As the four pairs of Paladins took their positions within the large, rune-etched circles, the rest of the group settled onto the stone benches lining the training hall. The air buzzed with a mixture of anticipation and tension, all eyes on Valeria as she began detailing the duels and the exceptional nature of the grounds they stood upon.
"These dueling arenas," Valeria started, her voice echoing with authority, "are among Aethel's most remarkable enchanting feats. They serve dual purposes: to halt combat upon meeting the victory conditions or when a combatant sustains what would be a mortal blow outside this space, and to fully heal you immediately afterwards." She paused, allowing the weight of her words to sink in. "This means live weapons will be used, providing you with invaluable, real combat experience while ensuring your utmost safety."
Michael, while initially relieved to hear about the built-in safeguards, quickly grasped the underlying implication—the arenas would allow, even necessitate, experiencing severe injuries, albeit temporarily. A wave of apprehension threatened to rise within him, but it was curiously muted, replaced instead by an almost eager anticipation for the challenge. 'Is this the effect of my increased willpower, or has Cindy been tinkering around more than I realized?' he wondered silently, grappling with the notion of his altered mental state.
Disconcerting as the thought was, Michael's resolve remained unshaken. His journey in Aethel was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and he was determined to make the most of it, even if it meant stepping far outside his comfort zone.
Valeria continued, her tone shifting slightly as she touched upon the purpose behind such rigorous training. "Frankly, it's disappointing that you require such measures instead of facing real adversaries. However, you bear the essence of our revered Aethelrion. It is paramount that we safeguard you, nurturing the divine strength within." Her expression briefly softened with a deep, almost reverential love when mentioning Aethelrion, before quickly snapping back to focus.
"The arenas will automatically intervene, ensuring no fatal harm comes to you. So, I expect you to commit fully, holding nothing back," she declared, scanning the group with a critical eye. "It's time to witness the true mettle of those chosen by Aethelrion himself. Those of you in the circles, spread out when I say start, begin."
The combatants all walked to opposite sides as Valeria began counting down from ten. Michael watched Gaius Marius with a mix of respect and a pang of inadequacy. The centurion's ease and confidence with his weapons were miles from Michael's own tentative grasp of the spear. Yet, a determined spark remained kindled within him, reminding himself, 'Every warrior starts somewhere.' As Gaius assessed his opponent, a Chinese man holding some sort of polearm with a wicked-looking head that Michael couldn’t quite identify, he saw a steely determination come over the man, and Michael was glad Gaius was not his own initial opponent.
“Start,” Valeria commanded and translucent barriers rose up from each circle as the fights began.
As her command cut through the air, Gaius Marius, with the discipline and precision honed through countless battles, surged forward. The ancient Roman's movements were a blend of practiced skill and natural instinct, his spear thrusting forward in a series of rapid, calculated attacks that seemed to press his opponent from the onset. Michael paid close attention to their stances and footwork, figuring the fundamentals were the most important place to start.
The Chinese warrior, wielding his polearm with a grace that spoke of years of training, parried the initial thrusts, his weapon moving in fluid, sweeping arcs. The clash of wood against wood resounded through the hall, each strike a testament to their prowess. Michael found himself mentally tracing the arc of Gaius's spear thrusts, the defensive posture behind the shield, and even the fluid grace of the Chinese warrior's polearm swings, trying to better understand how the warriors fought and, perhaps, slightly trying to distract himself from the fact that he would shortly be in that arena.
Gaius, undeterred by the defensive skill of his adversary, adjusted his strategy with the acumen of a seasoned tactician. He began to feint, using deceptive movements to create openings. His shield became not just a defense but an active component of his offense, cleverly angled to obstruct his opponent's vision and control the flow of combat. He landed a few shallow blows to his opponent's arms, drawing blood and growing bolder before overcommitting and receiving a deep cut to the thigh, which clearly pained him but did little to slow his assault.
The dance between the two combatants grew more intense, a physical dialogue of thrust and parry, advance and retreat. Gaius's relentless aggression contrasted with his opponent's fluid, almost poetic maneuvering, creating a spectacle that had Michael riveted, the other three fights completely ignored.
As the duel progressed, it became evident that Gaius was slowly gaining the upper hand. His strikes seemed to grow more forceful as he continued to wound his foe, blood flowing freely from both of them. In a decisive moment, he executed a feint that drew a sweeping counter from the Chinese warrior, exposing his flank. Gaius seized the opportunity, stepping inside the arc of the polearm with a swift, agile move that belied the armor he wore.
With the precision of a surgeon, Gaius delivered a controlled but forceful thrust of his spear, targeting the space just below his opponent's arm—a strike that, in real combat, would have been debilitating if not fatal. The arena's enchantments activated as the spear pierced the man’s flesh; he cried out in pain, but with a flash of light, both he and Gaius had been returned to the starting location of their duels, completely unharmed.
As Michael observed Gaius and his opponent miraculously restored to perfect health, a profound sense of awe and a surge of relief swept through him. Witnessing such raw martial prowess combined with the magical safeguards of the arena kindled a fervent resolve within him. He decided to approach his imminent duel not just with bravery but with an eagerness to learn, despite his palpable lack of combat experience. The initial matches concluded rapidly, drawing Michael's attention back as Valeria began her assessment.
"An acceptable start," Valeria remarked, her tone carrying a hint of ennui, clearly underwhelmed by the performance despite what Michael considered an impressive display. "Let's keep the momentum. Next up: Michael Libertaelum versus Atlan," she announced, proceeding to list the next set of pairs. Michael's focus narrowed to a pinpoint the moment his name was called, drowning out the subsequent pairings, including Lex's. Stepping into the designated arena, he locked eyes with his opponent across the space.
Atlan, the heavyset Asian man Michael remembered struggling during their first day of physical training, stood confidently wielding a massive battle axe. He had dark hair and seemed to be maybe in his earlier 30s, his hard glare revealing little of his personality. While Atlan might have shown limitations in agility and stamina, the ease with which he maneuvered the daunting weapon hinted at a formidable strength—a stark contrast to Michael's own modest capabilities.
Oh yeah I bet he has at least 12 in strength, you still have 9 by the way in case you were wondering, although the training is helping keep it up!
"Oh, wonderful. Do you have any genuinely useful insights?" Michael retorted mentally, his irritation tinged with a hint of curiosity about Cindy's potential for gathering useful information.
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Well, avoiding that axe would be a good start.
"Thanks for the tip," Michael responded dryly. He had harbored some regrets about not selecting a shield after witnessing Gaius's duel, thinking it might have offered some defense for the coming bout. Now, facing Atlan, he doubted a shield would do much good against such a weapon anyway, and he was grateful for any extra mobility he could get. His spear provided a reach advantage, crucial for keeping Atlan at bay. Yet, Michael couldn't help but berate himself for not considering a backup weapon, recalling the array of knives and swords he had ignored earlier.
As Michael faced Atlan in the center of the rune-etched circle, the air was thick with tension and the silent focus of their fellow Paladins. The quiet murmurs around them seemed to fade into the background as Michael tightened his grip on his spear, finding reassurance in its weight and balance. Opposite him, Atlan loomed, his presence magnified by the hefty battle axe he wielded with a warrior's ease. Michael allowed himself a moment to cycle his mana, drawing on its energy to steady his nerves and sharpen his focus, a newfound sense of readiness bolstering him.
The initial trepidation Michael felt at the prospect of engaging Atlan transformed into a calculated determination as Valeria signaled the start of the duel. Unlike the frenzied beginnings he had anticipated, both combatants adopted a measured approach, circling each other with a wariness born of mutual respect for the other’s capabilities. Michael, recalling the strategic maneuvers he’d observed from Gaius and the Asian warrior, adopted a stance that balanced defense with the potential for quick, probing attacks. His strategy was clear: utilize the superior reach of his spear to maintain distance, while seeking opportunities to exploit any overcommitments by Atlan and his slower heavier weapon.
With each circumspect step, Michael sought to dictate the pace of the encounter, probing Atlan’s defenses with feints and quick jabs aimed at drawing out a reaction. He was acutely aware of the axe’s lethal arc, each movement calculated to avoid its sweeping reach while positioning himself to strike effectively.
Michael’s focus was laser-sharp, each breath, each shift of weight, and each subtle cue from Atlan meticulously noted and responded to. The strategy was not just about finding an opening but creating one, using his agility and the spear’s length to his advantage. The goal was clear: maintain control, keep Atlan reactive, and wait for the moment when patience and precision would prevail over raw strength.
The opportunity came sooner than expected. Atlan, perhaps underestimating his scrawny foe, approached and swung his axe in a wide, ambitious arc. The move left him momentarily exposed, and Michael didn’t hesitate. With a swift lunge, he thrust his spear forward, landing a solid hit against Atlan's side. The contact, the sound of the blade piercing flesh and Atlan’s loud pained grunt, ignited a spark of confidence within Michael. 'I can do this,' he thought, emboldened by the realization that he could hold his own against a real warrior, even if only for a moment.
Atlan’s response was swift and brutal. The hit seemed to only fuel his aggression, his attacks becoming more deliberate, each swing designed to cut down Michael's avenues of escape. Michael found himself driven back, the translucent wall of the arena looming ominously close as Atlan methodically reduced the distance between them.
In a rapid flurry of motion, Atlan feinted a powerful downward slam right at Michael’s head, but when Michael tried to sidestep the powerful man quickly redirected his Axe right where Michael held his spear. The axe slammed into his hand, severing it from his arm in an instant. Pain exploded through Michael's body, a white-hot agony that blotted out all thought. Yet, as he reeled from the impact expecting the fight to be over or to pass out from the pain and blood loss, he still managed to keep his feet and keep hold of his spear in his other hand.
Falling back as Atlan continued his assault with more furious swings. Michael's spirit remained unbroken. Clutching the spear with his remaining hand, he faced Atlan, his determination a blazing fire that refused to be extinguished. A small distant part of him remembered this was just training, but a much more primal instinct had taken over and he found himself savagely lashing out with his spear even as his vision began to cloud from the bloodloss.
With his strength fading Michael attempted one final desperate thrust, which Atlan managed to parry only a glancing blow landing on his thigh. Michael was off balance and completely helpless as Atlan’s follow up attack landed, a crushing hit to the back that knocked Michael to the ground. But before he even struck, a brilliant flash of light exploded in front of him and he found himself back where had begun the duel, his body and hand miraculously healed despite his continuing feelings of fatigue and shock.
Michael's strides toward the group were tentative, yet carried a certain lightness, a smile gracing his lips despite the rigors of combat still fresh in his memory. The sensation of his hand, fully restored and functional, was nothing short of miraculous, stirring within him a profound appreciation for the magic that permeated Aethel's training grounds. As he neared Elisabetta, her expression of horror and concern was palpable, a silent testament to the friendship that had begun to take root among the Paladins.
"Michael, are you... are you alright?" Elisabetta asked, her voice laced with worry, stepping forward to meet him halfway.
"I'm fine, Elisabetta, really," Michael reassured her, raising his restored hand in a gesture meant to alleviate her fears. "The arena took care of everything. It's like it never happened," he added, trying to infuse his tone with as much conviction as he could muster.
Elisabetta's eyes scanned his face, searching for any sign of lingering pain or trauma. Finding none, she let out a small, relieved sigh, though her brows remained knit together in a faint display of residual concern.
Spear Mastery 1/5, Pain Tolerance 1/5, Endurance +1 Nice work Michael, but next time try not to get your hand chopped off!
The words echoed in Michael's mind, a stark reminder of the ordeal he had just endured and the progress he had made. Despite Cindy’s teasing, there was an undeniable sense of achievement in having faced such a daunting challenge head-on.
Before Michael could share more of his thoughts or reflect further on the duel, Valeria's commanding voice rang out across the hall, slicing through the buzz of conversation. "Elisabetta, you're up next. Your opponent will be Vivian," she announced, gesturing toward the American girl who carried herself with the unmistakable flair reminiscent of a 1920s flapper.
Michael, seeing Elisabetta’s fearful reaction, impulsively wrapped her in a brief, supportive hug, a gesture that caught even him off guard. "You've got this," he assured her, his voice imbued with genuine encouragement. "It's all part of the training. There will be countless more opportunities ahead. Just give it everything you've got." Elisabetta returned the gesture with a nod, her eyes reflecting a complex mix of determination and apprehension. Yet, as she faced Michael, a fleeting smile of gratitude and resolve crossed her lips, bolstering her courage before she took confident steps toward the awaiting challenge of the arena.
As Elisabetta squared off against Vivian, Michael found himself reflecting on his own performance. Watching Elisabetta take her stance, her focus unwavering, he couldn't help but feel a swell of pride—not just in his own efforts, but in the resilience and determination of his fellow Paladins. Despite the pain, the fear, and the very real danger they faced in each duel, there was an underlying current of strength and resolve that bound them together.
Michael acknowledged silently to himself that while his duel with Atlan might not have showcased the most skillful combat, it had tested him in ways he had never imagined. The satisfaction he felt didn't stem from the outcome but from the effort, from pushing himself to the limit and beyond. It was a testament to his growth, a marker of the journey he had embarked upon in this strange, new world.
Resolved to continue giving his all, Michael's gaze remained fixed on the unfolding duel between Elisabetta and Vivian both holding spears similar to his own, the sense of anticipation a palpable force. In that moment, standing among his peers, watching as Elisabetta bravely faced her own challenge, Michael felt a profound sense of belonging and purpose. Here, in the heart of Aethel's training grounds, amid the clash of weapons and the shared trials of combat, he was part of something greater than himself—a warrior among warriors, united in their quest to defend the realms. It was truly everything he had ever wanted, and despite the somewhat harrowing ordeal he had just endured he felt more excited than ever.