Chapter 121: 119 Airborne

"Name?"

"Donovan Strauss."

He had walked back in the moment he saw the red banner unfurl from one of the upper windows. Unsurprisingly, he was also the first in line.

"Which army are you registered under?"

"The second."

What he hadn't accounted for was the complete lack of other contenders that would follow behind him. He would have expected at least one other person to be here this early, but apparently he was going to be alone in the armory for a while.

"Weapon of choice?"

"I use a sword."

He really thought it should have been obvious considering it was strapped to his waist, but perhaps it was just a manner of process. Helplessly inefficient bureaucracy seemed to be a staple of civilized life.

"You are all set, sir Strauss. Just go into the armory and take a seat wherever you'd like. When the time comes for you to fight, your name will be called."

"Thank you. Do you happen to have any idea when my turn will be?"

"My apologies, but the match-ups are determined by lottery."

"I see. Well then I will just have to wait. Thank you for your time."

"Thank you for coming early. They have a tendency of all coming in at once, you see, so getting even one more person out of the way helps."

- - - - -

The armory didn't really fit Don's vision of what an armory should look like. If anything, it appeared closer to a locker room, only without the lockers. There were a few barrels tucked away in a corner, each filled with a certain type of weapon, but they didn't seem to be maintained very well. Hell, half of them didn't even look useable.

Right now, it was just an empty room, occupied by benches and stalls. Donovan, actually feeling disappointed in his surroundings for once, dropped down onto one of the benches and tried to nap.

- - - - -

"Donovan Strauss!? Donovan Strauss?!"

At the mention of his name Don jolted to his feet. He hadn't really fallen asleep, but after overhearing the first few bits of dialogue that the other competitors were exchanging, he decided it was a better idea to feign sleep. See, despite all of his progress, Donovan was still neither a proficient swordsman or an elegant nobleman, and he couldn't be bothered to argue about split when he didn't even know how to use it properly.

He also wasn't a braggart, which was a quality that all of the people he had heard talking. He could tell that there were a few who, like him, were busy playing the silent game and making themselves small, but they were definitely in the minority.

"Once again, calling for Donovan Strauss!"

"Here sir!" Don rushed through the small crowd of people towards the source of the voice, receiving a few glares and irritated grunts as he pushed some aside. He didn't want to be rude, but there wasn't a chance in hell he was going to take shit from someone standing in the way.

"You're Donovan Strauss?"

"That's correct sir." He was a bigger man, but not burly. His stature and scars gave Donovan the impression he was used to dealing with whatever squabbles arose in this armory.

"I've been told this is your first tournament here. Do you need a rundown on the rules?"

"That would be appreciated."

"Then follow along, I'll tell you on the way." The man opened a large metal door, revealing a hallway that seemed to go on forever. "So when you get out there, you are going to stand in the white ring. It is extremely important that everything you want to keep attached be inside of it. You will stay in that ring until the match starts, but you will only begin fighting when they give the mark, is that clear?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Those rings, the black, white, and blue ones, are how the Great Csillacra registers the participants. The black and white are for the contestants, with the colors being how the audience knows who is who, while the blue ring is for the referee."

"Referee?"

"They are enforcers who keep the duel from damaging people outside the ring. If you go too far, they will not hesitate to send you out. Now, the red ring is the boundary of what the Great Csillacra can monitor. You go outside of that, you lose. You force your opponent outside of that, you win. If one of you gets struck down, to the point where the Great Csillacra determines death to be an inevitability, you will be moved outside of that ring into the smaller one corresponding to the ring you started in. Understood?"

"Yes sir."

"Good. Now I'll be honest with you kid, the first time you get hacked up is going to be scary, it always is, and the move from inside to out is going to feel incredibly strange, but you have to try to keep your wits about you. Panicking will only serve to hurt you outside the ring, where damage is permanent. If you think you are going to die, just stop moving. You need to get used to the feeling, so don't do anything that would get you hurt."

"I will try."

"Good. Before I send you out there, any questions?"

"Any tips?"

"HA! All the advice I can give you is stay calm."

"Thank you sir." Don had gathered that from his practice with Titanyana, but there wasn't any point in pouting now.

He gave the man a short bow before heading into the light. There he found a very large stadium, an arena, with a slightly elevated dirt platform. He wondered if there were other events that took place here given that the platform looked like it could be removeable. Taking note of the blue and black masked man standing slightly off center of the truly massive dirt circle, he stepped up onto the platform.

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It was only a foot of elevation, but it felt like so much more. All of the sudden, the immensity of the circle was that much more clear. There was a red ring, just as he had been told, but it was huge for a duel between two people, a hundred meters across at minimum. To take it further, he was at least another hundred meters from where he was standing. That meant that from this side of the arena to the other, there was at least three hundred meters, and this was the short dimension of the ellipse.

Shaking off the awe, Don started moving towards the center, towards the enforcer.

"Donovan Strauss?"

"Yes sir!"

"Take up your position in the white ring. Your opponent is being brought out now."

Don nodded, taking note of the black ring to his left as he made his way into the red. This must have been the 'corresponding' ring on the outside.

"What should I do with my scabbard?"

"Just leave it outside the ring."

Donovan did as he was told and deposited it, belt and all. He didn't much like fighting with it attached, it was a stiff stick hanging onto him that threatened to trip him up. He wanted more practice fighting with it on, but he wasn't going to risk it in a fight.

The trek felt arduous, the eyes of the few people in the crowd who bothered to show up burning holes in his back, but that feeling diminished once the other person emerged from the same hallway he came out of. Setting himself up in the white ring, he took the time to look towards the crowd. He thought that there were only a few people, but it was really more the case that the arena was just a massive structure. There were probably a few thousand people up there, but they only looked like they occupied a tenth of the available seats.

"I guess its nothing exciting when they happen all the time huh?"

"No, it would normally be a lot more crowded than usual. It's more the case that Lord Trebar and his squad are fighting this round." The enforcer, now only a few meters away, responded to Donovan's directionless question without prompt. 

So he's popular popular - that was all Donovan could think on the subject. Even he could guess that watching Trebar was quite the treat. Even the registrar lady had been swooning over him.

Donovan didn't let it faze him, if anything it made him feel less tense. His 'boss' was a showman, what else could he ask for? Instead he busied himself checking and double checking his gear. Everything was accounted for, and he could feel his hands. He didn't even realize that his opponent was in the opposite circle.

"All ready?"

"When haven't I!" The dude sounded gaudy, if that was even possible. "I'll finish this filthy peasant in a single blow!" Voice dripping with confidence, he drew his own blade and displayed it over his head.

Donovan was left frozen in a state of disbelief, was his sword bedazzled!?!?!?! Confused beyond belief, he looked to the enforcer to to get some form of assurance that he wasn't hallucinating. Confidence and swagger he could understand, the dude was a noble after all, but a bedazzled sword? There was even a hole in the middle of it!

Unfortunately, he was met with a literal expressionless mask. One staring directly at him.

"Oh, yeah, I'm ready."

"Good. Keep your extremities inside the ring . . . good. Now, prepare to fight on my mark." Donovan felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, something had changed. "Three, two, one, GO!"

"Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah." Don's opponent raised his sword above his head and began to rush him. There was quite a bit of distance between the two of them, but he was still far faster than Don could hope to be. Yep, idiotic as he looked that guy could still use split.

However that was fine, he had been taught some ways to counter this sort of speed. First thing, get low. He is coming fast, so he won't be able to make an upper cut without telegraphing it beforehand. If he chops down from above, he is in a powerful position to block it, and there isn't as much body to guard if he strikes from the side. The biggest threat to him was a stab, but due to the fact his opponent was running straight at him he could point his own blade right back at him and try to avoid being hit anywhere vital.

It wasn't really a fight to the death, right?

That didn't matter now, he needed to think about his follow up. He would just dodge an uppercut and work from there. If his opponent chopped and his blade stopped, Don would try a throw. If he blocked a strike from the side, he would shoulder check the idiot and try to secure a death blow. If the bedazzled buffoon decided to stab, Donovan would accept the game of chicken. It was simple, but that only told him these plans wouldn't hold up against anyone with experience.

Perfect! Now his opponent just had to keep charging him, which is exactly the moment he didn't. In fact he did something stupider, something Titanyana warned him never to do.

The moron jumped.

Well, to be more specific he leaped, but the end result was the same to Donovan. His feet were off the ground and he was sailing through the air towards Donovan.

". . . well then."

As he whispered under his breath, Donovan had to admit this guy knew how to jump. At a glance, Donovan could tell that he would land practically on top of him, but it didn't change the fact that his feet were off the ground. Titanyana had warned him for a very good reason, a swordsman with his feet off the ground was a swordsman who was defenseless.

Even the most agile person could not easily change their stance while suspended, and there wasn't a good way to change your momentum. You were, despite your momentum, as sitting duck. Sitting, apparently, as far better than being in the air. Sure you might be down and on the defensive, but your opponents attack options would be limited to 'above' and you could reasonable be expected to attack their legs. You only needed to crouch to render the attacks of an airborne opponent moot.

Donovan was not one to relinquish such a golden opportunity. He shot from his stance as fast as he could muster while still maintaining a stance. He would meet his opponent close to his zenith, just as he was coming back to Earth.

"FEEL MY POWER!!!!"

Even now, as Donovan was preparing to disembowel the birdbrain, he was only showing confidence. He had even gone so far as to raise his sword above his head in preparation to cleave down, further opening up his abdomen to attack. Honestly, it was like he wanted to be dissected.

Don moved carefully, bringing his sword up and around in an arc in order to cleanly cut his opponent's stomach region, moving aside so that he wouldn't be hit by his flailing legs. This proved to be a good move for a separate reason, that being the outpouring of blood and guts as the belly was cut open.

Just as the now dying fool's foot hit the ground there was a blink of darkness, and Donovan found himself in the white ring outside of the red, still holding the position he had taken after administering the incision.

"Winner, Donovan Strauss!" There was a small round of cheers from the audience, mostly unenthusiastic, but still supportive. Clearly this was one of the less exciting bouts they had seen thus far. Not unsurprising given his opponent.

Speaking of which, his opponent was now on the ground a hundred meters away from him, screaming bloody murder and clutching onto his stomach. It must have been shocking for him, feeling an intense spurt of pain followed by the impending sense of death, only to fall flat on his face, otherwise safe and sound.

Uncomfortable with what he had just witness, Don made his way back to the hallway, picking up his scabbard as he passed.