George Knows Best [Mud Wizard LitRPG]

Bk 2 Chapter 49 - A Small Comprise



The assembled company had been less than pleased with the amicable unfolding of the knock-knock escapade. They had expected to see a headless Bob crumble out of the mud dome, and somehow they couldn't get used to seeing his head in its proper position. Something about the round face and the weird, central appendage that bumped out of it (a nose, do you say?).

The group of tournament goers was comprised of some two dozen D-rank Ernteklinge. These were the middle variant between the largely insectoid, E-rank, twin-bladed reaper-insect and the highly humanoid, rank C, Messenger of the Harvest. Mess was just then doing his best to talk the group around. But ten minutes of high-tension, whispered dialogue had passed and there wasn't yet any sign of resolution.

Bob tried not to worry. Yes, he was surrounded by a company of armed, intelligent, higher-level monsters who clearly wanted his head. But on the plus side, he had completed another impossible joker quest.

Quest Complete - Brave and Stupid

Reward - Quest: Blind Man's Bluff

Optional Reward - Jonny the Man - The Cosmic Crown

Quest: Blind Man's Bluff (Personal)

Challegne and deffeat a leaderboard sentent blindfolded

Optional challenge: say no thing

Reward: (hidden)

Optional Reward: Jonny the Man - The Return of Jonny

Xenophon was right. This stuff was getting stupid. You'd have to be an idiot to challenge someone on the leaderboard blindfolded. But then Bob had read reviews of Jonny the Man Book 3 — The Return of Jonny. Oh the things people said. It was supposed to be the pinnacle. Jonny's triumphant return to the real world. Ah, nothing pains a man's soul more than the unfinished story.

Bob glanced over at the life-or-death negotiations. Not going well apparently. The Rank Ds looked pretty disgruntled. They were taller than their lesser cousins, trending towards five feet. Their forms had a sharp, aerodynamic feeling. Their camouflage was shaded and complex, making them difficult to pick out among the interplay of tall grass and myriad shadow. Their exoskeleton looked tough and light, concealing the taut muscle that powered their lightening movements. Their levels spread across the twenties, with one tough-looking customer sitting on thirty.

The most ominous change was in their respective weaponry. At Rank E, each Erntemantik had carried a set of two half-moon scythes. Bob's shoulder remember the blades fondly. At Rank D, the creatures had diversified. The whole armory had been raided and was proudly on-display: heavy mace-like appendages, stabbing spears, sword and shield, dueling daggers, the straight blade, the scimitar, you name it.

They looked fierce. And unfriendly. Ranking up had done wonders for their offensive, defensive and intellectual capacity. Alas, it had done nothing for their friendliness, good-cheer or ingrained prejudices. Promotions so often go like that.

"So?"

"I have settled the affair. There is nothing to be concerned about."

"Perfect. Thank you, Mess."

"I was required to make a small comprise, however."

"Oh?"

"It needn't trouble you."

"Great, then let's hear it."

"You understand, you are stranger in our midst. I had to personally sponsor you. It is all rather irregular, as you might imagine."

"Ok, sure, I'm a reasonable man. I see that. So what's the compromise?"

"Very simple. I had to promise you were a worthy adversary."

"I am."

"Good. Now a worthy adversary would have no difficulty in reaching the final of our friendly little competition. Only eight students competing tonight, yourself included."

"And if I don't?"

"They want your big toes."

"What?"

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"Perhaps the system did not translate that correctly? Your big toes. You know," Mess held up a leg and wiggled his toes.

"What do they want it for?"

"It's a cultural tradition. It's the way you humiliate and cripple a foe. Your big toes are more important than you might realise. I warn you that without them it will be a challenge walking, let alone fighting."

Bob grumbled a little, but accepted the deal. After all, he just had to make it to the final. They'd didn't call him the mud magician for nothing. And had he mentioned that the circular tournament grounds were basically a mud field, or that he carried with him an organic-material-devouring magical dagger? Bob would be alright.

"You are the match after this one. One moment while I clean up the stage."

Mess walked over to the Bob's mud bunker. His hand jetted forward in a blur of motion Bob could scarcely perceive. The walls crumbled into mud dust. Bob swallowed.

"I'm sure glad you knew to knock."

Mess smiled.

"And we'll have to do something about all this mud. A warrior can barely keep his feet in this terrain."

A burst of wind exploded out of the Zone Boss. In half a second, the muddy circle was transformed into packed soil. Every last drop of water evaporated away.

Bob swallowed. Then he consoled himself. It was raining hard. The rain would see the ring transformed back into a muddy mess in thirty seconds flat.

"Oh and don't worry about the rain. I'll keep a wind barrier up. We want clean, fair fights."

"Great. Thanks. Appreciate it," Bob whimpered out. At least he still had his dagger.

The first two combatants stepped inside the ring. They positioned themselves on either side, bowed to each other, walked forward three paces and then waited. Mess raised his fist. "Begin!" He brought the hand down with a crack of air that reverberated around the hilltop.

In the right corner was your classic sword-and-shield fighter (level 21). In the left, was a brutal-looking, swagger-around spearman (level 24). They didn't hold back, each rocketing at the other. It was the glorious dance, martial combat to a pinnacle of speed and precision Bob had never seen or even imagined.

The spearmen looked to have the upper hand. He twisted and turned, raining down blows against his opponent, who needed both sword and shield to hold back the assault.

"So Mr. Brown, what do you say to a friendly wager?"

"Oh a flutter? I'm always game, but I should warn you I've been banned from all system casinos. Devil's luck."

"Then maybe we'll be even. I've seen this company fight before and I know a little thing or two about combat. You can have the pick."

"Hold on there. What are we playing for?"

"I would only ever gamble for the one prize. The truth. The loser answers the winner's question."

The swordsman had found his timing. He was trudging forward, keeping his body side-on to reduce the targetable area. Step by step he was pushing the spearman back against the ring's edge.

"Swordsman."

Mess smiled and shook on it, which made Bob think he'd made the wrong choice.

The swordsman had pressed the spearman all the way to boundary now. Nowhere to run. The spearmen, seeing his predicament, dove to the side, trying to break free. That was what the swordsman had been waiting for. He unleashed a blade of wind, cutting off his opponent's escape and forcing him back to an unfavorable distance.

"Wind magic? You can all use it?"

"Yes, at rank D, they will have one spell, with some minor flexibility."

"What about you?"

"Well, I am the zone boss of the first cleared world zone. Let's just say I can do a bit more."

"Authority?"

"No, authority is the pinnacle of magical power. I have a wind grimoire."

Bob looked blankly.

"You can think of it as a framework. I can control the wind within certain set boundaries, but I cannot create entirely new magic."

The spearman flailed. He was in a bad spot. It seemed only a matter of time. He misstepped, the spear shooting out of position. The swordsman pounced. A trap. The spearman pole vaulted over the committed swordsman, swiping down from above with a great, lunging strike. Suddenly, it was the swordsman who was pinned against the edge of the circle, barely able to hold his feet against a sustained assault of punishing blows.

But the swordsman was a true warrior. He was beginning to reground himself; he was just finding his rhythm again, when one of the spearman's blows whistled forward with unnatural speed, screeching right past his guard and blossoming in the swordsman's shoulder.

The swordsman didn't give, trying to leverage the pin in a crushing hug, but the spearman prodded him forward and he tumbled over the line and out of the circle.

Crack! Mess signaled the end of the fight.

"You next Mr. Brown. And I'll have a question for you, once you're done."

Bob rolled his shoulders, cracked his neck and checked he had his white dagger on him. Here we go.

"Mr. Brown, what are you doing?"

"What do you mean? I'm getting ready for the duel."

"Mr. Brown, this is an official tournament. You may not bring additional weapons into the dueling grounds."

"What?"

"A combatant needs to fight with what he has."

Bob pointed at his adversary. One arm a sleek katana of organic steel. The other a short punching knife.

"He's armed?"

"Those are his arms."

"Fine, fine," Bob threw his white dagger onto the ground, "happy?"

"The cloak?"

"What!?"

"It is evidently a powerful companion object. None of your opponents carry its match."

Bob cursed, paced and threw Harry on to the ground.

"What's the penalty for losing this early again?"

"Big toes, Mr. Brown and my sincere displeasure."

Bob swallowed and trekked out. He tried to push his mud senses into the packed earth. He couldn't. Of course, he couldn't. The system didn't consider it mud anymore.

He had no weapon. He had no cloak. His mud magic was effectively sealed. Stupid, unfair wind bastards. There's wind everywhere. You can just snap your fingers. But not mud. Mud was a bring-your-own kind of element.

"You'll intervene before he can kill me right?"

"I'll end the match only if you get pushed out of the ring or surrender."

"Mess, am I imagining it or does that guy looked like he hates my guts?"

"Yes, that is not an inaccurate description, Mr. Brown. He was the strongest advocate for not letting you participate and for killing on you the spot for polluting our sacred rituals. This was actually the second part of my comprise. I had to let him face you first."

"I'm really glad you waited to tell me until just now," Bob muttered under his breath, "super glad. I always wanted to fight without weapon, companion object or magic. Who wouldn't?"

"Both sides ready?"

The evil-looking, killer insect nodded slightly. Bob managed a squeaked 'yes.'


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