Atlessoa flowed like water around her swordsman opponent, whose clean strikes with the blade continued to hit nothing but air. Daggers harried the man each time he missed, each cut minor on their own but compounding to cause the swordsman increased distress and discomfort.
She’s really toying with him, I thought as I watched.
There was no doubt in my mind that each of those small cuts could have been a finishing blow, but she was going for a psychological win, probably to scare future opponents. Bit by bit, she cut away armor straps, clothing, hair, small flakes of skin, and more than anything else, the man’s confidence.
She did a graceful backflip and landed in front of him, barely exerting any effort whatsoever while the man panted and gasped, trembling from the exertion of his wasted efforts and his accrued pain. With a swift movement, she raised her dagger and pointed it at the man.
He flinched.
The involuntary action broke the man’s will to fight, and he dropped his sword, looking down at the arena ground. “I yield,” he muttered.
Atlessoa turned on her heel and confidently walked out of the arena.
With that win, she should be in the quarterfinals now. Gorban and I had also made it this far. At this point, we were all facing some type of swordsman, which were the most numerous of competitors and took the role of general combatant for pairing with all of our less common weapon types. Assuming we made it through to the semifinals, we would likely be facing each other.
Even if Atlessoa lost in the quarterfinals, which I doubted, she had displayed enough strength in the tournament making it so far that—so long as she was willing to follow the orders of the crown—she would likely want for nothing and lead an enriched life. Every person who had made it this far was likely to be offered positions of power in the Kingdom so that the crown could leverage their might. What they would need to do for the crown remained to be seen, and while I might personally take umbrage with taking orders from a king, Atlessoa had been doing so for years to survive in Roko from far less savory sorts of characters. Becoming the king’s assassin would be a huge step up for her, even if it rubbed me the wrong way quite a bit. I was unsure how she would feel about it.
I stood from the stands where I had watched the bout and stretched. Though I tried to avoid falling into a trap of overconfidence, I could not help but wonder if I would be meeting Atlessoa in the semifinals, or if it would be the two of us in the finals. I grinned to myself at the thought as I made my way down from the stands and to my beast resting area so I could feed everyone for the night and pick up Rika to bring back to my inn.
* * *
The next morning, I made my way back to the arena and checked the board that listed the schedule for the day. As expected, I was up against another swordsman for the quarterfinals. And, if I beat him…
I frowned, and started making some mental plans for how to handle the day of combat.
The arena was busier than ever, and additional stands had been added for the extra observers. It seemed that these final bouts were drawing a larger crowd from within the capital.
Most notable was a singular viewing box that had been erected behind the judge panel and master of ceremonies. If I had to guess, the quarterfinals and beyond were going to be watched by the king himself.
Another notice on the board caught my eye, and I read it over. The magical tournament had been happening in tandem with the non-magical one, at a separate location where the more destructive magic would cause less issues. As there had been less mages competing, the tournament had already finished. Maybe the king had been watching that this whole time, and was now here to see the end of the mundane bouts?
The semifinalists had been listed and named, as well as the winner of the whole bracket.
Nodel Mirut.
I let out a low whistle of appreciation for my childhood friend’s hard work and the success that had come from it. She had clearly already had some kind of in with the crown and the higher-ups of the Kingdom, so perhaps it had not been a surprise that she would sweep the magical tournament, but if she was anything like the girl I remembered I was sure she was proud to stand at the top of the heap through her efforts.
Surprisingly, I felt a bit of pride about Nodel’s win, as her first instructor in magic. I had only taught it to her to help her deal with her childhood issues with magical overdose, a method to help her bleed off the extra MP her body seemed to contain that had been making her sick from the toxicity of hyperconcentrated magic in her young body. At least, that had been my hypothesis given the available information. I had never actually been able to examine her status when she was ill, but she had avoided falling ill again once she started using her MP, and furthermore had gained a huge advantage by developing a massive magic pool.
Since a mage’s limit was largely endurance-based, having an expanded pool was probably Nodel’s true advantage, but I hoped that helping her learn it from such a young age had also been an influence, though I knew her education under Vorel and then whatever other mages had taught her in the capital was likely the larger culprit.
Shaking off my thoughts, pride, and nostalgia, I focused back on my own challenges for the day. I headed to my beast resting area, and debated what my day almost certainly would look like. Given my next opponent, I decided to bring in the air support for my first battle and chose my lightning collus and alcewing to join me and Horsey in the arena. Of all my battles for the day, the first was the one I could be the most free and easy with.
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When it was time for my bout, I stepped into the arena, and appraised my opponent. He was strong, and knew it, as he stood there with a cocky expression and proud posture.
Given the audience and the fact that we were in the quarterfinals, the master of ceremonies had prepared more information on the combatants and was doing a much more thorough job of settling the stage for our bout.
“Our first contender is Pilus, a tamer from the Gurt region. He holds the title of gold rank member within the Tamers Guild, but he is also the founder of said guild, and was invited to today’s tournament to showcase what his guild can do. So far, he has already shown us a number of spectacles showcasing the power of his beasts, but can he compete at the highest level?”
Cheers rang out across the stands surrounding the arena, taking me by surprise. It appeared that I had gained a bit of a fan following, and the master of ceremonies was drumming up some real heat from the viewers.
“Facing him is our capital’s very own Regan, who many are already calling a master swordsman,” the master of ceremonies continued. I frowned slightly, skeptical—he was double-advanced, sure, but not a master swordsman, at least not according to my metasystem—but I supposed that in the common language it probably just meant someone skilled. From across the arena, I saw Regan’s brows furrow as he noticed my skepticism.
The master of ceremonies continued. “Trained from a young age by some of the greatest swordsmen in the Kingdom, we have no doubt that he will go on to reach even greater heights with his blade, but facing such beasts in the arena, can he overcome today’s challenge?”
Cheers rang out again, more than I had received, although that was not a surprise if he was a hometown hero. As they settled down, Regan called out to me.
“You wear a nice blade, but do you even know how to use that thing?” He wore a smirk, and it was obvious he was trying to bait me.
“Oh, I do. But I’m here to show off my beasts and my taming,” I answered nonchalantly. Regan glowered.
“So you can only beat me with numbers. You’re weak, hiding behind powerful beasts.”
I sighed. Am I really going to let myself get suckered into a straight fight with a powerful swordsman?
My lips turned up ever so slightly. I drew my sword.
“Then I’ll even the odds and prove it to you. The flying beasts won’t interfere. It’s just me, on this tarand, against you,” I said, and I saw Regan’s eyes light up at his bait working. I pointed at him with my sword. “Now show me what you’ve got.”
The crowd was eager to start hollering support at their preferred combatant, after having fallen silent to listen to our exchange. When the master of ceremonies felt like things had risen to a fever pitch, he made his loud declaration.
“The match begins… now!”
I spurred Horsey into gear, and the mystic tarand raced forward. I saw Regan’s stance shift slightly, his hand clenched the grip of his blade as he prepared to meet our charge.
No matter how thorough his training had been, there was no chance Regan had ever trained to meet cavalry head-on. That was a bad position for a swordsman to be in. Had he been a spearman, he would be a better match for a swordsman on tarandback. I was no expert at fighting from the saddle, but at the core of it, my footwork was simply being replaced with an advantageous height, speed, and reach. My blows would land heavier with the tarand’s charge behind them, and I would be harder to land a critical hit on me from the ground.
Regan was smart enough to establish some of that, and tried to take out Horsey in the first charge rather than try to target me. He slashed at my tarand as it approached, trying to cripple it, but Horsey easily leapt the swung blade. I bent forward in the saddle and leaned toward the swordsman for the jump, and dragged my blade across his shoulder as we passed in the air.
The man spun, tracking us as we took a wide turn around the edge of the arena, giving us room to make a second charge. When Horsey pushed forward again, Regan adjusted and aimed his attack upwards, hoping to catch the tarand in his jump or land a hit on me if possible.
I kept Horsey on the ground through the charge and instead slammed my sword against his in a brute-force parry. The combined force of the hit between Horsey’s charge and my strength caused the man’s arm to wrench back and twist him into a half spin, and he let out a sharp gasp as we moved apart, again making the space for our next charge.
Regan rolled his shoulder, wincing slightly from the force of the impact, and his eyes were wide as he took in as much information as he could and tried to make a plan for the next attack. I pushed Horsey into a third charge, and Regan prepared to strike.
At the last moment, Horsey dipped his head and used his evolved antler to deflect the sword strike for me, forcing Regan’s guard open and giving me a clear target. I slammed my sword into and across his chest, steel ringing out loudly against steel.
The swordsman’s armor was too good to crumple under my blow, but the force of the impact was still transferred into his chest. He coughed and fell to a knee, eyes wider still but now in shock. He sucked air, trying to regain his wind, and I let him as Horsey slowed into a slow trot away from him as he pulled himself back into a standing position.
Rage contoured his face, and seeing an opening, he lurched to his feet and raced at the backside of the tarand to slash at his haunches and cripple the beast.
It was exactly what I had hoped for.
Before Regan’s full swing could be executed, Horsey snapped back his leg and kicked the man square in the chest. He flew back, no doubt with at least a few cracked ribs, coughing blood as he landed hard against the stone arena floor. He tried to sit up, winced, and collapsed against the ground, a strangled cry escaping his lips.
I walked Horsey back towards the swordsman, and my tarand placed a foot on the man’s wrist, pinning his sword hand to the ground. I pointed my blade down at him.
“This is where you yield,” I said smugly.
Regan tried to shout something at me in anger, but he could barely speak, let alone shout. I allowed Horsey to put a tiny bit more pressure on the man’s wrist, and he cried out in pain.
“Enough! The judges have declared Pilus the winner!” the master of ceremonies cried out, and Horsey released the man and took a few steps away as a healer raced forward.
Surprised, I looked up to see the judges conversing with some priests, having finally decided to end the match before the man was seriously injured. The audience was surprised at the declaration as well, but once it registered, they started to applaud and whoop their support.
My eyes wandered up to the king’s viewing box, and I saw him sitting forward in a throne, stroking his goatee and looking serious and contemplative. The veiled priestess sat on one side of him, but I could not make out her expression. I glanced at Rugnor’s other side, and saw an inscrutable expression on the victor of the magical tournament’s face as she gazed down at me.