“Jenel, don’t lose! I’ve got five big ones on you.”
“Whoooa!”
“Punch punch punch punch…more punches!”
“Aaaahh, nooo!”
Even halfway through the event, the crowd was as boisterous as ever. From cheers to jeers, every possible sound that could leave one’s lips seemed to sound out during the matches.
In his seat, Ralf took in everything with a giddy smile on his face. The night had been a blast so far. The fights, the atmosphere, the presentation; everything had impressed him to no end. Rei, watching as well, was similarly impressed. True to Greg’s words, the battles were a cinematic experience to behold.
The combat director skillfully switched between different perspectives, angles and perception speeds to heighten the intensity and awe of the fights to a masterful degree.
In one moment, the audience looked through the hyper-detailed crystal clear lens of a Clairvoyant’s Second Sight, capturing everything perfectly and in the next, they perceived the fight through the lens of an unenhanced norin.
The new perspectives enthralled the duo, especially the latter. Through it, only blurry afterimages and explosions of sand would be caught. The perspective was one lost to them at this point in their development, so being able to experience it was something they greatly appreciated.
And as the director delivered the crowd a visual masterpiece, Vostel did a play by play via high-speed telepathic communication. He was similarly skilled, not talking too little, nor too much. He spoke in bit-sized chunks, sometimes being informative and other times just stirring the crowd’s excitement.
Visual and audio, the presentation was top notch. Still, these amounted to the cherries on top of the cake. The actual cake, the battles themselves were more than delicious enough to satisfy the duo’s sweet tooth.
If they had to summarise the matches so far in one word, the word they’d use would be...fun.
There was a lot of variety shown from the fighters in terms of their combat styles and Psi techniques. Watching the battles, the duo got to experience several new things which they quickly made mental notes of.
They kept their eyes peeled for any useful techniques, tricks or tactics. As plentiful as their arsenal was, they always welcomed more. But while there was a lot of new and nifty Psi techniques on display, pretty much all of them were impractical and ineffective.
Now, this wasn’t a knock to the fighters. While everyone so far had average or slightly above average Psi talent so far, their combat skill and Psi control were considerable. Those in the top fifty were clearly no strangers to battle; they exuded the auras of seasoned veterans.
Veterans, not just as fighters but entertainers too. The Combat Arena wasn’t a real battlefield at the end of the day. No one was fighting to kill, and everyone was aware that their primary role was to entertain the crowd. Still, it wasn’t all a show either. The battles were divided into two stages.
In the first stage, the fighters would play their roles as entertainers. They would fire eye-catching but ineffective attacks at their opponent.
Giant Psi hands, summoning rains of swords, firing arrows from a Psi bow, materialising Psi beasts, throwing Psi boomerangs, creating sand tornadoes with telekinesis, firing omnidirectional Psi bullets…
All flash, no substance. Any competent psionic would be able to tell the non-lethality of these attacks at a glance, let alone the duo, yet even so, just like the rest of the crowd, they ate it up. It was something that they couldn’t do in the hyper clinical extremely punishing Mental Space battles, so seeing it was refreshing and enjoyable.
The first stage didn’t overstay its stay. When the timer hit a minute, the second stage arrived like clockwork. The fighters instantly shifted gears and their auras sharpened.
From that point on, a different type of fight followed. All gimmicky techniques were tossed aside as both fighters gave their all to secure victory. Both stages scratched a certain itch. The duo thoroughly enjoyed both.
Watching the fights, the duo noticed many oddities. Interested, Ralf asked about the rules of the Combat Arena. Hearing his questions, the middle-aged pair of Greg and Samuel beamed and quickly moved to answer any question he had.
The Psi cylinder from the walls to the ceiling; all fighting must be done in this space. The ring is in its standard form, but it’s not always like this. Depending on requests from the fighters or if it’s a special event, the ring can be filled with all sorts of things, tanks of water, boulders, pillars, swords etc…
...one on one battles is the most common, but group battles are a thing too. Two on two, three on three, even as much as seven on seven…
…the overseer can end the battle for whatever reason they so chose, whether it be because they believe you need immediate medical care or some more petty reason, it is up to their discretion.
...they don’t show the time limit because it never goes that long, but it’s thirty minutes. When it gets to the last ten minutes, it’s supposed to appear but it’s never gotten to that point. To my knowledge, not a single battle has ever even reached the fifteen-minute mark…
…Equipment, items, as you’ve seen, people have been using it along with psionic powers. When it comes to clothing, you can wear anything, so even a full armour set is perfectly acceptable. As for items, I’m…not sure of the exact number, but there’s a limit you can have on your person, and also what type of item it is. For instance, poison of any kind is a banned substance, and so is basically any firearm besides a standard handgun. Neither will be allowed to pass when they do the prefight inspection. Another limitation to mention is that you can’t use an item you didn’t verify during the inspection period...
…The equipment section on every fighter’s profile is a list of their verified items. They can only use those items during the battle. If they use an undeclared item, they’ll immediately be disqualified, no matter how minor the item is. Also, these items and such; before the battle takes place, your opponent will be given a list of your items. This is to allow for planning ahead. So, even if you whip out something completely new, you won’t be able to win with surprise factor alone. Still, as you’ve seen, you can bring some crazy items in the ring with you…
…What if a fighter randomly levels up in the middle of a battle and becomes a Rank 6 or higher? The fight is immediately ended and treated as a null match. Said fighter is then barred from future competition.
The middle-aged pair left nothing off the table, explaining all the rules as well as particulars of every fighter shown from their basic battle styles and techniques to random tidbits, which Ralf and Rei then delightfully absorbed
The battles continued to rage; each one more impressive and hair raising than the last. The intensity ramped up and the first stage portion of the fights disappeared entirely once the top ten fighters began going at it. The crowd loved it, and so did the duo.
Match 22:
[Jenna takes it! Against all betting odds, she prevailed, proving those naysayers wrong with her famed right hook…]
Match 23:
[After a closer look at the footage, it’s clear for everyone to see. In the double knockout, Humber’s barrier gave way first, meaning match 23 ends in Alya’s victory. Give it up, to Alya!]
Match 24:
[Weathering Cadan’s onslaught, Tenrai has kept his place on the podium...]
Finally, the last bout had arrived. Introductions started as usual. The second rank fighter Wilson Thomas entered the ring to flashing lights, theme music and cheers from the crowd.
However, while his entrance was what the duo had come to expect, Ruben’s subsequent entrance went completely against the grain. Instead of the bombastic roar, his appearance was met with a low murmur, groans, and even a small portion of the audience actively booing him.
The duo was baffled by the reaction. While there was a difference in cheers from fighter to fighter, it was clear that all other fighters were liked, to some degree.
Confused, Ralf turned to the middle-aged pair for answers, and they promptly delivered.
“The crowd’s reaction is as much for Ruben as it is for those he represents. I told you that the Duke is ushering in a wave of change in Zudrad, well, not everyone is on board. The local nobles who were robbed of their power hate his guts, and the same can be said of the other five dukes. Still, no matter how enraged or disgusted they are, it’s not like they can declare war or take any extreme measures.”
“Yeah.“ At Greg’s pause to sip his drink, Samuel naturally followed up. “The Pillar factions merely needs to glance at a tier three-nation like Zudrad to petrify it, let alone a few dukes of said nation. So instead of that, they use this method,” Samuel’s gaze shifted to the ring. “The Combat Arena is open to all, and anyone can enter as long as they meet the requirements. Using this fact to their advantage, the other dukes send out their so-called Champions to essentially disgrace and embarrass Vincent’s fighters.”
Greg nodded and continued. “Many Champions have been sent. Most showed strong performances, however, they never managed to break in the top fifty with one exception,” he paused as his sights focused on the brawny brown-haired fighter encased in his iconic full-body black armour. “Ruben Ulven. Of them all, he’s been the best, and by a long shot. He’s remained unbeaten in fifty-plus bouts and has held the number one spot for eight months already.”
“He’s that strong?” Ralf raised a brow. The other’s dominance intrigued him, especially when considering how good the rank 3 and 4 fighters were shown to be.
Greg nodded bitterly. “He is. Like him or not, no one can deny that he deserves his number one rank. The crowd might not like him, but the betting odds will say otherwise. He’s very skilled in combat and Psi control, and has incredible mental fortitude and composure. He knows the flow of battle and how to win better than anyone else. Most importantly, he has a sure-fire winning strategy.”
“There’s such a thing?”
“Unfortunately,” Samuel replied. “Rubin Ulven is an Aura Monster.”
Ralf squinted at the term. “In what way?” he asked.
“Both ways. Not only is his Psi Capacity massive, but his Psi regeneration is abnormally quick to the point it instantly refills. And to add the cherry to the cake, his Mental Energy is both abundant and very resilient. I’ve mentioned that the time limit is thirty minutes right, well, Ruben is said to be able to battle continuously for thirty-three minutes.”
“Whoa,” Ralf voiced in genuine awe.
“Whoa indeed,” Samuel nodded with a bitter look on his face. “That’s the main reason he is so dominant. He’s definitely a cut above the rest, but not so much that he’d boast an undefeated record without relying on his ultimate strategy, which is to simply drain his opponent. He uses this in every match. But the thing is, he’s never actually won by draining someone dry. Knowledge of this strategy weighs heavily on the minds of his opponents. Over time, pressure builds, and eventually, they rush to end the fight. However, he’s not a paper tiger one can immediately topple, so they have to resort to risky plays, which so far have all ended in failure and subsequent defeat.”
“And not just normal defeat,” Greg added.
Samuel nodded and continued on. “Yes, he has on several occasions humiliated his opponents. He’s fired off insults at his opponents, Popleigh, its citizens and even to the Duke himself, and directly too.” Anger crept into Samuel’s voice as he voiced. “For all these reasons and more, he and his sponsors over in the booth with those stupid smirks on their faces are very much a hated commodity in this dukedom,” Samuel said, gesturing to the booth in question with a glare.
“I see, thanks for the explanation.” Caught up with the lore, the look Ralf directed towards Ruben subtly shifted. He narrowed his eyes. ‘Number one, huh. This just got interesting.’
[[Rei, it looks like Popleigh needs their own Champion…what do you say?]]
[[Knock yourself out, I’m more interested in the movies honestly. I have big plans.]]
Ralf’s lips curled up. [[More action for me then.]]
Finishing his words, Vostel’s voice sounded through his head.
[Ladies and gentlemen, this evening’s last bout has arrived. The bets have been placed, the fighters are ready. Now, let’s begin. In three two one…go!]
Swoosh!
You are reading story The Silver Path at novel35.com
Blasting off, the fighters collided at the centre of the ring. Wilson exploded with vigour and unleashed a barrage of punches.
Bam! *Crack* Bam! *Crack* Bam!…
At his flurry, Ruben simply held up his guard, tanking the blows while swerving and zigzagging back and forth. His actions were simple and yet despair-inducing. He looked towards his opponent with a mocking and somewhat pitiful gaze which seemed to say, ‘why don’t you try something else.’
Wilson grit his teeth. He had fought Ruben six times already and had yet to find an answer to the other’s sure-fire strategy. The only thing he could do was hope for a blunder, but looking at the perfect calm the other exuded, he knew that that was next to impossible.
Wilson ceased his flurry and began Blink Stepping around the other. Moving like the wind, he rushed in at various angles, attacking then pulling back, rinse and repeat. However, no matter how quick, or what angle he came from, Ruben always had an answer. And if not immediately, just in time.
*Crack* *Crack* *Crack*…
Where Ruben had a defensive counter-attacking style, Wilson was an offence-orientated speedster. Using his speed advantage, Wilson raced around his opponent and landed blow after blow. He landed a lot of hits, however, they never went anywhere substantial. In a blink of an eye, the cracks were patched and it was back to square one.
To paraphrase a famous saying; everyone had a plan until they got hit.
The ability to take a hit and not get frazzled was an underrated skill. To be able to separate ‘getting hit’ and ‘taking damage’ was something that required great practice for a psionic.
In this regard, Ruben, excelled, more than any other fighter in the Combat Arena. This was what made him such a formidable foe. When hit, even several times in quick succession, he always managed to stay calm and make a quick recovery. It was with this ability that he so seamlessly slipped out of lengthy or deadly combination attacks. He knew how to move, where to move, and when to move.
Watching him, the duo came to understand the calibre of fighter he was.
[[Mm, I’ve changed my mind. I’ll fight him.]]
[[No way, I’m going to fight him,]] Ralf immediately protested. His fighting spirit was rumbling, half tempting him to jump into the ring at this moment. He had no intention of giving up the opportunity.
[[Let’s roll for it then.]]
Ralf’s face paled at the suggestion. He couldn’t see it in the code, but he was sure the Mental Space had it out for him.
‘Oh, right, I can use that,’ he thought as he remembered the matter of the earlier bet. He had secured the thirteen required wins for victory already.
[[I’ll use one of my requests to make you give up on this matter.]]
[[...fine, suit yourself.]]
Ralf turned smug which Hana naturally noticed.
She smiled to herself. ‘I wonder what those two are discussing. I’ll have to ask later.’ Putting this thought aside, she focused on the ongoing bout.
The battle continued. In the ensuing minutes, Wilson switched styles and approaches several times, sporadically; going from close-range to long-range combat, punches to kicks to swords and then knives…and even throwing a few sound attacks into the mix. The rank 2 fighter threw everything he had and more at Ruben.
But, like before, it wasn’t enough.
Having thrown hundreds of attacks without success, Wilson’s fighting spirit faltered. Having subconsciously thrown in the towel, his movements turned lethargic and his attack patterns became stale and predictable. Ruben was quick to notice the dimming of his flame and quickly moved to snuff it out completely.
‘Got you!’
*Grab*
After throwing a punch, Wilson’s right arm lingered a moment too long, and Ruben immediately moved to punish him. His hands snaked around the other’s arm. His right hand gripped Wilson’s wrist while his left hand gripped Wilson’s upper arm. Together, they quickly twisted rightward, bending the other’s forward, before applying a downward force.
Boom!
Ruben smashed the other face-first into the ground, causing an instant crater to form. Following the throw, the rank one fighter mounted his opponent’s back before laying into him with his large fists.
Bam! *Crack* Bam! * Crack* Bam!…
They came thundering down again and again and again…
In the comprised position, Wilson could do nought but defend. But a few seconds was all he could manage before Ruben’s fist collided against the Rank 6 protective Psi. He attempted to throw another punch but midway through, his arm was made to freeze in place.
‘Damn, couldn’t slip one pass. Ah, I hate this.’ Paralyzed by the Combat Telepath’s mental command, Ruben’s expression soured. ‘When I go back, I’ll have to ask for a Mental Array or something. This shit is so irritating- ah, I’m free…’
Regaining his movement, he got up before directing a disdainful gaze at his downed opponent. “Ha, this makes seven. Different day, same tricks huh, Wilson,” he said, voice oozing mockery and contempt. “And once again, the Duke had to save your ass, pathetic.” Ruben shook his head then exited the crater.
Outside, he glanced back at Wilson’s unmoving figure and chuckled. “Ahaha, that’s right, get comfortable in that hole, that’s where you belong after all. You, and all these other worms ahaha.”
His laughter as he walked off was infectious - or at least to the private booth Samuel had previously gestured to. The well-dressed nobles burst out laughing; their cackles echoing throughout the venue. To this laughter, the crowd’s faces’ scrunched up. Boos and jeers quickly followed causing the previously ecstatic mood to turn sour.
[...the winner of the final match is Ruben Ulven,] Vostel made the announcement, his voice dry and emotionless, lacking the enthusiasm shown previously.
But taking a breath, he found his vigour and continued.
[With this bout wrapped up, tonight’s special event has come to a close. To the fighters, to the staff, and to the audience; a big thank you for making everything tonight here possible. Now with all that said, we must part ways. All things, both good and bad has to end at some point. And we’ve reached that point. As usual, everyone, move in an orderly manner when exiting and remember, that what happens in the Combat Arena stays in the Combat Arena,] he reminded with a heavy emphasize.
These words weren’t for the average Popleigh resident but for the White Hawk soldiers in the crowd to hear. It acted as a direct order to keep them from acting out of line.
[I wish everyone a safe trip home. Till next time, goodbye.]
Ending with these words, the collective telepathic network came undone.
“Ah, that shit had to go ruin everything.”
“Yeah, damn, Wilson should have beat his ass.”
“It’s hopeless, he can’t be beat. Best thing that can happen is he somehow levels up.”
“At thirty-three, unlikely. Haa, someone please, beat that smug prick, and those nobles while you’re at it, especially that pointy-nosed douche, just thinking about him makes me mad. Hey, let’s go for some drinks, I’m up good.”
“Yeah.”
With mixed emotions, the crowd began filing out of the venue.
“So, how was it you two?” Greg turned to the mother and son pair and asked.
“The ending was pretty weird but it was a super fun time overall. Thanks for bringing us, Greg, Samuel,” Ralf said.
“It was fantastic. I’ve never been to one of these places before, I enjoyed myself. Thank you, you two.”
Hearing the pair’s comments, Greg and Samuel’s faces brightened. Exchanging glances, the middle-aged pair saw approval in the other’s eyes; they had accomplished their mission.
Greg nodded with a pleased look on his face. “That’s good to hear,” he patted his knees then propped his body up, “aagh, okay, let’s head out.”
“Ye-”
“Wait,” Samuel quickly cut in, “Ralf, do you want to meet the Duke? We’re very close, I can arrange it now, no problem,” he gestured with his head as he said.
Ralf’s gaze shifted to the booth. Locking onto the now four figures present, he fell silent for a few seconds. Greg and Samuel gulped as they awaited his answer.
In the end, Ralf shook his head. “Rather not. I’d like to meet under more natural conditions. Thanks for the offer though.”
“Oh, I see, yes,” Samuel said, his being deflating a bit.
Greg sighed at his friend’s hopelessness. “Ralf, don’t bother with this one. Let’s head out.”
With these words, the group made their exit.