FULL NOVELXO Chapter 4: Duel
Log #524: Kingdoms
Both Devarden and Dominic are producers of Slayers and Guardians, although each does have their preference. Devarden excels at training the most proficient Slayers, while Dominic’s Guardians are unmatched by any other. Those who chose to fight as their career in Devarden are best off attending a school known as Sentinal Academy, and those who reside in Dominic with similar values generally join Patrel Academy. After four years, those from Sentinal are promoted to either Arcos or Mantle. Those who advance from Patrel Academy enlist in either Axiom or Rancor. The foremost mentioned in both kingdoms train their preferred fighter. Viscor, however, is still too young to prepare warriors for Chorus’s wrath.
-General Elvira Ramos
0240 BPE
After everyone had successfully fused their personal weapons, we were given a week off to practice and formulate strategies and counters. On the second week of December, it was time to test our fighting skills and styles by taking turns in 1v1 duels against each other. There was no armor provided by teachers, just what we brought ourselves. Also, they enchanted our weapons with protective buffers to prevent fatal moves. Anything short of that was legal.
Throughout the entire week, Rosa had expressed minor concern over my potentially unhealthy levels of excitement, but as I waited in the red hallway with twenty other Juniors, the excitement quickly melted into anxiety: worry of who I was going to fight against, how I would counter their blows, and most importantly, how I was going to be victorious over whoever it was.
The hallway we were seated in was quite tall, some six or so meters to the ceiling. Two of the longest couches I had ever seen rested against the walls, reaching all the way across to the doors opposite to the arena. The door to said arena was reddish brown, with a golden handle and black outlines. The hallway was mostly red, but had some orange designs on the walls, making all sorts of strange patterns. With all the time and anxiety I had to manage simultaneously, I could probably relay every detail of this hallway, a week from now, to anybody who asked. Although the door was soundproof, I could easily imagine the sound of metal screeching against metal, and the cries from both fighters as they attempt to gain the upper hand.
It certainly didn’t ease my anxiety.
After what seemed like an eternity, the soundproof door slowly opened a fifth time, revealing a brawny teenager with a halberd resting on his right shoulder. He stood easily at one hundred and eighty centimeters, scrawny dark-brown hair only reaching halfway down his skull. His armor was orange with brown highlights, and it somewhat resembled a football player’s gear. Two large boots clanked against the ground as he strode smugly down the hallway, grinning at his obvious victory.
Matthew Boris, the behemoth of our class.
From the alarmingly short time the doors had been closed in that specific match, I cringed at the thought of a shrimpy kid stumbling out of the door opposite this one, or even worse, being carried out by a medic. Chills shivered down my spine as I proceeded to imagine that kid being me in five minutes. After all, I was up next.
Matthew patted me on the shoulder with his free hand, almost knocking me over. “Hey, good luck, kid. You’re gonna need it,” he jeered as we passed each other. He wasn’t entirely wrong, since I was far from muscular, or even particularly strong. I was in good shape, but I’d never been especially flexible or strong. My best quality was being able to whittle away at my opponents until I discovered a weakness, and then finishing them.
As long as it’s a large, clumsy foe or a somewhat inexperienced fighter, I should be in the clear, I silently prayed to myself. Knowing my luck, though, I probably just made things worse.
Entering the arena room for the first time at Sentinal, I slowed my pace to a stroll, and observed my surroundings as per usual. The floor was a carpeted blue, with purple swirls at random locations that covered the floor. The walls were brown, but not an ugly brown. They had an aura of power, a feeling that nothing could possibly tear through those walls. The ceiling was golden, a warm, vibrant golden that didn’t burn the eyes when gazed at. White clouds appeared to stall amidst the golden background, providing an almost holy sky to battle under. Some six meters inwards from each wall, the real arena rested: an elevated platform with ropes along the edges and a solid base beneath. The side facing and opposite of me had rope gates, and a small staircase leading to each. I couldn’t see the other side from where I was, but I could only assume it was completely symmetrical. To my right of the arena, another platform with a ladder watched over us, a special perch for Ms. Fable. She would explain all the rules and act as a judge, nothing more and nothing less. If needed, I was told she would also send for a medic, but that was somewhat uncommon.
Apparently there was a far larger arena prepared for long-ranged weapons elsewhere, but those were primarily just moving target practice. It was optional though, so long rangers couldn’t use it as a replacement for these duels. The reasoning was that even snipers needed to be able to hold their own to some extent if dragged into close-range combat. Unsurprisingly, few of them manage to actually win in this arena.
I mounted the stairs, and clicked open the rope gate, stepping inside the arena. I turned around, locked the gate, and nearly jumped when I turned back towards my opponent. Blond hair flowing down her shoulders, purple dress combat-ready, and a beautiful golden baton clutched in her hands, Alison stared directly into my eyes, unflinching and ready. It seemed that she had not in fact taken the scenic route as I had, instead moving into position long before. I also unsheathed my pitch-black blade, and held the one-handed sword tightly in my right hand. I placed my right foot forward, and finally mustered the courage to return Alison’s glare.
Our instructor explained the rules carefully and slowly. She explained how whoever got knocked out first or was unable to move was the loser, and how the limits to the battle were only within the nine-by-nine meter ring. Meanwhile, all the two competitors did was stare into each other’s eyes, predicting their opponent’s first attack. My dark black eyes ventured into her beautiful crystalline blue, until Ms. Fable finally provided the single word we had been waiting for:
“Begin!”
The first few minutes dragged on for hours, neither of us flinching, our only movements being the shallow breathing in our chests and the brief flickering of our eyelids. It was as if we were one: a single entity, breathing and blinking in unison, connected by the glare we both harbored. This only lasted for about a minute or two, but each second was an eternity, a cycle of life and death, a moment lost without gain. As the second minute ticked its last second away, Alison smirked, and pounced forward, baton held over her head. I had been waiting for this; I lifted my sword up and briefly met her baton, then swung it away harmlessly. As I was recovering from the deflection, she was already on top of me, swinging this way and that with no room to dodge. Despite her obvious skill, I managed to reply in kind, parrying every swing she made, and even launching a few of my own attacks. These she nimbly avoided, and continued her assault. She struck with harsh efficiency, skill I had never seen in someone as young as ourselves. But still, despite her onslaught, I bided my time, deflecting and countering, waiting for the moment she opened up and let her guard down, even if only for a split second.
Alison was merciless, swinging her baton in a continuous assault with no signs of exhaustion. Thankfully, since endurance was my forte, the close up duel lasted longer than I could keep track, exchanging blows and deflections. The scary thing was, it seemed she might actually outlast me, a feat no one, man or creature, had accomplished to date. Suddenly more alert at the realization, I paid even closer attention to her offensive style, and searched harder for a break in the rampage. Finally, I spotted just what I needed, and swept my foot to her right calf, causing her to grimace, faltering her attacks for a split second. In that one moment, I lunged forward, and aimed a jab right at her open chest plate. It made perfect contact, and sent Alison sprawling back a few feet, landing on a knee. She had her baton in front of her, keeping her from falling backwards. Continuing my counter attack, I leapt into the air, attempting to end the duel with a downward slash. It just took one moment to see her expression. She was grinning.
Crap-!
I suddenly realized what she was planning, but momentum carried me forward, right above her baton. I felt a sharp pain as my breath was stolen, knocking me back a few steps away. Between us on the ground rested a crushed bullet, and a rather large one at that. If it had not been for the buffers in my armor, the bullet would likely have torn straight through my chest.
This time it was I who struggled to my feet gripping my aching chest, wasting precious time that she using to regain her footing. I gritted my teeth in frustration and pain; I had lost my advantage as quickly as I had earned it, but at least I now knew one of her baton’s secrets. Still feeling the impact of the bullet, I jumped at her, in an attempt to surprise my opponent. Her reflexes were unmatched; she was on top of me, pushing her baton against my blade in a struggle for control over the arena. I could finally see where this battle was heading; we were both tiring out at last, but it seemed as though she would last a bit longer than I would.
I don’t have a choice, I have to use it!
The next time she swung horizontally, I parried the golden baton and retreated a few meters away. Wasting no time, I swung my sword from side to side, and flipped a lever on the handle. Alison charged at me again, prepared to finish the match once and for all. She swung downward, I countered it with my sword in my right hand, and before she stepped back, threw my left hand forward, an identical blade swishing effortlessly through the air, making direct contact with her side. This time she harbored a stunned look, so I made the most of it, closing the distance between us, and began my offensive rush, slashing at her open chestplate by using the momentum of each hit to propel the next.
She recovered slightly, and managed to block a few strikes, but eventually my dual wielding overwhelmed her, and she was knocked back by a hit from both blades simultaneously. Right as I was preparing to finish her with another slash from both of my swords, she surprised me yet again by suddenly regaining her footing, launching her baton at me in a fierce jab. My two blades hit her directly as her baton struck my jacket without resistance, a loud bang firing from the tip. We both fell in unison, knocking each other back. I slammed to the ground painfully, and out of the corner of my eye noticed how she had done the same. Even if I wasn’t bleeding, pain seared through my chest, coursing through my limbs. I could feel my lungs screaming for oxygen, and dizziness rolled over me.
Somewhere I heard a whistle blow, and decided that it was about time for a little nap. It was a unanimous decision in my mind, so I closed my eyes.