The Monarch

Chapter 3

"Um," I said, holding the character sheet with nervous hands, "am I supposed to have that many skills?"

"The average person will have two or three skills. How many do you have?" the lady said.

"Let's not talk about that. Anyway, when's the tournament going to start?" I chuckled nervously, folding my paper in half.

The tournament finally started, a month later, I was put in the weapons room. Each tournament had ten people inside. Only the winner would advance to become a ranger. Luckily, none of my siblings were in the same grouping as I was. Apparently, I was among the first two to fight. Trying to remember what was on my skill list, I carefully took into consideration what weapons to choose.

Then I remembered the dual wield skill. Chuckling and remembering an anime I had watched at one point, I chose two longswords. They weren't anything super unordinary. However, when I picked them up and held them comfortably in my hands, they seemed to vibrate, their surface's becoming hotter.

Then, the gate opened to the small arena.

Cooper Gibson, a small twelve year old holding a small rapier in his hand, was my first opponent. Before the match officially started, we both walked out onto the battlefield while staring each other down. Gibson looked at me with a nervous face, almost terrified. No, he was definitely terrified. He held his rapier in a shaky hand, and could barely make it horizontal.

I, however, had no problem holding my own swords. I felt confident in my ability, but i didn't feel like taking a life.

"No hard feelings, okay?" I asked. Gibson looked at me, almost on the verge of tears. Then, he picked up his sword in both hands and charged me.

I sighed, looking down at my feet. I took a moment to breathe in, and then out. Resolved, I took up my own swords and charged at Gibson.

The first thing I did was charge to his left side. Once he got close, the world seemed to slow down for me. I started to move at an incredibly slow rate, but my body and mind seemed alert. Gibson seemed not to notice. With as much strength as I could muster, I attacked his sword with my right sword. Then, with the momentum I gathered in my run, I quickly turned toward him and shoved my left sword into his knee.

Without looking at Gibson's now injured knee, I let go of the left sword and held the right one tighter.

Then, I breathed in and out, trying to find my resolve and courage.

"I'm sorry, Cooper," I said before jamming the tip of my sword into his chest.

Time resumed again. I took a few steps out of my run and stopped behind Gibson. From behind me, I heard some whimpering and choking, and then a thud against the floor.

"And he's won! Number ten, William Vercotti, wins in a dazzling four point seven seconds! He's going to be a tough one to beat in the next round!"

By the end of the day, Cooper Gibson, Nicholas Callum, Aaron Garret, Trevor Felch, and Julian Wilder weren't in the barn. Five left. Based on the previous set of matches, the largest demonstration of skill was saved until the third day.

Meaning I didn't have to fight tomorrow.

Instead, I stayed inside the barn, listening to the various fights. The crowd, which was almost entirely made of tourists, screamed with each ounce of blood dropped to the ground.

By the time was done, Webster, Myself, and Quinton Callum were the only ones left alive.

Oliver Carr, the other older boy, was killed by Webster in almost two seconds, beating my time, and Quinton killed uthur with a spear in two minutes and ten seconds of fighting. That meant I was going to fight next time, against Quinton.

However, Quinton was severely wounded after the fight. He had lost most of his blood, and most of his dominant arm was numb.

By the time our match started, the crowd was three times as large as last time. When I walked out, the horrifying stench of blood and iron filled my nose. I was shocked to see the small arena scattered dirty with different splotches of blood. I could even see a dismembered arm among the blood splotches.

Quinton, who sorrowfully looked upon the field with a familiar face, turned to me.

"Let's face it, I'm done for," he said, looking down again, "I can't use my arm, and I can barely stand. I wanted to avenge my brother. That bastard Stanley went too far, even torturing him on the battlefield before finishing him off. I can't do that in my condition."

"You wanted to fight Stanley yourself? The Webster kid, right?" I asked. Quinton nodded.

"But, I'm too young. I won my first match by accident, and my second was just because Uthur was already as injured as I am now. I've killed two people. I think I'm ready to be with my brother."

"Okay," I nodded, holding the swords in my hand tightly. Quinton dropped his spear onto the ground, then pulled up his arm in surrender while his injured remained limp at his side.

"Just make it quick."

I nodded, rushing forward.

"Did you see that! What a turn of events! Callum submits, and Vercotti rushes forward like a lightning bolt! Did anybody see him move? That was Super Human! whooooooo!" The announcer said. I sighed, digging my sword in the ground.

"Sorry," I said, facing Quinton's dead body. Then, I bowed my head in respect and gathered my two swords before leaving the tiny field.

"The final match, ladies and gentlemen! Lighting Flash versus Brutal Barbarian! What will the outcome be?"

I looked at Webster on the third and final match. He was slowly turning, waving gracefully to the crowd. I looked at him, confused. He smiled wickedly, holding a large club. I emerged from the other side of the arena, holding my two swords, still in their scabbards, in my hands. As we walked out of the opposite doors, the crowd went crazy, yelling in every direction. 

Stanley Webster, my opponent, walked forward. Now ignoring the crowd, he pulled his club up to his shoulder. The end of it was soaked in blood and dirt. The boy, older than me by three years, was a 250 pound beast of muscle and strength.

I walked up to the middle, standing just a few feet away from him.

The announcer, somehow louder than the crowd, started yelling into the Arena, "Well folks! It's time! The final match between William Vercotti, who we've seen dash faster than horses, versus Stanley Webster, the beast in human skin. Let the match begin!"

Immediately, Webster swung his club downward, from his shoulder straight to the ground. I dodged by simply stepping to the right, then ducking as far as possible to dodge his next attack, which happened just as I expected.

The next few blows, most of which I predicted, all came from Webster. The crowd and announcer went crazy just watching me dodge them. The fight went on for almost twenty seconds before I decided to actually fight back.

Webster seemed exhausted from swinging his club around with that much force for just twenty seconds. At the end of the twenty seconds, Webster finally slowed down, having to catch his breath.

I chuckled, slinging my left sword on my shoulder. I pulled my right from its scabbard, then dropped the empty scabbard to the ground.

"You're so weak you can't even kill a fourteen-year-old?" I asked, a flood of anger and rage starting to serge from within me, "Now then. I heard you tortured a twelve-year-old boy? Very poor choice."

The announcer's voice did not echo through the arena as the crowd watched in horror at the events below. Some of them, the ones closest to the arena floor, either yelled in anger or vomited onto the floor below.

In the middle of the arena were two people. Stanley Webster and myself. Webster had dropped his giant club almost thirty minutes ago, the tips of his fingers laying just beside it. His tortured screams echoed to the crowd. His pleas for help were ignored. Or rather, nobody could act upon his pleas for help.

I was the other one on the arena floor. I still held my longsword, my right one, in my hand. The left one had been abandoned at the start of the real fight. For the past thirty minutes, I attacked Webster with quick and painful strikes.

I could feel the rage grow with each stroke until I couldn't seem to follow any of my own strokes. As time passed, my judgment strangely became cloudier, I could feel my strength growing. The single weapon in my hand seemed to grow more familiar to me as if it was now part of my own body, swinging faster with each hit. Despite only holding one weapon, my strikes moved fast enough to blow the dust away from me in a large semi-circle.

All I could sense was the slashing of wind and flesh coming in my ears, followed by a loud scream of agony. Each strike, which should've killed the ordinary man, seemed to heal instantly. My strikes didn't kill Webster but only left him in a state of torture.

My body seemed to do this purposely, as if it, too, wanted Webster to suffer. Another thirty minutes passed before I finally stayed my blade. Webster whimpered on the ground, covered in blood but no wounds.

"Please," Webster cried, "Kill me."

"With pleasure,"

I didn't seem to calm down completely until far after the fight. After the fight, it took five soldiers to push me down to the ground and throw me into a jail cell. The jail cell was small, only accustumed for one person. The ground was cold and hard, giving a rough texture along it's surface. The cell only had one window, placed near the ceiling. My weapons were taken away from me and atleast two guards constantly watched the cell.

When I finally calmed down enough to talk to the guards, they reluctantly released me. When I was released in the early morning the day after the tournament, I quickly returned to the inn where my siblings stayed.

The inn was halfway across the city, but my legs carried me there with ease. By the time I arrived, after a mere two minutes of running, I bolted through the doors. The innkeeper, Mrs. Brody, saw me walk in and called my name.

I ignored her, running up the stairs into my sibling's rented rooms. As I opened the door to each one, searching for them, I was disappointed by their absence.

"William," Mrs. Brody said, "somebody came last night to deliver this to you," She handed me a small envelope, "I told them you weren't here and they left the mail to me."

As I read the letter, I realized similar letters arrived for all of the passing applicants, summoning them to the guildhall. I ran out of the door, hoping my missing siblings were there. As I arrived at the guildhall, I saw dozens of carriages parked along the side of the road, each one with open doors facing the guildhall. I dodged right through them, through the front doors. The guildhall seemed busier than usual. I could hear the hurried steps of workers, along with the chatty conversations of nearby guests. The air smelt warm and the hall was brightly lit.

After I walked in, I started to look for my other siblings, which would have been summoned here as well, if they were alive. As I walked through the crowd, slowly and quietly to absorb all the sound near me, I searched for the voices and laughter of my siblings, hopefully, hidden in the crowd. My fourteen-year-old body wasn't tall enough to see over the heads of bulky men and women sitting down.

As I walked further, still not finding them, I grew sad and disappointed. I started to walk a bit faster, my head starting to turn frantically as I searched. Having still not found any familiar voices, I walked even faster, my head now turning like a hurricane.

Now I was walking faster than normal. As I grew more clumsy, the voices seemed to grow more distant. Then, a sudden wall appeared before me. I crashed into it, my knee running hard into its surface.

As I fell to the ground, I heard sudden laughter from several voices behind me.

The laughter continued as I sat on the ground, ashamed. Then, a loud voice echoed through the giant guildhall, silencing everybody. As the voice started to speak, all the bulky men and women seemed to turn their heads, seemingly as confused as I was.

"Congratulations. Everybody who has walked into this hall since morning has been called here in celebration. All 5690 of you, except the workers and staff, have risen victorious in our stage one trials," The voice was deep and carried a tone of respect about it. Because the voice echoed through the room, I could not tell where it was coming from, "However, all 5690 of you must complete two more trials before your application into the Ranger's Guild can be fully accepted. For your second trial, you shall all train for three years under specific masters. The name of your mentor has already been sent to your respective homes. Take this time to strengthen yourself further and become masters of your own before the third trial begins. Return to your homes and wait calmly for a letter to arrive. For all those without permanent residency in our city, please visit our workers at the front desk. May the moon guide you, apprentice rangers."

The voice disappeared, leaving the room empty in a matter of moments. Five and a half thousand voices screamed in the air, some in celebration but some in disappointment and rage. All those voices soon became five thousand running boots on the ground. Frightened, I scuttled back to the wall. As my fingers found the cold surface, I could feel the tremor of the several hundred boots go up from the floor to my fingers. I watched as the flood of trained fighters escaped

I stayed like this, startled by the commotion. Once all the boots had disappeared, I finally found the room to stand upon my feet.

A servant walked over to me. He was young, almost as young as me, but looked tired and exhausted.

"Are you alright? That looked like it scared you," the butler said. I nodded, gulping behind my lie.

As I told the front desk clerk my name, she seemed to not believe me. She didn't seem to think I actually passed the first stage. The conversation between me and the clerk seemed to aggravate an argument, even involving nearby workers.

The clerk absolutely refused to hand my letter to me, despite my effort to make her believe me.

"I'm telling you!" I yelled, "I passed the first trial! I won a tournament on my own, so give me that letter!"

"An obvious lier such as yourself should walk out that door and never return. I shall wait for the true owner of this letter to arrive, and I shall give it to them. For now, security will see you out."

A pair of footsteps walked toward me. Without thinking, I pulled one of the long swords from my back, still sheathed, and charged it forward, toward one of the footsteps. I felt a sudden impact along my hilt. Then, I quickly charged my longsword up, slamming into the person's chin before spinning around, just next to the other security guard. Before I even saw who they were, both security guards were on the floor, groaning in pain.

Gasps from around me started to echo my ears before a small door opened just behind the clerk.

An old man, dressed in a white robe, walked through a door behind the clerk. His face was wrinkled and stretched, showing his age. His hair was long and white, just like his beard. His eyebrows were thick and black, showing an aura of intimidation.

"Claire, what is this?" the voice asked.

The clerk responded by tattling on what she believed I did wrong to the deep voice.

"This boy came to the guildhall to steal a recruit's letter! He's a thief and a liar! Much too young!"

"That letter is mine! It has my name on it!" I heard a wrinkling of paper before the deep voice spoke again.

"This letter is sending you to the south. I presume your strength's at fighting include speed? Preferably while wielding two weapons?"

"That's how I fought during the tournament, so yes."

"I see. Well, we've kept our eyes on you for a long time. Longer than the tournament, in fact. This letter was written using one of our seer's wisdom and magic abilities. We did not count on your mentor being dead five years prior to our meeting."

"The mentor is dead?" I gasped.

The man nodded, sighing in disappointment.

"So is the seer that scheduled your training," The man sighed again, "We'll have to send you somewhere else. There's a woman I know, far to the north. She has a bit of a vision problem, but she's a strong warrior nonetheless. While the mentor from the south was the perfect match for your abilities, this woman comes second. Shall I send you to them?"

"Yes."