Chương 154: The Spear from the Sticks

"In this corner, weighing in with nothing but a hope and a prayer, is the Spear from the Sticks, Cal Valorn! And in the other, the pride of Mirathra's circuit hopefuls, the Unbreakable Shield, Tlaloc Karlsen!" The arena trainee's self-satisfied voice bounced off the atrium's vaulted ceiling and came back magnified and brassy. Cal spared a glance for the lanky trainee, the one whose mouth had opened first and then failed to earn the moment.

He'd apparently decided if he couldn't fight the newcomer, he could at least call the match. Which was a thing, apparently? Cal weighed the blunted practice spear in his hands. The head had been rounded off into a stubby steel knob no sharper than a hammer. Across roughly ten yards of freshly raked sand, Tlaloc loosened his shoulders and slotted his left arm into the strap of what was likely his personal kite shield. The longsword he'd drawn from a rack against the wall was a training blade like Cal's spear.

Am I on ESPN right now? Cal thought, as he shook his head at the absurdity of the sportscasting. Or getting punked? I can't believe this guy's got his own hype man. All we're missing is a ring girl and someone selling overpriced sausages on a stick. Around the perimeter of the yard, the ring of trainees had thickened as a few left to pull back others. Cal's exhibition match had become an attraction. The veteran instructor lifted two hands where he stood by Nola, waiting for the fighters to signal their readiness.

When they did, his pronouncement started the match.

"Begin!" Tlaloc came in fast. He led with the shield in a fully committed advance. Raised to eye level, longsword cocked back behind it, and the whole compact mass of him driving forward on quick steps. He closed the distance in a second and a half and slammed the shield's rim toward Cal's head on a rising line. Cal pivoted his back foot on the sand and leaned to let the shield pass. The wind of it kissed his nose. The longsword came out from behind the shield on a diagonal cut, aimed at Cal's ribs.

He caught it on the spear shaft, absorbed the shock along both hands, and let the blade slide off along the wood. Shifting a step to his right, he slid around Tlaloc's shield side for exactly the half breath it took Tlaloc to rotate the shield across his own body and re-square. It was solid footwork, the man recovering without any wasted motion. Huh, this guy kind of fights like Astrin. Tlaloc pressed with a shield check into a low sword slash.

Cal beat the slash wide and gave enough ground to stay at optimal range with his longer reach. Another combination came in, Tlaloc feinting high with his shield before laterally hopping forward, twisting a deep thrust towards Cal's belt only for Cal to turn the point and give ground again. Another combo, this time over the tap, merging into a spinning backhand followed by a shield check that Cal caught and used to propel himself backwards.

"That's smothering pressure from Karlsen!" the self-designated announcer boomed.

"The Deadfall boy's been on his back foot since the start! Frontier reflexes just weren't built for the Circuit tempo, folks!" Over half the crowd whooped in agreement. A few of the trainees even clapped. Cal could only shake his head, as he let another slice ring off the tip of his spear and stepped through the follow up. The shield's swing was strong on the attack and weak returning to guard. Tlaloc's sword hand rode a half beat behind his shield on every combination.

His right knee bent inward when he checked to the left, a small collapse that only mattered because Cal was looking for the imperfections. Astrin was more skilled and trickier. Smarter with her feints. This guy hits harder, sure, but every blow that's relatively stronger than Astrin's is telegraphed a mile away. He gave ground on purpose now, letting Tlaloc corral him toward the most crowded side of the ring. Behind Tlaloc's shield, the man's features had gone from performance aggression to genuine irritation.

"Hold still, you mud-stomping backwater rat bastard—" The tirade finished as a shout and got the crowd back into it. Cal watched Tlaloc's stunt detachedly and thought he understood the deeper strategy to the goading. He's playing to the crowd as well as trying to get me off-balance. Maybe he needs them cheering when he wins? Otherwise, what's Nola and the instructor actually seeing? These arena fighters likely need to be showmen and women, not just good combatants.

He gave Tlaloc's next overhead cut a deceptive, low-effort parry. Then decided on giving them a show of his own. The spear tip flashed forward off the parry, riding the return line of Tlaloc's longsword back toward its owner. It slipped inside the arc of the kite shield before the shield could correct, and the blunted steel knob ripped a fast line across the crest of Tlaloc's right cheekbone. Enough to leave a shallow seam in the skin, even with the blunted instrument.

Tlaloc's continued taunting died mid-syllable, and the yard's cheering died with it as a collective inhale swept the ring. Cal was already stepping back to guard and circling towards the center, spear leveled and slightly smiling. Yeah, champ. I coulda put that anywhere, and you know it. The announcer recovered first, though his voice had climbed half an octave.

"A-A lucky shot from the Deadfall native! A lucky shot! Karlsen clearly underestimated his opponent's reach but it's just a minor miscalculation, and one he'll correct in a moment!" Tlaloc touched his cheek with the fingers of his shield hand and they came away red. He looked at the blood, then at Cal, and the arrogance in his brown eyes hardened into something colder and more intense. He came again, and this time there was no performance in it. The combinations changed.

Tlaloc had been fighting to look good before, while still being effective. Now he fought to kill. The shield still led, but the sword strikes were tighter and shorter, chained to the shield motion in ways that closed lanes rather than trying to open them for a counter. His footwork tightened. His head dropped an inch behind the shield rim, only his eyes visible over top. I like that look, Tlaloc! Let's see what you've got! Cal was really starting to enjoy the fight.

He'd never been much of an athlete back on Earth, and the experiences he had lived on Veraxus were giving him confidence. Fighting was fun, and he was good at it. This format with cheering crowds—and even an announcer—was something novel and exciting, even making him a touch nostalgic. But he didn't for one second let his guard down. As the man came on, Cal noted a change in his fighting style.

The sword and board work still reminded him of Astrin, but now Tlaloc was sacrificing more security for increased strength and aggression. Narbok had fought very similarly when he was trying to take advantage of his bloodline. It wasn't the same… not exactly. Tlaloc had far more discipline, where Narbok had leaned into rage and a lust for violence. But the flavor was there. His guard had loosened, and the restraint of moments ago had been replaced by… something.

These are the kinds of tells I need to be on the lookout for, now that I'm starting to regularly find opponents with mystical kung-fu powers. And just like I need to be looking for them… maybe I can tease them out carefully, too. Cal took a small chance. On the next shield check, instead of giving ground, he angled off the outside of Tlaloc's shield hand and let the spear tip snap out on a short, tight thrust.

The blunted knob caught Tlaloc's forearm above his sword in a strike that left a red line from wrist to elbow. A second combination to the opposite side yielded similar results. Cal fired past a sword slash, deflecting the blade offline while simultaneously jabbing his blunted spear tip into the meat of the bicep holding Tlaloc's shield. Tlaloc grunted and drove Cal back with a quick charge. And then Cal saw it. The cut on Tlaloc's cheek.

He had just glanced at it, expecting a bead of blood at the corner of the man's sweating jaw by now, but the bead wasn't there. The seam of the shallow cut was still visible, but it was thinner. Even as Cal watched across the distance, the edges of the shallow cut drew toward each other on their own, the red already dulling to a light pink line. The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

"AND THERE IT IS!" The sportscaster roared out with vindication.

"Look at that! The first cut is already almost closed! That's the [Blood of the Bog Troll], folks! Karlsen can't be beaten with a thousand cuts! Every scratch you land is another attack wasted!" Passive regeneration? Really? Kind of feels like a slap to the face there, universe. You're mad I didn't take it back at the start, aren't you? Cal reset his stance and plotted a new course. If he was going to hit him, he needed to hit him for real. Naturally, that's when Tlaloc's skin turned red.

The distance between them disappeared in the blink of an eye. There was Tlaloc over there, and then there Tlaloc was over here, with a longsword coming down on Cal's centerline at a speed nearly double what he'd shown thus far. [Flicker Step] fired on reflex, Cal's weight already shifting when his mind caught up. He hopped backward at an angle, twisting to open his chest away from the incoming attack. He was fast, but Tlaloc was faster.

The blunted longsword slammed across his sternum on a diagonal, from his left shoulder down to his right hip. The reinforced leather took the strike, but it wasn't enough. The plates in the chest panel saved his bones from breaking, but he could already feel the deep bruise he'd have in the meat underneath and down his abdomen. The force of the blow added to his momentum across the sand and sent him back two steps behind where his movement ability would have put him.

"HE'S ACTIVATED THE [PROWLER'S FURY]!" the sportscaster howled in delight.

"Look at that speed! The Spear from the Sticks is on the run! This, ladies and gentlemen, is the pressure of a true Circuit fighter!" Cal caught his balance on his back foot and got the spear back up between them a heartbeat before Tlaloc's next strike arrived. Two bloodlines! Are we betting he's got a third? Why do I feel like he's definitely going to have a third… Tlaloc didn't give him time to think further about the question.

The man came in on a Stamina-fueled blitz to complement his active bloodline, feet ripping twin furrows of sand up behind him as the longsword began painting the air with patterns and speed Cal could barely track. He felt the red energy building around Tlaloc's upper body as the sword rose, barely holding on to his spear as he managed a late deflect of the blow. The shield came behind the sword strike in a quick jab that Cal caught on his haft, driving the air from his lungs and forcing him back another step.

Even with [Spear Mastery] it was quickly becoming apparent that Cal would soon lose to sheer physicality if he didn't up his game. [Dash] carried him wide left in a burst of speed, legs halting five yards off Tlaloc's sword-side. The man pivoted through the shift without hesitation, and his sword arrived at Cal's new angle a hairsbreadth after Cal's spear did.

Cal caught the strike on the shaft and slid it off, empowered a thrust of his own with a short burn of Stamina, and drove the blunted knob at Tlaloc, catching him high on the arm. Tlaloc grunted and rotated the shield into the follow-through, deflecting Cal's second thrust before it could stack. [Flicker Step] back, angle change, then [Sundering Strike] in a low line to force the shield to drop.

Tlaloc took the hit on the shield boss with a boom that rattled through the atrium, and Cal felt the concussion travel up his own arms. Tlaloc came out of it grinning through gritted teeth and answered with a combination Cal had to give ground on. The yard was full of the boom of empowered blows and the hiss of sand kicked into fast plumes. Cal could feel his Stamina reserve dropping, but after his ascension he had a massive amount available.

Every [Flicker Step], [Dash], and spiritual energy-fueled thrust was a withdrawal, but it was a bill he could pay for a long time. Tlaloc's bloodline was letting him easily keep up, but Cal had no idea at what cost. Regardless, it was great practice, and fun, and he wanted to ride this line as long as he could. The sportscaster was audibly out of breath now, and euphoric.

"They're trading empowered strikes, folks! The Deadfall boy is keeping up! I don't, I don't know where he learned that footwork out on the frontier, but he is keeping up, and, oh, Karlsen doesn't like it, Karlsen does not like being kept up with—" Tlaloc used a feint Cal hadn't seen yet, combining it with a Stamina-backed burst-of-speed to get inside Cal's spear. The shield check cracked his guard wide open. The sword came on in an empowered straight thrust, tearing for his throat. Bah, nice shot.

Guess I'll have to get a bit more serious. [Crimson Overdrive] The sand under Cal's feet blew away from him in a ring three yards across, and a red corona flared around his body in a haze of Stamina overpressure. His aura ignited in the visible spectrum and lit Tlaloc's clenched face. With the circuit running through his limbs, Cal wrenched the spear shaft across his centerline in a hard cross-body parry. Wood met steel a hand's breadth from his neck, and the impact rang through the yard.

The Overdrive-fed strength of the deflection hurled Tlaloc's thrust wide over Cal's left shoulder, and the longsword's tip carved empty air where Cal's neck would have been a heartbeat earlier. Tlaloc's committed lunge carried him forward onto his lead foot, off-line and momentarily overextended, and Cal rode the parry's rotation into a spinning back kick that slammed the heel of his boot into the boy's ribs and shoved him back a couple steps.

Tlaloc stuttered to a stop on the sand and reset, breathing harder than he had all match. The onlookers murmured, and Cal caught up to what the announcer had been spouting during the last exchange.

"Karlsen is relentless! He's not giving him an inch! Wait, what's this?! Valorn erupts with scarlet light! Ladies and gentlemen, he's answered Tlaloc's fury with a show of his own! This is what you pay to see!" From the back of the crowd, a bored voice drawled out, "The only one paying for this fight's gonna be the new guy, Corvis. An' shut up, this ain't no audition." Cal bit back a chuckle as half the crowd seemed to laugh at the announcer's expense. It's probably time to end it, now that I've gone this far.

He stepped in, and the exchange lasted three seconds. Tlaloc's next strike came down in a fully committed overhead. Cal caught it on the shaft and twisted, looping his spear around the longsword and ripping against Tlaloc's grip with all the leverage his boosting Ability handed him. The longsword tore free of Tlaloc's fingers, wrenched sideways, and cartwheeled through the air in a lazy silver blur. It came down point-first five yards away and stood quivering in the sand.

Cal reversed the spear in his hands and the shaft slammed across the flat face of Tlaloc's kite shield, an empowered blow with the full weight of his Stamina and body behind it. The shield rocketed out to Tlaloc's left and was almost pulled from his hand. The whole line of the man's body opened, chest to hip, completely undefended, and Tlaloc's eyes went round with shock. The crowd let out a collective groan.

Cal set his back foot, charged Stamina down through the anchor of his stance, and detonated [Lancing River]. His forward lunge and the thrust became one motion, as the blunted spearhead traveled the short distance to Tlaloc's exposed sternum on a line so smooth it almost didn't need aiming. That's when Cal felt the twinge of Mana a fraction of a second before the impact.

The shield that Cal had just knocked wide and was hanging at the end of Tlaloc's left arm—with its face pointed uselessly toward the crowd—suddenly snapped back into position. It jerked without Tlaloc's arm doing the work. It rotated on some invisible axis and whipped across Tlaloc's body faster than any physical arm could have hauled it at their tier, slotting itself directly into the path of Cal's spear tip a blink before impact. [Lancing River] hit the shield dead center and the thing barely budged.

The boom of impact slammed off the atrium ceiling and back down again. A wave of displaced air rolled out from the point of contact, kicking sand into the air in a rising dome that engulfed both fighters and blew across the front row of the crowd. Cal felt the recoil punch back down his spear shaft and into his shoulders, the whole locked kinetic chain of his attack meeting a wall that didn't move and rebounding, as his world briefly went white with the shock of a technique meeting its match.

He staggered back multiple steps, finally managing to catch himself by planting the butt of his spear into the ground. The sportscaster broke free of whatever astonishment had been holding him down, loosing a full-throated bellow out into the stunned silence." YES! THE [ARGUS SENTINEL]! I told you! I told you all! You can't break Tlaloc Karlsen!" The dome of kicked sand began to settle, and Cal watched it come down and reveal the ground between them.

Where the shield had intercepted the strike now stood a circular crater blasted into the practice yard. It was two yards across and half a foot deep. Cal became aware, distantly, of the veteran instructor at the edge of the yard. The man's grey brows had climbed most of the way to his cropped hairline, and his mouth was hanging open. Nola hadn't moved either. Her hands were still clasped in front of her, but her head was tilted very slightly to one side, and she'd turned from Cal to the crater in the sand.

There was a look of consideration that had not been on her face before. Mana, huh? Do we think it's an actual Spell, or did he reveal his final bloodline? Either way, he could still have more tricks up his sleeve, and this last trick is going to be… extra tricky. I had him dead to rights there! But this is really getting interesting. I could hop over there and finish him now, but… I've got a better idea. First, a bit more testing. Across the settling sand, Tlaloc finally began to recover.

He drew a shaky breath first, continuing to look around in a daze when he noticed the crater between them that he was partially standing in. He glanced down, then looked up at Cal, staring for a long time. Then he stepped out of the crater on his right foot and continued to the sword resting point-first in the sand. He reached down and wrapped his hand around the grip, drawing it up and settling back into a low guard. The arrogance had completely fled his countenance, and there was something else besides.

He nodded, barely, almost imperceptibly, but Cal was sure he saw it. Then the man began to advance. Cal settled down into a fighting stance and waited for Corvis to find his voice again. This wasn't over.