Chương 117: [A Masterclass In Mental Warfare]

The first round of the quarter finals was Phil's match against Yannick. Leo watched as his friend rolled his shoulders on the way out of the tunnel. He could see the swagger in it from the viewing step, and he could also see Yannick waiting in the centre, poleaxe across his back, watching Phil come through with an unimpressed expression.

"He doesn't look all that pleased with Phil's showboating today," said Sam. Luka smirked.

"Yeah, he's probably looking forward to being the one who dumps him out of the tournament."

"He's been pretty good at taking control of the fight so far. I wonder how he'll handle Phil's constant forward aggression," added Leo.

"He might try what you did with Locke," said Shai, still holding his hand.

"If it controls the distance while circling it's going to make it hard for Phil to attack as swiftly as he likes." Leo nodded. That had worked well against Locke and their style of fighting was similar even with different weapon preferences. The fight began and Phil went straight at him. Not his usual quick walk to close the gap. No, Phil sprinted at him. Yannick, like everyone else watching, hadn't expected it and was caught out of place, still trying to get into the correct stance.

His poleaxe came up in a hurry to deal with Phil who was now inside its reach. Yannick got it up in time and blocked the first two combinations of stabs and slashes but the poleaxe wasn't great in close quarters. He narrowly blocked a third strike then bought the feint that followed, Phil looking to bring his sword round on Yannick's left. His guard went the wrong way for half a second but it was enough. His ribs were left exposed on his right side and Phil put a blade into them. One.

"Did he just sprint at a poleaxe?" Luka said.

"He did." Sam shook his head.

"That was — ""Stupid. Guy thinks he's the main character." Leo was grinning.

"I was going to say committed. But yes. Also stupid."

"It worked though," Shai said. Yannick looked irritated as he reset, clearly not happy with the way Phil had run at him. I wonder if that's considered unsportsmanlike or something. He changed his stance, his hands moving higher up the haft, both of them now close together near the top, the axe head sitting just above his grip. The butt end angled forward at an odd angle. It looked like he was deliberately shortening his own reach, which made no sense. A poleaxe's whole advantage was the length of it.

"He's going to try and trap him," Shai said quietly. Leo looked at the stance again. The shorter grip gave Yannick less reach but more control of the butt end: the weapon could move faster at close range, the angles were tighter. If Phil came in fast the way he had before, Yannick wouldn't need the reach. He'd just need the timing. Phil saw the change, saw the space left open and pushed forward.

"Looks like he either hasn't noticed or doesn't care," said Leo. Shai shook her head, already knowing what was about to happen. Yannick backed off, slowly giving ground in short steps. The butt of the weapon trailing slightly as Phil pushed forward, blocking the close range combinations without fully committing to any of them.

Phil kept pressing, reading it as Yannick struggling to keep up, not seeing what the trailing weapon was doing to his footwork, crowding his lead leg, pushing his weight forward, setting up the step he was about to take. Yannick moved to the side. The butt end swept low and Phil's lead leg went with it, his own momentum carrying him past the point where he could recover. He hit the dirt hard, one knee and both hands, and before he'd finished working out what had happened the axe head was already coming down.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. It landed hard across his back. One-one.

"That looked like it hurt." Luka winced.

"It looked embarrassing as well," Sam said. Shai sighed.

"Let's see if his ego can take it."

Phil started moving, circling round Yannick, not yet committing. Yannick was planted at the centre watching him, waiting for Phil to do something. Phil was happy to oblige. Just not yet.

"Sorry about that sprint by the way," he said, loud enough to carry.

"I just assumed you'd be quicker." Yannick said nothing. His eyes tracked Phil's movement.

"That trip though." Phil shook his head, grinning.

"Bit unsportsmanlike wasn't it? Doesn't this tournament have rules about that sort of thing?" He held the grin. He knew his sprint to start things was way worse in that context. So did Yannick.

"Shut up," Yannick said.

"I'm just saying." Phil kept circling.

"You realise I've been training with these for about a month, right? Pretty cool isn't it." He held up one of his swords.

"How long have you been at it? Few years? Longer?" He let that sit for a second.

"Shouldn't you be kicking my arse by now?" Yannick glared at Phil before his weight shifted forward. There it is.

"What's he saying?" Shai asked. She had her eyes on Phil, head tilted slightly, catching nothing useful from this distance.

"He's probably trying to tilt him," Leo said. She looked at him.

"Tilt?"

"Get in his head. Make him angry enough to make a mistake." Luka laughed.

"He does this constantly in League. Someone starts playing badly, Phil notices, spends the next ten minutes making it worse."

"It nearly always works," Leo said.

"Yannick already looked annoyed when Phil cheesed him with that sprint," Sam said.

"He's not exactly immune to it."

"Cheesed?" Shai asked, once again confused by the weird word choice.

"Means he pulled something that shouldn't have worked, but it was unexpected enough to do just that. No idea why it's named that," Luka said.

"He looks his best when he makes people come to him," Shai said, eyes back on the arena floor.

"If Phil makes him move first—""That's what he's going for," Leo said. Below them Phil was still talking, still circling, Yannick's patience visibly running thinner with every pass. His steps forward were coming faster now, the composure from his earlier rounds starting to fray at the edges. Then Phil sprinted again.

Yannick was more ready this time, the poleaxe coming up quicker, but Phil was already inside it before it could find range and Yannick backed off, trying to get the distance back to where the weapon worked. Phil followed, staying close, not letting him find distance. As Yannick started to find the distance he wanted, Phil struck with an outward slash. It was wide and clearly not in range, his arm swinging away from his body. Yannick watched the blade as it moved harmlessly. He missed the other one.

The sword left Phil's hand and turned once in the air before the hilt caught Yannick across the thigh. Phil looked him in the eyes and laughed. Two-one. The crowd took a second to work out what had happened. Then it made a noise somewhere between delighted and appalled. Yannick stood looking at Phil with disgust and rage in equal measure. Phil took his time as he walked over and picked up his sword. On the viewing step Shai's tail flicked once, hard.

"I can't believe he did that," she said.

"Because you told him not to or because it worked?" Leo asked.

"Both. I told him it was stupid and it wouldn't work." Luka was already laughing. Sam had his hand over his mouth.

"To be fair," Leo started.

"Please don't," Shai said.

Yannick came forward, his earlier patience completely gone, the poleaxe swinging in wide aggressive arcs. Phil moved backward, ducking and sidestepping, the grin still on his face.

"Missed me." Phil stepped left around a swing.

"Missed again." He ducked under the follow through.

"I can see why you prefer having people come to you." He moved back from a third swing that had real anger behind it.

"You're kind of terrible at this." Yannick thrust forward with everything he had, extending far past the range he'd been working from all fight, trying to catch Phil with the sudden extra reach. Phil ducked under it and stepped inside. The stab caught Yannick across the cheek while he was still off balance. Three-one. The crowd went wild as the fight came to an end. Phil straightened up and looked at Yannick. The anger was still there but it had nowhere useful to go now.

"Sorry about all that," Phil said.

"I'm a prick, I get it." He shrugged.

"I don't know if mental warfare is a thing in these tournaments but it definitely is in actual warfare. I know it was a bit of a dick move but I want to win. I'll do anything within the rules." He paused.

"No hard feelings?" Yannick stared at him. The fight had gone out of his eyes, replaced by something that looked like grim acceptance.

"I can't believe I fell for that," he said finally. He was still visibly annoyed, still probably wanted to punch Phil in the face, but the tone had changed.

"I didn't realise I had such a huge flaw." He paused.

"Better to find out here than on a battlefield where it actually matters." Phil held out his wrist. Yannick took it. His grip was hard enough that Phil winced slightly before the grin came back. Yannick shook his head and walked off. Phil looked over at Grimgar. The judge looked back at him and rolled his eyes. For a man who reacted little, that said more than enough about his thoughts on Phil's antics. Phil put his hands behind his head and walked back toward the tunnel, whistling.