Tower of Avarice: A LitRPG story

Chapter 58 – Floor 6: Part 11

“I, Marath of Talrand, will demonstrate the superiority of our Empire!” The young man shouted. Pulling out his sword, he leapt over the table in front of him and proceeded to the center of the pavilion, where a space had been cleared.

The meal had ended only a few minutes ago, just long enough for the servants to clear the tables. No one had even announced that the next phase of the ceremony, the showcase of talents, had begun. Marath had simply yelled his challenge and charged the stage.

It was to the point where Mathew didn’t care anymore. Everyone in the tent could murder each other to their heart’s content as long as the pair beside him said their vows at the end. Beyond the requirement that the marriage proceed, everything else that happened today was outside his control or consideration.

Marath was the young swordsman that Mathew had seen when he first arrived on this floor. Wielding a magical sword, it was incredibly sharp, and the man was skilled in its use. Mathew was curious about what would happen to his opponent.

Violence was inevitable; both Rehn and Amberlith had told him that. But hopefully, it would be limited to the participants in these challenges.

The historical intention behind the showcase of skills was to demonstrate their youth's accomplishments and provide entertainment for the guests. Mathew had heard that on both continents, weddings were a time for the extended families to highlight promising talents in magic, music or other pursuits.

Mathew had initially thought that it would be peaceful, but he should have known that it would be the perfect opportunity for both sides to air grievances and attempt to demonstrate their superiority over the other.

The young man had barely reached the center of the white-roofed tent when an Amadan rose to his feet from amongst their section of the crowd.

Marath was lithe and agile; all corded muscle and whip-thin. The Amadan who responded to his challenge was a beast of a man. Tall and burly, the Amadan had a servant fetch his weapon. Coming to stand in front of the Talrandian youth, he silently assessed him before speaking.

“Arden of Ama.” He said simply as a means of introduction before turning to Rehn and Mathew and bowing his head. By the time he had stood upright, the servant he had sent had returned with his weapon.

It was a two-handed sword, its blade as thick as Mathew’s forearm. Sharp on both edges, its hilt curved slightly, and its pommel was moulded in the shape of an Eagle’s head. Arden lifted it easily with one hand, giving it a few practice swings without any apparent problem with its weight or size.

“How can he use that?” Mathew muttered. Even with his enhanced strength from his ‘Body Stat,’ Mathew doubted he could use the weapon effectively with two hands, let alone just one.

“He is using Psionics to lighten and control it. It is very difficult to do, lightening its weight when raising his weapon and making it heavy on the downswing.” Rehn explained.

“Could you do the same?” Mathew asked, and the Princess sniffed at the comment.

“If I were to face Marath, I would not need a weapon.” She said, a fierce pride in her tone. Mathew wasn’t so sure. He had seen what the young swordsman could do with a blade, whereas he had only heard rumours and secondhand information about Rehn.

Even though they were speaking quietly, the Prince heard them and snorted loudly at the comment/ Blessedly, he remained quiet and didn’t add anything further.

The pavilion was silent, with neither challenger making a move. After the pause extended to the point where Mathew was wondering if they would ever begin, Rehn subtly nudged him. Quirking an eyebrow at her, she whispered to him.

“They are waiting for your approval of the challenge. You must set the rules.” She explained, and Mathew understood.

Standing, he drew the assembled crowd’s attention.

“By the goddess of Serene Reconciliation, the challenge is approved. There will be no death today, and the challenge will end when one of you is unconscious or forfeits.” Mathew stated, and the Amadan was the first to agree. A moment later, Marath bowed his head in agreement.

Sitting back down, Mathew waited for the fight to begin.

Arden swung his sword up high, gripping it with two hands and slightly behind his head. It was a position that would allow him to strike quickly and put the blade's total weight behind it.

Marath bent his knees slightly; with one foot in front of the other, he held his sword horizontally to his right. Gripping it with both hands, it was the same pose that Mathew had seen him use in their encampment months ago when he sliced a training dummy in half.

“It is no use. Arden will win.” Rehn stated with assurance.

“Why do you say that?” Mathew asked, careful to ensure that their words didn’t carry very far.

“Arden is aware of everything Marath is thinking.” Rehn said, with a shrug, telling Mathew that the answer was obvious. Perhaps it was to anyone who was accustomed to the Amadan's Psion abilities.

“Crashing Wave.” Marath stated, and his blade swept horizontally toward his foe, leaving a line of blue mana in its wake. Knowing it was coming, Arden was already stepping backwards. The blade slashed inches away from his stomach, and Arden responded with a heavy chop.

Marath sidestepped, and the heavy two-handed sword buried its tip into the wooden floor where he had just been standing. Unconcerned with the weapon, Arden backhanded Marath as the latter tried to close the distance for another strike.

The crack of Arden’s hand striking Marath’s cheek rang out in the Pavilion, and the young man stumbled backwards. A red mark was already visible on his white skin. Using the time granted by his strike, Arden raised his blade once more and raised it overhead in preparation for the next attack.

“You see?” Rehn said, and Mathew nodded. Being able to read your opponent's mind was an almost cheat-like advantage in a fight. Even if Arden had no psionic abilities aside from that, he would still be formidable.

Marath changed his stance; this time, the blade was near his shoulder, with the tip pointing directly at his opponent's chest.

“Piercing Thorn.” The blade darted forward as quickly as a snake. Marath seemed to glide forward, his blade leading. But Arden twisted slightly to avoid the tip while his sword was angled toward Marath’s neck.

Mathew held his breath. He would be unable to halt that sword in time to prevent Marath’s death, and he doubted the marriage would go ahead if one of the Prince’s retinue perished here.

His worries were needless as Marath pivoted at the last moment. Arden’s blade hit nothing but air as the young swordsman spun around and delivered another slash at the Amadan’s legs. Even if Arden knew it was coming, there was no way for the large man to avoid it.

“Roaring Wind.” Marath said, and Mathew swore he could hear the rushing of the wind from the blade as it cut toward the Amadan. Trailing blue light, it clipped Arden on the top of the thigh. Digging deep, the large man ignored the blade in his thigh and instead struck downwards with the pommel of his sword.

Turning his head, Marath avoided the blow to the head that Arden sought. Instead, the heavy metal pommel struck his shoulder with a ‘crunch’ that made Mathew wince. Marath’s arm immediately went limp, and he was forced to withdraw.

Standing a safe distance apart, the two warriors assessed their opponents and their own wounds. Arden’s right leg was soaked in blood, and it was already leaving a puddle on the wooden floor. Marath’s left arm was hanging uselessly by his side.

Gripping his sword with just his right hand, the young man was panting from the pain, and he seemed unsteady on his feet.

Mathew was just about to stand and suggest they call it a draw when Arden spoke.

“One last strike, and we finish this.” He said while raising his sword. The blade vibrated in his hands, and the Amadan’s face showed an expression of strain. Mathew looked at Rehn for an explanation.

“Contrasting forces act within the sword. It will move faster and strike harder.” Rehn stated. She didn’t elaborate further, and Mathew doubted he would understand the specifics if she had.

“Flowing Water, Crashing Wave.” Marath said, once again holding his blade horizontally with only his right hand. The blade began to wail, a loud screeching noise that matched the vibrations of his opponent’s weapon. A bright blue light began to coil around it, and Mathew could feel the mana gathering inside the metal.

In a flash, Marath was moving. Arden met him in the middle of the pavilion, and when their two weapons struck each other, there was a blinding light and deafening noise.

Mathew saw Marath shoot across the room and crash into a table while Arden knelt on the floor. His sword was shattered, and he held only a hilt in his hand while Marath was unarmed. The Talrandians and Amadans rushed to their respective warriors, and Mathew let out his held breath when he was informed that they were still alive.