stood with visible anger. His great axe lifted over his shoulder. “You got a big mouth, little girl. Why don’t you step into the ring so I can wipe the floor with your pretentious attitude! - Hubert was a waste of my time anyway!”
There was a sudden shift in the tone around Ezabel. As if, everyone around had obtained newfound respect for her. Did she notice? Not quite. But, the implications of her status as a sponsored candidate had all eyes looking at her differently. They spoke in hushed tones and questioned in muttered conversation. Who was she?
It was a bad idea, Ezabel had thought as much the moment Gilford challenged her. As much as she would have liked to teach him a lesson, more of her hoped to step away from the scene that had developed. There was too much attention coming her way now, it made her restless and jittery.
“You’re not going to--.”, she answered, only to be interrupted by Hubert as he snatched the sword from her hand. He was pushing himself to the limit. Sweat poured down his neck and his chest heaved with every breath.
With a quick first step, Hubert lunged back into the ring and charged right into Gilford. He led on with a furious leer. But, it made no difference. The omon cracked a smug grin and threw his fist straight across Hubert’s face. There was no contest. Gilford was too large an obstacle.
Hubert was bludgeoned into a daze and sent soaring back towards the edge of the ring. His sword fell beside him and clanged as its metal frame bit into the stone below.
“You think you can catch me off guard?”, Gilford leapt after him with his axe held high. “I’ll end you right here!”. Large strides rumbled the ground and propelled him into the air. The weight of his axe came down like a guillotine, fully intent on maiming House Thornwell. “High-born scum!”
“Ezabel, don’t!”, Zo and Dani pleaded together, but it dissipated in the noise. It would not have mattered in the end. Ezabel had already taken her first step towards the fight when Hubert was struck. She darted across the ring and slid effortlessly next to the sword.
To the absolute amazement of those around, Ezabel had lifted the blade and parried Gilford’s strike. A flurry of sparks riddled the air and a piercing shrill blared high above the yard. The omon’s axe had been beaten back and his feet were forced off balance.
Ezabel gazed on, sharp-eyed and fresh. She had made a window for herself. It was brief, but she took advantage of it nonetheless. Her opponent was strong, but he lacked finesse. Still, she hoped that Xavier and Bastion would be proud of her adherence to their lessons, no matter the opponent.
As the weight of Gilford’s weapon carried him back, Ezabel struck low. She swept his legs with a low kick and tripped him entirely. How such an imposing foe fell against her was astounding. All around them were faces of shock and confusion.
Then there were the candidates from Angoulet, who slowly began to realize that Ezabel was the same woman who had saved them from the jaws of the mysterious creature. They were few and far between, but those that were present in the yard began to step closer to be sure.
“That’s her, that’s Ezabel Grover! She’s alive?”
“She’s alive! That’s the woman who stopped the monster attack in Angoulet!”
“Grover? Is she related to Captain Xavier Grover?”
Apprehension began to boil in Ezabel’s stomach. It felt as if a thousand judging eyes stared at her from every direction. “Your name is getting around pretty quickly in Gracewind.”, Leland’s words echoed. It did not help that his face of self-satisfaction was the first image to spawn in her mind.
The grip she had on the sword suddenly began to slip and her feet grew shaky. Oh no, why does this always happen? Even when she thought to herself, her inner voice quivered. So, she threw on a trembling smile in hopes of saving face.
That was all Gilford needed. Ezabel had been too easily distracted. With a heinous smile, he aimed his axe and swung. He went for her gut and nearly cleaved her in half. But, the weapon never made it to her flesh.
It stopped halfway, as if frozen in time. Gilford struggled and pressed further, to no avail. It was not until a stream of sunlight came down onto the ward that a spell became visible. A crystalline barrier divided Gilford from Ezabel and Hubert. He shouted and swung once more, but was repelled with ridiculous ease.
“That’s enough!”
Amidst the crowd, Leonora stood with a raised hand. A squall of magic lifted from her form. Her familiar blonde hair and cloak billowed out in a gust of power. A spell circle was emblazoned on her glove; and through its grooves, magic coursed true. White light flooded her eyes. Her knightstone was activated.
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