I left the villa behind as the sun was starting its journey towards the horizon. Alexander had assured me that my spot in the tournament was secured, and that I should merely mention his name to gain entrance. The tournament itself was held at noon the following day, so I had a full day to prepare myself, which meant I had time to experiment with my potion-making. I didn’t know if the use of potions would be allowed, however, as I still wasn’t familiar with the rules of the tournament, and when I’d inquired my sponsor about it, he had said that the specifics would be announced on the day of the event. He likely already knew and just kept it from me, so that his champion would have an advantage.
I wandered the less frequented parts of Gothershall for a few hours until I located an inn that was secluded and offered the quiet that I would need to practice my alchemy.[1] I had constantly looked over my shoulders, watching for anyone following me. Jakob had told me just before I boarded the death-trap demon-horse-drawn wagon that Kerebor was staying at a tavern right next to the arena. Fortunately, he would only be able to watch the tournament and not interact with me, since the Stage itself was instanced to me and inaccessible to other players not in my group. Apparently, I wouldn’t be able to see him in the spectator stands though, which kind of freaked me out.
The inn was a frigid place, covered in shadow even during the day, because of its location in-between two taller buildings and the city wall at its back, but the proprietor’s daughter drew me a hot bath in my room and served me warm stew, which stole away the cold.
When I’d bathed and finished my meal, I sat down on the hardwood floor and unpacked my alchemy kit before me. The various pieces of my armour lay scattered around the room, and I wore nothing but my cloak, which I’d curled around myself to ward off the evening chill. I realised then that I had to buy some townwear, since it was cumbersome to move around the Safe Zones wearing my armour at all times. Plus, it would give me something to slip into at night, so I didn’t have to continue sleeping naked.
The alchemy kit was comprised of a mortar and pestle, a tiny distillation set, various basic solvents in different colours, and a few tools to use for preparing reagents. Aside from the wooden box the things had come in, I also had the dark-green leaves, flask, and oil. I looked at everything before me and knew the steps I had to take in order to craft a healing potion. In the same way that I couldn’t explain how I was able to pull off my sword moves, I also didn’t really understand why I knew how to perform alchemy, besides from the simple fact that I just knew.
I first mashed the green leaves into a paste using the mortar, then scraped it out into one of the smaller distillation flasks and placed it over a flame on a little metal stand I assembled. I poured in enough of the brownish solvent that the entire dark-green paste was submerged, and swirled it around until the mass was dissolved. The flame soon brought the green liquid to a rolling boil, which started to evaporate, sending steam up through a glass tube above the flask, causing droplets to collect and reform into liquid, which rolled down the tube and dripped steadily into the bigger flask I’d bought separate from the kit.
When maybe twenty minutes had passed there was only a dry dark-green mass left in the small flask above the flame and the bigger flask was partly filled with murky light-green water. I blew out the flame, then grabbed the flask by its neck and poured the oil into it until it reached the neck. Afterwards I thumbed the hole shut and shook the two liquids together. The colourless oil and green water combined and at first turned dark like mud, but then became a vibrant cherry-red. I stopped the flask with a cork from the kit and tossed into my inventory. Though the ingredients had been weightless, the finished ‘Weak Healing Potion’ weighed 150 grams, a hundred more than the flask by itself.
I spent the next half hour cleaning the equipment with a special liquid included in the kit, which seemed to get rid of everything efficiently. It actually worked so well that I wondered if I could use it on my armour to get rid of all the bloodstains that the usual wash in the bathtub had been unable to clean.
Instead of gathering everything back into the box I just left it out on the floor and went to bed. I kept the cloak around me like a second cover, as I quickly found that Gothershall was far colder at night than the Village, although it might also have had something to do with the fact that the wind seemed to go straight through the wooden walls of the inn.
When I awoke the following day, I thought I had plenty of time to spare, but, after taking one leisurely look out the window, panic set in. I quickly collected all my scattered pieces of armour and my unpacked alchemy kit and then sprang out the door of the inn, running full sprint towards the arena, where already now the celebratory horns were blowing loudly across the city.
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For some reason, I’d slept twice as long as usual, and I had further screwed myself by choosing that specific inn, as it lay in the almost complete opposite end of the city from the arena. So it was that a dark-clad figure[2] came running down the uneven cobble streets faster than a horse in full gallop, trailing a magnificent coat that once had earned her the nickname, Raven-Black.
In hindsight, it’d been quite a reckless decision to wear my cape, but in my hurry to leave I’d put it on without a second thought.
As I neared the sounds of the triumphant music, the arena slowly rose up over the rooftops. I came closer-and-closer with each powerful stride, my stamina seemingly endless in my panicked desperation. At first, I just saw the top of the arena stands, from which the city’s residents and the many visitors would watch the fights, but after turning a corner and then hitting the main road, its full splendour came into view.
Okay, maybe splendour was a bit too generous: It was a set of raised wooden stands that stared down at a large oval-shaped arena with a floor of sand. I guessed that the shape of the arena probably originated in its original use for something else, like jousting, since it seemed an odd design for on-foot fighting. I couldn’t really imagine what it’d be like to fight on sand. But, one thing was for sure, the sand was bound to get everywhere, and a lot of energy would likely be spent just traversing it, compared to fighting on solid ground.
Men in armour of thick cloth draped with colourful tabards, likely those of the Lord of Gothershall, were busily ushering spectators to the stands, while some fighters, a few in the company of their sponsors, were standing off to the side waiting. None of them looked like they were players like me, but instead just part of the ‘set’. Though, I also couldn’t be completely sure they weren’t players. Regardless, they seemed easy pickings.
Most of all, I was glad no one seemed to have recognised me. It wasn’t really obvious whether I was still in the same ‘dimension’ as all the other people in the city, or if I’d already been phased into a parallel one. I hoped the latter was the case. Perhaps there’s some kind of sign of when the switch happens? If so, I should keep my eyes open.
Without even needing to state who I was, one of the tabard-wearing guards noticed me and approached with quick steps, and, in a scolding voice, said, “Where’ve you been!? We’ve been waiting on you!” I was about to begin explaining myself when the attendant immediately cut me off. “We don’t have time for that! Just get in there, you’re in the first fight!” He actually pushed me from behind until I willingly walked towards the arena floor by myself.
Suddenly a banner popped into existence before my eyes, “Now entering Stage ‘The Tournament’.”
The crowd roared loudly as the sand crunched beneath my boots, and the music kicked off in a merry cacophony of a dozen or so instruments all vying for control of the melody.
From somewhere among the stands near the middle of the arena came the piercing voice of the announcer. “Froooooom the rolling hills of the Forgotten Village, comes a fighter recently responsible for bringing the notorious Red Rian to justice! The Traveller!” The crowd cheered. “Will she have what it takes to face a fighter accustomed to the sand, and who is known far-and-wide as The Sword-Dancer of the Dunes!” On cue, a dark-skinned man entered the arena from the other end. The crowd erupted into excited gasps as though they had never laid eyes on a black man before. He had his entire chest exposed and wore baggy dark-red pants stopped short just below his knees, flimsy slippers made of reed, and over his head a light-brown shawl that covered his hair and most of his face. He carried two long, curved swords on either side of his waist and strode forward in a confident swagger that showed he wasn’t messing around.
But I wasn’t messing around either, and in a similar swagger closed the distance to the centre of the arena. At one point I almost slipped as my flat-bottomed boot landed awkwardly on the sand and the lack of friction made it slip away immediately. I thought I’d recovered quickly enough that nobody in the audience noticed, but, as I looked up, the mocking sneer barely masked behind my opponent’s shawl was evidence of the contrary.
Oh, this guy is gonna get it!
“As always, the rules are simple!” the announcer continued after the brief pause. “The fighter who first draws their opponent’s blood wins the bout!”
Hmm, first-blood. At least this meant that if I lost, I wouldn’t die. I wondered if accidental killings still happened, and, if so, did they disqualify you for it? I wasn’t sure I could reign in myself once my blood started pumping.
“Oh, and try not to kill each other!” the announcer then yelled as though he’d read my thoughts.
Try not to he had said... So, it was allowed, but maybe just discouraged, which meant I shouldn’t let my guard down by believing it was safe to lose. Just like up until now, I would treat this fight as if my life depended on it.
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[1] …and to avoid other players, though that should go without saying by now.
[2] I.e., me.