Ogre Tyrant: Chapter 31 - Fight Club Experience - Part Two

 

I made a point of waking up before midnight and waiting beneath the olive tree in the centre of the village. I kept the majority of my attention on the looming gateway woven from tree roots and branches. The girls had said Lash might be coming back tonight, and I didn’t want to miss her.

 

The remainder of my attention was diverted towards more fully exploring the capabilities unlocked through the Capital Settlement Totem. Most of the functions remained the same or had progressed in a predictable linear fashion. A good example was the expansion of the promotion hierarchy. The increase in my own title allowed for potential promotions to my previously occupied title. This would continue until I occupied the highest possible title aptly named Tyrant.

 

As with the other lesser titles, the Tyrant title only required that I surpassed a predetermined number of minions. However, I still had no idea how many minions it would require, but I wasn’t overly fussed about it either. The waves of Asrusian citizens being inducted as minions removed any sense of pressure I might have otherwise felt regarding pursuing the prerequisites of my own promotion. However, the introduction of Factions upon achieving the title of Overlord may pose a problem in the future.

 

The rules and applications for Factions were one of the non-linear progressions that had required dedicated study in order to properly understand. Functionally, each Faction has a completely isolated command structure and hierarchy to every other Faction. This would mean granting the Humans their own Faction or Factions would leave only myself as each Faction Leader's literal superior in the hierarchy. This mattered because once I became Tyrant, Gric would lose his literal authority over the other Overseers in different Factions.

 

I could still advocate Gric as my prime minister or something and make it known that he could make decisions in my name, but it would require the other Factions members and leaders to recognise those decisions and comply of their own volition.

 

It took me a moment to realise how much my mindset had shifted during my comparatively short time living in this world. I had been born and raised in a comparatively corruption-free democracy where voting is mandatory and the queen is recognised as the technical head of state were the only real quirks of the system. Now I was stressing over losing control by giving small levels of self-determination to people I was already benefiting heavily from.

 

After taking some time to think about it, I decided that if the Humans asked for their own Faction, I would give them two or more instead. I figured that if I had to rely on the rule of law and voluntary engagement not supported by the Settlement Totems, then the Humans would have to as well. The settlements on the border would be granted a Faction all their own to ensure their continued independence of the central Asrusian authority’s commands and potential abuse in politics. Depending on how the Regent and high ranking officers reacted, I might divide the southern Settlements into their own Factions as well in order to limit their enforceable authority.

 

There was also the distinct possibility that any pre-existing communities of monsters I encountered and annexed would want their own comparative independence as well, and the more I thought about it, the more I was inclined to agree with the general sentiment. In a similar sense to how the American war of independence was fought for representation, I could easily imagine different groups going to war over abuses of authority by ‘outsiders’.

 

Because all Overseers in my Faction held authority just a half step under my own, there was currently nothing stopping the Human Overseer from making demands and enforcing laws on the villagers of Stonewell or from Osa doing the same to any of the Humans in return. Dividing everyone into Factions would sever that official and magically enforced authority. From that point of view, the Faction system wasn’t all that bad, and after considering things for a while longer I realised I could still give Gric enforceable authority but had to do it in a more roundabout way.

 

Basing the framework off of the Australian Commonwealth, I could require the other Faction leaders swear oaths to recognise Gric’s authority as my proxy. Effectively this would make him my prime minister and allow him to keep managing things while I was otherwise occupied. This wouldn’t be so bad for the Factions either, since they would officially be able to take their grievances and requests to Gric to settle rather than just passing the buck onto me.

 

Feeling mana emanating from the gateway, I stopped my musings and waited for something to happen.

 

After about ten seconds the clusters of manastones bound to the gateway flashed and revealed the shadowy silhouettes of Ril and Toofy who were now standing before the gate.

 

I was disappointed Lash wasn’t with them, but it was good to see them both again.

 

*Thump Clang*

 

Momentarily taken aback, it took a few seconds for me to realize that the huge cast-iron arch that had suddenly materialized out of thin air must have come from Toofy’s extradimensional space.

 

“Hi, Tim!” Toofy called out loudly and hopped over the prone arch before leaping up into my waiting arms for a hug.

 

“Hi Toofy,” I gave her a playful squeeze, “I missed you.”

 

Toofy smiled wider, “Toofy miss Tim too!”

 

Ril was still standing by the gateway and I assumed she was communicating with Mors judging by her relative immobility.

 

Shifting Toofy onto my shoulders, I made my way over to Ril and took a closer look at the cast-iron arch. Obviously intended to serve as a portal gateway, the arch had hemispherical bowls recessed into its surface to hold manastones and a crude yet recognisable image of a stone well imprinted on the large iron plate connecting the two feet of the arch.

 

“Is this going to be the new gate?” I asked Ril.

 

Ril nodded tiredly, “Mors is coming to remove this temporary one shortly-” She yawned and rubbed at her eyelids, “-Won’t be able to connect until tomorrow…”

 

“If that’s the case, can’t we leave this gate active until then?” I asked hopefully.

 

Ril blinked blankly back at me with a vague look of confusion on her face. “It isn’t working properly,” she explained cautiously.

 

“What do you mean?” I felt a sudden rush of panic at the thought of something having happened to Lash.

 

Ril yawned quietly again, revealing her mouth of needle-like teeth. “Return connection to Sanctuary was unstable, very inefficient mana cost.”

 

“Which is the reason for the new gate,” I realised.

 

Ril nodded.

 

That could explain why Lash hadn’t returned like I had hoped she would. Depending on how depleted her mana had been, Lash may have even required a day to recuperate.

 

I picked up Ril and held her while we waited for Mors. apparently otherwise occupied at the reclamation pits below, waiting for the elevator and riding back up was the cause for his late arrival.

 

After Mors removed the old gateway, I helped lift the new iron one into position and held it in place while Mors anchored it to the ground with thick roots looped through holes provided in the large iron base plate.

 

Leaving Mors to shift the manastones into the new gateway, I took Toofy and Ril to our borrowed accommodations and made a temporary bed for them before settling down for the night myself.

 

It was difficult to get to sleep at first because I still thought Lash might arrive at any moment. The fact that the old gateway was gone and the new one was effectively just an inanimate chunk of iron was irrelevant. All the same, I eventually fell asleep.

 

Waking up early, I visited Fadwa to borrow a large clay pot for Ril to sleep and recuperate in. Next, I took the pot to the well and filled it from the close to overflowing well.

 

The village centre had practically changed overnight and was now carpeted with Mors’s drought-resistant moss. It was even making steady progress in creeping over the nearby buildings as well. The trees Mors had already established around the periphery had grown significantly larger as well, their interweaving branches providing a decent amount of shade for the entire village centre. These changes weren’t lost on the villagers either, many of whom were staring at the lush vegetation in awe and with a similar degree of reverence to the restored water reserves in the well.

 

I was distracted enough that I didn't notice Mors until he was practically standing next to me. The Toad-like Daemon looked understandably pleased with himself. “Overlord! We have officially reached surplus!” He croaked excitedly, the large sack beneath his lower jaw expanding and contracting with each syllable. “I introduced a wooden grating to the well in order to prevent accidental drownings as well,” he added a little less excitedly, “There were a couple of close accidents earlier this morning…”

 

Looking into the well again, I realised that he was right. A thick mesh of interwoven roots with only inch wide gaps had grown just below ground level, leaving roughly two and a half feet of water to draw from. The constant stream of water flowing into the well from above made the well more of a drain or storage tank than well, so the limited volume of immediately available water was largely irrelevant.

 

“Have you considered making a bathing or recreational pool?” I asked with a grin. Imagining the looks on the villagers' faces when they realised what the purpose of the bodies of water was intended for would certainly be interesting to say the least.

 

“Really?” Mors had become excited again, “You think I could make a relaxation pool?” He croaked greedily.

 

“Definitely,” I confirmed, Mors had earned it. Besides, Ril would probably use it too if she needed it.

 

After carrying the large pot filled with water back to the house, I set it down in a corner and woke up Ril and Toofy.

 

Ril staggered over to the large pot of water and tumbled in with a splash which caused Toofy to snicker.

 

“Silly baby,” Toofy materialised a chunk of meat into her hand and unceremoniously dropped it into the water.

 

Without even opening her eyes, Ril opened her mouth wide and inhaled the meat into her mouth while ejecting water through the gills on her neck and chest.

 

Trading Toofy my spider jerky for what looked suspiciously like frog legs, I tried not to think about it too much and scarfed them down. Surprisingly, besides being a little rubbery, I really enjoyed the taste.

 

Voices filtering down the stairs made it clear that the girls were awake.

 

Yawning and tying her hair back while walking down the stairs, Nadine splashed her face with water from the basin in the corner and then dried off with the nearby cloth. “Morning Tim,” she mumbled while drowsily kneeling down by our bag of supplies. “Ugh...Spider meat…” Nadine seemed just as sick of it as I was.

 

‘Want food?” Toofy asked cheerily while chewing a half-eaten red-skinned apple.

 

My stomach gurgled and I realised I hadn’t seen an apple in who knows how long.

 

Nadine licked her lips and nodded, “I would love one, Toofy.”

 

Toofy grinned and materialised a pile of apples beside her on the bed and then threw one to Nadine.

 

Deftly catching the apple, Nadine briefly polished it on her tunic and then took a bite. “MMMMH! SHO GUD!” She exclaimed and chewed vigorously before taking another big bite.

 

“Someone’s in a good mood,” Clarice snickered as she slouched down the stairs and threw her arms wide to stretch. Upon seeing what was in Nadine’s hand, Clarice stiffened and then suddenly charged her, “Oi! Where did you get an apple?!”

 

Toofy grinned wickedly and drew her arm back.

 

*Thump*

 

“OW!” Clarice spun around in confusion to look for her assailant and saw Toofy sitting next to a pile of apples matching the one on the floor nearby.

 

Nadine and I shared a knowing look.

 

Now the picture of innocence, Toofy picked up an apple from the pile and held it out to Clarice, “Yummy ball?” She offered innocently.

 

Apparently, over the blow to the head, Clarice lowered her arms and licked her lips, “Love one!” She replied and held out her hand.

 

Toofy lobbed the apple in an underhanded throw this time, and Clarice effortlessly snatched it out of the air.

 

Taking a large bite of the apple, Clarice smiled with a wide goofy grin before chewing swallowing and taking another massive bite.

 

“Where did you get the apples, Toofy?” I asked curiously.

 

Toofy cocked her head to one side, “Aplz? Qreet give Toofy and Ril tasty balls to eat. Everyone eats at home, so tasty!” She licked her lips and picked up another apple.

 

Nadine sighed happily, “You mean We can finally have fresh fruit to balance out all the dry meat?” She exclaimed in relief.

 

Apparently not quite understanding the question, Toofy shrugged and bit off half her apple in one go, “Babies eating most tasty balls before collectors get them. So Toofy tell Qreet to give tasty balls for Tim-” She swallowed and was about to take another bite but paused, “-And Nadine,” Toofy smiled sweetly before snapping up the other half of the apple into her mouth. Licking her lips Toofy contently rubbed her stomach, “No eat many,” she cautioned with a wagging finger, “Make inside hurt.”

 

That made me laugh. Picking up the apple off the floor, I dusted it off and took a bite. The berries and other fruits we were growing in Sanctuary before I left had nothing on the sweetness of these apples. Whoever had cultivated the trees they came from knew what they were doing. “Where did Qreet get the apples from?”

 

Nadine finished her apple and licked her fingers clean. “The Regent is relocating villages into the swamp on the third floor, right? Qreet probably regrew one of the immigrated farmers' orchards and grew the apples from some seeds...Hey! Do you think Mors could grow apples here?!” She asked excitedly.

 

“Probably,” I hedged, “But he would probably need to make them heat resistant to avoid burning in the sun.”

 

Nadine’s expression became determined, “Toofy can I have another one please?” She asked sweetly.

 

“Kay,” Toofy threw Nadine another apple, “No more till next time,” she warned sternly while reaching for and biting into another apple, “Inshides will hurt!”

 

Nadine stifled a laugh and nodded, “As you say Toofy,” she agreed with feigned seriousness.

 

Toofy nodded seriously in return, “Good.”

 

Nadine left the house with a smile on her face as she briskly headed off in the direction of the village centre.

 

Fully dressed and prepared for the day, Kestrel descended the stairs two at a time, “Did I hear someone say we have apples?”

 

After Toofy somewhat reluctantly shared an apple with Kestrel, Clarice tore her way through a piece of dried meat and then with typical tact raised the subject of the tournament.

 

“Finally saw sense and decided I was right?” Clarice goaded with a grin, “These sand stompers are fast, I’ll give them that, but Dhizi and I are gonna clean up!”

 

“It’s one on one bouts, Clarice. No mounts or Beast companions,” I clarified.

 

“What?!” Clarice demanded, “That aint fair! How are you expecting the Beast Trainers to compete?!”

 

“I know it’s not fair,” I agreed, “But answer this for me, Clarice. Who is going to heal the Beasts that get crippled in the fighting? Dhizi and the spiked lizards might come out relatively unscathed and be able to regenerate lost digits or limbs, but what about the spiders and birds? One mistake could see them permanently crippled or dead.”

 

Clarice visibly deflated and avoided eye contact, although it was obvious she was still upset about it.

 

“The point of these fights isn’t to be fair, it’s to farm experience. The more challenging the opposition, the more Exp the quest will allow to be awarded for winning AND losing,” I explained.

 

Clarice looked surprised, “We get Exp for losing too?” She asked sceptically.

 

I nodded, “So long as the quest deems your effort as genuine, you would still be awarded Exp for ‘failing’ the quest.”

 

“Huh…” Clarice seemed somewhat mollified.

 

“So why not do team battles?” Kestrel asked curiously

 

I took a moment to consider the question before replying. I think I had overlooked it because I planned on competing alone, but Kestrel had a good point. “I think I will allow it,” I answered, “But I will not be teaming up with anyone. I am already determined to be far too powerful in comparison to everyone else as it is. Taking teammates would award those we defeat with more Exp, but we would get very little if anything.”

 

Kestrel slowly nodded her head in understanding, “What about ranged weapons?”

 

“No deliberate attacks to the head or groin, otherwise anything goes. The same goes for melee,” I explained. “You will probably want to see Mors and have him make some alternative wooden arrows so you don’t damage your good ones,” I suggested as an afterthought. “The idea is to keep the fights as realistic as possible to maximise the Exp gains, but anyone who is brought down to zero HP would immediately fail the quest, even if their teammates later win the round.”

 

“That’s a bit harsh,” Clarice hissed through her teeth but nodded all the same, “So even if you lose, you can still move on to the next round if your team does well. Hrm…”

 

“In fact…” After considering the possibilities of the group fight dynamic further, I realised there was something I had overlooked. “As the fight goes on, and assuming it is reasonably close, the last person left standing will earn a lot more Exp than the first person to fall. Especially if they have to down multiple members of the enemy team on their own to do it.”

 

Kestrel’s eyes widened as she came to grips with what I was saying, “So, theoretically, the most efficient way to go about this would be to have larger teams in order to generate the most Exp for the most people, right?”

 

I nodded, and realised I was making things significantly more difficult for myself. “We can use the retinue functions to share team synergies and keep an eye on people's condition…” I mused aloud while trying to think of ways to better keep a handle on what was quickly shaping into a chaotic slugfest.

 

“How many can we have on a team?” Clarice called out as she raced up the stairs to get her boots.

 

“No more than ten!” I called back and tried to think of ways we could make the terrain discourage a straight-up brawl in the middle without incurring a loss of Exp from the quest mechanics. Theoretically, making the terrain more difficult to fight in would improve the overall Exp gains if it presented a degree of inherent danger. So long as it didn’t favour one side or the other, or any particular individual, the Exp gains would be available for everyone.

 

By the time Clarice came back downstairs, I had made my decision. I was going to have Mors or maybe Qreet, grow some rudimentary obstacles in the middle of the intended battlefield as well as some serviceable fortifications on both sides and smaller strong points throughout. Making the external surfaces covered in thorns should increase the danger Exp, and the potential ambush and chokepoints would hopefully discourage a massed charge.

 

While a massed charge in an open field would probably be the most efficient use of time, it would be a recipe for disaster as well and could easily result in someone's accidental death. By dispersing the violence it would give the Surgeon’s time to reach someone if they became critically injured. In fact, I wanted to have surgeons assigned to shadow each team as well, just in case. Interestingly, the presence of the Surgeon’s didn’t seem to impact the expected Exp. Best as I could figure, this was because anyone they were intended to help would already have ‘failed’.

 

However, even more interestingly, I discovered that framing a quest for the Surgeons doing the shadowing and otherwise on standby would earn them a decent amount due to the assumed danger they would be in when retrieving downed combatants.

 

Heading off to Mors to have him quote a timeline for the prospective arena, I was joined by Kestrel a few moments later.

 

As I suspected, Mors doubted he would be able to grow everything before tomorrow at the earliest, but reassured me that he could create enough raw materials for the additional armour and armaments by midday if Qreet could handle the Arena.

 

Having Ezha summon a manifestation of Qreet, I explained the general idea of the arena I wanted and what it was for. Qreet actually seemed rather excited at the prospect and promised to have it done by midday.

 

Both Ezha and her mother had hurried off after hearing about the change in the tournament’s rules. Most likely, they were hastily putting their own team like Clarice.

 

“You seem pretty calm considering you are wasting your head start to form a team,” I commented while walking with Kestrel to find Osa.

 

“Clarice already invited me onto her team,” Kestrel replied with a smile and a nonchalant shrug. “Besides, there is a sensitive request from the Lord Regent,” she added quietly and nervously glanced around to make sure no one had heard her.

 

“What is it?” I honestly hadn’t expected another request so soon after the last one. Especially considering the scale of that particular request.

 

“Ahem,” Kestrel cleared her throat quietly and leaned in close, making sure to shield her lips from view conspiratorially. “It is a request to shelter a V.I.P in Sanctuary.”

 

That was not what I had been expecting at all. I furrowed my brow and scrutinised Kestrel’s expression and body language for clues but came up empty. “Who?” I asked bluntly, unwilling to beat about the bush over something like this.

 

Kestrel licked her lips and nervously looked around again before leaning in closer, “I was only told that a mutual acquaintance by the name of Jacque would vouch for their good behaviour,” she whispered.

 

“Jacque?” Thoroughly blindsided again, I had not been expecting her to be involved with the Asrusian government and royal family. Recalling my time spent with Jacque on the first floor, I knew that I owed her something in exchange for her help, but sheltering a complete stranger was inviting an unknown level of danger towards Sanctuary. This was a potentially huge favour, and I currently lacked any ideas on how best to capitalize on it besides… ”I want one hundred tenth tier manastones in exchange for the V.I.P’s entry and protection in Sanctuary.”

 

Kestrel paled but immediately nodded.

 

“A week,” I amended hurriedly, determined to see how far she was permitted to bargain.

 

“Consider it done,” Kestrel agreed.

 

“And I want a free trade agreement,” I pressed, “And manastone vendors and merchants to be vetted so they can sell to Sanctuary.”

 

Again, without any hesitation whatsoever, Kestrel nodded in agreement.

 

“Bloody hell…” I muttered, starting to feel incredibly concerned that I hadn’t managed to phase her at all and knowing what that meant. The prospective V.I.P was genuinely an incredibly important person and was assumed to bring Sanctuary a considerable degree of danger.

 

“Can I send your response?” Kestrel asked nervously.

 

I nodded but made a point of staring Kestrel straight in the eyes, “I want this to be painfully clear Kestrel, this V,I.P is expected to observe ALL of Sanctuary’s laws and be on their best damned behaviour. If anything happens, I will hold your Regent responsible.”

 

Kestrel gulped and nodded before taking out her messaging device.

 

Leaving her behind, I headed for the elevator so I could watch Qreet’s progress and maybe get some exercise in before the tournament. I couldn’t make up my mind which prospect had me more worried, fighting a team of ten in a serious fight all on my own, or the trouble this V.I.P was going to bring to Sanctuary.

 

True to her word, Qreet did quick work and was liberal with creating minor dangerous obstacles to obstruct the midfield and promote alternate routes that would encourage ambushes and holdout actions in equal measure. By the time the sun was just about at its highest Qreet was just about done, only dithering over minor details that now required much more of her concentration since her class change.

 

Since we still had time, more or less, I set Qreet to work creating a raised spectator pavilion on the side of the mesa that would give the villagers and waiting competitors a good view of events transpiring below. Despite some very vocal protests from Clarice, the general consensus was that the viewing platform was worth the wait. Especially as the more clever participants realised they could scope out the strategies of their potential opposition from the vantage point while waiting their turn.

 

Still holding true to my desire for a round-robin tournament, every team would fight every other team at least once, and potentially twice in order to settle a tie in wins vs losses that would otherwise determine the overall winner. Depending on how much time was left afterwards, if any, there would also be a staggered series of free for all matches to end the day’s competition.

 

At Nadine’s request, and to make it ultimately more challenging for me, my team would face all eighteen of the other teams consecutively, one after the other. Nadine’s general line of thinking was that she and the other Surgeons could get each team into peak condition again before they needed to fight their next opponents, and that by fighting them all consecutively, I would tire out, making it more challenging for me and earning more Exp.

 

Unable to refute her logic, I agreed and felt a fresh wave of nervous energy as I donned my protective gear and strapped a spare studded club to my back. “This is what I wanted,” I reminded myself as I rolled my neck and shoulders causing them to pop loudly in an intimidating fashion.

 

My first opponents were all warriors from the Fire Dancer tribe and otherwise complete strangers to me. A blend of older and younger men, they carried a medley of wooden axes, hatchets, curved swords and large clubs like mine, but otherwise seemed to have no ranged weapons.

 

Losing sight of them once I entered the fort on my side of the arena, which was one of the two agreed-upon starting points for each team for the competition, I decided that heading for the bramble thicket farthest from the mesa would be my best bet strategically. It was narrow enough that only one person would be able to come at me from either side without pressing into the brambles on either side and catching their exposed clothing or being scratched by the thorns Qreet assured were only ‘mildly’ poisonous.

 

*Brooot*

 

Hearing the starting horn blow, I immediately jogged off towards the northern bramble thicket.

 

Perhaps having guessed my intentions, or maybe only happening upon me by accident, a younger Fire Dancer with a large club similar to my own entered the west side of the thicket moments after I entered the east.

 

Wanting to lure him in to knock one opponent out early, I feigned shock and just stood there without raising my weapon or otherwise making a move.

 

Falling for my bluff, the young orc released a confident roar and charged, raising his weapon high so he could bring it down on my mostly exposed arms or on my shoulders. Crude pauldrons had been provided to protect the shoulders from overhead blows, but I found they restricted my already limited motions too much, so I went without.

 

As the young Fire Dancer came rushing towards me I took a deep calming breath and waited for my moment.

 

*Thump Clack*

 

As his club came crashing down, I ducked and pivoted to my right, slapping my left hand against his relatively exposed side and throwing him sideways into the brambles. I wasn’t able to stop his club from hitting me, but it lost almost all of its momentum, so I lost no HP.

 

Now standing side-on, I could see the Fire Dancer with twin hatchets quietly dashing towards me from behind a nearby obstruction. If the now panicked younger Fire Dancer had waited only a little longer, they could have caught me in a pincer attack.

 

Abandoning the bramble thicket, for the time being, I tightened my grip on my studded club and slowly moved towards the rapidly approaching Fire Dancer. Wanting to test how much strength I could get away with when using my new club, I held it at the ready and suddenly leapt forward.

 

Reaching forward with my left hand, I goaded the twin hatchet user to attempt to exploit the perceived opening of my exposed hand.

 

Just like his fellow tribesman, the Fire Dancer fell for the feint.

 

*CRACK*

 

Quickly stepping to the right, I brought my studded club crashing into the back left his chest armour and briefly sent him tumbling forward and face-first into the brambles. Lining up a follow-up strike, I brought my club down on his exposed back.

 

*CRACK*

 

Despite the Fire Dancer groaning weakly and rolling onto his side, a status notification made it clear that he was out for the count.

 

[{Quest Objective Completed} +2100 Exp]

 

The prone Fire Dancer released a burst of bright golden light, temporarily obstructing my vision.

 

The amount of Exp was somewhat surprising considering the Fire Dancer’s levels and evolution tier were so low. This only confirmed my belief that short of fighting a horde of monsters regularly, the most efficient means of levelling would be through semi-lethal tournaments against competitively evolved and levelled opponents. Although that would only last as long as the accumulated Exp for quest rewards held out.

 

Seeing no sign of any other Fire Dancer’s I pulled the younger Orc out of the brambles and threw him to the ground hard. The brambles poison had a numbing effect and the Orc was already so badly scratched up that he could barely move. Once the quest determined he could no longer fight, he would lose regardless of how much Hp he had left.

 

*THUMP*

 

A sudden blow to my upper left arm sent a shiver of pain up the remainder of my arm. Hunching my back, I spun on the spot and swung my right arm and club wide.

 

*THWACK*

 

My ambushing assailant, one of the older Fire Dancer’s with a large curved wooden sword, had attempted to catch my club with his blade but underestimated my strength and momentum. His blade had been driven back and smashed his hands into his helmet. The jarring pain of the blow to his hands caused the Fire Dancer to drop his sword, but he remained mobile, quickly ducking backwards and out of reach. So long as he didn't get disqualified or eliminated, he would still get Exp for my potential defeat. “HERE! HERE!” The old warrior hollered while continuing to warily back away, demonstrating the difference in experience between the older and younger warriors.

 

The old Orc had managed to reduce my HP by one point, serving as a reminder that even though I outclassed them significantly individually, they could still bring me down through accumulated effort.

 

[{Quest Objective Completed} +2400 Exp]

 

The appearance of the second notification and the second burst of golden light confirmed my suspicions regarding the young orc I pulled out of the brambles.

 

Quickly confirming that at least one Surgeon was headed in this direction, I considered retreating towards my fortress before the Fire Dancer’s had a chance to swarm me with their remaining members. But I decided to snatch up one of the abandoned hatchets instead and try to take the old Orc first.

 

Knowing my chances of actually hitting him were close to zero, I felt little qualms in hurling the hatchet hard in his general direction.

 

*Thwack*

 

Predictably, I missed him and the hatchet went shearing through a patch of brambles and struck something out of sight.

 

Visibly shaken, the old Orc bolted.

 

Wanting to get out of the two Surgeon’s way, I ran towards the Mesa and tried to spot one of the remaining seven Fire Dancer’s, content to leave the old man be for the time being. If he succumbed to his injuries and was deemed unable to fight, the quest might deem him defeated anyway. Although He could always try headbutting or kicking me.

 

“THERE! NOW!” The booming call unexpectedly came from my left and I saw four of the middle-aged warriors fanning out as they charged towards me from the direction of my starting location.

 

“Did they really think I would stay there?” I muttered incredulously. I decided that maybe some regular wargames like capture the flag might be in order if this proved to be a recurring trend. Then again, wargames would probably be a good source of Exp if I combined them with the Arena rules as well anyway.

 

Instead of coming to a halt and facing them head-on like they probably expected I would, I decided to continue towards the mesa. There was a large Bramble bush I felt confident that could hold my left flank while the mesa protected my back.

 

Arriving at the intended position of my last stand, I found two Fire Dancer’s had beaten me to it and had the wherewithal to hold their ground rather than charge me head-on and lose their perceived strategic advantage.

 

Knowing I might take a glancing blow from one of their axes, I decided to risk it and barrelled forward, lowering my body into a running crouch. I lunged the final distance and wrapped my left arm around the leftmost warrior and used my shoulder to drive him into the rocky mesa wall.

 

*Clack clunk, CLUNK*

 

I felt the wooden armour compress the warrior’s chest and stomach as we impacted the wall and felt him go limp in my arm.

 

[{Quest Objective Completed} +3200 Exp]

 

Knowing that four more warriors were still hot on my heels and that I had to get rid of this other warrior to avoid being outnumbered four on one, I jabbed at his exposed knee with the butt end of my club to buy myself some room.

 

Apparently wise to my tricks, the warrior didn’t back away but instead sidestepped my attempted blow and prepared to swing at my exposed right arm. Feeling a little sorry for the stunned Orc still slumped on my shoulder, I turned to the right and heaved him at his companion.

 

As expected the warrior cancelled his strike and freed his left hand in order to catch his companion with his now freed arm. Realising his mistake too late, he was too slow in raising his axe one-handed to ward off my club as it came crashing down towards his right pauldron.

 

*Clack CRACK*

 

The pauldron split and he cried out in pain as he was driven to the ground.

 

Seeing the others were only seconds away, I stomped his chest and then ran off again. With at least one Surgeon headed this way, I could no longer use the bramble bush as I had intended.

 

“COWARD!” Roared the Fire Dancer’s leader as he continued chasing behind me.

 

Figuring that they still hadn’t learned their lesson on tactics just yet, I raced towards their starting fortification, buying myself time by jumping through gaps in the briar walls or over smaller bushes. My skin was thick enough to just weather the thorns, which was why I wasn’t earning more Exp for each of the Fire Dancer’s. However, the Fire Dancer’s were likely making a killing. Both of the other Fire Dancer’s had completed at least one level up just from being defeated. So I didn’t feel nearly as guilty as I would have otherwise.

 

Charging up the thick woven root ramp to the second floor of their fortification, I was surprised again to find that one of the Fire Dancer’s was there waiting for me. Or so I thought.

 

The youngest of the Fire Dancer’s I had seen so far, he couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Realising that I had forgotten to apply the same age restriction on the modified tournament rules as the original, it only made sense that someone would try to make the most of the situation.

 

Knocking the young Orc’s staff aside with my club, I decided to try and make the experience as painless as possible for him and snatched his throat with my left hand. Careful to apply just enough pressure to momentarily block blood flow, and by extension oxygen, to his brain. I weathered the boy’s kicks and punches, ineffectual though they were until he went limp.

 

Shielding my eyes, I lowered him to the ground and looked towards the stairs.

 

[{Quest Objective Completed} +13100 Exp]

 

The Gold Flash came as I expected it would, but this time it came from me as well.

 

Momentarily stunned, I glanced back towards the boy and mentally reviewed his position in the hierarchy.

 

With the cries of the four warriors coming from just down the stairs now, everything began to make sense. The boy was Forgut’s chosen heir, Barget, which meant the warriors I was fighting were very likely The Fire Dancer’s most elite or Forgut’s most trusted warriors and hunters. Judging by their performance thus far, I was leaning towards the latter. It also explained why he had given so much more Exp than the others had. Just like me, Barget had a Master Tier Leadership Class. Even if it was ‘just’ Desert Orc Chieftain, the fact that he had the high tier Class was what determined the Exp reward.

 

Knowing that Clarice was also participating in this tournament, and that she was much closer to my level than the other recently promoted heirs and Osa’s officers were, I felt conflicted. On the one hand, beating her would be a huge Exp reward, but on the other, I still didn’t feel particularly comfortable hitting or otherwise injuring a woman. This was bad, because I knew Clarice wouldn’t hold back one bit and would try every trick she could think of in order to bring me down.

 

Releasing a deep sigh, I squared up my shoulders and swung my club into the unprepared arms of the first warrior to clear the ramp, sending him crashing into those racing up the ramp behind him. Stomping after them, I continued my silent deliberation on how exactly I was going to eliminate Clarice from the competition without feeling like a piece of shit afterwards.

 

“I could always throw her into one of the briar bushes,” I muttered skeptically and gave one of the prone warriors a stomp to the chest. Shielding my eyes and blinking away the quest notification, I sighed again and stepped back into the wider space of the room. “Whose stupid idea was it to farm Exp through a tournament like this anyway?” I grumbled and raised my club, “I should have just stuck to spawn camping…”

 

*****

 

Mortimer lazily glanced over towards the dark cage in the corner of the basement and released a long stream of scruff smoke while making sure to keep his pipe firmly in place with his remaining teeth. There had once been a time when Mortimer worked hands-on for Dukes and Duchesses, but as he had aged, Mortimer found he actually preferred the quiet work acquired through the various middlemen of the continent far more. All too often it amounted to nothing more than what he was doing right now, being paid to sit on his bony arse and smoke scruff to relieve the pain from his swollen joints.

 

Of course, these cushy jobs were only made available because of the reputation he had earned during his younger years. So Mortimer didn’t think of those years so much wasted as laying the groundwork for his pseudo retirement.

 

Feeling the ache in his knees lessen, Mortimer removed the pipe from his mouth and decided to take a short walk around the basement. He never stopped marveling at the effects age had on the body. Reflecting on how he had once been a strapping knave of six feet and more with muscles like oak, Mortimer chuckled as he considered his bent and withered frame. Time was a bitch, and she always took her due.

 

Stopping by the cage, Mortimer removed a short strip of salted jerky from his pocket and tossed it through the bars. “Eat up kid,” he barked quietly, “Jus don’t go tellin no one I gave it to yer.”

 

The piece of meat remained where it was until Mortimer sat down on his chair again. Then, quick as a flash, a small pale grey hand snatched it and disappeared into the dark shadows on the far side of the cage.

 

Mortimer replaced the pipe in his mouth and took a fresh puff. He had been the kid’s keeper for close to five years now. Never having had any siblings, nor any children of his own, that he knew of, Mortimer often came at a loss on how he should be treating his charge. The employer had insisted that he never be let out of his cage but had otherwise left the boy’s feeding to Vernon, another contractor in his employ.

 

Vernon was a real piece of work. Obviously skimming the funds their employer was providing for feeding the kid, Vernon only gave the kid a thin cold gruel once each evening. Sometimes Vernon would deliberately spill most of it outside of the cage just to get a rise out of the kid, but besides prompting a scowl from Mortimer, Vernon’s cruel jokes never amounted to anything.

 

The kid had never spoken a word within Mortimer’s hearing and hadn’t cried after the first year of being kept in the cage. He didn’t even make a sound whenever his mother was brought in to see him. However, these visits were the only time Mortimer had ever gotten a good look at him.

 

Apparently born with some sort of deformity, the kid had palid grey skin, shock white hair and milky white eyes. Mortimer had never seen the boy’s lips, but he had heard him nibbling quietly on the dried meat or drinking down the gruel, so Mortimer had settled on a gash like mouth in his mind to fill in the gaps. On the whole, the kid made Mortimer feel bad for him and his mother.

 

It took a special sort of woman to love a child like that, let alone allow themselves to be blackmailed to spare its life. The kid’s mother was young too, more than capable of having a dozen or more children if she wanted to be free of all this, and yet she returned every two months like clockwork. Always bound in chains and pillory to restrain her hands and head, she would lean as close to the cage bars as she could manage to spend the entirety of the allotted time in near silence with her son.

 

Knowing his employer was a real piece of work, Mortimer thought it best not to think about what exactly she was being blackmailed into doing.

 

Taking note of how low the candle was burning on the table, Mortimer cursed Vernon’s lazy ass under his breath and somewhat stiffly got to his feet. Pulling the remaining strips of jerky from his pocket, Mortimer hobbled over to the cage and dropped them through the bars. “Be quick now,” he warned, “That fat sack of shit might be back any moment, and see if’n he don’t stop feedin yer cuz he sees the meat.” Mortimer turned back to his chair and began hobbling across the room again.

 

<Wait…>

 

Mortimer froze and slowly turned back to look at the cage.

 

The pale boy was kneeling on the other side of the bars and looking straight at him with those milky white eyes.

 

Mortimer moved a little closer to the boy, “Yer talkin now?” He asked uncertainty.

 

The boy said nothing and there was still no sign of his mouth.

 

Knowing he wasn’t nearly that senile, Mortimer scratched at the insides of his hairy ears to make sure he wasn’t being deafened by earwax again.

 

*Dingling*

 

Mortimer froze. He had heard the delicate bell chime perfectly and was worried by what it meant. The bell was connected to a perimeter trap and served as an advanced warning of intruders. Reminded of Vernon’s absence, Mortimer knew that he now had precious time to come to a decision. Technically, Mortimer was bound by no oaths to his ‘employer’ and was surprised to find that by testing the limits of the oaths to his go-between that they had been cancelled on their end.

 

Realising he had a choice to make, and that he had no idea who the intruders were, Mortimer decided that the secret passage would be their best bet for escape. Hobbling back to the cage, he pressed his hand against the lock mechanism and inserted the yellowed nail of his pinky finger inside. “Breach,” Mortimer muttered quietly and sighed as the mana left his body.

 

The advanced mechanism inside the lock clinked to life but deliberately consumed precious seconds before finally freeing the cage door.

 

“C'mon kid,” Mortimer croaked while pulling a hidden stiletto from his boot, “We don’t wanna be here when whoever that is shows up.” With no official ties to his now former employer, Mortimer wanted to see the poor kid out of this basement and returned to his mother if possible. Few knew it, but he had done this before in secret. While not above taking certain jobs, Mortimer still needed a code to live by, and this was part of it. This small pittance in balancing the scale was enough to let him sleep at night.

 

The grey boy shakily crawled out of the cage and tried to climb to his feet.

 

Seeing the boy was too weak to stand, closed his eyes and sighed.

 

*Chingaling*

 

Hearing the second perimeter bell sound, Mortimer opened his eyes and looked towards the far stairs. His joints were too far gone to carry the boy and move fast enough to outpace whoever was coming. Glancing back at the boy, Mortimer was confused to see the boy’s milky eyes slowly tracking along the basement ceiling, as if following someone’s movements.

 

Realizing they still might have a chance, Mortimer swapped the stiletto for three small razor-thin throwing knives now held between his swollen knuckles and fingers. The one upside of having certain Class Abilities was knowing they were capable of exerting their own force and corrected aiming within certain margins for error. So in spite of his advanced age, Mortimer could make use of most of his more effective combat Abilities if necessary.

 

“Just tug my trousers or something’ when you see’em reach the stairs,” Mortimer breathed. Lucky enough not to have cataracts bad enough to badly obscure his vision, he still needed the head start to make sure the razors would reach their target before they could react.

 

Resisting the urge to look back at the boy, Mortimer took a steadying breath of scruff and kept his focus fixed on the stairs.

 

<Now.> The boy’s voice was as crisp and clear as it had been the first time.

 

“Hemorrhaging Razors!” Mortimer wheezed and threw the razors backhand towards the stairs. Almost invisible to the naked eye while in flight, he immediately lost track of them. However, as the dark hooded individual cleared the first step, Mortimer found them again as the figure made a wet gurgling noise and collapsed, tumbling down the stairs, and pooling blood at the bottom.

 

Carefully drawing three more razors, Mortimer took another steadying breath. “Good work kid, we might see yer to yer mother yet.”

 

*Clang, Shing, Thwack, Shin, Thunk*

To Mortimer’s surprise, what sounded like a battle had broken out upstairs. “Can’t be the watch…” Mortimer muttered in confusion. His former employer was far too well connected to have the town guard trespassing. Perhaps it was agents of one of the former employer’s rivals?

 

Another dark-cloaked body tumbled down the stairs, and to Mortimer’s surprise, he recognised him. “Barry?” He was almost certain it was one of his former employer’s new young hotshot assassins. Or had been.

 

Barry’s chest had an arrow in it right where his heart would be, and it was buried almost fletching deep.

 

Figuring he now had a better understanding of the altercation upstairs, Mortimer tried to think of what he would need to say in order to explain the boy’s reason for being outside of his cage. Assuming the agents of his former employer won of course. If they lost, well, Mortimer would need to think real fast about what to do about that.

 

As the fighting died down, Mortimer took what he figured might be his last puff of scruff and focused on the top steps of the stairs. “Don’t suppose you know who won that little scrap upstairs? Eh?” Mortimer chuckled dryly.

 

Hearing footfalls approaching the stairs, Mortimer wondered if there was enough left of his meagre soul for any of the gods to be bothered claiming it. He had done so much bad throughout his life that the infrequent acts of nobility and kindness only served to make the contrast all the more profound.

 

<Wait.> The boy called out just as Mortimer was about to throw his razors.

 

The name of the skill had been on the tip of Mortimer’s tongue, and his mana had almost passed the point of execution. But somehow he managed to stop just as the boy gave his warning.

 

Five men and women wearing nondescript civilian clothes spattered with stray blood warily descended the stairs. Two of the first three held maces and another had a pair of long daggers, while the two who remained at the top held short recurve bows at the ready.

 

“Step away from the boy,” the ginger-haired man holding the twin daggers demanded.

 

Mortimer knew killers when he saw them, and these men and women were killers to tee. They were the kind of people who killed someone, not because they wanted to, but because someone told them to. They were the king’s soldiers. “What are ye gonna do with him?” Mortimer asked warily, doing his best to edge himself in front of the boy without giving the archers reason to shoot.

 

“That is none of your concern,” The ginger-haired soldier snapped and halved the distance between them almost instantly.

 

Mortimer wasn’t phased by the scare tactic. He had been on both the giving and receiving end of such things far too many times to count and wasn’t impressed. “And if’n I say it is?” Mortimer snapped defiantly.

 

The ginger-haired soldier's scowl deepened and he was about to say something else when his attention suddenly shifted to the boy. A very long and very awkward silence followed. “Lower your weapons,” the ginger soldier commanded. But the command wasn’t directed towards Mortimer, but his own men.

 

The other soldiers did as they were told and lowered their weapons.

 

“You are going to come with us, quietly, and you will be well treated in return,” The ginger soldier explained, sheathing his twin knives behind his back. “So long as you comply, you will receive leniency for your crimes-”

 

“What about the boy?!” Mortimer croaked angrily, “What’re ye gonna do with him?!”

 

The ginger-haired soldier smirked slightly at Mortimer's loss of temper. “We are going to return him to his mother, of course.”

 

“Describe’er!” Mortimer demanded, raising his backhand threateningly, provoking a return to the readied position for the other soldiers’ weapons.

 

The ginger soldier waved them down again, “Young, short chestnut hair, blue-green eyes, dark eyebrows, small nose-” he continued the description, but Mortimer had stopped listening.

 

He was profoundly surprised that the soldier appeared to be telling the truth. “Is she noble or something?” Mortimer muttered distractedly, “Gotta be connected for soldiers to do something like this…”

 

The ginger-haired soldier grinned and moved closer, “You could say that,” he agreed and then punched Mortimer square in the face before he could so much as blink.