Valkyrie's Shadow

Empire in Chains: Act 3, Chapter 19

Empire in Chains: Act 3, Chapter 19

Chapter 19

“GET HIM! YEEEEEEAH!!! STAB HIM AGAIN!”

Arwintar’s Grand Arena was renowned across the Empire for the riveting spectacle of its matches and glorious atmosphere, though at present the atmosphere in their booth seemed to be superseding what was going on below. Lady Frianne and Dimoiya were nearly leaning out of their window as the second match of the day played out to its conclusion. The duke’s daughter was nowhere near as loud as her companion, but Ludmila still noticed her tense movements and the changes to her posture and breathing as excitement rose and fell.

Cheers rose as one of the remaining combatants in the battle royale lost his arm. Florine turned her face away squeamishly and even Liane grimaced. Beside Liane, Dimoiya continued her energetic encouragement. Liane leaned away slightly as the other woman threw up her fist with another call for blood.

?Dimoiya sure uh…transforms here.?

?Is it not as I said? This ‘entertainment’ is nothing more than people embracing the savage aspects of their nature.?

A flash of light glinted across their booth as a huge man with a greataxe charged across the sand, weapon held high. Ludmila scoffed as he was stabbed in the gut two metres before he could get within range of his opponent.

“Oof,” Liane winced. “Wasn’t that one of the guys at the Slave Market the other day?”

Two-thirds of the combatants in the current match appeared to have entered with seemingly nothing but confidence in their size and strength, while the remainder possessed some rudimentary skills. Equipment was greatly varied and everything appeared to be the result of purposeful calculation by the Arena management.

That being said, there was a clear trend to the opening matches presented to the audience.

“Lady Frianne,” Ludmila said. “Is this the usual order for Arena events?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Duels between novices are short and generally plain, so the organisers put them together in combined matches like this to make things more interesting. Have you been enjoying yourself?”

“I wasn’t sure what to expect out of the matches themselves,” Ludmila replied. “I assume they are ordered by the strength of their combatants.”

“That’s right. There are matches with fan favourites that are looked forward to before the end, but a steady escalation of strength is the most sensible approach.”

The noise in the air receded to a dull murmur as the final two combatants faced off against one another. One was a wiry man with a three-metre-long spear. The other wielded a greatsword. Both weapons had their points wavering close to the sand. They seemed to be size each other up, though Ludmila suspected that they were both exhausted and trying to catch their breath. Whether the crowd also realised this, she wasn’t sure.

During their visit to the various artistic venues in Arwintar, Florine noted Ludmila’s lack of excitement at everything. After the first day of ‘looking generally unimpressed at the entire world’, Florine told her that the crowd was also a part of the entertainment. Meaning to say that one shouldn’t look so critically at everything and allow themselves to be swept up in the moment. A willingness to have fun was a crucial part of having fun…or something like that.

She glanced down at the row of men directly below the booth. They were about as strong as Silver-ranked Adventurers, so she assumed that they were off-duty Imperial Knights from the First Legion. Rather than finding entertainment in the quality of the match, it seemed that they were having more fun making bets on who would come out on top in each of the contests playing out over the course of the match.

?Who do you think will win, Ludmila??

?It’s set up so that the spearman is the likely winner.?

On the other side of the booth, Liane leaned back to frown at her.

?Set up? You mean the match is rigged??

?Not exactly. It’s just that the conditions of this match favour certain weapons. If one has a sword and they have the choice between an opponent with a spear and an opponent with a dagger, they’ll go after the one with the dagger. No one here is strong enough to perform Martial Arts, so mundane realities – such as advantages in reach and leverage – apply. Furthermore, they’re not as well-equipped as they could be.?

?They’re not? They look armed to the teeth to me.?

?They’re in chain shirts and they don’t have sidearms. If both were wearing full plate, they would probably collapse from exhaustion before they hurt one another. Neither possesses the skill to deal with a fully-armoured foe and the Arena organisers know that it would result in a boring match.?

?So what does that mean??

?Aggression will probably win, and it’s easier for a novice to be aggressive when they have a three-metre-long spear. Like what we saw in the Imperial Magic Academy, it’s also propaganda: rank and file soldiers in the army use spears as their main battlefield weapon, so the citizens seeing spear users win props up the image of the military. It’s common for people to romanticise swords and discount spears as weapons for ‘peasants’. The Empire counters that by showing spear users beating everyone else in the Grand Arena. Since these matches are composed of novices, it may also help with recruitment as spectators can see themselves winning, too.?

The spearman advanced, shuffling forward as the blade of his weapon wobbled weakly in the air before him. Several groups of people jeered his timid approach, including the Imperial Knights below their booth. The swordsman stepped back and forth, seemingly trying to find a way past the point of his opponent’s weapon.

In a sudden move, the swordsman hacked at the haft of the spear. A wooden splinter came flying off of the weapon, but it wasn’t remotely enough to break it. The spearman arrested and then reversed the momentum of his attacker’s strike, shoving the greatsword aside. He charged forward, running his opponent through and knocking him to the ground.

The crowd voiced its approval at the decisive conclusion to the match. Half of the knights below them groaned.

“Why do people always try to do that?” Ludmila muttered.

“Shouldn’t they?” Florine asked, “It’s wood isn’t it?”

“It’s not as easy as those plays we watched make it seem,” Ludmila told her. “Unless a weapon was being conveniently held out for someone to take their time to chop up, one would need a significant gap in quality between weapons to pull it off in one or two strikes. Alternatively, sundering attacks could be used. If they were using magic weapons, however, trying to break that spear would have been just as hard as trying to break that greatsword.”

“Then how should he have done it?”

“Since they’re both novices and since this was effectively a duel, the swordsman had the right idea at the start. The problem was that he overestimated what was required to win. Rather than breaking the spear, the swordsman only had to get past the point by deflecting a strong thrust and moving in. Given how tired they both were, he might have even been able to grab the haft. That spearman has neither the training nor the experience to conduct disciplined attacks or react to people getting past the blade of his weapon.”

As the victorious spearman raised a fist to the crowd, a set of Arena staff ran out to tend to the fallen swordsman. The spectators settled down and vendors appeared to sell food and refreshments while the field was prepared for the next match.

Despite the bloody nature of the event, there had been no fatalities due to the quick response of the recovery teams stationed around the exterior of the battleground. Grievous injuries were healed; limbs reattached. The fact that the Arena was not as lethal as they first thought granted a visible measure of relief to her friends. Lady Frianne and Dimoiya, however, appeared to be disgruntled at the lack of deaths thus far.

“There’s one more of these free-for-all matches?” Clara asked.

“That’s right,” Lady Frianne answered. “Once the qualifiers are over, we’ll be moving onto the winter league matches. There should also be a couple of breaks where Demihuman tribes are pitted against teams of Adventurers or Workers. It’s really a shame that you arrived at the beginning of the season. There’s a new Martial Lord and everyone’s excited about whether he’ll be able to defend his title.”

“It looks like the stands are starting to fill out as well.”

“Admission is for the entire day, but many skip these early events. The league matches are what generate the most revenue for the Grand Arena with all the betting and sales going on.”

A knock sounded at the door. One of the footmen opened it to allow three women with carts in. They quietly laid out an array of light food and refreshments on the long stone table in the centre of the room. Lady Frianne and Dimoiya went to fill their plates. Florine swallowed.

?How can they eat while watching this??

?People can get used to anything, I guess. More to the point, they treat it as the highest-class entertainment.?

?Is the Adventurer Guild thing for our festivals going to be like this??

?There were a few exhibition matches on the side planned to show off individual skills, but they’re not supposed to be lethal to the participants. The attraction is supposed to be the ‘adventuring’ they go through on training runs. People can of course get hurt, but the nature of what they’re doing is not the same.?

Fifteen minutes later, the next set of entrants took to the field. Not only had the area been cleaned up, but props had also been added. Facsimile boulders, bushes and trees dotted the area, providing obstacles and tactical options for the two dozen combatants.

Ludmila narrowed her eyes upon recognising one of the participants. She scanned over the others in confusion.

“What’s going on…”

“Is something wrong?” Clara asked.

“That man over there,” Ludmila pointed to the west side of the arena. “He was the one that I stopped to look at during our visit to the Slave Market.”

“The Merchant did say that the arena had an interest in him,” Lady Frianne said. “Once slaves are purchased, they’re put to work as soon as possible.”

The slave in question was now adorned in the same chain shirt and bits of leather armour as the other combatants. A long scimitar-like blade and a round shield hung loosely at his sides. Ludmila scanned through the other men taking their places around the arena.

“But they should make an assessment before choosing contestants, should they not? Before even that, they should know about him from the Merchant making the sale.”

“I don’t see what the problem is…”

“The problem is that this match is not a match,” Ludmila said as the signal to begin sounded. “It’s a massacre.”

A tall man with a long spear charged at the slave. The slave deflected the polearm with his shield, guiding it up into the air. He stepped in and slashed the spearman across the belly. Intestines spilt out onto the sand.

Two other men who were approaching stopped, mouths agape. Chainmail was resistant to slashing attacks, but the slave in front of them had just cleaved through the armour as if it were a cloth shirt. The dumbstruck crowd started to cheer as the slave casually walked forward towards his next target.

That target, however, was clubbed down from behind by a war club. His attacker crowed in exultation and charged towards the slave, face awash in bloodlust. Then his body rolled over the ground, missing both legs.

“What!” Liane squawked, “I didn’t even see what happened!”

It didn’t seem that the crowd knew what was going on either, but their excitement over the result sounded out nonetheless. The other man that had approached the slave had prudently moved away to seek other battles, and the slave did not give chase. He strode casually over the sand, quietly watching his surroundings without expression.

After a few more challengers were dispatched, the rest of the field seemed to become aware of the out-of-place combatant. The fighting died down.

“Smart move?” Liane said.

“It won’t work,” Ludmila replied.

Without a word between them, the dozen remaining men surrounded their single greatest threat. The slave looked around him with a lazy smile before working his blade in a flourish and lowering into a defensive stance. He tapped the tip of his sword twice over the rim of his shield.

Two of the men behind the slave charged forward with harsh cries. A heartbeat later, the entire ring collapsed in an effort to overwhelm him. To their surprise, the slave enacted a charge of his own, darting forward to smash his shield into a bulky man wielding a maul. The contestant was sent flying, and the curved sword moved to skewer another combatant through his ribs.

The blade withdrew as the slave pivoted, shield sweeping out to deflect an attack from behind. His weapon came in low to take off his attacker’s leg at the knee. He smoothly came out of his strike and charged back into the thick of men in pursuit without missing a breath, sword flashing red in the late afternoon sun. In the stands, the spectators hushed. Arms, legs and entrails scattered over the sand as the slave scythed through his nine remaining opponents to appear on the opposite side of the field.

Groans and cries of pain rose behind him as the slave straightened from his stance. He flicked his weapon to the side, painting a crimson arc over the ground. A quiet clink sounded in the air as he sheathed his blade.

The Grand Arena exploded into a deafening roar. Lady Frianne and Dimoiya were nearly bouncing on the balls of their feet, leaning forward with expressions of admiration. Ludmila and her friends exchanged glances.

“I guess we know why you wanted to buy him now,” Liane said.

“I wasn’t going to buy him,” Ludmila rolled her eyes.

“Can…can you do that too?” Florine asked.

“With the right equipment,” Ludmila replied, “a well-trained combatant equivalent to one of our Gold-ranked Adventurers can probably do that. Those men were all about the strength of Copper-ranks. This man is high Platinum or low Mithril. I said it would be a massacre, but I didn’t expect him to hold back.”

“T-that was holding back?”

Ludmila turned her attention to the activity below. She cast a pointed look to the recovery teams putting all of the fallen men back together again.

“He could have killed the lot of them just as easily,” she said. “It looked like he used a few Boost Arts and some basic Strike Arts to make things go as quickly as possible without lethally injuring any of his opponents. Without Martial Arts, his opponents were essentially defenceless against him. The arena organisers were probably putting on a different sort of show for…variety.”

Awash in the fervid praise of his audience, the slave retired solemnly from the field. Voices drifted up towards the booth, chatting excitedly over the ‘promising rookie’ that had appeared out of nowhere.

Ludmila turned to address Lady Frianne.

“Lady Frianne,” she said, “what will become of him now?”

“It’s hard to say,” Lady Frianne replied. “With this display, he’ll enter the winter league for certain. Beyond that, the wealthy and powerful will try to figure out what he’s doing here. I thought you might be onto something when you stopped to look at him the other day, but this demonstration makes him quite suspicious.”

“What would happen normally?”

“Were he a known imperial citizen, many would try and tempt him into their service. If he’s as strong as you say, the Emperor would measure his potential as one of the Four Imperial Knights. Even so, many powerful individuals who enter the Arena refuse to serve anyone but themselves so he may remain here.”

Meaning to say that it was another area in which the ‘absolute monarch’ of the Baharuth Empire was powerless. It was not exactly a black mark against him in particular, as Re-Estize was also in the same situation. The strong dictated terms to the weak and little could be done to stop them. Outstanding individuals who upheld a nation’s order were perhaps the most valuable assets a country could have.

“In that case,” Ludmila said. “How long would it be until he earns enough for his freedom?”

“Without knowing the terms of his slave contract,” Lady Frianne replied, “I cannot say for certain. He is a foreigner so everything involved in that would add to his debt…if he’s as strong as you say, it could be anywhere from a few seasons to a year or two. Are you saying he sold himself into slavery on purpose?”

“And now he’s in the process of getting himself out,” Ludmila nodded. “We have no idea who he is or where he’s from – only that it seems he’s arrived at his destination. This is just a hunch, but travelling as part of a Merchant’s slave inventory seems a very easy way to get around without being noticed. Since he’s freeing himself in such a flashy way here, it might mean that he was more concerned about who might notice him departing his place of origin – or perhaps some regions along the way – than any scrutiny he might be subjected to upon his arrival.”

“Or it could just be that he’s legitimately a slave from somewhere,” Liane pointed out. “What Frianne’s oma hinted at might just be making you paranoid.”

That was entirely possible as well. With Ludmila soon leaving for her duties in the northwest, it was up to her friends to learn what they could from the dowager duchess. Even without knowing much, however, she still had an unsettling sense that what the world had in store for their future would be far beyond their ability to imagine. As Dimoiya stated when they first met, ignorance was a terrifying thing – especially for those burdened with the responsibilities of leadership.

“Is there any way for us to meet with him?” Ludmila asked.

“There is,” Lady Frianne answered with a nod, “but it will have to wait until the day is over.”