Calder, it seems, was right; had it not been for Milius’s time in the forest, he would have been dead within seconds. His opponent advanced with surprising speed, considering his size, and before Milius had fully gotten his bearings, he was standing in front of him, ready to swing his sea-urchin maces. Something clicked within Milius himself, just as it had when he had faced the harpy in the forest a little over a day ago, allowing him to react so quickly that he managed to evade being hit.

He leapt out of the way just as his opponent struck, slamming his maces into the ground where he had stood only a split second ago. He broke into a roll and unsheathed Palpatunde as he regained his footing. The amethyst was glowing faintly, as though the blade too could sense the urgency of the situation. In another second, his silvery, amethyst-plated armour appeared, along with his shield and, to his amazement, a helmet and visor.

He had no idea how, exactly, but he knew that now, finally, the armour was truly complete. His vision was now tinted lilac by the crystalline visor, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about headshots anymore. He felt a little more confident now that his armour had appeared and his sword was in his hands, but the King’s words were deeply bothering him.

He couldn't kill anyone there, which was fine, as he didn't plan to anyway, but unfortunately his opponents could, which put him at three severe disadvantages: for one thing, it meant that he would have to pull back on his hits, as too severe a strike from Palpatunde would likely vaporize his opponent. Secondly, his opponents were not burdened by this restriction, meaning they could come at him as viciously as they liked. The third issue was of course, his stamina. Even if he made it through this enemy, two more fully-charged foes were waiting for him, while he himself would likely be drained.

He couldn't see how he was going to win, but he would have to figure something out —

“What was that?” he said aloud, his thoughts interrupted by a loud, ominous swishing noise. His challenger grinned maliciously and looked up. Milius followed his gaze and with a gasp of horror, saw that one of the large droplets of water was now hanging lower than the rest.

In another second, it broke away like an apple escaping from the branches of its tree, and began to fall. A thousand pound mass of water descending at an alarming speed to crash to the ground at Milius's feet — this should be fun.

Milius turned on his heel and put on a burst of speed, racing as fast as he could to the other side of the arena, but the droplet fell long before he had even reached halfway. It exploded, sending a tidal wave of water that swept him off his feet. Milius sank beneath the surface; luckily, his visor seemed able to filter air through the amethyst plating, allowing him to breathe without needing slits for air. The visor kept the water out, but could do nothing to stop him from being splattered against the rather solid sand walls. Had it not been for his armour, he would certainly have been crushed on impact.

Wincing all over, he managed to get to his feet a few moments later. He had managed to keep a firm grasp on his sword, and the armour had absorbed most of the force, but he had no time to be thankful. Something strange was happening…. The arena was now completely dry, save for a few puddles here and there, which quickly disappeared, leaving the sand as smooth and dry as it had been before the match had started….

“Dear me, I forgot to mention,” boomed the voice of the king, in a tone of mock embarrassment. “The arena, unlike most parts of the castle, is allowed to remain free of water. We found that the fighting moves more fluidly — and is thus more entertaining — when our warriors are allowed to battle in a clear space. But, we are still sea creatures. We need the water. So every so often one of the bubbles will detach itself from the ceiling and fall, making our spectators more comfortable, and reinvigorating our warriors.”

Reinvigorating? As this horrible thought crossed his mind, Milius glanced at his opponent. Unlike Milius, he had not even been budged by the water; his light blue skin was glistening now, his damp hair matted to his skin. He looked fiercer than ever before.

“Carry on!” said King Phontus.

The warrior dashed forward, moving, as Milius had feared, faster than earlier. Before he closed the distance however, he hefted one of his maces. The urchin contracted, and a second later it swelled, spitting a barrage of thick, purplish spikes. A yelp escaped Milius’s lips; he raised his shield and hid behind it, listening to the dull splintering sounds that were made as the spikes ripped into the surface. He glanced down; a dark liquid was dripping onto the sand, disappearing as the water had done.... Poison...?

WHAM!

His moment of distraction had cost him; the mace collided with the shield, sending him stumbling backward. His oppenent launched himself forward and began to swing wildly — or so it appeared at first glance. Upon further inspection, Milius realized that each swing, despite being fast and heavy, was precise and well directed. He seemed to be launching his attacks in a specific pattern, forcing Milius to create a pattern of defense of his own, so as not to be hit. This continued for a few moments, but unfortunately, Milius saw the smirk before he saw the ploy.

The sea man raised his right mace, ready to swing, and Milius automatically raised his left arm to shield, but this was what he had wanted — the man swerved upward with his left mace with a blinding speed, knocking Milius’s shield arm away as he retracted his right arm, and stamped his enormous foot in Milius’s chest, sending him flying into the wall.

Palpatunde clattered out of his grasp as he let out a moan of pain, and he tried to raise his shield again, but his enemy launched his fiercest attack yet; his left mace hit the shield and shattered it upon impact, leaving twinkling shards of amethysts trailing through the air, and sending a shock so powerful through Milius that he jerked upward. But the man was not done yet. Before Milius's feet could even touch the ground again the right mace swung forth, smashing the left side of Milius’s helmet. He swayed, then crumpled, falling face-first onto the sand.

The stand erupted in a gale of applause as the watching group of men cheered for their victor. Loudest of all was King Phontus’s voice, which Milius could hear even over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. Once again the armour had siphoned the blunt of the blows, but Milius was still in a great deal of pain. He had lost.... His opponent was either going to turn and finish him in front of the crowd, or he would simply do nothing, and Milius would end up imprisoned or sentenced to death anyway.

He had failed.... Failed himself, Calder, Sirius, Minerva, and worst of all, he had failed Lumeus. Who knew what the king would do to him once Milius was out of the way….

It seemed that the Elders were right to think that Calder had made the wrong choice after all, Milius thought bitterly … He was going to die, alone and disgraced…. What would happen afterwards? Would Marlise worry that he had not yet returned and inform the other Knights? But even if they did come, how would they manage to navigate the water? They couldn't breathe underwater any more than he could. Would the naiads gift them the same bubbles of air that they had granted him, just so they could lead them to find out about his death? So that they themselves could die, too…?

He found himself wishing suddenly that that strange voice would speak to him at the moment, tell him what to do. Or at least keep his company. He didn't want to die alone….

No! a voice in his head, though not the one he had hoped for, said defiantly. He wasn't going to die, not here, and certainly not like *this*, flat on his face at the feet of the enemy…. Minerva was counting on him. Calder was counting on him. He still had to find a way to befriend Lumeus, to go off on his official journey as a fully-fledged Knight….

And as the thoughts came flooding into his mind, so the pain seemed to lessen, so that by now he could actually move.... He pushed himself up slowly, quietly…. The small group of Phontus and his subjects was still roaring. His opponent was still flexing. No one had noticed him … nor did they seem to notice the orb of water slowly being lowered. They were making too much noise …

Milius braced himself, digging his fingers and heels into the ground so as not to be swept away again, and he waited …

BOOM.

The massive explosion of water flooded the arena. He saw it crashing down on his opponent and as it headed for him, he took a deep breath and tensed…. He felt as though his limbs were screaming in agony, begging him to stop resisting, just as they had done at the Knighting Ceremony … but just as he had done then, he held on…. And in a few moments, the water faded entirely from the ring. The man was still standing firm in place, but, miraculously, Palpatunde had been washed within arm's reach….

Phontus and the crowd were screaming louder than ever … his opponent's back was still turned.... This was his chance….

As fast as he could, he snatched up the sword and plunged it into his foe’s ankle. The crowd went silent as abruptly as though Milius had suddenly been struck deaf.... The mace-wielder turned slowly, stunned disbelief etched into every harsh line of his face ... A second later, his enormous hands were clasped around Milius’s throat and dangling him in the air, his expression now a snarl.

He was choking the very life out of Milius, but he couldn't let himself be beaten. He held on, struggling to keep himself conscious, and he waited … Had it failed again…? No.... The man's grip had slackened. Milius peeled open his eyes and saw that his opponent had gone very pale. His face was beaded with sweat now, and for one long second, Milius saw confusion in his eyes…. Then he swayed and crashed to the ground, his stubby fingers slipping from around Milius’s neck.

Ignoring the pain in his throat, Milius dashed forward and pulled the sword free of his ankle before he faded into dust. Blue blood (of course, Milius thought bitterly) was seeping from the wound, but the sword’s surface was completely clear, gleaming more brightly than ever before. The sword was vibrating with the energy humming inside of it.... He looked around. Every face looked deeply shocked. There was silence for a time … Then the bars of an entrance slid up and two of Phontus’s guards dashed in with a stretcher of thickly wrapped seaweed. They retrieved the fallen warrior and bustled out of the ring, and suddenly, the audience broke into wild applause, louder even than his opponent had gotten....

“Interesting,” said Phontus, who no longer looked disbeliving but was watching Milius closely. “Very interesting…. The challenger is victorious!” he boomed. “Onto the second round! The next fighter, please enter the ring!”