"The winner is Raven from Seattle!" The amplified voice of the lead steward, bolstered by Wind magic, echoed over the arena.
I could barely keep from sitting right down on the sand after that announcement. I was tired. Even despite my "Mithril Body," I was exhausted. After leaving my spear lodged in the ground, I had still endured almost half an hour of intense fighting. Paravi Malik hadn't surrendered, and now she lay at my feet, too weak even to lift her head. Her body was covered in numerous red stripes from my braid strikes, and she wouldn't be able to sit comfortably without wincing in pain anytime soon.
All my plans for the duel went up in smoke as soon as that bitch messed up my hair. The moment I saw my braid lying on the sand, I wanted to kill the local crowd's darling, stab her heart with my spear, and watch her die. But it took less than a second to realize that her death wouldn't be enough for me anymore.
Yes, unlike spears, I only had two Talent Stars in chains and nunchaku, but since there was no prohibition in Ain for peasants to bear cold weapons, the locals were totally unfamiliar with such armaments. More precisely, they sometimes used chains, but that could be found mainly in the assassins' clans, and nothing similar was used in regular fights. As a result, Paravi didn't know how to counter my "new" weapon, which compensated for the lack of my Talents.
Beating a Bronze fighter, who by definition is stronger, more enduring, and about twice as "tough" as an average earthling, is not a simple task. Especially when you're beating them with something like cut-off hair. Plus, the situation was greatly complicated because the person being beaten was actively resisting and trying to pierce me with their blades. And if you add to that the fact that even among Bronze fighters, Paravi stood out for her exceptionally high endurance, the task seemed impossible. But I managed it. Even though it took me about thirty minutes. Even though I had to give it my all, showing everyone my true capabilities and basically reaching the Steel level of physical attributes. Even though I nearly fried my own brain, maintaining all four Auras of the Basic Cross at once, because otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to even parry my opponent's swords with my hair. Even though I had to be faster than my opponent and thus burn through my endurance reserves more intensely. Even though I'm so tired that I can barely stand. The main thing is the result.
In silence, I walked over to my spear, tied my braid a little below the tip, and only after completing these actions, raised my weapon high and surveyed the stands. From the moment the winner was announced and until I lifted my spear, the spectators remained silent. But as soon as I hoisted my weapon in a victory gesture, the stands exploded. First, the front rows stood, then the middle, and finally, the VIP box spectators joined in the standing ovation. Paravi Malik was no longer the universal darling of the stands. She was now a nobody, someone who had been beaten with her enemy's hair in front of tens of thousands, a great failure, nothing more.
I think that never in its more than two-thousand-year history had the Arena of Tries seen anything like this, and perhaps no Arena in Ain had either. In a duel of equals, one of the participants would win using only his hair?! Nonsense. Fable. Impossible. But it happened, and thousands of spectators witnessed it with their own eyes.
Standing in the center of the arena, holding my braid high, wrapped around a spear shaft, I feel my Core pulsating, signaling a slight degree of Overflowing. According to my calculations, I shouldn't have even reached the normal Elevation threshold in this fight. My advancement to Steel was planned only after receiving the motto, not sooner, but I am ready for Elevation now, and even with Overflow!
Bowing low to the stands and freezing like that for a few seconds, I quickly submerged into myself. On the surface of my Core, a new inscription burned: "Your blade is yourself." And the color of this inscription shone with divine adamantium! Because of this new inscription on my Core, my "Mithril Body" has changed to an "Adamantium Body"! This gave me increased resistance to everything in general, even compared to the "Mithril Body." And through some synergy I don't understand, it increased my talent in Mental magic by a whole Star, granting enhanced protection from this branch of magic.
To say that I was surprised is a great understatement, but against the background of my fatigue, the spectators in the stands didn't notice this astonishment. Raising my spear once again, I left the sand, holding the weapon high above my head. All the while, as I trudged to the exit, barely moving my legs, the applause behind me did not cease.
As soon as I entered the under-stand rooms, I immediately removed my hair from the spear and handed the weapon to a junior servant. Then I looked around, found the young woman I needed in the garb of an ordinary steward, approached her, and asked:
"If I read the colors of your clothes correctly, you are a Steel-ranked Fire mage?"
"That's correct, Participant Raven," she replied with composure, her eyes fixed on the braid clenched in my hand.
"Could you..." I handed the hair to her, "so that not even ashes remain?"
In response, the Fire caster touched her fingers to the braid, and it ignited with a bright but non-burning flame in my palm. It flared up and burned entirely without residue.
"Thank you."
The young woman involuntarily touched her hairstyle and said:
"The braid suited you very well."
"I know, that makes the loss even harder."
"That bitch got what she deserved! You 'trampled' her right! Because one can't do that! It's one thing to kill, but to ruin someone's hairstyle?! That's beyond the pale!" The Fire mage's eyes flared with anger for a moment but were quickly extinguished by her will, and she said much more calmly: "I sympathize."
Exchanging understanding glances, we said our goodbyes, and I went to my room, asking the stewards to give me an hour and a half to rest and not to disturb me. Then I fell on the hard wooden bunk and instantly blacked out, forgetting myself in a dreamless sleep.
Sleep is the best and easiest way to shake off a little Overflow. With a large oversaturation of growth energy in the Core, simple sleep won't cope. For example, with what I earned by completing the Achievement "Pure Palm of Five Empty Fingers." But to deal with the current excess, it's quite enough. If not for the Tournament condition - not to increase rank until its completion - I would have moved on to Steel right now, but the grand final is still ahead. And the fact that this grand final will take place under the ritual of the Return to the Great Tree that, in essence, will reset the ranks of all participants, had no impact on the established regulations. During my first conversation with the stewards, I clarified this detail just in case.
I was awakened abruptly and demandingly. Barely opening my eyes, I stared in bewilderment for a couple of seconds at the face of one of the senior stewards.
"Participant Raven, we have fulfilled your request for rest. Exactly an hour and a half. But we can't wait any longer! The final duel of Steel has long since ended, and everything is ready for the intermediate award ceremony," the alchemist jerked his head sharply. "We can't delay any longer. Everyone is just waiting for you."
"I understand," I got up from the bed and was swayed to the side.
Everything was fine with me; the Overflow was gone, and the unexpected weakness in my legs was a simple manifestation of residual fatigue. Approaching a basin with cold water, I dunked my head into it. That invigorated me. With a loud grunt, I straightened up and ruffled my hair with an open palm.
"I'm ready," I said.
In response, the steward silently raised his hand, and a strong, hot gust of air tore from his fingers. The alchemist held his spell for about a minute, drying my hair, then nodded satisfactorily and said:
"Now you are ready. Follow me."
Obediently following the representative of the Alchemists' Guild, I barely suppressed the urge to yawn. Passing through the corridors of the under-stand premises, we joined a small procession and all together came out onto the Arena sand right under the scorching sun. I immediately felt out of place. This was an unusual and unfamiliar feeling; it seemed to me that my skin felt the pressure of falling light. Of course, this was an illusion, but an illusion so plausible that I lost orientation in space for a while. Automatically following the steward, I took my place according to the ceremonial protocol. The stands were buzzing, the lead steward was saying something, but all this was just background noise for me. Something was happening to me, but I couldn't understand what exactly. The general impression was as if my senses had sharpened to a painful degree, and not just vision but also hearing and tactile sensations.
The Alchemists' Guild offered each winner of the tournament branch to choose their own reward. These rewards were not particularly valuable or incredibly expensive, but they were exclusive products of the Guild. They were mainly potions and pills for temporary enhancements. Almost everything amongst these rewards could be helpful to me, yet at the same time, none of what was presented was vitally necessary. I could find a use for any of the awards, but there was nothing particularly precious in them.
When it was my turn to receive an award, the lead steward announced my name so loudly that, due to my heightened sensitivity, I swayed again - as if after a good knockout. Not wanting to show my weakness in front of the tribunes, I automatically walked to the table with the awards, grabbed whatever came first to hand without really checking what it was, and then returned to my assigned place.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Ronin was trying to tell me something with gestures invisible to the tribunes. But because my vision was filled with gigantic circles, and every word from the steward or the roar of the tribunes exploded like powerful fireworks in my ears, I couldn't decipher what the earthling wanted to convey exactly. The entire award ceremony lasted no more than half an hour, but at the end, I began to feel as though I might simply faint, which would mean goodbye to the image I had so carefully cultivated. But I was lucky. When I was on the brink, the ceremony ended, and we were led off the sand.
Once again finding myself in the dim light of the under-tribune rooms, I asked to be taken back to the preparation room and left alone there. I even forbid Aun from coming in. Mechanically, like a robot, I made my way to the room and collapsed onto the hard couch, immediately sinking into the deepest available meditation.
I quickly figured out what was happening to me. The reason for my strange state of painful hypersensitivity was the new Achievement. "Adamantium Body" was not just words and a record on the Core - it was a reconstruction of the entire body, so far incomprehensible to me. A reconstruction that I couldn't control in any way and that proceeded on its own, without my participation or consent. On the other hand, there was nothing scary about this. As soon as I calmed down and sorted out my thoughts, I understood that this process would end pretty quickly. I just had to wait. And I spent this time precisely on that, immersing myself in meditation so deeply that I stopped sensing external stimuli.
My assumptions and intuition didn't let me down. Not even a couple of hours had passed before my senses returned to normal. The quietest sounds stopped ringing like a peal, and the touch of my fingertips no longer led to painful sensations. I almost returned to the norm I was used to. Almost, because there were still changes, barely discernible, on the edge of perception, almost unnoticeable. For now, I couldn't even understand them, other than I felt they posed no harm.
Getting up from the couch, I washed up and did some light warm-up exercises. Then, I performed one of the most complex routines and was pleased with myself. My body obeyed as excellently as usual. After adjusting my clothes, I opened the door and went out into the corridor. Of course, waiting for me there was none other than Aun. The boy was sitting, leaning against the wall, dozing off, not even waking up from my exit. But in addition to the merchant's son, there was a strange young man dressed in the colors of the "Rising Dragon" school. Seeing me, he silently approached, bowed at the waist, and handed over a small scroll, after which he repeated the bow and stood waiting.
Unfolding the scroll, I read the message written in English from Ronin. At first, I was surprised by the fencing master's choice of this language, but remembering that I introduced myself as if I'm from Seattle, English was quite logical. Although there was nothing prejudiced or compromising in the letter, he could have written it in the universal language of Ain, fearing nothing.
The earthling regretted very much that our conversation didn't take place. Reading this sentence, I remembered that I myself had suggested through gestures that we meet in the stands after my fight. But because I was too tired after fighting Paravi, I completely forgot about it. After expressing his regret, Ronin invited me to visit the country residence of the "Rising Dragon" school after the end of the tournament. The invitation was set for two days after the last round, which categorically didn't suit me. As soon as I finished reading, the youth in the "Rising Dragon" school's clothing handed me a lead stylus as if hinting that he was waiting for a response. After thinking a bit, I wrote a short line and returned the scroll to the youth. He again bowed in respect and immediately left.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
"Let's meet in Deytran," that's what I conveyed to Ronin. I'm sure I've piqued the fencing master's interest enough that such a martial arts fan will seek a meeting with me. And when I win against him in the grand final, his desire to get to know me better will increase immensely.
I really wanted to meet Ronin, talk, find out if the "memories of the future" about this man are truthful. Very much. But understanding that my manipulation with such a response to his invitation will quickly lead him to Deytran, where he is likely, as in the Last Cycle, to open a fencing school for earthlings, outweighed my desire to stay in Tries and chat with this undoubtedly extraordinary man.
Bending over, I touched Aun's shoulder. The boy woke up immediately and jumped to his feet, rubbing his eyes.
"Don't worry," I calmed him down, "everything is fine."
"Master!" The youth exclaimed, blinking and rubbing his cheeks, "How are you? I was worried! At the awards ceremony, it seemed like you hadn't had time to recover after the fight with Paravi Malik. You seemed to sway with the slightest wind."
"I'm fine now," I replied, smiling, "the tournament day is over. Let's get out of here and not interfere with the organizers preparing for tomorrow's grand final."
"Are you sure everything's okay?" Aun asked again as soon as we stepped out of the Arena gates into the fresh air.
"Yes," I answered tersely.
On the one hand, I had no reason not to trust the boy, but on the other hand, I also had no particular reason to tell him everything, including the Achievements I received. No matter how much I got attached to this lad, I would soon leave the city, and he would stay here, our paths diverging forever.
"Master, all your previous tournament predictions came true," Aun started again as soon as we descended the large staircase.
"Which predictions are you talking about?" I asked for clarification.
"You knew from the beginning that you would win the Bronze." The young man curled his first finger, and I just snorted at this. "You also named the mask of the 'Rising Dragon' as the winner of the Iron and were also right."
"That was not hard." I shrugged.
"But you knew the winner of the Steel branch in advance!" The boy insisted.
"Well, you're exaggerating there," I contradicted, "The Steel branch of the tournament was the most balanced and, therefore, poorly calculable. And the fact that Laore Tempai won the Steel final is nothing more than a coincidence."
"Three out of three, that's hard to call a coincidence." Aun, squinting slyly, seemed to provoke me into an argument, but I didn't take the bait and just shrugged.
We were silent for a few minutes until we crossed the city's central square, and only when we turned off it onto another street did the lad come back to life:
"Where are we going, by the way?"
Running my hand through my hair and once again remembering the loss of my braid, I grimaced and replied:
"I need to fix it."
"So we're going to Uncle Song," Aun nodded to himself, then abruptly changed the subject. "Master, your performance in the Arena today was just fantastic! I've never... Forget me! None of the spectators, even those attending fights for decades, have seen anything like it in their lives! How did you manage?! How did you manage to defeat an excellent swordsman of your own rank with your hair?! Without using magic?!"
"I got angry."
"And that's all?" The young man didn't quite understand my terse answer.
"I didn't just pretend. I got really angry," I repeated and involuntarily ran my palm over the stump of my hair.
"Yes, you looked great with long hair and a braid," Aun admitted the obvious, which upset me a bit again.
"Don't remind me." I snapped, shrugging.
When we turned onto a familiar street, I immediately noticed the barber. He sat on a stool near the entrance to his workshop. Seeing me, the master of scissors stood up, bowed silently, and opened the door for me. Without saying a word, I entered the room and, following the master's gestures, sat on a high stool.
"Uncle Song, were you waiting for Master Raven?" Aun exclaimed, struck by our silent yet synchronized actions.
Exchanging glances with the master, I nodded, and, understanding me without words, the barber, with a smile, replied to the boy:
"Of course, I was waiting for Master Raven."
"But how? Why? I'm sure he didn't send you any messages!" the lad was even more surprised, his eyes wide.
"It's simple, young man," the master began, sharpening the blades of his scissors as he spoke. "It's simple. I was in the stands today. Saw the fight and that incredible blasphemy committed by Malik." The barber's voice rang with genuine anger. "How could she?! Master Raven's hairstyle was a masterpiece! A breath of fresh air for all of Ain! Ahem, excuse me, I got carried away." The barber stopped his indignation with a barely noticeable smile. "So, young man, as far as I've gotten to know Master Raven, he's not one to appreciate a hairstyle created by his opponent's blade." His dry, confident fingers touched my hair and lifted it, "Especially such an ugly hairstyle. As you see, young Duan, I was right."
"Really?" Aun asked, a little bewildered.
"Now, young man, sit down over there," the master pointed to a chair in the corner, "and don't disturb the work!"
The boy silently nodded and sat where he was directed. Meanwhile, the barber began to literally examine my head and hair - as if he was not a hairdresser but a scientist studying a phenomenon of interest to him. For more than five minutes, he touched my hair, lifted it with a comb, tried scissors, then put all his tools aside and stood in front of me, folding his hands on his chest.
"Master Raven, you may not believe it, but your order and the hairstyle you had done on your last visit turned my understanding of my profession upside down. I thought, after all these years, I knew everything about scissors, combs, and hair. But you changed everything. When I saw your braid falling, cut off onto the sand of the arena, it physically hurt me. But at the same time, I'm immensely glad you've come back to me. Alas, I'm not an expert in Illusion magic, but if you would allow me to invite my wife here..."
"Invite her."
The barber disappeared into the depths of his house and returned in less than a minute. He didn't return alone. A spry, thin, not-so-young woman entered the workshop with him, whom the barber introduced as his wife, Tkhengin. It was clear that the lady was shy, but after encouraging words from her husband, she sat on a stool opposite me, closed her eyes, and went into meditation.
"The first option." The barber addressed his wife, and a few seconds later, an image of a new hairstyle appeared in the air between us.
Catching the lack of noticeable interest on my part, the barber immediately ordered:
"The second option."
The second was followed by the third, the fourth, the fifth, and so forth... It was evident that the master had spent a lot of time rethinking his profession after my last order. That hairstyle I had requested clearly struck a chord in him. It opened new horizons for him, breathed freshness and novelty into a profession in which he thought he knew everything. He likely spent a lot of time discussing his new outlook with his wife, who helped him visualize his renewed thoughts.
"Nothing appealed to you." The master noted with sadness and melancholy in his voice after showing me the ninth illusion. "I thought about it for many days, imagined, but it all turned out to be wrong..."
"Not quite." I smiled. "Yes, you were unable to step over your habits completely." With each of my words, the barber's shoulders sank lower. "That's true, but you tried, and it shows."
"I tried..." The master bitterly laughed. "What a joke..."
"Wait!" I interrupted his lamentation with a sharp gesture. "Firstly, a new path cannot be traveled in one step. Secondly, you've taken the first step in the right direction."
"Really?"
"Mrs. Tkhengin, can you visualize two hairstyles at once?"
"Yes." The barber's wife's voice was dry and emotionless; she was focused entirely on the meditation of visualization.
"Then, if you don't mind, visualize the first and fifth versions simultaneously."
For about ten minutes, I explained what I needed and what I ultimately wanted to see. I demonstrated it using the hairstyles that the master had already developed. Some things he understood immediately, while others he couldn't comprehend or accept:
"What? Shave a strip of hair? Completely? Like a clearing in a forest? And such a thin strip?"
Despite losing the braid, I wanted to retain the bird theme in my hairstyle. And through partially shaving stripes and combining this technique with small and thin braids, I felt I could achieve the desired result. The alterations Tkhengin made to the illusion following my instructions only confirmed my choice.
"This is unusual! Even bolder than your last hairstyle!" When I achieved the visualization I wanted, the barber walked around the illusion at least five times.
"Can you handle it?" I asked with a provoking smile.
"Yes." The barber didn't even notice my smirk; he was already mentally at work.
I left the barber an hour later, having gotten what I wanted. My hairstyle resembled the folded wings of a raven. Among the wings, you could distinguish individual "feathers." The master of scissors and combs didn't take a single copper coin from me. And when I left, he bowed at the waist and remained standing until I had gone. In doing this, he expressed his respect and gratitude to fate, which had brought him together with someone who breathed new interest into his profession, which seemed to have been thoroughly explored and had become mundane.
"Master," Aun chimed in as soon as we were on the street, "how do you always manage it?"
"Manage what?"
"To always look good!"
"Natural talent and understanding that it's not shameful for a man to look good."
As we walked in silence, I seriously considered that I should learn a few utility spells of Water and Air magic to take care of my new hairstyle. However, such everyday magic generally greatly simplifies life. Especially life on the road. Unlike combat techniques, the study of utility magic was not limited in any way; no one made any secrets of it, so it was indeed worth my while to study it. Two and a half of my Talent Stars in Water and Air were more than enough to master most utility spells. At the same time, I would practice weaving energy streams that are different from Lightning, which is also useful. More precisely, I would definitely have to deal with this at some point, so why not in the near future?
"Tell me, are the magic shops selling ordinary spells located in Tries, like in other old cities, on the street behind the Temple?" I asked the boy walking next to me.
"Yes, this street starts between the Tunnellers' Guild House and the Temple," Aun confirmed my suspicions.
"I see. Tomorrow, after the grand final and all the ceremonies, I'll drop by there."
"By the way!" The boy, who had been deeply thoughtful until then, suddenly perked up. "What did you choose as your reward for the victory in Bronze?"
In response, I took a small wooden case from my belt pouch and opened it on the go. Inside the velvet-lined box were two crystal balls the size of a quail egg, and a glass stick was attached to each.
"What's this?" Apparently, Aun had never seen such a thing before.
"A signal artifact. Rather, two of them. Unfortunately, they're single-use. As soon as the stick breaks, the ball associated with it turns black or red. The most interesting thing is that the distance at which this connection works doesn't matter. Within Ain, of course. For example, if the ball is with me and the stick is with you, my ball will react to the breaking of your stick, even on the continent's westernmost point."
"I've heard something about that." The boy nodded.
"This thing is not so rare, but such artifacts are mostly permanently tied to their creator." For example, Maestro Larindel himself made such "signal balls," and it was by a similar thing that the stone master summoned him on Unudo. "However, the creation of such paired artifacts without tying them to the artifact creator is a secret known only to the Alchemists' Guild."
"It's probably useful." The young man shrugged.
"It will be useful to me," I smiled in response and hid the case in my pouch, "not now, but it will definitely be useful."
In that, I was completely sure. In the Last Cycle, the earthlings started to buy such things up, which created a long-lasting deficit of these artifacts for many months. Because we, unlike the locals, understood how important communication was, even if it was so primitive.
One of the groups of earthling mages was developing a very interesting concept for long-distance communication, which would entwine the entire continent in something similar to a telegraph network. They even seemed to be making some progress, but an unexpected detour by one of the demonic legions cut off that group, blocking and destroying it. Nine outstanding theoretician mages were trapped and slaughtered. Then, "we" found out that the demons were led there by one of the earthlings, who thus "bought" his own life. To this day, I "remember" the face and name of the traitor. I "remember" because it was precisely "my" group that Nate singled out to eliminate that Judas. And "I" managed, infiltrating the Storm Legion camp and killing the traitor. On the way out, "we" lost three, but no one from "my" group doubted that these sacrifices were not in vain. No one.
These memories of what had not yet happened flooded over me so sharply and were so clear and apparent that I had to stop and lean against the wall to avoid falling. The hallucination lasted only a couple of seconds, and Aun didn't even notice my lag. The boy walked down the street in deep thought. When I caught up with him, the boy looked up and said:
"The sun is about to set. If I remember correctly, you planned to go to 'Oars Up' today to find out more about Officer Laore Tempai." I was already prepared to refuse the boy's request to go with me and to do it harshly, but he surprised me, "Master, can I not go with you?" And then he began to justify himself, as usual, rapidly, "I haven't planned anything! Honestly! I won't go anywhere else, and I won't get into anything. I'll just go home." Then he lowered his head and, quieter, added, "I need to think. Long and hard."
"Okay," I agreed, hiding my relief and smile.
"Then we'd better part here. I'll go south, and you go two blocks west, then one south and two more west. You'll come to a small square with an old fire bell tower. The tavern you need is right across from it."
With that, Aun and I said goodbye; he headed home while I went in search of information.
There are cities where the wealth gap among residents is immediately noticeable. For example, in Mumbai, where, literally thirty steps away from the most expensive private house in the world, you find the real slums. And sometimes, it's the opposite, when the stratification grows imperceptibly. In Tries, however, the decrease in residents' incomes was noticeably discrete - from block to block. And the further you moved away from the center or key areas like the port, the more apparent the population's impoverishment became.
When I had covered half the distance, a persistent heavy rain began. Not wanting to walk while soaking wet - and returning home for a cloak would take too long - I rushed into the first open shop I found and bought the cheapest cloak available, which cost only three silvers and looked "worth every coin," meaning it was blatantly wretched and poor in quality. But this cloak had a fairly deep hood, which was more than satisfactory to me. Thanks to it, wrapped from head to toe, I no longer stood out against the local, far-from-wealthy population.
The square with the slightly tilted fire tower, as it seemed to me, served as a kind of "watershed" between poor quarters and outright destitute slums. Interestingly, the bell tower stood in the poor part, while the establishment I was seeking was in the slum part. Several wooden canopies, under which barely dressed beggars were hiding, were leaning right against the walls of this tavern. Unlike the city center, there was no street lighting here, only the face of Seguna occasionally penetrating through the rainy clouds dispelled the surrounding darkness.
Pulling the hood over my eyes, I stepped towards the slightly ajar door of the tavern.