Chapter Ashborn 337: The Spectator’s Experience

Chapter Ashborn 337: The Spectator’s Experience

For Vir, the second day of the tournament promised quite the spectacle. Yesterday, he was a fighter, but today, he enjoyed the spectacle like any other fan. Cheering his favorite fighters and munching on delicious sugary pastries and savory snacks from his seat beside Cirayus and Aida.

Shan, unfortunately, had bailed on them the moment they headed for the Stadium, so it was just Vir and the two giants. Sandwiched in between them, he felt like a child between overbearing parents.

Or perhaps more like siblings—Cirayus and Aida’s raucous cheers and boos meant they made for excellent company.

As usual, the day started with an announcement from Thaman, followed by challenge matches for a few hours. Cirayus asked if Vir was interested, but he declined, so both the Ravager and Aida entered. Despite fighting with three hands behind his back and not using any magic, the results of Cirayus’ matches didn’t need to be mentioned; these were second and third tier fighters, after all.

Aida’s matches were more interesting. Vir had wondered where her weapons were as she walked up to the stage, but it turned out she was a pugilist, and fought with her hands and feet. Her style was exceedingly effective, too—not that Vir expected anything less. She was the Ravager’s granddaughter, after all.

Vir even placed a few small bets, coming away with a broad smile and heavier pockets when Aida quite literally punched her opponent out of the ring.

“I have to admit,” Vir said when they’d both returned to the stands. “This is a pretty good way to make money.”

Aida’s eyes flew open. “You bet on me?”

“Of course!” Vir replied. “You fight well, Aida.”

“Oh. T-thanks,” she said, looking away in embarrassment.

“Ah, she’s but a whelp,” Cirayus said, clapping his granddaughter’s back. “But she’s more than enough to deal with the rabble that challenged her. Well fought, lass.”

“Thanks, ajja!” Aida said with a beaming smile, and for a moment, Vir had to wonder how old she really was.

“Now, that reminds me,” Cirayus said, rummaging around his pockets. “Where did I put it? Ah, yes.”

Cirayus tossed a small pouch into Vir’s hands.

“This is?”

“Your earnings from yesterday. Made a few bets on you, lad, and you didn’t disappoint. The odds were like nothing you’d ever believe.”

Vir blinked, not fully comprehending. “I can bet on myself?”

“Of course not!” Cirayus said with a sly grin. “But there’s nothing stopping you from giving some money to friends to bet on your behalf, is there?”

“That’s... interesting.” Vir would have to give serious thought to betting on his own future fights. After all, he was already betting on himself—why not back that conviction with his coin?

“This is your money, though, isn’t it?” he asked, hesitant to accept the coin.

“Oh, believe me, I made plenty on my own. This is the least I could do,” the Ravager said with a wink.

“I, um...” Aida said, scratching her chin. “I may have bet on you as well.”

“O-oh...”

It was Vir’s turn to look away.

“S-so anyway, about the battle today...” he said, looking to Cirayus for help. Unfortunately, his godfather merely smirked, perfectly content to watch Vir suffer. “It’s Roshan, right? Raja Thaman’s son? And he’s fighting an Aindri?”

The Ravager finally took pity, ending Vir’s misery. “Aye, lad. We call him Rosh. The Aindri he’s up against is Malak. A veteran of the Tournament and one I’ve fought several times.”

“Who do you think will win?” Vir asked.

“Tough to say. Rosh has many advantages, but lacks Malak’s experience. And experience is a weapon without substitute.”

Vir had to admit that while it was Tara’s fight later he looked forward to the most, this one also intrigued him. Mainly because he’d get to see an Aindri fight—of all the clans, theirs was the least familiar to him. It was to be expected, given they were the northernmost of all the clans, seldom venturing this far south.

As if on cue, the commentators announced the two warriors, calling them up to the stage.

This time, both combatants received thunderous applause, with Rosh’s coming primarily from the Baira cap, and Malak’s coming from several.

“And there it is,” Cirayus said. “Malak’s signature move. Given a choice, he’ll always push a battle longer. The longer it goes, the more superficial wounds he can inflict.”

The wolves lunged just as they had countless times, but this time, Roshan struck back, kicking off one of the wolves and sacrificing his forearm to the other. Its fangs sunk into his skin, and Vir winced. That had to have been painful, as the commentators happily announced.

Except, instead of wrenching the beast off, he spun, taking the wolf with him.

Malak desperately commanded his wolf, but it was too late. Rosh spun faster and faster until the wolf could hold on no longer.

Unfortunately, by the time it let go, its momentum had built to such a level that it flew high into the air... And landed on its paws well outside the stage, immediately disqualifying it.

Malak gave it an order to stand down, which it obeyed, and now it was two on one.

Except Roshan had already made his next move. While Malak was commanding his outed wolf to stay quiet, the giant rapidly closed the distance, and for the first time in the fight, put his opponent on the defensive.

The smaller demon fought well, but with only one wolf to aid him, he was quickly pushed back, until it was now he who stood at the edge of the stage.

Then, when Malak and his wolf mounted a synchronized attack, the giant dropped his katar, grabbed the wolf with both hands, spun, and hurled Malak’s own beast back to him.

They collided in a heap, and before Malak could recover, Roshan’s blade was at his neck.

“Winner!! Roshaaan of Bairaaaa!”

“What a fight, Nakin. The way Rosh guided the fight...”

“That was amazing!” Aida cut in, and Vir could almost see the stars in her eyes. She’d been on the edge of her seat the whole time.

“Well?” Cirayus asked. “What did you think?”

“I think Rosh is much more dangerous than you give him credit for,” Vir said. “He had that fight in his hand the whole time.”

The demon was not only strong; he remained composed while under pressure. Which made him far more formidable in Vir’s mind. There was little doubt he’d continue to win his matches in similar fashion.

“Aye, the lad’s grown some, I must admit. He fought well. But dropping his weapon to showboat like that—can’t say I approve.”

“Really?” Vir gave Cirayus the most incredulous look he could muster, but to his dismay, his godfather didn’t take the bait.

They watched more fights over the next couple of hours, and Vir couldn’t help but notice that Aida paid special attention anytime a Bairan was up. It was more than just the thrill of a clansman’s fight, though. She was watching to learn. Trying to absorb whatever technique she could by watching those with similar physique fight.

Aida might not have been a formidable warrior now, but Vir knew that if she persisted on the same track, she absolutely would be someday.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Vir said, rising from his seat. “I have a friend to wish well.”

“Tell her to kick ass!” Cirayus shouted after him, and Vir waved in reply.

Vir found the naga as she headed down the hall to the waiting area.

“Looks like I caught you. Good!”

“Vaak? What are you doing here?” Tara was clad in her full black metal armor that covered her chest, upper arms, thighs and head—functional yet elegant. It was armor that spoke to a fast, agile style of combat.

“What else? Wishing you good luck,” Vir said.

“That’s, erm... Very kind of you,” she replied awkwardly. “But unnecessary. I’ll wipe the floor with this Bairan. So sit back and watch. It’ll be quite the show.”

Vir chuckled. “I suppose I should’ve known better than to assume you’d need any encouragement.”

Tara’s eyes softened, and she smiled softly. “Not at all. It means a lot, actually.”

Vir grinned. “Glad to hear it. I admit I have some mixed feelings about the outcome of this battle, but regardless... Kick some ass.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” the naga replied with a vicious—and somewhat feral—grin. “It’ll be over before you get back to your seat.”