[https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/1021114179333148682/1207307660194619452/arthelad1_full_body_shot_of_a_handsome_but_rugged_young_battle__9d5b2020-0f08-48e2-9928-94572b12cd04.png?ex=65df2be0&is=65ccb6e0&hm=8c8d123b59b89d403061b41ee6559c8c935e95f0b2ba56c398824964a95d0d39&]
Grabbing his head between his hands, Rowan tried to gather his wits together. The good news was that Viscardi was going to lose on purpose. That was cool. The bad news was he didn’t feel ready to confront a Vampire Lord, forty and something levels above him. What if he embarrassed himself? And how about leveling too much? He had forgotten to ask that.
“Err… is there a Core FAQ around? How much XP do you gain from dueling in the Arena?”
[Goblin Town Core Call Center]: Normal XP rules don’t apply in the Arena. For a high-stakes duel like yours, a level and a free AP are awarded to the winner, or one skill point, if you are at the maximum level. It is important to know that Arenas allows fighters to use every move in their repertoire, resetting daily cool-downs or ignoring diurnal cycle restrictions. There is also a resurrection pocket dimension to prevent accidental deaths.
That was a pleasant surprise. Now he had to think of a way to make the fight look credible. But not before inspecting a notification his subconsciousness had dismissed while shouting at Viscardi.
You have successfully applied Sonar, Gretchen’s Question, Insight, and Svartálfar Stare on target: Viscardi Blackswarm, Vampire Lord (Legendary), Level 100.
Because he didn’t see it coming… I was totally nuts.
Once the finest blade in the Cesti quadrant, Viscardi Blackswarm’s skills have rusted. His last fight was decades ago. He manifested apprehension at the thought of physical violence. His main weakness is Cold.
I thought a Vampire’s weakness was light… So, Cold, huh? That's perfect. Now what about raising my Int to the third threshold?
He pushed twenty-three APs into INT and read the notification for the perks.
Name: Rowan Allinder. Main Class: Indomitable. Tier: Legendary, Level 68 Secondary Class: Primeval Magus. Tier: Mythical
48 APs available
Str. 52 / Dex. 52 / Con. 52 / Int. 75 / Wil. 79 / Cha. 52
Intelligence Perk, Threshold 3 (Main Class: Indomitable): Enhanced Strategy. Impossible odds? Yes, for the enemy. This perk synergizes with your wife’s Tactical Planning.
Intelligence Perk, Threshold 3 (Secondary Class: Primeval Magus): Räsvelg’s First Aspect: The Cold Wind (Mythical). Due to your uncanny affinity to Elemental Magic (especially Cold), and previous combined applications of Cold, Gravity, and Telekinesis, you have unlocked a Super AoE. Discover The Cold Wind’s facets through experimentation.
Just what I needed.
His thoughts were interrupted by the noise of the door slamming on the wall. The one responsible was Isla. She darted into the room, followed by Grace.
“There’s a ton of TV stations broadcasting your duel,” Isla said. “Don’t you dare use your hyperspace shit! We don’t want to warn everyone how strong you are. Do. You. Understand?” she yelled, grabbing his jacket’s lapels, like he had done with Viscardi earlier.
His first instinct had been to push her away, but his heart said otherwise, and Rowan pulled the woman closer, hugging her. “I love you too. I know you yell at me because you care.”
"You think reverse psychology works on—"
“You’re making my hair turn white,” Grace stated, joining the group hug and muting Isla in the process.
“What should I do to make the fight look convincing?” Rowan asked, looking at Isla.
“C’mon! He wants to lose, let him think of something. Keep it clean, go into melee range, and throw in your left hook.”
“True,” he sighed. “My left hook is good.”
A large person was approaching, its steps making the floor shake, even from twenty yards away. Before entering the room, Fenrri knocked on the door frame.
“The Arena is set.”
A thick fog descended on Rowan’s mind. It was strange, considering the duel was fixed. He had not felt this way ever, even against the DireDeers, or in the battle with the Neeks. Every fiber of his body told him it was an important fight.
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They exited the building and walked on cobblestones-covered streets until they reached the Arena, a sizable building, that reminded him of a smaller Coliseum. Once in his cabin, he spent a few minutes dressing in the medium leather armor he now used to fight in, and then Fenrri came to show him the way to the fighting space. Then there were lights, blinding him, and stalls, filled to the brim with people. Thousands. A lot of students from the neighboring College Town.
A presenter was bellowing words. A celebrity. Maybe. Rowan had decided, when he was eighteen years old, not to watch TV, and had kept at that resolution, ignoring what he considered irrelevant noise.
Then, Fenrri pushed Rowan into the battleground. The crowd was cheering for him. Viscardi was not well known. A point for the Vampire, here. Celebrity meant painting a target on your own back. Rowan wished to have been wiser, investing more in anonymity.
The rapier in Viscardi's hand made him realize this was the sword-fighting round. Rowan hated swords, the range was small, and the moves were too complicated. Pikes, he loved. Nevertheless, he summoned a Scottish broadsword from his inventory.
The gong gave three signals, and the Vampire was on him instantly, with his hair bristling, hissing, and showing his fangs. If the display was for the show, Rowan had no idea, because struggled to parry the assault, swinging his weapon wildly. In the heat of battle, it was hard to concentrate on what his HEMA instructor had taught him.
Binding their swords together, Viscardi and Rowan entered a strength match. Which the younger man knew was faked. Sword binds were not a thing, a simple twist in the angle would have allowed the Vampire to skewer him.
“What are you doing?” the Vampire hissed. “Next time, parry with the forte and counter. Can’t you see how open am I on the left?”
At the next pass of arms, he tried to do what Viscardi had suggested, only to find his shoulder impaling itself on the Vampire’s sword, and his own weapon finding only air.
“The other left, you idiot! And don’t do crosses, this is not boxing!” the Vampire said with a desperate look in his eyes, like almost begging.
He had tried to lounge with the wrong foot forward, Rowan realized, and there were Bleeding DOTs notifications. His Strategic Sixth Sense read the truth. Viscardi’s rusted skills were enhanced by a muscle memory probably centuries old, and Rowan’s abilities had not reached a good enough level yet. This was pathetic and he decided to put an end to it before it became pitiful.
“I yield!”
Rowan’s scream made the crowd shut up, in overwhelming silence. This was not what had been expected from Earth’s most notorious Classed. The DOT ceased, and he returned to his corner, sinking into the leather armchair. Having a luxurious piece of furniture instead of a generic one was a nice touch.
The pause felt short. Isla threw some cold water on his face, which helped achieve nothing. The commentator barked some sarcasm, about how Rowan wasn’t a fencer and it showed, and the students in the crowd booed. Nerds, especially the cosplayer type, were merciless. A flintlock pistol was shoved into Rowan’s hand by the referee, none other than Snemc.
“Point and shoot,” the Shaman said.
“I know how to shoot a gun, thank you very much,” Rowan sneered. “I’m an American.”
The second round was simple. Viscardi and Rowan were supposed to start in the middle, back to back, take ten steps, and then turn, take aim, and shoot at each other, Snemc explained. And so they did, following the referee’s instructions.
What are you doing, you dimwit?
The Vampire Lord was obviously as inexperienced with guns as Rowan was with swords. What Viscardi intended to be a wild shot, aiming high and throwing the match—in his opinion—was sure to hit Rowan in his head. Shooting first, Rowan aimed at the Vampire’s pistol, twenty yards were nothing for a good shot. His bullet blew the Vampire’s gun to smithereens and hit Viscardi in the throat as well.
The Shaman sprinted to offer a healing, only to be refused by the Vampire. Holding his throat in his hands, Viscardi returned to his corner, patching himself up on the way. The crowd was cheering now, its mood changed. Rowan returned to his corner, and Isla started to massage his shoulders.
“Can you throw some rebars at him with Telekinesis?” she suggested. “Just put on some show, he wants to lose.”
“His week to Cold, and I’m good at it. I’ll try my new AoE first, it’s supposed to be strong. If it doesn’t work, I’ll do it the old way.”
The gong signal energized Rowan, and he stepped into the Arena with determination and donning his spear. Viscardi advanced slowly, and then he disappeared out of a sudden, letting in his place a cloud of bats that spread all around.
“He wants me to work for my prize,” Rowan muttered under his breath. “OK, let’s see...” He pushed forward his left hand, thinking about a blizzard.
Cold Wind: Snowstorm facet unlocked and activated. Cost: 50 Mana/second.
The blizzard enveloped him as a friend, a fluffy coat made of a freezing hell and razor-sharp icicles, and he knew in that instant that he and the storm were fated to meet. People misunderstood what Cold was. Cold was warm, cuddly, perfect like a Kentucky hug. Everything was as it was supposed to be. A moment of bliss, a skill he felt he could use with his eyes closed. That was what he needed, a true weapon, not some shish-kebab stick with a basket hilt.
The storm engulfed the Arena, all its hundred yards in diameter, in two seconds. It was dark and oppressive, it was death. Viscardi’s bats flew away, trying to escape, but there was a Gravity component in the AoE that slowed them down, and they disintegrated in the icy wind. Only one managed to hide in a crevice, between two stones in the Arena’s wall. A devil in Rowan’s head was whispering to go for it, to kill the Vampire, the drunkenness of overwhelming power.
Warning! Impending collapse of the Arena’s protections. Evacuate! Evacuate!
“That’s my Daddy!”
There was only one soul who was not afraid of the blizzard, and its light and pride shone so bright that stopping the spell felt natural, a snap of the fingers.
“I yield,” the sole surviving bat squealed, crawling out and becoming the Vampire again, albeit thin and white like a sheet of paper, and shivering.
The crowd remained silent for some time. Cheers started when Grace, Isla, Cora, and Lizzie rushed into the middle of the arena to hug the winner. After indulging himself in the warmth of love, Rowan extracted himself from the group embrace, and went to the haggard Viscardi, to offer a handshake.
“Sorry, man. I overreacted.”
“It’s OK,” Viscardi whispered. “I… underestimated you. My bad. For the record, I now consider Bourbon the best drink on Earth,” he shouted the last phrase, and now the crowd unleashed itself even more. They patted each other backs, then each returned to their dear ones, which for Viscardi, meant Victoria.
“Maybe it would have been better to show them the Space move,” Isla said. “What was that shit?”
“Snowstorm, my new AoE. I told you it’s strong. Fuck… don’t tell me… Let’s scram!” A dozen of reporters were running toward him, after jumping the fence. “No comment, no comment!” he screamed, making the peace hand sign, and ran, taking Lizzie in his arms.