"What are you doing here?" Peter gasped.
"Competing, of course,” Jack said.
"I meant him," Peter pointed at Kostel, who whistled a merry melody, looking up in the air, hands in pockets.
"I did wrestling before being a guard," Kostel shrugged, his eyes following a sparrow while taking a deep breath to suck in the smoke of his cigarette.
"Participants are required to touch the obelisk!" a qi-voice said.
"Don't let them hit you," Jack told Peter. "You're fast, use your footwork."
Why is he patronizing me? Peter frowned. I can beat him with my eyes closed.
Really?
There was no answer. After touching the pillar, Peter found himself in a locker room with hundreds of other candidates. He undressed, equipping himself in boxing shorts and a T-shirt. Jack did the same, but Kostel opted for a pajama with printed bunnies.
After they put their things inside the locker, they were transported inside a giant stadium, each in a different ring. Rows of other similar enclosures were everywhere around. In the opposite corner of Peter's ring was a tall girl, muscular, with mean eyes. She was frowning at him.
“Rules for your match: only pure physical attacks. No magic, no enhancing oneself,” a qi-message said. "Three… two… one… Start!"
The girl rushed at Peter, yelling insults, suggesting his mother and horses had intercourse, and he was the result: a donkey. Evidently, she was thinking in her language, and her translator was doing an awful job. Peter was so horrified he got punched in the nose, albeit the girl grimaced more under the pain in her fist than him.
Still in shock and lacking an overall strategy—except knocking her out cold, which, as a gentleman, he couldn’t do—Peter mimicked what he imagined was a free technique, dancing all around her. It was similar to what he used to do in the Western bar fight reenactments, only without stools or bottles but waving his hands around instead. His dexterity perk was very good at throwing the girl out of balance, and her kicks and jabs often missed their target. For every hit she got in, he got two.
Three minutes later, the voice told them he won by points and was required to move to the ring to his right within five minutes. The girl was teleported out, not before screaming other insults.
Peter moved on after taking some time to recover—mostly from the indignation of being at the receiving end of such vile cursing. The next opponent was a massive man, looking older than the average student. Blue sparks of electricity were running under his skin, and Peter guessed it was a passive.
“Rules for your match: physical and magical attacks, as long they are of the melee type, Three… two… one… Start," the voice announced.
The Cultivator walked slowly toward the center of the ring, keeping a high boxing guard. There was no way to use the same tactic as before. Deciding the best defense was offense, Peter launched himself forward and executed a cross to the man's chin. It connected, but an electric bolt erupted from the man’s skin, throwing him to the floor.
Peter groaned, getting up from the floor.
“Peter Hillden has won by knock-out,” came the announcement.
How on Earth? Peter wondered. His adversary was still standing.
Squeezing his eyes, Peter did as asked, throwing in an Inspect. Around the man's neck and twisted head was a forcefield, invisible if one didn't pay attention. The adversary was heaving.
"Your next opponent has forfeited due to a broken arm. Wait in place until other matches finish," the voice said.
All for the better…
Peter was not going to let himself be bossed around by an imaginary dwarf. It worked just fine before. I’m keeping my points in reserve for now.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
After the next series of matches ended, it took over a minute to get to the next ring because many people were moving around, and many were wounded. Peter noticed Jack was still in the fight, but to his surprise, so was Kostel. The guard looked happy and waved at him.
The next adversary was a girl, and the rules switched back to physical fighting. Pretty and blonde, looking a bit like Regina, but shorter and more muscular, the girl looked happy to be in a fight and enjoyed it like a day at a beach. She was so fast that Peter barely had time to avoid her hits and throw in his punches.
Though he was still distrustful of the wards, he was considering hitting harder when she ducked under his guard to land a punch in his stomach. He threw a knee to her face by instinct, dazing her and making her fall to the floor, surrounded by a protection field. The invisible arbiter began a countdown.
"Fuck… I was too greedy," the girl complained, jumping back on her feet.
Peter smiled. Her attitude was what he called true sportsmanship. His smile began to wipe itself soon enough as the flurry of hits and evades she threw at him next was next to impossible to evade.
But it takes time for the effect to—
Fine!
Peter’s Intelligence jumped at the third threshold, entering the Master domain. A jolt of electricity burned through his veins, and the world became clearer, sharper, crisper. He had thought his perception was super enhanced before, but it was nothing to what he felt now. A kick was aimed at his face, and he caught the girl’s foot in the process, throwing her back with a reverse kick to her stomach. She was caught in an invisible forcefield and slowly lowered to the ground. It had been another potentially lethal hit.
Wow…
“The winner is Peter Hillden, by knockout.”
You gain 3 levels and +5 in Intelligence for listening to a vastly superior intelligence's advice.
Vastly superior intelligence? You sanctimonious prick!
“What a fun match!” the girl yelled, jumping up joyfully despite the defeat.
"Yeah… was fun," Peter offered a handshake.
"See ya," she said a second before getting teleported out.
Do you think she's Regina from Two?
The next round was also delayed for a few minutes because prizes were announced for the ones still in the fight. One ounce of gold and some change for each match. Peanuts now, for Peter, but he pretended to cheer.
The next fight, again a purely physical one, was more balanced as the young man in front of him was an all-rounder fighter. He looked barely eighteen, if that, but fought with care, throwing kicks and fists only when there was a good opportunity, staying calm despite Peter's feints.
The fight ended with Peter's victory at points. Begrudgingly, Peter had to admit that his higher intelligence greatly helped him. Nevertheless, he did learn things from that fight and bowed to his adversary. Only eight people were in the game now. Jack and Kostel were hanging on, the latter grimacing and rubbing his chin. Two more ounces of gold were won.
Again, none of them were made to fight each other, which was probably by design. Peter felt thankful. It was a good decision. He was set against a brute, the MMA or boxer type. Mean-looking, with a broken nose and ears like a cauliflower. Movement skills were allowed, which meant the opponent had a Dash of sorts.
I can hit hard, too.
This time, Peter didn't try to restrain his power. As soon they were in range, he anticipated his foe’s footwork, stepped on the other’s foot, and threw a short punch into the liver while defending the man’s haymaker. The opponent remained in place, gasping, then collapsed. A high-tiered healer flew down into the ring, pushing a torrent of gold energy into the unconscious man.
The adversary was stabilized enough to be transported away on a stretcher a minute later.
Jack was out, and Peter was set to fight the one who had eliminated his friend.
"The day's surprise is a final between two Wild Magic users that have overcome every Cultivator they faced: Peter Hillden and Kostel Dragu." The qi-voice was followed by a row of applauses from the tribunes.
What the fuck? Kostel waved and smiled at him. In the public now, Jack was screaming at Peter, making his hands into a makeshift megaphone. Still, Peter couldn’t make up the words.
Sorry, Kostel, I won't go easy on you! Peter promised.
Both contenders were asked to go to a central ring, while the others disappeared to allow a better view. Cameras, some on drones, appeared all around.
"Begin in three… two… one… Start!"
Deciding to finish it quickly, Peter approached the middle of the ring. In his corner, Kostel looked apprehensive and lost in thoughts.
"Come," Peter beckoned.
Kostel shook his head. Then, he stepped forward slowly, leaned forward, and whispered: “Twenty ounces, and I let you win.”
“Ha ha ha!” Peter couldn’t refrain from laughing. “Dude, if you win, I’ll give you twenty-five.”
Gathering his courage, Kostel stepped forward timidly.
Got you, sucker!
Rushing forward, Peter pulled his elbow back for a cross, strong enough to end the fight in one hit. As soon as he thrust his arm, he twirled in the air, then hit the floor, and something blocked his view. A fabric. A pajama.
"Heeelp!" Peter screamed. “Ulp!” he repeated the yelp, only muffled.
Kostel's buttocks were all over Peter’s face. Not far away from his head were the guard's shoeless feet, and they didn't smell of roses. Somehow, Kostel was blocking Peter's arms with his body, one of his legs with his head, and the other with his hands twisting it.
Peter couldn't escape that position without using magic; the lockdown was perfect. With Kostel's buttocks all over his face, Peter retched and wished to Warp out but resigned to his fate, tapping the mat three times.
"Winning by abandon, Kostel Dragu, former Moldovan Olympic champion in free wrestling."
Loud cheers erupted in the public. Peter didn't even care he lost; he was happy to be free, rubbing his face with his shirt, traumatized and on the verge of crying. A cultivator flew down to raise Kostel's hand and present him with a medal. Then, after a short trip to the locker room, they were back on campus.
"Congrats, Kostel!" Jack yelled. “Sorry, man, I tried to warn you,” he told Peter. “Kostel is a beast.”
Peter was depressed. Kostel, on the other hand, was exulting. "I expect the money before the end of the week. And by the way," he leaned forward again, approaching his lips to Peter’s ear, “make it fifty. Melinda keeps detailed records of all her patients. You look great in senior pampers. Hit me with fifty, or the photo goes viral.”
Eeeeeew! Noooo… I want to vomit…
You have snubbed the advice of a vastly superior Artificial Intelligence and behaved overly confident. Thus, you lost. There are lessons to be learned in defeat. +1 Level.
Sulking, Peter returned to his room to take a shower and rub his face with alcohol.