Volume 2, Chapter 5: The Winner of the Tournament

Back in the waiting room, I found myself under seven envious glares, two of which came from women warriors and five of which came from the men, a mix of fighters and aspiring knights. They had most likely heard my victory once more, and were envious that my match had taken only a short while.

After the matches of my seven peers in the waiting room were over, there were only eight contestants left, including the ones in the other waiting room. This meant that I would only need to defeat three more opponents to be the winner of the tournament.

A lot of time had passed since the start of the tournament and it was late afternoon now. When the last of the matches finished and I saw the victorious fighter returning back to the waiting room with a smile on his face, I heard the voice of the announcer not long after. 

“Lords, ladies, and gentlemen, it has been more than two long hours since the start of the tournament, but no worries, it will soon be over now. There are only eight contestants remaining, so only seven matches are left until the winner is determined. Your patience has been commendable, so without further ado, the first of the seven matches: Verath, the black horse, versus Aaros of the Iron Knight Fourth Division.”

That was my cue to leave and I headed out of the waiting room, standing again on the familiar white, stone floor of the arena, facing my opponent.

Aaros of the Iron Knight Fourth Division was a giant among giants. Standing at at more than seven feet tall, he was close to under eight feet. With massive, broad shoulders and arms and legs that were as thick as tree trunks, the giant carried a weapon that matched his height.

It was a sword, a behemoth of a weapon, much, much larger than a normal greatsword though. The length of the sword was equal to that of a tall man, and probably weighed as much. To top it off, he held it with only one hand. 

Aaros wore a thick set of plate armor which must have weighed as much as another tall man. It was a wonder the knight could still move, a testament to his brutish strength.

He wore no helmet and his small, brown eyes were like a small child's on a grown man. They were out of proportion on his squarish jaw and rugged face. He was not one you would call handsome, or even average, though I had a feeling a brutish female animal would have found him a choice mate.

That hypothetical scenario almost made me chuckle inside.

The announcer soon started the battle and quick as a flighty bird, he jumped off the white platform arena, most likely not wanting to get in the way of the giant charging at me.

I was not one to be daunted by size or strength, his bulging muscles leaving no doubt as to how strong he was. After all, the strength of a human compared to a dragon's, even in hum.an form, left quite a margin.

And though the behemoth iron knight was quick, despite his size, his speed was no match when compared to my two previous opponents.

I easily met his charge and dodged the huge arc his greatsword made when he swung it. I jumped high, easily well over the swing of his weapon.

A colossal mailed fist came shooting at me, intent on crushing my face.

I reacted immediately, my longsword meeting his fist in a protective crescent. The ring of steel on steel resounded across the arena and his mailed fist was knocked away with only a small scratch on the thick mail covering his fist.

I didn't stop at that, however. I used his greatsword as a foothold as I came back down from the jump. From there, I made a giant leap. My poleyn covered knee, part of my greave, connected with his face. A sickening crunch resulted as I broke his nose and flattened it. The impact of my knee made him almost lose his balance, but his heavy weight just barely held him to the ground.

The iron knight howled in anger and pain, his face a bloody mess, some of the blood covering my plated kneecaps.

I didn't stop to wait for his retaliation. I moved forward as soon as I hit the white, stone ground. And with two hands gripped tightly onto the hilt of my longsword, I swiped at his legs. 

My weapon met some resistance as it hit his greaves, but Aaros soon lost his balance, already shaken from when his nose broke.

The iron knight hit the ground spectacularly, his heavy armor smashing into the stone ground. The crash loosened his grip on his greatsword and it clattered to a stop just beside him. 

Not even giving the knight a chance to recover, I strode to his right side and kicked at his unprotected face with a metal-booted foot. The iron knight grunted even louder in pain when I kicked at his face once more.

I could feel his teeth come loose and the curvature of his face becoming an ugly caricature. One of his arms hovered protectively over his face and his other free arm tried to find purchase at my legs.

I didn't wait to give him a chance, smoothly swerving to avoid his grabbing. The knight was still intent on not giving up, so he gave me no choice but to continue my ruthless beating.

Whenever I found his face unprotected, I kicked at him. Once, twice, thrice. The count did not went that high, thankfully, before the giant knight slumped into unconsciousness from the pain and the headache I had given him.

There was a momentary silence as I stood beside the fallen knight. Then I went turned around and went back to the waiting room with purposeful strides. It was only when I came near the entrance to the room that I heard the announcer proclaim my victory over Aaros of the Iron Knight Fourth Division.

My next opponent was weak, barely coming close in terms of power to the Silver Knight and the assassin known as Veena. But I suppose I should at least tell you his name, for he lasted longer than Aaros.

For the semifinal, I was faced against Freon, a heavyset fighter who used a double-bladed axe. He was more agile and less powerful than the knight, but more troublesome due to his speed and unorthodox moves.

For the last match of the tournament, I faced Cyrak Bloodfist, a bald six foot tall man who wielded no weapons, except for his two fists which were equipped with spiked gauntlets that reached upward, covering almost half of his arms.

He wore light leather armor and he was quick, even faster than Veena, the assassin woman. All of my attacks were easily deflected with his white gauntlets.

In the end, however, I had exhausted the bald man and kept on striking at him, until he was finally forced to surrender, his leather armor tattered and in shreds, along with a few bruises on his face when I had retaliated with a free fist.

The six grandmasters and the announcer crowned me champion as soon as the final match was over. They also told me to take off my mask, so that the crowd could see their champion's face. The only remark they made upon seeing my face were some praises along this nature: “Those green eyes of yours are quite piercing.” 

I also received a bank note, which I could trade in at any banks in Shail Kingdom for a sum of 1000 gold coins. 

I was also told by the announcer that I was a lucky man, for the eldest daughter and Baron Serle were interested in seeing me, an unexpected and unknown fighter who was not even one of the favorites.

If I can remember, I believed these were the sly announcer's whispered words, “You are a lucky man, you white-haired bastard. I do believe Lady Iona Serlel is interested in you. Why, the way she was bouncing around excitedly, almost makes me think she would straddle you at first sight. I can't figure out why she would be excited at meeting an unknown person when there are many more powerful suitors for her hand in marriage. Lady Luck must be holding you in favor, eh?”

Thus, with some added congratulatory remarks from the short grandmaster, I headed toward Baron Serle's manor houses the next day. 

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Inside a luxurious room with a dozen fierce and impassive-looking guards surrounding the perimeter, I met Baron Serle and his eldest daughter.

I gave them both brief bows, first toward Baron Serle in deference to his position as father and master of this house.

“Baron Serle,” I greeted halfway through my bow.

“And you must be the lovely Lady Iona,” I said, recovering from my second bow.

Lady Iona proffered out a slim, elegant left hand, just the right amount of paleness to be considered beautiful. 

I did not mistake her gesture and took her left hand in mine, giving it a quick, light kiss, not too long and not too short, since I did not wanted to disrespect the lady and anger the father. 

I bowed again for the third time, this time toward both nobles. There was a smile hidden underneath my exterior as thoughts of vengeance swirled in my mind. It was time to find out who had killed my father and me. 

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{ Ten Months Later }

I stood at the head of an army twenty thousand strong with my three “wives” riding beside me on their respective horses.

The twenty thousand men and women I was leading worshiped the ground I walked on, though granted, a few of them feared me. I had put the fear of steel in them when they had challenged me and for the most part, they were now docile and obedient.

The opposing commanders and captains had reconciled themselves into being led by a white-haired stranger with some needing only very little persuasion from a steel sword, and a mailed fist along with quiet threats that would have made them castrate themselves as a better alternative. 

How it had gotten to this point in just ten mere months still bewildered me. It had all occurred so quickly after I had won the tournament and had eradicated my father's killers. I had also found the time to also eradicate the dark elves and goblins who had killed me and also the time to root out the ones who had murdered Rhea of the Wanderers. It took some time finding them, but in the end, I managed.

Faced against the opposing army, I realized that now was not a very good time to reflect on what had occurred.

I pointed my enchanted longsword of dark sable at the opposing army a distance away. 

There were no need for words. The time for battle had come, and my pointed sword signaled the start of it.

The herald beside me saw the unmistakable gesture and started blowing furiously into the enchanted horn, further signaling the start of the battle for the men and women who could not see their commander—who could not see me—in the front. I had grown taller in these ten months, my height now six feet, a far cry from my original five feet and six inches.

In a set of enchanted black armor with a winged helmet that was opened in the front, I started charging toward the opposing army, my black destrier, a behemoth of a horse which would have put the stuff of nightmares into men, galloping furiously at my behest. 

The blood of men and beasts would dye the ground red today.

And I would be the first to spill it.

Volume 2 (Chapter 6)