YoTS January ~ 34!

CHAPTER 34

Another Wielder entered the arena, this time a Sir Thursday. The final pre-semifinal combatant was holding a curved sabre that had a filigreed guard sweeping around and protecting his hand. Grant nodded at the man, who inclined his head gently. “House Thursday, a merchant. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Sir Thursday pulled out a vial and applied oil to his blade. Upon making contact, liquid fire spread across and engulfed the blade. Simultaneously, the lights in the arena dimmed, leaving the only light that of the flaming sword in the now-dark fighting pit.

Thanks to Sarge’s warning, Grant was now looking for a plot against him, and this fit too well. He shouted to the surroundings, “How is this a fair bout? You’re putting him at a clear advantage!”

No one bothered to answer him, so Grant had no choice but to grumble to himself. “At least I know where he’ll be.”

Sir Thursday closed in like a boulder rolling downhill, clearly wanting to end this fight as quickly as possible. He swung the sword in seemingly random patterns, leaving a trail of light on Grant’s retinas and temporarily blinding him. Grant narrowly managed to bring up February Twenty Nine, parrying the blade as it came from his blinded left side. The smouldering fire on the edge reflected in his opponent’s eyes, “Yield now before your smoking corpse is served for lunch!”

Sir Thursday was whispering, and the blade scraping against Grant’s masked his words from any onlookers.

“Nice to meet you as well.” Grant shoved Sir Thursday away, following up with a kick that landed on his opponent’s knee and dealt two blunt damage. “I hope my ‘smoking corpse’ at least gives you indigestion!”

<Grant, a little tip.> Sarge whispered even though only Grant could hear him. <Focus on his left leg. He has a limp he’s trying to hide, and your little kick did more damage than it should have. A wound from a previous battle, perhaps?>

He spun and thrust his  blade into the leather of Sir Thursday’s leg, and the huge Noble yelped in pain as the blade pierced through the armor into the soft flesh below. Blood pumped out of the wound onto the sand, which had turned a shade of reddish-brown after the morning’s deadly bouts.

Sir Thursday limped away and pressed the flat of his flaming blade against the wound. Flesh sizzled, and the smell of barbecued meat wafted across the arena as he cauterised the wound. Grant was sickened when his stomach rumbled in response, but managed to quip, “It looked like you’ll be served for lunch, not me!”

“We’ll see…!” Focused on the burning blade, Grant didn’t notice the objects that spun in the darkness towards him. He did hear them though, and managed to dodge at the last moment. He wasn’t quite quick enough, and a blade embedded itself deep in his right thigh. Grant could feel blood trickling down his leg. A quick check revealed that the impact had knocked five points off his health, but he was doing fine. Yet, if this was truly a conspiracy against him, the Noble would be expecting that Grant’s health was almost fully drained. “That makes us even in the leg department!”

The flaming blade struck against February Twenty Nine. The limping pair of Wielders danced around the blood-soaked sand of the fighting pit. Grant had to end this quickly, or someone would notice that he was too healthy. The comparatively thin young man launched a furious offensive attack, giving everything he had against his opponent.

Sir Thursday backed off, his flaming blade attempting to ward off the wrathful Grant. In doing so, he’d left the other leg exposed and February Twenty Nine found an opening; stabbing into the Wielder. Sir Thursday fell to his knees on the sand and dropped his sabre. Through gritted teeth, he stopped the follow-up attack by saying, “I yield.”

Grant couldn’t believe it. He had fought and beat Vassals and Wielders. In two days he should be facing off against competitors in front of Lord January… if he managed to live long enough. A notification appeared, asking he wanted to absorb the Wielded Weapon’s power, but Grant waved it away without bothering to look.

“On to the semifinals. On to Lord January.” Grant clenched his fist, but before he could get too excited, someone interrupted his thoughts.

“Halt,” boomed the announcer. “This bout has been declared invalid due to a technicality. The competitor, Grant Friday, left the surface of the arena for an extended period.”

“What technicality? Are you trying to tell me that jumping is against the rules?” Grant shouted as guards came forward to escort him away. “I won fair and square!”

The announcer ignored him and droned on. “Even so, as Grant Friday didn’t leave the boundary of the arena, the judges have graciously allowed competitors Grant Friday and Sir Thursday the Twenty-first to rematch against alternative opponents.”

“Oh, come on-” Grant hissed, slamming his mouth shut when the announcer stated:

“Any further debate will lead to disqualification. Grant Friday will now fight competitor Roderick, Second Vassal of Lord January himself!”

Roderick entered the arena, and smirked in contempt at Grant. “Come on, thin-boy. Let’s get this over with.”

“Who are you calling thin?” Grant demanded indignantly, then looked down at himself consideringly. “Wait, no. Thanks?”

<There you go!> Sarge was quick to add positive reinforcement, <That’s a good thing. Getting healthy has brought you this far, imagine what actually being in proper form would do for you!>

Before the announcer even called to start, Roderick pointed a rapier forward and immediately launched his attack. He managed to twist his blade just as it collided with Grant’s parry, throwing him off balance. Grant sprawled onto the sand, and rolled over before the rapier’s piercing attack could hit home. The tip of the rapier whistled through the air, pausing only once as Roderick offered one last chance to escape. “Give up now. I will be taking part in the exhibition tournament.”

“No chance!” Grant’s harsh retort only made Roderick nod in appreciation at Grant’s dedication. He launched a brutal attack, a series of complex moves. This opponent was clearly more skilled than previous competitors, making Grant wonder how he had become so skilled. Each attack that landed on his sword or armor resulted in Grant stumbling backwards; he had no idea how such a thin blade could carry so much force.

Grant darted out of the way of the rapier and got inside Roderick’s guard, slashing his leather armor. The lucky cut sliced through the armor and bit into flesh below. The Vassal winced in pain and grasped at his side.

Damage dealt: 6 slashing damage. (5 mitigated) Debuff added: Bleeding (medium).

Rather than retreat, Roderick retaliated by whipping around and driving his rapier into Grant’s leg. The point hit true, sliding deep and only stopping when it hit his bone.

Critical!

Damage taken: 7 piercing damage (7 mitigated) Debuff added: muscle damaged! Move speed -30%. Bleeding (minor).

“Ahh!” Grant tore his body off the rapier in a spray of blood. The puncture wound was deeper than any real wound he had ever suffered, and the bleeding was dropping two points of health perten seconds.

Roderick reset his position and grinned, swinging his rapier in artistic patterns. “I will sign my name in your flesh for refusing to give up when I gave you the chance. You will learn to respect your elders.”

<Grant,> whispered Sarge. <I can’t help you… just remember your training. What would you have done in training?>

“I’d keep my… center of gravity low, then take his hand off when he overextends.” Grant subvocalized his thoughts, and decided to act up them. He squatted down slightly and prepared for the next attack. Blade struck blade. Roderick held his wounded side with his free hand while launching attack after blistering attack. Each time the rapier connected, Grant slid back through the sand, buffeted by the strength of the man… but didn’t lose his balance. “It’s a start. I can do this.”

“Let’s end this, boy!” The Vassal leapt towards Grant, rapier outstretched and aimed at his heart. Without a moment to spare, Grant sidestepped and swung with all his might using a two handed grip. There was a metal-shearing blast as February Twenty Nine connected with the rapier near its hilt… followed only by silence.

Roderick tumbled onto the sand and got up with a look of shock and bewilderment, staring at the rapier’s hilt, the blade lying in the sand alongside his sliced-off hand. “This… wasn’t meant to happen! I’m supposed to compete in the exhibition!”

Grant leveled the point of February Twenty Nine at the Vassal’s throat. Roderick put his hand and stump up in surrender. "I am satisfied, sir…”

They stepped away from each other, and Grant went to leave the arena as a healer was called forward to reattach Roderick’s hand. The announcer stopped him and pressed something cold into his palm, though the feel wasn’t nearly as cold as the look he was given.

Inspecting what he had been handed, Grant found that it was a golden token; a strip of metal embossed with the bust of Lord January. An entry token to the semi-final stage of the exhibition tournament! He wanted to shout for joy, and he glanced back at his opponent.

The defeated Vassal was currently sobbing inconsolably on the sand as a Wielder held his hand and forced it onto the bleeding stump. Grant didn’t know what the issue was, had the man never lost before, or did the healing hurt that much? The man hadn’t even whimpered when Grant cut him! He stepped out of the arena, then hesitated. He looked around the corner once more, just in time to see the healer flee, and a man loom large behind the Vassal.

A knife came down, and blood sprayed up in an arc. “How dare you dishonor Lord January? I will help you repent of this shame.”

Grant knew that voice, but couldn’t place it. He drew an inch of his sword from his scabbard, but before he could challenge the killer… the man was gone. Grant looked around the empty room and slowly backed away. He wasn’t going to allow himself to be caught with a corpse; he could already imagine how happy they would be to get rid of him.

After creeping through his exit, Grant started to run.