Chapter 111: One Hundred and Seven – Bringing a Knife to a Chair Fight

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Chapter One Hundred and Seven - Bringing a Knife to a Chair Fight

When I got called up a second time, some of the nervousness from the first outing had left already. I followed a new clipboard person as he led me to the edge of the stage, then stood there while taking in all the crowds.

The people were just as excited as before. And If anything, it seemed as if there were even more people packed in together in the stands. Sellers were running around, hawking big mugs of frothy beer and bits of meat on sticks. Copper and silver flashed in the bright sunlight and the entire area smelled like sweat and the sticky-sweet odour of carnival food.

A band had set up next to the stage where they began to play a rumbly, growing fanfare with lots of brass and heavy drum beats that made the ground thrum with excited energy.

I felt swept up by it. It made me feel lighter, and the weight of my chair on my shoulder was suddenly not a concern.

“Got your snacks? Got your drinks? Well hang onto them because we are about to begin the second rounds of our single-elimination tournament!” Zac shouted from atop his floating platform. “On the right, we have the intrepid, the adorable, the absolutely brutal... Broccoli Bunch!”

The first time he’d introduced me, the cheering had been lukewarm compared to Arugula’s. Now it was a whole bunch louder and I felt my ears drooping down in embarrassment even as my cheeks warmed.

“Aww, would you look at that, the poor little miss is flushing! Good work lads, you finally got a maiden to blush!” Zac said. Laughter rolled across the entire stadium, followed by catcalls and whistles.

I was going to have words with Zac. Big, rude words. Objectifying women was wrong.

“Annnnd on the left, hailing from the distant Kingdom of the Endless Swells, the sneakiest blade in the night, we have Whispersteel the Sanguine-Eyed.”

The cheers were a little weird this time, more roars of approval and claps than the happy sounds they’d been making earlier.

Across from me, on his on side of the platform, was a shorter boy dressed all in black. He nodded to the crowd, his cowl bobbing up and down and shifting his dark cloak about. I kind of recognized him as one of the people who stayed in the shadows in the waiting room.

“Will our bright and cheerful Bun be able to stand against the bloodthirsty Whispersteel? Let’s find out!”

Clipboard guy gestured me forward and I hopped onto the stage. My landing wasn’t quite as stable as I was used to and I almost stumbled a step.

I was still able to jump and hop, the muscle memory was there, but the fine precision that the Hopping skill gave me was missing, and I wasn’t sure if I could use stamina to jump super high anymore. Maybe I could, and I just needed to practice?

I shook my head and set those concerns aside. I had a fight to win.

“Are you ready to die?” Whispersteel shouted as he pointed a very large knife my way.

“No, not really,” I said. “You’re very loud for someone called Whisper.”

“Oh hoh, the pre-fight banter is starting already and Miss Bunch isn’t pulling her punches!” Zac said.

Could the whole crowd hear me? Oh no. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to humiliate you!”

Laughter rained down around us and I saw Whisper’s knuckles going white around the handle of his knife. “I am Whispersteel the Sanguine-Eyed. I have slaughtered and assassinated my way through entire dungeons. Fools fear my very name. Who are you to mock me?”

I blinked as I parsed that. “Okay, so I have two questions. One, your eyes are actually a very pretty shade of brown, not sanguine. I... guess that’s not really a question, more of an observation. Um. Okay, an actual question then. If fools fear you, does that mean that smart people... don’t?”

Whispersteel poofed away.

“Oh, and the fight has begun!” Zac yelled.

Four mages set near the crowd raised staves and walls appeared all around the stage. I spun, looking not so much at the walls, but rather for Whisper who has yet to reappear.

“Die!” Came a scream from behind me.

I ducked and swept into a low kick.

A hot line sliced itself across my cheek, barely missing my eye.

Whispersteel reappeared mid-jump, arm extended in a lunge that had been meant for my neck.

Had he not screamed...

Whisper landed and aimed another stab down at me, knife glinting as it reflected the bluish walls surrounding us.

I landed on my back and rolled away from Whisper’s wild stabs. “Think you’re clever, huh?” he asked as he began to stomp towards me.

I skipped up to my feet and spun to face Whisper only to find that he’d gone invisible again. That... was really annoying.

A slight shift from below told me he was a lot closer than I wanted.

I hopped back, eying the mostly-empty battlefield while bringing a hand up towards my cheek. The cut there was shallow, but it still stung. A bit of cleaning magic would keep it clean. Which also gave me an idea.

I punched forwards, hitting empty air, but also launching a tiny ball of cleaning magic that shot across the arena and booped the far wall.

“Oh! The Bun has some tricks in her sleeves! Was the chair merely a distraction? Was she a little wizard all along?” Zac wondered.

I ignored him and started firing off more and more little balls of cleaning magic, interspersed with flame-thrower like gouts of glowing cleanliness.

I didn’t take long to catch Whisper in the effect, the magic splashing harmlessly off of his side. He was running towards me.

Eyes wide, I rolled to the side, then sprung to my feet, brandishing my chair. With both hands holding onto the seat and back of the chair, I thrust it toward where I thought Whisper would be.

A knife's point thudded through the seat.

Whisper appeared before me, a wide grin on his face. “Think you’ll last forever?” he asked.

“I last as long as I last,” I said. “This would be a lot easier if we were friendly.”

Whispersteel

Desired Quality: Someone to fawn over how cool he is.

You are reading story Cinnamon Bun at novel35.com

Dream: To make his Mama proud.

“Oh my gosh,” I said. “You’re here to make your mom proud?”

Whisper’s smile turned a little strange. “What?”

“That’s so cute!” I would have clapped, but my hands were busy with the chair. “Is she in the crowd?”

“Leave my mother out of this!” he said.

I spun the chair, a quick twisting jerk that tore the knife out of Whisper’s hand and sent it clattering off to the side. Lowering the seat, I reached out and grabbed Whisper by the wrist and tugged him towards me while shoving the chair forward.

The dull ‘thunk’ of the edge of the seat hitting the boy in the shin made me wince in sympathy.

Whisper pulled his arm back, then hopped back on one leg, his face going all sorts of interesting shades. “I’m going to stab you so hard,” he gasped.

I smiled back. “Do you want to sit until that stops hurting?” I asked. “We can ask Zac for a time-out.”

“Ohh, and the taunting continues! This bun is savage!” Zac said from above.

“That wasn’t meant to be a taunt!” I shouted back. “I was worried about Mister Steel. Shins hurt a lot when you bang them.”

“Oh, the poor lad! She’s just adding insult to injury!”

“I don’t mean to! He’s just easy to accidentally insult!” I screamed back, then I slapped a hand over my mouth.

Whisper was glaring so hard his eyes were twitching. With a roar, he charged at me while pulling out a pair of foot-long knives from somewhere under his cloak.

I ‘eeped’ and stepped back, dragging my chair with me to make distance between us.

Whisper planted a foot on the seat of my chair, halting it in place, then he vaulted over it, both knives held in icepick grips aiming for my head.

I dove forwards, tipping the chair to make more room as I slipped between it and Whisper, then rolled onto my feet on the other side. A quick turn later and I kicked the chair back up to standing.

I held onto it in both hands, moving it from side to side as if fending off a lion while Whisper moved from side to side and tried to flank me. It couldn’t last. At some point he’d remember he could go invisible, or he'd pull out another assassin-y trick and I’d be in a whole heap of trouble.

So I jumped forwards, chair spearing ahead so that all four legs poked towards Whisper.

Whisper spun around the blow and stabbed out with one arm. I pulled the chair back and twisted it so that his arm passed between the bars at the back. Twisting it more had his arm pulling up at an awkward angle, and just like that, Whisper was open.

I slapped him.

The sound echoed out across the arena.

Whisper touched his cheek, then looked up to me with a look between anger and confusion. “You slapped me?”

“Sorry?” I said.

Tears started to appear in his eyes even though he was trying hard to blink them away.

I swallowed. Was, was I a bully now? “I’m so, so sorry,” I said. I carefully helped him move his hand out from the bars of the chair, then pulled Whisper into a hug. “It’ll be okay, don’t worry. I, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Don’t, don’t hug me!” he said.

“Shush now, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. Um. I can forfeit and you’ll win. Would that make you feel better?”

“No, no it wouldn’t.”

I tsked. “Look, we can end this, and we’ll find your mom. I’ll tell her that you were super cool, okay?” I pulled back a little and set the chair to one side, then plopped myself down on it before patting my lap. “Did you want to sit and talk about it?”

“World almighty!” Zac said in a whisper that carried across the arena. “She’s not just taking the boy out, she’s destroying him!”

I huffed and pouted up at Zac. “I’m not destroying anyone. I’m not a bully. I’m not! I said I was sorry already, and I’ll make up for it!”

“I don’t need your help!” Whisper shouted.

“... Are you sure?” I asked.

Whisper tossed his knives to the ground and stalked off towards the edge of the stage in a huff. “I’m done,” he said. “I can’t do this.”

I raised a hand reaching out to try and grab him, but my attempt was cut short when the shields went down around the arena and the crowd broke out into confused cheers.

“She did it! She did it! The bun completely broke that man’s will to fight! How on Dirt did she do that? And will she be able to repeat it? We’ll have to find out in the next round, because she is moving on!”

I slumped a little, even as the crowd’s fervour grew louder.

Sighing, I picked up my chair and walked off the stage. “Here,” I said as I pushed it into the clipboard guy’s hands. “I’m going to go see my friends,” I said.

I could really use a pick-me-up. Some banter with Amaryllis, some smiling with Awen. Maybe a hug or two. Oh, and a cup of tea.

Yeah, I needed a pick-me-up, and I knew that after this part of the tournament there would be some puppetry shows and fireworks and other spectacles to watch. That would certainly work to get my mind off of fighting for a bit.

I think I decided that tournaments just weren’t for me. They were too emotionally draining.

***

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