Revenant's Resolve Chapter 28

Death or forfeit. 

Those were the only ways out of the this tournament.

Botezatu had explained that this was why there was a decidedly somber tone in the air to this tournament, as opposed to what Reznik had been told was usually a fairly lively event.

Even still, as Reznik stood on the muddy, open field between two sets of hastily constructed stands, he could feel the excitement of the many occupants of the stands. This included the non-noble class that had decided to attend, chattering exuberantly with one another from the ground level. 

From the noble families, there were ninety-six entries into the tournament. 

Six of them stood across the field from him in yellow tabbards, while five more stood in green ones to either side of him. 

His first fight was a team one. A team bout that served more to weed out the weak early in the tournament than anything else. 

Surveying his opponents, he wasn’t too worried about his chances. Most of them looked fairly average to his estimation, no more special than the soldiers from Bessarba he’d killed and eaten. 

Armed, to be sure. Dangerous, most likely would be for many. 

There was a gnawing feeling at the back of his mind that some of his opponents would be just like him - trying to use a win in the tournament and against the Bessarban Czhan to help someone they cared about.

In the grand scheme of things, the people across from him would likely be friends, or at least allies most of the time. Provided they didn’t know what he was, of course.

Reznik pushed the noise out of his mind with a small shake of his head. 

He was here to rescue Zarah. That was it. 

Keep fighting until she’s back home and safe. 

Give people a chance to surrender and forfeit, but don’t give anyone an opening. 

Reznik sized up the ocher-skinned man that faced him directly as they waited for the start of the fight. He wore thick leather armor, and fought with a dinner plate-sized shield and short spear. 

If the man didn’t have any surprise tricks like magic, Reznik thought he had a great idea for how to deal with him. 

Reznik would simply impale himself on the mans spear, get close, and repeatedly bring his opponent’s face in contact with the ground. 

It seemed like a great option. 

Simple holes weren’t that big of a deal, after all. It was when limbs got removed that Reznik would likely encounter problems. 

“Fighters! Begin!” shouted a thunderous voice, cutting through the soft din of the crowd like blade through flesh. 

Huh.

Weird. 

I thought there would be more to it than that… some big fancy words or something.

Reznik’s opponents started to cross the distance. Some sprinted for their fight, others walked. 

Unfortunately, Reznik’s rust-skinned friend was one of the latter.

The man seemed almost giddy at the prospect of fighting Reznik, likely because Reznik didn’t actually bring a weapon. 

Nor was he dressed in flowing robes like the Mages he’d seen. 

The man was likely smiling as he charged because he thought Reznik was just some cannon fodder entered into the tournament by a poor family, as he’d heard gossip of from the stands.

Several meters away, the man leapt for Reznik - arcing his spear back before he brought it down at Reznik’s head. 

Reznik simply tilted his head to the side and let the spear pierce into where his neck met his shoulder. 

Then, he grabbed the haft of the spear. 

When the man landed and got his footing, he tried to yank it back.

Neither the spear nor Reznik budged. 

“Shit.” The former spearman lamented, springing back and releasing the spear right before Reznik ripped down and to the side, freeing the spear. 

Now, he had a weapon. 

Reznik was about to toss it to the side when an idea struck him. 

Pointy things can be thrown. 

He adjusted his grip as the man with the tiny shield circled him from a short distance, seeming to be calculating how he could reacquire his spear. 

Then Reznik hurled it at the man, hoping to skewer his chest. He didn’t, instead missing by almost two feet and piercing the man’s thigh. 

Then it continued its downward angle and buried the entire point of the weapon into the ground. 

“Fuck! Aw! Gods!” the pinned man screamed as Reznik rushed him. “No, nonono, wait I fo-“ 

Reznik reached him just in time to not be able to stop what he was about to do, leaping into the man at full force. 

When they both landed, the spear lodged in his opponent’s leg made a sickening tearing sound. Then, Reznik’s armored knee slammed into his enemy’s chest, crunching something there.

Hold on.

Stop!

I think he was trying to surrender!

Reznik pushed at his body to stop what it was doing, stand up, and find someone else to clobber. 

Even if the man wasn’t about to forefit, Reznik could still tell that he’d had enough. He smelled blood. Lots of it. 

There was a ringing ping that shook Reznik’s world from behind as he rose to his feet. Something had glanced off his helmet, and it turned out that something was an axe. 

With a confused frown, Reznik spun around, trying to figure out who had thrown it. It was a woman in yellow. 

Then, before Reznik really had a moment to process how he wanted to go about attacking her, she was ran through by a man with with a sword, and taken screaming all the way to the ground. 

Then her head was removed swiftly after the green-clad man pulled his sword from her gut.

Well.

Thank you friend! 

In the end, Reznik came out on the winning team, along with two others from his cohort. One of his team was dead, three were for the other group, and the remainder had all forfeit their place in the tournament.

As it happened, Reznik’s fight had been one of the more one-sided and bloodless fights of the day. 

Many others had come out with three or less survivors, and no one forfeiting.

“You know. I find it telling that the Queen would hold a tournament like this right now.” Botezatu grunted, having approached Reznik from behind without being noticed. Reznik’s head whipped around to look at the grizzled man, who simply smiled and stared up at the backside of the tournament grounds like Reznik had been. “It’s how the King used to hand out the smaller titles. 

“Knighthoods, and if you really impressed him, sometimes Baronies from his new conquests. I was barely twenty when I stepped into the ring.” Botezatu explained with a heavy exhale that turned into a chuckle. “Stepped in as a commoner, walked out as a knight with a posting in his newly-formed Riverguard. I wonder if she intends to do the same.” 

The idea of himself being made a knight by the next time he saw Zarah was amusing, but he reasoned that out of all the possibilities, it was unlikely to happen.

More than likely, his best possible outcome was just winning, and coming out with himself, Zarah, and everyone else unscathed. 

That was much more reasonable after all. 

“Iihh j-jusss-t… w-wan-t Z-Zaah-rah s-s-safe.” Reznik countered after Realizing that Botezatu was waiting for him to reply with a curious look. 

“Mmn. I’m sure you do. And the good news is, you have three duels between yourself, and that possibility. First one is tomorrow, an hour after sunrise.” Botezatu grunted, whipping a piece of paper up in front of Reznik with a hand-drawn set of brackets for his upcoming fights. “I ever tell you how her and I met?”

Reznik briefly glanced over the sheet of brackets before plucking it carefully from Botezatu’s hand. Then, he shook his head at the man’s question. 

“Her and her company of Prussanian mercenaries were hired by the King to aid in clearing the undead lands once we’d secured the border up to the river. They ended up becoming the foundation for the inquisition. 

“A collection of a hundred-and-fifty occultists, clerics, telepaths, necromancers, and paladins. The thought was at the time, that the undead lands were cursed, and that the curse could be unraveled, somehow.” Botezatu snorted, slowly shaking his head. “We had just pushed the undead back across the river then, and were barely holding the line…”

Reznik tuned the man out as he read the paper in his hand. Realistically, whether he listened or not didn’t matter. Botezatu would tell his long-winded story, and hold a conversation by his lonesome all on his own. 

It wasn’t as if Reznik had much he could reply with. Long words were still a stretch farther than he was comfortable with. 

His next fight however, was something he was comfortable with. 

A man named Velyonis Aaloyic. 

The name didn’t ring any bells for Reznik, but he reasoned that he likely would be a similar caliber to those who survived his team skirmish. 

Dangerous, but only if Reznik didn’t actually put any effort in. 

Looking up from the page, Reznik found Botezatu was still talking. 

“-She popped the Revenant’s skull like a grape. From then on, I’ve been indebted time and again to her for saving my life. So I think its only fair that I start chopping away at that mountain of life debt.” Reznik realized he’d tuned in at just the right moment - right before Botezatu was about to finish. “So believe me when I say, ensuring Zarah’s safety is as important to me as you.” 

Well, that’s good to know. 

Initially, Reznik questioned why Botezatu wasn’t fighting himself in that case, but then realized that it probably had more to do with Reznik’s own victory over him, and his rather advanced age than desire. 

He dropped the initial accusatory thought, realistically thankful that Botezatu wouldn’t be fighting him again - he imagined that with time, Botezatu would’ve thought of a more efficient way to dispatch him. 

Instead, he held out the page to Botezatu, and pointed at Velyonis’ name. 

“Wh-who?” Reznik asked, putting in extra effort to quirk a brow questioningly. 

“Oh, him.” Botezatu acknowledged after squinting down at the sheet. “He’s a personal sponsor of Lord-Commander Tarron, and is usually selected by him for any tournament that’s held. From what I hear, he fights with a trident, so as long as you get in his personal space and stay there, you shouldn’t have too much of an issue.

“Still, he’s here for a reason, and if Tarron selected him personally, it means he likely has a trick or three up his sleeves. Be careful.” 

  *

Reznik felt a pang of disappointment as he was lead out into the wide tournament dueling grounds. There were many people in the stands and on the ground surrounding the short fence around the arena. 

But Luminita wasn’t among them. 

He wasn’t entirely sure why her absence from his fights bothered him, but he was consciously aware that it did. Friends were supposed to support friends - or at least he thought so. 

As he had that thought, another entered his brain. 

Perhaps Luminita was simply deciding to use her time and effort to reward his actions today in a different way. 

Her mother and her were both excellent cooks, and it was her mother that had monopolized Luminita’s attention that morning 

Maybe that was why they’d stayed behind to -talk- instead of coming with himself and Botezatu to the tournament. 

He shook the thoughts off like a wet dog, working to pull his mind back to the matter at hand - which currently was the flamboyant trident-wielding man across from him. 

A man that apparently had quite a following, as a number of people in the stands had their faces painted with the colors of his tunic and leather armor. Reznik wasn’t an expert by any means, but he reasoned that Velyonis would likely be relying on speed. 

Certainly not muscle, given his skinny, beanstalk-like frame. 

If Reznik did get in close enough, he imagined he would likely be able to pick the man up and hurl him over the crowd. 

Velyonis extricated himself from the throng of hangers-on and made his way to the center of the dirt arena, watching Reznik with a broad, toothy smile. 

“It’s always a fun experience when they bring fresh meat to the tournaments!” he proclaimed almost as a greeting to Reznik. “Let me guess. You were always the strongest and fastest in whatever no-name frontier village you came from, and thought you could hack it in the big leagues, eh?” 

The man’s smile turned mocking and hostile as he slammed the base of his trident against the dirt, igniting tongues of electricity that arced between the razor-sharp points.

“So you spent all your money on a shiny set of armor, and realized that you don’t even have enough left over for a real weapon!” Velyonis rolled his eyes and shook his head before laughing: “Just give up, man. I’m not sure how you convinced that geezer to sponsor your entry, but the only way you’re leaving this arena alive is if you throw in the towel - right here, right now.”

Oh. 

So he’s a prick. 

Reznik wheezed out an exhale, doing his best to sound entirely bored of the mans words. 

In truth though, he was now imagining stuffing the haft of the trident down Velyonis’ throat. 

Velyonis for his part blinked, raising an expectant eyebrow as he seemed to wait for a reply. 

“Fighters, ready?” boomed the duels administrator from a raised tower at the edge of the arena. 

Reznik glanced to the tower pointedly, then nodded once. 

Velyonis threw up a raised thumb over his shoulder, taking a defensive stance with his electric trident. 

There was a long, silent pause where even the wind seemed to still and watch the ring.

“Begin!” 

Reznik sprang forward, hoping to follow through with his plan to simply pick up his opponent and hurl him far outside the ring, but Velyonis was fast. 

Fast to the point where it felt unnatural, blurring as he leapt sideways out of Reznik’s view. 

“Oop, gotta be faster than that!” Velyonis laughed as Reznik laid eyes on him, off to his left in the same defensive stance. “Or the only place you’re going in a hurry is a grave!” 

Reznik tilted his head at Velyonis, simply waiting. 

Velyonis furrowed his brows and pursed his lips as he seemed to consider Reznik for a moment. Then he shrugged, lifted his trident, and hurled it at Reznik. 

The central tip slammed home through a chink in Reznik’s armor just above his knee, sending an odd tingling sensation through his entire body. 

His movements, his thoughts, and even his vision felt like they were all sluggish. 

Oh come on! 

Just grab the trident, and break it in half. Then break him in half!

Reznik tried forcing his body to comply with every ounce of thought he could muster, but his hands only twitched their way slowly toward the haft of the weapon. 

“Just forfeit! You’re out of your depth!” Reznik could hear Velyonis shouting at the edge of his mind. 

As soon as his hand was about to clutch the trident, it launched itself out of his leg and whipped its way back into Velyonis’ waiting hand. 

“Give up, farm boy - next one hits your heart.” Velyonis commanded, a darker tone coloring his voice as he growled: “Last chance.”

Reznik smacked his lips, his tongue tasting dusty and staticy. 

“T-that tic-tic-tickled.” 

Velyonis snorted and shook his head before it turned into a nod. 

“At least you got balls.” Velyonis praised, his cat-that-ate-the-canary grin returning. 

Reznik rolled out his shoulders, finally shaking off the last of the itchy, dusty feeling of electricity. He then abruptly shot forward, hoping to catch Velyonis off guard with the sudden haste of his attack. 

It seemed to work, as Velyonis jumped fractionally upward before springing back and hurled his trident in an entirely reactionary way.

Velyonis managed to elude Reznik’s grasp, but only barely - letting out a small “guh” sound when Reznik’s hand gripped and ripped the fabric on his side. 

As the man continued to spring further out of Reznik’s reach, Reznik realized that the trident had actually hit him, and buried one of its points just beneath his ribs. Realizing that he had an opportunity to force his opponent into surrendering, Reznik stopped chasing the man and grabbed the haft of the weapon. 

He ripped it out with a small screech of metal on metal, and looked back to Velyonis a short distance away. 

He looks nervous. 

I wonder - can I scare him into forfeiting? 

Wouldn’t even have to kill him, then.

“Pret-ty.” Reznik complemented, lifting the trident demonstratively. “Use-l-less-ss.” 

Then, he brought the points down through a gap in his armor at his neck. He ripped the weapon out, then lined it up with the bottom of his chest plate and pushed in. 

If he were human, it likely would have skewered his heart and lungs, killing him instantly. Instead, it just left Reznik with an odd feeling of vertigo and wooziness before he ripped it back out. 

Now, Velyonis looked positively petrified, backing away with wide, fearful eyes and shaking his head. 

Now for the final act.

Reznik took the spear in both hands, and shoved at his body that he wanted to bend the weapon until it shattered. 

To leave Velyonis with simply the haft and points, instead of a functional weapon. 

The metal-reinforced wood creaked, sputtered, and finally shattered in his grasp before a shower of sparks burst free. 

Arcs of electricity swirled around Reznik like a thunderstorm entirely focused on him. 

He blinked. And blinked again. 

Reznik could’ve sworn the lightning sparked into the outline of a person before it returned to chaos, then dissipated. 

“Yield! Yield! I yield - nope, no! Fuck that!” Velyonis shouted, throwing his hands up after scrambling to his feet with a wide-eyed stare. 

Reznik sniffed the air, finding that it oddly smelled like a storm. 

“I forfeit!” Velyonis whipped his head towards the duel’s proctor, clearly expecting something to happen. 

“I- well… It is finished!” the older man proclaimed from his raised seat at the edge of the arena. “Botezatu’s champion, Reznik wins by forfeit!” 

The audience, for the first time in the fight, was silent.