Azimuth: The Elden Throne

.

.

.

—

/Scribble…/

/Scratch scratch…/

/Clink… Step… Stop…/

Being dragged by the chains around his neck, Dale was led to a small, somewhat decorated office by the guards where an old man sat down before a table, writing something down without much care.

Throughout the entire journey, Dale never even got a glimpse of the sun, what an unnecessarily ominous place...

"Is it him?" The old man asked without raising his head, focusing instead on the piece of parchment above his table

"Number 13, ready for his eighth consecutive fight."

"Send him to the armory to get equipped and prepare for the upcoming presentation, make him somewhat presentable as well, don't mess this up, high scores are valuable."

His voice was cold and somewhat mechanical, almost as if his replies were all automated.

He didn't even think about them, they just flowed to his lips automatically.

How many times had he said these words before?

"Yes sir… Hm?"

Just when the guards were about to drag Dale out of the room, he remained still, looking at the scribe with a sharp glance.

"What are you doing? Move!" The guard said deeply as he tried to pull the chain, only to realize that he could not

It was as if the chains were tied to a tree all of a sudden.

"..."

The other guard, the one Dale spoke with before, said nothing, merely looking at him with a sharp gaze, his expression hidden underneath his clothes and helmet.

However, he still raised his hand to his weapon on his hips, it was unknown if he was acting his part or really considering retaliating if Dale were to move.

"I'll accept a Death Match, the Eagle Challenge."

Dale cut straight to the core of the matter, taking no time to voice out his true intentions.

His tone was neither respectful nor fearful, he was merely voicing his mind, looking at the old man with a simple glare.

"..."

While the guard on his right seemed 'greatly' surprised by this piece of news, the old man did not.

"..."

However, for the first time since they entered the room, he stopped writing, raising his head to look at Dale before giving him a simple inspection from head to toe.

"Are you aware of the nuances of the challenge? In the Eagle Challenge, you'll face three opponents of similar ability and equal equipment."

"And by declaring it a Death Match, not only will you be forced to take the lives of your opponents, they'll do the same to you, and at the end of it, you'll remain at the Arena and declare your next challenge, and that shall continue until you either graduate as a Gladiator or die."

"There'll be little to no rest in between the matches."

"Of course, if you lose after winning the Eagle Challenge, then your winning streak will reset and you'll have to do it all over again, which is no different from death."

"That is… If your opponent spares you, no warrior would spare someone who won 8 fights consecutively, it's a great honor to fall such a strong man."

"Now… Is this truly your wish?" He asked with a dead expression as he looked straight into Dale's eyes

"It is but my own."

"... Very well, the handling of the match shall change." He said as he drew a line on his piece of parchment, stamping it before writing something else on it

The old man then opened a drawer underneath his table, pulling out a small rusty bell…

/Din din din!/

He began to toll it, and quickly, someone opened the door to the Office.

"Sir. You called." Another guard said as he rested his spear on the ground

"Go to the waiting cells and fetch me three fighters for an upcoming Death Match, they need to have at least seven consecutive wins, if you cannot find them, then six, and so on."

"I know we've recently had problems with staff, so just try your best to fill in the numbers, don't make it too complicated."

"Afterward, armor them with a pair of gloves, greaves, a chest piece, a waist piece, and a helmet, make sure they're all at least clean and of appropriate quality for the match, leave the choice of weapons to the fighters."

"Make it quick, the match is about to start."

"Yes sir!"

While the guard left the room in a hurry, the old man turned his head to the two guards next to Dale.

"You two, lead the challenger to the Armory, he, at the very least, should have the first pick of the equipment before anyone else."

"As for you, if you're unaware, you can and must declare your next match type immediately following your victory, falling to do so will result in us choosing a type for you, and we won't make it easy, so make sure you go to the afterlife without regrets by making your own choices." He said as he turned his gaze back onto the paper

"Dismissed."

/Thud!/

The two guards stomped their feet on the ground before pulling Dale along outside.

/Clack!/

,..

/A few minutes later of being dragged around the place…/

/Slam!/

"So? What can I get you three today?" A somewhat rude, nasty-looking middle-aged man said as he looked at Dale and the guards, a dirty smirk on his face as he spat on the ground next to them

"We need gear for a Death Match, orders of the Overseer." Said the guard on Dale's left, the one he made a deal with not so long ago

The middle-aged man raised an eyebrow, putting his weight on the counter as he took a deeper glance at Dale.

"Hm… So it's this bum who's going to die? Humph, what a waste of iron…" The man said with a grunt as he turned around

"Follow me, I'll get ya some stuff so the lad doesn't die with a spear up his arse."

"..."

Despite the man's rudeness, visible disgust, and lack of care for everyone and everything around him, Dale at least knew he meant that he didn't want him to die… But he didn't care.

This old man was extremely corrupt, in his last visit, he was given nothing but a barely sharp spear and a barely hanging piece of leather armor for his eighth fight, his ninth one he was given a spear that only lasted a single bout before shattering in pieces, forcing him to fight by holding its tip like a dagger against someone with a several times that range.

Meanwhile, his opponent's gear would oftentimes glister or cut through the wood of his weapons with ease.

The disparity is ridiculous.

…

There weren't that many people in the armory.

Dale could see several young teens and children cleaning the equipment out of blood or sharpening it, giving it meager repairs while the adults worked on harder to solve problems, given the sound of hammers in the distance.

Everything from simple leather armor to even full-blown Plate armor could be seen here, but of course, the Plate armor was so well-cleaned and shiny that it had probably never been used before.

Meanwhile, the leather armor had so many stitches it was hard to say if it was made from stitches or the original leather.

On the way, the guards explained more regarding the conditions of the match, causing the man to grunt visibly in displeasure.

Dale assumed he was a bit upset at the fact he was forced to actually give him something decent, making him wonder… Maybe in a Death Match, they were indeed forced to give him something useful.

Maybe that was why the original one in the memories went on this path, it was all but an assumption from his theories, but if he came to learn that, then choosing a Deathmatch in an Arena where death was all too common in exchange for some good armor, he was essentially maximizing his own survival in this place.

Though, of course, this only meant he was giving his opponent some leeway as well.

"Here, these should suffice." The man said as he tapped on a table

There, Dale saw a simple set of metal armor, it wasn't plate armor that needed squires to help set it up, but it was still somewhat bulky.

Nothing comparable to his Wyverian Ignition, though that could also be placed within the same category as Plate Armor, it was just that Dale could use the System to fully equip and remove the armor, otherwise he would need a Squire to help him move around.

The metal armor consisted of a pair of metal greaves and chainmail pants that covered all of his legs.

A metal skirt, not that long, only a few fingers long.

A pair of metal gloves that covered half of his forearm, the rest was similar to his legs, chainmail that went to his shoulders where a set of pauldrons stood.

The chest piece was the centerpiece of it all, it had a nice design consisting of several plates superpositioned above each other, it was mobile and somewhat light, but maybe too thin, so much so Dale believed he could pierce it with his finger.

The chest piece also had a large emblem painted on its back, it was in a very visibly fluorescent red color, and it shone whenever light was cast onto it, similar to traffic cones in the night.

Hopefully, this paint wasn't toxic...

There was also a helmet, it was, by far, the most decorated piece, having plumes sticking out of it gloriously… Dale found it ridiculous.

Several pieces of cloth and cushioning clothes would go underneath all of it, giving Dale the urge to vomit from the smell coming out of them and the visible struggle it would be to put it all on.

'I would probably go better with only some superficial iron armor than this… But there's probably not much that's better than this anyway.'

For his weapon, Dale was greatly surprised, it didn't actually look like a piece of crap.

It was a spear with an unusual forked tip in the shape of a triangle, hollow in the middle.

It also had a conical metal tip on the other end, good for poking things.

The shaft itself was made of wood but reinforced with metal rings throughout its length.

And of course, it also had some sort of cloth hanging in it, being unusually long, it would likely prove to be a nuisance rather than merely a cosmetic addition.

"Is this fine for you or would you like a pat on the back too?" The rude man said with a snort as he looked at Dale

"It'll do."

Dale did not waste any time with the rude man, he had better things to do.

"Not a funny one are ya, well, since you're done, get a move on and clear the space! This place is already hot and smelly as it is, I don't need shit-stained slaves making it worse."

"Those kids will bring the rest of your items to you, just put it all on and go do what you gotta do." He said as he pointed at a group of scribes on the side

Kids around 14 years of age, their expressions were cold and stoic, it seemed they were all too familiar with this shithole of a place and its master.

"Now, I need to prepare the other one's equipment, don't worry, I'll make sure everything is "fair"." He said with a chuckle as he left for the entrance

"..."

Dale really wanted to punch him in the face, but in the end, he moved to the side, putting on his equipment with the help of the kids before leaving with the guards to the Arena.

It was time to end this and get promoted to the ranks of an actual Gladiator, to experience the true worth of this Memory shard.

After all, for something worth almost 1.5 Million Favor, it had to contain some sort of secret to make such a ludicrous price worth it.

Though Dale also knew that sometimes, not all things were worth pursuing, there wasn't always light at the end of the tunnel…

Sometimes they were just there to fuck you over, just like that rude man…

Dale wasn't fearful of his chances, he was extremely confident, and that was why he only asked for a spear before, which was everything he needed.

His strength may have fallen, but he could take care of a few thugs.

Not wasting any extra time, he would enter this Arena as a slave and leave as a free man.

Or as free as his newest Title made him…

…

.

.

.

Notes