"FOLKS! Today… is the final day of Student against the Captains. What journey has it been—isn't that RIGHT?"
The audience exploded with cheers and whistles, their reply.
"Amazing. You know what else is amazing? The student! This man right here—that's right, MAN! Only one among many, one who raised their hand up while others kept it down, one who has battled all our captains, and fought them until his last strength. Enough flattery! Come forth, OSWALD JAAACK!"
Enough flattery? W-What do you mean? Give me more!
He ran to the center of the sandy fighting ground, smiling and waving at the audience seated above the high wall.
"In the other CORNER! Our last captain to fight against our star. A nobleman turned captain, their nobility spanning 230 years, and the record for unlocking their skill in twelve hits. Ladies and gentlemen, Percival MONTCLAAAAAIR!"
The captain's corner door opened.
Ah, my eyes.
He rubbed his eyes from the light reflecting off the full-diamond armor worn by Percival. He lowered his hands from his eyes.
Oh no! His walk, his every step is… looking down at me.
His hands met his temple.
Oh— O-Oh no, it is a noble, who is an asshole.
Percival postured to the middle where Oswald stood, stopping a few feet from him. A scoff escaped Percival's nose.
"So you are the one who bested— No, 'bested' isn't the correct word for you." He smirked. "Survived, is."
Hoo boy. How do I even approach him?
"Yeah. I did… do that. Yes. It is I."
Okay, currently all me. Not too main charactery.
"Haha. Ahahaha!"
Percival cackled, his neck craning upward. After that, he inhaled through his nose, looking him in the eyes.
"Pitiful."
Yeah, well, so is your mannerisms.
Percival placed his hand on his chest—only fingertips touched, no palms.
"I, Percival Montclair, rightful heir to the Montclair lineage…"
No! A Monologue! I thought they were fictional!
"…a house that has endured for over two hundred and thirty years in steadfast service to its people."
I really want to be an asshole and interrupt with smugness but—I'm getting lore.
"For generations, my family has served the Mother Plains, its surrounding villages, and their successive leaders with unwavering loyalty."
Sounds nothing like the person before me.
"With me as the Lord, no one shall stand in our land without paying a hefty tax."
…What?
Oswald blinked profusely. "I am confusion. Your family sounds like what any good, noble… noble does. But ou…" He pointed at him. "You're putting a hefty tax on people? Where did your family go wrong with you?"
His question hit the mark. Percival's eye twitched, then his breathing quickened, his hands trembled—the shakiness increasing in intensity.
SHING!
"SILENCE!!!" Percival released his fully diamond sword, the plus-shaped cross-guard glistening under the sun. "The arena exists for combat, not for your trivial quips."
WHAT?! Hypocrite!
"Heh. You stand far beneath to speak before me. Now, ready your stick."
Oswald's mouth was left agape. I am beyond offended, livid. He let out a silent whistle.
SHING!
Calm yourself, man. They only exist… to be whopped.
DING!
The bell's ring echoed in the open sky.
After the bell rang, Oswald began to shiver.
What?!
He looked at his shaky palms, a misty breath escaped his lips.
Cold? Under the summer sun?
His gaze fell behind his palms, at the sand, seeing mist—enveloping his legs. He traced the mist's source—the cross-guard of Percival's diamond sword.
I see. He's an ice user.
THUD!
Percival struck his sword on the ground.
What?
Then the sound of glass crunching under boots enveloped him. The ice crystals in the mist joined together, forming a semi-circle of ten giant icebergs around Percival—floating, their sharp tips looking at Oswald.
Oh, no—
The icebergs were hurled.
"Whoa!"
WHOOSH! BOOM!
He ran from his spot as two icebergs whizzed past—exploding in a loud crash. The rest followed him, barely hitting from his dodges, ducks, dips, and dives.
Too focused on the icebergs.
THUD!
"Oof!"
Oswald didn't see the crude pillar of ice blocking his path, making him fall on his butt.
"What?! When did this—"
The skin of his throat seared with sudden heat.
"OH SHIT!"
He scurried off his butt.
BOOM!
The pillar of ice was punched through from the middle, shards propelled forward with the fist that knocked the pillar.
Was that an ice golem?!
Ice bricks—long and short—had formed a hulking ice golem, its body and movements akin to a gorilla. Two uneven orbs jutted from a small, roughly rectangular block of ice—its head—and turned to look at him.
"Gotta run!"
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
The ground beneath shook as the ice golem gave chase.
WHOOSH!
"HOLY!!!"
His abrupt pause almost stumbled him forward. The reason—a hurled iceberg shooting by.
His head shot toward Percival, who smirked, more floating icebergs at the ready.
Asshole—
WHOOSH!
His train of thought was cut off by earth-shaking footsteps of the golem chasing him—multiplied.
Multiplied?!
He looked behind him.
"OH SHIT!"
Instead of one, thirteen more gave chase.
What the fuck, man! An ice skill is meant for shooting ice shards, freezing opponents, and forming an ice tornado. NOT environment manipulation, ice necromancy and—
"WHOA!"
WHOOSH!
He ducked under another iceberg, crashing a few meters from his position.
"OH, WHAT THE FUCK, BRO!"
His profanity was for a rough wall of ice forming in real-time—as tall as a two-story building and as wide as the audience stands of the arena.
"He's cornering me, THE BITCH!"
Every escape route—to his left and right—was blocked by the ice wall. He skidded to a stop, his hand meeting the ice-cold wall—cornering the cat.
He turned around.
More than thirteen ice golems looked at him mockingly, a score of sharp tips of the giant icebergs stared at their prey, and among them all—Percival. Him and his minions—living and non-living—slowly walked toward Oswald.
Okay, okay! This is fine. Extremely fine. I'm cornered… like a bajillion other heroes—real and fiction—in my situation. Am I going to die? Or… there's a miracle within me that would save me from all this… Within me… within me… w-within me?
Why are those two words sticking.... WAIT!
His mind flashing back to the second day of the swordsman training school—dummy-hitting for unlocking elemental skill, associated with one's nature.
WHOOSH!
Back to present. MY FIRE SKILL!
He straightened himself, his back leaving the icy wall. His free hand met the hilt, both grips tightened.
And—nothing.
Well uh, I know my skill. How the fuck do I activate it?
Percival scoffed, shaking his head—him and his minions' advance paused by his assertive display, then continued.
Umm… Ah… Fuck! Right after the big reveal that displayed my upper hand. Think, man. Think!
His eyes fell on the hilt of Percival's sword—releasing icy mist like a smoke machine.
Okay… the hilt is spewing ice so…
His gaze shifted from Percival's cross-guard to his obsidian sword's hilt.
How do I release my fire…? Maybe, I…
He shook his head. I don't know, man. I'm just gonna try some bullshit, let's hope it works.
He closed his eyes, taking many deep breaths.
It's always focus on something. Therefore, focus on the hilt it is.
His vision dark, but his ears heard the enclosing enemies, earth-shaking thuds ever increasing in intensity. Within the darkness behind his eyelids, a speck of fire glimmered. The speck began to expand and expand until fire enveloped the darkness of his closed eyes.
FWOOSH!
A sudden spike of heat washed through his body, gathering in his hands.
"HOLY SHIT!"
From his sword erupted a column of fire that reached high—almost crossing Percival's wall.
Percival craned his neck upward, eyes widening at the tower of fire—beginning to melt the ice wall and dissipating the mist around Oswald.
"What in the Goddess?!"
Oswald's gaze shot at Percival.
"IT'S PAYBACK TIME!"
He aimed his sword above Percival, melting the iceberg at the apex—subsequent icebergs and golems followed suit, melting into puddles and pools of water.
"YES! YE-HEHE-ES!"
Percival looked around him, his minions gone.
"How? How did you?"
THUD!
Oswald collapsed on his knees, droplets of sweat falling by his hands. Percival shook his head, walking toward him.
"Haaah. I must truly discipline myself to cease being swayed by your 'emergence' of power. It is beyond comprehension that those jesters—calling themselves 'captains'—fell to you."
He stood before Oswald's kneeling form.
"Your talents of persuasion belong on a stage, not a battlefield—"
THUD!
Percival's left cheek met the ground as someone yanked his arm from behind, and a weight settled on his back.
"In order to deceive someone—one must deceive themself… end quote, hyphen Oswald."
He quoted, knee weighing on Percival's back.
"How?"
Oswald gave a nod.
"I got you. So, when I was knocked down…"
Few moments ago.
THUD!
Oswald fell on his knees—hands on the sandy floor, facing it—droplets of sweat falling by his hands.
"Haaah… Haaah… Haaah."
Yes! He's monologing again! Thank you, Fire Skill, for giving me real sweat… really—I'm drenched beneath the armor… YES! He's walking toward me! I knew his arrogant ass would do this. Now, it's time to do the hero's turnabout.
WHOOSH!
Back to present, with Oswald's knee on top of Percival's back.
"Just like that, I'm sitting on top of you and—"
The crowd exploded in cheers and whistles, many colored flowers thrown into the fighting ground.
"WHAT AN UPSET! Ahem. What an upset! What an amazing upset! You saw my excitement and I see yours. Ladies and gentlemen of all races, the competition's victor—OSWALD JAAACK! I need… I need to sit down and applause—without yelling."
Oswald released his knee from Percival's back, extending his hand.
"Accept the help, man. I and the others will despise you for being an asshole—No, let me rephrase that. I and the others will despise you for being impudent, pompous, and other words that imply lack of decency at face value. And despite all that, I respectfully enjoyed that fight. Before I continue, what say you?"
Percival looked at this extended hand, then lowered his gaze to the ground as his sins flashed before his mind. He let out a silent whistle, his head hanging low.
"Let us say, for the sake of clarity, that this duel… served as an unexpected but necessary… awakening."
CLAP!
Percival accepted his hand—Oswald pulled him up.
"Now that our hands are clasped together. I, Oswald, accept you into the Mary Band of Idiots."
"Mary Band of Idiots? I want no part—"
"A- A- A." He wagged his finger. "Too late, my noble friend. The pact only required the clasp of the hand and… I'm seeing a clasped hand."
"Haaah. This is punishment for my conduct, is it?"
"Yesn't. Look, don't worry about it. After all, you are forgiven of all—"
ROOOAR!
A booming roar pierced the cheery and redemption atmosphere of the arena, shooting everyone's gazes at the sky. Shortly after, black infant wyverns—horse-sized—filled the sky, covering it.
"Wait a moment, what is that?" Percival pointed.
Oswald followed his gaze, finding what he meant. His eyes widened, mouth agape.
Even larger than the infant wyverns clogging the sky, a massive black dragon flew among them.
###
End of Chapter 3
ns216.73.216.216da2
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