Author's Note: This is Volume 2

Volume 2, Chapter 1: A New Beginning

Discourse #8

As you no doubt remember, I have told you that at the age of fourteen in my past human life, I had obtained a slave. It was through an unfortunate accident, which almost killed me, were it not for healing magic. For that, I am grateful toward magic, but not toward the black-robed mage, for it was his slavish institute's lack of vigilance that had rendered me almost dead.

The female slave had stayed with me for a greater part of two years of my life. In a way, you could say that she had a sort of influence on me, perhaps even to the point of being considered a teacher; I even held some attraction toward her, despite twice the disparity in our ages—she was twenty-eight years old whereas I was only fourteen, not that it mattered much.

She was a woman, a nomad from a desert whose name I had not even heard of. She was the first woman I felt a spark of attraction, which had slowly evolved from curiosity. Mind you, it was not as strong as my filial relationship toward my father, if comparisons were made. Still, for my dampened emotional capacity, it was saying a lot.

I had chosen her from among the slaves the black mage had displayed for me. Out of those tens of exotic human slaves, she was the only one I held interest in at first glance. I could tell from her slim, yet limber naked body that she was tense, unsure of what the future would bring for her. Nothing good, I would have thought, as her forced occupation was now to be a slave.

Except her, all of the other slaves had looks of varying degrees of despair in their blank eyes. Except her, all of them were resigned to their fates, sure of their impending lives full of servitude. There was a fire of intelligence and determination in the nomad slave's eyes, which were the color of desert sand.

Bluntly put, the slave's features were not beautiful. But what did appearance mattered to me when I had been told I looked like a cold, noble bastard for the most part of my human life? No, the large, livid scars on her tanned, naked body, and the small lines of slash marks made from swords on her cheeks enticed my curiosity. Her whole appearance screamed out a story.

I did not even give the other displayed slaves a second glance before choosing this nomad.

Though I called this caged slave a desert nomad, I had not learned of her background until a much later time, when she had truly become my slave. At that time, I only knew her to be the most interesting slave in the cages that were shown before me by that black-robed mage.

Thus, I left that shady institution with my newly-obtained slave in tow behind me, with my coin purse not a coin lighter; it had been an interesting afternoon, despite my close scrape with death.

In all the time I had been in that institution, there was a question that had been bothering me: what would refrain a slave from just running away from his or her owner? The answer to that had been easily answered, and my curiosity easily satisfied when that black-robed mage had explained to me of the magic mark he had put just above the slave's two breasts.

The binding mark had been smeared a little with my freely given blood and a few explanations were given to me of its purposes.

1) The binding, magic mark had to be smeared with a little of my own blood every two days or else the mark would explode inwardly, instantly killing the slave. The mark was a powerful slavish magic, and the prospects of these marks on so many slaves spoke of many implications, all of them, bad.

2) This show of magic had given a great rise to my curiosity, but the black-robed mage only scratched his beard in stony silence once I asked for greater details. I had to reign in a little of my inquisitive nature and instead I chose to ask how to remove this mark. The only reply I received was to kill the her. Naturally, I got his subtle threat that I should not ask more on this topic, and I did not wanted to get into another scrape with death, being a first-hand witness to the might of the man's magic.

3) The slavish mark also came with some features such as a natural tendency in obeying the owner and other such persuasions, but I had refrained from getting those.

“I will not thank you for buying me,” the slave said from behind me, her voice hard and determined despite whatever she had gone through in that institute. I would imagine that slaves had to go through many mindless and harsh training to command obeisance, but I would not ask her about that.

I gave my slave no response, and neither did she continue her statement further. She only silently followed from behind, possibly lost in her thoughts of what life would be like under her new master.

I led her around town, receiving a few mixed stares from the people, before finally coming to a stop at a clothing shop. Walking around town naked would do my slave no good, except to flame more hatred in her accusing and harsh, brown eyes.

Needless to say, I bought all the necessities she would need, before finally introducing her to my father at the Sleeping Bear inn. That introduction, my guest, had elicited some intriguing reactions from my father, Falin Mead. I suppose I should have been less direct with him, but I figured it would be easier to get over the initial awkwardness by being direct.

“Father, this is my slave,” I said, pointing a hand toward her. “She will be staying with me in my room and will be with me for the foreseeable future.”

Being a merchant, father knew almost everything about trade, even the darker aspects of it such as slavery. Still, surprise was evident on his sputtering face, and the cup of mead slipped from his hand, spilling all over onto the inn's floor.

It was quite some time before the dining room of the inn returned to calmness and an even longer time for my father to become relatively normal. “Very well, Alan,” he said, “but you are responsible for her.”

That was all my father, Falin Mead, said at me bringing home a slave. If I had to describe my relationship with my father, we were not like son and father, but rather like two independents with filial bonds. But that was just from my perspective. I was sure that father greatly loved me as his strange son, even though my face was a painful reminder of his long-dead wife.

<><><><><>

Inside my designated room of the inn, there was a brooding silence as the slave looked at me with suspicion and revulsion.

“I am not your plaything,” she said, determination and hardness on her face, “I would rather die than resort to this for my life.”

Many responses flashed into my mind and I chose the ones that were designed to relieve her, or at least make myself look unassuming. I responded bluntly, “No need to worry, I am not interested in sex. In fact, I have never even done it yet. I am only fourteen.”

She had a surprised look on her face as she inspected me fromm head-to-toes, suspicion creeping into her face, since I did not look like my said age.

“Tell me your name,” I said, looking into her eyes to convey honesty. “Tell me your life story and where you came from. Tell me everything,”

The female slave with her strange features only gave me a curious look, which was tinged with something else, something indiscernible. Then she started, her small mouth opening a little.

“Rhea of the Wanderers,” she said, desolation overcoming her determined face, before continuing. “That is my name and my...tribe...” At that last word, all of her withheld despair and godforsaken loneliness came rushing forth. It was as if the ever constant sun had just became a black void of nothingness.

<><><><><>

I will say nothing more about Rhea, my guest, other than that she came from a far-away desert and is the last of her tribe. Her story is not mine to tell. Her scars are not mine to tell. Instead, I will tell you about the relationship between her and I.

As I said before, our relationship was almost akin to that of a student and a teacher, she the teacher, and I the student. I learned much about her customs and her language. Rhea was, for a greater part of two years of my life, a mystery for my curiosity to unravel.

And though I felt a small spark of attraction for her, and she felt love—Rhea had admitted this after a year of being my “slave”—we had a platonic relationship. Naturally, she was the first woman to ever know so much about my dampened emotional capacity and my inability to feel love. This was the main reason she held back her love.

It had taken many months of observations for me to figure out her feelings, but in the end, I did. I only remained silent on this topic, however, choosing not to do anything about it. I, quite honestly, did not feel much for her. She was, if best put, like a friend.

Time slowly trickled away with her following me in my travels along with father and in my travels by myself to visit towns and cities.

All things must comes to an end, however. And this end came in my sixteenth year.

Rhea and I were in one of the larger cities, which mainly sold goods such as clothing and spices. We, as usual, split the necessary tasks up. She went to the inn we had decided upon, while I went to buy some necessary items and meet up with my contacts.

When I went to meet up with her back at the inn, I asked the people around for her whereabouts, even giving them her precise appearance, but none of them had seen her.

I searched the city for long hours, and frustration even trickled into my mind, so long did I search for her.

In the end, I found her in an alley of the poorer section of the city, but it was not her I found, just her corpse.

She had been stabbed in her guts multiple times before succumbing to her heavy wounds. Observing the blood stains, I could tell that there had not been a struggle, and that her body had just been dumped here to quickly hide it.

She had been robbed, bereft of everything, even her clothing. There was also a heavy cut at her slavery mark and bruises on her body, which suggested to me that her killers had forgo raping her after seeing that mark, most likely thinking her beneath their dignities.

I quickly left the alley, not wanting to be caught by the city watch, though I was sure that the city watch consisted of just crude, inefficient men.

Inside the inn's lowest floor where the dining and music took place, I sat alone in a silent corner. A few happy-looking men and women, mostly the latter, came up toward me for conversation, but left when they finally noticed that they were not welcome.

There was a dark mood upon me. It was the first time I ever felt such a feeling. Was it rage? No, it couldn't be. That emotion would have been too strong for my dampened emotional capacity. Anger? Yes, that was most likely it.

I felt anger, a cold, indifferent anger.

I had not known it back then, but this rare anger of mine and the chain of events my vengeance caused would lead to my death as a human, and my reincarnation into a dragon. But more about that later.

<><><><><>

The ceremony for crowning the dragon-king, Navra Bloodseeker, did not take very long. Dragons and wyrms, especially the younger ones, were not very patient creatures. Most of us were ruled by our emotions, rather than logic.

The ceremony only consisted of a speech from the six other eldests, whose united voice dominated our bodies and were like a compulsion on us. After the speech, all of the dragons and the younger new-born wyrms were restless. Looking at them, I had no doubts that the eldest's name would now be on the tongues of every dragon; his name would now be known across all corners of the dragon world.

Observing a few of the older and larger dragons greet each other, I was interrupted by Eden from beside me with a kick to my ankle.

And in case I did not mention this, my guest, but almost every dragon who could and was transformed into a human, were entirely naked. We, after all, had no obligation nor the patience to cover ourselves with human clothing every time we transformed. They were useless requisites and were just human common senses, which we need not follow.

Another kick to my ankle finally forced me to turn around to face Eden.

She hissed her question at me, further reinforcing my belief that she was short-tempered and belligerent. “What will happen to you now, jester?”

I paid her insult no mind, only answering her question indifferently. “I do not know. The eldest—Navra, I mean—only told me to meet him later after this.” I quickly sent my black-colored magic toward the back of my shoulders and sprouted black wings, causing Eden to dodge one of them. Then I shot forth into the air with a great jump, before calling out, “Which reminds me, I should get going.”

I nodded toward Kiara, the white colored wyrm I had met after my first tribulation, and left Eden trailing after my flying form, surprise and anger on her face as her eyes trailed after my receding behind.

I noted the surprise on her face and wondered why she was so shocked at my leaving. Was it because I had only partly transformed? Or was it because of how immediate the magic occurred?

I shook my head free. There would be enough time for contemplation later on. For now, I would have to meet up with the eldest soon. Many questions were on my mind, all of them clamoring to be the first one answered.

<><><><><>

“Did you know, Verath, that this title of Astlan dragon-king is just a mere honorary title. True, it grants you respect and names you as the oldest and most powerful dragon, but in the end, it is just a mere label. Flattering, but useless,” the eldest said in his ancient, rumbling, dragonic voice. “It is not as powerful as in the past, where the title would grant you the obeisance of every dragon.”

Navra Bloodseeker gave me a small smile. “I had not expected this ceremony to come so soon, so I shall have to quit being your brood-keeper. Temporarily, of course. About less than a year.”

“What will I do in that year then?”

“You should be happy, Verath. I will grant you free reign for a whole year. You may do whatever you like, kill anything you like even.” The eldest gave a small laugh. “Though I suggest you do not kill other dragons, as that would only lead to complications.” Navra paused for a while, contemplating on what to say. “You also need not worry about your training, for the third tribulation is a matter of determination, persuasion and the will to survive. Look forward to it, because I certainly will. After all, even I failed this task.”

Doubts about the eldest failing something seeped into me. What could have been so hard that even he failed it? And now he was giving his failed task as my third tribulation? I felt a little curious and excited about that. Still, it would be a long time before my third tribulation, two and a half years in fact.

“I may do whatever I want?” I asked, still feeling disbelief, even though the ceremony had been long over and the eldest had teleported us both back into his chamber in the mountain.

“Indeed. I will be busy visiting the other clans and displaying myself before them like a trussed up whore. Quite boring, and I would have declined this position if I could have.” Navra looked down at me in my human form. “I shall give you the night to decide, and teleport you to your desired place come morning.”

The eldest moved a clawed hand toward my stomach and I could feel his sharp, dense magic on my stomach. “Here, I have renewed the blood mark. You may call upon me when you wish to return or I shall call upon you once I am free.”

“Good night, Navra,” I said hesitantly, unsure if I was allowed to call the eldest by his name.

“No need to worry, dear Verath. You can call me my name even though you are not yet a full dragon. After all, what's to stop you other than pain of death?” the eldest said, his towering dragon form lumbering toward the throne, before instantly transforming into a human to sit on it. The eldest waved a hand at me, an obvious sign of dismissal.

I quickly left, not wanting to disrupt him any longer. The subtle threat at the end made me all the more motivated.

<><><><><>

After a night of practicing my magic and an hour of sleep, I felt fully rested in the morning. There had also been a long moment of contemplation before I finally decided what to do with the given year.

I stood facing the eldest on his throne and he looked back at me, a slight, curious look on his face. I was vigilant and guarded against saying anything that would give the eldest hints that I was a human in my past life.

“If you would allow me, eldest, I wish to go to Shail Kingdom. It seems to be a very interesting place when I saw it on a map in my second tribulation.” The last part was a lie, but I knew that the eldest would not be able to tell from my indifferent voice and demeanor.

“I do not know of this place, Verath. You must describe the location to me.”

Sifting through my memories as a former human, I described to the eldest the location of the kingdom where I was born in. To my relief, there was not a hint of suspicion on the eldest's face as I gave him some vague details, just specific enough for him to teleport me there.

“Very well, dear Verath. Be very careful not to die. You would not, after all, want to leave me alone in my boredom. I shall even make you some clothes to cover your nudity.”

From his throne, the eldest shot forth his red-colored magic at me, enveloping me as I felt the first signs of disorientation hit me. The last thing I heard was his fainting laughter as I was teleported toward my home kingdom.

I thought upon the filial relationship between myself and my human father. I thought upon the death of my two year slave, Rhea of the Wanderers. And I thought of my death as a human.

I gave a cursory glance at my new surroundings.

I had decided.

It was time to end all unfinished businesses. It was time for a reckoning, time to repay the filial bond I had with my father.

Two and a half long years had passed since my human death and my curiosity and anger was tugging at me to find out the suspicious cause of it.

It was time for vengeance.

Volume 2, Chapter 2: Asolance and an Old Acquaintance

Inspecting myself, I found, to my somewhat tedious relief, that I was wearing clothing; it would not have done me any good to show up as nude as the day I was born in at a city outskirt, or in this case, at Milgard outpost.

I recognized this familiar, sprawling town-like outpost with its intimidating walls, with its three jutting towers spread strategically for forewarning of any enemies that got close to the northern boundary. The location made an effective stop point and choke-hold, giving an excellent view of the plains and forests.

Even without these distinct landmarks, I would have remembered this place, for its population consisted of mainly soldiers. This was also the place I had met my two year slave, Rhea of the Wanderers, murdered by unknown thieves, who had been connected to a larger, shadowy organization, as I had later found out in my chain of vengeance.

But avenging Rhea was not what I came to Shail Kingdom for. No, I came here to find out who was behind father's and my death, as there was no conceivable way that raiders would have known the exact path our caravans were traveling and the most opportune time to attack them. I had a suspicious feeling that it was an old acquaintance of father who had done it, most likely working in concert with those goblins and dark elves. The idea of goblins and dark elves (or black elves if you prefer that term) working together also gave foundation to this suspicion, since goblins were a belligerent race and very unlikely to work together with others.

Perhaps that old acquaintance or even others felt threatened by father's growing influence and wealth, which were almost comparable to that of a high-ranking noble. Still, it was useless to make speculations all day, when I could take a direct hand into finding out the cause.

At this moment, however, there were some intriguing displays of magic I needed to give thought to. I was wearing a nicely cut long-sleeved shirt with bands of gold encircling the sleeves all the way to my elbows, just stopping a little beyond. It was of a sable color, black as the darkest night, and against my skin, the material felt like many gossamer of sins, supple as vice too. On the chest of the shirt, there was an outline of a red dragon in the process of giving a ferocious roar. At the back, there was a cowl of a lighter shade of black attached to the garment, which would make hiding my entire face an easy feat. Down beneath my waist, I was also wearing, to no surprise of mine, black leggings made from a soft hide.

All of my clothing felt soft as sin, and would stand out like a sore thumb if I was amongst a crowd, especially with my clashing white hair. There was no doubt that I would not be able to mix among humans without garnering some form of attention. Still, ignoring this, I was most interested in how these clothes were made when I had been entirely naked just moments before the teleportation.

Did the eldest, Navra Bloodseeker, had magic that could create clothing out of thin air? I was not entirely doubtful of this, however, having witnessed his feats of overwhelming magic. I was also surprised at the precision with which the eldest teleported me. I was in the exact place I wanted to be, just behind Milgard Outpost inside the encircling forests I had described, which would hide me from suspicious eyes.

And was it just a coincidence that the eldest gave me these garments? I felt slightly nervous, unsure of the thoughts of the eldest. Had he seen through my lies? I could only hope he had not. Or was it a subtle warning that I should not show myself as a dragon to the humans. He had, after all, told me specifically not to change into my dragon form at the later part of my second tribulation.

I put away these thoughts to the back of my mind, sure that the garments were most likely a warning. It would not matter, anyway, because I could just ask the eldest after the year was over, and perhaps he might deign to answer. It was a very likely possibility. I was sure that I would not need to transform into a dragon anyway.

For now, I would focus on the task at hand.

I summoned my dragon wings and replaced my human eyes with dragon eyes, which were not entirely different from human ones; they just become a brighter green and looked more unnatural with a closer inspection. I was pretty sure humans would become uncomfortable with my dragon eyes if they took a closer inspection, so there would be a need to revert back to human eyes when with the company of humans.

Being cautious of my surroundings in case humans were here, I took flight into the air with a strong, initial jump. I flew higher and higher, until I would become just a speck of dirt to any straying eyes that looked above. I went higher and higher until even my dragon eyes could barely make out the details on the ground.

It was time to head toward the place where my father and I had been killed, the forest roads near the city of Asolance where my father's old acquaintance lived in, where he ruled the northern region of the kingdom with an iron fist gloved in velvet, though the velvet gloves were more torn than whole.

It was time to visit Baron Serle, one of the four most powerful nobles in the kingdom, and the overseer of the northern region of Shail kingdom, known as the Wolf of the North. It was a title which had quickly changed from Guardian of the North due to the ferocious and pack-like loyalty of the Serle family.

<><><><><>

It took a whole day of flying with frequent stops and frequent circling around when there were humans, until I finally arrived at the central northern region of Shail kingdom. The frequent stops consisted of many miscellaneous tasks, such as obtaining some food to eat and some needs to release bodily wastes. Bluntly put, I had to shit and piss.

But you would not want to hear about that, my guest, so if I fail to mention these needs and tasks in telling you my story, it is because I have glossed over these details. So for your sake, pretend that I am a creature who need not obey his anatomical needs. Unless, of course, you have an urge to hear about me shitting, but I highly doubt that.

Continuing on with the story, I had landed in the middle of the forest roads leading to the city of Asolance. There were many of these roads, most of which were beaten and traveled earthen paths. I landed in one of the less traveled roads after making sure there were no humans nearby. These roads were familiar to me, since I had often frequented them on my travels.

With my black cowl hiding almost the entirety of my face, I switch from one forest road to another, until I finally reached the spot where I had died; it was relatively easy since I could see through the black cowl, even though it hid my eyes.

The human merchants, peasants, and tradesmen on these roads barely gave me a glance as they headed toward their main destination: Asolance. A few, however, did give me a second pause for a further look due to my clothing, but perhaps they sensed danger, and thus quickly looked away, not wanting to grab the attention of a strange, hooded man with a shabby, short sword strapped to his back.

I paused to inspect the forest road I was on, where only a little more stretch of walking would be needed before the clearing would be reached. It was disappointing, but there was not even a hint of anything that would suggest that my father and I had been murdered here by a party of goblins and dark elves.

Not even a grave, a written litany, or even a marker to show the dozens of people who had died here. I suppose it was only logical, though. Putting a grave or a marker that suggested death on this widely-used road would only deter merchants and other tradesmen. Death was bad business, except for the undertakers and graveyard keepers.

There was nothing to keep me here any longer, so I traced the road, walking toward the clearing, and passing it to reach the city.

Asolance. It was one of the largest cities in Shail Kingdom. Known for its specialization in clothing, spices, hides, armor, and weapons, the city was truly impressive with its high, scaling walls that would deter even the most determined army. The two entrance gates to the city were opened with many people going in and going out in each respective gate. In the gate where the people were going in, there were many guards and scribes keeping track of the newcomers and collecting the six silvers entrance fee.

It would be a tidy sum by the end of the day, judging at the rate of people entering and leaving the city. To just ascribe the status of bustling to this impressive city would have been a measly description.

All of the guards and scribes looked efficient. They were wearing the grey tabards of the Serle family, an image of a proud, majestic wolf displayed at the front for all to see. Nothing had changed in the two and a half years of my human death; this city was still just one of the many estates of the Serle family.

Most of the northern nobles had no chance of competing against the Serle family unless they collectively joined up, but that would never happen. It was one of the unwritten rules of political intrigue that nobles were backstabbing bastards and bitches. Most of them were untrustworthy and power-hungry.

This was true everywhere else in Shail Kingdom, including the western region with its own baron, Guardian of the West and the other two directions with its own respective barons. The main, central region of Shail Kingdom, however, was where the king lived. This kingdom, though small compared to other human kingdoms, was rich due to its abundant natural resources. Taxes, levies, and tithes from nobles were fair due to the competence of the current king of Shail Kindom, so riots and unrest were few and far between.

I lined up behind a fat merchant with his wagon full of spices and hides. I was not the slightest bit worried about paying the six silvers entrance fee. On the way to the city, I had stolen the coin purses from a number of bandits, or at least people who looked like bandits and thieves. I had killed over a dozen of them and my two coin purses were hefty with coppers, silvers and the rare gold coins. And if these bandits had families of their own, there was nothing I could do except offer them my little sympathies.

Life was a fickle whore, coming and going with her attentions straying every moment. Well, not really, but I wanted to justify my killings. It gave me some small amount of amusement in doing so, since I really did not care much for the lives of others, especially ones who were not innocent.

My turn finally came and the guards inspected me as I handed over six silver coins to the nearest scribe.

“You name and take off your cowl,” one of them said in a brusque voice, not the least bit patient.

I decided not to lie. No one would recognize my name, anyway. “Verath,” I told the guard with a voice just loud enough to overcome the noises of the other conversations.

“Your cowl,” one of the other guards reminded, in case I had forgotten in that short moment of time.

I took off my cowl, revealing my unnatural, white hair which reached toward my waist and my piercing, green eyes.

I had to admit though, these entrance guards and scribes had good control over themselves. The only sign that they had reacted to my appearance was a small widening of their eyes. I suppose I wasn't very disappointed by their reactions. After all, with such a myriad of people going in and out of the city everyday, they must have seen their fair share of unnatural appearances.

I started to walk through the entrance, but before I could even take three steps, I was stopped by a burly guard, who looked to be the most senior of them all. His hard, grey eyes met my own piercing green eyes. “A friendly reminder, the use of weapons in the city is forbidden and punishable by death, hanging, or dismembering. Make sure to keep your sword sheathed, good stranger.” Then the guard continued with a sneer, putting more force in his hand on my shoulder. “You will only be allowed to use it at the tournament, that is, if you are participating.”

The guard removed his hand as soon as he had finished telling me his piece. I didn't bother to reply, only walking through the gate without even looking back. I ignored the casual, curious stares from the masses of people, their eyes straying toward my unusual appearance for a moment, before going back to whatever the were doing.

The city-life was fast-paced and the people had no time to spare for gawking at a stranger. An instant or two was only needed to satisfy their curiosity.

I stood there amidst the throngs of people, observing the city of Asolance. It looked as familiar as ever. Not much had changed in the last two and a half years. A few new buildings here and there, but that was all. And perhaps there was also an increase in the population, but that was hard to tell.

And if my human memory serves me correctly, Baron Serle's home was located at the other end of the city. His dwelling should be enormous, consisting of interconnecting, fortified manor houses that numbered half a dozen, making one large castle-like home. His house was designed to intimidate and to impress, swallowing up a considerable portion of the enormous city. It was, without a doubt, the largest building in the city, reflecting his status as a noble and as the ruler of most of the northern region.

Putting that aside, there was something the guard had said that was on my mind. I went up to a street vendor, a tinkerer by the looks of his various wares of pots and pans.

“Hello, good fellow,” I said, trying to be polite, “could you tell me what the tournament is about?”

The tinkerer, a man with a heavyset beard that shrouded half of his dirty face, gave me a wide smile that showed off a few of his yellow teeth. “Glad ta help ya, young sir. This tournament be the best thing ta happen to this city. It be hosted by the baron ta celebrate his eldest daughter coming of age. All ta fighting men be coming here, hoping to win the attentions of his daughter. Business be booming, especially ta whoring.” At his last sentence, the dirty, bearded man gave me a wink, thinking that I was most likely a young, lost noble or a rich merchant. The quality of my clothing also helped his speculation. “You be participating in ta tourney too?”

“Thank you, and have a nice day,” I said, ignoring his question and tossing the tinkerer a silver coin for his troubles. I was being generous, but it wouldn't hurt since I had a lot of silvers and golds in my purse, which was hidden underneath my shirt. There were barely any coppers and the coins were just blood money, anyway. I could always kill more thieves and bandits.

The man deftly caught the silver coin, his action akin to that of a snake striking at its prey. The coin disappeared into the folds of his tattered, heavy robes. It was as if the coin had never been there, so fast it had disappeared. There were only his pair of hands with its long, dirty fingernails left to be seen.

Even now, I was still receiving stares from newcomers. They were getting a little tedious, even though I did not mind the stares. It would do me no good to stand out in this city initially with the goal I had in mind.

I put up my cowl, hiding more than two-third of my face and went to look for an inn. I didn't want to attract any attention yet.

The tournament event had left open a new possibility for me to use. I could, in effect, participate in the tournament and win the attention of Baron Serle's eldest daughter, which would in turn win the baron's attention.

It would make finding out the cause behind my father’s and my death much easier if the baron were to trust me. I could also make use of his daughter, but the possibility of failure crossed my mind.

My other choice was to directly storm the baron's house and cause chaos everywhere, but many innocents would die. A waste of lives and unforeseen circumstances might result from doing that. Torture would be a good method to use, but the possibility of lies was a great risk. Most creatures, under great pain and pressure, would do anything and tell anything, including lies, to get out of it.

I weighed the two choices inside my mind. They were closely tied, but the first choice was better. I had to assume that I could not transform into a dragon, so it would be harder for me to get out of unforeseen situations.

In my human life, I had not heard stories of such enormous dragons who could fly. I knew better now, though. Only the lesser dragons (Xieth), much smaller and less intelligent, were seen in the human lands. And even these sightings and battles were rare. It made me think that Astlan dragons were a secretive bunch, and perhaps it was why the eldest gave me a subtle warning with his creation of garments. The outline of the roaring red dragon on the front of my shirt, however, left me a little curious as it gave clue to what I was. But perhaps it was just one of the eldest's quirk; he did love getting me into troubles.

Some more moments passed as I navigated through the bustling city, dodging the torrents of children playing games and the flow of grown men and women doing their tasks. It was only when I found a good sizable inn that I stopped walking.

From initial appearance, the inn did not look cheap, nor luxurious, just somewhere in between. It would suit my needs perfectly. The name of the inn, Silver Beauty, also did not sound bad. The inn would most likely be peaceful and dignified, with no rowdiness, or so I hoped.

Once inside, I found myself in a large, spacey room with a few of the many wooden tables occupied by groups of people talking animatedly to each other. Almost all of them barely gave me a second glance before resuming their conversations. I suppose the sight of a cowled man carrying a shabby, short sword was not a new sight.

I headed toward the prim, young woman behind the counter at the side of the room. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion when she saw the weapon behind my back, her initial smile quickly turning sour despite my luxurious-looking clothing, albeit a bit dusty.

“I would like a room, miss,” I said, my voice formal, but indifferent.

The woman moved forward a little, trying to peer into my cowl with no luck. She was most likely already making judgments about me from my youthful voice and from the way I was dressed.

“Remove your cowl, stranger. It is bad manners to do conversation with someone without showing your appearance.” The woman's voice was crystal-clear, firm with a hint of sharpness in it. Her dark brown hair was tied into a long tail by a yellow band, making her forehead appear more prominent.

Ah, the disadvantages of having white hair, I thought as I removed my black hood. I would have to remember to ask Navra how he could so fluidly change his appearance into anything he wanted. The eldest had already told me that it was an intrinsic magic, which only he could do, but I wanted a more in-depth explanation, regardless.

I observed the woman's fair, heart-shaped face, but the only signs of surprise she showed at seeing my piercing green eyes and white hair was a laugh and a twitch of her light eyebrows. “You know, stranger,” she said, her voice lined with no little mirth, “you would fare much better were you to show your handsome face. It would certainly have relieved my suspicion.”

“Ah, I will take your advice into consideration,” I said politely, wishing that she would hurry up and explain about the room I was asking for.

Hearing that, the young woman stood taller, straightening herself and jutting out her pair of not insignificant breasts toward me. They were nicely shaped and rounded, I observed from the corner of my eyes.

She had been hoping I would stare at her two “weapons,” but only frowned a little when I did not—trust me when I say that I am very good at observing my surroundings. The frown was only momentary, however. It soon turned into a large smile. “So why have you come to this fair city of Asolance for?” she asked. Then a small look of embarrassment came over her. “Oh right, silly me. I need to ask for your name first.”

“Tournament.” I paused a little. “Verath.”

I had made my replies as succinct as possible, hoping she would get the hints.

The woman was not even a little deterred. She continued on with her conversation, ignoring my hints or perhaps she did not even notice them.

“That is so exciting, Verath!” she exclaimed in a voice as sweet and soft as a kiss. “Are you going to enter?”

I was now overcome with multiple responses forming in my mind. Should I lie to her to cut short this conversation or should I ask her about the room again, ignoring her question. Before I could decide, however, a voice interrupted me from behind.

“You will have to forgive my daughter, good stranger. She sometimes cannot take a hint. I almost believe most of her brains went toward her breasts.”

I turned around in time to see the older woman giving a short sigh and a shake of her head. Her face, though older with the passage of time, was similar to the prim young woman behind the counter. It was obvious that this older woman was her mother.

The mother walked passed me and glared at her daughter. “Alice! I leave you alone for just a moment to mind the counter and you are already making a guest uncomfortable.” The mother then gave a small smile to lessen her scolding. “Not that you don't have my sympathies.”

“Were I a little bit younger and unmarried, I would have certainly gobbled you up like a small animal.” The mother gave me a small wink. “Now then, what can I do for you?”

“A room, please,” I said, feeling a little uncomfortable at this mother and daughter pair.

“Ah yes, would you prefer one of the nicer rooms for 30 silvers or the normal one for 20 silvers. The charge is at the rate of two days.”

“The nicer one,” I responded, taking out one of the two coin purses from underneath the pockets I had made under the shirt. I counted out twenty, small silver coins and a gold coin, and by the time I was done, the coin purse was significantly lighter with only a few coppers and gold coins left. The rooms were expensive, but that was only to be expected of one of the largest cities in the kingdom and of a medium-priced inn.

The coins were soon swept up by the mother and placed inside the locked chest behind the counter. The amount of money I had paid would give me a room for eight days, sufficient time to achieve my goal, or at least I hoped it was sufficient.

“Ah yes, normal meals will be free for however long you are staying, but the nicer and more expensive meals, you will have to pay. Alcohol, you will also have to pay yourself,” the mother said.

Beside her, the daughter was happily smiling, trying to meet my eyes with her own soft-brown eyes in hopes of catching my attention. She was most likely smiling because she had seen that I was going to stay here for eight days. It was either that or the young woman had a cheerful attitude; I was not a haughty man, or rather dragon, but it was obvious to me that the woman was happy because of the former reason.

“Oh yes, could you tell me more of the tournament? Such as when it will start and where to sign up for it?” I asked the mother, knowing that asking the daughter would be a waste of time, having experienced her verbosity.

There was a slight frown on the mother's face. “I don't really condone violence but I suppose the tournament is a good thing. Brings good business.” Her frown disappeared when she gave me a better look and a better glance at the shabby short sword behind my back. “Well, it is none of my business if you are going to participate, stranger. The tournament will begin in three days time and you can sign up and enter it after passing a test from one of the three places where they give it out. The three places will be at the northern quadrant, the western quadrant, and the eastern quadrant of the city. Just ask for some directions, since most of the people will know about them. Or follow the other fighting men.”

“Thank you,” I said, quickly taking the key from her daughter's hand. I had done it in such a quick fashion that the daughter would have no chance of trapping my hand.

The mother noticed, but did not say anything about it. “Your room is the room numbered 3 on the third floor.”

I nodded before asking another question, “Do you give out baths?”

“Yes,” the mother said, “a bath will cost a silver and our helping hands will deliver the tub straight to your room after heating the water. Or if you prefer, you can just go to the city's public baths.”

I thanked the mother again and headed toward the stairs leading to the third floor, but not before receiving curious stares from the guests around the occupied tables.

Just like she had said, the room was numbered 3 and opening the door with the iron key was a smooth process. The inside of the room consisted of two, nice single beds, a desk with a chair, a large window, and the beds themselves looked comfortable enough.

Undressing everything, I put the clothes, the short sword, and the coin purses on the desk. Then I chose the bed closest to the door and immediately went to sleep on it. I had been flying at a fast-pace for a whole day and night and was a little tired with circling around populated areas and killing bandits and thieves for money. An hour of respite on the bed would make me fully-rested and by the time I would wake, it would be early afternoon.

My last thoughts before I fell asleep were of my death, the Serle family, and the tournament they would host.

Volume 2, Chapter 3: Chaotic Melee and the Test of Valor

My eyes quickly flit opened and instantly recognized the room I was in. My brief respite had been interrupted by a knock on the door—I was a light sleeper, very much aware of my surroundings, unless I chose not to be. I lied awake on the feathered bed and felt well-rested even though I guessed that not even an hour had passed. Sleep did not mattered much when you only needed an hour to feel like a new man, or rather, dragon.

I jumped out of the bed and went toward the door. Then I opened it, wanting to know who had interrupted my sleep. I suppose I was not being very cautious in opening the door without even knowing who was behind it, but it did not mattered much when you have skin that was impervious to most weapons. It would take ten or twenty stabs from very well-made weapons to even pierce through my human skin, but with that many stabs, the sword would be quite dull by then and the owner even duller. Dead, if you catch my meaning.

“Hello...” Initially excited, her voice trailed off after a small stutter. “...Verath.”

The voice came from the daughter whom I had met just a while ago. I was not the least bit surprised by her interruption.

“Afternoon,” I replied back to her greeting.

A small blush reddened her face almost instantly afterward as one of her hands tried to cover both her eyes. The action was unsuccessful, her fingers leaving a small enough gap for her left eye to peek out.

Her strange behavior immediately caught my attention, making me realize that I was entirely naked. It had not crossed my mind to even get dressed since I was so used to being naked as a dragon. Multiple thoughts crossed my mind on how to explain this, but I decided to ignore them. I would just continue on nonchalantly.

I asked dispassionately with no inflection in my tone. “How are you?”

The daughter took courage in that, her hand immediately removed from her eyes, not that it had been successful in the first place. Her soft-brown eyes raked my body, traveling all over, and briefly pausing at my manhood. Or was it dragonhood? I thought to myself in amusement.

Her inspection of my body was not the slightest bit reserved. She was not demure. I suppose it was only logical with how her mother had been in the little time I had spoken to her. The daughter looked to be about seventeen or so, close to what my age would appear to be—my human form looked eighteen or so, a far cry from my dragon age, two and a half year old.

Her eyes finally went back to my face as she realized what she had been doing. “Oh..I am well.” There was a hesitant pause before she continued. “I forgot to give you my name. Call me Alice Silver.”

So that was where the inn's name, Silver Beauty, came from, I thought. I had been feeling a little curious about that. Alice also might have forgotten, but I already knew her name from her mother scolding at her. I decided, however, not to remind her of that. I needed to cut short this conversation.

I nodded at her. “It has been nice meeting you, Alice. I have to get dressed now.”

I waited for a moment, but Alice just stood there in the doorway. She had most likely forgotten that she was blocking the doorway. “You should probably move out of the way, Alice,” I reminded her in a soft voice.

A furious blush came over her as she quickly tried to move back from the door. “Oh, I um...sorry.”

I nodded at her to show there was nothing to apologize for. Her reaction was a little amusing, after all. She had probably thought that since I had not minded my nudity, it was okay for her to watch. I could be wrong, though. I was not very good with the emotions and thoughts of others. I would have needed a strong empathy for that. Instead, I just relied on my observations and experiences.

I gently closed the door on her, so that Alice would not get the wrong idea. It would do me no good to have the daughter of the innkeeper furious at me, even though it would not be my fault. It was better to err on the safe side, since I would most likely be staying at this inn for a week or so.

Promptly gathering my clothes on the desk, it was only a matter of time before I was fully dressed with my stolen, shabby short-sword hanging behind my back, and my two coin purses in the depths of my long-sleeved black shirt.

It was time to sign up for the tournament.

<><><><><>

Before I was finally outside on the cobbled streets of the city, with my cowl hiding more than two-third of my face, I had another run-in with the mother daughter pair, both of whom decided to join in on my afternoon meal of soup and bread. The soup was delicious with a hefty amount of soft rabbit meat, venison, and a sprinkle of some vegetables in it; the bread was freshly baked, warm and soft to my great liking.

I will skip the conversation with the mother daughter pair, since it was a tedious task, with me politely nodding and giving positive answers. If I had to generously estimate, I would say that my words only amounted to five percent of the conversation, with most of them being “yes.” If nodding were to be counted, it would probably go upward to seven percent.

Well, you get the idea, my guest.

Having been to Asolance a few times in my human life, I recognized the areas for the most part. I knew that I was in the western quadrant of this enormous city; you can get an idea of how big this city was from how it needed to be divided into four quadrants. To picture it better, the population was in the tens of thousands. It was hard for me to know the exact number, since there were always many people going in and out of this city at random intervals of time. Trade cities were usually like that.

That said, it was not long before I finally found someone to give me directions to the place where I needed to sign up for the tournament. Most of the men I had asked were not very helpful, entirely ignoring my polite question, or growling at me for the large part of my time. Perhaps it was my appearance, but it was unlikely. I learned quickly, though, only asking women and men who had polite demeanors and were not too busy.

I stood before an enormous training ground where dozens of fighting men and women, mostly the former, were sparring with each other. A few of them had fallen down due to missteps and by the looks of it, would have bruises to show for it tomorrow. Luckily, the floor of the training ground was made of soft, earthen soil, instead of cold, hard stone. Had it been made of the latter material, the possibility of broken bones and even more bruises were very likely.

Around the perimeter of the training ground, there were dozens and dozens of city guards, all of them in an orderly fashion, all of them wearing the tabards of the Serle family, a majestic, grey wolf sewn onto the front.

They were there to control the fighting men and women who had come from everywhere across Shail Kingdom. It was better to be safe than sorry in case heated disputes broke out.

Beside the training ground, I could see a long line of warriors and a few men and women holding bows waiting for their turns to sign up for the tournament. Most of them had patient looks, signs of good willpower, while they waited.

The fighting men and the few fighting women were in one, long row waiting behind a large wooden table where there were two scribes sitting down on cushioned, wooden chairs. Beside the two scribes, there were two grizzled warriors, each with a longsword strapped to the side of their shoulders.

Even standing still, the two warriors were alert, their eyes never resting in one spot. They had a dangerous and experienced air to them, most likely veterans of many battles. There was a presence to them, an aura of a sword half unsheathed, always ready for danger.

One of the two grizzled warriors came forward, walking in a cold, efficient manner toward the line of waiting warriors that wanted to sign up for the tournament. Though he was the shorter of the two, the warrior was as heavily muscled as the other taller one. Even with his old age, perhaps past forty or so, his muscles were still in better shape than the younger fighting men. There was no doubt about his prowess.

“Listen up!” he barked, his voice like drawn steel. All heads, including mine, turned to listen to him, clearly knowing that the old warrior was the one in charge of signing up for the tournament. “I can clearly tell that you louts are going to take up most of my time. Thus, what I and the other grandmaster have decided to do will be to have you all fight each other, until only ten of you are remaining. Then I will give the lucky ones a Test of Valor.”

The hard, grey eyes of the short grandmaster calculatedly met all our eyes. “The other men and women who arrived before you are on the training ground battling some of our less experienced guards. If they win, they will be able to sign up for the tournament.” He held up a large, calloused hand to stop short any protests. “If any one of you say that is unfair, then it is by your grace that you leave this area. You can try the other places and see if you have more luck signing up, but that is none of my business if you choose to bother the other four grandmasters.”

The grandmaster waited, but none of the fighting men and women, including me, knew what to do. “Well, what are you louts waiting for? Go pick up those wooden swords over there and crack each other skulls until only ten of you are remaining. If you use a bow, then you are out of luck. Just quit.” He raised both his graying eyebrows, waiting for us to react.

One of the men finally reacted, hurriedly sprinting toward the three pile of wooden swords. This started a chain of reactions, propelling the other men and the few women to also rush toward the wooden swords.

The first fighter to reach the wooden sword was not the man who had reacted first, but a slim, tall brunette wearing a light, brown leather armor. She quickly picked up a wooden sword from the pile to the right and started attacking all the other men who were busy trying to grab hold of a wooden sword.

Still unmoving from my spot, I watched on with amusement as the brunette's action led to other fighters assimilating the same idea, which led to more unfair attacks. And though I say unfair, it was only fair since it was the woman's legs, her natural and hard-earned ability, that led to her obtaining an advantage. All was fair in war, even elimination fights.

There were accusations of cheating thrown from the men and the one or two women who had been the victims of the “unfair” attacks.

Before long, the earthen courtyard beside the training ground was a jumble of fighting men and women. A few of them had been knocked unconscious or had surrendered due to heavy bruises and bleeding.

Standing patiently still on my spot, a fair distance away from the chaotic melee, I watched with curiosity tinged with a little hilarity. I observed all the fighters and could make out the most prominent ones. Four of the most prominent ones were heavily-muscled men with all the usual advantages; height, muscles, weight, reach, and other little characteristics.

There were also the few slim men and women who gracefully danced out of the melee, dodging the frequent attacks, and attacking their opponents only when their defenses were weakened or opened.

A few of the fighters finally got the clever idea to distance themselves from the chaotic melee. Then they looked at each other, silently agreeing between themselves that they would wait until most of the fighting died out.

Three of nearest clever fighters looked toward the black cowled man who was standing the furthest away from the fight. They grinned to each other seeing that the black cowled man was not holding a weapon, just a short sword sheathed behind his back, which he could not use.

They were all looking at the black cowled man with thoughts of an easy elimination. They were all looking at me.

Oh well, I thought, it was only a matter of time before I needed to join the fight anyway.

What looked to be the youngest fighter out of the three came charging at me, wanting to eliminate an easy opponent. He had an enthusiastic look on his youthful face and most likely wanted to show off in front of his peers.

When the youth, most likely around what my human age looked to be, came within distance of me, he did not even bother to test his opponent. The young fighter just wildly slashed his wooden sword toward my head, trying to knock me into unconsciousness.

I moved a little to my right, just dodging the wooden sword by a hair's breadth. His defense came undone having overreached himself with that wild slash, not that he had any form of defense to begin with.

The side of my hand came falling down toward his unprotected neck, delivering a sharp hit with just the right amount of strength against a human opponent. I would not have wanted to attract the attentions of every human in the courtyard when my opponent was beheaded or had a crooked, broken neck had I used a greater measure of my strength. It was better for them to think I had a fair amount of strength for a human, not too much, not too little.

His body hit the earth with a loud thud, leather armor against ground. I grabbed the fallen wooden sword beside his body. I had now truly joined the chaotic melee. Well, the edges of the chaotic melee, since the main fight was at the center of the courtyard where dozens of fighters were still battling each other.

By the time I had grabbed the wooden sword and had turned around, the other two “clever” fighters were almost within distance. The two of them, probably friends with each other, flanked both of my sides. The fighter to my right slashed at my upper body, while the other slashed at my lower body.

Their movements were predictable—everything was predictable when your opponents were much, much slower than you and your eyes were adept enough to follow their every movement.

I blocked the upper body strike with my wooden sword, while my free hand backhanded the opponent to my left with the back of my palm. My palm reached much faster than his wooden sword and there was a sharp smack of bone to palm as I hit his cheek.

I had backhanded the fighter hard enough to cause him to lose balance and drop to the floor with a thud, the side of his face now lying on the ground.

Without checking the fallen opponent, I overpowered the other fighter with my wooden sword, pushing at his own sword to give me a better advantage. There was only a second of struggle before my opponent lost his attacking stance, having been overpowered.

His stance and balance broken, my opponent’s guard was now wide open. Swiftly and coldly efficient, I headbutted the center of his face. There was a loud crunch as his nose broke. My next move was to break his balance with a sweep of my right leg, tripping both his legs with a vicious sweep.

Both of the “clever” fighters were now on the earthen floor of the courtyard, groaning in pain, with one of them having trouble breathing. Both of them were still conscious, only the one with the broken nose out of the fight.

I turned to the fallen opponent whom I had backhanded, but just as I was about to swing my wooden sword at his face, I was interrupted.

“Stop, stop, I surrender!” he shouted loudly.

I looked toward the two grandmasters who were spectating the chaotic melee nearby, but saw no signs of them even hinting what I should do when my opponent surrendered.

Since the two grandmasters or the guards who were surrounding us a short distance away did not even deign to give me their thoughts, I only shrugged. I swung my wooden sword at the face of the pleading man.

It took three weak strikes until the man finally lost consciousness, his face a mess of bruises, tears, and blood. Mind you, my opponent was not dead. He would live with an ugly face for a while and he was lucky I did not “crack” his skull as the grandmaster had told us to.

With the time I had wasted on the three opponents, there were now only twenty remaining fighters on the courtyard, all of them tired and sweating from their exertions in various degrees. There were about four women, while the rest were men.

The chaotic melee had died down and there were only a few fights ensuing, while the remaining fighters were circling around each other, wary and alert. After all, the remaining twenty, excluding me, were the best out of the group.

All of them were avoiding me, wary of my hooded appearance and my cold viciousness. They gave me a wide berth, thinking to take the other nine spots by fighting easier opponents.

One of the men, however, thought otherwise. He was only a little tired, not even breathing hard after being in the thick of the chaotic melee. It was an attestation to his skills.

Tall, most likely reaching six feet, and heavily muscled, the man confidently walked toward me, his eyes itching for a better fight. There was a grin on his rugged face, his short, black hair plastered with sweat and dirt. The fighter was wearing heavy, black boots and thick, leather armor, but his walk suggested that the weight was nothing to his strength.

The other fighters avoided the grinning, rugged warrior, which was further evidence of the man's prowess; they had most likely witnessed this man's martial skills in the chaotic melee.

Likewise, I walked toward the man, my face hidden beneath the black cowl. With the wooden sword in my right hand, we circled around each other, both of us the center of attention. The other fighters had stopped their respective battles to see what was probably the top two fighters out of the twenty-one remaining. Most of them looked relieved and thankful that they were not the ones fighting me or my opponent.

“Why don't you show me your face and fight like a man, coward,” my opponent snidely put in. “Can you even see through that hood?”

It was relatively easy to see through my black cowl even though it hid my eyes, but I didn't bother to reply the man. There wouldn't be a need to after I had knocked him unconscious anyway.

My foe made the first move, a cautious, steady swing of his wooden sword. He was very skilled, neither overreaching himself nor striking softly. At least, those were my thoughts, even though I had not one clue about the first thing in swordsmanship. My previous profession as a human was being a merchant, after all. I only picked up a few tidbits here and there in my travels with the caravan guards and traveling warriors.

I met his swing with my own wooden sword, the two swords whacking each other and producing a sound which could only be made by hard wood striking against hard wood. My opponent quickly retracted his weapon, vigilantly going back into a readied battle stance. He was not too sure of my strength, despite knowing that I was slimmer, shorter, and less-muscled than him. My opponent had most likely seen the strength with which I had used to beat the three men, so he was being very cautious, not wanting to turn the fight into a clash of strength.

So, I thought, my opponent was only arrogant outwardly. Inside, he had the mind of a skillful warrior, cautious and steady, never underestimating his opponent. His swordsmanship teacher must have been very good to have beaten that fact into his mind so instinctively.

Oh well, I will be aggressive enough for the both of us then. It would be a nice change from my usual fights where I would always react after my opponents attacked me.

I rushed at my opponent, slashing at him wildly, holding most of my strength and speed back. The fighter easily blocked my strike.

I quickly pulled back my sword and transitioned into another strike, this time from the other side. Once again, the fighter easily blocked this second strike.

Seeing that this amount of strength and speed, which were usually enough for normal opponents, I increased it another notch.

I moved forward again, closing another foot of distance between the two of us. Then I swung my sword downward, aiming at his right side. The fighter blocked the strike again, but this time with a more noticeable straining.

I didn't give my opponent any respite before executing another strike, this time toward his left side. With the speed I was going, the fighter could only defend, not having any time to go into an attack of his own.

I kept on hacking at my opponent, varying my strikes; left, left, right, left, right, right. I gained ground gradually and my opponent had no choice but to move back to better defend himself. His face was stiff, tense, and straining with labored concentration. Small beads of sweat dripped down the sides of his face.

Seeing that he would eventually get overwhelmed if this continued, my opponent dash back to gain distance between us, but it was futile; I only dashed forward along with him, relentlessly hacking at him with my sword.

The fight was dragging on. Both our wooden swords were looking chipped at various parts of the edges.

I increased my strength and speed up another small degree.

My opponent kept on blocking all my sword strikes, his body, legs, and arms straining against their limits, his muscles heavily working to keep up.

Just as I was about to increase my strength and speed up another small degree, I finally broke through my opponent's guard as he lost balance. Taking advantage of the opening, I struck him on his right side, my sword digging deeply into his kidney despite the leather armor he wore.

I didn't give him time to recover from that blow, already retracting my sword and transitioning it into a thrust toward his chest. This time, I put a large amount of my strength into the attack. The force of my lunge shattered the wooden sword, breaking it into pieces against his leather armor. My opponent flew backward a small distance, falling to the floor on his back.

I knew that with some rest, the fighter would recover. Not wanting to leave it to chance, I walked toward his prone form, and kicked at his face a few times, until blood was flowing freely, until his face was almost unrecognizable, until he had finally lost consciousness from the pain.

The man was brave, I would give him that. He had never pleaded for mercy nor surrendered during the whole beating.

The rest of the fighters in the courtyard looked at me with no small amount of nervousness. A few of them looked scared at the viciousness of my sudden violence. There was an air of silence as they paused awkwardly.

The words were unspoken, but all of the fighting men and women made an agreement with each other, that they would leave me alone. Instead, they would do battle with each other to fight for the other nine spots.

I guess I was lucky, but the thought of them grouping up to get rid of me did not cross any of their minds. Or perhaps they just wanted to look honorable, since the two grandmasters were impassively spectating the melee.

Either way, fighting broke out again.

I observed most of their fights, until finally the other nine slots were filled. Now, there were only nine fighters, three of them women, standing on the courtyard. The others had long given up and surrendered, slinking away with bruises like wounded animals.

Seven men and three women. That was the outcome of the chaotic melee and those fighters would be the ones who would be able to sign up for the tournament.

The short grandmaster, the one who had given the speech, came walking toward the remaining group of fighters, all of whom were avoiding me like the plague.

“Well done, you louts. That fight was not too shabby. You have saved me a lot of time and patience by eliminating most of them. Now then, I will give the lucky ones a Test of Valor so I can get a better measure of their skills.” He held up a hand to stop the fighters from asking questions. “Not to worry, the ten of you are eligible to sign up for the tournament. The lucky ones I will select, however, will have no need to participate in the preliminaries.

The taller grandmaster then came walking toward the center of the courtyard to stand beside his companion.

The shorter grandmaster arched his eyebrows at his companion. “Do you have anything to add, brother?”

The brother, probably the elder, only shook his head sideways. “No, you can continue, brother.”

He nodded in return. “Alright, you shit maggots. The two lucky ones I will be choosing for a Test of Valor will be that man in the black cowl and that woman with the short, black hair there.” The short grandmaster pointed at the woman and at me just in case some of us had mistaken ideas.

“The eight of you louts not chosen can go sign up for the preliminaries now.”

<><><><><>

With his hard, grey eyes, the short grandmaster inspected the black-haired woman and me. “Very well, I shall now explain to you two how the Test of Valor will work. You should be honored to take it, since it will enable you to skip the preliminaries.”

Both of us nodded in acquiescence, not wanting to anger the grizzled veteran.

The short and greying warrior looked at the woman and gestured at his brother beside him. “You, child, will show my brother your swordplay on the training grounds, and if he deems it sufficient after a short spar, you will have passed the Test of Valor.”

Then the short grandmaster turned to look at me. “You, however, clearly are not experienced in swordsmanship. I can tell that only your natural abilities, strength, and speed won you that fight. Thus, you need not show your swordplay to me. Instead, I will command you to fight a few of the guards I will choose.”

<><><><><>

In truth, my guest, the Test of Valor was just another tedious assessment. And needless to say, I quickly won the fights with the “few” guards, few being a dozen of them. The most I had to fight, however, was three of the chosen guards simultaneously, which I had no trouble doing so. That battle had ended quickly with me knocking down each of them with three quick slashes, each of them done in swift succession.

The other nine guards, with a brief respite in between each, were one-on-one sparring. I won them all in mere moments, even though the expertise of each guard went up every time I won.

By my eleventh opponent, I was beginning to get the feeling that the grandmaster would throw even more guards at me, but thankfully, he decided that one more would be sufficient to test my skills.

His praise after I had knocked down my twelfth guard was this: “You, my lucky bastard lout, were born with natural physical gifts. You must come meet me again after the tournament. It would delight me to train you as my pupil.” Then the grandmaster arched an eyebrow, daring me to contradict him.

When I finally gave him a small nod, his eyebrow finally went down, his grizzled face no longer stern, but a small grin plastered on. “Good, now get the hell out of here. I don't want to see your face until the tournament starts, since I am one of the judges.” He gave a harsh, loud chuckle. “I don't want you frightening the other fighters who will come, after all.”

I left, thinking that in the entire afternoon I had spent with that short grandmaster, I had only received two compliments, indirectly and directly.

Well, I had also received a new and shiny longsword from him, free of charge. The grandmaster had told me that my stolen short-sword was a weapon for shit maggots, so he gave me a new weapon as said above. That was the high-point of the Test of Valor, or rather one of the end-result of it.

Quite amusing, really.

There were only tonight and two days left before the preliminaries of the tournament began. The preliminaries, the grandmaster had told me, would eliminate all the participants until only ten were left. Then we, including the others who had passed the Test of Valor, would all battle in one grand finale in the arena outside to the east of Asolance with many spectators watching. This, of course, included Baron Serle, his family, and his eldest daughter.

Now, I thought, I only had to win the tournament and with that, the attention of Baron Serle and his eldest daughter.

Or his four other younger daughters if that didn't work. I had many possibilities open to me, all of which would suit my vengeance, all of which would help me find out the cause behind my death.

Volume 2 (Chapter 4)