Arbitrary Selection Match (1)
Pontima rubbed her exhausted face, stammering. “What the— What the hell is happening inside Keres’s sanctuary—”
“Let’s make this clear. That crow agreed too. It was done with mutual consent.”
“No, wait, this is absolutely—”
She had guided Nathan, who was slated to become a fighter for Galarhorn, after he was told that Lord Keres had a message for him. She never imagined something like this would happen.
But there was more Pontima hadn’t anticipated.
“Right. Pontima.”
“Huh?”
“I thought about you a lot while I was inside the Punishment Arena.”
Nathan suddenly drove his forehead into hers. A thunderous crack that sounded like it could split a skull echoed down the corridor. Pontima flew backward, blood spraying from her nose. Thankfully the bottommost underground floor was covered in a thick carpet of grass. Nathan had no intention of catching her.
He stared down at Pontima sprawled on the lawn like a baby in swaddling clothes, fast asleep, and bared his teeth.
“You were planning to mess with my Achilles tendon. Back in that corridor.”
From a short distance came the sound of someone swallowing hard. Nathan lifted his head.
Zelter Peres, who had been following Pontima, had frozen mid-stride. One of Andau’s children—the ones who had subdued the rampaging Nathan four years earlier in front of the veiled woman.
Zelter, who had roughly guessed how things were about to unfold, spun on her heel and bolted. A heavy, rapid set of footsteps closed in from behind, and she screamed.
“I know, I know! I was wrong—!”
“You should’ve said that before I went into the arena, sis!”
Zelter found no words to argue, and the chase didn’t last long. The half-hearted resistance that followed ended just as anticlimactically.
The news that Galarhorn’s fighter Nathan had beaten his older siblings to a pulp soon reached Aspen Peres, head of the Peres family.
Aspen, who had been helping Benny with paperwork in the office, let out a sigh and nodded.
“As long as they’re not dead, it’s fine.”
“Pardon?”
“If the injuries aren’t too severe. Tell the family to let it go at this. Make it clear there will be no retaliation. I’ll speak to Nathan myself. Fighters from the same organization shouldn’t be injuring each other.”
“Um, my lady… that’s not all…”
The secretary shrank her shoulders.
“He… said to come out.”
“Come out? To whom?”
“To you, my lady.”
“Me? Who called?”
The secretary had no idea how to soften the message. How exactly was she supposed to tell her employer that the terrifying Nathan Maia had just challenged her to a fight?
Fortunately Aspen wasn’t the type to fly into a rage over blunt speech. She sighed again and picked up her longsword.
“I knew a day like this would come.”
“So, is the thrill of our reunion already over?”
The underground complex was large enough to be called a small city. Most of it had been carved out by those persecuted above ground as they sought a place to survive. The space Benny had funded with her own money was only a tiny fraction. Rumors claimed that a little deeper, these ant-nest passages stretched on a scale that rivaled an entire nation.
In other words, even a training hall the size of a respectable jousting arena wouldn’t be wasted space.
For Galarhorn’s fighters, it was a blessing. They could maintain condition without exposing themselves to assassination attempts from the surface.
“The thrill isn’t over. Every time I see you it feels new, happy, and good.”
Nathan had been grinning and flattering, but his expression quickly shifted to one that suggested he might throttle someone in a dark alley.
“But why the hell is that bitch here?”
Aspen’s secretary, who had been desperately avoiding eye contact, flinched violently the moment she felt Nathan’s gaze.
“Yeah, you. You worthless mutt who deserves to be burned alive. Did you think I’d forgotten? You were there when they stuck the needle in my artery. You were there when they cut off my wrist.”
“I-I didn’t want to do any of that, okay?”
“Nathan, think before you swing. That Eleim isn’t a trained warrior like my siblings or me. Even if you adjust your strength, you could kill her.”
“Then I only get one chance. Just like Keres did two hours ago.”
“Consider it zero chances. When I kicked her once, she was hospitalized for a very long time.”
“Refreshing, yet disappointing. Someone stole my first move.”
“I had no choice. There are family members who need Benny’s help, and once I actually put her to work she turned out to be surprisingly capable. So I’m keeping her close and disciplining her myself.”
“Even if you say that, she’s hundreds of times better than that pig. I’m satisfied.”
It would have been wiser to keep her mouth shut. The secretary, who had been nodding vigorously, accidentally met Nathan’s eyes again.
“See you when Aspen’s not around.”
“Nathan, this might sound like frustratingly principled talk, but—”
“It may be unfortunate for a bat that’s found a warm cave, but the four years I spent in the heavens turned me into an extreme gender-equality advocate. They also made me paranoid. If anyone so much as lays a fingertip on the back of someone’s head—big ears—I’ll smash their skull the moment I see it.”
The secretary tried to hide behind Aspen, but when Aspen strode straight toward Nathan, she panicked and stamped her feet.
“I’m not telling you to go easy because she’s a woman. I’m telling you to vent on someone who can take it. I’ve been waiting anyway.”
Inside the arena, Nathan leaned his face against the fence and grinned.
“Vent? Why would I?”
“Four years ago you punched two Peres members who tried to capture you like a beast. Now the only one not in the infirmary is Novic, who’s handling external duties. Am I included in this retaliation? Don’t dodge the question—you’re angry, Nathan.”
“I am. Those people never apologized to me. I’m not planning some grand revenge against Aspen, since we already settled everything through conversation. I just called you here to play. And to regain my edge.”
“You didn’t listen to a word Benny and I said about resting properly. Fine. It’ll be mealtime soon. Let’s work up a sweat and eat together.”
Aspen rummaged through the weapon rack beside the arena and pulled out a blunt practice longsword. One for herself, and a two-hander for Nathan.
“Not real blades?”
“Not real blades. We’re getting old, Nathan. Scratches don’t heal like they used to. Bruises are plenty.”
Stepping into the arena and handing him the grip of the blunt two-hander, Aspen smiled mischievously.
“Besides, a master doesn’t rely on the weapon. Right?”
The secretary’s eyes widened. The scene she had only imagined was about to unfold right in front of her.
The colossal piece of gossip that had been circulating among Hedonic society and Galarhorn insiders for years.
The de facto strongest fighter currently in Galarhorn.
The fighter said to have protected half of Galarhorn single-handedly.
Aspen Peres, publicly known as the Flowing Sword.
And the man who, if he survived his term in the Punishment Arena, was the strongest candidate within Galarhorn.
The Royalty Slayer.
Nathan Maia.
If Nathan survived and the two of them fought, who would win?
Of course, since they were fighters of the same organization, the chance of an official public duel was practically zero. Still, Hedonic aficionados who followed gladiator fights would launch into passionate debates the moment their eyes met.
The secretary wondered if the two of them even realized it. If she announced that the spot where she stood would be sold as a spectator seat, there would be no shortage of people willing to pay gold equal to the combined weight of both fighters.
While the secretary was busy calculating money, Aspen had slipped into nostalgic memory.
“It takes me back. My god. Has it really been seven years since we first fought? Or was it eight?”
The fourteen- and sixteen-year-olds who had staked their pride on every duel had become twenty-two and twenty-four.
“It was probably eight years ago. Feels like forever.”
The heavy regret buried in Nathan’s voice made something heavy rise in Aspen’s chest. The pain that had piled up during the years even Nathan couldn’t reach.
“Don’t get distracted. When do you think I’ll strike?”
Whether it was consideration or spite was unclear. What was clear was that Nathan had no intention of giving Aspen time to sink into sentiment.
The moment he subtly stepped on her lead foot, the dance began. The entangled pair burst into laughter with the voice of clashing metal the very next instant.
The secretary, thoroughly worn down from her time in the late Sakano’s floating arena, believed she had at least some talent for reading fights. She had even made a small fortune betting on outcomes behind the arena master’s back.
But.
I don’t understand.
The swords entangled. Then separated again. The instant the blades fell apart they were entangled once more. Up, down, sideways. The longsword that had been aiming for the solar plexus instantly dropped toward the toes, but the footwork had already evaded it. Reading the killing intent from the new position, the longsword used its tip to lift the two-hander.
The metallic ring was fierce, yet beneath it lay a rational rule—difficult to read, but present. It was less like swinging swords and more like conducting music.
The rhyme was the crash of impact. The theme was the opponent’s death. There were no rules for rhythm. This was not a poem composed at a desk.
If the moment that aesthetic was completed one of the co-authors stopped breathing, could it still be called art?
I really don’t understand. I’ve never seen anything like this.
After only two exchanges the secretary had already lost track of their intent. She couldn’t comprehend why, when, or how they were clashing. Even though she was watching with her own eyes.
Calm ripples became spikes. Heavy throws were retrieved lightly. Yet neither of them had taken so much as a scratch. Neither held the upper hand. Or perhaps they were deliberately refusing to seize it.
Whether such a thing was possible in the middle of that melee, she didn’t know.
The secretary congratulated herself for giving up betting on the day Nathan had destroyed the arena. The two terrestrial beings looked as if they had been born for exactly this. There was no other way to describe it.
Yet Aspen’s assessment was harsh. The moment another exchange fell with the groan of steel, she sneered.
“Oh dear. After four years in the Punishment Arena I honestly can’t tell what you were doing. If anything you’ve regressed to seven years ago.”
It was an accurate judgment. Nathan had been acting.
Therefore Aspen’s words were a subtle jab: Are you really going to keep it this boring?
Nathan smiled as if he hadn’t noticed. “There wasn’t anything worth learning in there. Even if you had gone, I would’ve breezed through it a hundred times over.”
“Liar. How long are you going to pretend to hold back?”
Aspen thrust her longsword into the opening again. Nathan’s response—exactly like the old days—made her burn with thirst. It hurt.
This wasn’t what she had hoped for.
They had faced each other for roughly four years. Even then, the time spent as lovers was less than half of that. Yet the time they had been forced apart was also roughly four years. The wait had been long. Far too long.
Before she knew it Aspen was in her mid-twenties. She had missed the moment the boy vanished from Nathan’s face.
I’m curious.
Aspen poured every ounce of her focus into the sword in her hand. If she didn’t, she felt she would cry.
Having become the point of the blade, Aspen asked with a thrust. How have you been? What did you learn? What battles did you fight? I want to know. Show me how you’ve changed while I couldn’t see you.
“I actually want to ask the opposite. That’s why I’m doing this on purpose.”
Nathan caught the emotion-laden sword tip in his bare hand.
Aspen, yanked back to reality, pouted. “Foul. Your hand will tear. What are you doing without even a gauntlet?”
“It absolutely won’t tear. It’s a miracle leather glove custom-made by the Humanity Sect. Want to bet?”
“Anyway, I was taught never to do that during sparring. But you say you’re doing it on purpose—what do you mean?”
“I’m the one who’s curious how much you’ve changed, Aspen.”
The strength left the hand gripping the longsword. Aspen’s face crumpled into something between laughter and tears, yet her stance remained perfect.
Suddenly she released the blunt sword. From behind her back she drew her real longsword and swung. The razor edge struck Nathan’s thumb in an instant. Of course the miracle-infused hand didn’t receive so much as a scratch, but Nathan pretended it hurt and dropped the practice sword.
Aspen laughed, finally letting the single tear she had been holding back fall.
“Find out for yourself. Raise the tempo.”
“This kind of date isn’t bad either, is it?”
The secretary, who had been watching with dry throat, finally lost her mind.
They collided head-on. Far more fiercely than the previous exchanges that had seemed almost harmonious. The weight was completely different now. It wasn’t simply because one of them had drawn a live blade. This time it truly felt as if one of them would die if left unchecked. The Federation’s longsword style, honed to the extreme, tore through each other’s openings.
The secretary wondered whether she should run and call someone to stop them. But the scene before her glued her feet to the floor.
Yet the rhythm soon broke. The two-hander had its disadvantages. Inside a certain distance it was difficult to deflect every thrust. The longsword that had halted at the last moment grazed Nathan’s ribs.
Startled by the chill, Nathan bent his waist in a comical arch, narrowed his eyes, and grumbled.
“Dirty.”
“Dirty? I’m the one who’s astonished by what you’re doing. Are you hiding your true ability, or did those bastards make you fight without even giving you a proper sword? If you’re more comfortable with an axe or club, shall I bring one?”
“Aspen’s improved a lot while I wasn’t looking. Time really is cruel.”
Aspen stuck her tongue out apathetically. Seeing it, Nathan chuckled, relaxed his stance, and planted the pommel on the ground like a walking stick. A silent signal that the spar was over.
Aspen felt strangely let down and mirrored the gesture, planting her own pommel.
“If you were going to end it like this, why did you call me out?”
“I heard a gladiator match is happening soon. Zelter told me. As a reserve fighter—it might sound cowardly, but while Pontima can get hurt, I can’t.”
“It’s true. You did all that because you didn’t trust me?”
“Who said I suspected you? I already knew. That’s why I went easy.”
“Easy is still easy in its own way. How could you slam a woman’s head like that? She was crying in the infirmary.”
“First, then why did you pull out Benny’s hair? Second, she cried? Is it okay to tattle on her to me? Isn’t she your older sister anyway?”
“There are two things you must never do in the Peres family: failing to take responsibility for your actions is the first. Losing is the second. She got smashed because of her own karma—who can she blame?”
“The family really runs smoothly. If Zelter is the reserve, who is the primary fighter for that match?”
“The confirmed fighter is Asterion. Race is Cretian. You probably haven’t seen him. His skill is good, though he relies heavily on his size.”
“Cretian? Ah, the cow-headed human?”
“That’s a very human-centric way to put it, Nathan. It’s the same as calling us short-eared Eleim. They’d be offended.”
“If they get offended, that’s good for me. Means they’ll come at me first.”
Aspen frowned. “What?”
“If something happens to Asterion, who replaces him?”
“I’m first, Zelter is second. After that we’d have to think about it if even Zelter couldn’t fight.”
“Then I’ve handled Zelter. Two left.”
Aspen sighed. “I see. You’re finally showing your true colors. Nathan, I don’t know exactly what plan you’ve cooked up, but—”
The pommel of the two-hander spun across the ground. Aspen’s eyes flew wide.
Nathan whipped it upward in an instant and struck her with pure brute force, changing the angle. It was no mere sword-hilt accessory. The anchor that held the weight of a greatsword was itself a lethal weapon.
As the sudden trajectory aimed for her temple, Aspen urgently met it with an identical mirror-image motion. The swung sword handles collided. But it was different. The weight, the power, the mass of the blade. She had clenched her teeth expecting the impact, yet it was beyond imagination.
The instant they met, Aspen let her sword be pushed away. If she hadn’t, her shoulder would have dislocated.
To Aspen, who spun once and retreated, Nathan spoke in a deliberately lowered tone.
“Get into stance again.”
“Sudden informal speech? How thrilling.”
“The moment swords are drawn and we face each other, there is no above or below. That’s what you used to say, Aspen.”
Incongruous with his suddenly murderous expression, Nathan winked.
Aspen barely held back the laughter threatening to burst from her lips. She wanted to laugh freely, but she knew Nathan would charge the moment she did.
“Oh. The memories of when we were desperate to devour each other are coming back fresh. Pontima was sent on a trip to dreamland, Zelter got a free haircut. What will you do with me?”
“I won’t break anything like I did back then. Bones don’t heal as fast as they did in our teens, right? Instead I’ll make you very, very obedient. So you can’t object to the terrifying conspiracy I’ve planned.”
“Conspiracy?”
“I have to be the one who fights in that match.”