February ~ 31!

A/N: Sorry for the delay on this chapter, I had a root canal yesterday and was useless for a good while.

At least a hundred athletic bodies in the peak of health filled the arena… and then there was Grant Monday. Overwhelmed, confused, and at half health. The only advantage he had was his Mid Spring Light armor, when almost all the people around him were wearing only regular, unrestrictive clothes. Seeing that, he started to wonder if his armor was actually an advantage.

He filtered into the back row, his sunken flesh making it nearly impossible to blend in amongst the proud chins and chiseled jaws. Grant had never seen so many perfect specimens. He knew that each one had passed through a gauntlet of challenges to be here and had been training for this exact event for years. “I feel sick.”

Sarge laughed at him in his head, offering no comfort.

The last remnants of fanfare died down, and Grant could feel the anticipation building. The excitement in the air mirrored the fluttering in his chest. Thousands of spectators were crammed into the stands surrounding the circular arena. Somewhere out there, Waylon was cheering him on. Knowing that there was at least one person rooting for him made him stand tall.

He needed to succeed.

A figure bounded onto the podium, gleaming silver-gauntleted fists pumping in the air. Grant couldn’t mistake the patent shocking pink hair belonging to the same person that had zoomed past him as he sat at the foot of a statue in Hajimeni. After an initial burst of whistling and shouting, the chatter from the stands died down.

Lady February’s crisp voice pierced the air and the hearts of her fans. “People of February! It is my great honor to open the annual games! My late father held the inaugural games and set February on the path towards success through physical cultivation.”

Here she paused for a moment of silence. “Now I, the people’s Lady February, am here to continue his legacy and build upon what my father achieved! In the past year, you may have noticed further changes throughout the District. These changes are intended to push each and every one of you beyond your perceived limits and towards ever higher heights! Change is not easy, but it is necessary if we want to reach our full potential. I believe the citizens of February have what it takes… what in the…? Hey! Where are you all going? What’s the meaning of this?”

A call went out, and anyone in the arena or stands belonging to House Thursday or Saturday suddenly stood and just… left. Grant knew why they were leaving; rather than the conflict in The Octagon being the end of the issue, as he had hoped, the war between the two Houses was escalating.

“Turn around and get back to your positions at once!” None of the departing Vassals or Wielders listened to her. She trembled with rage at being ignored. When shouting did nothing, she slammed her suddenly metal-encased fist onto the ground, shattering the stone arena around her. “Anyone who is not present for the start of the games has just forfeited their position!”

The members of both Houses continued to leave, undeterred by her words. Grant watched around thirty competitors exit the arena, almost a full third of the starting number. As the last of them left, Lady February managed to get herself under control. Speaking to the other competitors, she struggled to maintain a level tone. “Prepare yourself, competitors, mentally and physically for the challenges that lie ahead. Only the best amongst you will earn the right to become a Wielder and help to shape and guide the District in the years to come. The very best of you will earn the right to become my personal Sparring Partner! Prove that you have what it takes to keep up with me!”

The wild cheering at these words put a smile back on her face. “Now… let us proceed to the first round. It will be a no-holds-barred melee event. The only rule is: do not kill. Even if the very best are the ones that pass, you are all elites. The loss of any of you will be a loss for the District. Use your strength to make it through to the second round. Even with the reduction in expected participants and subsequent scale of the event, only twenty of you will be advancing to the next round.”

Grant took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, releasing his pent-up tension. He would have loved to rest and recover fully, but circumstances had led him here. In this arena, he would instead be making his stand. At half health and burdened with weariness, he knew that he didn’t have much of a chance. His mind wandered while Lady February droned on, reminiscing about her late father. His goal was simple, to use his Kenjutsu to force as many competitors to yield as possible. Unlike the others, he was fully committed to stabbing someone repeatedly if they didn’t submit. He had actual combat experience, and that was something that practice just couldn’t prepare people for.

Grant absentmindedly watched as Lady February waved her hands around. A strong gust of wind proceeded to buffet him, forcing him to alter his footing to avoid being swept from his feet. Confused by this, he decided to pay more attention.

“If at any time, a participant forfeits, they will be whisked out of the arena by the wind spell that was applied. However, if they refuse to forfeit, knock ‘em out. To yield or forfeit, kneel or lie on the sand and raise your left fist… or go unconscious.” This got a smattering of laughter from the crowd, and Lady February grinned. “Now, lords and ladies to be… let the games begin!”

No sooner had Lady February issued the command than guttural cries of competitors rang out and reverberated around the arena, matched only by the jubilant cheers of the ecstatic crowd. Grant unhurriedly unsheathed February Twenty Nine as he tried to get his breathing under control. He had fought before in front of a large audience, but the people of January were always more interested in stuffing their faces on succulent dishes than watching armed combat.

Only the reassuring weight and balance of the uchigatana in his white-knuckled grip grounded him and prevented him from being swept away on a wave of emotion. Right now, he needed to be calm and prepared if he wanted to survive this test. While he could kneel on the sand and raise his fist at any time to be whisked away by a blast of wind, failure was not an option.

<Jump. Duck!> In his calm moment of contemplation, Grant almost failed to realize that a multitude of battles raged all around. Sarge’s barked command instantly brought him to his senses. He didn’t have time to question the command as he leaped into the air and simultaneously dropped his head. A blade whistled through the air above his head, while he watched a yari—a spear with a flat double-edged blade affixed to a wooden shaft—sweep under his feet.

The Vassal wielding the blade blinked in surprise and stumbled forward, off-balance. Grant spun and swept the Vassal’s leg out from under him before pinning him to the ground with the point of February Twenty Nine. The Vassal groaned and raised a clenched fist, the sign of forfeiture. A gust of wind tugged at Grant’s armor, forcing him back a step. The Vassal’s disappointed eyes never left him as a miniature tornado swept him up and whisked him out of the arena.

In the next moment, Grant tackled the yari-user and sliced into their neck, just enough to draw blood. The man didn’t give up, so Grant shrugged and started to press down. Before the blade could go deeper, wind knocked him back and the man was swept away as he gave up.

Damage taken: 10 blunt (11 mitigated)

Grant cursed and stumbled forward as he was punched in the back of the head. His unarmored head. “Thanks for the save, armor cultivation!”

He dropped and rolled, popping to his feet as a one-two combo whiffed through the space he had just vacated. Now facing his opponent, he out-ranged the man significantly. His new opponent didn’t seem to mind and closed in a rush. His attacks came thick and fast, but Grant’s blade was always there to meet them. One he had recovered, Grant started sending his own probing attacks.

Damage dealt: 24 slashing.

Damage dealt: 26 slashing.

Damage dealt: 39 slashing. (Critical!)

“You have no armor cultivation?” Grant gasped as he opened large wounds across the man with each swipe. Only his precise control of his sword allowed him to turn his blade from the far deadlier path it was trying to take. He didn’t get an answer, so he flipped his blade and started smashing the blunt edge into the man’s head until he passed out. A gust of wind later, and Grant was alone. “How much more till I level, Sarge?>

<Defeat two Vassals,> Sarge ordered his weary student. <Or two Wielders.>

“Either way, huh?” Grant heaved for breath as his stomach wound reopened.

<Technically, yes, though I suggest you pick a few low-level Vassals to fight. There’s no need to take unnecessary risks.> Grant didn’t answer, since the circle of competitors was shrinking as they converged on him.

“You cheat. Three people in under a minute? Are you a Thursday, promising them a sack of Time if they agree to give up?” A Vassal of House Friday cautiously strode forward. For all his talk of Grant being a cheat, it certainly appeared that he was taking him seriously as a fighter. In one hand was a net, the other a trident spear. “We deserve to be here, boy. I’ll say no more, though I am sure you understand exactly what I mean.”

The converging competitors with their perfect physiques nodded in agreement. Grant raised his open hand in supplication. “I’ll take you on one at a time; what do you say?”

A low whistle was the only warning he got. He’d heard the noise before, and his hatred of being turned into a worthless, immobile punching bag made him spring into action at full speed. The cast net sailed over him and caught one of the circling men instead. Grant followed the net and slammed his sword into the trapped man’s torso. His target gasped and whimpered as their left hand shot up, instantly getting whisked out of the arena… with Grant’s sword.

Everyone saw that as their chance, and charged at him. Two blades slammed into Grant, his armor barely slowing them down. A spear poked a fresh hole in his leg, and a new net was tossed up in an attempt to keep him down. He rolled away, leaving a rapidly-growing trail of blood behind.

“Come on, give the cheater a chance to prove himself.” Grant wheezed a rattling breath as the bombardment of attacks abruptly ended. In a daze, he squinted up into the light to see the owner of the voice who had spoken up for him. A Wielder in shimmering chromatic armor loomed over his prone form. As the Wielder moved, the colorful armor made Grant’s head spin. It was hard to focus on his precise location. “I think you are a cheat and a fraud, and I intend to prove it!”

A weapon slashed downwards. Grant clenched his body, preparing himself for the killing blow. It didn’t come. Instead, the net around what may have been subordinates was expertly parted with a few deft strokes.

Grant took the chance to scramble to his feet, using a freshly-retrieved February Twenty Nine to pull himself up. Battles continued to rage on, with miniature tornados sweeping defeated competitors away, but this small circle was an arena all its own.

“Nice sword, Grant Monday.” The chromatic armor owner looked down on him, both figuratively and literally. “Does it collect its own rust, or do you just never clean your weapon?”

Grant pretended that he was going to exchange more insults, but instead slammed the hilt of his sword into the head of one of the newly freed subordinates. Once, twice, a third time, so rapidly and violently that no one could react in time. The man fell unconscious and was whisked away.

Instantly, Grant felt his wounds stitch themselves as his Cultivation Achievement Level increased to fourteen, and he burst out laughing as he began moving at full speed. The chromatic man roared, “You were feigning your injuries? You have no honor!”

“Competitors!” The cheerful voice of Lady February bellowed across the arena. “Twenty-one competitors remain, but only twenty will make it through to the next round. Good luck!”

<Careful, Grant. You can currently strike with a force that these unarmored fools cannot withstand. If you critically hit one, you’ll deal up to forty-five damage. That’s almost enough to kill a level one in a single blow. It’s certainly enough to open arteries and finish a human post-combat. Choose your point of attack carefully.>

“Understood.” While Lady February and Sarge spoke, Grant took a moment to prepare mentally for the fight ahead. The Wielder didn’t look like he would back down. Now that Grant had been boosted, they were the same level. Even so, his opponent’s armor was superior, and it looked like he was a duo cultivator at a minimum. Grant had witnessed firsthand how poor Early Spring armor was compared to Mid Spring armor. This time, though, he was at a major disadvantage.

<I said to pick a low-level Vassal to fight… I love that you’re up to the challenge that a proper Wielder offers! He’s wearing spiffy chromatic armor, but I wonder how well he can use it! Take ‘im down, samurai!> The double-bladed sword his opponent was wielding zipped through the air. <Parry! Good luck; you got this.>

The razor-sharp blade slid along the edge of February Twenty Nine as Grant reflexively parried and strapped forward to counter, striking the Wielder on the arm.

Damage dealt: 2 slashing. (28 mitigated.)

“Maybe you do have some skill after all.” Before Grant could do more than gasp at the fact that his attack did practically nothing, his lightning-fast opponent spun counterclockwise. The other end of the bladed weapon sliced through Grant’s torso armor and bit into his back. For a moment, he felt no pain. He pressed a hand to his back. A slick of sticky, hot blood coated his hand. He stumbled away from his opponent in shock at both his opponent’s speed and the severity of the injury.

Damage taken: 5 slashing (33 mitigated.) Bleeding: -1 health per second for eight seconds.

<Power through, Grant. It’s only a flesh wound. Get back in the fight.> Grant nodded and clenched his teeth. Like him, his opponent had no qualms about breaking his opponent to prove his point.

“You’re an interesting fellow! How about I put a word in with Lady February? Maybe you can be a jester in her court, entertaining the masses as they become powerful? What do you say?”

Grant knew better than to get caught up in the distraction. His sword moved through the air, rebounding off the wall of armor three times before his opponent reacted.

“Yawn. If you want to play the part of a Noble, you have to start acting like one. I suggest-” The Wielder stumbled back as Grant leaped into the air and brought February Twenty Nine down on his helm. The force of the impact left a dent in the helm and rang the man’s bell.

Damage dealt: 10 slashing (33 mitigated).

“Seriously? You dented my helm! Do you know how much chromatic armor costs to repair? I, Vanguard Sunday, am gonna cut you up!” Grant wasn’t listening. He slid the edge of his blade along the Wielder’s cuirass, yet the multi-colored surface remained pristine. Vanguard spun his razor in a figure eight, and the blade glancingly cut into the soft flesh of Grant’s thigh as he danced away. Any deeper, and he risked losing the use of his leg; with it, the fight.

“Sarge, options?” Grant muttered as the encirclement laughed at the wild fight.

<Hmm… he’s too well protected, but I think you’re getting to him. The sparks that flew when your sword took the helmet dead on->

“Sparks! That’s it! Sarge, use Spark Shield on my sword.”

<Not a thing, Grant. It’s a defensive spell; the logic of the system makes you hitting him not apply the damage.>

“Fine, put it on me!” Grant snapped and almost continued shouting, but the pain of lightning coursing through him forced his jaw to clench.

Vanguard went in for the killing blow. Grant knew that if the fight dragged on, both of them would make it through to the next round, and neither of them wanted to face the other again at this point. Grant sidestepped the blow, but he allowed his sword to partially block it.

Damage dealt: 11 lightning (12 mitigated)

“Heavy armor is twice as effective against physical blows, but only half as good against magical damage.” Grant smiled grimly as he used the moment of surprise to lock their weapons together. Since he was still technically blocking, lightning surged into the Vanguard Sunday ceaselessly. The cultivator shook as the energy surged through him, his teeth chattering together as the vibrations grew in intensity. Grant swung around and swept the feet out from beneath his opponent, then jammed his sword into the hollow of the man’s throat and started pressing down until his sword overcame the system barrier of armor and began to draw blood.

Then he pogo-hopped on it, jamming the blade down further. The fight went out of his opponent, and a blast of wind sent Grant reeling backward as the Wielder was swept away.

Do you, Grant Monday, wish to absorb the power of February 14th, ‘Live by the Sword’? Accepting ‘Live by the Sword’ will override any previous wielded weapon power absorbed in the current monthly series. If not overridden by another weapon of the same month, this ability will vanish at the end of the year, unless the quest ‘Heal The World’ has been completed.

Accept / Decline

“Not like he can tattle on me before I get to March, right? I accept.” Grant felt a jolt of energy rush through him as he accepted the ability.