Chapter 5: The Second Round

“I hope you can appreciate the significance of this act,” said Berholm, leading Noah through the palace corridors while carrying a stool. It was the evening after the first round of tournament fights, and a deal had to be honored.

“Yes, I appreciate and understand. You needn’t worry about me.”

“Between your crimes against this country and Valon’s thievery, you’re lucky to even be allowed in the palace.”

“Yes, yes, you keep reminding me. Do you expect me to change my mind about this? To suddenly decide I’m not worthy of such a high honor? You’re a man of your word, so stop acting like you’re considering betraying me, unless, of course, you want me to never trust you.”

Berholm grunted in response. “We’re here.”

They entered a corridor flanked by guards, all standing at the ready. At the end of the passage was a large metal door like the entrance to a bank vault. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all made of a different material from the brick and stone corridors of the castle. It was seamless and solid, resembling obsidian glass, and it strangely reflected sound and energy.

“Sir Berholm, who is this?” one guard asked.

“A fellow knight, here to examine the relics, under my supervision, of course.”

“This is highly unorthodox.”

“I understand, but he has received permission. Now, all of you, leave us.”

The guards departed, and Berholm faced the door. An incomplete line of runes ran down the middle, with several dials on either side like safe tumblers, etched with more runes rather than numbers.

“Turn away, if you would,” said Berholm. Noah obliged, or his clone did. Noah didn’t want to miss the process.

Getting up on the stool, Berholm began turning the dials, each adding a rune to the sequence. It was similar to a math problem, full of variables that had to be solved. Finally, the runes lit up, and several gears and mechanics could be heard activating inside, opening the door.

“We’re standing in Enochian ruins, I presume?”

“Yes, the castle was built atop it. Little remains of the original structure, but whatever great cataclysm happened here before, how fitting that a vault would survive and be left behind? Now, let’s be quick about this.”

The vault was split into two halves, one side lined with shelves and display cases holding numerous artifacts. The relics included gem-encrusted weapons and magic tools, vases and art pieces, numerous scrolls and books, and various other trinkets made with bizarre materials and enchanted with spells. The other side of the vault hosted a stack of gold bars, a few chests full of coins, and various gems and metals. Valon was responsible for several missing relics, but it was the tumultuous events of the past few years that resulted in this modest treasury.

“These are some of the oldest and most sacred items in the country, far too valuable to be put on display in the palace. Unfortunately, Valon left with the most important pieces.”

“He did the same thing in Sylphtoria, but I created replacement pieces to rectify the theft. If you supply me with materials, I will fill these open spaces with treasures of similar value.”

“I’ll consider it. For now, just do what you came here to do.”

Berholm was short on patience, so Noah wasted no time and went to work. He picked the most interesting relic and pulled out a deck of spell cards, laying them out as if playing a game.

“Chemical Analysis.”

It was the same technique he used when he studied the Pack’s technology in Welindar. A magical circle appeared, displaying a list of the elements and compounds written in runic form. Noah took out a notebook and scribbled down the key points. Just like the Pack tech, what drew his attention were the exotic materials that existed beyond the field of chemistry. All matter conducted mana in some form or fashion, but two samples of the same material could have drastically different levels depending on their origins. A wand made from an Utheric tree would pale in comparison to a wand from a Sylphtorian tree. Magical radiation or residue, whatever it could be called, clung to materials and determined how powerful they were.

He also studied the runic formulations and their syntax. Runes were the same in every country, but different cultures discovered different ways of making them interconnect. The whole time Noah worked, Berholm never looked away, not for a moment, but watching Noah fulfill his task eventually dulled the daggers shooting from his eyes. That said, any time Noah made a sudden or unpredicted move, he’d tense up, ready to jump into battle, such as when Noah paused his work to examine a small chandelier. It was adorned with various jewels of different types and colors.

“This piece here, would you consider selling it to me?”

“What are you talking about? This is the royal vault, not a shop.”

“Name any price, and I’ll pay it.”

“Why that piece?”

“See these darkish gems here? They’re meruleum, specifically tralt jewels.”

Meruleum gems were a unique form of matter that was both crystalline and metallic, and, depending on their type, were often involved in creating magic tools. It could bend and refract light, but flex like steel to absorb impacts without cracking and conduct energy. Avenium fit in this category, same as enhancement gems, and just like them, these tralt jewels were an exceptionally powerful material for magic. Looking around, Noah saw many pieces encrusted with meruleum gems.

“When I was in Welindar, I searched high and low for gems like this. They’re exactly what I need to make ideal weapons for fighting the Profane. I’ll pay you three times its weight in diamonds.”

“It’s not up to me to sell it. Besides, how do I know you aren’t just telling me what I want to hear?”

“You want to take that risk? When the Profane make their move, and people start dying, people who could have been saved, are you going to say, “At least that dusty chandelier that never sees the light of day is still safe in the vault”? Look, just let me turn them into something useful, and once the Profane are gone, I’ll have no need for them, and you can have them back with even more provenance than before. They’ll go right back to sitting here in the dark, forgotten by everyone, but now with the added fame of being used to defeat the greatest threat to the world. For that matter, I’ll also buy any powerful materials you have in the treasury at well above market price.”

Berholm growled. “I’ll pass on your request to His Majesty. For now, stick to what you originally came here for.”

Noah resumed his work, examining the other artifacts. There were other pieces he wished to buy, but that would have to wait. “While I have you here, there is something I want to discuss. Have you heard of someone called ‘the Liege’ by any chance?”

“Of course. Lupin was sending updates back to the kingdom on his progress in Welindar, and warned us of someone working with the Profane.”

“Not just working with them. Both the beastman insurgents in Welindar and their Profane backers were being funded and supplied by the Liege, and it was he who desired a fiend army that would destroy this country. Whoever he is, he’s clever, rich, and powerful, and he’s subverting this country from under your nose.”

“Yes, I’ve been trying to track him down. I’ve found faint traces of his actions here and there, but whoever he is, he’s used many middlemen as degrees of separation to keep me from following the trail. The list of suspects is surprisingly long. I’ve been speaking with numerous guests coming to watch the tournament, all of them various nobles and businessmen capable of acting as the Liege.”

“Well, let me know if you have an update or need help with your investigation. I suppose now would be a good time to ask: What are your thoughts on Galvin? Has he really changed?”

“It seems he has. He’s not the impetuous young man he was at the academy.”

“Impetuous is too kind a word for what he was.”

“Why does this concern you?”

“Because whoever the Liege is, there is the strong possibility that destroying Colbrand wasn’t his actual goal.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it, a massive army marches on Colbrand right after the king dies, and here comes Galvin, conveniently wielding the power to control a weapon that’s been out of commission for centuries. It’s too perfect. You need to consider the likelihood that Galvin taking the throne was part of the Liege’s plan.”

“You think Galvin was behind the attack?”

“The Liege has been aiding the beastmen and Profane for years. More likely, Galvin’s simply a pawn, with the Liege soaking in whatever benefits he gets from Galvin being in charge. At best, Galvin is ignorant of how he’s being used. At worst, he’s collaborating with the Liege, and there is a lot more blood on his hands than you’re aware of.”

“This is a troubling theory, very troubling.”

“Either the Liege is trying to destroy this country, or he’s willing to jeopardize it for his own gain. Both are concerning possibilities. Anyway, I’ve gotten enough information from these relics for now, but I’d like to return tomorrow.”

“Very well. Keep up the good work in the arena, and I’ll bring you back.” Thus, Noah collected his things and left with Berholm, and the heavy vault door closed behind them. He met up with Shannon in the main entryway of the palace, waiting to bring him back home.

“‘Till tomorrow then,” Noah said, bidding Berholm farewell.

Shannon assumed her centaur form, and Noah climbed onto her back. They began the return journey to Valia’s home down the dark city streets. The roads were empty, everyone having gone home, and unlike previous years, the sounds of evening battle were nonexistent. Every potential reveler had fought in the tournament and satiated their bloodlust for the day. Still, the citizens knew to clear the streets at night, so close to Knight’s Day.

“So, did they have anything good?” Shannon asked.

“A few pieces caught my eye at first glance, but I won’t know for sure until I examine them further. It would be great if I could make more anti-Profane weapons.”

Shannon giggled. “I remember, after Lupin beat Kaisen, that month you spent trying to make a bomb that would only hurt fiends. I kept hearing explosions from your room, and I’d see you with your face covered in soot and your hair a mess.”

“Yeah, I have a long and bad history of tinkering with bombs. Honestly, the reason I don’t use them very often in this world is because of all my bad memories of losing eyebrows and fingers in blasts gone wrong. In a few past lifetimes, if you were to try and shake my hand, it would be like holding a flipper.”

Shannon’s resulting laughter was cut short as Noah suddenly lurched forward, caused by an arrow striking him in the back. Fortunately, his wyvern coat and the titanium plating underneath stopped it from inflicting any real harm and protected him from his arrow curse. It seemed that the next bounty hunter in line had stepped up to the gallows.

“My Lord!” Shannon exclaimed, realizing he had been hit. She ducked into a nearby alley to check on him.

“Not to worry. At worst, I’ll have a bruise the next morning. But for someone to land a hit like that without me sensing them, they must either be excellent at stealth or shooting from a distance.” Noah slid off Shannon’s back. “I’m going to deal with this. You head back home, and I’ll be there shortly.”

“Shouldn’t I stay with you?”

“I’ll be fine. If anything, I’m too safe with you. I’d rather nip this in the bud, and they’re less likely to come close if you’re here. Besides, I’d hate for my sweet mare to get hurt.”

Shannon smiled and kissed him. “Good luck,” she said before leaving his side.

Noah sent his clone back out into the street. “All right, let’s get this over with,” he hollered through the illusion. It drew its phantasmal sword and swung it around, trying to bait his enemy. This time, Noah heard them coming, three arrows whistling through the air. They passed right through his clone, but in the dark of night, it would look like they’d simply failed to wound him. “You missed! Do better.”

More arrows started raining down in rapid succession. Then the angles started changing, partially due to the assailant changing their location, but the mana glowing along the shafts told Noah that magic was altering their trajectories. Still, he kept up the façade with his clone, making it seem like he was deflecting the arrows with his sword or side-stepping around them. Finally, he saw the archer approach from the end of the street.

“You’re certainly making me work for my money,” the hooded man said as he nocked another arrow.

“So, assassin, reveler, or bounty hunter?” Noah asked through his clone.

The man raised his bow, looking down the shaft of the arrow. “Is there any difference?” He released the arrow, sending it flying right through the clone. “That’s impossible,” he hissed.

“The difference is that if you’re an assassin, I might be convinced to spare your life in exchange for information on who hired you.” As Noah spoke through his clone, he, while invisible, pulled out his bow and shot the man with an arrow. It struck him in the stomach, bringing him to his knees. “But if you’re simply going after the Fain Morgan bounty, or just a reveler quenching his bloodlust, then there is nothing interesting you can tell me. Is there anything interesting you can tell me?”

The wounded man, realizing he had lost, raised his hands. “Please, I’ll pay you whatever you want!”

“I’ll take that as a no.” Noah shot him in the center of the chest, ending his life. He searched the body for anything of value or interest and then resumed his journey home. Either a knight or soldier would come across the body and remove it, or the stray dogs would get a free meal.

The next day brought the second of eight rounds of fights, and the spectators were hungry for violence. Half of the initial combatants had been culled down to 128, and with each round, the difference between the weak and the strong would be redefined.

Noah had been given another list of church agents, and just like before, it was up to him and his illusory sniper rifle to take them down. From his perch, he watched his target enter the ring, a man named Bower wearing a chainmail shirt but no weapons. His opponent, Ilm, wielded an axe already wrapped in mana, and upon the beginning of the match, he charged towards Bower with a roar of fury. He swung his axe with lethal strength, but Bower launched himself to the side, propelled through the air with explosions igniting against his palms. Ilm chased after him, unperturbed by the weight of his weapon and swinging wildly. Regardless, Bower kept his distance with one jet burst after another, using his hands like rocket thrusters.

Bower hadn’t used this power in his earlier fight. If anything, he narrowly survived by the skin of his teeth, pulling off a win with pure dumb luck. At least, that’s what the audience was supposed to think. He made himself look weak earlier so that everyone would bet against him in this match, meaning a bigger payout for the church. At least that was the plan, but it was Noah’s job to turn the tables. Unfortunately, much like Ilm, Noah was struggling to get a lock on Bower.

Picking off moving targets was part of a sniper’s job, but Bower’s agility was something else. With each burst of fire from his hands, he could launch himself in any direction he wanted, even bouncing high over Ilm’s head. It was impressive, not just the speed and distance he could cross, but his resilience to inertia. As a former pilot, Noah knew that starting, stopping, and changing direction so quickly exacted a heavy toll on the body. With momentum like that, every G force experienced was like slamming into a brick wall.

With all of Bower’s rapid and random movements, trying to shoot him was like hitting a zipping house fly with a rubber band, and Noah was running out of time. After dodging so many attacks, Bower went on the offensive, turning his flames on Ilm. He’d avoid an axe swing by using one hand to launch himself out of the way, then use his other hand to blast Ilm point-blank. Ilm was well armored, and the flames splashed off his plate steel, but any areas not protected were being singed, and Bower was steadily pushing him back. If Ilm took a direct hit to the face, he’d be lucky to survive, let alone keep fighting.

Noah kept his eye glued to his scope, waiting for just the right moment. Ilm’s chances of victory were fading, but Noah got an idea. When Ilm made a desperate charge, Noah fired, not at Bower, but Ilm. He struck the warrior in the forearm, and while no wound was inflicted, Ilm’s body still reacted, and he ended up releasing his axe and throwing it. Bower narrowly dodged the flying weapon, shocked by the unexpected blunder, and in that moment of broken rhythm, Noah shot him in the center of the chest. Just like his allies, getting hit left him stunned, and in that moment, Ilm tackled him.

The two hit the ground, grappling and rolling, with Bower trying to hit Ilm with a fire blast. Noah continued his shots, each mana bullet shredding Bower’s focus and leaving him helpless. Ilm, unaware of his guardian angel, managed to get on top of Bower and start raining punches. He didn’t stop until Bower gave in, and the referee raised his arm.

“Ilm is the winner!”

The crowds cheered in excitement and satisfaction, while Noah dismissed his illusion and sighed. Even without fighting, this tournament was a challenge. However, the next target was not his to deal with. After a few more fights, Roc got his next chance in the spotlight, and he was up against an agent of the church, with Noah deciding to trust him with it. Unfortunately, the fight before his had been another beastman getting soundly beaten by a knight with flame magic, so the crowds were feeling smug and nasty. He entered the arena, once more receiving boos for his beastman traits. Their taunts fell on deaf ears, and he stood proud as his opponent, a robed mage named Beck, appeared.

“Begin!” the referee announced.

Roc charged towards his foe, and Beck raised his arms. “Lightning Spear!” Two javelins of focused electricity appeared in his hands to defend with, and Roc, who was about to deliver a kick, pulled back. It was a wise decision, as touching those spears would mean a severe burn, electrocution, or both. “Ha! You’re smart for a mangey heretic!” Beck jeered.

“I’m strong, too,” Roc countered as mana surged around his legs.

He again charged and then leaped towards his opponent, using his wings to accelerate. He spun through the air, unleashing a powerful kick, and though Beck used his spears to block the hit, the force still sent him airborne like a soccer ball. Roc stuck the landing and suppressed a grimace. Wrapping his leg in mana had offered him some protection, but that wasn’t to say he was uninjured. His pant leg was burned from touching one of the spears, and his shin was red and blistered. Fortunately, the electric shock he received numbed the pain, though it left his leg feeling asleep.

Beck, having hit the ground painfully and rolling through the dirt, was slow to get to his feet, but he still managed to beat the referee’s countdown. “You godless bastard! How dare you attack your better?!”

He then pulled back his arm and threw one of the spears at Roc, aiming for his heart. Roc stepped to the side to dodge, but at the last moment, the spear altered its trajectory and hit him in the shoulder. He was thrown back by the impact, and an electric charge surged through his muscles, while the spear burst in a flash of light like a firework. Magical lightning was different from regular electricity. Not only was it far slower, but the amperage was next to nothing, so there was no need to worry about his heart stopping, but for that brief moment, it was like sitting in the electric chair with a dry sponge, and Roc thought he tasted death.

He hit the ground with a mixture of smoke and steam from evaporated sweat wafting from his body, trembling from continuous muscle spasms. Getting hit with that spear reminded him of getting stabbed by Aithorn, but at least the lightning cauterized the wound, and he had been hit in the shoulder of his missing arm, so any compromise in his fighting ability was due only to pain.

“Come on, get up,” Noah muttered as he watched from his seat.

Roc got to his feet, but barely.

“Stay down, beast,” Beck taunted.

“Please, the mountain winds hit harder than that,” Roc countered.

“Well, here comes the thunder!”

Beck threw his other spear, and this time, Roc took off in a run, but just like before, the spear altered its trajectory in midflight, honing in on him like an angry wasp. He knocked the spear aside with another mana-laden kick, but before he could catch his breath, Beck conjured a third spear and threw it. He again dodged, and this time, it sheared through him just below the ribs, a nonlethal wound, but still ripping out a chunk of flesh and electrocuting him.

Roc was brought to his knees, struggling to breathe as pain surged through his body just like the lightning, all while Beck laughed. “You filthy beasts can’t hope to compare to the blessings of the gods!”

Roc got to his feet, his lungs refusing to work, and to the shock of everyone, he swung his arm and punched his wound, as though he was choking and performing the Heimlich Maneuver on himself. He staggered from the pain but straightened his posture, his breathing now steady.

“Funny, I never needed the gods’ blessings. I fly without them.” He then spread his wings, and with a mighty pulse of his legs, he launched himself into the sky.

“Get back here!” Beck shouted as he conjured two more spears and threw them at Roc.

Roc soared through the air with the spears chasing after him like heat-seeker missiles, but unlike before, they could not reach him. He flew over the stands with the awed spectators gasping at the sight, coming so close they almost could have reached out and touched him. Loose feathers falling from his wings were caught like foul balls at a baseball game. Beck continued conjuring and throwing spears, closing in on Roc from all directions, but with masterful acrobatics, he cut through the air at breakneck speed, dodging the spears better than he ever could on the ground. Before, they would have adjusted their flight at the last moment to hit him, but now, he’d leave them in the dust, and no matter how they altered themselves, they could not reach him.

Roc adjusted his angle and flew straight up, leading an entire volley of flying javelins. As he climbed ever higher, he spun through the air, causing the spears to do the same, closing into an ever-tightening helical path. Inevitably, they began colliding with each other, exploding on impact. The sky was filled with flashes of light as the spears burst one after another, drawing oohs and aahs from the crowds. Finally, Roc turned in the sky and wrapped himself in his wings, diving back towards the arena. Beck was running low on mana, but he could not stop. He continued hurling lightning bolts, with Roc spinning back and forth through the air to dodge.

He was closing in on Beck, his divebomb heralding certain victory, but all of a sudden, something seemed to hit him in the air, as if Noah himself had shot him with his sniper rifle. It was subtle, and few people had the reflexes and awareness to see it. Roc stumbled in his dive, and it took everything he had not to crash like a meteor and die a gruesome death. Beck jumped to the side, narrowly dodging as Roc hit the ground, skipping like a stone before smashing into the side of the ring. The sounds of amazement and adoration from the crowd, painstakingly earned through Roc’s efforts, had become mocking laughter.

“What just happened?” Shannon asked.

“Something hit him, some kind of spell, but it was fast and subtle. Even my eyes couldn’t catch it in detail,” said Valia.

“It looks like the church is realizing prayers won’t guarantee victory. They’ve recruited someone like me, someone to manipulate the outcome from the shadows,” Noah said.

Down below, the referee started counting, and it took everything Roc had to get to his feet. His wings were snapped and twisted, he had several broken ribs, a concussion, and internal damage, with blood pouring from multiple wounds. It was a miracle he was still alive, let alone standing. On the other side of the ring, Beck was leaning on his knees, gasping for air. He barely had any energy left, and expending so much in such a short time had given him magical whiplash.

“You’re tenacious, I’ll give you that,” Beck panted. “Let’s finish this, shall we?”

“Make it quick. I don’t have all day.”

Beck held out his hand and began channeling every last bit of mana he had, giving everything to craft one final spear. Roc assumed a fighting stance, his arm extended in front of him, with mana surging around his fingers. Though his body was wrecked, he had plenty of energy to spare, but the mana swirling in his head, which only Noah could see, was more intriguing.

“What are you up to?” Noah hummed, staring through his spyglass.

Though he could see the mana behind Roc’s eyes, what he and everyone else missed was their transformation into the eyes of an eagle. Eagles were known for their keen eyesight, but their reaction speed, far superior to humans’, was often overlooked, and Roc was betting everything on it. His brain was attempting to rewire itself at this very moment, transforming just like his eyes.

Abilities like these were difficult to manifest in a partially transformed state, a fact true for all beastmen. It would come naturally if he fully transformed into an eagle, but he had to combine the best of both worlds, bridging the processing and awareness of an eagle’s sight and reflexes through a human body. It was like trying to walk a tightrope, and Roc had never managed to pull it off.

The two foes faced each other, giving all they had for this final clash. The audience waited with still breath, afraid to blink and miss what was about to happen. Beck formed his lightning bolt, and with a whispered prayer, he hurled it at Roc. Roc stared it down, not even trying to block or dodge.

‘Now!’

Harnessing all of his focus and will, he unlocked the transformation for one brief moment, but it was enough for the whole world to slow to a crawl. He could see the lightning bolt flying towards him, not like a vicious wasp, but a lazy bee.

With all his mana divided between his eyes and his hand, he reached out and grabbed the lightning spear. He spun around, redirecting its inertia, and used the centrifugal force of his rotation to hurl it back at Beck. The lightning bolt shot back to its caster, and before he could think or act, it pierced him through the chest and burst in a flash of light. He was thrown through the air, releasing a garbled cry of pain before hitting the ground. He did not get up, and the referee counted down.

“And Roc is the winner!” he announced, drawing a mixed chorus of cheers and boos from the audience. It had been a fight for the ages, but Roc was too busy vomiting blood to enjoy it. Healers quickly tended to both combatants and cleared the ring for the next fight.

The battles continued, and eventually, it was Foley’s turn to return to the ring. Like Roc, he was up against one of the church’s agents. It was mage carrying several bags of stones and sporting an atrocious bowl cut.

“Let’s get this done quick, eh? I was halfway through taking a shit when my name was called,” said Foley.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be out in no time!” the mage laughed.

“Begin!” the referee announced.

Foley threw up his defenses, raising his shields and projecting a dome of energy. The mage began pulling stones out of his bags. “Geode Smasher!” He hurled them at Foley, and upon contact with his barrier, they all exploded like flameless grenades, hurling shards in all directions with deadly strength. “Take that! And that! And that!” the mage cackled, throwing rocks with crazed fervor. The chain of explosions sounded like unending thunder, and a dust cloud was quick to form, perpetually stirring with each burst of shrapnel. Yet despite the onslaught, Foley was enduring, protected from every flying piece by his mana.

Like his first match, it was a war of attrition, with both sides seeing who could hold out the longest. Realizing he was getting nowhere, the mage took the same tactic as his predecessor, running around Foley in search of a weak spot. He attacked from all directions, raining exploding rocks upon the dwarf, but he would have had more luck trying to destroy an anvil. As the old saying went, the best defense was a good offense, yet Foley’s defense was so potent that it was practically a weapon in and of itself.

As the fight continued, the mage discarded one empty bag after another, pouring sweat as he channeled his dwindling power into every last rock. Eventually, he ran out, frantically searching his pockets for any remaining ammunition. Realizing he had used up all his stones, he resorted to grabbing the shards and pebbles from his earlier attacks, but though powered by desperation, they could do little more than pop harmlessly. He was out of options, and Foley lowered his shields.