Lucian was regretting his decision to trust Aric.
He hoped to continue to train in some manner before the first preliminary fight, but this was not the case. Aric gave him the whole day off to do as he chose, and only to meet him at night, at the entrance of a tavern. Mortis told him, “Once a drunkard, always a drunkard.”
Great, Lucian groaned, laying down on his bed. It was still early morning and he had nothing to do.
Sure he could go out and train more, but would it help versus doing something else to sharpen his skills? He doubted it. There was something Lucian wanted to test out. Ever since he first got cut, he was curious about his regeneration. Having gone from one ordeal to another, he barely had proper time to reflect and think specifically about his body itself.
Lucian sat up, his hand instinctively going to the spot on his chest where the hobgoblin’s claws had barely scraped him. The wound had healed almost instantly, leaving no trace of injury. Lucian needed to test this ability further, but he needed to do it safely.
After a moment’s hesitation, he decided to head to a secluded spot outside the city. It was near the ‘forest of the beasts.’ Since Aric had slayed the hobgoblins near it, it should be relatively safe. Also, in the case he did fail, and something happened to him, there was a built-in excuse. A monster attacked. Lucian could only imagine how much of a fool he would appear if he was injured with cuts inside of his room. He dressed quickly, strapping on his longblade and tucking the dagger into his belt. As he made his way through the bustling streets of Kinghaven, he couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation, and anxiety on making himself a lab rat essentially.
He found a quiet clearing in the forest just outside the city walls. No one stopped him this time. The rumors that he was the slayer of the red bandana hobgoblins reached the dungeon keepers ministry. Their religion favored those with strength, and Lucian was not unnamed anymore.
The trees provided ample cover, and the sounds of the city faded into the background. Taking a deep breath, Lucian unsheathed his dagger and made a shallow cut on his forearm. The pain was sharp but manageable. He watched intently as the blood welled up and then, astonishingly, the wound began to close almost immediately.
In seconds, it was gone, leaving nothing but smooth skin. Lucian stared in disbelief. The implications of this ability were profound. He could heal rapidly, which could give him a significant advantage in the upcoming fights. This was under the assumption that others could not do as he did. Perhaps they could, but Lucian cared not. Of course, he knew this, but to see it in real-time was different altogether.
Encouraged by this discovery, he made another cut, this time a bit deeper. Again, the wound closed quickly, the pain dissipating almost as soon as it began. Lucian felt a surge of confidence. Whatever this power was, it was potent. He needed to understand its limits and potential better.
He spent the rest of the morning experimenting with his healing ability, testing the speed and extent of his regeneration. Each time, his body healed with remarkable efficiency. It was as if his body possessed a built-in mechanism for rapid recovery.
As the sun reached its limits, Lucian decided he had learned enough for now. He made cuts as deep as to his bones and they healed. He wanted to push it further, had it not been for the walk back to the inn, and then to meet Aric.
Another time perhaps, he thought.
----------------------------------------
Back in his room, Lucian lay on his bed, contemplating his next move. He needed to meet Aric at the tavern tonight, but until then, he had time to rest and plan. He closed his eyes, allowing himself a brief break. His thoughts drifted to the fights ahead, and who his opponent would be. It would have to be someone who is a fighter, otherwise, their sponsor would be embarrassed. This meant that their training and abilities would be polished, like Guilford, Eryk, and them. It could be possible that the participants were on the level of the royal legionnaires from the “Red Maiden.”
Don't get too ahead of yourself. Focus on you, and your training.
The training would only make him better. The longblade’s connection to him greatly heightened his abilities and rendered him nearly limitless in terms of energy, but it was stifled by his lack of swordsmanship and real combat experience.
*KNOCK *KNOCK
“Lord, it is me, Mortis,” a voice behind the door said.
“Mortis, come in,” Lucian replied.
Mortis recommended that they head out now. The tavern that Aric wanted them to meet him at was on the far north of town. They would need to go on horseback.
“It’s that far? For a tavern?” Lucian asked, shocked.
“It is a tavern, like Lord Aric’s house is a training quarter,” Mortis answered.
“So what is it then?”
“You will see lord.”
Lucian believed Morits was getting too comfortable with him. He acted more casually day by day with him. This was not a problem, but he wished sometimes he was not such a smartass.
“Fine, let us go,” Lucian grunted.
Lucian and Mortis made their way to the stables where two horses were rented. The night air was cool, a stark contrast to the day's warmth. The streets of Kinghaven were quieter now, the bustling daytime crowds replaced by the occasional group of revelers or night traders. The deep north of Kinghaven was a ghost town. There was no one outside. Not a single soul.
“You sure we’re going the right way Mortis?” Lucian questioned.
“This is just how it is late nights, Lord.”
After what felt like an hour, they arrived at the tavern. It was an imposing structure, more like a fortress than a place for casual drinking. The building was made of dark, weathered wood, with heavy iron fittings and narrow windows. A sign hung above the entrance, depicting a snarling wolf.
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"This is it," Mortis said, dismounting and locking both his horse and Lucian’s. "The Wolf's Den."
Lucian followed suit, his eyes scanning the exterior of the tavern. "Why would Aric choose a place like this?"
"You'll see," Mortis repeated, a sly grin on his face.
Inside, the tavern was dimly lit, with flickering lanterns casting shadows on the rough wooden walls. It smelled of ale, sweat, and smoke. The patrons were a rough-looking crowd, many of them armed and armored.
“Lucian!” a shout from his left side came.
Aric was seated at a corner table, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he watched Lucian and Mortis approach. "There you are. I was beginning to think you got lost."
Lucian took a seat across from Aric, his senses on high alert. "This place is... something."
Aric laughed. “Three drinks, proper ale!” he yelled to the server walking around.
“No thank you, we won’t drink,” Lucian said, disgusted at this whole place.
“Oh, of course you won’t! It is for me! You’ll be doing something else though boy,” Aric retorted. "The Wolf's Den is a haven for those who live by the sword. Many of the best fighters in the region come here to test their skills, find work, or simply enjoy a drink. It's the perfect place for you to get some real combat experience."
Lucian nodded, understanding dawning on him. He did wonder why the so-called best fighters came into a tavern to test themselves.
"So, what's the plan?"
"The plan," Aric said, leaning forward, "is for you to participate in some of the matches here. Think of it as practice. The patrons here won't go easy on you, but it will prepare you for the real fights ahead."
Lucian's heart pounded with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "When do I start?"
Aric grinned. "In a bit. I've arranged for you to fight a few opponents. Consider it your initiation."
Mortis handed Aric a tankard of ale that the server settled on the table for him. "Drink up, lord. You'll need your strength."
“Don’t mock me boy! Or you’ll be up there fighting too!”
In front of him lay a pit. It was not deep at all. If anything, it was shallow. From where he sat, Lucian could see inside of it. There were two men inside of there, fist-fighting. Loud cheers for either man echoed through the tavern.
With no weapons, it seemed barbaric, but Aric said that fighters were not just people with weapons. Fighters used anything they could. If your hands and feet were strong enough, why not? The particular men fighting were a part of the Steelers Guild. The guild specialized in hand-to-hand combat, though they were adept with daggerplay as well.
Match after match, Lucian was mesmerized by the new participants. Each was unique, with different specialties. One particular he enjoyed watching was a woman with a wooden staff. She used it as a mirror. Every attack her opponent threw at her, she twisted it around back at them.
Finally, it was his turn.
Aric said he picked some fighters that could be especially helpful.
The crowd around him was a mix of hardened fighters and spectators eager for blood. He could feel their eyes on him, sizing him up, measuring his worth.
The raucous atmosphere of the tavern seemed to press in on him from all sides. Lucian took a deep breath, centering himself. He had faced worse. He could handle this. He glanced at Aric, who was already several gulps into his ale, looking completely at ease.
"Alright, who's first?" Lucian asked, his voice steady.
Aric motioned to a burly man with a shaved head and a patch over one eye. The man stepped forward, cracking his knuckles with a menacing grin. "This is Grom. He'll be your first opponent."
Lucian nodded, gripping his wooden practice sword tightly. He followed Grom to the pit. The crowd parted, creating a space for the combatants.
A bell rang, signaling the start of the match. Grom wasted no time, charging at Lucian to close the gap. Lucian noted that the man had no weapons, only his ginormous body. There was nothing he could do in terms of avoiding him. The pit was not large enough to keep creating space between them.
Like an uppercut, Lucian poked his sword at the onrushing Grom. It connected but Grom had a strong chin and grabbed him by the feet for a takedown. The power was no joke. Lucian felt his legs working overtime, trying to not be snapped. At this moment, the position reminded him of when he tried the same thing against Bob from his high school. He recalled that Bob pushed his head down, threw in two underhooks, and reversed the position. Trying to emulate Bob, Lucian found success. Even he was surprised at how smooth it felt.
“That’s it, boy, sometimes you just need to get dirty!” Aric said encouragingly.
Lucian dropped his sword. Everyone cheered mightily.
Screw it, why not.
He figured that this was why Aric chose this place and this person. Beautiful swordplay does not always work, especially when the person is hard-chinned like Grom or a better swordsman than you.
With his wooden sword lying forgotten on the ground, he grappled with Grom, using every bit of strength and skill he could muster. Lucian was not weak. In fact, he was almost on par with Grom. He was not out grappling Grom but was showing him that he was not fearful of his brute strength. Lucian would engage first and put Grom on the backfoot.
Grom, surprised by the sudden shift in tactics, hesitated for just a moment. Lucian took advantage of this, throwing a quick jab to Grom's midsection and following up with a knee to the ribs. It was just like the fighting games he played on the Gameboy, except he was controlling himself. The crowd roared in approval, their cheers echoing off the wooden beams of the tavern.
Lucian could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he grappled with Grom. The big man was incredibly strong, but Lucian's agility and quick thinking were proving to be invaluable. He managed to slip out of Grom's grip and land a solid punch to the side of his head. Grom staggered, momentarily dazed.
"Don't let up, Lucian!" Aric shouted from the sidelines, his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd.
Lucian pressed his advantage, moving in close and throwing a flurry of punches and elbows. Grom tried to retaliate, but Lucian was too quick, ducking and weaving out of the way. His endurance was different now. He was getting tired, but not as quick as he once did.
Grom managed to get a hold of Lucian's arm and attempted to pull him into a bear hug, but Lucian twisted his body and slipped free. He used his momentum to deliver a powerful kick to Grom's knee, causing the big man to stumble.
The crowd's cheers grew louder, urging Lucian on. He could feel the energy of the room feeding into him, giving him strength. He circled Grom, looking for an opening. When Grom lunged at him again, Lucian sidestepped and landed a hard punch to the back of his head.
Grom fell to his knees, gasping for breath. Lucian didn't waste any time. He grabbed the back of Grom's head and pulled him into a chokehold, tightening his grip with every passing second. Grom struggled, trying to break free, but Lucian's hold was too strong.
"Submit!" Lucian shouted, his voice strained from the effort.
Grom's resistance slowly faded as he realized he couldn't break free. With a final, gasping breath, he tapped Lucian's arm, signaling his surrender. The crowd erupted in wild applause.
Lucian released Grom and stepped back, breathing heavily. His body ached from the exertion, but he felt a surge of triumph. He had done it.
Aric ran over to him, and clapped him on the back, a wide grin on his face. "Well done, Lucian. I didn’t think you could win, but you did!"
Lucian let out a deep sigh, feeling proud of himself. He looked at his arms and legs. They were no longer the twigs they were before. They were toned, and lean.
As the crowd began to disperse, Lucian retrieved his wooden sword and turned to Aric. "What's next?"
Aric took a long swig of ale and smiled. "Next, we celebrate. And after that, we prepare. There are more fights to come, and you need to be ready for anything."
Lucian sat next to Aric and asked “Do you think I can win the tournament?”
“That depends,” he replied. “Can you afford to lose?”