I couldn't do this. It was too much. I felt like I wanted to scream, cry, and throw up. My clothes felt itchy, I was simultaneously hot and cold. Was my hair looking ok? I'm going to vomit. Why did I have to eat breakfast?
Simply put, as I sat there in the waiting area at my end of the arena, I was stewing in my own fear. Fighting monsters was one thing, but fighting a person was another. Added to all of this was the crowd, whose roar I could hear even in this closed-off space. At least the bench was comfortable. It was also the only piece of furniture in the room. The rest were bare walls, an iron gate, and little slats for peeking out.
I groaned and put my head in my hands. This was all so stupid. So very intensely stupid.
It was supposed to be an over-and-done honor duel. We'd fight it out, go our separate ways, no matter what happened. I was even alright with losing at that point, just to get it done with. Then it turned into a fight for my continued placement at Dungeon School, then it turned into a proxy fight between the school and the Knightly Orders, then it turned into a public spectacle for the school. Now it was a public spectacle for the whole town, and from the roars and cheers, the whole town did in fact show up.
No doubt, some folks had bet ridiculous amounts of money, so no matter what I did, people were going to be furious with me. I had peeked out one of the little viewing slats and saw that the City Lord was watching with the Knight Captain of the Obsidian Gauntlet, Headmaster Walther, a bunch of high-ranking mages and priests. There were food vendors. Dear gods, they were selling merchandise. Part of me was horrified, and the rest was upset I wasn't getting a cut. I'd deal with that later.
I could really use a hug right now, but fighters were left alone in these small holding rooms until the fight began. I wasn't entirely sure of the exact reasons, but it was traditional. In all my preparations for this fight, I neglected to actually look into the traditions of dueling and just assumed it would be a slightly higher-stakes sparing match.
I was wrong. I was very wrong. I couldn't do this.
I reached up and slapped myself. No. I could do this. I would do this! I had to get revenge for myself, my friends, and others. Most importantly, the honor of my arse must be defended. No one but those I chose could grab that, and any who defied this must be punished.
That's right! I was an instrument of justice!
I jumped in place a few times to shake loose the lingering thoughts of dread and to make sure all my equipment was in place. I couldn't afford to have anything come loose mid-fight.
I had all the treasures from the dungeon equipped, and the dungeon core tucked into a little pouch nestled near my heart. I wasn't sure it was the best idea, but I didn't want it to get lonely or something and have that affect me, given the weird connection we had. I think I also was starting to think of it as a good luck charm, though there was no evidence to back that up. I shrugged mentally. I didn't need to be logical all the time.
A red light turned on over the doorway to the arena. That was my cue. I did a few more quick stretches before standing before it. My tension had transformed from a raging river to a serene pond. I felt focused, my mind thinking only of the battle to come. I felt my mana, felt its connection to my treasures, the mana of the world around me, the slight coldness of the dungeon mana near my heart.
The light turned green. It was go time.
I walked out, my eyes adjusting to the bright sunlight, and the cool autumn air perked me up. The roar of the crowd was deafening as I strode onto the arena sands. I decided to play up the crowd a bit and waved as people cheered, raising my fists in a gesture of defiant confidence. They completely ate it up.
It felt kind of good. It felt nice to be cheered for, and not because I was someone's daughter or sibling, but because I was me. Alta Alba Marchesi, Sword Witch, Student of the Dungeons, and soon, Knight Defeater. I had to halt the forming grimace on that last one. I'd have to work on that. That was not the greatest title.
I looked across the arena and saw my opponent. Knight Cavendish of the Obsidian Gauntlet. Clad head to toe in bright silver armor, save for the black gauntlets, his order is named for. He had a while tabard with some kind of creature on it. I imagined it meant something, probably a family crest or something. I didn't care.
He was hamming it up for the crowd like I was, but thankfully for me, he was getting more boos than cheers. It delighted my heart to know that I was playing the hero today.
I then noticed that he didn't have a shield, like I assumed. He had a great sword. A really big one. To me, it looked more like a slab of metal with a handle than a proper sword. No doubt enchanted to the hells and back, knowing a rich prick like this.
Even with my enhancements gained from my treasures and what I hoped was better skill, I was likely at a disadvantage. That's fine. I was used to fighting things bigger and stronger than me. That's what life as a dungeoneer was all about after all.
We approached each other and stopped at the markings. From what had been explained to me, we waited here for the referee to approach. There was some ceremony to all this, and I was going to abide by it, as annoying as it all was.
His face was plastered with a smarmy grin that I couldn't wait to turn to paste. Ooooh, it was going to be so satisfying.
It was then that I noticed a hint of alcohol in the wind. Was Cavendish drunk? Was he that confident? Or that foolish. I could use this.
The referee approached from the western gate, and another approached from the eastern gate. Soon, they stood at their designated spots.
The first, an elderly man in a simple grey robe, cleared his throat and spoke with a loud booming voice that carried over the crowd.
"Welcome duelists and witnesses, to the Sands of Honor, where these two souls shall fight to settle their differences for all time. By sacred law, the conflict between these two shall be eternally settled. Do you understand?"
"I do," I said firmly.
"I do," Cavendish said with that stupid smile still on his face. He was too confident. I didn't like it.
"I have borne witness to their affirmations!" The second referee, a younger woman in the same grey robes.
"Good! Both fighters have been checked for appropriate magical items, and we, the representatives of the Grey Balance, sacred keepers of the law, solemnly swear that this duel shall be fought fairly with sword and spell as tradition dictates." The old man intoned in a ritualistic cadence.
I had heard of the Grey Balance, but never really paid them much mind. Revenstahd was an independent city, free from much of the politics of the other Mortal Kingdoms, which were ostensibly peaceful with each other, but were still fraught with all kinds of machinations. The Grey Balance was sort of an order that combined legal expertise with the worship of some kind of God of balance. I didn't really understand it, as I rather pointedly didn't pay much attention to anything religious outside some facts that could help me with relics and dungeon puzzles.
In any case, from what little I knew of their reputation, knowing they were administering this instead of the city lord like had been originally planned, gave me some sense of comfort. They would be fair about the outcome, and not likely to be swayed by whatever political nonsense made this duel even happen.
"Behold!" The woman intoned as two massive torches rose from the sands, blocking the gates from which we had exited. Torch wasn't exactly correct. They were crystals, carved in the shape of flames.
"These torches are symbols for the burning fire of combat that dwells within the hearts of the challengers today! When their flame is put out, either by loss of consciousness or their declaration of surrender, the duel will be over." She continued.
I wasn't planning on doing either, but I was very much looking forward to seeing Cavendish beg for mercy.
"The fighters may make statements before the battle begins. Knight Cavendish, as the challenging party, please begin." The grey robed man said, before standing back.
"I am here today to reclaim the honor and dignity besmirched by this mere serving wench, who dares to defy a Knight, blessed by gods and crowns, to protect and defend the common rabble from the dangers that lurk beyond your walls! Wenches shall learn the meaning of respect, and never again impugn the dignity of a Knight and Noble Scion! You should be honored that my hand blessed you, wretched harlot!" He raised his fists in the air to loose cheers, and more than a few boos. Nobles, much less Knights, didn't have much reputation in Revenstahd.
"Student Alta Marchesi, your response if you please." The woman kept her tone even, but I could tell from a twitch of her eyes, she was likewise disgusted by this sad excuse for a man.
"I have no words for a sad, pathetic, lush of a man, whose hands seem more fit for offending a woman's rear end than wielding a sword. I find it hard to believe there was any dignity in this man to besmirch!" I leveled my gaze at him, and his smile turned to a growl.
There was that smell again. He had been drinking, just like I thought! I could see it in his gaze. Try as he might, he couldn't focus properly. Yet again, it seemed, I would be teaching a hard-earned lesson to the drunk. This shame was on him, and before everyone in town, no less.
It wouldn't do to get overconfident, I told myself. For all I knew, he was faking. You can't trust these knights as far as you could throw them.
"The fighters shall now prepare themselves! At the sound of the third strike of the bell, the battle will commence until one is unconscious or surrenders. No killing blows allowed, and any who violates this sacred law shall be punished harshly!" The two referees bowed to each of us and made their way to their respective gates, leaving the two of us alone, glaring daggers.
"I'm going to look forward to destroying you, wench! I'll teach you what happens when you defy a knight!" He snarled at me, drawing his massive sword and lowering himself into a striking stance.
My only response was a rude hand gesture. I had no more words for this ill-bred son of a thrice-cursed noble house. I drew my sword, and with a flourish meant to show off for the crowd, I got into my battle stance, sword tip low, and one hand out for balance, and planned to begin a spell as soon as the bell rang.
He had range, and with a weapon like that, it was likely he had power. I had no idea about his speed with it, but I was hoping I was quicker on my feet. There was a great deal unknown about my opponent, a fact that was largely my fault. I looked more into my own improvement rather than snooping about his skills.
That was alright, though. I wasn't a snoop by nature.
One toll of the bell.
We stood there, in our respective positions, the seconds ticking by, feeling like an eternity, our muscles coiled like springs aching to release.
Two tolls of the bell.
I would show this cur his place and show him adventurers and dungeoneers weren't to be underestimated. For myself, for the girls at the Atelier du Maiden, for my party, for Eira, too, probably. I hoped she was here to watch. I wanted to show off a bit.
Three tolls of the bell.
Here we go!