Chapter 62: Arena

Charon had to wait over an hour to reach the desk, his anger mounting with every minute. The only thing that kept him from barging back into the other room was a single phrase repeating in his head. ’Heroes are patient, heroes are patient, heroes are patient.’ Finally, he made it to the front, rushing up to the teller and letting the words cascade from his mouth. "I need a Novice rank fight as soon as possible!" The bald man gave him a flat look, followed by an eye roll. "Not my job. Take all fight requests to the Ring Master. You can find him in the fighter room between fights." Charon’s jaw dropped. "You’re saying I didn’t have to wait in that damned line?" The man shook his head. Fighting the urge to rip his hair out, Charon did his best to smile and sound polite, not wanting to get himself kicked out. ’If I ever get the chance to kill that attendant, I will do so with happiness!’ "Where can I find the fighter room?" Raising a single finger, the man pointed down another hallway connecting to the room. Nodding his thanks, Charon walked down the hall, which ended in another staircase leading further down. He could hear shouting emanating from the bottom, echoing up in faint bursts. Taking it, he found himself in one of the worst-smelling rooms he had ever seen. The stench of sweat filled a large metal cage, benches lining the floor. Men sat on the wood or stood by the bars, looking down at a massive cavern. A large ring was just beneath them, red stains covering the sandy floor. Two fighters were currently throwing themselves at each other, their swords clashing in showers of sparks. Raised metal stands flanked the ring from all sides, thousands of spectators standing and cheering with every blow. A metal disk floated around, a man in a crisp suit and black tophat standing in the center as he spoke into the air, his voice somehow carrying across the entire arena. "Evan has managed a glancing blow on Eric, bringing this fight ever closer to a finish!" Massive holo-screens projected the fight above the stands, allowing everyone to watch the spectacle. One screen was even in the cage, hanging from the bars in the very center. A small gathering of fighters was watching it, most looking bored. Deciding it would be best to witness how the fighting went, Charon found an empty seat near the edge of the cage, the gap between the bars providing him a decent view of one of the screens the crowd used. Both fighters were shirtless, sporting simple swords. They struck blow after blow, most being deflected but a few breaching the defenses. As the clash wore on, it became clear who the winner would be. ’There isn’t any hope anymore. Why does he keep fighting?’ "Think he has any chance?" A feminine voice snapped him from his musings. Turning to his right, he saw a petite brunette girl no older than eighteen sitting beside him. She sported a small smile, but her blue eyes belied her sadness, the eerie kind that no words could hope to express. The dour aura matched the color of her clothes, a baby blue dress that hung below her knees. Pale slippers covered her feet, ragged and torn at the rim. Grunting, Charon replied. "None at all. His fate is clear. He should just surrender; he has lost." "He couldn’t even if he wanted to. All fights today are to the death. To surrender would mean a quick death at best, a torturous one at worst." Focusing on the fight, Charon saw the wounded man struggle even more, his strikes coming out full of strength but sloppy, his panic overtaking his training ’Like a cornered rat. He knows there isn’t any way out, yet tries to find one all the same.’ The girl gave a soft chuckle that came across as more pathetic than joyful. "You have no faith in the power of absolutism?" Giving her a sideways glance, Charon narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?" She pointed at the winning fighter, his body glistening with sweat even from their distance viewpoint. "He fights with victory as a pleasant gift, something he wants very much but does not completely need. When he walked onto the sand, he did so with thoughts of tomorrow. Of drinking and whoring and laughing. Thoughts he keeps even now." She moved her finger to the other fighter. "Tomorrow does not exist to him, only today." Watching the brawl, Charon’s eyes widened as he saw the rat suddenly leap forward, cutting through his opponent’s leg. More blood decorated the sand as he fell forward onto one knee, his mouth open in a wrathful cry. "To him, there was an absolute requirement for him to win. Not for any reason except the fact that if he did not, he would die. He will let his body do whatever it takes to make tomorrow exist in his mind once more." With his leg now useless, the former-winner charged, swinging his sword in a downwards chop to brutally carve his foe. All it took was a single side step followed by a thrust to end his life. The wounded man staggered forward and grabbed his opponent’s blade, raising it high to a roar of cheers. He gave the audience a small spin before jabbing it down into the back of the corpse like a fleshy sheath. "They say a battle is won in the mind, but that is only true when you understand the man who wins is the man who needs it more. The one who isn’t afraid to let absolutism take over." Charon faced her with a mixture of caution and curiosity, impressed with her perspective on fighting. "I’m the Jester. Who are you?" Her slight smile vanished, replaced with grim determination. "No one of importance, Jester. Just a soul who is easily intrigued by things she can never understand." Wanting to ask her to clarify, he was interrupted by the floating disk docking on the cage, the well-dressed man stepping out to reveal a cane with a golden ball on the end. "What a fight, what a fight I say! Wallflower, you’re up! This crowd is rowdy for something exciting tonight, give them a show! None of that classless barbarism either, they want something flash! Something with pizzaz! Something magical!" The girl sitting next to Charon, Wallflower, stood while nodding her understanding. "Of course, Fight Master." He patted her on the back as she boarded the disk beside him, her lips downturned. Her visage was so sad that Charon felt compelled to reach out and stop her from going, to spare her the horrors of combat, but he knew that would be insane. ’I just met her, it could all be a trick!’ Watching the two of them depart with a forlorn expression, he overheard a few whispers shared between the other fighters. "This is gonna be another slaughter." "I pity the soul thrown in there with that monster." "Better them than me, I’d run first chance I got!" "Couldn’t pay me enough..." With mounting terror at what kind of horror he would witness the girl face, Charon stood and approached the bars for a better look, wanting to honor her with his full attention, even if she were going to die. ’I hope I can fight whoever kills her so I can gut them alive.’ In his mind, there was no way the petite teenager would survive. Once they were down at the sand, the announcer dropped Wallflower off before moving to another cage hanging on the opposite side of the arena. He only stopped there for a moment before bringing another passenger down. The second he touched the sand, Charon knew he would have no hope in a fight for revenge. Covered in thick plate armor, a beast of a man stood a dozen yards from the girl. With every thundering step, the armor rattled, sending a scratching racket across the field. He held two long swords in his gauntleted hands, casually flourishing both as he showed off for the crowd. A long plume of scarlet feathers extended from his armet, whipping in the wind as he moved around. ’How is it possible for one man to wield two of those blades at once?’ It looked like a herculean task, and not one Charon thought himself capable of. The voice of the announcer boomed across the arena. "Ladies and gentlemen, commoners and nobles, magi and magic-less, today we have a treat! Facing off against the Wallflower is a new fighter, a retired sergeant from our very own army! The Beast of the East, Knight of the Legions, the Sword Master of Men..." His words cut out as he paused for dramatic effect, the crowd’s cheers rising in volume as they eagerly waited for the name reveal. "The one, the only... SANSID!"