Chapter 127

I’ve retold this story many times since then. Writing this account is not the first time I’ve re-experienced that moment. And every time, I wish the sense of suspense had been greater. This was my real-life experience, not a tale spun from imagination. So I always expect my listeners to feel a greater sense of anticipation. Why couldn’t this have been the end? Why couldn’t the listener believe, truly, that it might be over? Why couldn’t the reader hold their breath as I described Lance hurtling toward defeat?

Because it would have been too easy, I suppose. It certainly hadn’t felt easy.

Whatever the case, if you've read this far with the certainty that the fight wouldn’t end so suddenly, then I must tip my hat to you.

As I watched Lance fall, my breath held in excitement and anticipation, I saw the light flare from his visor again. I can’t help but respect his composure. He found enough wherewithal to activate POWER again during that chaotic fall. His sword flared with the light of CUT as he bounced from the final tier and, with his body twisting in mid-air, he stabbed the platform. His blade bit deep, anchoring him. His body jerked violently as his momentum clashed with the anchored blade, but he was arrested mid-fall, kneeling on the final tier, grasping the hilt of the embedded sword with both hands.

He stayed there. His shoulders rose and fell rapidly. He was stunned, he was in pain—but he wasn’t out yet, and his visor still blazed with the light of his damnable POWER attribute.

I moved forward immediately, determined to take advantage of his momentary weakness.

The voice shrieked, "No! Don’t!"

I faltered.

The voice said, "He’s too far down. By the time you get there, he’ll be back on his feet, and you’ll be one slip away from defeat. There is no relic he can possess that gives him an unlimited reserve of POWER. You need to play this out. Believe me, Tiberius, there is exactly and only one way out of this. You need to stay in the contest long enough for him to use up his reserve."

I think it says a lot about how far my confidence had grown that I personally disagreed with the voice. My faith in my own abilities had surged so much that I could envision another way to defeat him. But it was fantastical, probably impractical. I tempered my confidence enough to keep the thought to myself, choosing to concentrate on the voice of experience that was guiding me. Still, I didn’t completely let go of the idea forming in my mind.

I glanced up, considering moving to the top tier again, further from the floor.

The voice read my intentions and hissed, "No, stay where you are. Stay on this tier. The wall behind you limits the angles he can attack from. On the open space of the top tier, his speed advantage will be multiplied. He’ll be able to move around you from every angle."

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I nodded. The voice was right. I opted to stay on the second tier. I hesitated. I could stay here, watch him coming, and be prepared, or I could dash to the far side and give him some uncertainty about how to assault me. After the nasty surprise I had just delivered to him, I felt maybe he would slow down if he had to approach from an unseen angle again, anticipating another ambush. That would mean more seconds, and more seconds meant his POWER reserve depleting further.

Without consulting with the voice, I raced around the bend toward the opposite side of the tier. I was giving up my ability to see him coming, but I wasn’t sure how much that would matter. Uncertainty might slow Lance down.

But Lance was no fool.

I would have loved for him to race to the top tier and come around the platform again. I was even considering dropping to the third tier when he reached the second. Play out more time. Ambush him from a new angle. But Lance was too aware for that.

As I stood, bracing myself once more with my back against the wall, HEARING as my main focus, I saw him. Instead of racing up, he had stayed on the bottom tier and circled around with his supernatural speed, fixing my location. My move had bought me little to nothing in terms of extra time. Once he had my position, he surged at me like an arrow.

I readied my sword. At least he would be at a disadvantage making the final leap to my platform. But again, I underestimated him. When he reached the third tier, he darted a few yards to the side in an instant. From that lateral position, he leapt to my platform. At the very least, this gave me the opportunity to turn and face him. I leveled my sword at him. His visor blazed with the fires of finality. I understood how slim my chances were.

But there was no quit in me now. I had been through too much, evaded disaster too many times. Too often, I had let those narrow escapes fill me with feelings of inadequacy instead of victory. I would stand firm against him now. The only way he had gotten this far was by cheating. I would not be denied easily.

Lance smiled and said, "It's over now, shopkeeper. You got this far, and that’s something you can tell your grandkids when you’re teaching them how to hoist a few extra customers by undercutting your betters. But this is it. I can take you apart any way I want to now. The only question left for me is if I shouldn’t just kill you."

I stood firm. Through gritted teeth, I snarled, "You’re cheating. You have a relic. You can’t beat me yourself, and you know it. What does it say about your honor, your blood, that you need help to win? That you can’t do it nobly?"

To my surprise, my words affected him. They didn’t trigger instant rage. I had hurt him. Lance had tried to best me without the relic. He had wanted to do it fairly. I couldn’t know if that was because he wanted to prove something to himself, or if it was an actual sense of honor that had led him to delay using the relic. He might have been an arrogant bigot, but he had only done his best in the contest. He had used the rules to his best advantage, but he had never cheated—until now. He had been like me, doing what he could to win. Nothing more.

The pained grimace that seized his face made me wonder about his parental pressures. My father had seized my whole life as a tool for his own ambitions. Perhaps Lord Blackwater, Lance’s father, saw his son the same way. I could never know the pressures that had led Lance to accept the relic.

What I did know was that he had it now, and he was ready to use it.

The pained grimace turned into one of rage. Lance roared and charged at me. His speed was dazzling, impossible to defend against. A board shattered beneath his foot from the sheer force of his movement.

I raised my sword in utter futility; there was absolutely no defense against the assault that was coming.

Then, the light from his visor flickered—and went out.