Book 1: Chapter 13: A Test of Iron

Book 1: Chapter 13: A Test of Iron

Our enemies are the whetstone upon which we hone our bodies and minds. Ever striving to reach perfection, until all that is left is only that which is required.

- The Living Sword by Fen Vaigorus Kaldari Swordmaster circa 520 AC

Repeating the mantra that this was just a game, I was able to tamp down a blossoming panic that had found purchase on fertile soil. Unlike the others before me, by some stroke of luck or a devil’s meddling, I knew whom I faced. And with my character sheet, I knew my own capabilities. I wouldn’t need to waste Mana on an initial Identify.

I rushed to the center of the arena, eager to grab the tool of death that awaited me. With every step I took, I grew more and more determined to fulfill my personal quest. I half-stumbled in my haste as I grabbed a short infantry stabbing spear. The polearm was a little over half a meter in length at the shaft, and it had a long and wide-bladed leaf-shaped metal spearhead. Whether it was my proficiency in polearms, or just the need to feel the security of a weapon, the spear was a solid comforting weight in my hands.

Jongshoi lacked the grace and calm confidence of the other warriors who I witnessed bloodying themselves in the arena. He looked skittish, like an animal about to bolt. He made his way to the center cautiously, where I waited now trying to exude an aura of calm, like an animal approaching a dangerous watering hole for the first time. This was no lion, no roaring warrior thirsting to prove himself by wetting his blade on the blood of the victims. The fear of violence could be seen in his eyes, and in another world, I would have held this man no ill will. But I was here, and here he was a stepping stone for me to reach greater heights of power. And with power came freedom.

The unblooded warrior was heavily armored in a mixture of heavy scale and plate. A hauberk, with heavy circular scales like from some monstrous fish, was buffed to a mirror shine and reflected in the high afternoon sun. Across his shoulders and arms were interlocking plated steel pieces, his gauntlets metal with round steel nubs at the knuckles, and across his legs were thick plated leggings and greaves. He carried a large spiked oval shield like a scutum on his left, and on his right, he held a small straight-stabbing sword reminiscent of a Roman gladius. An intimidating plumed open-face helm with a roaring wolf design framed his face, completing his equipment. On anyone else, the ensemble would have looked imposing. But on the young boy, it just looked out of place, like a rabbit that had grown horns and fangs.

Jongshoi was breathing heavily, each exhale a ragged spurt in the hot sun, no doubt in part because he was suffering from some equipment penalties due to wearing such heavy armor. I, on the other hand, being only equipped with my initial robes, could move more freely. A glimmer of a battle plan began to form and I decided that I would need to wear him out before striking hard and fast.

He came at me first, a tired hesitant probing thrust, that I was easily able to step away from. I returned with my own weak thrust to his center, aiming to preserve my Stamina. He blocked this easily with his shield, turning aside my blow, and returning with another thrust with his short sword which I was able to avoid thanks to my greater reach. Since I was unarmoured I had to be careful, but he on the other hand looked like he could certainly take a hit or two.

Piercing the boy’s defenses was proving almost impossible, but on the other hand, he simply could not land a blow on me as I darted backward after one of my own failed attacks. Then something changed. After deflecting one of my rapid jabs, Jongshoi shouted desperately “Shield Bash!” before rushing with his shield and breaching through my feeble guard. The spike of the ‘scutum’ scored a bloody gash across my left arm. To my surprise, I saw my Health drop by five points, but worst of all I felt stunned and disorientated, my world spinning as I tried to gather myself.

My enemy moved into his follow-up, a little awkwardly but nonetheless still deadly. With a panicked fury, he struck at me, raising his sword arm and screaming “Power Strike!” Barely could I shake off my fugue, and I was just able to raise the haft of my spear to meet his downcoming blade. Strong sharp steel met the haft of the wooden spear and there was a sharp crack as splinters flew from the impact point as his attack savagely bisected my weapon. His skill-enhanced blow continued its deadly arc, tracing a red line across my chest. Sharp pain blossomed in me then as my Health dropped another thirteen points and I stumbled backward.

Jongshoi was breathing even more heavily now, barely able to stand on his feet, sword arm faltering and looking totally spent. Blood was running from his nose and mouth as he had pushed his body well beyond his physical limits. I knew that feeling well. Holding the remains of my weapon in a death grip, I grinned savagely knowing that his desperate gambit had failed. He had likely depleted the whole of his Stamina with his continuous use of skills, while I on the other hand had a healthy amount of Stamina remaining. And magic, I had magic. I needed to keep the pressure on, and through the red haze of pain, I continued to throw jabs and light slashes with my half-spear and broken spear haft. My adversary was barely able to defend himself, the exhaustion starting to drain away at his Health.

Drawing the spell to me silently, I cast my Heal spell, the energy spreading through my body like the warm touch of a lover over the course of long seconds. Surprisingly my Health increased by seven points, and I absently concluded somewhere in the back of my mind that my spell must heal a proportional amount of damage instead of just a set amount. My opponent's eyes grew in surprise as he saw me stand a bit taller, the bleeding now stemmed by magic, my weapons sure in my hands. The crowd was growing bestial and wild as they shouted epithets against both my opponent and me. I charged him then in my own desperate bid for survival as the crowds above us gasped in surprise that I still yet lived.

Raising my broken spear haft like a club I started raining blows on his weakly raised shield. I threw a jab with my left weapon, which he met with a weak parry of his sword before I began to initiate one of my skills silently. In my mind, I summoned my pent-up Power Strike, its barely suppressed energies released now like an arrow from a war bow. My blow continued skidding across his hauberk, ripping out a few scales, and going upwards as it savagely cut across his face. Youthful innocent features now made into a vision of horrible deformity, he screamed then a cry of utter animal pain, as he dropped his sword and reached for his face.

My own breathing was starting to come heavy and ragged, and I knew I had to press my advantage and finish this quickly. Tossing aside the broken spear haft, I bull-rushed him clumsily to the ground. His face was a gory mess, he tried reaching for a sword that was no longer there, before blindly trying to punch me with his plated gauntlets. His blows scarcely registered across my trunk as we were simply too close and he was barely able to cause a single point of damage despite his superior strength.

Nevertheless, his blows still caused me pain, which kept my blood hot and angry. Grappling him with my right, I raised my half-spear in my left like a knife over the remains of his face and willed another Power Strike. The spearhead hammered down, punching through teeth and bone in an explosion of crimson. Then suddenly my opponent was still, his blood staining the pearl sands like vermilion ink on fresh snow, and a great hush fell across the arena. I recovered my half-spear from Jongshoi’s mangled face, and it came out with a gross sick sound, the spearhead covered in blood and pink viscera. Just as I did so, a long list of notifications flashed across my inner mind. My reward for committing hot murder.

You have slain Jongshoi Aigiam 100 experience gained You have gained 1 Dexterity You have gained 1 Strength You have gained 1 Constitution

You have gained 1 Wisdom

You have gained 1 Intelligence

You have gained 1 Luck

CallingGilgamesh Level 5 Acolyte of Avaria Strength13 Dexterity12 Constitution25 Intelligence16 Wisdom12 Charisma8 Luck12 Pain Nullification (lvl.1)

Dodge (lvl.2)

Polearms (lvl.2)

Dual Wield (lvl.1)

Critical Hit Mastery (lvl.1)

SPELLS & MAGIC

Heal (lvl.4)

Rust (lvl.1)

Identify (lvl.2)

Silent Casting (lvl.1)

GIFTS

Curse of Entropy -20% all starting attributes.

Experience to next level 550/743

Health24/78 Stamina6/37 Mana5/11

Through all of this, an explosion of hushed silence filled the arena, as if a profane and blasphemous word had been uttered in a sacred temple. Somewhere up on the stands, I turned to my left to hear the wailing of a woman, her grief smashing the fragile silence with its anguish. So piercing was her lament that my eyes were drawn to her, a slender form with gold circlets woven throughout her hair, a counterpoint to the raven darkness. Even at this distance, I could see that her possibly attractive features were wracked with overwhelming sorrow.

The official who presided over the event was still like a statue frozen in bronze, his face through his plumed open helm a picture of shock written in bold type. All around me I surveyed the crowd and found in my questing gaze a group of robed women, rattling bone effigies about them like a monarch’s mantle. There amongst them stood Navigator Olai, who stared at me with her piercing gaze, a cold black midnight ocean of daggers.

The men came for me then. Sure in their stride, my fate was written now in the characters that spelled slave. Bare muscular chests glistened bronze in the afternoon light as they held long mancatcher poles and cruel barbed nets. I offered no resistance as I had already played my part. As it was in my old world, the powerless were, even in victory, never truly free.

They led me away, but before I was swallowed up I noticed that one of Bogurchu’s men, the pockmarked man who tried to lay hands on me, was staring at me with hate-filled eyes and was trembling in powerless rage.