Sworded Affair

Chapter 9: Just a Second

Something doesn’t feel right about this, Emma couldn’t help thinking as she sipped the pizza flavored milkshake she’d ordered, appearing moments later like everything else she'd tried thus far.

Whilst indistinguishable from the typical margarita pizza in terms of taste; the smooth texture left Emma with very mixed opinions and an increased desire for the genuine article.

[Prior expectations are hard to overcome; the idea of a pizza being liquid will take time to adjust to, though the strangeness should fade with repeated exposure. Otherwise, I suppose you could stick to fruit and other natural flavors for a beverage.]

Tabling further experimentation on food and drink for later, Emma turned away from the vendor and returned her attention to the theater proper. There had been one new arrival in the time she’d spent asleep; the woman with the forestry helmet Emma had seen in town, albeit now missing her chainsaw. Said newcomer was deep in conversation with Peter, not noticing Emma approach until the latter was right behind her.

Plate armor is surprisingly silent. Emma noted, having expected significantly more sounds marking her passage.

[Only the poorly fitted ones make noise, and you wouldn't find any of those in the founder's armory. Everything she ordered was the best of the best.]

“A crossbow? Really?” Peter asked, bemused. “I’m shocked there were any working models outside a museum. Why not use a gun like everyone else?”

“He was a big fan of historical reenactments,” The woman smiled mirthlessly. “Any time there was a medieval fair nearby, he’d be there. Wasn’t the choice of weapon that did him in the end either, he just ran out of bolts at a really bad time.”

“It’s always a bad time to run out of ammo,” Peter nodded seriously. “Six magazines in your pack and one in the gun, at minimum is how I was taught to head into the field. I always carried twelve just in case; the habit got me out of a few tight spots, I can tell you that.”

“There were a few in uniform fighting outside, thinking about it. Most have left now though; wanted to find somewhere more defensible before night fell. I was the only one crazy enough to chase the sky; heh, in hindsight maybe I should have listened to them?”

Seeing the pair getting along swimmingly, Emma decided not to interrupt, and instead headed to the sign-up sheet for the second time in two days. This time around, there was no cool-down announcement as she scribbled her name in, and a moment’s distortion later, she was standing center stage in the Colosseum once more.

“Welcome, brave aspirant, to the second trial.”

Clearly, making it this far at all was worthy of attention, because Felix was actually giving an introductory speech this time.

“Having proven yourself beyond the ken of mere beasts, you have qualified yourself as a true warrior. Accordingly, today you shall face some of the finest from our stable of gladiators...”

There’s something odd about his manner of speaking, Emma realized, noticing the slightly stilted delivery as the speech continued, rambling on and on about honor and glory alongside a celebratory oration to long dead gods. Why he bothered Emma had no idea; given that the crowds of NPCs had shown no true indication of sentience, whilst the few human members of the audience were unlikely to have the required knowledge to appreciate the intricacies of Roman worship. Emma herself was no exception to this, her limited exposure to non-British history shining through as she tuned out the details in favor of examining Felix more closely. Focusing on her brother’s face, Emma noticed that she could see in greater detail than during her attempt the day before, enough detail to track her brother’s eyes moving left to right, then down and back again.

He’s reading off of a teleprompter. Emma realized, having seen a similar expression often enough when presenters took to the stage for the evening news or the weather forecast.

[Not all Dungeon Masters come into the job with a wealth of experience. A helping hand is available to provide guidance for novices to the trade.]

On that helpful note, a wave of cheers erupted as the Imperator’s speech reached its end.

“...Bid a warm welcome, one and all, to The Four Tyrants!”

From the Gate of Life, four gladiators emerged. Unlike the over-sized lions of the last round, this quartet were reasonable in size and proportion, ranging from a head taller to slightly shorter than Emma herself. The leading man was heavily armored, a large shield taking pride of place, though he did carry a short-sword as well, barely visible from behind the rectangular barrier. The second wore significantly less, forgoing plate in favor of ragged leather armor adorning his lithe frame. Carrying a trident in one hand and a barbed net in the other, Emma thought he looked far better suited to a fishing boat than the battlefield, even though she knew his equipment was indeed historically accurate. Bringing up the rear were two men without any protection at all; bare chested and sporting only sandals and loincloth not unlike the late Lenny; one wielded twin swords and the other a bow, the latter with a quiver of arrows slung over his back.

[The Four Tyrants - Level 3]

“Not necessarily any stronger than the lions,” Emma murmured. “Of course, there’s twice as many of them, so how much harder this will be depends a lot on how well they coordinate.”

As the horns sounded, the archer was the first to test the waters. A quick draw sent an arrow racing towards Emma’s helmet; nonplussed, Epitaph was summoned and immediately moved to intercept. Whilst this maneuver spared her head, Emma was still forced back two steps by the strength of the shot before managing to deflect the arrow into the wall behind her, where it remained embedded, having pierced through three inches of solid stone.

“Dangerous,” Emma exclaimed, noticing that none of the other gladiators had moved, staying on the side to allow their companion a free line of fire. “Looks like I’ll have to take the offensive this time round.”

Suiting action to word, Emma broke into a dead sprint, gathering formidable momentum as she barreled towards the archer.

[-10 Anima]

That sheer speed involved meant she couldn’t deflect the next arrow, piercing straight through her shoulder plate and out the other side. As the archer moved to reload once more, his companions finally took the stage, moving to protect their fellow. The most heavily armored caught Emma’s charge on his shield, knees buckling but managing to withstand the impact, and the battle was joined in earnest.