by Edward Brody
When we were before the raised platform where they sat, we both kneeled.
“The serpent was real,” I said.
“Was it Shashana?” the Princess asked excitedly.
“It was,” I replied, “and we defeated her.”
“If the serpent was really Shashana, you wouldn’t be back here alive,” Windsor said. “There’s no way you two could kill a great serpent.”
I reached into my bag, pulled out the vials of venom and sat them in front of me, one by one. On top of the giant snake venom vials, I placed the vial of great serpent’s venom.
“It was a difficult battle, but my guild and I got exactly what you wanted,” I said. “Shashana’s venom is the darker one on top.”
“So your guild accompanied you?” the Queen asked. “You must have a very loyal—or very stupid—guild if they were willing to accompany you into a great beast’s den.”
I smiled. “I’m lucky to have great guild mates.”
The Queen grinned, and the King took a deep breath as he showed off a large smile—the first time I had seen him so pleased. “Isabelle, Windsor, please take the venom to the head alchemist. Tell him to get to work at once.”
The Princess shot out of her chair and started picking up the vials. Windsor grabbed the remaining ones, and they both started for somewhere deep in the castle.
You’ve completed the quest: Shashana’s Gift!
You have gained 4,000 XP!
“Thank you, Gunnar,” the King said with a nod. “I’m highly impressed.” He raised his hand in the air then flicked it down at Jeremy. “You’re now pardoned.” He turned his attention back to me. “As a reward, I’m also giving you rights to enter the castle if you ever wish to take up another quest on behalf of the Kingdom. I’ll let the guards know to let you pass from now on.”
You now have freedom of passage through: The Castle in Highcastle!
I smiled. “Thank you, your highness.”
“You may go now,” the King said. “May you both enjoy your freedom.”
I cleared my throat. “Your majesty. The Bloodletters? I was hoping that after completing the quest, you might be willing to take some action.”
“Hmph,” the King huffed. “I’ve given some more thought to what you’ve told me, but I still find this dragon business hard to believe. Besides that, you’ve asked me to declare war on my own blood—someone who has done nothing to harm me and I’ve went out of my way to protect. While I do somewhat believe what you told me—aside from the dragon—if I was my younger self, I would execute you just for making such a request.”
I stood to my feet and raised my chin to the King. “We just put our lives on the line for you.”
“And you should be happy that you succeeded,” the King said. “If an antidote is developed that can cure my disease and help me live longer, according to you, the Bloodletters will not cross the sea.”
I nodded. “I am glad of that, but what about the future? Even if disease doesn’t kill you, age will eventually. If you let him continue now, he’ll only grow stronger, and when his dragon can fly, who will stop him?”
The King rolled his eyes. “I would trust you more if there wasn’t all this talk about dragons. No dragon has served man in our lifetime.”
“This one does,” I said pointedly.
I thought for a moment about revealing that I was a Reborn and reciting what I knew of the prophecy of dragons breathing fire after Reborns entered the world, but I thought better of it. The King and Queen were so cynical that the chances of them believing I was immortal were slim, and if they did believe me, I wasn’t sure if there were unknown consequences.
“Shashana,” I said pointedly. “You doubted that the great serpent was real, but now we’ve brought you her venom.”
“I assume you have,” the King said. “You could’ve brought me flavored water, but if you’ve deceived me, I’ll know soon enough. And if that’s the case, I will find you, and you’ll both be hanged.”
“The venom is real, but that’s not the point. The point is that you doubted us, and we proved you wrong. Remember—I gain nothing personally from asking you to stop Dryden. This isn’t about me. It’s about all of Eden’s Gate.”
The King took a huge breath and let out a raspy sigh. He turned to glance at his wife, but she was sitting still and staring forward with her lips set in a straight, emotionless line.
“Well, I have another task that I can ask you to you perform, if you’d like,” the King finally said after a few seconds.
“Another task?” I asked, my voice harsh. “You’re going to blow me off and treat us like we’re some sort of errand boys now? We’ve done enough already!”
The King snorted. “Relax, Gunnar. You have a request, and I have a proposition to match that request. Always remember that nothing comes free in this world.”
I rattled my head. “Okay, and what’s your proposition?”
The Princess suddenly walked back into the throne room. “The head alchemist is analyzing the venom now, father,” she said with a wide smile. “Windsor is helping.”
“Good,” the King said as the Princess sat down. He turned his attention back to me. “You’ve fought in the Arena before, correct? I believe I saw you compete the other day and win your first victory.”
I nodded.
“In less than a week from now, the top ranked fighters in Eden’s Gate will come together to battle for each tier’s championship, and currently, Highcastle’s best tier one combatant is a Krazir named Meijir.” The King snarled his lips, and the Queen wrinkled her nose as if something smelled funny.
“I’m aware of Meijir,” I said.
“We allow any peaceful persons to call Highcastle or the Freelands home, and people here do seem to enjoy watching the Krazir fight. But it’s also a disgrace for a Kingdom composed almost entirely of humans to send one of these foreign cat people off as a representation of our best fighters. Unfortunately, however, everyone who’s tried to battle Meijir has failed. But if—”
“You want me to defeat Meijir?” I interrupted.
“Well,” the King cooed. “If you were able to take down Shashana, then defeating Meijir in a friendly battle shouldn’t seem daunting. It would be in Highcastle’s best interest if you could win the top seat of the division and give us a human representation during the championships, and for that I would be willing to help you.”
I wondered if he forgot the fact that my guild helped me defeat Shashana or where he got the idea that Meijir wouldn’t be a daunting fight for me. Maybe if I had told him it took a full eight people to take down the great serpent and people died during the fight, he wouldn’t overestimate me the way he was.
I sighed. “And If I do that, you’re willing to help? You’re willing take out the Bloodletters?”
The King snickered and shook his head lightly. “I’m not going to just ‘take them out’, of course. But, I will send a group of spies across the Serpent Sea to gather information on the Bloodletters. If we can verify your claim of a dragon, I’ll decide a course of action from there.”
You’ve received a quest offer: Defeat Meijir
The King of Highcastle has asked you to defeat Meijir so you can represent Highcastle at the championship gathering.
Reward: 4,000 XP, the King will send spies to gather information on Dryden Bloodletter.
Do you accept this quest?
Accept/Decline
I sighed. While the King wasn’t fully buying into my pressure to take action against the Bloodletters, he was at least willing to take a first step. And while I wasn’t sure if I could defeat Meijir, it was worth a try. The only problem was I was level 20 and just a few kills away from level 21.
“I only have four wins in the Arena and I’m not too far from leveling,” I said. “By the time I’m matched up against Meijir, I’ll be level 21 and forced into the next tier.”
“I am the King of Highcastle,” the King countered. “If you’re willing to fight, I’ll
make sure you’re on the cards to battle him tomorrow.”
I turned to Jeremy who was still on his knee. His eyebrows were raised, and his eyes were darting from side to side. He wanted to be as far from the conversation as possible.
“Fine,” I said. “I’ll do my best to defeat Meijir, but I can’t make any promises. If I still had the heritage armor you confiscated, I’d feel better about the fight.”
You’ve accepted the quest: Defeat Meijir!
The King made a humming noise and shifted up in his wheelchair a bit. “I can’t return the heritage armor, but allow me to help you with another gift. Step a little closer, please.”
“Don’t,” the Queen warned. “You shouldn’t waste your energy.”
“Nevermind her,” the King insisted. “Step forth.”
I took a few steps forward until I was on the raised platform.
“That’s good,” the King said. He closed his eyes and placed his hands together with his two index fingers pointing to the sky.
“That’s cheating, father!” the Princess cried. “It won’t be a fair fight.”
The King opened one of his eyes. “Buffs are allowed in the Arena, so therefore, it’s allowed.”
“But…” the Princess whined and just stared at the King without finishing he words.
The King closed his one open eye, and a golden glow formed all over his body. I could hear a strange, almost electronic ring bouncing off the walls, and then the glow suddenly shot off his body and straight into my chest.
I looked down at my hands, and they were lit for a split second before the glow disappeared. I suddenly felt a lot stronger than I had before.
The icon of a King’s crown appeared below my status bars.
King’s Blessing: The power of a King motivates you beyond your limits. +5 Strength. +5 Dexterity. +5 Willpower. +5% critical hit chance. Spell duration: 24 hours. Source: King Owen Rutherford
The King immediately started coughing violently, even worse than the last time I saw him. He flailed in his chair and blood spit out of his mouth and onto his beard.
The Princess and the Queen both shot off their chairs and tried to comfort him. I wasn’t sure what to do.
“Go get the healer quickly, Isabella!” the Queen shouted.
Jeremy and I stood there for a while, thinking that his coughing would subside and we could continue the conversation, but as the Queen waited for Isabella to return to the healer, she turned around to us.
Go!” she said harshly. “You’ve got your task, and my foolish husband has done his best to help you accomplish it. You’ll fight in the Arena tomorrow. There’s nothing more for us to say! Now go!”
Chapter Thirty-Three
2/3/0001
Ozzy and I climbed the slope that led toward inner Highcastle. The snow was coming down harder and finally sticking to the ground.
Ozzy had decided it was best for him not to fight again yet, since he had just entered tier 2. He was just there to support me during the fight, and afterwards he would head to the Fighter’s Guild to continue his training.
I spent what was left of the previous evening sparring and then laid in bed while playing out a strategy in my head of how I could beat Meijir.
I was feeling more confident that I had a chance to beat him. With the Ravager’s Hood, the Dexterous Band, the Heritage Blade, and the King’s temporary blessing, I was substantially stronger and faster than I was the first time I fought in the Arena. Jeremy also lent me his shoes. Losing the heritage armor was a bummer, but if I was going to beat Meijir, I was going to have to not get hit as much as possible.
There was the mentalism spell, Clumsy, that I was able to use now, and if I could get it to land on Meijir, maybe that would be the tipping point that would allow me to avoid and overpower him.
I had done a lot with my guild since returning from the Sands, from pushing back an attack on our village, to defeating Shashana, to killing a group of harpies and scaling their nest—all of which would have been impossible without their support. But, every time I fought in the Arena, I was alone, and no one could help me.
The pressure was all on me to defeat Meijir in order to get the King to take the first step into stopping Dryden.
“You’re going to do fine,” Ozzy said as we approached the entrance to the Arena. He placed his hand on my shoulder. “This Meijir guy doesn’t know who he’s messing with.”
I snorted. “Thanks for the confidence booster, Oz, but I know my limits. If I manage to win, I know it’ll be a close fight.”
“No fucking way!” a voice said a few meters ahead of us.
I looked up to see a thin man with black hair and Asian features standing a few meters away and approaching us slowly. He was wearing a set of typical leather armor that looked a lot like the first set I ever bought in Linden.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. “Are you… Gunnar Long?”
I creased my brow in confusion. “Uh… yeah.”
“Whoa…” the guy said low. His mouth was gaped open, and he looked to be in awe.
Ozzy punched me in the shoulder. “Looks like you’ve got fans now.” He turned to the guy. “I guess you’re going to the Arena to watch the show?”
“Huh? Arena?” He rattled his head. “What?”
“You’re one of Gunnar’s fans, right?” Ozzy asked.
“Huh?” The man creased his brow and then quickly relaxed them. “Uhhh, yeah! I’m a fan!”
“Thanks.” I smiled and motioned to the arena. “We’ve got to run now. The fights have already started.”
“Is it free?” the guy asked.
Ozzy glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and cleared his throat. “I thought you said you were a fan?”
The guy smiled shyly and scratched his head. “I guess I’ve heard a lot about you, but I haven’t actually been to the…uhh… show.”
“It’s 100 gold,” I said as I pointed to the entrance. “You can buy your ticket there.”
“Damn, that’s a lot,” he cried.
I chuckled. “Walk around here for a while and look for shady characters lurking in dark corners. Or just run behind the Arena. There’s a way you can sneak in for just 20 gold.” I held up my palm. “But really, we’ve got to go now.”
“Alright, thanks,” the guy said with an air of excitement. “But hey, look. Can we link up after you’re done? I’m trying to make some friends.”
I realized then that he was either a very particularly strange NPC or he was a Reborn. If he was another newbie Reborn, I was definitely willing to spend some time at least chatting with him. “Yeah, okay,” I said. “Meet me outside, around here, when the fights are over, or you can just find us in the stands if you make it inside the Arena.”
The guy smiled and held out his hand. “Great! Great!”
I returned the smile and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you. What’s your name again?”
“Sung,” he said. “My name is Sung.”
“Alright,” I said. “See you round, Sung.”
As we walked away from Sung and closer to the Arena entrance, I glanced behind me and saw that he was still staring from afar.
He was definitely odd.
“Reborn?” Ozzy whispered to me.
“Yeah, I think so,” I said.
“He looked newbie as hell,” Ozzy said.
I shrugged. “Yeah, well, maybe we can help him.”
When we walked inside the Arena, Boris looked like he was already waiting for us. “Nice to see you again, Gunnar. Here’s your ticket.” He held out a fighter’s ticket without me even telling him I was going to fight.
“Thanks,” I said. “I guess you heard who I’m fighting.”
He smiled. “Yep. Good luck!”
Ozzy had to pay a 100-gold admission, since he wasn’t going to fight.
We sat through watching several tier 1 fights before the bell on my ticket started to ring, and once again, Ozzy wished me good luck.
My heart was poun
ding.
It was make it or break it time.
I walked out of the stands and back down past the ticket seller, and I immediately noticed that something was off. Boris’ face had turned pale, and he didn’t smile or say anything to me as I passed. Standing against a wall nearby was a pasty man with a shaved head and a maroon colored robe, and the moment I made it a few feet into the hallway, he started to follow me from behind.
I thought nothing of it as first—maybe he was a fighter too—but once I entered the area where fighters gathered, I stopped in my tracks.
“What the hell?!” I gasped.
The bearded man who usually stood in the Inner Highcastle market shouting prophecies was there, and beside him was a crude wheelbarrow with a large, filthy runestone inside that looked like it had just been dug out of the ground.
Another robed, bald man—a near clone of the first guy I had seen outside—had his arm wrapped around Castille’s throat and a knife pointed at his face. Mikhel, Castille’s assistant was on the ground, and it wasn’t clear if he was dead or unconscious.
Fifteen or so more maroon-robed, bald men filled the room, all with weapons drawn, and at the back of the room, the other Arena participants were being held against their will.
“Welcome back to the Arena, combatant,” the market prophet hissed. “Give Castille your ticket, now.”
I was highly confused and thought to make a run for it, but as soon as I turned around, the man who had followed me stepped up close and held a dagger up to my chin.
“Quickly,” the street prophet said.
I turned back around and handed my ticket to Castille. His eyes were wide and filled with a mix of helplessness and rage. He gave me a slight nod once he removed the bell from my ticket.
I turned back towards the bearded man. “What’s going on here?”
“Pray,” he said.
“Pray?” I asked.
