YoTS January ~ 46!

CHAPTER 46

“It’s about time I educated you about your proper place in society, brat. You seem to have some funny ideas in your head. You stole my sword.” Randall effortlessly tossed his broadsword from one hand to the other. “You are and always will be, a Leap. Lowest of the low. Let’s cut those ideas out, shall we?”

Grant pulled his sword free and took a calming breath. “February Twenty Nine is bound to me, and will remain so while I live. The Leap Sword is mine by right.”

“That’s fixed easily enough… the ‘you living’ part!” Randall flashed his trademark wicked grin. Ring encrusted fingers clenched around the hilt of the sword. “The sword was discovered on my property, therefore it belongs to me. That goes for everything else on the estate, including your worthless life. I will have it back.”

Grant gripped the handle until his knuckles turned white in an effort to stop his arm from trembling. Even as his heart raced and his mind panicked, he didn’t want to give Randall the satisfaction of knowing he was scared. “Come on Grant… you can do this. Just remember your training.”

<Consider it a test. Defeat your kraken, take down the Vivian, and slay your life-long tormentor.>

*Toot!*

The trumpets signalled that the final of the exhibition tournament would commence imminently.

“Take your seats, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer called out. “Fill your glasses and plates, and get ready for the finale of Lord January’s exciting exhibition tournament! Competitors, Randall Monday, Grant Monday, do you accept the rules set out in the rulebook? Breaches of said rules will lead to disqualification and forfeiture of the match, as will leaving the arena before a victor has been determined.”

Both Grant and Randall nodded. The announcer looked between them once more, and nodded in satisfaction. “Then let the bout begin!”

They started to circle each other, weapons at the ready. The crowd shouted ‘Randall’ over and over. Surprisingly, that wasn’t all. Grant could even hear his name faintly. That helped him get his frazzled mind under control, and he bent his will to ensuring his success. His once-caretaker saw the hard gleam in Grant’s eye, and started to taunt him. “Do you like my armor, Grant? A lovely set of Early Summer Medium armor. Oh? Didn’t you know that the reward had been upgraded since there was so much drama around the fighting this year? Shame. You know, there just wasn’t much point in waiting to put it on.”

Grant ignored the words and tried to study his opponent. The more he looked, the calmer he became. Acknowledging his feelings allowed him to overcome them, “I’m only scared because he terrorized me my entire life. I killed Count Tuesday. At my Cultivation Achievement Level, I should easily crush a… I think he was a level three Vassal. I’ve got this.”

“Oh. look at the anger in those eyes.” Randall let out a dark chuckle and stepped back. “I have a surprise for you, boy. You’re not the only one who can identify-shifting potions.”

The air around Randall shimmered as he dispelled an active effect. His name didn’t change, but the small red health bar suddenly began to grow. It reached the far right of his nametag, then a darker purple bar appeared over the first… then a purple one. Grant stared slack jawed at the red skull next to Randall’s name tag.

“You didn’t actually think the Prime Vassal to Lord January was a level three cultivator, did you?” Randall’s smile showed too many teeth, all weathered heavily from constant usage. “Now, little ward of the District, I want nothing more than to sit down and feast with my fellow Nobles. Yet, the lesson you need is long overdue, and I want my sword back.”

Grant slowed his breathing and focused on his training. He had known that Randall was a physical cultivator. Almost every Januarian had that particular claim to fame. The fact of the matter was that all Randall had was lots and lots of health. He was a strong man, but damage output was calculated by weapon cultivation. Sarge had taught him well, and Grant would prove that right now.

Randall’s sword swept forward in an arc. Grant ignored his residual fear and ducked, narrowly avoiding the whistling blade. He didn’t expect such a fast attack. Winter’s frosty breath, was he a body cultivator? Physical and weapon cultivation? Rather than dodge backwards, Grant took the opportunity to retaliate, slicing the edge of February Twenty Nine across his opponent’s tough leather pants.

The sword hit hard, but didn’t even break the skin.

A knee launched Grant into the air, and he landed on the other side of the fighting pit, inches from the boundary line. The young Wielder stared at the chalk line. He just had to cross it for the bout to be over, and he wouldn’t have to be humiliated by Randall.

In his mind, he saw little Samuel Leap waiting for parents that would never return, and realized that he couldn’t give up. Even if he died, he would make sure that the people entrusting him with all of their hopes and dreams would know that he did his very best.

He turned to face Randall, who yawned and lazily waved his sword. “So, ready to give up, Grant? I wanted satisfaction, but there’s no fun in slapping around a weak little twig.”

Grant stood and settled into a defensive posture. Randall pulled a powder from his belt and sprinkled it on his sword, then snarled and leaned forward. A blistering attack was unleashed moments later. The broadsword hammered on the raised February Twenty Nine, and a blinding flash of light dazzled both competitors for a moment. “Randall has access to a blinding light power? How can that be? It must be that powder… his sword didn’t flash in his last match,”

He intentionally staggered, leading Randall to assume that he was dizzy from the brutal attack. The broadsword swung down, ready to cleave his head in half. Grant Used the moment when Randall had settled into a horse stance to leap forward, through Randall’s legs.

“What the…?” Randall swung around to find his pesky opponent, but let out a shrill cry and wobbled. Grant’s sword had been driven deeply into Randall’s ankle. There was another flash of light as February Twenty Nine struck bone. Sticky red blood pooled on the sand, which greedily soaked up the sanguine liquid. The crowd roared in delight at the sight of any blood. Between the pain, and the cheering of the crowd for the Leap, Randall was no longer amused. A yellow shade spread across the pupils, and he snorted like an enraged bull.

Damage dealt: 5.1 piercing damage. (8 mitigated).

Grant scrambled back through the sand, kicking up a cloud in his haste. He had no idea how he had managed to deal so much damage. That armor was strong enough to block anything… armor cultivation! Randall’s armor cultivation must be nearly nonexistent, if so much damage went right through the armor. He bet that if he hadn’t hit the armor directly the first time, he would have done a ton of damage last time as well. “Sarge, a physical and armor cultivator, is known as a body cultivator, right? What’s a physical and weapon cultivator called?”

<A Berserker cultivator. They deal high damage, have lots of health, and never tire. Be extra careful, I’m looking forward to having lots and lots of lessons with you in the future.>

“Oh, I know you understand what I can do to you if I activate the earth. Yes, as a Vassal of Lord January, I have access to an elemental spell. But don’t worry, I won’t waste my spell slot on you. I am going to take my time, and slice you into thin, bloody, ribbons. I’ll make sure the pain lasts before I finally end it for you.” The yellow light faded as the fear on Grant’s face assuaged Randall’s ego.

“Why do you hate me so much? I’ve never bothered you. All I did was look after the farm and try to stay out of trouble.” Grant spit onto the ground between them, moving into a balanced stance. Defending was required, but he needed to take this Vassal’s health down to nothing as well.

“I don’t hate you, Grant. I despise you. It sickens me to look at your scrawny Leap body.” Randall’s lips curled up at some distant memory, and he decided to share. “When your mother abandoned you on my doorstep, I was forced by the laws of January to take you in and look after you until your sixteenth birthday. You’re a Leap, not even six Leap years old yet, and I’m legally forced to look after you for decades to come. Nobles treated me as if I had a disease by just being associated with you, and I wanted to put an end to your disease… but House Tuesday knew about you.”

“They've watched me ever since you were dropped on my doorway, waiting for me to break the law so that they could try to humiliate my Lord! Do you know how many investigations I’ve had to go through? Every time one of your little bullies would pick on you a little too much, Vassals of House Tuesday or one of their representatives would show up at my house! That day you came home covered in itching potion? When you killed Sir Thirty First? He was there to investigate me, and you killed him! The irony was sweet. You know… I could have forgiven you for everything if you’d just given me my sword. But no, you had to take that away from me too!”

Grant was shaken by the revelations. He shook his head and tried to calm his opponent. “I promise you. You don’t want this sword. It’s cursed, Randall.”

Randall stalked towards him, trying unsuccessfully to hide his limp. A tiny sliver had been knocked off the end of his health bar. The bright purple section slowly ticked downward as blood seeped from the wound. However, at this rate Grant would have to dodge attacks until tomorrow before the bar was fully depleted. Grant almost paid for his inattention with his life.

The broadsword slammed against February Twenty Nine, causing vibrations that radiated violently outward from the point of impact.

Calming his mind, Grant focused only on his opponent’s position and that of the blade. He put all other thoughts out of his mind. The cheering of the audience faded away. As the sword swept towards him, Grant managed to parry each attack. Most of the time, he ducked, sidestepped, or dodged backwards; preserving his stamina. He remembered Sarge’s lessons. This time he wasn’t against training dummies, but that had never mattered before. Through it all, he could feel his energy reserves quickly slipping away, and it seemed that his opponent was still fresh.

Despite his focus, more attacks got through than he managed to land on his opponent.

Health: 62/184.

Less than a third of his hit points remained. At this rate, he was going to die. Grant expertly parried an overhead attack. Too easily. He wasn’t expecting the fist that shot out and closed around his neck.

“Ack!” Grant struggled to breathe as his body was lifted off the ground. The meaty fist slowly crushed his windpipe as the broadsword was drawn back for a final blow.

“This has been fun, Grant. You are actually more skilled than I expected. The skill you’ve gained in under a month... that was a nice touch.” Grant could smell Randall’s sour breath as he spoke next to his face. “ I don’t know how you did that. If you weren’t a Leap, you might’ve made a decent fighter one day.”

Grant’s sword arm slashed against the Mid Spring armor, dealing more damage in seconds than he had managed the entire fight, but Randall just ignored it. The purple health bar faded away, leaving a dark red one. Even so, he lacked the power or leverage to swing his weapon effectively. Grant’s other hand clawed at the fingers suffocating him.

“I… give... up.”