The rays of light illuminated the scales of my new armor. The blueish, fish-like scales created an optic phenomenon that looked like a rainbow if you looked from above. The light refracted and created a real rainbow on the beige stone wall.
Light, flexible and stab-proof. At least for the most part. The breast plate, pauldrons and knee guards were made out of multiple sheets of iron stacked and glued together. This increases the armor's stopping power. It makes the armor invulnerable to most projectiles from my weight category. Only a very knowledgeable sage could pierce it with some esoteric magic.
The plates are additionally covered with scalemail. Hundreds of landshark scales are affixed to a leather cloth and then draped over the combatant. Very good protection against sword slashes, general pike and spear hits but vulnerable to short, close-range, bladed stabs. If somebody stabs you from a specific angle with a short dagger, gauche or a misericorde it'll still penetrate the leather.
But this is an honorable duel. Backstabs are a big "no no."
Landsharks are most similar to a scaled T-rex with a shark's head. They are a selectively bred "war animal." Made for the purpose of transcending traditional cavalry. Their problem is energy efficiency, so somebody thought of turning these ferocious devourers into armored pigs. Their scales are tough but not too tough. Perfect for armor.
Anyways, she will definitely be bringing a broad headed spear. Tradition dictates that one versus one arena duels must be opened up with a sort of a bull run where the fighters charge at each other with a shield and spear. There are hundreds of dueling strategies built around what is called a "first-point win."
Victory via the first point of contact. From acidic alchemic concoctions to harpoon builds. Everything has already been tried and tested with various success rates. Different combatants use different styles but generally it's all the same. If first-point contact ends in a draw then it's usually the better armored one who wins because he can afford to make more mistakes.
The shield and spear are then discarded and the sword is drawn. Or in higher weight categories a mace, poleaxe or a hammer. Zweihander-like swords do exist but they can be a bit unwieldy. They're only used for anti-infantry crowd control because even most light armors can deflect a hit from them.
A battle of attrition begins. Some fighters try for a second-point win with disarming blades or magic trickery but most are against such methods because of their unreliable nature.
Grimar was nice enough to provide me with a page to help me put on armor. A short and quiet slave girl, probably employed for her nimble fingers.
She easily fixed all the straps at the right places and made sure there were no obvious gaps in my defense, even in the spots where an unexperienced combatant might not notice them but his blade could still stumble there. Her hands danced around my breastplate with experience, making sure no scale was out of place.
After a long duration of pulling and readjusting she silently withdrew to the side.
I stumbled toward the arena's entrance.
A square arch, a bloodstained wall, distinctly Akkadian square spirals littered the short hallway.
A cacophony of cheers filled my ears as I stood on the sand below the scorching gazes of the relatively large audience.
"A short round of applause for the man who financed this duel: Grimar Of Akkad."
The applause that followed was about as pleasant as standing below a waterfall. Grimar was clearly the center of attention here. This event was about him. He didn't finance it out of his goodwill.
When observing the five women that surrounded him an unsavory thought entered my mind.
This duel was set up by a high-ranking sage who wanted to kill two wizards with one spear.
Some noble families were probably suspecting Grimar of picking favourites, hence he was being forced to display the unity of his harem. In the story Grimar is the useful idiot. The dynasty exploits his desires and uses him as glue that holds the other noble families in check via marriage. One of his uncles probably "supports" his extravagant lifestyle. I suppose you could see it as a sort of a dynastic business expense.
I looked at his empty smile and the golden dragon necklaces that were hanging around the necks of his five wives. Four of them had beige tunics with strapless silver corsets that accentuated their stature. The fifth one was dressed in a long red dress and even had square golden earrings, the ultimate symbol of opulence. The main wife has to show off. Grimar himself wore a silky smooth pure white tunic. Pure white and blue colors were reserved for the royal family. If a noble wanted to act pretentious he had to settle for purple or crimson. If you wanted to come off as conservative you would wear earthly colours.
In Akkadian culture it is seen as inappropriate for a woman to wear something on her head. Only men can wear crowns, headbands and helmets. Combat helmets for women are made to rest on the woman's shoulders creating a rare exception to the rule.
I very much hope the second reason for this duel isn't to get rid of me. Yes, I did kind of cheat but I come from a family that's not very prominent and while technically they can't deny my entry into the academy because I am a noble's firstborn they might feel cheated by my low status and could potentially suspend my application indefinitely. Getting on the dragon list is a step around that problem. However, the only way to hand over a place on the dragon list is via a duel and throwing a duel would bar me from accessing many future social opportunities.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
A noble would rather be seen as weak than as a social parasite. His title could literally be stripped on the basis of disgraceful conduct which wasn't an everyday occurrence but you can never be too careful.
The reputational warfare against the Nextshape family would have been too costly for me. I had to accept the duel one way or another. Let's just hope nothing unexpected happens.
The commentator had finally finished citing Grimar's pedigree and was now finally moving onto the fighters: "In the north we have Evelyn Nextshape. A dedicated lady fighter that has been training with the spear since childhood, brought up in the prominent Nextshape household, the third child of count…"
Noble titles denote the amount of land you have under management. What really matters is your surname. Nobles have surnames. Where you come from matters because techniques and abilities are heritable traits. Especially when it comes to the knowledge of magic and weaponry. No one will instruct you for free and no one will serve for free!
The kingdom is separated into dukedoms, those are separated into counties and counties are protected by knightly clans. Counts differ in authority from masters of the realm to guests on their own land. Knightly families rise and fall and dukes often have to arbitrate between different settlements.
I closely observed my enemy.
Tough leather armor covered with iron chainmail. Flimsy helmet: she must be very confident in humiliating me. She comes from a prominent family. Definitely has some fancy technique. "Tri-shape blade" or something like that. I barely remember. She was a contrived romantic character. Not exactly someone worth remembering.
The flag of her noble house hanged from one of her pauldrons.
I went for the coat of arms painted onto an armband. Conservative and practical. Red and green colors intertwined below the shield. On the shield lay three weapons. An ax crossing a poleaxe and a sword that divides them. Below that was embroidered a single rune: Gladius.
I guess the direct translation would be "house of Gladius" but the most correct translation, taking in account cultural differences in the meaning of words, would be "the Gladius clan." The colors themselves imply that one is of lower nobility. No high noble would want green on his finest cloth. Green means interconnectedness with nature. Dirt, grime, the "everydayness" of life. Red is blood. The primary profession of a knight happens on the battlefield. His rights are derived from his usefulness to the high lords and the sages. A knight takes pride in his martial tradition and in the devotion with which he serves.
I looked at Evelyn's flag: Circle, triangle, and a square. "Nextshape" was embroidered on the short flaps of skirt that hanged from her belt. Purple shapes on a yellow background. That's how you say you're showing off without actually showing off. Purple dye is hard to make-purple cloth is expensive. So you pick a cheaper dye and you add in a bit of purple here and there. It's to show you're rich but humble. You could've painted the whole flag purple. For someone who can afford purple dye it doesn't makes a difference financially. However, the meaning would be different then. You can't be rich and low status. A servant has to continually put himself down in front of his master. Not for his master's sake but for his own. An underestimated slave is a free slave as contradictory as that sounds. It's one thing to labor with all your might and another to labor for might…
"Ren Gladius from the Gladius family. The one located in the north of the Seaside Dukedom. He is the first child but was not proclaimed the heir. The title instead went to his younger brother…"
I could technically take offense at how the commentator pronounced younger as he is clearly implying my inferiority but I have better things to care about now.
"…Ren seems to have brought an unusual weapon. A sort of a bow affixed to a stick. Maybe that's why he demanded a workshop as a price for agreeing to the duel. He must be very confident in his invention."
A sage stepped up next to the commentator. His very presence dulled the atmosphere a little. A long white beard. A white tunic and a distinct always-recognizable mortarboard blue hat. The golden tassel was affixed to the side of the hat instead of the top like in my previous world. Here it had a bit of a different meaning that I won't get into now.
The sage flicked his fingers at the sky. All the newcomers of Sumeria, the academy city, looked up in expectation. A bright red flame surged from his hand and exploded outward into a bright crimson flare.
The duel had just started.
The girl smirked at the spear I stabbed into the ground. She gripped hers intensely and prepared to bolt in my direction, ending the duel in a single move.
Foolish. Even a much stronger fighter would be careful if his opponent showed up with an unknown weapon.
I aimed my crossbow at her stomach. The arrow whistled through the air and what followed…
A sickening thud. Her armor plate ended where her abdomen started. A great way to gain mobility and reduce weight. A massive advantage in a fight of attrition. A good choice for this weight category. But alas…
The bolt dug into her stomach, easily piercing the iron chainmail. I even made sure to load a bodkin bolt when I saw her wearing chainmail.
It's not sadistic. I just didn't want to leave anything to chance. In my testing only a bodkin bolt reliably pierces the better crafted versions of chainmail. At least it should be easier to pull out.
The girl screamed in shock. She never could have expected something like this. She wanted to move forward but all she could do was scream in pain. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks as she slumped to the ground cradling her stomach. A crimson-yellow liquid poured onto the sand. First a dark stain appeared around the wound and then drop by drop a small bloody puddle started forming all the while she kept screaming as if I had hit something really important.
Her eyes were wide open and she was gasping for breath. The audience was suspiciously quiet. They hadn't exactly expected this.
"Gladius, first-point win!"
As if finally allowed reprieve the audience cheered and applauded. The cacophony of voices drowned me, their exhilaration seemed to resonate with the beating of my heart.
I looked deeply into Evelyn's eyes. They contained no regret or sadness at her loss. Only sheer dread at the lifeblood leaving her body. Her tiny lips quivered at every single crimson drop that stained the dusty landscape.
I straightened my back and saluted in the traditional Akkadian way: pushing my chest out and hitting my left breast twice, just slightly above my racing heart.