The rest of the day went by in a swift with nothing noteworthy happening.
As Ray walked the hallways sometimes whispers and rumors of his little act downstairs reached his ears. Most mocked or ridiculed him, but he could always hear a hint of anticipation in their voices.
The upcoming duel would determine his life going forward.
Triumph would mean an enormous rise in reputation and civilian support. Maybe even an Aristocrat would show interest, releasing him from the slimy clutches of Count Selwin.
And in case he loses...well, he'd be dead, so it wouldn't matter anyway.
So, all he had to do was beat up some spoiled lordling in a grand manner, continue his act of a righteous citizen and lastly reap the rewards.
It all sounded good on paper (or in his mind for that matter,) with the only problem being his absolute inability to fight. Never mind a duel to the death, he hadn't even been in a street fight until now. And as to the aspect of being spoiled and weak; luxuries in a medieval world probably wouldn't match what most modern middle-class families could afford, so he couldn't hope to have an advantage there either.
Other than brute forcing the whole thing and hoping for the best Ray didn't have much of a plan so far. Resorting to trickery would significantly up his chances of winning, but, although he didn't know the rules, he knew the Nobles too well by now to think they would let him get away once they got wind of him cheating. A fair fight would at least give his victory some validity, should he achieve it.
Still, preparations had to be made. He wasn't going to run blindly into battle just because he decided to be fair. Since he wasn't yet familiar with this world and its customs the first step was to get to know everything he could, with the rules for the dual being right on top.
...
After some asking around, they turned out to be surprisingly simple.
Each contestant was given a weapon of their choice. No self-owned weapons were allowed to be used. The point of this rule was lost on Ray as all weapons were the same to him, but it seemed one to make things even so he wasn't going to complain.
The battle was to be held by either sword or magic, but never both.
Additionally, although it was called duel of life and death, a deathblow wasn't necessary, should both combatants come to terms.
There were some other etiquettes he had to follow, but nothing that would directly play into the fight.
And although the prospect of magic being used irked him, since he couldn't use any, that was off the table from the get-go.
All in all the rules seemed vague and open for interpretation. Abusing or working around them wouldn't take much, and Ray could already think of a few ways to make the battle easier for himself or anger his opponent to death. He had made a decision though. No cheats. No tricks. Only two men clashing heads in the most primitive manner.
That said, he wasn't so naive to think Thomason would be the same.
Whatever unwritten rules restrained him, were unlikely to hold the friendly group perfumed youngsters back.
Since this duel was against an outsider and, more importantly, a commoner, he doubted the ruling class wouldn't allow for some bending if it prevents blue blood from being shed.
His first step on his path to victory took Ray into the city. He was surprised how easy it was to get out, but then again, where would he go?
The landscape was the same as before; still so very unfamiliar and strange.
He saw the same people with different faces, all so absorbed into their own affairs had they cellphones in their hands Ray would almost feel at home.
Shaking his head, Ray laughed at himself. This wasn't why he was here. He didn't have the time to drown in sentimentality.
Every elaborate plan started with a brilliant idea. So he walked. He walked and thought, long and hard until he came to the inner wall. He knew whatever was needed to win the fight; he couldn't find within the sanctum of the rich. Not to mention, he'd be a lot harder to track down in the jumbled mess of the outer districts.
As soon as he was through the gate, some people eyed him. Whether hidden or out in the open, Ray could feel their gazes on him. Some looked only for a brief moment, some too long for him to stay comfortable, but they all eventually shifted away without doing anything.
Not minding the attention, Ray continued on his way. He wasn't in the mood nor did he have the means to bother with these people. Down the road, as he disappeared into the sea of people, Ray constantly looked around in search of shops that sold what he needed. Luckily societies like this one weren't known for being big on literacy, so most things were signposted.
He tried going inside a few shops, never to buy anything, but to get a feel for the prices and people.
His clothes didn't exactly scream rich, but they were by no means common around here. If the shopkeepers treated him with too much suspicion he would have no chance to pull this off; after all, he didn't have any money on him.
Fortunately, wealthy clientele didn't seem too rare as he was just generally ignored without much of a fuss.
At his fourth or fifth stop, he walked into a shabby wooden building just at the entrance of an alley.
The beggars and thugs so apparent everywhere else seemed to avoid this building like the plague, only some kids covered in grime wearing rags hanging around.
Inside wasn't much better. The floor was covered in holes, the shelves full of cobwebs and only a few broken wares decorated the empty racks. Behind the counter sat an old man with half-closed eyes, smoking pipe. In a corner behind was another kid crouched. At first glance, he didn't seem different than the rest of the bunch outside, but metallic glint, hidden in one of his hands, made Ray dismiss that assumption immediately.
Looking around one last time, he approached the counter. He was sure this was the kind of 'shop' he had been looking for. Since he didn't have money, his best shot was in making a debt. And who gave debts out more easily than criminals?
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Although he knew it would cost him dearly later, his first and foremost priority right now was keeping his life, so he didn't hesitate.
The old man lazily raised his head. He didn't meet Ray's eyes and only looked up high enough to see his stomach. For some reason that gaze made Ray's hairs stand on end.
"What d'ya want laddie?" He said, his voice coarse and seasoned.
Coming this far, Ray failed to produce an answer. How exactly was he supposed to breach this topic? Being just an ordinary student until recently, he didn't have any experience dealing with criminals. Posing and holding speeches was one thing, but negotiating with the medieval mafia? A whole other level.
Rasping his voice, Ray tried to sound as casual as possible.
"I need something to help in a dual; got anything?"
The old man finally looked all the way up, meeting Ray's eyes. His scleras* were an unnatural yellow, almost golden, with bags that made him look like he didn't sleep in weeks. But before Ray could wonder if it as from a sickness or whatever was in that pipe the man grumbled in a low voice.
"You that twat fightin' the Petland boy?"
Despite the harsh language and the realization the man before him probably already knew everything that had conspired, Ray didn't falter. He had to remain steadfast if he wanted this to work.
"I am." he said, "I am also the one who is likely going to be killed by that boy if nothing happens."
A shrug and disgusting cough later, the man returned his posture to how it was before. Not caring about the mucus he had splattered everywhere, he resumed smoking and murmured into his pipe,
"Don' care, don' wanna bother. What's one more dead shit to me?"
He was, of course, right. Ray's life didn't mean anything to the man nor did he bring any benefits if left alive. But if the whole experience of living in a new world had taught Ray something, then bullshitting.
With a small smile on his lips, Ray moved to brand himself a criminal.
"A dead shit? Not much. A dead potential business partner? Maybe a bit more."
As intended that seemed to have gotten the shopkeepers interest. In hopes of striking the iron while it's hot, Ray continued.
"Right now I don't only have connections to Count Selwin and the Duke; after the fight - that means if I win - I will also be a man of the people. Beloved and respected."
Shortly confirming junkie gramps was still listening, Ray quickly churned the gears in his mind to make himself sound even more important.
"Additionally is, to my understanding, the victor entitled to a reward of the opponents family if nothing was formally agreed upon. Whether that will be land, money or other precious items; I imagine it would be quite valuable in one way or another. With your assistance, you would help yourselves just as much as me, if not more. Whether it's a middles-man you want or just a quick cash-grab, for a small investment, you could get both. "
As he ended his sales-pitch, the smug expression on his face was as good as fixed. He honestly thought there was no fault in what he said and although both of them knew most of it was exaggerated, he didn't lie. And with enough time, work and luck the possible profit he could bring in, was rather significant.
After some silent moments, the old man sighed defeated and, without saying anything, waved Ray away. Although he still tried to get a word in before he was sent away, a swift movement from the kid in the corner discouraged him form it. Shooting the shop one last glance he, got on his way, hoping for the best.
…
As always Ray was woken up by the gently knocking of a maid, who, after quickly laying out his clothes for the day, excused herself from the room. With sluggish movements, Ray got out of the bed and immediately noticed his usual clothes were exchanged with thin leather armor allowing for quick movement.
It was the big day of the fight, three days after the verbal showdown and two after his trip into the shady parts of town.
He still hadn't heard anything from the old shop-keep but knew better than to go there again. If the villain didn't want to help, forcing the issue wouldn't do him any good.
And as much as he didn't want to get up and face the consequences of his stupidity, hiding or running away weren't viable options. In a place full of soldiers and aristocrats that were looking forward to this spectacle, he'd be dragged back from the gnaws of death if it was necessary.
Since his number one and two choices were squashed, Ray had decided to walk into this battle at his best. After all, he had almost two full days to train his tender student body into swordsman material.
Now clothed and ready, Ray made his last preparations by walking up and down the room, nibbling on his nails. Hundreds of scenarios of how the fight could play out ran through his head. Although he didn't have any hands-on experience, years of TV education fueled his imagination. Unfortunately the times he lost heavily outweighed the times he won, even in his head.
At that moment a heavy knocking, closer to hitting, ripped him out of his reverie. Opening the door, a burly soldier in full armor stared down on him. He knew it was time.
Ray struggled one last time, trying to buy time, but had to resign himself in the end, as the escort didn't even raise an eyebrow; much less respond.
So he trudged down the hallway he once admired and now hated more than anything. The servants and maids they walked by looked at him with a mix of pity and schadenfreude. And angry as he wanted to be, at them, he couldn't. With all honesty, he probably would have reacted the same if some poor sob ended up like him. But now that he was at the end of the joke...it wasn't at all funny.
Quite soon they reached the courtyard. In the short span of one night and morning, the space had transformed to conform to the needs of this day. A circular arena had been marked with wooden stakes. It was no more than ten meters in circumference, but for a sword-fight, it seemed more than enough. On both sides, left and right, seats had were set up in a dome-like manner. A quick count revealed there to be around a hundred people waiting with anticipation. And although he was one of the main attractions, Ray didn't delude himself with the thought that all these Noblemen and women were here to see his glorious swordsmanship. They had to be either extremely bored or used the battle as a cover for the political undercurrents.
On the opposite side of the arena, Richard and Thomason were already waiting, and for some reason, they were leaning on each other. Ray didn't know their specific relationship, but at their last meeting, they didn't seem close enough for such an action.
Like every good cynic, Ray was already deep down in thoughts trying to resolve his suspicion, yet he had to let it go almost immediately as a child with a sword in hand bumped into him.
Now on top of suspicious and afraid, he was also confused. Only a few steps from him was a weapon stand with all the swords, maces, shields and whatever he could hope for, yet this kid was here pressing a rapier in his side. Preparing to admonish the child and also let off some steam, Ray took a good look at this brat. To his surprise, he had to discover that it was the same grime covered child who sat in the corner of the old villain's shop.
Still lost on what this meant, Ray slowly raised his hand and took the handle of the sword. As he pulled it back to him, the child wiped the blade with a wet and dirty cloth, leaving it stained instead of clean. Wide-eyed and dazed, Ray brought the edge before himself, inspecting every inch of it. At first, he noticed nothing of note, until a small, almost transparent, drop liquid slid from the tip. Usually, he would have thought it water and moved on, but if it was a sword given by that kid...
'He accepted...HE ACCEPTED!'
Like a child on Christmas morning, Ray couldn't stop smiling from this moment forth. He didn't notice how the courier kid pressed a sword-breaker in his free hand and vanished. He didn't even notice the horn signaling the start of the event nor the thunderous applause right after. All he could think about was how his life had taken a turn once again.