Ashborn 320:  Qualification Duel (Part One) (Patreon)

NOTE: Looks like Patreon is now including the collection below the chapter, so I'll leave out the links from now on as they're redundant.

Vir followed the Bairan registrar down the halls of the Colosseum, along with Cirayus and Shan.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is finding a proctor right now? Everyone’s up to their ears in preparation.”

“Looks like everything is coming along,” Cirayus commented as a group of Bairans jogged by, carrying boxes and furled flags.

“Yes, well. Turnout is especially high this year, now that word’s gotten out that you’re back.”

Cirayus chuckled. “I imagined that would be the case.”

“Really?” Vir asked. “I’d have thought warriors would drop out when they heard you’d be returning. I imagine their chances of winning are far lower now.”

Vir didn’t say ‘nonexistent’, though he was certainly thinking it. 

“You’ve a long way to go if you still think that way, lad,” Cirayus replied. “They’re joining precisely for the chance to fight me.”

“But the chances of that…”

“Aye. Unless they end up in my bracket, they won’t have a chance at all. And yet, the thirst to test one’s mettle against someone like me… Well, it runs strong in the blood of every demon, I’d imagine.”

Not every demon, Vir thought, picturing Malik and Gunin. Those two were more than content to remain on the back lines. And yet, even they burned with ambition. Just of a different sort. Vir wondered if demons were simply more ambitious than humans on average. Or whether their difficult circumstances forced such an attitude upon them.

Their group finally entered the Colosseum proper, and once again, Vir’s breath was taken away. 

Wooden grandstand benches rose off into the sky on all sides, surrounding the enormous arena. All around, workers milled, preparing the space for the tournament, and in the arena, a few fights were taking place.

Vir had imagined the central fighting pit to be one large space. Instead, however, a dozen elevated circular stages had been erected. They stood a pace or two off the sandy dirt floor and were clearly where the fights were to take place.

Most of the stages were of moderate size, though the one at the center was easily three times the diameter of those that ringed it.

“Do multiple battles occur at the same time?” Vir asked, puzzled at this arrangement. Only sixteen combatants made it to the first round, and the fighting was supposed to last days. There simply weren’t enough fights to require so many stages.

“Only one ranked tournament fight occurs at once, lad,” Cirayus said. “The others are for practice spars amongst those who failed to make the cut, challenges, and show battles between those who’ve lost. Demons from all over the realm come here, hoping to fight.”

“That’s… Wow.” Vir pictured the chaos of a dozen fights happening at the same time. “That must be quite the spectacle.” 

“That it is, lad,” Cirayus said with a chuckle. “Excellent betting, too.”

Vir shook his head. “I should’ve figured there’d be coin involved.”

“Well, of course! So many opportunities to win!”

“And lose,” the registrar said pointedly. “I swear, the amount of money we bring in from betting fees each tournament… I’m not complaining, mind you.”

“These bets are officially sanctioned?” Vir asked, surprised such betting was not only tolerated, but encouraged.

“Oh, most definitely. Fuels the economy, pays for the city’s upkeep, and so much more. I have never understood how so many demons have so much coin to lose.”

Cirayus grunted. “They don’t. Most of those sods are pissin’ away their savings. But, well. If not here, they’ll find a way of spending them somewhere.”

Vir was thankful for Rudvik’s upbringing. Even if they’d had money to burn, his father would never have allowed it. Vir couldn’t imagine taking the coppers Rudvik had so painstakingly saved, only to turn around and burn it on some stupid bet.

“Alright, you’ll be on stage six,” the registrar said after they’d approached the arena floor. “Wait there until I can find someone to proctor this duel.”

Vir had brought his Artifact Chakram and his katar, along with his armor, which Cirayus had gotten mended while Vir was away pretending to be a prisoner. Other than the cosmetic scratches, the black segmented armor, which had been ravaged from his time in the Ash, looked nearly as good as new. And exotic.

Exotic was fine—Vir was fashioning himself a Warrior of the Ash, after all. It helped sell his Artifact Chakram, though he didn’t plan to use it here. There were far too many eyes in the stands, and when bets were involved, spies would be as well. Vir didn’t doubt there were warriors who’d pay good money to get every morsel of information on their competition.

Vir might’ve done the same, had he the money and connections. He didn’t need those sorts of connections, however. Not when he had Cirayus. The giant knew all the combatants worth knowing. The ones he didn’t know were newcomers, and likely no threat.

At least, not for Cirayus. Vir wasn’t quite as confident about his own prospects.

“What kind of test do you think it’ll be?” Vir asked.

Cirayus shrugged. “There’s no standard for this sort of thing. They mainly want to check whether you’ll be competitive. As he said, there’s normally a much more involved screening process, given the number of applicants. But my recommendation gets you past all that. You’ll do fine.”

“Right.”

The minutes dragged on, so Vir sat cross-legged next to the stage and took the time to meditate. Entering his mindscape, he explored his newly expanded forest. There was far more life now, and the brook that ran through the middle of the meadow added another element of peace and tranquility to the space.

Under Shardul’s tutelage, he’d already started working on the Shield Chakra, which he fully expected to struggle with. Unfortunately, there seemed little chance of opening it in time for the tournament.

Rather, it’d be better to spend his time training Shan, in hopes of getting the beast to learn his tattoo. In fact, that was his very next task after the registration exam.

A half hour later, the registrar returned alongside a young black-haired woman who seemed somewhat irritable.

“I told you, I really don’t have the time to—” The woman froze in her tracks the moment she spotted Cirayus.

“Ravager!?” She whirled to the registrar. “This is who you were talking about?”

She was a red demon who wore tight fitting leather pants and a half top, revealing her tattoo’d arms. The gleaming silver tattoos marked her as Panav, which Vir found interesting. Was she a naga?  

The demon wore bangs that covered her forehead, and her long hair was loose. Her attire and mannerisms told Vir that she was not someone to be trifled with—regardless of her clan.

“It’s… It’s an honor, sir,” the woman said, bowing her head to Cirayus. “I’ve heard so many stories…”

“Well met. And you are?” Cirayus asked.

“Sorry! Tara. Tara of the Panav. I believe you’re acquainted with my grandmother, Kira?”

“Oho?” Cirayus stroked his beard and regarded the young woman inquisitively. “So you’re her granddaughter, are you?”

Vir’s eyes narrowed. “Cirayus, did you—”

“She’s a good friend, lad. A very dear friend,” Cirayus said, cutting him off. Cir suspected just what ‘good friend’ really meant, but he didn’t press the issue. Vir wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“I’d heard you’d be competing, but I didn’t expect to run into you like this,” Tara said. “Ajji talks about you all the time. So? Who’s the whelp you want me to proctor?”

Vir took ‘ajji’ to be her grandmother, the same way Aida called Cirayus ‘ajja’.

“Only bad things, I’m sure,” Cirayus said with a wry laugh. “This one right here, lass.”

Tara moved her red eyes to Vir, who felt like he was being stared at by an Ash Beast—such was the ferocity in those eyes. 

She looked him up and down. “Hmm? This one? Alright, I suppose. Up onto the platform. Let’s get this over with.”

“Er, what are the rules?” Vir asked.

“No weapons. No chakra. Hand-to-hand combat only. I’m taking part in the Tournament too. I’d rather not give a potential opponent any more information about my abilities than I have to, and I’m sure the same goes for you.”

“I understand,” Vir said. “I was planning on fighting with my wolf friend, here. Will he be tested as well?”

Tara shrugged. “Depends on how you do. This is more of a formality, anyway. The Ravager’s never once recommended anyone who didn’t make the cut. You must be some hot stuff,” she said, licking her lips.

Whether it was Vir’s imagination, or a naga habit, Vir found the gesture incredibly intimidating.

“I see…” Vir replied. “I’ll take my armor off, then.” 

“Good call,” Tara replied, jumping up onto the stage with ease.

Vir took a minute to remove his brigandine cuirass and left his chakram and katar in Cirayus’ care before hopping onto the stage himself.

He took a moment to appraise his opponent. Tara was extremely toned and well-muscled, though they were the subtle muscles honed through combat, rather than anything for show.

Not to mention her tattoos. She wouldn’t be using them in this bout, but Vir took notice, in case he faced her in the actual Tournament. While Vir had familiarized himself with the Unaffiliated Tattoos, he still hadn’t memorized the bloodline ones. There were so many, after all.

That said, based on the number of silver tattoos alone, Vir concluded Tara possessed all three Panav Regular Bloodline Arts — Yuma’s Touch, which slowly healed wounds, Purge, which removed toxins from the body, and Corruption. The same ability Balagra possessed.

That wasn’t all, however. Snaking from her neck to each arm, and Vir suspected—each leg as well—was another silver tattoo.

Vir had never seen it before, but its size alone told him all he needed to know.

“You have Yuma’s Embrace?” he asked, caught off-guard.

It was one of the two Panav Ultimate Bloodline Arts—analogous to Balancer of Scales.

Tara grinned. “Don’t worry. I won’t be relying on my arts for this fight.”

It was a good thing, too. Yuma’s Embrace was like Yuma’s Touch, just far stronger. It automatically healed any and all physical wounds—and once the wielder had mastered the art, the healing was rapid. Sometimes near-instantaneous. 

Its only weakness, like all the other Ultimate Arts, was its prana consumption.

“Good to know,” Vir replied. Whoever Tara was, she was clearly an important figure in Panav society for her to have been given such a tattoo.

“Well?” she asked. “You ready to fight? Or would you like to dawdle some more?”

Vir grinned despite himself. “Let’s do this.”