Penitent-Chapter 41: Masks

Jakub and Leana won their own fights handily, their opponents too injured and exhausted to keep up with them, and once they were cleared off the arena platform the announcer himself stepped onto the top of the observation box.

“Congratulations to Lance’s team for being the victors of the Festival of Blade’s tournament!”

A cheer went out from the crowd, their dislike of Michael dulled by their enthusiasm for Lance.

“We will have a brief break and then the final fights to determine who will face Lance among his team will begin!”

There was a cheer from the crowd, but Michael was already growing tired of everything and so made his way swiftly out of the arena and toward the cafeteria. He was ready for the festival to end, even with the recent spirit of competition that had seemed to infest him. He’d already earned the gold piece he could send back to his body’s family, and from what he understood, these final fights were ceremonial and primarily meant to elevate the final remaining captain. Meera had said that the Festival of Blades was celebrated differently across Stent with the version practiced at the academy mostly meant to elevate the already higher ranking nobility to even higher heights before they were sent to the front. He’d fight, and fight well, if only because he enjoyed testing himself, but he was ready to get back to the regular routine.

He was halfway through his meal before his friends arrived from the arena to join him.

“Good fight,” said Pyotr with a smile. “Someone very capable must’ve taught you that move.”

“Capable at fighting and not much else,” said Michael through a mouthful of meat. “Yes.”

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“That’s not true,” said Pyotr with a look of mock wounding, “I’m also good drinker, and quite funny.”

Michael chuckled.

“You think you’ll be able to win?” asked Davi.

He shrugged. “Cohle and Jakub are better fighters than me, and Leana is a great mage even with her handicaps. They could normally all beat me, but they’re more tired than I am. The events have taken a lot out of them. I may make it, but I still don’t think I could beat Lance.”

Davi nodded. “The Titles the captains have are a big problem. In that fight when it was him and the other captain’s brother they shattered each other’s swords and shields. I can’t imagine many grown men from our world that could’ve done that.”

Marcus smiled. “Well, they would just use guns anyway.”

Ollie was the last to make it to the table. “Have you been hearing what the regulars are saying?”

“That I'm bastard son of whore?” replied Michael.

Ollie smirked. “Aside from that.” He sat down and placed down his tray. “The fighting has started heating up at the Tusinian front. There’s talk that the majority of us here will be sent to reinforce. Most of the officer candidates will get fresh troops from basic training with specialists and irregulars attached.”

They all sat silent for a few moments. “So we’ll go to fight the war then. It seemed like a long wait.” said Pyotr.

Michael stayed silent, focusing on his food for a few moments. He was feeling… excited? That wasn’t what he expected. He didn’t have the same cultural hatred that the natives of Stent had toward the Tusinians. He didn’t wish them any harm as a whole. He had taken a life that should’ve been lived by another, and he would always work to redeem himself of that, but he felt no loyalty to his body’s country. Still, the idea of fighting, gaining more titles and deeds, seeing how strong he was and could become. It had a certain appeal to him that was hard to deny. Would he feel that way when he was about to kill someone, though? When he had to run through a different kid from another country with his sword? He looked at his friends, listening to them talk as they speared their food. He would be able to do it for them, to keep them alive and unharmed. It was too bad they were planning on separating everyone.

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…

He went back to the arena after he was done eating. He had a fresh sword belted to his waist and spent some time checking his helmet and chestplate straps, whispering “corto” to tighten them where he needed to.

He saw his former teammates arriving shortly after him and gave them a quick nod. They didn’t return it.

Cohle looked at him with a sneer. “I played nice with you for Lance, but that’s over now. Prepare yourself for humiliation.”

Michael smiled at him. He’d had a bit of a feeling this may happen, though he wanted to be kind and give the benefit of the doubt. “You know I liked you the most, but now I actually think Leana may be the best of you.”

She and Cohle both raised an eyebrow at him.

“She wasn’t such a coward that she hid her feelings. Clear hate from the start is much more respectable than being two-faced.”

Cohle called him a word he didn’t recognize and walked away to inspect his own arms and armor.

The announcer appeared nearly a quarter of an hour later when most of the audience had taken their seats. He blew on the strange horn to gain everyone’s attention.

“Welcome back to the final event of the Festival of Blades.” He held for applause which he received. “For the next fight, we have Squire Leana,” cheers rang out, particularly from the other female mage recruits, “against Penitent Michael,” that led to booing and curses that evoked a sigh from Michael, this was getting tiring. “Please take your places in the arena.”

Michael moved to his corner of the arena without looking at Leana. She had her magic, and was tricky with it, but he had easily forty pounds on her and wasn’t nearly as limited in what he could do as she was. She was also much more exhausted. Still, he wouldn’t underestimate her.

He went to his corner and took a low stance to ready himself to charge forward.

Leana held her staff carefully in both hands in a defensive stance.

The horn blew and Michael ran forward.

Leana summoned a blue shield directly in front of his face when he got in range, but he knew that trick, and managed to duck under it before his face hit it. She followed up with one at shin level to trip him, but he quickly rolled over it and continued toward her. She summoned more that he dodged around until he was less than five yards from her.

He gave himself another push and launched toward her with his own shield, hoping to knock her off the side of the arena.

She summoned a thick blue shield wall that completely surrounded her and his shield slammed into, before it bounced him away.

He charged forward again started to hack at the shield with his sword, but before he could hit it a third time the shields pulsed outward and pushed him back.

When he was flatfooted, Leana’s staff appeared from the center of the large shield which divided into chunks and stabbed at him with it.

He barely managed to deflect it, and tried to stab his own sword through the same gap, but the shield closed and blocked him. This repeated several times with him hacking at her shields and her attacking him through them at a random point. Sometimes it was a stab, others a swipe, and where it would be aimed seemed completely random.

Michael stayed focused and relaxed, dodging, deflecting, and keeping his own attacks coming. She was a capable fighter, and was using her abilities well, but he was already beginning to sense her slowing. Attacking as frequently as she was on top of maintaining her shield was a rapid drain on her stamina.

Michael kept his pace steady, and eventually, she made a mistake. Her shield flickered for a moment before she attacked, and Michael saw her staff coming. He dropped his sword and grabbed it firmly, yanking on it hard while she was off balance. Her face slammed into her own shield. The wall of blue disappeared and Michael yanked the staff from her hand and tossed it off the side of the arena before placing the tip of his sword at her throat.

A groan erupted from the audience and after a brief moment the announcer raised his voice. “The winner of this match is the Penitent Michael!” The groan turned to jeers and boos, for both Michael for winning as a taker and for Leana for losing to him.

He looked at her and held out his hand. “Good fight.”

She batted his hand away with the back of her own and walked off the arena platform. He sighed and sheathed his sword before doing the same. His experiences so far had told him they didn’t value sportsmanship very highly in this new world. At least not in Stent. It was victory or nothing, even if he hadn't been a Penitent, Leana and all the others he'd beaten would still take it poorly. He went to the side of the arena to watch the next fight. He wanted to offer to heal Leana, but she was nowhere to be seen.

He watched as Jakub and Cohle both entered the arena. From what he could tell they were close friends long before arriving at the academy. They were nearly the same size, but Cohle was a bit broader and more muscular. Still, Jakub had had the least demanding of the games to wear him down. Archery wasn’t quite as tiring as holding a boulder over one’s head. Michael wasn’t sure who he was betting on to win.