zaifyrRR
patreon
EV B2 Chapter 29:
🕑 Added 2025-01-25 23:57:24 +0000 UTCI was worried, but not overly so. Level 55. That was a bit higher than I had thought when I considered what level my early class had given me, but maybe she had a class as well. Still, it wasn’t to the point where I didn’t believe I could escape. It did make me wish I had assigned those 20 free stat points I’d been holding onto, but so far, she wasn’t threatening—just kind of in the way.
I took in her clothes and confirmed that, while she was a spellcaster, she also carried a sword. So she wasn’t incompetent in melee, but she wasn’t wearing armor of any kind. My leathers might give me an edge if she drew that relatively thin sword of hers. She must be some sort of spell blade. Still, even though her eyes burned into me, I didn’t think this was heading toward a fight.
I stayed where I was, tapping my hilt with two fingers as I studied her, and she studied me. Eventually, after almost an entire minute had passed, she broke the silence.
“What is your name?” she asked, her accent just as thick as ever. The slightly longer vowels and clipped consonants made for an interesting sound, but one that wasn’t difficult to understand at all.
“I am Miles.”
“Yes, yes, you are,” she said. “You match the description, though it was a bit vague. Tomorrow, you should attend the graduation. For the women’s Lesser Hall. Arena 18-A.”
And with that, she turned on her heels and stalked down the steps.
I had no idea what that was about. Actually, I did. But I wasn’t letting myself hope.
Turning back to the board, I double-checked my plans. Not seeing anything else exciting, I decided to grab breakfast now that the sun had risen. It wasn’t hard to find an inn near the arena that wasn’t too crowded. Sitting in a corner by myself, I ordered a plate of eggs and bacon along with a pint of beer that came complimentary with every meal. It was a little early for beer, but I wasn’t about to let it go to waste entirely. I sipped on the rather tasteless ale—it was at least an improvement over the lousy mead I’d had before—while I picked my way through the meal.
I estimated I had roughly an hour and a half before the first match I wanted to watch began. After that, there was another match—a half hour later—that marked the first round of the Under-25 No Skills, Spells, or Spills tournament. Drumming my fingers on the table, I stared at the wall across from me, where a wolf’s head was mounted. Its beady eyes seemed to watch me.
No one bothered me while I ate, and I finished my meal without interruption. Heading back to the arena, I caught a fight between two sword masters, each around level 50, tearing into each other. It was a vicious grudge match between two different parties that had chosen them as their champions. Most of the skills were used, but I didn’t see a single spell.
Watching them, I noted that my sword skill wasn’t quite as high as theirs—it was probably somewhere in the high D or low C range—but I was pretty sure I was faster. And if I used spells, I was confident I could take on one of them, maybe even both. I grimaced. This might be a waste of time and could expose me more than I’d like. Still, it was good to know what I could and couldn’t show.
I was already planning to withdraw from the tournament when the first round was called. Making my way to the arena, I saw I’d been matched against someone still under level 15. I sighed. Well, what could I do to make this interesting? Or should I just forfeit now?
There wasn’t an entrance fee for this tournament, though I’d have to pay a bit to enter the monster time trial—which I didn’t think was worth it. Still, if I won, I’d make some money. I shrugged. I was being overly cautious. Sure, I’d try to win this tournament, but I’d probably get to the point where I at least made my money back. No one would notice as long as I didn’t show off too much.
The arena had been split into 32 separate cells for the first round, each a small circle about ten feet in diameter where we would fight. It was incredibly close-quarters combat. Someone using a halberd might have struggled, but both my opponent and I were using shorter blades. I briefly considered pulling out a second weapon and dual-wielding—or even going without weapons—but that would’ve been disrespectful.
The level 10 warrior I was up against looked rather young. He gave me a stoic nod, and I returned the gesture. When the bout started, I waited for him to approach me first. Several matches had already ended within seconds of the opening bell, so I didn’t think I’d stand out too much.
Quickly parrying a few blows while moving at a standard speed for someone around level 25, I reposted and skewered him through the chest. The strike was clean. I pulled my blade free and wiped it off, waiting for the arena’s healers to finish patching him up.
The match was already called. After giving him another nod, I headed back up into the stands, where I waited for the more interesting fight I’d planned to watch.
It was a group match—a five-member team versus another five-member team. Each fighter ranged from level 30 to 40. I was interested in seeing what sort of tactics the mixed groups would use. Both teams were evenly balanced: one group had two women and three men, while the other had three men and two women. They didn’t seem particularly hostile toward each other, but they watched one another warily as they formed their formations.
Both teams mirrored each other. One man in heavy armor with a giant shield stood at the front, flanked by two others, while the remaining two members held positions in the backline. I watched as the match began. I didn’t learn anything revolutionary, but it did give me a few ideas for what Astrid and I might need if we filled out our party properly.
Astrid could function as a healer—not a dedicated one, but with the right focus, we might not need a pure healer at all. Someone with strong regeneration abilities might suffice. Astrid was primarily a ranged fighter, an archer with some fire-based magical abilities. A pure mage might also be helpful, depending on their skill set. And we’d definitely need someone big with a large shield for the front line.
I didn’t really fit into any specific role. Still, it seemed like there were only a few archetypes that were truly essential. It would just take some practice to figure out what we could make work. Once I’d decided what to think about in terms of building our party, I started paying more attention to how these groups fought each other.
The typical strategy seemed to be tying up the opposing tank while trying to get around them to attack the backline—while, of course, preventing the enemy from doing the same. It made sense, but it was predictable. Everyone seemed to use and expect that approach. Then I started wondering—what if we didn’t play by that script? If we could blitz enough damage instantly, maybe we could take someone down before they had a chance to be saved by their party.
The fight ended before I reached any real conclusion, and the monster trial began. I was led to a waiting room with the other competitors. We couldn’t see the matches before ours, but we could hear the roar of the crowd as each person was led out into the arena to be timed on how fast they could defeat the monster in front of them.
The tension in the room was palpable. Everyone seemed nervous, pacing back and forth. It started to get to me, too, but I forced myself to sit and focus. I bounced my knee absentmindedly, trying to meditate and hone my skills. I focused on my spells, and while I made only a tiny bit of progress, it felt like something. I was beginning to understand what Loki had meant about creating my own skills. That initial book he gave me had been helpful—ever so slightly—but I still didn’t have a firm grasp on what I wanted to become. Maybe, eventually, I’d figure it out.
I was interrupted by my thoughts when my turn came. Blinking out of my focus, I stepped into the bright arena from the dim waiting room. The roar of the crowd washed over me and faded into a dull roar as I focused on my opponent.
The first thing that got my attention was the sound of leathery wings beating overhead and a deep, rumbling roar—something between a lion and a thunderclap.
Hot breath washed over me, and as I looked up, I saw an honest-to-God dragon glaring down at me.
