Omen: 11, 11
“What are you doing?” Jurot asked.
Adam kept Lanarot held up. She had grown silent, staring at him, wondering what he was doing. He had picked her up and had held her there, causing her to squeal and giggle at first, but he had remained silent. Eventually she had fallen silent too, other than the short outbursts of laughter. She reached up to his face, but was too far away, so began to happily slap his arms, feeling the puthral under her palms.
“Lanarot,” Adam said, causing the girl to look up at him.
“Oo?”
“You need to watch me, okay?”
Now that Adam was talking to her, she clapped her hands together and bounced happily in his hands. “Eee!” she replied, gleefully.
Adam brought her to his chest and kissed her forehead. “I’ll definitely win today.”
“Are you sure you wish to fight without Phantom?” Sonarot asked, holding out a mundane axe for him.
“I’m sure,” Adam replied. “I want them all to know that I can fight well enough without my magical axe.”
Sonarot bowed her head, watching as he placed Lanarot down, and he put on his helmet. He wore his entire armour today, showing how serious he was taking this fight, and though he was going without his axe, he was not ill prepared.
Sonarot picked her daughter up, fixing her hair with a hand, before carrying her out, leading her boys to the corner where the fights would take place.
There were far more Iyrmen today, partly because the fights today would include some of the promising youth of the Iyr, but also because there were a few fights which were going to include some notable figures.
“You have finally arrived, Nephew of the Rot family,” the Iyrman from yesterday called.
“Adam, Son of Fate,” Adam said, nodding his head to the Iyrman.
“Wahruv, son of Fahruv,” the Iyrman said, nodding his head in return.
Adam noted the tattoo on his forehead, a purple infinity symbol which was on its side, and red arrows heading outwards from it.
The Iyrman removed the cloak around his shoulders, revealing the skirt around his waist and the countless scars which littered his body.
‘You have no need for armour against me because you’ve faced worse?’ Adam thought, wondering if the Iyrman was trying to taunt him.
Wahruv unsheathed his greatsword. It was long and wide, like that of Argon’s blade, black, with a silver pattern running along it, like gentle waves on a sunny day. That’s when Adam saw it, the flicker of light which glinted off the metal, revealing the runes engraved within the blade, which then lit up as the blade turned from black and silver, to red and white.
“That’s quite the sword,” Adam said, raising his axe.
“Where is that Phantom of yours?” Wahruv asked. “I wished to face it.”
“I came today to fight you with my own abilities,” Adam said. “I want it to be my strength and magic which beat you, not the magical axe which has made even the Chief wary of me.”
“Wary of you? Even if you are an Expert, that blade of yours could not defeat the Chief,” Wahruv said, his brow pulsing.
“I said he was wary of me, not that I could beat him,” Adam gripped his axe tighter. “I may not be very smart, but even I know that much.” ‘I probably shouldn’t have mentioned the Chief, even if it’s true. Come on, Adam. No more cringe.’
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“There are times you should keep things unsaid,” Wahruv said.
Adam nodded. “And there are times we should speak up. So, Wahruv, son of Fahruv, how much are you willing to bet?”
Wahruv stared at the Half Elf for a moment. He hadn’t expected mention of betting, but it was a festival. “Since you are well paid by the Iyr for your work, then you should have more than enough to bet with me. A hundred gold?”
“If that’s all you can afford, we can stick with a hundred gold,” Adam said, taunting the Iyrman.
Wahruv smiled. “They will say that Wahruv is bullying the little Nephew of the Rot family if I bet too much.”
“Hey, old man,” Adam said, calling for Jarot, who had been watching the play with excitement.
“How shy are you that you cannot call me grandfather in front of all these people?” Jarot said.
“Whose grandfather are you?” Adam replied back, almost growling. “How much are you betting on me?”
“I was also thinking a hundred gold, since they’ll say that this old man is bullying the youngsters,” Jarot said.
Adam nodded. “Then make sure you treat me to some of that wine from yesterday. I didn’t even get a sip.”
“That wine is not for celebrating, but for relaxing,” Jarot said. “I will treat you to some good wine if you win.”
Adam returned his attention back to the Iyrman. “Then how about this. If I win, I’ll get that greatsword of yours, and if you win, I’ll give you Phantom?”
“A greater enchanted weapon for a greater enchanted weapon?” Wahruv asked.
“You do not have to take him too seriously,” Jarot said. “He says queer things all the time.”
“Is that so weird?” Adam asked.
“Who trades greater enchanted weapons during fights?” Jarot asked.
“I do,” Adam said. “What say you, Wahruv, son of Fahruv?”
Wahruv smiled wider, and a Ruv family member cleared their throat. “Unfortunately, I cannot accept. This weapon has been gifted to me for the fight.”
“What a shame,” Adam said. “A hundred gold will have to do.”
However, he had already accomplished his task. He had agreed to Wahruv’s high bet, and had countered with his own, revealing his confidence in himself, or as the Iyrmen might take it, arrogance.
‘I’ve set the stage, but now I have to show up,’ Adam thought, gripping his axe tighter.
“Are you ready, Adam?” Wahruv asked.
Adam threw a glance to the side, where Sonarot rocked Lanarot, and motioned her towards Adam, whose purple armour sparkled in the sun.
“Yeah.”
Battle Order
D20 + 1 = 9 (8)
Warrior Spirit: 3 -> 2
Attack
D20 + 6 = 9 (3)
D20 + 6 = 22 (16)
Hit!
Mana: 15 -> 13
1D6 + 1D3 + 3D6 + 4 = 17 (5)(2)(3, 4, 5)
23 damage!
Attack
D20 + 6 = 15 (9)
D20 + 6 = 22 (16)
Hit!
Mana: 13 -> 11
1D6 + 1D3 + 3D6 + 4 = 21 (5)(3)(2, 3, 4)
21 damage!
Adam leapt into the fray first, surprising even the Iyrman. Though he had taunted the Iyrman originally, he moved with a swiftness and deliberateness the Iyrman hadn’t expected, though he had seen Adam fight yesterday.
Yesterday, Adam fought a bunch of children, so even if he was focused, he didn’t take it too seriously. He understood they were probably around Level 1, and they wouldn’t threaten him much, even if they did outnumber him.
However, this Iyrman was not Level 1. He was at least Level 5, and Adam wasn’t sure how strong a Level 5 Iyrman was, especially not with a greatsword with a greater enchantment.
Even though Otkan had been a much higher Level, she had used a mundane greatsword. If she had possessed even a +1 or a +2 sword without any other enchantments, she would have defeated Adam.
So Adam fought with everything he could muster, striking down against the Iyrman’s blade, his axe flashing white as he expended his Mana. Though he wasn’t going to use a magical weapon, he was still going to use his magic, to show the Iyrmen what a threat he could be even with a plain old axe.
Adam ducked under a wild swing of the Iyrman as his axe cut across the Iyrman’s side, creating a deeper gash as his axe flashed white hot, tearing more of the Iyrman’s flesh.
Wahruv felt the heavy blows of the non magical axe, and considering what he knew of Phantom, he was certain he would have fallen if Adam had used it.
‘Fallen? In a single round?’ Wahruv thought, catching a blow with his greatsword, before stepping back.
The crowd watched the pair fight, seeing the way they exchanged their sword and axe, which rung like music, only adding to the rhythm of the drumming.
They could all hear Adam’s intentions behind every blow.
‘With just my own abilities, I can defeat you.’
‘This Nephew is more than an Expert,’ Wahruv thought. ‘Even among my peers, I cannot find someone as great as he, and yet he is only the same age as the other young man of the Rot family?’
Wahruv caught Adam’s axe with his greatsword, a hand on the back of his blade as the axe tried to cut at his head.
“You are strong, Adam,” Wahruv said, as his body grew red hot with rage. “Very strong!” The rage filled Wahruv’s body, causing his muscles to relax for a moment before they tensed up, and his entire body felt as though it had been set aflame.
‘No,’ Wahruv thought. ‘This is not enough.’ He willed his muscles to life, almost tearing them as he filled with a greater rage.
From the side, Fahruv watched as his son willed his rage to envelope his entire body, but at a greater speed than he should have. His family’s abilities were such that they embraced a deeper rage, but it needed time.
‘Just how desperate are you?’