040 - THROUGH WILL ALONE WE CHOOSE TO LIVE
The crowd was murmuring long before Conrad entered the Arena at Tier Eleven, and the reason for it became clear as he entered.
Traps. The Arena space had been filled with various spiked pillars, swinging and stationary, up to and including the walls. And in the middle was his opponent - a sword and shield-wielding, very familiar black and red-skinned demon.
“BACK FROM THE DEPTHS OF HELL AND READY FOR REVENGE, PLEASE WELCOME BACK TO THE ARENA FOR A REMATCH FORGED IN FIRE! IT’S CATAPHRAAAAAAACT!”
“Guess it took Troy’s feedback to heart,” Conrad murmured as he readied himself.
The two warriors engaged in a clash of steel, sparks flying, the Announcer shouting, and the crowd crying out its approval.
Cataphract was good. This was no first-tier version of the monster. It was as if every stroke Conrad had made of his knife or sword had been etched into the creature, and it had its own spin on it. It forced Conrad back toward a spinning spiked pillar, making him engage Adrenaline Rush just to have enough breathing space to push away.
Cataphract activated the same skill for itself, completely nullifying Conrad’s advantage. And so it went with every skill he tried. Imbued Strike missed, countered seemingly preternaturally fast, and likely due to the creature having Danger Sense. Restrain worked but the difference in their overall level or perhaps the innate magical nature of the demon weakened it to the point of only giving him about a second to try and score a hit.
And those damned traps! He was constantly having to rethink his approach, dodging as a pillar came swinging by and missing his openings, prematurely engaging skills to avoid being shoved into waiting spikes. But Cataphract seemed born to this, probably was born to this, and slowly he was chipping away at Conrad’s stamina and health.
Cataphract dodged around a pillar, demon legs springing him around in a way no human could imitate, leaving Conrad overcommitted to his thrust and in line with a swinging spiked column. He leaped forward, rolling and coming to his feet when -
“HE’S GOT HIM! CATAPHRACT HAS PIERCED CONRAD STRAIGHT THROUGH!”
The crowd moaned in anguish with Conrad as the cold steel of Caraphract’s sword passed straight through his unprotected stomach and out his back. His sword suddenly felt too heavy to hold and slipped from Conrad’s fingers. Unconsciously he gripped at Cataphract's wrists and sword arm, using everything he had left to keep the blade from penetrating deeper - or coming out and taking his guts with it.
“LOOKS LIKE THE MERCHANT’S CLIMB ENDS HERE, FOLKS, ELEVEN TIERS OF MAYHEM, ELEVEN FIGHTS TO THE GLORIOUS END! HIS STORY AND EXAMPLE WILL LIVE ON, THOUGH, LEAVING THE FINAL GLORY OF TOTAL VICTORY TO THE NEXT GENERATION OF HEROES!”
The demon smiled, huge mouth toothy and evil it leered close.
Blackness started to encroach on Conrad’s vision. This was it. It was over. He felt a piece of himself unclench in relief - it was over. No more pain, no more suffering, no more restless nights of fear-addled attempts to sleep in a body too broken and sore to let him relax.
Bliss awaited. Unconsciousness.
Death.
Then he heard the crowd. What began as an isolated shout, deep and loud, a voice Conrad thought he recognized, resolved into a coherent chant that rose first from a few more, then from every voice present; a bitter song of truth reminding him of what he had learned not so long before this new moment of suffering.
“LIVE! LIVE! LIVE!” they chanted, the chorus of it rising and reverberating around the Arena
“LIVE! LIVE! LIVE! LIVE!”
The spell of it broke through the weakness that threatened to pull him into unconsciousness and he invoked Psych Up. Strength and power flowed through him and he screamed into the leering face of Cataphract, pulling himself further along the blade and clinching with the demon.
He pushed forward, ramming the creature against a spiked pillar. It screamed and let go of the sword, flailing around behind it in a vain attempt to push itself off the spikes.
Conrad pressed it harder, spikes emerging from its chest, slick with black blood, but unable to fully kill the monster. It screeched again, voice like a dozen of the things, high pitched and piercing.
He screamed into Cataphract’s demon face, “BACK TO HELL!”
He manifested Mara’s steel dagger from his inventory, and as he had done to Karina, the Berserker bitch who had tried to kill him what felt like a lifetime before, he pressed the knife deep into the throat of his panicking enemy and sawed.
Black blood gushed out, covering his hands and arms, and spraying into his face as he screamed his will to live into the very face of death. He kept sawing until he hit spine, and then he kept on sawing.
The demon prince, Cataphract, died. Body pinned to the pillar, but head held aloft by Conrad for the whole crowd to see.
To cheers and disbelieving commentary from the Announcer, Conrad walked out of the arena, sword still through him, knife in hand, and Cataphract’s horned head held high.
As the doors to the preparation area shut behind him and the last vestige of Psych Up’s enhanced strength left him, he collapsed to his knees.
Mara and Troy were there in an instant, administering potions, and tending to his wounds, and, with a careful pull, they removed the sword.
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“This is nothing,” Troy was saying.
Mara agreed, face white, “Seen much worse.”
Conrad looked at his health, just gently above zero and rising slowly. The potions were working. He would survive today, but even as he felt the life returning to him he felt the hope of surviving one more fight drain away.
It wasn’t despair that made him speak then - he knew his purpose and his only task now. It had been shouted at him by every person in the arena in an echo of his own thoughts. Rather, it was cold logic.
He had been outmatched by Cataphract, and it was only through luck, grit, and sheer fucking will that he had survived. Every fight had taken just a little bit more from him, pushed him a little bit further, and left him a little more broken before the next fight. And the last of them would be the greatest challenge he had yet faced. He knew this even as he looked down at Cataphract’s sword, still wet with his blood, now slowly sinking into the floor of the preparation area - being run through would not be the worst he would be made to face.
The Arena was not going to let him leave.
“I don’t think I can win this,” he said and passed out.
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When Conrad woke it was to the customary timelessness of the Arena preparation area, with no windows to the outside to give any indication of the passage of time. He tried to sit up but was seized immediately with pain from his stomach, still bandaged, the potions not yet having had the chance to repair him completely.
“Keep still,” Mara said where she sat on the floor next to a sleeping Troy, “You’ve been out all night but you’ll probably need another health potion and at least another day before all that,” she gestured vaguely at his entire body, “is back in fighting shape.”
“Not good enough,” Conrad said, and against his better judgment and Mara’s admonition, pushed himself painfully into a sitting position. He pulled a coin from his inventory, “Not good enough!” he called out again, dropping the coin to the ground and causing Troy to stir awake.
The coin disappeared into the ground and, a moment later, the Announcer appeared. It leaned casually against the wall and idly rolled the same coin Conrad had given up over its knuckles.
“A complaint about your accommodations?” it said, “That’s unlike you, Conrad. You’re usually so.. Indefatigable.”
“I need more time to heal up before the next fight,” he said, endeavoring to put as much command and certainty into his voice as possible.
“Fights occur once each day, you know this,” the Announcer said calmly, “I can’t go changing the rules on a whim,” it thought for a moment, “Well, of course, I can but why would I?”
Greed in this creature was as dependable as always, so Conrad opened the negotiation, “This wound is obvious, we agreed to create drama and spectacle. Nobody wants to see The Merchant of Death at half-strength going up against the highest tier of the Arena.”
“What a letdown that’d be,” Mara said and Troy grunted his agreement.
The Announcer nodded sagely and with only a hint of irony, it said, “Certainly, but I can’t be seen playing favorites. The audience must have a reason for such an accommodation. And I, of course, must have an incentive.”
Conrad consulted his inventory but Mara seemed to be ready for this, “A full ‘Ready for Anything’ set of potions should be enough,” she said, presenting a small wooden chest she opened to display a number of bottles of various colors, “Health, stamina, mana, mood, antivenom, antidote, even sleep.”
A grin spread across the face of the Announcer as it looked at the box presented to it.
“And for the reason…” it twirled its fingers around vaguely as if it hadn’t already thought of this exact thing well before now, “I have some renovations I’ve been meaning to complete but was waiting for the end of Conrad’s historic run to finally make time for. I can move my schedule up and give you the day you need in exchange for the potion kit.”
“Sounds like a deal to me,” Mara said. Conrad nodded to her and she set the box on the ground where it sank immediately into the Arena.
“Deal,” the Announcer said.
That was one problem taken care of, but Conrad hadn’t forgotten what the last fight had taught him - it wasn’t just that he needed time to heal, that would help, but if the Arena increased the difficulty for this last fight in the same proportion as it had been all along he was still finished. He needed something else, he just wasn’t sure what else he could ask for or get the Arena to agree to.
That was when Troy spoke up, “I’ve been sitting down here for days, listening to all this commentary,” he said, tone jovial and confident, “And I want a piece of the action.”
“Ah!” the announcer said with a grin, clapping its hands together and rubbing them in anticipation, “Conrad’s climb through the ranks has inspired you to become a gladiator yourself? Excellent! Will it be an Exhibition or another Conquest?”
“No, you’re misunderstanding,” Troy said as he stood up, “I want to fight with Conrad.”
The Announcer tilted his head in confusion and Conrad looked at Troy with a sudden and near overwhelming sense of gratitude and hope, “Arena fights are single combat, Troy, you’ve been here long enough to know this.”
“Picture the drama though!” Troy said, “A new fighter, debuting as a sort of sidekick, a protege of the prospective champ! A new name and a new face for the crowd to watch for as Conrad takes a well-deserved retirement - when he wins of course.”
A partner! If they could swing this deal that was exactly what Conrad needed! Fighting alone was costing him everything, but with this new variable the Arena might not know how to adjust, might not be sure exactly how to take down a man of Troy’s skills - it would be gambling, but if Troy was right about the anticipation it would build for coming matches then the Arena would win either way. Glory, excitement, and new recruits and champions, or the deaths of two powerful fighters in a way that no audience could deem unfair or lacking in drama.
He could see the gears turning in the Announcer’s head, could almost feel the rumbling of the Arena as it considered the proposition.
“The idea is not without appeal…” it said, “But the price for such an exchange would have to be-”
Conrad was ready for it and had already manifested the Golden Guild Pin into his hands. He played with it idly as if he had forgotten about its existence entirely. But of course, the Announcer saw it and had not, could not forget the original object of its desire.
“The pin,” it finished, holding its hand out.
"I'm going too," Mara chimed in.
"Three? I think not. Two is change enough and my price has been set," The Announcer said dismissively.
Mara looked disappointed but Conrad gave her a thankful nod anyway, “A team battle then?” he said to the Announcer.
The Announcer nodded, a gleam in its eye, “You shall have a teammate to face the final tier of the Arena.”
Conrad held out the pin and the Announcer took it, disappearing it into itself. A grin of delight well beyond what Conrad could have expected lit up its face and it began to laugh. It laughed so long and deep that Troy, Mara, and Conrad all began chuckling along awkwardly with it.
It wiped a tear from its eye and said, “This pin, this pin! Oh, Conrad! Here I thought you were the consummate dealer, always finding a way to best me. But the value of this thing! I fear you have sold it far too cheaply.”
That was a surprise. The pin was a powerful magical item, and Conrad would miss the boosted stats it provided him, but in exchange for Troy entering the Arena to face the coming fight with him? He wasn’t sure what else he could have gotten except a way out, and the Arena had already refused that offer.
“Tomorrow night then,” the Announcer said, still grinning, “We will see each other once again on the sands of the fighting pit. Swift recovery, Merchant!”
The Announcer vanished and the three companions exchanged looks.
“We done wheelin’ and dealin’?” Mara asked, “Cause if so, you need to drink this,” she offered Conrad another health potion, “And lay back down. The two of you have got a big fight coming up, and we need Conrad in top shape.”