Magium

by Chris Michael Wilson

  “Get a hold of yourself,” I tell him. “You’re acting as if we’re being sent to the gallows, not to a gladiatorial event. I didn’t come here to waste time, wallowing in self-pity. I came here to win.”

  After hearing what I had to say, the bulky man completely loses the little self-control he had left, and he swings his right fist at my face, with full force.

  Knowing that I’ve recently upgraded my toughness stat, I make no attempt to dodge his strike, and the man’s fist hits me in the bridge of my nose. The impact from the blow makes me feel almost no pain, and it doesn’t even make me move an inch from my original position. As the bulky man retracts his arm, I look at him with the same disinterested expression in my eyes as the one that the desk worker had when he looked at me.

  This makes the man even angrier, and he begins to put more strength behind his punches, but that doesn’t help him much. After about twenty seconds of continuously hitting me in both my head and my stomach, during which I never even bothered to block a single one of his strikes, my attacker suddenly steps back, as if he’s only just now understood the futility of his actions. The astonishment is clearly visible on his face, as he just stands there and looks at me, without saying anything.

  “Are you done?” I ask him.

  “Maybe I was wrong about you, stillwater,” the bulky man says, in a tone suggesting that he’s still trying to get over the shock of what he’d just witnessed.

  He then puts both his hands on my shoulders, and he looks at me with the hope of a man who had not dared to hope any longer.

  “Maybe you were right!” he says. “Maybe we can still win this… as long as we work together!”

  “How about you apologize for attacking me, first?” I say.

  The man starts to laugh, and he takes his hands off me.

  “If it’s an apology you want, stillwater, then you can have it!” he says. “I am not ashamed of admitting my mistake. I should not have assumed that you were weak, just because you were a mage, and I should not have attacked you without reason. Now, will you fight alongside me in the arena?”

  “I guess so,” I say. “We are part of the same team, after all.”

  “That we are!” the man says, with a wide grin on his face, as he gives me one long look, full of respect.

  With these last words, the bulky man turns away from me, and he heads towards his cell. Of the four people that were spectating our fight, two are now going back to their cells, one is heading towards me, and the last one is still standing by the door, watching me intently. The one who is heading towards me is a man about my age, who is wearing his hair in a ponytail, and who has a way of smiling that reminds me of Eiden. The one that remained by the door, watching me is a girl with long silver hair, who appears to be no older than twenty.

  The man with the ponytail stops in front of me and he smiles politely.

  “I see that you were able to hold your own against Bruce even without your magic,” he says. “Impressive! Not many would dare to face him head on like you did just now. May I ask you your name?”

  “Yeah, it’s Barry,” I say.

  “Barry?” the man asks, a little surprised. “That’s an unusual name for a mage.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to sound rude. It’s just that most of the mages I’ve met in the past have had very unique names. Most parents who find out that they have a mage in the family feel the need to show it off in any way they can, so they usually give them pretentious sounding names like Zalnir or Vasiroth. It’s almost like a tradition. But to give you such a common name as Barry…”

  “My parents have never been the type to follow tradition.”

  “I see,” the man says, smiling, as he extends his hand towards me. “My name is Wilhelm. Pleased to meet you!”

  As I start to shake the man’s hand, I suddenly get a vision of him stabbing me in the back with an orange hilted dagger, in the middle of an arena.

  “Is something wrong?” Wilhelm asks me, as he sees the expression on my face.

  “No, everything’s fine,” I tell him, as I quickly regain my composure.

  “Listen,” Wilhelm says. “I know that you haven’t really gotten the best of receptions here in our division, but I personally think that there’s nothing worse than having a fight with a teammate before a life-threatening event such as this. I just wanted to let you know that I’m on your side.”

  “It’s good to know that you’re watching my back, Wilhelm!” I say.

  “Well, that’s all I wanted to say for tonight,” Wilhelm says. “We should both go to sleep. I hear that the recreation period is starting early tomorrow.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that too,” I say. “Have a good night!”

  “Same to you!” Wilhelm says, as he starts heading towards his cell.

  An orange hilted dagger, huh? If my memory doesn’t fail me, those are a special kind of enchanted daggers that are used by trained assassins to help conceal their presence. I’d better be careful around this guy.

  After Wilhelm closes his door, the girl with the silver hair watches me for another few seconds, and then she also goes inside her room, shutting the door behind her. I decide that there’s no use in lingering around any longer, so I head towards my room as well. When I get inside my cell, I see that the only piece of furniture available to me is a bed made entirely out of stone. I lock the door with the key I got from the desk worker, I throw my backpack on the ground, and then I go to sit down on the bed.

  The only source of light in the room appears to be coming from a very small window above me, which gives me a direct view towards the corridor outside the recreation area. There doesn’t seem to be any movement in the tunnels outside my cell. The guards must either be sleeping, or patrolling a different corridor. I take a sweater out of my backpack and I use it as a makeshift pillow to put on my cold stone bed. As soon as I place my head on it, I fall asleep, and I wake up about seven hours later, to the sound of a guard’s voice, coming from outside my cell.

  “Get up,” the guard says. “It’s recreation time. Go recreate. Come on, get out of here!”

  I reluctantly get out of bed, put my sweater in my backpack and then head back towards the recreation area. I make sure to lock the door behind me on my way out, and then I head towards a corner of the room where there are no people around.

  I take a quick look around the room to see who else they placed in my division. Aside from Bruce and Wilhelm who I met yesterday, there’s the silver haired girl that was staring at me, and then there are two more individuals that both look like the gladiator versions of Cutthroat Dave. The two thugs seem to be the only ones who are actually talking to each other. The other three are each standing somewhere as far as possible from everyone else, leaning with their backs against the walls, their arms crossed, waiting for the recreation period to be over.

  What am I supposed to do now? I can’t say that I feel like talking with any of these people. What is there to talk about? We weren’t even told what the first round will be like. How are we supposed to make a strategy? Maybe I should just go back and get a book to read or something.

  As I stand there and think about going back to my cell, Bruce suddenly moves away from the wall, and he starts to head towards me. When he stops in front of me, I see that he has an unusually serious look on his face.

  “Listen,” he says. “I saw that you were talking to Wilhelm yesterday, after your fight with me, so I wanted to give you a warning.”

  “A warning?” I say.

  “Yeah,” Bruce says. “About Wilhelm. He might seem like an ordinary guy to you, but in reality he’s a trained assassin. I can tell by the way he moves and speaks. These assassin types can never be trusted. They’re not real warriors like you and me. The only way they know how to fight is by stabbing people in the back. You should be careful around him. Don’t believe anything he says!”

  “Oh, yeah,” I say. “I figured that he was an assassi
n. Don’t worry, I’ll look out for him.”

  “Just make sure that you don’t get yourself killed before the arena,” Bruce says. “You’re the only one besides me who can actually put up a fight in this blasted division.”

  Bruce then pats me on the shoulder, and he goes back to where he was standing at the beginning. Just as I was about to go get that book, it is now Wilhelm who is approaching me, with a determined look on his face.

  “Listen,” Wilhelm says. “I’m not sure exactly what you were talking about with Bruce, but you should be careful around him.”

  “I should?” I ask him.

  “Yes,” Wilhelm says. “You already saw the way he treated you yesterday. He is the kind of person who likes to act before he thinks, and these types of individuals are always dangerous. He might act friendly towards you now, but who knows what he’ll do tomorrow. When you’re up against unpredictable brutes that prefer to rely on their fists instead of their reason, you can never know when they’ll turn against you.”

  “That’s nice,” I tell him. “But I have a feeling that this isn’t what you came here to talk to me about, is it?”

  “No, it isn’t,” Wilhelm says. “What I wanted to tell you is that from what I’ve heard, in a few hours from now, the ambassador and the arena’s owner should be discussing important matters about the organization of the arena events. The guards from this place have a habit of overhearing these types of conversations and they usually like to discuss them amongst themselves. Make sure you pay close attention to what they’re saying when they’re outside your cell. I will do the same. “

  “I see,” I say. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Alright,” Wilhelm says. “That’s all I wanted to tell you. I’ll make sure to let you know if I hear anything. I hope you will do the same.”

  “Of course,” I say.

  I suddenly realize that the girl with the silver hair is staring at me again. In fact, I think she’s been staring at me for a long time. Wilhelm notices me looking towards the girl, and he gives me a smirk.

  “I wouldn’t waste my time trying to talk to that one,” Wilhelm says. “We’ve all tried, but she wouldn’t say a word. I think that our little silver haired princess is either mute, or she’s taken a vow of silence of some sort. Either way, I doubt that you’ll get anything out of her.”

  He then bows politely, and he goes back towards his corner of the room. As Wilhelm walks past the girl on his way back, she pays him no mind, and she keeps looking directly at me.

  Okay, now I’m certain that she’s doing it on purpose. But what does she want from me? Does she want me to go talk to her? I guess there’s only one way to find out.

  I calmly start heading towards her, while paying close attention to her reactions. The girl seems unfazed by my decision to approach her, and she keeps looking me in the eyes, even after I stop in front of her.

  Now that I take a better look at the girl, I see that she is at least one head shorter than me, and that she has a very frail constitution. I can see why Wilhelm would choose to call her a princess. She definitely doesn’t look like a fighter. Her clothes, however, are nothing close to what a princess might wear. She is wearing a simple beige blouse, short leggings that seem comfortable to move in, and wooden sandals.

  Despite her frail looking body, the girl is wearing two knives on her belt, and her arms and legs are full of bruises, which indicates that she’s likely been in a fight, shortly before she was incarcerated. One other thing I’m noticing is that unlike all the rest of the gladiators, she is the only person without a warning sign above her head, which implies that she is either a tournament participant, or someone who is not a citizen of Varathia, and therefore not protected by their spell.

  Seeing that the girl has no intention of saying anything, I take it upon myself to initiate a conversation.

  “So, are you going to tell me why you’ve been staring at me for the past five minutes?” I ask her, bluntly.

  The girl gives me no sign of having heard me, and she keeps looking at me, without any change in her expression.

  “Well?” I say. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  Still no response. Wilhelm was right. This is pointless.

  I turn away to leave, but then I suddenly feel something pulling on my sleeve. When I turn back, I see that the girl is now holding me by my shirt’s sleeve, and there is a blue colored writing, floating in mid-air, in front of her face. The writing is in the Common language, and it says simply: “Wait”.

  The writing then disappears, and it is replaced by a new text, this time saying: “Is it true, what they say about you?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, looking at the girl. “What do they say about me?”

  Just like before, the previous phrase is now being replaced by a new text, which says: “They say that the reason why you were brought here is because you attacked a noble. Is that true?”

  “Yeah, that would be the main gist of it,” I say.

  “But why would you do such a thing?” the blue writing in the air says. “Didn’t you know how dangerous it would be to attack a noble in Varathia, let alone kill one?”

  “We did,” I say. “But we were trying to free a slave. And either way, that bastard had it coming.”

  The writing disappears again, but this time, there is a short pause before the next text appears.

  “You don’t seem to like our nobles very much, do you?” the writing says.

  “Oh, I hate them with a passion,” I say.

  The girl smiles. It is the first time that I see an actual change in her facial expression.

  “I see,” the writing says. “Please, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Leila, and I have also been brought here because I tried to free a slave from a noble.”

  The girl then extends her hand towards me.

  “I’m Barry,” I say, as I shake her hand. “Pleased to meet you!”

  “Barry, I have a favor to ask of you,” the writing says. “Could we continue our conversation inside my cell? There’s something else I want to ask you, and I’d rather do it in private.”

  “Alright, let’s go,” I say.

  Leila nods, and she opens the door to her cell. As we both enter her room, I notice the fact that Wilhelm was watching us attentively, and there was a bit of disappointment on his face when he saw that I accepted the girl’s request so easily.

  It is only after Leila locks the door that I suddenly start to feel a sense of danger, and I jump back from her, watching her carefully.

  “What are you doing?” Leila writes, looking at me, confused.

  “I’m trying to tell if this is a trap or not,” I tell her.

  “A trap?” Leila writes, with a somewhat shocked expression on her face. “For what purpose? Aren’t you aware that killing or critically injuring a member of your own division is against the rules?”

  “Not really,” I tell her. “Nobody bothered to tell me the rules of the arena before coming here.”

  “But it’s one of the standard rules of all the arenas of Varathia!” Leila writes.

  “I’m not from around here, remember?” I say.

  Leila sighs, and she goes to sit on her bed.

  “In that case,” Leila writes, “you’d better take care to also not harm the organizers or any of the spectators. That is against the rules, as well.”

  “Are there any other standard arena rules that I should be aware of?” I ask.

  “Yes,” Leila writes. “Magic and ranged weapons are not allowed in the arena, and neither are items that can cast any spells. But don’t worry, your stat booster doesn’t count as a spell casting item. The magic detectors in the arena will ignore it.”

  The fact that the girl mentioned my stat device so casually took me completely by surprise. When she sees the look on my face, Leila laughs. Even her laughter is silent.

  “Yes, I know about your stat device,” Leila writes, while smiling.

  “How?” I ask her.<
br />
  Leila pulls a small trinket out of her pocket, and she shows it to me. It’s a stat device, just like my own.

  “You see, my stat booster is a little special,” Leila writes. “Not only does it allow me to transform my thoughts into written words at will, but it also lets me know when there are other stat devices in my area. My father is the one who made these modifications. When you first came in here, I almost bought your stillwater story, but when I saw that you had a stat booster with you, I knew at once that you were a lessathi. There would have been no point in carrying such a device with you, unless you were part of the only race that it was designed to work for.”

  “But the same goes for you too, doesn’t it?” I ask her, starting to finally understand what is going on. “Which means that you are also a lessathi.”

  Leila nods.

  “Then how come you are here, in this arena?” I say. “I had the impression that lessathi have a higher status than nobility on this continent. Can’t your father just pull some strings in order to have you released?”

  Leila looks down at the ground for a few seconds, before her new text appears.

  “My father and I are outcasts,” she writes. “We aren’t treated the same way as the other lessathi. We’ve been in hiding for years, but a few months ago my father was sold to a noble, and made into a slave. The reason why I’m here is because they caught me yesterday, shortly after I managed to rescue him.”

  Outcasts, huh?… I suppose that would explain why Leila doesn’t have a warning sign above her head. From what I’ve heard, the tournament’s spell was only cast on citizens of Varathia, and you can’t exactly be considered a citizen, if you’ve been living for years as a fugitive, hiding outside of the cities.

  “I see,” I tell her.

  “After they enslaved him, I never thought I’d see him again,” Leila writes. “But a week ago, when the tournament began, and I started receiving my first stat points, I finally felt like I had a chance to free him. I waited until I could upgrade my speed, strength and combat technique stats to their maximum level of three, and then I singlehandedly defeated all of the guards holding my father prisoner. I only wish I’d waited until I could invest a little in toughness as well…”