Volume 2, Chapter 4: Outcome of the Preliminaries and Advances

“A life's journey, my young friend, does not begin until you have had a good drink and a good piss,” the man said, his appearance suggesting that his more than thirty years of life were catching up, despite his toned, muscled body. He continued after a loud belch. “My journey led me to a life of blood, battles, wars, and a good dose of whoring and drinking.”

The black-haired warrior played with his tankard in one large meaty hand, staring at the swishing beer before looking back up at me. “The amount of whoring I have done would have put the common man into debts. Hah! He would have had to cut off his balls to have paid the gold I have spent on the whores. Or rather, his balls would be long blue from the efforts involved.”

The warrior gave a short bark of laughter before turning his pale blue eyes at me, the twin orbs seemingly distant, as if contemplating the past. “You know something, my young friend? I used to participate in tourneys like this, albeit with prizes lower than a thousand gold coins. It was, you could say, a responsibility as the second oldest son of a noble family. The eldest son, after all, was too precious to lose.”

The warrior closed his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again. “If you are still here the next night at this inn, young man, let us give each other our names. For now, I shall go have fun with a random wench.” The warrior then stood up from the chair in front of me and walked out of the Silver Beauty inn in a slow, exaggerated swagger.

I briefly stared at the half emptied tankard the strange warrior had left on the wooden table I was sitting at. I thought to myself with levity.

Well, that was interesting. I wonder why he suddenly confessed his life story to me. I knew with doubtless certainty that I did not look like a priest, rare as that profession was in most human kingdoms. Perhaps, in his “drunkenness,” the man had singled out my white hair. But that was unlikely, since he was calling me his “young friend.”

The warrior was intriguing, I decided. It would not hurt to spend some time getting to know more about him.

Then the main tournament would start the next day, the preliminaries having finished. Yes, I nodded to myself, that would be my plan.

<><><><><>

The next two days were not very eventful. I spent these two days gathering more information about the main tournament and my opponents; I also did not went back to the western quadrant since the grandmaster there had told me not to.

That said, I shall remark upon the highlights of these two days.

<><><><><>

Two Days Before the Main Tournament Begins:

Cities and the larger towns of Shail Kingdom were well known for their public baths, which were separated by gender. Some unusual towns also had mixed public baths; these baths usually tended to attract headstrong people with no modesty or shame.

There were also some people with an inclination for voyeurism, or so I have met during my human life in Shail Kingdom (I had asked them their opinions and in-depth details upon this topic, to my tingling curiosity). Thus, I knew a little about the art of voyeurism.

Asolance was no different from the other cities of Shail Kingdom in that regard (I am not referring to the voyeurism). The only difference was that its public baths were larger and better than that of its peers, so much so that three whole sections of the city had been dedicated to this endeavor. It was only natural, since the population of Asolance numbered in the tens of thousands.

The public baths were located in the western, northern, and eastern quadrants—I was in the western quadrant. It was early afternoon and there were many people who had paid a silver coin to use the baths. And in case you are wondering, I was in the male section; there were no mixed gender baths here.

Disappointed? Not very much, since I did not care much for flesh. Though I must admit that the naked flesh of females were easier on the eyes than the naked flesh of males.

The bath I was in was huge, enough to contain more than a hundred people. There were other similar baths, but this one was the least crowded so I had chosen it.

The bath I had chosen was the least crowded due to the tense atmosphere and the glares coming from the four fighters whom I had beaten during the melee test. Most of the commoners, upon seeing the tension between us, chose to leave this bath alone.

Great for me, but bad for them.

Calmly washing myself with the lavender soap, I ignored the resentful looks the fighters were giving me. Glares were all these men could give me in front of so many witnesses. It was either that, or they did not have the courage to attack me, fully knowing that my retaliation would be swift and brutal.

There were also other fighters, but they chose to ignore the heated display between us, though all the heat came from the four men.

By the time I was finished with my bath, nothing consequential had occurred, to my little disappointment. I had been hoping for a smidgen of amusement.

I guess the men were too afraid of the consequences. But I suppose I should give them some leeway, because fighting naked in the bathing area would have been uncomfortable, to say the least.

<><><><><>

The next highlight of this day occurred at night. I continued my conversation with the strange warrior, or rather, he had initiated it.

“The name is Ulric Blackwater. Rebel, mercenary, disowned son of a noble, and all-around lover. Of females, mind you, not males,” the warrior quipped, a grin plainly evident on his age-hardened handsome face.

“I am Verath, a wanderer.” I did not even hesitate before saying that last word, knowing that Ulric was a sharp man. Had I paused for a few seconds, I had no doubt that he would have registered my hesitation in his pale, blue eyes. It also made sense to say that I was a wanderer due to my strange appearance.

Blackwater. Now that was a familiar name.

My father, Falin Mead, had often used to trade with this noble family. They were a rich family whose estates were mainly located at the western region of Shail Kingdom, where the ocean met the border. Known as the Guardian of the West, the Blackwaters were a family of cunning merchants descended from pirates.

“I hear you are going to participate in the tournament preliminaries, Verath,” Ulric said, his pale blue eyes searching for an answer on my indifferent face.

From my wooden chair in the commons room, I swiveled my emerald eyes toward Alice Silver at the counter, meeting her soft brown eyes. I shot her a small questioning look.

Noticing my piercing green eyes boring into her, Alice had enough modesty to blush. She mouthed an apology at me, her small lips pouting at me instantly afterward, her brown eyes gaining a pitiable quality.

Her guilty look confirmed my suspicion that she had most likely told Ulric that I was going to be participating in the tournament. I suppose she had excitedly spread the news.

Given her fervent attitude toward me, I should have known this would happen. But in the end, it did not mattered much. By the time the tournament was over, I had no doubts as to what my reputation would become.

I turned back to Ulric Blackwater, meeting his eyes before confirming his statement. “Indeed, I am going to participate in the main tournament, since I need not undergo the preliminaries.”

Ulric hid his surprise well. He gave no indications that he was surprised to learn that I could skip ahead to the main tournament.

“You must be quite skilled then,” Ulric said, his eyes inspecting my body and the new longsword I had obtained from the grandmaster. “Let me make you an offer, Verath. I am looking for some more fighters to join my mercenary company and you would make an excellent addition. Come find me here again after the tournament is over.”

I gave Ulric a short, simple nod as my response.

“Very well. I hope I shall see you here again after the tournament since I have pressing matters elsewhere. You shall not see me at this inn again until the tournament is over.”

The mercenary warrior stood up from the chair and gave me a small nod as a farewell before leaving the inn at a brisk pace.

True to his words, I did not see Ulric again at the inn the next night. His offer had been interesting, but I knew that I would not be able to join his company. I had a vengeance to carry out.

<><><><><>

One Day Before the Main Tournament Begins:

The morning and afternoon of the day before the main tournament was uneventful. The only thing worth mentioning was the participants who had passed the preliminaries and would enter the main tournament. Their names, including the fighters who had passed the Test of Valor, and the order of the tournament matches were posted almost everywhere in the city.

The city of Asolance was in a fervor. The people could barely wait to see the fights and the bloodshed. They, especially the young men, were like hounds braying for blood.

My name was near the bottom of the list of contestants. The list was arranged by first names and I could recognize a few of the participants' last names. They came from the various noble families of Shail Kingdom.

There were thirty two people who would be fighting in the tournament at the arena located outside the city.

Judging from the names of the participants, the tournament would undoubtedly have favorites.

It was going to be an interesting tourney, especially since I had drawn the first match. It would take place early afternoon, and I was not the favorite—my opponent was. The reason I knew this? I had heard my opponent's name on the lips of everyone, whereas with my name, the people had only scratched their heads in confusion with a questioning movement of their mouths: “Who's Verath?”

Thus, the two days before the main tournament ended with the odds already against me. I could only chuckle in amusement at the upset I would soon make.

<><><><><>

“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen, I welcome you to the Tournament of the Wolf, where the winner will obtain a prize of a thousand gold coins and the reputation as the strongest warrior in the north. And a chance to meet the lovely eldest daughter of Baron Serle, our magnanimous host and ruler of the northern region of our fine kingdom,” the announcer shouted from the middle of the enormous circular arena, which seated thousands of spectators, both commoners and lords and ladies, though the richer people had better seating.

Even from such a long distance, the announcer’s voice reached across the whole arena. It even reached across to the waiting room where I was at, along with fifteen other fighters. The reason for the clarity of the voice was because of an enchanted device in the shape of a horn, which allowed the user to amplify his or her voice. It was an interesting display of magic, which I had never seen before.

It was similar to the six Astlan eldests' giving their compelling speech, but the compelling quality and magnitude of the voice was to a far lesser degree, the magic being far weaker.

“Without further ado, I give you the first match for today's tournament,” the announcer continued, the excitement barely repressed in his voice. “On one side, we have Verath, an unknown white-haired wanderer from a faraway land. And on the other side, we have one of the favorites to win the tournament, Sir Rowan Valterio, the Silver Knight.”

The announcer had finished his introductions. This was the cue for me to enter the arena. I would enter from this side, whereas my opponent would enter from the other side of the arena.

“Verath!” a guard yelled from the top of his lungs. “You may now enter the arena!”

I walked through the heavy twin doors, which were now opened just wide enough for a person to go through. The two guards gave me a nod of encouragement as I walked through the door and into the arena.

“Good luck, you will need it,” they both said.

The hard, earthen floor of the arena felt solid against my booted feet, hard and unyielding. I could hear the cheers from the crowd, the name of the Silver Knight foremost among the cheering. There were enthusiastic screams from many women, which even reached toward where I was at.

At the middle of the arena, there was a rectangular, white stone floor, its size large enough for both of us to comfortably battle each other.

I walked toward the stone platform and stood at an end. The announcer, a slim man in his twenties, was at the middle of the arena floor. He held a large horn in one hand and had a bright, excited smile plastered onto his face.

A small distance away from the perimeter of the platform, there were six grandmasters who were presiding over the match. These old, hard warriors sat altogether on cushioned, polished wooden chairs situated around a long table. At the far end of the table, I saw the short grandmaster who had gifted me the longsword. His taller brother was to his left side. There was also a white-robed man standing as still as stone behind the grandmasters.

On the other side of the platform, the Silver Knight was basking in the attention and cheers from the wild audience. He wore a suit of magnificent silver armor, which gave off a blinding sheen. The steel plate was intricately fashioned, sporting red enamels of vines encircling each other in a mesmerizing display of patterns.

His hair was a shocking blonde color, so light it was almost silver. His face was beautiful, delicately handsome, almost feminine in appearance. It was a face that would make women swoon and mothers croon. Combined with his slim body covered in slim silver armor, he looked lithe and supple, a knight whose main strength lied in being agile. In his right metal grip, he held a longsword with an intricate pattern and a small jewel embedded in the hilt; the length of the weapon reached almost four feet.

Contrary to my opponent, however, I was dressed in a borrowed suit of black armor along with the clothing the eldest had created for me underneath. I also wore a thin, plain black mask which covered the entirety of my face, permitting only my piercing green eyes and part of my mouth to be seen. My whole appearance from up to down, except for my white hair, screamed of blackness. Even my steel boots and greaves were black.

In my right, black gauntlet, I held a plain longsword of similar size and length to my opponent's. It had been a gift from the short grandmaster and the weapon was undoubtedly of superior quality, much better than my stolen short sword. If compared, it would be a pebble to a mountain.

The announcer carefully glanced, first at me, then at my opponent. “You both know the rules,” he said in his normal voice without the horn. “Whoever surrenders first, is rendered incapable of fighting, or the grandmasters deem you unable to fight, loses the match. Only killing blows shall not be allowed. There is also a mage gifted in healing magic waiting behind the grandmasters in case of serious wounds.”

The announcer then turned his attention to the crowd and switched to his amplified voice using the horn. “Now then, what you all have been waiting for. Let the first match of the tournament begin!”

The announcer went to the edge of the stone platform and jumped off, lightly landing on the earthen ground.

Now, it was only my opponent and I who were on the platform.

We inspected each other cautiously, his face and my face giving away nothing. My opponent did not choose to wear a helmet, most likely thinking that it would only impede his vision; fatal blows such as beheading were not allowed anyway, so it was a prudent decision.

We circled closer and closer, our steps mirroring each other, until we were just within distance of each other.

He made the first move, a quick step instantly closing the distance between us. Then the Silver Knight pivoted, his longsword swinging down at me, fully taking advantage of his greater height. The downward killing arc of the weapon was quick, faster than what I would have expected from a human.

I caught the blow, barely turning it. I had not been expecting such strength from a human. He had the strength comparable to that of three strong men.

Surprise flickered on the knight's face, but it only lasted for half a brief moment before he moved back and smoothly transitioned into another attack, this time coming from the side. I blocked it once more, but with greater difficulty since he had attacked at a weaker spot.

I tuned my dragon strength and speed to his until we were evenly matched. Were I to fully use my full strength, the fight would have been long over, but that would have been suspicious to the onlookers. I needed to keep a semblance of appearance that I was within the realms of human strength.

If I were to estimate, I had no doubts that I was much stronger than two dozen men combined and my speed, magnitudes faster than the average human.

The fight between us was not graceful. Neither was it beautiful or crude. I only moved with minimum efforts to match all his sword strokes. For all the Silver Knight's graceful and skillful attacks, I matched them all with my own minimalistic defense.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I could see the crowd was fixated, their silence speaking volumes of how mesmerizing the match was. Neither of us relented, each only focused on the rhythm of our motions, the Silver Knight attacking, while I defending.

It seemed an eternity as the two of us hammered at each other, the silence permeating the air, with only the ringing of our steel for sound.

The moment was finally broken as beads of sweat dripped down the face of Sir Rowan Valterio, the Silver Knight. He was lightly panting from our fighting and there was a look of wonder in his light-grey eyes, almost silver in appearance, as our longswords met again.

“Who are you?” he said, his voice a thin whisper painted by his light exhaustion and incredulity.

“Your defeat,” I replied, forcefully breaking his stance for the first time as I became the attacker and he the defender.

“Impossible,” he said, his voice straining under the pressure of my swing, “your strength is comparable to that of a master, perhaps even stronger than my commander.”

It was close. I could finally feel his last defenses stripping away, as my longsword pushed against his weapon for dominance.

Suddenly, the Silver Knight retreated backward, instantly creating a distance between us that would put him out of my reach. He shot an intense gaze, a mix of emotions which met my own calm, green eyes.

In a dramatic gesture, he slowly lifted his sword upward before finally bringing it back downward, the point of it touching the smooth stone. Then he turned his head to the side and shouted in a voice loud enough to reach the six grandmasters impassively watching the fight. “I concede defeat. He is my better.”

The Silver Knight turned toward me, the intense gaze still in his silver eyes. His small mouth curled into a tiny smile. “Perhaps we can spar with our weapons again, oh wanderer known as Verath. I expect a private, much more private location for our spar though, that is, if you agree.”

The knight in polished, silver armor then gave me a small wink and in long exaggerated movements attracting attention to his silver-blond long hair and to his slim posterior, gracefully flounced off of the stone platform, before finally going back into the waiting room in a normal gait.

I was a little surprised at what had just happened and how quickly it had happened. I also felt a little intrigued by his invitation, but mostly, I felt a sense of danger. I would definitely not be accepting his invitation.

And I almost didn't notice the announcer proclaiming my victory over my opponent amidst the cheering of the crowds, whose expectations of the winner had been overturned.

And perhaps I even felt a chill run down my spines. And perhaps even ghostly hands clutching at my privates.

<><><><><>

The words which the Silver Knight had said to me finally registered in my mind as I sat down in the waiting room, waiting for my next match. I asked a friendly looking guard some questions and obtained some relevant information of a surprising nature.

It seemed that the tournament hosted by Baron Serle only allowed aspiring knights and other fighting men. Strangers or travelers were also welcomed if they passed the test by the grandmasters, but most of them did not pass it.

Combined with the words the Silver Knight had said to me, it seemed as if knight commanders and people holding greater military positions were not allowed to participate in the tournament. It was done so in order to give the younger knights a chance to win.

These were some interesting revelations. I did know, in my past human life, that there were greater military positions than knights in Shail Kingdom, but I had never witnessed feats of their strength firsthand, only by telltales and rumors. This led me to believe that were warriors and knights who were more powerful than the Silver Knight I had faced. And he was a favorite also, to add.

I was snapped out of my musings by a guard. “Your second match will be up next, Verath!” the guard shouted.

By my calculations and since it was now time for my second match, I knew that there were only fifteen fighters left, excluding me. This meant that I only had four matches left to win before I was crowned champion of the tournament.

The familiar, amplified voice of the announcer came bursting through into the waiting room.

“Our final match, lords, ladies, and gentlemen, shall be the unknown wanderer, Verath, against another unknown man who styles himself as Prince. These two have quickly established themselves as the dark horses of the tournament, beating two of the favorites to win!”

Hearing my cue to enter the arena, I quickly went through the waiting room door. I went to stand up on the smooth stone platform and waited patiently for my opponent, who had just exited his side's waiting room.

Slim. Much slimmer than my first opponent, the Silver Knight, had been. That was my first thought upon seeing him.

With medium-length hair that blazed like fire and cascaded down to the sides of his small shoulders, Prince wore a slim full helmet, with the top ending in a jagged crown. The only openings on the helmet were the two slits for the eyes and the thin lines of slit at the lower area where the mouth and nose would be. In all, the white helmet made a sharp contrast to his scarlet armor, which tightly hugged to his body and was deliberately cut short at the arms to allow a wider range of motions.

In his gloved hands were twin short swords. The swords were fashioned with a wide base, thinning out to form a cruel, thin curve; the shape of the weapons left me no doubt that they were tools used for slashing, that they were for hacking off limbs and heads.

The scarlet armor clad warrior climbed to his side of the platform, ignoring everything else, his sole attention focused upon me. The slits for the eyes of his helmet were so thin that I could not even make out the color of his eyes. It made me wondered whether he could even see out of them.

“Let the match begin,” the announcer cried out, already removing himself from the platform.

My opponent did not even pause to inspect me before he came running at me, his twin curved swords held ready at his sides. When he came within reach of me, Prince jumped, shooting forth almost ten feet into the air, before twirling back down at me, a sword slash aimed at my head.

There was no hesitation as he tried to land a killing blow even though it would be against the rule of the tournament.

Very well, I thought, two can play at that game.

Knowing that my opponent was no ordinary fighter, I used the same amount of strength that I had used last match to deflect his downward slash on the side of my blade. My longsword connected with his curved short sword, steel ringing against steel.

The strength of my deflection held his light body up in the air for a short instant and in that amount of time, the scarlet warrior twirled a little toward his right side and swung his other sword downward to the side of my head.

The flexibility of his body was almost inhumane, his slim, lightly clothed arms like snakes striking at its prey.

If his other sword swing was connected, I knew that I would no longer have a head remaining. That is, if I was a normal human, but right now, I was suppose to be a normal human so it would be a very bad idea if the grandmasters found out that a weapon could not cut through my neck.

I pushed his curved sword back, overpowering him, the recoil causing him to fly backward into the air a short distance. But the scarlet warrior landed gracefully with a back-flip, not even the slightest bit unbalanced.

I could feel his gaze from the helmet even though I could barely make out his eyes. He adopted a cautious stance, slowly shuffling toward me, one step by one step. Then we traded blows, my longsword meeting his short curved swords, which came at me from a variety of directions I would have thought was impossible to be done. There were a few times I even needed to retreat backward for fear of being cut unexpectedly by his simultaneous slashes.

We were both trapped in our own bubble of time as we traded blows, a repetition of acrobatics and formless swings from him, while I stopped them with cold efficiency. My life was not in danger, so I did not feel the cold anger come over me, putting me into a state of focus.

This repetition of blows went on and on, the scarlet warrior never tiring even after jumping around and around me like a wild, graceful animal. His attacks were fierce and came from blind spots. Were I a normal human warrior, I would have been long dead from the fierceness and the suddenness of his attacks.

I felt a change come over his demeanor as he retreated once more after a useless attempt at dismembering me. Then he sprinted at me, fast and formless like the wind.

He swung a sword toward my side and as I blocked it with my own longsword, another swing with his free weapon followed. It was aimed at my other side.

I was in a troublesome situation, my weapon still engaged with one of his twin curved swords. I moved closer into his space, my free hand grabbing his slim forearm, and stopping his swing midway. I had moved faster than he could attack me. He had made the mistake of engaging me fro too long and our fight was getting tedious.

We were at a standstill, our faces close to each other. We were both about the same height, with me just a little taller. Through the slits of his helmet, I could make out two violet eyes peering at me from the holes. They were unfazed, not even the slightest bit shocked by the display of my speed.

He kicked me then. But I had been expecting an attack of that nature. I blocked it by pushing myself closer toward him, my leg meeting his own, until our plated bodies were almost touching each other.

A small grin formed on my face as I attempted to surprise my opponent, partly out of amusement and partly out of pride. Okay, I lie, it was all out of amusement.

It was a good thing that the warrior had chosen not to wear any vambraces or protections. It would have been alarming to see a human crush steel with just his grip.

I tightened my grip on his left forearm, putting more of my strength into it. His purple eyes winced at the pain, but he still had a firm hold on his weapon. My grin widened as I put even more strength into my grip and I even shook his arm a little to hint at what I wanted him to do.

His eyes, though pained, were still determined enough to not let go of his curved sword. I pressed harder, almost enough to crush his bones. The scarlet warrior finally relented, letting go of his sword. It fell onto the smooth, white stone floor, clattering loudly.

I did not relent even though he had done what I had wanted. I gripped his left forearm tighter, until I could almost feel his bones creaking against my hand. His piercing scream jolted me.

“Owwww! You meanie!” the scarlet warrior screamed, his voice soft and feminine in nature. “You should let go of my arm now that I have done what you wanted!”

Prince, or rather, the unknown female let out a small sniffle of pain.

I was so surprise at discovering that my opponent was a female that I instantly relented my grip on her left forearm. I was not surprised enough, however, to let go of my caution and fully release my hold on her.

“You can let go of my arm now,” Prince said, her voice a little lower now that she was no longer in pain. “I will surrender to you now, you monster. How in the world are you even this strong!”

Her words sounded sincere enough and I relented, releasing my grip on her arm.

As soon as I did that, the scarlet warrior pulled back her outstretched arm and drew back her other sword, which was still engaged with my longsword. Prince then stepped back a short distance away, and removed her helmet, holding it with one hand to her slim waist.

Helmetless, Prince revealed a delicate face which was accentuated by her high cheekbones. Strands of fiery red hair fell down like a cascade over her forehead and part of her face, before brushing her red shoulder plates. Her large, slit-like eyes, now that I could finally see them better, were violet with a twinge of golden in it. It was a rare color and made her look very exotic.

Her thin eyebrows were shaped into deceivingly perfect arches following the curves of her slit-like violet eyes, and her lips were small and pursed into a frown. The two eyes stared at me with a mix of emotions. I could only make out anger, and perhaps annoyance.

“I shall avenge this mark of dishonor,” she said in a soft voice that only I could hear, “I shall stalk you like a cat preying on a mouse, until all your dreams have turned into ashes, until all your sleeping moments have turned restless, and until I am satisfied that I have beaten you. Know your assassin's name. I am Veena, the one who will unmask you, green-eyes.” Her mixed gaze turned very intense as she looked into my eyes. “My name shall be the last word you utter."

The scarlet warrior then threw the sword in her hand. The weapon clattered noisily onto its twin, until both weapons were lying in a crossed position. She put her helmet on and turned backward, never looking back as she exited the arena.

“Ummmm...I do believe we have a winner,” the announcer said in an unsure voice, looking at the grandmasters for confirmation. There was a look of relief on his face, before he continued in an excited voice amidst the cheers. “Lords, ladies, and gentlemen, another round of applause for Verath, our masked wanderer and the black horse of the tournament!”

I ignored the various cheers from the crowd and did not even bother to look at the highest and most isolated part of the arena where the Serle family was spectating from (I could not see them with my human eyes for the distance was too far away and the spectators, too many). Instead, I looked upon the two crossed swords with a slightly wondrous look for a short moment, before turning around and exiting the arena.

It seems to me that I had gotten all the strange and weird opponents. It made me think that my luck was a play-toy for the whores of fate.

And now I had a beautiful red-haired assassin steadfast on killing me to restore her stained honor and pride. It was going to be an amusing tournament, and I had three more opponents to beat. Perhaps, I thought with mirth, I just might have three more assassins following me after the tournament was over.

It was quite an intriguing contemplation of my future.

Volume 2 (Chapter 5)