EV B2 Chapter 31:

  The Wyvern hissed as it crouched low and moved forward in a sinuous motion, like a snake with legs. Its head swayed side to side with each cautious step. I continued to sidestep, forcing it to chase me, though it didn't quite cut me off and force a confrontation.

  I could hear the crowd quiet down. A tense atmosphere filled the arena as it became clear that this was a pivotal moment. A long moment passed as the Wyvern and I exchanged long, studying glances. After the first few exchanges, we had finally taken each other's measure. The Wyvern clearly hadn't expected such a good fight. Perhaps it had been fighting for longer than I realized. Maybe it was getting tired. Perhaps it was just taken by surprise. But I was fresh—for the most part. Fresh out of mana as well.

  Then someone in the crowd ruined it with a jeering, "Boo, fight!"

  That set off a round of laughter and more jeers throughout the audience. Neither the Wyvern nor I reacted.

  When the beast finally decided to stop just following me around and moved toward where I was supposed to be—in the circle—I made my move. I took a quick step forward, and the Wyvern lowered its draconic head, protecting its uninjured wing. But instead of attacking the injured wing again, I flicked my sword down and smacked at one of the peaks of uneven sand. A significant portion flung toward the slitted pupil facing me. The eye, the size of my hand, was an easy target. Several grains of sand peppered against it. Its inner eyelid slicked sideways several times, clearing it, but the Wyvern clearly flinched.

  Using that opening, I darted forward and rolled, diving underneath its belly. I somersaulted, unable to grab the sword hilt, but as I rolled, my foot flicked out in a kick. The heel of my left foot struck the pommel with significant force as I rotated into a second somersault beneath the Wyvern's legs. The sword jarred, wrenching sideways and cutting deep into its flesh as it twisted. It didn't fall out more than a few inches, but it must have done something. The Wyvern reared up on its legs, bellowing in pain to the sky. A gust of steamy, hot breath blew into the arena. No breath attack—at least no fire breath that I had seen yet.

  I got to my feet and had to quickly throw myself backward to avoid the lashing tail. The move hadn't been entirely successful. I still only had one sword, while the other slowly slipped out of the wound as the Wyvern thrashed around. Blood poured more like a leaky faucet than a slow drip. Would it be enough? Probably not if I didn't do more.

  Already, the Wyvern was slower to move. Something vital must have been hit. It wasn't its heart, but slashing open its stomach would probably kill it eventually—assuming it didn't get healing, didn't heal naturally, and wasn't able to survive on sheer endurance. Humans could survive gunshot wounds for days, even without treatment, even if they were doomed to die. So it probably wasn't in a much better situation now.

  Besides, the sword was starting to slip out, and blood loss might actually play a factor. I moved around, avoiding the random flails of the beast as it got itself under control. And it did get itself under control. It didn't just flail randomly forever. But while it was thrashing, I couldn't predict its motion, and I didn't want to risk getting hit when I didn't have to. I didn't see any visible signs of it weakening, but I had to assume it was.

  Because of this, blood loss had no effect, nor did the cuts to its innards; I didn't think there was anything I could do besides possibly die in this arena. I eventually approached the side of the Wyvern as it was still writhing and attempted to slash at it. Its wings were held high and out of the way, to the point where I couldn't reach. My strike skittered off the Wyvern's ribs, but it got its attention. Its head looped around toward me, the healthy wing flapping down in a buffet.

  I needed to get under it again and either land a hit or draw the sword out. But with it flailing around—well, it stopped doing that and was no longer losing as much blood. Whether that meant its blood was starting to clot and close the wound through some sort of supernatural healing or it was starting to bleed out, I didn't know. And while the Wyvern was clearly in bad shape, it was still paying enough attention that it wasn't letting me hit a vulnerable spot. Striking at its side was the best I could do. But if I had its attention, I could control what it focused on. And if I controlled what it focused on, I could create an opening.

  Of course, could the Wyvern recognize that ignoring me completely was its best option? I wasn't sure. During this time, though, I had regenerated a bit of mana and flashed to the side, leaving a duplicate. This time, the Wyvern was apparently bereft enough of its senses that it actually bit toward my double, smashing the illusion apart but giving me a two-step head start.

  I ducked in, my fingers closing around the hilt in its stomach even as it reared back in surprise from the flash of light as my illusory copy dissolved in its mouth. That jerking motion nearly yanked the sword out of my hand instead of me pulling it from the Wyvern's chest. It must have bound in its ribs again because I was yanked off my feet and several feet into the air. At the apex of my swing, I tucked my knees to my chest and landed against the Wyvern's stomach in a half-crouched position.

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  I performed a weightlifting motion that felt like deadlifting a sword from a stone. I could hear the metal grinding against bone as I pulled it free, and my hand was flushed over with a gush of blood as I fell to the ground. Luckily, my strength was high enough that a fall from only half a dozen feet didn't even wind me as I landed on my back.

  Already, I was rolling, avoiding the smashing head crashing down where I had landed, then skipping back as I got to my feet. I flicked the blood off the sword, adjusting my grip for steadiness as I watched the Wyvern stagger after me. What had been a steady stream of blood was now more of a geyser, shooting from a hole that must have widened as the sword moved around. It was at least large enough to fit my hand into. It wouldn't have been huge if scaled to a human. It was maybe the size of a pistol wound. But pistol rounds were lethal for a reason, and whatever I had hit was gushing not just bright red blood that steamed on the sand but brown bile as well. Some inner organs must have been shredded.

  I shuffled in a circle, never letting the Wyvern get near me, and minutes later, it collapsed to the ground, unable to walk. The crowd did not know how to react.

  It had been clear for several minutes that I was going to win this fight. The last bit was just me making sure I wasn't hurt and slowly dragging it out rather than ending it fancy. They clearly weren't a fan of that part, but the fact that I had put up a fight at all was a surprise. I couldn't tell if it was a welcome surprise.

  Some people were elated—presumably because they had won bets. Maybe they had bet that I would survive the longest or that my time would last beyond a certain amount of time. Technically, my time was infinite. In fact, the bet might have been on how long the Wyvern took to die. I wasn't sure how the rules worked here, but I couldn't help being satisfied.

  I wiped my blades off in the sand before sheathing them and heaving a huge sigh of relief. I had even managed to recover a decent amount of mana while stalling toward the end of the fight. The exit to the arena opened, and I walked out to thunderous applause.

  In the antechamber before the exit, there was a man I recognized from seeing him around the arena before. He was nervously wringing his hands as he rocked back and forth.

  "Um, congratulations," he said in a quivering voice. "You do know that the rules state you had to be below level 35 to enter this, right?"

  I nodded. "I am level 23," I replied without hesitation.

  He blinked. "Uh, what?"

  "I'm level 23."

  He began to sweat, mopping at his brow with a handkerchief. I had no idea how this man had made it into Valhalla.

  "Well, you weren't allowed to kill the beast! How are we supposed to show the next matches?" he practically squealed.

  I shrugged. "That's not really my problem, is it?"

  "Well, if we can't show the matches, we don't get paid. If we don't get paid, we can't pay you."

  "No, you need to pay me now," I said, taking a step forward.

  "Well, how do we know you survived the longest? Maybe someone will beat your time!" The man explained, clearly grasping.

  "You just said there aren't going to be any more matches. You can't beat dead." I countered. "Unless someone can bring it back to life, no one is beating me. And if someone can, you have no complaint at all..."

  "Okay, well, we can pay you, but we won't have the money to—"

  "Not my problem," I growled, lowering my voice.

  The man seemed very nervous. "Well, prove to me you're under level 35, and we can see about your payment," he said triumphantly, clearly hoping I wouldn't be willing to show him my status. Or maybe he just didn't believe me.

  I grimaced, not enjoying the idea of proving this. Still, I walked over to the table, drew a dagger from my bag, and slammed it down, carving the runes for a modified status display—just my level. Cutting my hand a little deeper than necessary, I let my blood drip onto the table. We both watched as the number appeared: Level 27.

  It seemed I had gained a few levels during that fight, but I was still clearly under 35. The man proceeded to sweat even more.

  "Yes, well, um, you can collect your winnings next week at the—"

  My hand shot out, grabbing his lapel and yanking him around to face me. "No. You'll pay me now. The prize wasn't that big; you can afford it."

  He swallowed and looked toward the door. I followed his gaze but saw nothing. Was he looking for guards? Whatever it was, I didn't want to be around when it showed up. Best if I got out of here fast. They must not have had anyone around who could stand up to something that could kill the Wyvern, but that wouldn't last long. Best to move while I was the strongest around, then vanish for a bit. The arenas seemed to be cursed for me.

  With my free hand, I patted him down, found his coin purse, poured it out onto the table, and picked out the few coins I was owed. Then, I tipped my imaginary hat and strode out.

  I had business to attend to, and I wanted no further involvement in this mess. Sadly, I didn't think I'd have time to watch the rest of the fights, nor could I compete in the tournament anymore. I wasn't even under level 25 now, so I would probably be disqualified as it was. I had a lot of stats to go over, and I wasn't about to get into a fight that close again. Especially while still having free points.

  What had I been thinking, looking for a challenge? I'm too old for this. While I had survived, I didn't know if it was worth it. My hip still ached.