In a Warrior's Determination

New adventurers come and go through here all the time, failure is unfortunately common, and some don’t even make it past their first year. Patronage at any Guild across the country would guarantee decent positions at the end of a usual contract. The issue, however, is managing to make a living in the meantime. Most will take on as many quests as they can to get the gold they need, others get the interests of high officials and become sponsored as a result, then there is me Ordin Aryman. If you’re like me, you’ll do what you can to get by, but every year comes an opportunity to make a bit more.

A door opens and out steps a woman, Clera Ty the guild head. She walks up to the podium and pounds down on the gavel three times. I’ve seen it countless times, but the amount of respect she commands to silence a hall of 300 people within the first strike of her gavel never ceases to amaze me.

“Good morning adventurers! Today begins the 50th annual prize match exhibitions. This year the goal is simple, but there’s a catch.”

She raises a small black book in her hand.

“The book you see before you will be this year’s target item. The first person to lay a single hand on the black book will have won this year’s prize of 20,000 gold. The catch is anyone that enters has to go through me.”

The atmosphere in the hall shifts, the tension in the air almost solid. The annual exhibition was a lot of gold but to go against the Guild Head a seasoned warrior, even with a task as simple as getting past her and laying a hand on a book—we might as well have been told to sculpt marble with nothing more than a toothpick.

She spoke up, “To anyone that wishes to enter they may do so now by placing their Guild tags in the collection below me.”

Time passed and no one made a move. Even as people began to stand and walk up to the podium, the tension did not break. When I finally found it in me to get up, I could only think of how good my chances really are against everyone else. Some are extremely talented and strong individuals. Others like me are only here for a chance at such a large sum of money. Whatever our reasons, I only wondered if she even had the stamina to fight that many people consecutively and wondered about the fairness of it all.

But as if she was reading my mind, she went on to say, “If that is all applicants, matches will be timed for 15 minutes, with five minutes in between each match. I will be taken care of by the Guild Cleric in between so rest assured each match will be fair. In the event of no winner, one will be chosen at random. Good luck Warriors, matches are scheduled for tomorrow.” As she leaves the podium, the hall slowly comes back to life and I am left with fear and doubt.

The meager hours to the fight pass by quickly and before I know it, I am seated in the challenger’s area in front of the unusually small arena. Twenty-three people, a number so small it should have been reassuring, but it only added to the anxiety and realization of the sheer height of the wall we would all be facing.

Clera steps out onto the arena. “Welcome all, to the 50th annual exhibition match. Challengers you know what the goal is and you know what you must get past. To them I only ask for one thing, fight me as if you wish to defeat me completely any less and I promise you will not succeed.”

The crowd erupts in deafening cheers and the matches begin.

She is as deadly and effective as the rumors had made her to be. After every match it became increasingly clear as to why the arena was so small. She would not accept any defeat other than the one that would come from facing her directly. Match after match passed and although they all tried their best it was not enough. Finally, all but one match was left, mine.

As I step out onto the field, the power of her own presence was overwhelming like a single ant rebelling against an elephant. With an unconcerned smirk she spoke out, “Last match for today I see. Let us end it with a showstopper shall we.”

I did not respond; all my attention is on this moment. Everything else like doubt, fear, anxiety did not matter to me. The signal for the match to begin went off and I step forward.

Our swords meet, and I immediately feel outmatched, my strongest swing didn’t even seem to faze her, and I could feel the vibrations from the hit in my arms. “You have a lot of strength it seems but are you really using it wisely.”

“Watching the other matches, I know that my only way through you is by force. If I can’t break your guard then I will just tire you out.” Wild swing after wild swing I feel no closer to defeating her as she parries each strike.

“Your breathing is becoming a bit labored you know. Maybe you should take a break as you’re tiring out the wrong person.”

She’s right. My swings are beginning to throw my body in the direction of it as my legs are no longer bracing. The last strike misses her completely my sword digging into the ground.

She mocks, “Your sword skills need some severe polishing. You couldn’t make each strike more obvious if you tried. As you are the last match you should just leave it up too chance and forfeit.”

Through sheer breathes. “I didn’t hear a bell.” I lunge, my sword swings wide again and she parries followed by a swift punch too my chin that drops me on my back.

I lay there breathing trying to gather my composure and for a second I think, Why am I trying I’m just here for the gold a random draw would definitely be better, I knew from the beginning that I couldn’t win. Except I didn’t know. My eyes open my vision is blurry, my stomach is in knots, and my legs will not move.

Through gritted teeth “How long was I out.”

“7 minutes Ordin, you have four minutes left to get up and win or we move on.”

Using my sword to prop me up I cry out, “I won’t give up!” Gripping my sword my knuckles turning white I carry out my next move.

Despite my war cry I know that my next attack will be my last, so I position my sword into one final stance one final plan all wagered on my goals as a warrior and the prize money. I charge.

My sword knows its mark, if she can read everything, I do then let’s give her something to focus on. I reach her close enough to be parried again and as she does, I release the sword from my hands and let it fall. She makes a mistake, not expecting such a faint, her parry opens up her left side enough to let someone through.

Each step lasts hours in my mind. The hits I’ve taken took their toll and I’m at the brink of passing out, but as I pass by her, as my last efforts become enough, and as my hand reaches the book, I raise it in triumph and yell out, “Victory!”