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Duskbound 2- Chapter 11
🕑 Added 2025-01-20 12:35:25 +0000 UTCThey’d agreed that Jensen would do the majority of the talking. All Velik had to do was introduce himself, prove he was Gray the top gladiator, and confirm that he was signing on to Jensen’s expedition. In theory, his role was a minor one and he was hoping he’d only be there for a few minutes.
“Mr. Alderworth,” the doorman said as they approached. He was a big man, close to six and a half feet tall and probably the better part of three hundred pounds. Surprisingly, he was also a significantly higher level than average. Velik was pegging him at 33 or 34. “And… guest.”
Velik had removed his more distinctive pieces of gear and donned a plain mask in an attempt to preserve some of his anonymity. It was clear the doorman was taken aback by the wardrobe choices, but for whatever reason, he’d decided not to comment on it.
“We’re expected,” Jensen told him.
“Of course.”
The house was huge, bigger than anything Velik had seen prior to coming to the city. Made of some sort of cut and sanded stone block and three stories high, it had hundreds of windows studding both wings facing the street, though it was separated from foot traffic by a fourteen-foot-tall fence of wrought iron that curved outward at the top and had barbs curling outward from the bars.
The gate guard had let them by on Jensen’s word alone, but Velik guessed he’d had some magical way to communicate up to the house, because it was obvious that the doorman had been sent to meet them. He smelled of old leather and perfume, a scent that permeated the whole house. It was so strong that even before the doorman let them inside, he could detect its cloying stink.
Two men and one woman were waiting for them inside, all also into the mid-thirties. Security. This guy might be a fan, but he’s not foolhardy enough to let a powerful person of unknown loyalties into his house without taking a few precautions.
“Master Blendstin is in the training yard out back,” the doorman informed them. “We’ll escort you there.”
The trip through the lordling’s house took far longer than Velik felt it should have—who needs all these rooms? What are they even for? You could run laps in the hallways!—but they eventually found themselves in a closed off courtyard. It had a still-brown grassy strip that was slowly coming back to life from the winter months surrounding a fifty-foot square of hard packed dirt, inside of which several people were sparring with each other while a portly man watched from the sidelines under the shade of an awning that jutted out from an equipment storage shed.
“Sir, Mr. Alderworth has arrived,” the doorman announced.
“Jensen!” the portly man said with a laugh as he bounced to his feet. “And you’ve brought a friend. Is he…”
“I told you that I was good at my job,” Jensen said.
“Splendid. You’ve convinced him to sign on to this little venture as well?”
“With some stipulations, but nothing I feel is unworkable,” Jensen replied smoothly. “Shall we go over things?”
“No, no. Plenty of time for that later. First, I’d like a proper introduction to this man. Would you prefer to go by Gray, or something a bit more familiar?”
“Gray is fine,” Velik said.
“Ah, a man of mystery. I can respect that,” Blendstin clucked, bobbing his head as he spoke. “I hope you wouldn’t mind favoring us with a duel against one of my retainers, just to prove your credentials. Your identity being a secret and all, you’ll understand why I can’t just take young Jensen’s word on things.”
“I can assure you—” Jensen started to say, only to cut himself off when Blendstin held up a hand.
“It’s not that I doubt you, but business interests must be properly vetted. And besides, a private show from the coliseum’s best gladiator, a duel no less? Who wouldn’t want to see that.”
Jensen had mentioned the man was an avid fan of the coliseum’s blood sports, but Velik thought that perhaps he’d undersold Blendstin’s fervor. The four sparring matches were still going on in the background, overseen by a woman who couldn’t be an inch over five feet in height who was standing in the middle with her arms crossed and scowling at everyone.
She had iron-gray hair pulled back into a tight bun and a multitude of scars covering the left side of her face. Heavy steel armor covered her from her neck down to her feet, interrupted only by a leather belt with an arming sword strapped to her hip. On such a small frame, the sword’s tip came down nearly to her ankles.
At Blendstin’s declaration, she shot him a look that clearly said she wasn’t impressed with the idea, but instead of arguing, she clapped her hands once and barked out, “Fight’s over. Line up.”
Immediately, the eight combatants sprang apart. They rushed over to the west side of the square and formed a line, one with their instructor eyed up critically for a moment before nodding to herself. Almost casually, she strolled over to where Blendstin stood with Velik and Jensen.
Velik watched the whole thing curiously. He hadn’t ever had any formal combat training, and by the time he was in a position to access it, it was far too late to need it. [Spear Warden] was at rank 9 and four different skills as components to it. The system had taught him everything he needed to know about handling his weapon, and it was far too late for some sparring practice to help him rank up the skill.
“Sir,” the woman said as she approached.
“Very good, Gillar,” Blendstin said. He waved a hand at the woman and said, “My captain of the guard and combat instructor for my own personal guards. Gillar, this is the [Vault Seeker] I’m considering financing a joint venture with and, presumably, his associate, the champion gladiator, Gray.”
“Gray, huh?” Gillar repeated, eyeing him speculatively. Velik felt something brush against him, probably an [Identify] or something similar. He rebuffed the skill, which drew a quirked eyebrow from the woman. “I hear you’re real good at killing monsters.”
“Reasonably,” Velik said. He ought to be, considering he’d been doing it most of his life.
“How about people?”
“Hunting humans down isn’t really my area of expertise.”
“A hunter, huh?”
Oops. Damn it. With no witty rebuttal readily springing to mind, Velik decided his best course of action was to just keep his mouth shut. Gillar looked perversely pleased to have tripped him up, and even Jensen was smirking in the background.
“So, a duel,” Blendstin said. “Let’s say… Hmmm. What do you think, Gillar? Artorian rules?”
“Fine by me, sir,” she said without taking her eyes off Velik.
He hadn’t expected to be actually fighting someone when he’d agreed to this. He’d figured he’d be throwing out a single [Dread Lance] to serve as his credentials, then he’d fade into the background or, even better, leave. Jensen was no help, either, just standing there with that stupidly amused look on his face and making new attempts to get Velik out of this.
“I’m not familiar,” he said. If he was going to be fighting someone, he figured he should at least know what the rules of the game were.
“Three hits to victory. No head shots. No crippling blows. No activated skills or enchanted gear. No potions or support spells from others. Training weapons only,” Gillar rattled off.
That took [Dread Lance] off the table, but Velik didn’t want to kill the woman, so he wouldn’t have used it anyway. [Beast of Burden] his newest skill, wouldn’t work on her anyway, leaving him with [Apex Hunter], [Spear Warden], and [Savage Rhythm]. It still felt like an unfair advantage, but there was no telling what skills Gillar had.
She was near the same level as him, as best he could tell, which put her twenty levels over the trainees who’d been sparring when they’d arrived. He was also willing to bet she had at least one skill similar to [Apex Hunter], but aimed more towards fighting people instead of monsters. It being only an hour or so after noon, he wouldn’t be able to rely on the force multiplier of his racial subtype, which meant the raw stats of having a unique class would probably be his only real advantage.
“Is this what you need to prove I am who I say I am?” Velik asked Blendstin.
“I’m afraid so,” the portly nobleman nodded. He didn’t appear any sort of apologetic though. If anything, he was almost quivering with barely repressed glee. Yeah, he believes I’m Gray. This is just so he can see a fight featuring his favorite gladiator up close.
Velik turned his gaze to Jensen, who just shrugged. “I told you he’d want some proof. That’s the drawback of wearing a mask to hide your identity.”
“Very well. I did not expect to fight a duel, however. Would you be willing to loan me a training spear?”
“Telit,” Gillar called.
“Ma’am,” he said back. He rushed into the equipment shed and returned a moment later with a blunt spear made of some dark, thick wood he didn’t recognize and capped with a dull, vaguely pointed piece of iron. It gave more the impression of having a tip than it actually had one, but he supposed that was the point of a training weapon.
The sword was similar, being made of dull iron that tapered to a gentle point. It was the same size as the one Gillar wore on her belt, which she was currently unbuckling and handing off to the trainee. With a gesture, she beckoned Velik to follow her into the middle of the sparring ring.
“You might want to take that mask off,” she warned. “Going to be hard to see your peripherals with it in, and I don’t want any whining about it not being a fair fight.”
“I appreciate the concern, but I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re sure then. Telit, count us down.”
“Ma’am,” the trainee said again. He looked between Velik and his boss, took a breath, and said, “Three… Two… One… Begin!”
