Lock stared at Harald's back as the boy left downstairs to get himself checked over for competing. There was an odd anticipation building within him, as if, some of his thirst for victory had been ripped from him in a manner most cruel, and had been imparted within his pupil. He wanted Harald to win, and he could not entirely justify the feeling with what he would potentially gain from the victory.
Was this the joy of a teacher? If so, it was highly overrated. Staking one's feelings on the accomplishments of others. Lock closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. He could now see the allure of being a teacher. A master passing down his craft. One could, even in one's twilight years, bring about glory from one's actions. However Lock was not in his twilight years, despite his actual age, he was very much in the springtime of his youth.
Neither was he such a failure that his only claim to fame would be the pupils that he raised.
He was starting to get sentimental about the issue. It was a transaction. Nothing more.
That was the moment his other transaction decided to speak up.
“You think they'll be ok?” Kamin asked, turning her ears in different directions as the stands around them slowly began to fill up with people. It was quite the crowd now, almost 500. Impressive considering the fact that this was an amateur competition. There was likely more of an interest due to the raised stakes. Admission into the officer fast-track was nothing to sneeze at. Down that road lay many benefits. People were likely flocking here expecting bloodier fights now that there was more on the line.
“They better be fine, or I'll make them anything but.” Lock said threateningly.
He seemed to be losing his edge as all that Kamin did in response was giggle. Instead of dwelling on the issue of his intimidation factor. Which he had secured for life anyway with his new skill, Lock turned his attention downwards towards the participants. The official from earlier was going around, laying his palm on people's faces. Disturbing symbolism, potentially disgusting if the man had sweaty palms. After laying his hands down on the faces he would speak with the participants. Not that Lock heard anything, he just watched the man's lips move.
Likely checking for either potions or levels. How he did so, Lock had no idea. Which was bad, because if he didn't know how it worked, then he couldn't reliably cheat using that method.
However, there was one person who would perhaps know the answer. He huddled closer to Lemmings, and therefore Kamin, who was sitting between his legs. Or more specifically, he huddled closer to the ring that Kamin was wearing.
“Any idea how the official is checking the requirements old man?” He asked quietly, and after several seconds of silence began to think that he wouldn't get an answer. Kirin's job was to protect his granddaughter, not answer his questions after all. However an answer did come.
“It's a Legil, walking lie-detectors, he's asking the participants what level they are.” An old voice.
“Not for potions and magical effects?” Lock asked.
“They'll have a Curador do it later.” The old man replied. Lock nodded and sat up straight again. He watched the participants who had already been verified moving onto one side of the platform, awkwardly standing close to each other. The tournament wasn't set to start yet, so despite everyone present already being verified in the levels department. Except for two people, who'd been politely asked to leave, the official remained waiting, occasionally verifying anyone that came into the arena. A quarter of an hour before the start however, judging by the position of the sun, the artificial sun spit out three lines, each one connecting to a corner of the arena. A transparent film spread out between the lines, forming an enclosed pyramid around the staging ground. Now that everything appeared magnified Lock could see the facial expressions of his pupils. Ino looked relaxed, standing on the edge of the group, and Harald looked the opposite, standing in the middle, looking like he'd swallowed a lemon.
A bright white flash suddenly overtook the group of participants, the light seemed to harmlessly pass through them, two however, began glowing red. A bang resounded, echoing due to the architecture, and the two red glowing wannabes were violently ejected towards the exit, the barrier flickered for a second to let them through, and they disappeared into the corridor.
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“What just happened, has it started?” Kamin asked, while Lock was still busy raising an eyebrow at the ridiculousness of literally ejecting two people out of the tournament.
“No.” He said with a shake of his head. “I think they just checked everyone for potions and magical effects. Two of them seemingly failed the test, the noise you heard was them being violently ejected from the premises. With another two leaving beforehand due to levels there are now,” He quickly counted, eyes lingering a few seconds on a girl with red-hair and a completely armoured knight, “Exactly 16 participants left.” As Lock began a running commentary, he wondered for a short moment why he'd taken a blind girl to a spectacle such as this. “The official is going around now. He has a box with a hole in it in his hands, likely drawing lots.” His guess was confirmed as the first participant who drew, his cousin actually, on virtue that he'd forced his way forward with an insufferable grin on his face, pulled out a piece of paper out of the box. He held it up triumphantly, revealing the number eight.
Contrary to his expectations, nobody seemed to care overly much. A few people in the crowd clapped. Likely out of pity.
It took about two minutes for everyone to have a number in their hands, after which the participants were allowed to disperse back into the edges of the arena, and the official started talking into his hand. A few seconds later a tournament bracket was seared in black text onto the pyramid barrier.
Quickly looking through it for names that he knew Lock continued talking. “William, the knight accompanying the Curador we meet on the road on the way here seems to be the first one who'll go up on stage. I don't know his opponent though. Harald drew the number five so he will meet him in the third round, first he'll have to go through two no-names though. Your brother drew a nine, he's on the other side. If he meets Harald, it'll be in the finals.” Mia drew a 13, so she would potentially face Ino, he would need to find an opportunity to talk to them and make one of them forfeit. In case Harald lost it would be better if they didn't waste their energy on each other in the quarter-finals.
He wasn't given much more time to think however as the first match was quickly announced, another official joining the previous one on stage. This one was dressed in white and red, a Curador most likely. There was something odd about the man’s shadow, but considering that magic was a thing Lock didn’t give it much attention beyond the cursory.
William calmly made his way onto the stage. The only thing he held was a sword, a one-hander. Odd. The man looked like a knight, shouldn't he also have a shield, especially if he was wielding only a small-sword?
“They seem a bit impatient to get this on with.” He commented to Kamin. “The first fight is about to start already. William, a knight with a sword, against someone I don't know. Looks like a city guardsman to be honest, although he seems to be wielding a halberd.” He finished as the two adversaries took up positions against each other on opposite sides of the circle drawn on the stone platform.
The guardsman looked a bit old to be participating in an iron-rank tournament, seemed to be about 30. However considering William was wearing a helmet and Lock therefore couldn't determine his age he didn't know if he should say anything.
He looked around, furrowing his brow as the countdown began. Where was the adventuring representative? Was it the Legil? Sure, it would be convenient for the lie-detector and the representative were the same person, but weren't there supposed to be more people around to secure a certain amount of accountability through diversity? The only officials he saw were the two nobles, odd considering the tournament was mostly composed of non-nobles.
The countdown finished. The guardsman, dressed in his stupid red uniform sprang forward immediately, halberd raised for a devastating strike aimed directly at William's head. William... seemingly developed a death-wish at that very moment, he didn't even attempt to dodge, simply tilting his head a bit and taking half a step to the right as he swung his sword in an arc that would never hit his opponent due to the difference in reach. The halberd slammed down on the knight's shoulder with a brutality that made even Lock wince, the metal dented, William was shaken up and fell to the floor with a sickening crack. Not before releasing the sword he'd been swinging however and against all odds, the thing span once, twice while its owner was in the process of falling down, before impacting, tip-first, the exposed neck of the guardsman. Where it stopped floating in mid-air a string from the pyramid barrier stopping the potentially deadly blow. Some drops of blood started trickling down the man's throat.
The match ended. William won. “What an idiot.” Lock heard someone say from behind him. “Sacrificing a shoulder for victory. Is he forgetting that this tournament has more than just one match?”
He looked back and saw some men dressed like bureaucrats discussing the match. He tuned them out before turning back around, just in time to see the Curador help the guardsman of the stage, holding a hand glowing green to the guardsman's throat. The blood disappeared, and the participant left the arena through the entrance, barrier blinking to let him through.
“What happened?” Kamin asked.
“William sacrificed a shoulder, and therewith the whole arm to win the match.” Lock said as he watched the knight pick himself up, stagger out of bounds and begin pulling off his dented shoulder plate along with the rest of the armour on that arm. “However, this was likely intentional. Either he only wanted to win one match, or, he has some way to recover. Stupid though, he'd need an incredible amount of Endurance to heal from that wound, and if he had it, he could have just fought normally without feeling tired afterwards. I don't remember the Knight Class having a healing skills below level 25. Maybe he's double-classing as a Healer? ” He speculated
A thought suddenly came to him. He narrowed his eyes at William, and searched out the noble cur he'd been accompanying in the crowd. It wasn't hard considering his white-red priestly get-up and the fact that he was sitting far away from every other member of the audience. A Curador needed to be involved in the setting up of any tournament, firstly to diagnose any attempts to cheat, and secondly to stand by and make sure nobody died as the tournament commenced.
The arena, was very much a Curador territory.
He sighe. Of course, why hadn't he thought of that. If the nobles concocted a plan to get a peasant into the military as a propaganda effort. Then why wouldn't they attempt to jack the tournament into the favour of a peasant they'd already bought.
At this point he could only hope that the Legil wasn't involved in this particular scheme and that none of the participants were of an obnoxiously high level.