The roar of the crowd was deafening as it crashed into her eardrums. She was still relaxed right now; this was normal to her. She had done this many times before. It was not yet time to panic, and so she went through the tunnel and through the metal bars that would seal behind her until someone died.
She walked, one hand on Yasha’s sword hilt while the other blocked the glare of Sol’s reflection from the various mirrors located in the ceiling. She mentally took note of all the reflection points, making sure that they won’t hamper her vision during the fight.
The magically amplified voice of the commentator boomed throughout the stadium arena.
“And here is the challenger, formerly known as contestant number 404, but due to her dazzling display of swordsmanship, was given the arena title of Swiftblade!”
The crowd responded with anticipation, but she did hear the few boos and jeering, combined with catcalling. A female swordsman was not highly favored in the arena. Many people had lost money betting against her in the past, which probably explained some of the hate.
“It is because of this challenger today,” said the announcer enthusiastically, “that we get to see the legendary fighter take up his arms to defend his title! As you all are aware, the ordeal in order to challenge a current champion of the arena is to fight 100 matches and win. And now, here comes the man we’ve all been waiting for!”
The entrance at the other end slowly grinded open, as the bars retracted into their grooves. The audience was wild now; they were working up into a frenzy. The last challenger to complete the 100 match initiation process was 3 years ago, and it had ended in a single clash. She had watched, with her master.
And the Gladiator walked out to the cheering of the crowd. Contestant number 42. The man who never lost a fight. The man who never died.
The announcer was shouting now, trying to make himself heard in the closed arena, but the crowd was wild. The people in charge of keeping the crowd ordered must have their hands full, she thought.
But she had no time to be thinking about the crowd, as she felt the full force of her enemy’s gaze on her. Instinctively, she looked back at him, feeling the hair on the back of her neck raise. The commenter’s voice barely registered in her mind.
“Well, Sylvester, what do you think of the odds this time? For the first time in history, a female is challenging for the title of Champion!”
His armor was few and little; those experienced in fighting knew that cumbersome armor would only wear down the user over time. She herself was decked out in simple bamboo coverings, given to her long ago by her master. Armor was used to deflect glancing blows. Blocking and parrying was dependent on the user’s skills. Her master had once explained to her that even with the best armor, one who could not move fast enough to avoid a blow would only be pierced regardless.
“Well, Roan, it’s not that I think the Swiftblade is a bad fighter, but the Gladiator is entirely something else. Why, when his master, Kunkka, left him in this arena as a boy…”
His weapons had changed. In the last match, the Gladiator had wielded a great sword. Now, a cutlass was in his right hand, as a whip was held in his right hand. Up to two weapons allowed, as per the rules of the arena.
“Yes, we all remember that. He came trained in some of Kunkka’s techniques, but the old captain felt he was never meant to become a seafarer. So the pupil was left here to hone his own skills. But look at him now, champion of our arena, and holder of the longest title of being undefeated!”
He wore no helmet, as it would only offset one’s center of balance, and restrict vision. She was likewise, with her hair tied tightly behind her to avoid getting in the way of her own vision. His features were rugged, and battle scarred, but she knew better than to judge by appearance. This was a clever fighter, one who wasted no movements or time in exploiting weaknesses.
The crowd had shouted itself hoarse for now, and the announcer hastily took this time to say quickly, “Now that both fighters are in the arena, we shall start very soon. We all know the rules, but for those who need a short jot in the memory, here it is: two weapons per fighter allowed, any defensive gears chosen based on preference, no time limit, and the loser is the one that dies, while the winner walks away with their life!”
The crowd resumed their cheering all over again. They wanted blood. They knew it was coming.
“But in this special match, not only does the winner walk away alive, but gets crowned the Champion title of our arena!”
She felt herself tense up as she drew Sange and Yasha, discarding their scabbards to the sides. Having the scabbards attached to her waist would only increase her weight, in addition to being obstacles that may hamper her movements. What was going to be his first move? How would she react? Could she even react in time?
“And without further ado, let the countdown begin!”
The last time, he had immediately closed down on his opponent, overcoming their defenses in a moment before going for the kill…
“Five!”
Was it the same this time? Was he going to charge at her? But he was still on the other side of the arena…
“Four!”
What about the whip? That was a problem.
“Three!”
If only she knew how long it was uncoiled!
“Two!”
She stepped back, making sure to keep her distance.
“One!”
No time to think, but to act!
“Begin!”
And the whip latched around her neck before she had a chance to blink.