[Skell]
"Will he survive?" Merriline stared unblinking at the charred body inside our ring of onlookers.
Golden light bathed the face of her partner: Valérie, crouched over an unresponsive Ra'Kol. "Not here," she moved healing hands over cauterized wrists and singed flesh. "I've stabilized him, but only just. It is pertinent that he is brought someplace more suitable for medical care."
"The Citadel infirmary," Karthwyn named apathetically. "Merriline, escort him there - Valérie, keep his head above water. The second round shall proceed in your absence."
They nodded; the Paladin recast Wind Current to carry the Ratfolk inside gentle air while the Warden kept her healing gauntlets close to the worst of his wounds.
And Abyss, those wounds weren't pretty.
Scorch marks spotting him like a leopard, claws and fingers and hands blown clean off… and how the singed flesh and fur must smell… no wonder everyone's face is so twisted. Shade.
I turned away before they even reached the door, instead heading to my spot at the other side of the railing. Thoughts absorbed me. So much that I almost walked into someone's smile.
"So spellbound by my stage show ya can't even watch where you're goin?" Soleil rolled fingers through fiery hair. "I'm flattered."
"Soleil?" I quickly shifted my attention. "Well, I'd be lying if I said you weren't a spectacle down there. Everything he did, you pulled out an answer for and made him see double for trying."
"The rat was all brute force. Those types are the easiest to throw for a loop."
"…That reminds me: all the talking you did - picking at old wounds - was that part of your strategy? Prodding him into slipping up?"
"Strategy?" she snickered, as if the idea that she'd need strategy to beat Ra'Kol was laughable. "Ya sure like to complicate things. I was always gonna cremate the rat. Everything I said before the big boom? Narration. The recital of a lifetime of scars in one brief dialogue before the final, breathtaking detonation." She glanced over to his wounded body as it floated through the exit doors, satisfaction warming her features. "All I could ask for now is an encore."
She spun on a heel and continued to our spot. "That's enough breath wasted on the rat. Next match's soon, and somethin's tellin' me it'll be a biggie."
Hesitantly, I followed, eyeing her from behind. I wanted to share in the euphoria of her win. She'd technically made the cut and become a Templar, after all.
Something held me back.
…It'd be one thing if she was indifferent. But no, she's glad to have maimed him. Maximized his pain. Killed him, possibly…
My eyes pressed shut. Why do I care? Ra'Kol's my enemy - our enemy. He didn't have to stand in my way or put his dirty claws on Soleil. Losing his hands, his ambitions, even his life? He… he brought it all on himself. Move on.
"Clean Slate," an incantation pulled me from my jumbled thoughts. Karthwyn's.
His gauntlets spread slowly as if sliding along an invisible table. At first I thought the old man finally lost his mind; nothing was happening. Then I heard Soleil puff, blowing waves through her hair.
"Aw," she fussed. "Thought I'd get to keep my stamp on the stage."
I turned to see just what the heck she was on about. Onstage, ripples ran across the hexagonal tiles as if they'd changed from solid to liquid. Dozens of blemishes from previous matches, of magical residue and physical scars, were wiped away as the ripples spread outward.
Damaged and disturbed stone sank into the stage just to be quickly filled in with pristine replacements - seemingly from under the surface. Deep gouges from Ra'Kol's Burrower and red-hot burn marks from Soleil's Sulfuric Snare? Gone in seconds. Even the broken chandelier - though it was taking its sweet time - delved into the ground alongside countless glass shards.
"What a practical art, Commandant Karthwyn," noted Ormine in a near-trancelike tone. I couldn't decide if she was brown-nosing or just latching onto anything more pleasant than the earlier massacre.
She went on. "Do you plan to work similar repairs on the fallen chandelier?"
Karthwyn grunted as he repaired the stage, not even sparing a glance at the lone fixture working overtime overhead. "Do you see a spare chandelier lying around, applicant?"
Her put-on smile flipped into a frown as she shook her head. "I… no sir, I just thought it a little dim on one end of the stage."
"Then use your eyes. We stand in Selem's Domain; where darkness is as shallow physically as it is in truth. One chandelier is more than enough."
…Always the prick, aren't you Karthwyn?
I looked away the Commandant before my temper spiked again, turning to another wildfire. "Forgot to mention it earlier, Soleil, but congrats on your win. Weird as it feels to say, you're basically a Templar now."
Soleil's resting half-smirk didn't shift.
"Are you… thrilled? At all?"
"As thrilled as I am when I spot a silver round in the street."
My face dropped. "…What?"
"Mildly, is my point."
"That's it? People across Lumerit dream about being Templars, and you're just 'mildly' excited?"
She tossed up her shoulders. "I already knew I'd be one awhile back. I'll be excited when I'm back in a tavern, throwin' back ale and strummin' my lute and shufflin' cards. But this? About as surprising as looking down to find out ya still have legs."
Talk about cocky. Then again, she's got reason to be. Tossing up a smokescreen to hide herself, knowing Ra'Kol would use his nose and carry himself straight into a trap set in-between them? At least when it comes to combat, she'd be an outstanding Templar.
"How 'bout you?" she seemed genuinely interested. "What's next on Skell's agenda?"
"Me?" I started to craft a lie, before realizing it wasn't needed. "That's not important now. What's critical is the moment: surviving my next match."
And depending on who I'm up against, I might just have a chance. Two of the heaviest hitters had their turn, and I won't fight Hyland again. So if I could just get some decent luck for once.
The stage's repairs finished below. As my eyes glanced back to Karthwyn's - finding them already pinned to mine - an indescribable dread dawned on me. Because, I finally realized… this Ordeal was rigged from round one.
In the First Ordeal, names were jotted on tickets and drawn randomly to assign teams. In the Second, we all took the same test. There was no room to, say, stack odds against a particular applicant.
That wasn't the case anymore. The Commandant was the lone factor in deciding who faced who.
And in Karthwyn's gaze, I caught a glimpse of a long-anticipated moment: when he'd finally bring down the gavel on the dark mage that thorned his side for far too long, and eject him from the Ordeals forever. His coup-de-grace.
"Skell!" called Karthwyn, venom drenching my name, "ready yourself!"
The smallest smile crept onto the wrinkled edge of his mug. "You are to face Yamui!"
Mere chills didn't scrape my bones. These shivers were a full-fledged cold snap. My opponent stood silently in the room's corner - the only applicant uninterested in the battles below. The swordsman quickly took the measure of me.
He wasn't impressed.
"Y…you gotta be kidding," I muttered.
Instinctively I looked to Soleil. For advice? Encouragement? I don't know. Whatever would've put me at ease, I didn't find it.
Soleil's perma-smirk dropped. "…Shit."
"Should've expected this," she started whispering to herself. "'Course someone like that old fossil wouldn't play fair."
"S-Soleil," I dropped my voice too. "What should I-"
"Come. Now," ordered Karthwyn. "I will bestow upon you both a ward in Valérie's absence."
The will to protest was there - but I knew any disobedience could be punished with outright ejection. At least if I put one foot in front of the next and approached the Commandant, I'd still at least have a fighting chance.
Only thing? That chance might as well have been null.
Yamui was in contention for the deadliest applicant of the year. He scared off Hyland, made a joke out of the preliminaries, and was basically untouchable - quick as he was. I watched him train the night before; I knew we stood on different stratums. But that didn't matter. As we neared Karthwyn's reach, reality set into my bones:
Either I defeated Yamui… or I'd never live again.
Karthwyn's gauntlet locked onto my wrist like manacles - while the other rested proudly on Yamui's shoulder like he was a favored son. "Chromatic Ward," his incantation rolled forth like a quiet quake. A moment and we were sheathed in the same green, luminous barrier manifested by the Warden.
Wait, no… something's off.
Visibly our wards were as they'd always been. But something about mine felt… lesser than my last one. Fragile. As if the art was only powered by the barest trace of mana.
A glance at Yamui told me this feeling wasn't mutual. He was as comfortable as he was in the last match.
Karthwyn, you snake! Are you so scared of a dark mage becoming a Templar that you won't just match me against your little protégé, but you'll sabotage me too!?
I didn't let a word slip. My glare communicated every syllable. The Commandant knew that I knew. And his narrowed eyes showed he knew I had no power to stop him.
All became clear to me then. In the grand scheme of things, I was challenged with other applicants and the Ordeals themselves, sure. But Karthwyn was my true enemy. The ultimate, oppressive barrier between me and resurrection.
Though Yamui wasn't one to be forgotten.
"Will you make the same decision as my previous opponent?" Yamui rested an arm on his scabbard.
"What?" I turned.
The blue-haired swordsman cocked his head and shot me a chilling stare. "If so, do forfeit now and save me the legwork to the stage."
"Save you the legwork? I don't care if you're the best swordsman in Bushimo, I'm taking you to that stage," I pointed my finger and glare below, "and-"
I froze.
"…Invoke my homeland at your peril," passion thawed his haughty voice. "If you are so desperate to face one of its sons, then brace yourself to witness its superiority firsthand."
Or at least, that's probably along the lines of what prideful sewage he spewed. I didn't pay it attention. Something much bigger entrenched itself in my mind.
"That is quite enough," interjected Karthwyn. "Take to your respective escalifts."
Yamui moved first toward the eastern escalift. I stiffened.
"Wait, wait!" I bolted in front of the swordsman, tossing palms in his face.
"What is this nonsense?" his puzzled gaze scraped me up and down.
"I, uh, call dibs on that escalift!"
The swordsman blinked. "Move," he shouldered past me.
Shade! Think of something, now!
"What difference does it make to a son of Bushimo?" my words bit at the heels of my thoughts. "Day, night, rain, shine - you should crush a Lumeritan all the same, right? Either Bushimo's not as great as you think, or you're no true son-"
An azure blade flashed under my flinching neck.
"Another thoughtless word. Another ignorant err." Icy blue eyes chilled my soul. "And this bout will be the least of your losses."
"Dark mage…" Karthwyn uttered behind me. "Cease this pitiful floundering and take the western escalift, or I shall consider your behavior as forfeiture."
Sweat slid down my face and narrowly past Yamui's wakizashi.
"No," snapped the swordsman. "He is correct about one matter: regardless of condition or circumstance, I am without peer in this realm. If sense does not make that certain, action will."
The blade and its wielder vanished in the span of a blink. I spun to see Yamui on the western escalift, enmity and impatience emitting from his foxlike features as the enchanted tool whirred to life.
Being subverted clearly vexed the Commandant as - for a brief moment - his exacting gaze left mine. Were Yamui to be anyone else, he'd have demanded Yamui return, threatened punishment, dragged him by the throat if need be. But he said nothing. Of course he wouldn't. Yamui was his little prodigy, a prime candidate he must've expected would bolster the Order immensely after rising through the ranks.
Someone that would greatly benefit the Commandant to keep in good graces. At least for the moment.
So ultimately, he folded his gauntlets and relented. By all accounts, my loss was still certain, after all.
"You still remain, staring slack-jawed like an addled ape?" Karthwyn shot his chin toward the eastern escalift. "Go."
"…I am," I grumbled.
One on hand, I thought fast as I walked slow, I've pissed off Yamui. Because I definitely needed another enemy. On the other hand, well… Karthwyn wasn't wrong when he called this floundering. All that and what I'm walking into is still a shot in the dark. At best.
Nervous fingers tapped relentlessly against my legs. If the match went how I'd envisioned, everything would hinge on a single moment.
A moment I couldn't botch for the life of me.
—————————————————————————————————
Fuzzy moments blurred together.
The escalift hitting ground floor. Boots stepping off. Eyes glazing over rows of lights - skipping past the one I'd "borrowed" earlier. Registering sight and sound was a waste of time and attention. Every grain of thought diverted to the approaching match; visualizing what precisely needed to happen. Again. And again. And again.
Eventually an image slipped in: where everything went wrong and Yamui's blade slid easily through my defective ward and lopped off my skull. Like a sucker punch it hit me and when I staggered back to reality, I was rising up the stage's steps.
Urgh… I quieted my bones' chills. Don't blink. Don't overthink.
Just act.
I stepped foot onstage. And Karthwyn's count started.
"Three."
Yamui entered his Iaijutsu stance, as he always did. Veins surged with ethereal power. A hand darted to his wakizashi; his blue eyes darted for my throat.
"Two."
My teeth pressed tight, my knuckles tightened around one staff-end, and my gaze pinned to the swordsman's legs.
"One."
…This is it!
"Commenc-"
The stage shrank to a blade's length. Azure flashed for my neck. And it struck…
"Iaijutsu!"
"Shadow Form!"
Where I used to be.
I sank into the tiles darkened by the loss of their side's chandelier. An instant's shelter.
Yamui stopped behind me at the stage's edge - wakizashi extended. What was he thinking when he realized I wasn't at the end of his blade?
Or when I arose from the shadows?
Or when my staff reared back with the power to send him soaring?
If I had to guess…
Unfettered disbelief.
Yamui's jaw slung back and his eyes drew wide. He was mid-air. Wind didn't cushion his plummet this time. Humble grass did.
After that? The room froze. For so long I almost thought time itself crashed to a standstill. Nobody believed what happened - least of all me. This was the Final Ordeal's quickest match, and despite all expectations… I wasn't the one to know defeat.
I peered over the edge. Yamui struggled to climb to his feet. Not because of pain - his ward wasn't even fully yellow.
Copies of his expression hung all above me like still-life portraits. Hyland, Niles, even Soleil's fiery eyes cooled like an extinguished furnace.
But above all was Karthwyn. Leathery features nearly peeled off at the raging seams. Gauntlets strangled the railing before him; its metal compressed into the width of a toothpick.
Call it overconfidence in his own plans. Chalk it up to an underestimation of my skills in comparison to Yamui's. Or just say he never expected me to leverage the one piece of damage left behind from the last match to win the current one. It didn't matter to me. What did was that Karthwyn's scheme crumbled in front of his shading eyes. The weakest applicant - overthrowing his strongest.
A deep, unsteady breath quivered from the Commandant's wrinkled lips. "…The victor of this match is… Skell. Via ring out."
I… I did it!
I'd almost expected him to find some way to claim I'd cheated. But I was realizing more and more that - despite his position and power - he had to keep at least a veneer of fairness. Boot me out for no reason in a room full of future Templars, and who knew what that might do to the man's reputation?
"No!" I heard behind me. A leap, and Yamui rose back onstage.
"This is inconceivable!" he roared while his feet touched the floor in silence. "I am the heir to Clan Yatagarasu! Since childhood I have honed my swordsmanship until my palms bled and my legs cried. How could I have possibly been bested by this, this… Lumeritan plebian!"
"Sorry… plebian?" I was less offended, more puzzled.
"You apologize?" he misunderstood. "You dare treat me as a boy to be pitied!? I-"
"Yamui!" Karthwyn boomed. "Enough!"
The swordsman's eyes snapped upwards. "Understand this, Templar, I-"
Karthwyn could've petrified a basilisk, with how stony the stare was that he shot the swordsman.
Sweat gathered at Yamui's temple. With a scoff and a sideways gaze, he whipped around to the stage's edge. "Our discussion has not ended, Lumeritan," he let hang over me, before jumping offstage.
I didn't hear his feet touch the ground.
—————————————————————————————————
The looks I found as I rose to the upper floor were… an interesting blend, let's put it that way.
Hyland, of all people, seemed the least surprised of everyone. No. Not just that.
Relieved.
I expected as much. I was his ticket to unimaginable acclaim, after all. A ticket he couldn't redeem if I fell short before achieving Templar status. And unlike Yamui and Karthwyn, he didn't underestimate me. He knew I was utterly outmatched. Just as he knew that was the sort of scenario where I thrived.
His old superior didn't even glance in my direction as he called the next match's applicants. But he made no effort to disguise how much of him boiled behind his looping glasses.
All that effort must've went to Niles. Not that his work changed the fact that Niles was as easy to read as a picture book. Again his face was one of two minds.
Both of which I ignored.
Same with the other faces around me. Some glared like nothing I could ever do would've earned me that win. Others watched with a fear of what the man who trounced Yamui was capable of. I brisked past them all. There was just one face I was interested in seeing.
"Surprised?" I spread proud arms, as if I wasn't still winding down from a world of shock myself.
"Don't think there's a soul here who ain't," Soleil shook her head with a crediting smile. "Never thought somebody'd take advantage of my carnage to knock bird boy down a peg, but I gotta admit… cunning move."
A toothy grin forced itself on my face. For the first time in a long time, I actually felt like a winner.
Her gaze rolled past my ear. "And look who it is: today's big loser."
Huh?
Yamui's voice met me as I shot around… and angled my head down a few notches. "Skell, was it?" he questioned. "Allow me a moment of explanation. Defeat is an unaccustomed result for me. How I carried myself afterwards is not how the heir to my Clan should act - regardless of how uneducated your words were."
"Here to apologize?" Soleil looked down at him. "That's real big of someone so short."
"Doesn't feel like an apology," I added.
"That is because it isn't." He scowled - an expression of his that felt a whole lot less intimidating after our match. "It is merely information. Something I suspect your associate has accumulated little of over her lifetime."
The minstrel snorted.
"Yet I am not here to tell you this duel is yours," he continued. "That is clear."
"Is it?" interjected Soleil. "Skell only won 'cause he fooled ya. Ain't like he won in a straight tussle."
"…You don't gotta say it out loud," I muttered.
"Fool. Victory is victory, and defeat is defeat. The minutiae are irrelevant. Only that I wipe the indignity of losing to a Lumeritan off my name."
I gave Soleil some serious side-eye, before looking back at the swordsman. "And how are you gonna do that?"
Yamui came closer, standing face-to-face with me. "Despite the words of this pest, you are far more powerful than your feeble presence suggests. Clearly your defeat at the hands of that black-haired knave was a ploy to appear weaker. Which is why I have made a decision: from this moment forth, I select you to become my rival. We will travel the road of power together, pushing the other's abilities to their very limits, until our inevitable duel at this road's end. Then, I will stand over you, sword in hand. Triumphant."
For so many words, it was impressive how few of them made sense. "I'm… supposed to be your rival? Do I get a say in the matter?"
"There is no running from this fate, warrior," he pointed up at me. "Be honored. Especially as a foreigner."
…What in the Abyss is happening? I just wanna win these stupid Ordeals and live again. Not deal with ANOTHER delusional swordsman!
While I slumped, Soleil snickered. Two reactions he expressly ignored.
"That is enough talk," he made a dramatic swivel that whipped his exquisite - and slightly singed - jacket behind him. "Our paths diverge for now. Yet once we both don the mantle of Templar, I expect you to continue to sharpen your talents, lest you allow my skill to surpass yours. Farewell, rival. And farewell to whom I can only understand to be his apprentice."
Soon as he left, Soleil scratched at her hair. "Apprentice. That's a new one."
I rubbed the ridge of my nose. "I doubt he actually believes that."
"You put too much faith in people. Guys' a nutcase - he actually thinks you're the toughest person in the room." She shrugged. "No offense."
"Trust me, I'm not riding that much of a high that I'll agree with him. But… maybe you're right. And I don't get the feeling I can make him leave me alone either. Abyss, I could slip on a banana peel and he'd probably think I did it on purpose to 'mask my true power' or something." I groaned. "I'll forget about it for now. I've got too many other irons in the fire to focus on him anymore."
"Ya got that right; just bask in the win ya scored on bird boy for now."
"I am," I grinned, speaking over the grunts and incantations of the current match. "Though I won't get complacent. I won that round, but I'm not out of the woodwork yet."
That said, I was feeling a little complacent. Below was my greatest advantage: the darkness. With it on my side, I was twice the threat I was normally, and ten times as safe. I still kept a vigilant eye onstage of course. Analyzing the arts applicants used, noting the biggest remaining threats… and trading conversation with Soleil all throughout.
—————————————————————————————————
"And on to the final match of the second round," Karthwyn announced to a noticeably emptier room.
Eighteen applicants entered a few hours ago. Now I stood among a dwindling fourteen, who knew the next round would steal even more of us away from the cusp of our ambitions.
Somewhere between fists pounding the floor in defeat and roars of victory rising to the roof, Merriline and Valérie returned from their tasks to Karthwyn's side. The Paladin and to an extent even the Warden looked astonished that I remained. I found their reactions amusing. Worth laughing at, even. Sure, stakes couldn't be higher with the final round looming in the distance, but I wasn't terrified of my chances anymore.
In fact, it was the chances of two others that interested me more in the moment. Because for the unlife of me, I couldn't choose which one I'd hate to graduate with more. And this battle could've been that very deciding factor.
"Hyland, prepare yourself. You are to face Niles."
An opportunity to watch the two applicants I despised most beat the stuffing out of eachother. I should've jumped for joy. So why wasn't I? Judging by Soleil's curious glance, she definitely expected as much.
A leisurely stride and a driven march brought both swordsmen up to Valérie.
"Don't take it personally," Hyland stared down his nose. "Or do. Either way, this this match is mine."
Competitiveness and righteous anger crowded Niles' face. "You took the words right outta my mouth! And don't think for a second that I forgot the venom you spoke after the First Ordeal - calling everyone that forfeited cowards!"
A response glinted in the ex-Templar's eyes, before he closed them and simply shook his head as Valérie's gauntlets fell on their shoulders. An incantation, and she'd coated the two in a distinctive green glow.
Niles tore his gaze away to give the Warden a small smile. "Feels just as tough as last time! Thanks a bunch Ms. Val!"
"Ms…?" Valérie seemed thrown. "Why… you're welcome?"
"And you?" Niles thrust a gloved finger at Hyland's nose. "I'd apologize in advance for this next whooping. But your ass deserves the whooping - not the apology."
"The 'whooping'?" Hyland repeated like it was his first time ever uttering the word. "I suppose I'll at least be able to enjoy this insofar as putting a buffoon in his place."
"That 'buffoon's' place still bottoms out over your peak, mate. But I'm done blabbing. Now's the time to become a Templar."
Hyland saw equal worth in continuing to trade jabs. The two broke off for their respective escalifts. Again, the energies under them hummed. They descended.
Niles was first to the stage - heart all but pumping out of his chest. Others had been clearly excited to become a Templar before. He was definitely the most.
Hyland followed after, in no real rush. In his mind, victory was his by right. But even he held something of an electrified smile as he stood on the verge of regaining his lost valor - an expression cast dark by the missing chandelier.
"Three," Karthwyn counted.
The ex-Templar silently released his sabre, looking past his opponent.
"Two."
The man in the headband crouched and reverse-gripped his shortsword. "May the best man win."
"One."
Hyland's eyes narrowed. "I will."
"Commence!"