Part Two

It was not a suite as promised. One can only imagine what a shock it was that the slaver madman lied. But it was a proper room when compared to the dripping cell they were previously in. Carved into mountain stones and lit with white cryst lamps, the brightness was enough to be blinding if you stared directly into the source. There was also a functioning toilet and washbasin in their new cell, so hygiene was an actual plus. It was probably cheaper for them to keep their star gladiators alive than to constantly find new replacements. A single steel door, thick as a wall, barred their escape. A small gap below - smaller than the width of their skulls - let in food when it was time to feed. In the corner of the ceiling was a pygmy camera, a small earth construct that fed images through cryst wirings to a hard light crystal somewhere.

“You don't look happy,” Ierba noted from the hard, immobile stone bed.

“On the contrary,” Nadier replied nonchalantly. “I'm absolutely nostalgic.” He was examining the stone basin to see if there were any parts he could salvage for tools.

“Nostalgic wouldn't be the right answer to being happy either.”

“I can't help it. I feel like I've been here before, thus that is my current mood.”

“Is it a good nostalgia?”

“Are there bad ones?”

Nadier was trying to settle a finger on what the feeling was. Confidence, perhaps? If he had truly been in the same room or situation in his past life, it meant he had gotten out of it once and could probably do so again. Zen was curled up in Nadier's own stone bed opposite of Ierba. Her eyes occasionally glancing over to the dark elf whenever he made a sudden movement, though otherwise, seemingly completely comfortable in the two's presence.

“During the fight,” Ierba began. “You said we've met before. How is that possible?”

“I lost my memories two hundred years ago. We probably met before that.”

“You know I'm a human, right? We don't exactly live that long.”

“That, and you came from another universe.”

“You know about that?”

“I've met The Watcher. I've met Miguel. You carry the same air.”

Ierba shrugged. “I'm a little out of the loop, having been stuck here. Don't know who knows what anymore so I'll take your word for it.”

“Are you from Gaia too? Like The Watcher?”

“No. I'm from a place called Earth.”

Nadier drew his dagger and knocked on the stone basin with its handle. “A place that's named after the dirt? Lacking creativity.”

“Or was the ground named after the planet? Which do you think was named first? What was created, or what it was created from?”

“I hate riddles.”

“Not a riddle,” Ierba waved the notion away. “Philosophy.”

What came first? Was he named Nadier because he was at his lowest point in life? Or did his lowest began when he became Nadier? His brother said he was named such as when you are at the bottom, there would be no place left to go but up. A constant climb. A constant fight.

Stolen novel; please report.

The elf pushed the memories out of his mind. “Since you are from another universe, it becomes even less likely we knew each other from before.”

“But you still think so?”

“My body at least seems to remember fighting alongside you. And the voice in my memory that called my real name was definitely yours.”

It was from the fight. It felt as if his body was working on muscle memory. Similar to the feelings he had when fighting alongside his brother or Adelaide - people who he had extensive affinities with. He knew when to switch his combat style, and when to move or attack in tandem with the magic. While his mind had forgotten his past, his body remembered. Nadier sat down on his bed and Zen leaned her head onto his lap. He instinctively started rubbing her nape, which the wolf seemed to enjoy.

“At-Tro-Pos,” Nadier began. “Tell me about him.”

Ierba sat up straighter. “He runs this place and about all the slave trade on the continent. As far as we know, this here is a gladiator arena where he pits people he kidnaps against each other for show. Crime lords come here to let loose steam. Bet on lives with an unconscionable amount of money. But most of At-Tri-Pos's finance comes from brokerage fees he sucks up from transactions just being made here and the slaves and beast trades he runs. The Clovers have been investigating him for a year, trying to find a way to bring him down.”

“Why not just march up to his doorsteps? You have overwhelming power, an army in Aleynonlia, and a launching pad from Everwind now.”

“It's not that simple. This is his home base. We're somewhere in the middle of Devara, so travelling here with an army would take months, if not years. This place is also well fortified, built on a plateau for a high ground. The constant winter prevents anyone from setting sieges. This is a fortress built over hundreds of years, filled to the brim with the most powerful criminals in the world, with fresh meat reinforcing it every single day.”

Nadier raised his brow quizzically. “So what was your plan to break out? You could have left whenever you wanted to, right?”

Ierba shrugged. “Sure. I could try. Not sure I could do so now, but back in the shitty cell, I certainly could have blasted the doors opened.”

“And after?”

“I'll fight my way out,” the Omniknight answered as if it was matter-of-fact.

“You don't have a plan?”

“Not really, I guess. Brute force should work.”

“I've met Miguel. He had plans.”

“I'm not Miguel.”

“So you're an idiot?”

“That hurts.” Ierba pointed to his chest. “Right here.”

“Oh for Titan's sake...” Nadier sighed. Of all the Clovers to be stuck with, it was the powerhouse. No tack or strategies, just strong enough to not have to care about any of those things. Yet the knight was not even at his full strength, being hindered by his missing Soul Arm. “And your Soul Arm? How did you lose it?”

“I just did.”

“Doesn't answer my question. Aren't Soul Arms part of you, or however it works?”

“Yes. They are basically extensions of our bodies. Imagine having a phantom limb that you can materialise whenever you want.”

“And it just disappeared.”

“Sort of. I can still feel it, but I can't summon it out. Our connection feels... diluted.”

“Our?” Nadier asked. “You speak of it as if it were alive.”

“In a way. These weapons are imprints of a soul. An afterimage burnt into the seither engraved into the metal of blades. The weapons choose their wielders as much as we do, acting on preferences as their original imprints would when alive. I followed my connection here. The strongest it's been at is when I'm near At-Tro-Pos. He likely has it somehow.”

“So, we're trapped underground, on a plateau, in a fight to the death with some variously willing victims of kidnapping with comparable combat prowess as ourselves, all so we can entertain rich and powerful crime lords, one of which has somehow gotten his hands on one of the most powerful weapons on the entire planet. Have I summarised our situation?”

“And you lost your Guide.”

Nadier sighed. “Yes, and I lost my Guide.”

Zen's head perked up right before two stone bowls were pushed under the door, filled with questionably delicious mystery grains and meat of unknown origins and health benefits.

“Eat up,” Trini's familiar voice echoed in from the outside. “Your first fight is in three days.”

Nadier went to the door, but the shadow of the female was already gone. Following a hunch, he picked up one of the bowls and dug into the grains with his fingers and hit something solid. He turned his body away from the pygmy camera and took out the small glass capsule. Within it was a green, mouldy liquid. He immediately recognised it as a pulped version of valasine moss, which was acidic in nature and known to melt rocks to absorb its minerals. Over time, it could melt the bolts off the door, but the amount was about 2 dozen capsules short for the time frame it would take.

Ierba then picked another capsule out of his bowl as well.

With 2 daily meals, it meant they would get 4 capsules a day. At least another 5 days would be needed to smuggle in enough of the substance for Nadier to do anything with them, assuming Trini manages to do so. They would have to fight at least once.

He pocketed the capsule. “Let's eat.”