Misadventures Incorporated

For the sheer number of people it contained, the training hall was eerily silent. The lack of noise became particularly prevalent in the fifteen minutes that led up to noon. Almost all of the candidates were focused on analyzing their competitors, for they would need to best them in combat if they wanted to prove their mettle.

Four of the seven slots already had names attached, though technically, none were carved in stone. It was possible for any individual to challenge any other and claim their position, though few dared to even dream of taking the first or second. Virillius was too far ahead of the curve for there to be any meaningful contest and his daughter had quite literally slain a god. Any discussion revolving around the first two seats was only concerned with their ordering.

The third and the fourth were only really penciled in. The whole nation knew that Durham Vespran was a ridiculously powerful fighter. Hell, many surrounding nations often repeated his name, citing him as one of Cadria's greatest assets. Likewise, Lord Julius Antonius Evander had cemented himself as a veritable force of nature. He wasn't exactly the Grand Magus' replacement, but he'd struck down anyone that dared to question his strength.

Still, they were not so powerful that the remaining elites thought them outside their grasp. Everyone in the crowd was hungering for their positions, ready to lash out and steal them away.

Leutgar Silverthorn was no exception. The barechested knife-ear stroked his chin as he considered his chances. His tawny, bronze skin glimmered beneath the sun, its colour distorted only by the many scars that adorned his frame. In truth, he was no Cadrian native. Few Silverthorn elves were born so far up north. His people stemmed from the lands where Erdbrecher mercenaries were as common as the cacti they snacked on.

Still, adopted as it were, he wished for nothing more than to fight for his nation. It was Cadria that had allowed him to bloom and prosper, to turn from a seedling to a single desert flower standing tall above the tundra. He'd never quite enlisted as a soldier. Preferring the adventurer's way of life, he'd wandered the land, slaying the monsters that roamed it for the hospitality he received in turn. Oftentimes, his journeys took him to the nation's farthest reaches, remote regions largely unmanaged by their lords. And he even went into the Langgbjerns each year to fight off the monsters that threatened the villages nearby.

That was how he served his country—how he paid back the people who'd welcomed him with open arms.

And it was with that same goal in mind, the goal of aiding his adopted people, that he scrutinized Durham's movements. He went over the former bandit's known attacks and formulated a number of strategies.

So on he proceeded, until a rabbit stepped up to the podium. The wooden artifact shrunk to match her size while the platform below her raised her to the average centaurian height. Her fancy dress implied that she belonged to the nobility, but the air about her was that of a soldier's.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. To those of you unfamiliar with the castle's grounds, welcome," she said. Her voice was clear, crisp, and commanding. "I am Astelia Illustra, Baroness of the Illustra domain, and as many of you are likely unaware, the newly appointed chairman of the Ministry of War. I may not be able to fill my predecessor's shoes or double as our general, but I will be overseeing this conflict and the selection process thereof."

It was all too easy for Leutgar to imagine the woman with a sword in place of the podium, her hair billowing in the wind as she stood upon a mountain of corpses. And perhaps, the scene was rooted in some amount of truth. Either way, the elf wasn't privy.

"As per the public notice, we will be selecting for skill in single combat. Selection, or perhaps the lack thereof, does not ascertain one's true efficacy on the field of battle. Still, I would like those who are chosen to pride themselves in their selection, for it remains the truth that they will stand among our nation's best duelis—"

The speech was interrupted by a series of violent crashes. One of the castle's walls was blown apart as a pair of meteors descended. The first landed square in the middle of the contenders' crowd, kicking up a cloud of dust as he landed on his back, while the second dove into his stomach feet first.

The tiny pursuer rained heavy blows upon her target immediately upon impact; from her mounted position, she used mainly the claws that grew from her spider-like lower body, jabbing at his skull without a hint of mercy.

"Die already, you piece of shit!" she screamed.

The scream was a natural consequence of the lizardman's resilience. Though his species was rare for a resident of the wintry northland, he was calibrated precisely as would any other Cadrian warrior. His flesh regenerated regardless of how often he was struck; not even the blows delivered to his brain were quite damning enough to end him.

It was no fault of the arachne's. Most warriors would fall from such trauma, and were he anyone else, there likely would have been a murder on castle grounds. The man, however, was fine, laughing even. He barely resisted, only sticking out his arms as if to resist a bout of tickling.

The rabbit in front of the podium coughed, speaking up only as the subtle jab failed to garner the combatants' attention.

"Lord Darius, Lady Ephemera, please stop. This is hardly the time." She gestured towards the onlookers with her eyes, but neither the lord nor the lady took notice.

"Like I care!" screamed the petite arachne. As one of the jumping spider subspecies, she stood just shy of a meter. "I'm not stopping until I kill this cheating bastard!

"I wasn't cheating. Gloria put me up to it."

"Lies!" She stabbed him in the throat, but the man simply sighed and spoke on, entirely unaffected.

"I've told you a thousand times. She enjoys watching me toy with other women."

"Shut that filthy mouth of yours before I rip out your tongue! My sister could never be such an incorrigible degenerate!"

"How about asking her yourself?" The lizardman sighed again before grabbing the arachne's claws just above the ankle. She tried to flail, but he held her in place, easily overpowering her as he sat back up and placed her down beside him. She tried lunging again, but he simply grabbed her by the face and kept her at bay. His arms were awfully long for one of his species, almost matching his two-meter height. Neither her claws nor her hands were able to reach him. "Sorry I'm late," he said, with a smirk. "I was looking to sign up."

The cottontail commander sighed. "Normally, I'd disqualify you on account of your tardiness. But unfortunately, I was explicitly instructed to allow your candidacy," she said. "Lady Ephemera, the same applies to you. I expect you'll be volunteering as well?"

"Fainmeaup!" She tried to say something, but Darius' fingers kept her words muffled. She flailed for another five seconds before losing her patience and tightening her grip on his wrist. The tattoos that covered her palm came alight and unleashed a wave of arcane magic that melted the lizardman's flesh. "Sign me up," she said, as she dropped to the floor. "I'm sorry we're late. Unfortunately, we happened to find each other along the way."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"We literally came from the same house," muttered Darius.

"You shut up," said Ephemera. She turned to the crowd and bowed. "Ladies and gentlemen, I'm terribly sorry for the display."

Leutgar frowned as he watched the two fighters join the mob. He almost couldn't believe that the two were looking to represent the country. Even if they were strong, they would do nothing for the nation's dignity or reputation. He would have to destroy them both, just to keep them from earning themselves a platform. For the elf, it would be easy. After all, he was one of the few to have survived the Llystletein system and emerged from the other end as a gifted combatant.

He sighed, shook his head, and returned his gaze to the podium, where the minister had resumed her speech. Though, not everyone was quite so kind as to pay attention. Case in point, the lady's superior, and the one person to whom she had wanted to convey her patriotism.

Virillius was looking over the Vel'khanese delegation instead, arms crossed as he contemplated voicing a suggestion.

"What do you say we make this a little more interesting?" In the end, he decided to voice the idea.

"How so?" asked the Vel'khanese queen.

"What do you think of sending one of yours into the mix?" He briefly glanced at his daughter. "It appears that we have an uneven number of participants, and I do believe it would be a pleasant surprise for our countrymen to find a tough contender from Vel'khan."

Arciel lightly tapped her fan against her chin. "I suppose I see the merit, and it is only fair that we show a card of ours, given our presence at this demonstration." She looked over the brigade's members. "Do we have any volunteers?"

"Oh! Me, me!" Sylvia, who was in her fox form and on Claire's head as usual, stood up on her hind legs and waved both her front paws.

"As you are not competing, I am afraid that would defeat the purpose," said Arciel.

"Awww…"

"I have no objections," said Virillius. "We aren't looking to scout your abilities, only inspire the soldiers to fight their hardest. Anyone sufficiently powerful will do and she clearly fits the bill."

"I object," said Claire. Not Rubia-Claire, but Claire-Claire.

"Oh, come on!" huffed Sylvia. "You never let me do anything fun!"

"Half of these will wind up as death battles," said Claire, before lowering her voice into a whisper. "And there's that thing with Vella."

"I'll be fine, you silly goat! No one down there is gonna be able to kill me. Heck, I'd probably be fine, even if they all ganged up on me at once."

"I'm ulting everyone," said Ragnar. "No point letting people die if this is just a qualifier. Or disqualifying anyone that uses fatal force since the whole point is to show off."

"See?" said Sylvia. "It'll be fine."

The lyrkress bit her lips.

"Besides, you're literally watching! If you're that worried, then you can always step in before anything goes wrong."

Claire paused for a moment before finally nodding her head. "Fine."

"Thanks Cl—" She nearly said her pet's name, but stopped short. "You're the best!" She gave the helmet a hug before hopping in front of Virillius. "So what do I do, just go down there?"

"Yes," he said. "I will have someone notify the minister." The king turned to his butler as the fox bounced down the hill. "Cleveland, have the shields raised all the way."

"Right away." Cleveland walked away without further comment, but the rubberneckers that made up the crowd immediately broke into a storm of discussion. They kept their eyes on the critter that had earned their king's approval, watching her every motion as she joined the other contestants.

Including Sylvia, there were seventy-two combatants in all. The matchups were to be determined by the administration; each contestant had their numbers, names, and classes recorded at the time of registration. The minister would then work with the rest of her staff and arrange four sets of duels. The first pairs were the only ones picked in advance, chosen from known registrants, so that the administrators could figure out the rest while they were locked in battle.

And having long announced his participation, Leutgar, the thirteenth candidate, was among the chosen. He was placed in the second arena and immediately provided with an opportunity to test his progress. The man standing opposite him was the second candidate—Julius Antonius Evander.

A grin crept up onto Leutgar's face. Julius was one of the men he'd been most looking forward to fighting. They were similar enough that he was hoping for a direct comparison. They were both speed-based fighters, and the elf was confident that he could run circles around the cottontail. The Royal Springblade was all about instantaneous acceleration. And while their bursts of speed were certainly impressive, they could never be sustained for long.

The elf briefly glanced at the other three arenas as everyone took their places. The first had Durham against the tiny arachne that was a public embarrassment, the third had a thorae-centaur halfbreed against the weird-looking clown, and the last had Marquis Ephesus facing off against a member of the royal guard.

They were all battles that demanded his whole-hearted attention.

Gripping both his weapons, the elf lowered his stance and gazed upon his foe. He would have to finish his fight as quickly as he could. The win conditions were the same as they would be during the proxy war. The only way to win, aside from forcing one's opponent to concede, was to put them in a state that would leave them unable. Unconsciousness or death, it didn't matter.

"Draw your weapons."

The elf pressed the buttons on his sheaths and released both his giant blades. At twice his height, they looked almost impossible for him to wield. And in fact, he'd struggled back in the day, but a combination of his Longsword Mastery skill and his heavy strength investment allowed him to overcome any would-be weaknesses.

It helped that his classes were modified precisely to bolster his numbers. The plentiful ability points derived from the Llystletein tag allowed him to adopt the strength of a berserker whilst remaining far faster than any other speed-typed warrior in his level range.

"Pay your respects," said the referee. "Fighters on the north side of the ring are to speak first."

"I am Leutgar Silverthorn," said the elf. "High Elf Mirage. Swordsman." It was unfortunate, but Leutgar was unable to achieve his fourth ascension prior to the event's commencement. He was close, only another thirty levels away.

"Julius Antonius Evander," returned his foe. "Aspect of Elastic Recoil. And likewise, a swordsman."

Leutgar opened his eyes wide, both because he was in shock, and to trigger his species' racial function. Surely enough, it reported that Julius was level 1000 on the dot. It was odd. At least glancing at his outward form, Julius didn't appear to be too obviously different from any of the other warrior rabbits. His legs seemed a bit more robust, but that was more so due to variance between individuals than it was a species change.

"Congratulations," said Leutgar. He was shocked, but soon shook his head and regained his confidence. Because at the end of the day, nothing had changed. All he needed to do was outspeed him and it was over.

"Thank you," replied the rabbit.

"Take your stances!" shouted the referee. Neither Leutgar nor Julius said another word.

Both lowered their hips and prepared to lunge.

And then, after what seemed like an eternity—

"Begin!"

—they kicked off the ground and clashed.

Leutgar tapped into the runes carved all over his body and activated the magic therein.

By his second step, he was coated in lightning.

By his third, he had effectively become it.

And by his fourth, he had lost his head.

Julius came to a stop behind him, his feet skidding against the floor, and his blade soaked in crimson.

It was just as the elf had wanted.

Their duel had been decided in an instant, leaving him all the time in the world he needed to watch the first couple battles from his spot in the sidelines.