Beam POV: Day 90

  Current Wealth: 221 gold 2 silver 42 copper

  Apparently the tournament wouldn’t just be doing alphabetic matchups from now on, but by sheer coincidence I was still the next one up in round two. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Certainly not as opposed as Solitaire, at least, who looked to be on the verge of combusting as he spun one paranoid conspiracy theory after another to explain it. It was hard to dismiss him these days, though. People really did seem to be out to get us.

  If nothing else, they’d be forced to do it in a tournament format now. A one-on-one fight. I’d be in my element when I came to meet their attack.

  Of course it helped that I’d been training, and preparing, and it helped that I was that little bit more dangerous now than in the last round. Helped more that I’d not seen too many in the last round who could’ve threatened me even then, and what helped most of all was the new trick I’d learned. I kept practising it as I awaited my name to be called, focusing, conjuring the ethereal matter and letting it wash over me. It wouldn’t do to show it off to the masses, that much still held. But there were ways around any problem.

  My name was called, the moment upon me at last, and I hurried to answer it. I had no patience for dawdling, and I’d never been able to stand a wait even one second longer than was absolutely necessary. It was all I could do not to sprint out.

  The arena looked more or less the same as it ever had, which was almost disappointing. My opponent strolled out shortly. He was a tall man, with features that were hidden to me by the heavy plate armour covering every inch of him. Well, I reckoned that was to be expected, most of the first round’s winners had been people wealthy enough to afford that sort of protection for themselves. It’s not like I was in any position to complain, my own defence was even better.

  Our match got started soon enough, and he was coming at me. A sword, this time, poor guy. I’d already gotten used to halberds well enough from my last bout, and I’d been training with a wide variety of weapons at every opportunity, tossing a few coins around to get decently skilled mercenaries to take some practice swings at me. Still, it was a relief to know I’d be in my field.

  His first attack was a testing blow that I didn’t even bother moving back from, just smacked aside. His strength surprised me, though, and it was that fractional warning which let me lunge away right before his follow up could connect.

  So, strength was against me. That was unfortunate, but not unexpected. I tried to remember this guy as he chased me, and found the recollections rifting back. He’d been stronger than his last opponent, too, but my newly-quickened eyes had no issue tracking his movements. I let him take a few more swings, learning his rhythm, then decided on my plan and stepped in. Instantly he sped up, revealing his true speed and bringing his blade down hard into the gap between two of my plates.

  Just as I’d been waiting for him to. It hit the ethereal armour I’d conjured beneath my steel set, cracking through then stopping on the mail. I stumbled, wavered, let him think I was more injured than I was and lunged the moment his guard drifted down. My rapier went clean between a pair of plates, too, but I made sure to watch out for blood before relaxing.

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  Admirably, the guy tried his best to stay upright, but there’s only so much will and determination can do when the blood supplying it starts to run out. He collapsed to a knee, and the match was over soon enough. I watched him leave, then headed off myself.

  Shango, I knew, would be circling around to meet with the guy. It was why I’d had to do without his input- he had to be primed and ready to strike up a conversation before anyone else. He hadn’t tried to kill me, I knew that much, which meant that after Shango made his offer and headed back I could let him know, and we’d see if we got one more recruit. As far as schemes went it was probably a bit clumsy. Then again, what wasn’t these days?

  Argar was waiting for me as I took my leave from the arena, grinning as always.

  “Poor bastard didn’t have a chance, did he?” He noted. I tried not to be too smug as I replied, just shrugging.

  “He got cocky. So you were watching then?”

  “Aye, well, I plan on flattening you sometime soon, figured I’d see what I could learn about how you move…Take advantage of the opportunity.”

  He didn’t admit to being wrong, and I didn’t prod him to. We just shared a look, a nod, and silently agreed to put everything behind us. It was the best outcome I could’ve hoped for.

  Both of us were in the stands together soon after, where we found our seats waiting for us. Magnus was with Shango, continuing our new rule of never travelling alone, while Solitaire and the rest stayed at home to try and break as many terms of the Geneva Conventions as were possible. It was almost nice, being outside of the increasingly cramped location we’d been steadily fortifying for the last few days, but that feeling didn’t last long. The creeping fear of an attack only strengthened with every passing moment.

  My hands tightened to fists as I watched the arena, not even noticing Shango’s return until he was with us again.

  “Nice fighting out there.” He breathed, taking a seat, looking out at the arena just as I did. “We didn’t get your opponent, sadly, but there’ll be other shots. And you’ve guaranteed yourself a position in the next round either way.”

  I nodded, allowing myself to actually let that sink in. Another mountain of experience equal to the one we’d earned last time would mean another level for me, more power.

  I’d be getting pretty strong pretty fast if I kept this up, I was almost desperate for my brother’s other fights to hurry up and move past so I could find out what my new capabilities were sooner rather than later.

  “How are your plans going?” I asked, suddenly finding myself considering the chances of Shango actually getting himself into the third round, and realising that they were total shit. It wasn’t that he couldn’t fight, of course. It was just that he couldn’t win fights.

  Evidently, he was well aware of why I was asking, because he suddenly let out an irritated huff.

  “They’re going fine, you just focus on kicking everybody’s asses more and we’ll be doing well. I think another match is starting soon.”

  I glanced back down to the arena, and saw that he was right. Both of us settled into our seats, eager as ever to see it.

  We did see it, and we saw a good few others after that. The Challenger fought in the third match we watched, trouncing some poor sod as easily as ever, and Aja the Pit Hound was going against someone else shortly after. He didn’t have any more trouble.

  But neither of their opponents were weak. That was the unfortunate truth we were seeing, that as of now most, if not all of our enemies seemed good enough to put up a solid fight against Magnus with equal equipment, and probably win with the plate armour that had now become most commonly worn among them.

  More fights passed, and more notables caught our eyes. Almost before we knew it, things had moved along and it was time for Argar’s name to be called. I glanced over at the giant, half expecting to see fear in his eyes. I had, after all, been the one to tell him his limits, to shove against that unbreakable confidence and make it buckle.

  It was a stupid expectation, I saw only the same certainty that always glowed behind his gaze. Argar stood in one swift motion and made his way down, I watched him go with a dry mouth,

  “Good luck, man.” I breathed, abruptly. He looked back for a moment, grinning like always.

  “Don’t need luck.” Was all he said.