As if in slow motion, I watched my first fencing instructor reel from the spear strike, his eyes rolling back, and then began to topple onto the sand. Before he could fall, I caught Ronin's body. Holding it up until the servants came, I personally laid the unconscious fencing master onto the stretcher, only then allowing them to carry him away. As the servants brought the former engineer-physicist to the exit of the arena, I stood still, in a pose of respect and reverence. The audience understood my sentiments and also bid the loser farewell in respectful silence, rising from their seats. Once the fencing master's body left the arena, several stewards escorted me off the sand in a ceremonial formation.
According to the rules, a break was scheduled after the grand finale duel. This time was allocated in case the winner needed some tidying up before the award ceremony. Furthermore, award ceremonies in Ain carried a shade of religious ritual and required preparation.
As soon as I crossed the threshold, the Seal of the Great Tree's effect ended. It ceased abruptly, restoring my sensation of the Core and the energies flowing through my body. It felt as if I had downed a bottle of vodka on an empty stomach. The nearby alchemists had obviously prepared for such a turn of events. When I began to sway, they supported me, immediately administering a strengthening concoction. A slightly bitter taste from the potion passed through my throat, and I felt considerably better. Only a faint ringing in my ears and a hint of dizziness remained. These sensations weren't from the remnants of the Great Tree ritual but from the Core Overflow. I looked around, caught the lead steward's gaze, and asked:
"I have a question about the rules."
"Yes?" He looked quite surprised.
"Before the tournament began, all participants were warned against undergoing Elevation until the tournament concludes."
"That's correct."
"So, did the tournament end with the grand finale, or will it only conclude after the award ceremony? Can I undergo Elevation now?"
"Just a moment..." said the lead steward uncertainly, stepping away to consult with his colleagues.
Representatives of the Alchemists' Guild animatedly discussed something under the Silence Dome for almost three minutes. The lead steward then returned to me and said:
"Technically, you can undergo Elevation now. However, we strongly advise against it since the award ceremony is planned in just half an hour. No one can guarantee that you'll be ready in such a short time. Therefore, I would like to request..."
I didn't wait to hear the rest of his speech; I already knew what he'd say next. I sat down where I stood, leaning against the wall. I then immediately closed my eyes and delved into my Core. I could no longer delay handling the Core Overflow...
The Void, once frightening, embraced me as its own. Probably because the Adamantium body possessed more energy than its Mithril counterpart, even in the Void, I didn't lose my sense of self. I constantly felt a subtle yet present connection to the physical world. The primary threat of the Elevation Void is precisely this loss of understanding of what you are, of your "I," where you are, and who "you" even are. Since I had an initial focal point in the form of a physical body sensation this time, the Core Reassembly was perceived not as some existential feat but as a regular chore, akin to assembling a massive 3D puzzle. Difficult and tedious, but not complicated or particularly dangerous.
Emerging from my void meditation, I immediately noticed the hustle and bustle around me, bordering on minor panic. In principle, I could understand the stewards. Everything was calculated and prepared, and suddenly, the main participant of the ceremony, which was about to start, went for an Elevation. Not only can this process, in the locals' understanding, drag on for many hours, but there's also the risk that the one elevating might simply lose their soul and die, unable to cope with the internal Void. In the stewards' view, I really put them on the spot.
I had a simple choice: either Elevate here and now or follow the regulations, discarding the excess core growth energy. Of course, I chose the former. I can easily get over the temporary displeasure of the alchemists, but making up for the increased density of the Core's shell after Overflow discharge would be much more challenging.
Glancing at the hourglass on a table near the arena entrance, I noted that the time I spent on Elevation didn't exceed five or six minutes. One could say it's my new record, even considering all the Elevations of the Past Cycle. Raising my right palm, I waved to the people surrounding me. Most took my gesture as a refusal of Elevation, but the lead steward wasn't fooled.
"You are full of the most unusual talents, victor Raven," he remarked with intonations reminiscent of a certain elf, which made me slightly uneasy. "Water?"
"It wouldn't hurt." My throat was indeed parched.
With a single gesture, the lead steward dispersed the small crowd that had gathered around me, and with another, he ordered a drink to be brought.
"Was that necessary?" asked the representative of the Alchemists' Guild, offering me his hand to help me up.
"It definitely wasn't in my plans to cause obstacles or inconveniences to the esteemed guild." Rising to my feet, I calmly met his curious gaze.
Our brief stare-off didn't last long, as I was soon brought water, and I drank directly from the jug.
"The esteemed guild..." The lead steward mimicked my previous statement, dragging out his words, "Apparently not so 'esteemed' since you've declined us."
"My refusal was due solely to the weight of prior commitments and promises made," I slightly exaggerated, handing the jug back to the nearest attendant.
Clearly, my answer didn't sit well with the alchemist, but he didn't push for a confrontation. However, he was evidently irked that I chose the time for my Elevation so "inopportunely." For a minute, he gave me a disgruntled stare and then, gritting his teeth, asked me not to take any more actions without his approval. Of course, it was unpleasant to earn the displeasure of the representatives of the Great Guild, but I had little choice. Mumbling one last admonishment about being more predictable and not doing foolish things, the lead steward haughtily departed, leaving me surrounded by attendants. They weren't necessarily in my way, but they kept their watchful and wary eyes on me.
There was little time left until the award ceremony began. To avoid agitating the alchemists further, I remained in place, lazily leaning against the wall. Not just standing but also acclimating to my new rank and pondering the grand finale.
As soon as it was clear that Ronin and I were the grand finalists, my "victory" in the tournament essentially became a foregone conclusion. Even if I had lost to the fencing master, I would've still won the tournament in any scenario. This is because if I had started to lose the duel, I could've just clinched with Ronin and told him that if I were defeated, I'd be erased by the questers. He would've let me win. The former CERN engineer is one of those people for whom recognizing their own success personally is more important than official victories and accolades. Moreover, even though I won our duel, it's also a testament to Ronin's success. Because the student defeated the teacher, and this is the highest recognition of the mentor's genius. It's a pity that Ronin won't find out about this interpretation of his loss. I'm sure he'd be pleased. He's the kind of fencer who rejoices more in his students' successes than his own. So, my victory is also his victory. Of course, his weapon choice for the tournament also played a part. I have this nagging doubt that, with my current level of training, I could've won if Ronin had wielded his favorite weapon combination – a schiavona and buckler. I highly doubt it. The fencing master was truly on form today, and defeating him required all my strength and focus. Plus, I was fortunate that he fell into my trap, allowing me to cloud his judgment with the moves I showed him. Though no, I'm underselling myself here. It wasn't just luck; it was a calculated move. I suppose it's just awkward to admit that I bested my first teacher, and I did so by following his instructions and practices. First, I won the mental duel, making him believe in a false reality, then capitalized on that advantage to secure my victory. All as Ronin taught me. So, no, it wasn't just luck. I truly was on top of my game today.
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I emerged onto the award ceremony stage with an outwardly indifferent, calm face, and only in the corners of my eyes could an attentive observer spot a hint of a smile.
Unlike the award ceremonies I was familiar with, Ain had not yet adopted the idea that, apart from the winner, there could be other awardees. That is, they hadn't yet thought of awarding second and third places, so there wasn't the customary podium from Earth's competitions. In less than half a year, this situation would change. It would be influenced by earthlings, of course. But for now, I stepped onto the clean sand and, to the sound of fanfare, made my way to the center of the arena.
Since such large tournaments carried a hint of religious significance as a display of valor under the gaze of the gods, priests were also present during the awarding. Servants of the pantheon formed a living corridor through which I walked, continuously reciting their loud prayers.
Even though I seemed calm and unperturbed on the outside, internally, my nerves were taut. If I couldn't pull off the trick I had planned for this ceremony, it would be a long time before I could earn Seguna's forgiveness.
When I had covered two-thirds of the distance to the center, a familiar servant of Antares stepped out from the line of priests. Blocking my path, he raised his hands to the sun and began singing a hymn. And this hymn wasn't about me but dedicated to the deity he worshipped. I had to stop and patiently wait for him to finish. The tournament was under the patronage of Antares, and if this priest followed me to the center of the arena, it would be very bad. I wouldn't dare to execute my plan under his watch. When the priest finished his prayer and stepped aside, returning to his place, I barely suppressed a relieved sigh.
By the time I reached the center of the arena, my ears were a bit sore from the droning priestly songs. So when the lead steward raised his hand, calling for silence, it was a relief to me.
While the lead steward began his solemn speech, I assessed the prevailing situation. The way I was positioned according to the awarding protocol wasn't suitable for my plan. But I couldn't just change my spot without a reason. Therefore, I patiently waited, biding my time. The lead steward's ceremonial speech equally praised the city hosting the tournament, the priests who provided their patronage, and, of course, the Alchemists' Guild, which organized and sponsored the entire event. However, there was not a word about the participants or the battles that had taken place. For a moment, it seemed as if they could have left me out entirely, but towards the end of his speech, the steward did remember me.
"Let us raise our cheers and hail the victor of our tournament," the ceremony's leader finally addressed the audience. "Raven from Seattle!"
The audience began to rise from their seats and applaud. At that moment, it seemed to me that these were not merely formal applause but a genuinely heartfelt one. This realization warmed my heart.
According to the regulations, I had to stand still, like a statue, and obediently listen to all the speeches. However, pretending to be absorbed in the audience's love and adoration, amid the shouts from the stands: "Raven! Raven! Raven!" I began to walk in a circle and, raising my hands high above my head, started applauding the stands, as if riling them up. This gesture, common in Earth events, was so liked by the local spectators that their cries of support doubled in intensity. The lead steward did not appreciate my behavior, which violated the regulations, but he couldn't stop or publicly reprimand me either, as he would have invoked the wrath of the hyped crowd. Nevertheless, he was an experienced orator, and holding back any remarks, he used the audience's excitement to inflame the people further.
"And we, the Great Alchemists' Guild," when the shouts from the stands reached their peak, the lead steward enhanced his voice with Wind magic, "Under the patronage of Antares! We present this deserved award, uniquely crafted only thrice a year by our grand Guild, a Pill of Metal Elevation, to our winner, Raven from Seattle!"
Handing me a richly decorated box, the ceremony leader couldn't help a barely noticeable gesture of irritation. His displeasure arose from the fact that I was standing on the wrong side according to established rules. By regulations, he was supposed to stand so that the sun shone on him during the awarding, symbolizing that the award was given to me by Antares himself through his hands. But because I was walking in a circle, stirring up the crowd, everything turned out to be the opposite during the awarding. Now, I was standing between the sun and the chief steward, precisely in line.
With a deep bow, I accepted the box, then raised my head and lifted my hands to the sky as if showing everyone gathered in the stands the received award. A symbolic gesture in which no one suspected any trick. As my hands went above my head, I took a short step to the left, adjusting my position and showing everyone the award, and shaped my fingers in a way familiar to earthlings. The calculation was accurate, and the shadow of my hands, forming an indecent earthly gesture, fell directly on the crystal top of the lead steward's artifact staff. That same staff in which, through Affinity, I felt a piece of true Light.
In metaphysics and relationships with deities, symbolism and the meanings embedded in it play a key role. To the spectators, the raised middle fingers of my hands mean nothing, but for the deities, for whom all meanings are an open book, this gesture meant the same as it did for me. It did so because I gave it an offensive sense. And the fact that the Shadow from the offensive gesture is formed by the sunlight, the embodiment of Antares, and that this very Shadow falls on an artifact carrying a part of the true Light, or allegorically speaking, a part of Antares himself, makes my gesture extremely mocking. As essentially, I'm offending the Light with the Light, using the Shadow as an intermediary, and all this was done in front of tens of thousands of people!
If the gods of Ain hadn't Fallen, I wouldn't have dared to pull off such a thing. Because there would be a high likelihood that the sun's rays would turn me to ashes right here. But now, when only Echoes of the gods of Ain remain, their attention is incredibly hard to attract even with such demonstrative gestures. To reach the Echoes, one must address them through true altars, rituals, dire oaths, or through a soul Affinity, and they almost certainly won't notice anything else. Now, if the priest of Antares had noticed my blasphemy, I might have been in trouble. But he remained in the crowd of other servants and saw nothing, and even if he had, he probably wouldn't have understood.
The Echo of Antares overlooked the offense. It became clear to me because the Affinity with the Light didn't even flinch in response to my gesture. However, the Affinity with the Shadow, since by raising my hands and forming them into a characteristic symbol, I simultaneously mentally invoked Seguna, was not at peace. The Shadow in my soul stirred, enveloped the Core, then, like a tidal wave, passed over its surface, washing away its displeasure, and hid again, as only it could. And the quiet, melodic, inhuman laughter that I heard on the edge of consciousness could well have been a mere auditory hallucination.
"I accept the earned reward," I spoke for the first time, and all the stands immediately fell silent, "and as a sign of respect to the Great Alchemists' Guild, admiring their work, I will here and now take the first of the Metal Elevation Pills. I will do it right before your eyes!" Turning to the spectators, I opened the box and took the first of the five pills, showed it to everyone, and then truly swallowed the alchemical preparation.
This time, the lead steward acknowledged my gesture with an understanding nod. He knew why I had done it. A complete set of Metal Elevation Pills is valuable only when whole; remove even one pill, and all the others instantly become worthless. By taking the first pill in front of everyone, I had effectively protected myself from attempts to steal this set of magical pills, almost priceless for many stuck on any of the metal ranks.
The rest of the ceremony didn't interest me. I simply endured about an hour of the required formal rituals, after which I left the sand surrounded by a crowd of priests. I then changed back into my own clothes, returning the artifact hairpin to my hairstyle. However, I couldn't just leave the under-stand facilities so easily. As soon as I exited the changing room, I was surrounded by regular alchemists and attendants, who congratulated me on my victory and offered to share a symbolic drink of wine with them. I endured all of this without showing the slightest displeasure, after which I asked to be led around the waiting crowd outside. The arena workers, with whom I had shared a glass of wine, obliged and guided me through an underground passage almost two blocks away from the central square. There, we symbolically drank once more, and I bid everyone farewell, asking them to let Aun know that I would be waiting for him at home.