Misadventures Incorporated

Somehow, I was more successful as a hippo than most other things. My fourth life, I was a goldfish who met an untimely end before a kitten's paw. My fifth, I was a bird that never broke free from his egg. And my sixth, I was a mayfly, existing only for the briefest of moments.

It took until the seventh for me to see even the slightest success.

I figured I was screwed from the moment I spawned. I was a young cow out on a pasture. To the farmer, I was but another belonging, something that he would take out back and make into a piece of veal.

But I was lucky.

He tripped when he led me down the stairs and provided a chance at reprisal.

The other zeta reticulans ruled his death an accident and I was allowed to return to my mother. Still, I was nothing but a piece of meat on four legs. I figured that it was futile, that nothing I did would allow me to overcome the difference between farmer and farmee. Still, I broke free from my cage again when I met the farmer's son, gored him with my budding horns, and stained my coat with his bright green blood.

And in doing so, discovered that the system's influence was stronger than expected.

The next ones to visit did so with blasters in hand. But by hiding in the barn, right by the staircase, I was able to ambush and eliminate them as well.

So on and so forth, I grew stronger, until they could contain me no longer.

I broke free from their cages, tearing apart the glass with a swing of the horn. I ran across the lands, forging ahead on my own.

Somehow, by destroying their farms and razing their towns, I was able to ascend, to become powerful enough to fight and struggle against the alien monsters that littered their world.

But then, he came.

The man who'd ended my very first life.

And again, took me between his jaws.

___

It was the day of the proxy war's first battle. People began filing into the colosseum an hour after sunrise. Most were already well-fed, but those who weren't either visited the colosseum's cafeteria or purchased meals from the vendors running around the massive arena.

The building expanded to accommodate the surge in guests, sprouting new layers and seats each time it neared its full capacity. By the time the hour was up, it had grown twentyfold and become large enough to tower over everything but the temples and castle. It was a fault of the head count. The number of spectators had further skyrocketed yet again, doubling as more guests arrived from the nation's distant borders.

There was, after all, no such thing as a Cadrian willing to miss the spectacle, and not all were quite fortunate enough to get away from their jobs before the festivities began. It was a trend sure to continue for at least another three days. Though the people were well accustomed to traveling long distances each year, Cadria was an incredibly vast nation and not every family could march at a military cadence. It was in part to accommodate those with children and the elderly that the proxy war was structured the way that it was; keeping the most exciting duels towards the rear end of the conflict would ensure that the slower travelers missed out on as little as possible.

The opening performance began as soon as the clock struck eight. The sky suddenly darkened. Jet-black clouds swept across the heavens, making it almost impossible for anyone to see anything more than six feet in front of them. Those who knew of the standard signal—most Cadrians—immediately fell silent. And though thoroughly confused, many of the foreign guests soon took the hint and did the same.

It was only as the noise fell to a reasonable level that the performance continued. The clouds parted just enough to allow a single ray to shine upon the arena. It fell atop a lone knight, a female centaur with flowing blonde locks and a pair of brilliant white wings. Trumpets and drums began to blare as her hair danced into the wind, a heroic melody that ended as another centaur walked up behind her and smacked her in the back of the head.

"How many times have I told you!? Stop playing with the godsdamned merchandise!" The deep, booming voice came from a tall, bulkier horse. The greying old man sighed as he grabbed the girl by the collar and dragged her away.

The set sprung up around them as they moved, revealing that they'd started out in front of a weapon shop. It morphed into a smithie when they passed through a door in the back of the building, where the girl was handed a hammer, as well as the spear that she had left half-forged.

Such was the start of "The Apprentice Smith," a classic Cadrian odyssey about a dreamer who became a hero. For the next hour, the actors pranced around the arena, leveraging the terraformer to produce the various sets and pieces they needed for their play. Only as the curtain rose on the first of the seven acts, after the girl helped ward off an attack on her village, did the sky begin to clear.

Octavia stepped out onto the stage instead. She wore a thin white gown that perfectly contemplated her bluish-white fur and adorned her hair with a giant lily.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming! That, again, was the Soprana Theatre Troop. The other six acts will play out over the course of the festival," she said. "Of course, while I'm certain we are all invested in Valeria's story, there is another, more pressing tale to tell today, a clash of forces, the likes of which this arena has hardly ever encountered. For, today, one of Cadria's most powerful duelists will do battle with one of Vel'khan's."

She smiled and waited for the crowd to settle.

"Representing our humble nation, we have a warrior from the past millennium, a loyal servant to a retired warlord, and a soldier who once fought by our God-King's side. He is the bowman who needs no arrows, the butler whose fists are stained in red, and the once guardian of the western front. Please welcome, Sir Graham of the Old Marinus March!"

Graham

Health: 7347199 (100%)

Mana: 267216 (100%)

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Racial Class: Battleborn High Elf Ancient - Level 864

Primary Class: Royal Cadrian Deathfist Tyrant - Level 1916

Secondary Class: Rangeless Ranger Captain - Level 2681

Tertiary Class: Perfect Butler - Level 3411

Quaternary Class: Royal Cadrian Skyrider Lieutenant - Level 1052

Notable Equipment: Sword of the Stolen Storm (Quality: 4112), Darkhide Bone Bow (Quality: 934), Unfathomably Cheap Suit (Quality: 0)

The old elf entered the arena to a loud cheer. He was dressed in his usual attire—an old butler's garb too sun-damaged and worn down to be presentable. Not everything he had on his person was old and ragged, however. His pure white gloves were hot off the loom, the bow on his back was newly strung, and the sword on his waist almost looked freshly minted.

Graham didn't respond to or otherwise acknowledge the crowd. He simply walked to the center of the stage, met Octavia with a standard, professional greeting, and briefly shook her hand.

"On Vel'khan's side, we have a member of the elusive, myraen species. She is known as the scourge of the sea, one of the two heads of the wolf that claimed the Ryllian as her bounty. She is the ruthless pirate queen who takes whatever and whomever she wishes, and the one whose name mothers repeat to strike fear into their children's hearts. She is Lana Penhorn, Queen of the Penhorn pirates."

Lana Penhorn

Health: 4567138 (100%)

Mana: 649772 (100%)

Racial Class: Stormblessed Myraen Conqueror - Level 983

Primary Class: Ryllian Pirate Queen Executioner - Level 1711

Secondary Class: Langgbjern Realmlocker - Level 633

Tertiary Class: Fellmist Shipcrusher - Level 2636

Quaternary Class: Moonblessed Skysplitter - Level 1173

Notable Equipment: Illustrious Evernight Cleaver (Quality: 13019)

Unlike Graham, who had walked with confident, sturdy steps, Lana tottered out of the gladiator gate, nearly falling on her face three times as she made her way across the ring. Staying up two nights was hardly enough to exhaust one of her level, but she was clearly so tired that even her eyebags had eyebags. Her face was red and swollen, and taking a careful look revealed that her whole body was shaking. The snack in her hands, a large, chocolate pretzel, was the only thing keeping her going.

She was so exhausted that Octavia nearly asked her if she was hurt, or if perhaps she had been subjected to foul play. Still, the crowd cheered. If anything, her state only led to an even louder reception. The audience loved the idea that she had survived an underhanded interruption and made her way to the arena regardless.

The truth of the matter was that it was all Panda's fault, of course, but that was something the rest of the world had no way of knowing.

"Miss Penhorn, do you have anything to say to your opponent or the audience?"

Though somewhat flustered, Octavia looked at Lana with a forced smile and continued as if nothing was wrong.

"No." Lana shook her head as she finished her snack and wiped the crumbs off her face with her sleeve. She was dressed in the sort of clothes that she'd once worn aboard her ship—a loose linen shirt, a large, tricorn hat, and a set of breeches, topped with a leather jacket sporting pockets aplenty. They were sourced from the pirate sitting in the VIP guest box. Tessa, her sister, had arrived in Valencia just the previous night with the delivery in hand.

"What about you, Sir Graham?"

"There is one statement I would like to make," said the old butler. "It will be lengthy. May I?"

"Of course," said Octavia.

"Thank you." Graham cleared his throat with a cough and scanned the crowd. "To the good people of Cadria and Vel'khan. Thank you for attending this event today. Before we begin, I wish to inform you all of the Alliance's underhanded treachery. As you know, the Marinus march is one of the many that dot the western border. And in recent years, it has come to be infected with the Alliance's narcotics. This, by itself, is nothing new." It was a long winded speech, more of a rant than anything, but it was spoken in an elegant tongue that captured the audience's rapt attention. "They have always attempted to spread their illicit goods across the border. But over the past two years, they've developed a substance far deadlier than any other. It is called Viselagg, and it is addictive enough to capture any single warrior with but a single dose. And just a few dozen will prevent one from ever waking again. Artificers, doctors, priests, I beg you all to join me in search of a cure. For our house's dear Diana has fallen victim to its grasp and lays eternally in bed. It is for her that I stand on this stage today."

He glanced briefly toward the VIP box, at the person he'd spent the qualifiers staring at, before returning his eyes to his opponent.

"Wow! That was quite a speech," said Octavia. "Do you have any words for your opponent?"

"We already spoke during the party two nights prior," said Graham. "All that's left is to clash and see which of us fortune happens to favour."

"In that case, let's get right down to it," said Octavia. She waved an arm, prompting the arena to change and morph as she was raised outside the barrier.

A salty sea breeze wafted through the arena as water burst from the ground. Everything but the fighters were soaked, for a large wooden structure appeared beneath their feet and rose with the terraformed tide.

"The map chosen for this battle is a new design, freshly put together by the administration, purpose-built to draw out both fighters' full potential. Built from the toughest kasterbrine treant wood, it is a perfect recreation of one of the few seafaring warships still in active service. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome aboard the HMS Trident."

The ship's name stemmed from its peculiar shape. Its tip had three prongs, each of which had a large iron spearhead attached for the sole purpose of ramming. Overall, the massive seacraft was a hundred meters across and three times as long. It sported nine different towers, each of which was adorned by a billowing flag, featuring not only the nation's spear-laden crest, but also the emblems of the warlords who ruled over the easternmost lands.

Cannons were mounted all around its hull, not only the physical kinds, which could blast large missiles almost a meter in diameter, but also magical blasters powered by the ship's engine. And of course, being a Cadrian ship, it had a massive catapult as well—something to launch soldiers across the void and at the enemy.

There were even depth charges sitting alongside the guns, ready to be deployed at a moment's notice. Though, relatively speaking, they were fairly primitive, relying primarily on magical triggers for detonation.

Though its primary source of propulsion was, likewise, magical, the ship also came with a whole fleet of sails. There were dozens of them stacked on top of the deck, all ready to capture the full force of the wind. A single gust was all it would take to ferry the vessel across the sea.

Said sea was brimming with life. All manner of creature swam through its artificial depths. Sharks, tuna, and kraken, just to name a few. They were not true living things, but like the Great Tree crafted during the previous iteration, mere emulations created by the terraformer.

That much was clear from how leisurely they swam through the violent waters. They carried on their merry way, mere projections, decorations to adorn the scene while giant, multi-metre waves slammed into the hull, violently rocking it from all directions.

Lana twitched as she watched her opponent nearly lose his balance.

Somewhere out in the greater universe, Panda was laughing his ass off, cackling at the top of his lungs at all her wasted effort. She was so annoyed she almost wanted to scream, but settled for tightening her grip on her axe as the planks were rearranged beneath the combatants. One was moved to each side of the ship. The distance between them was far greater than the standard hundred paces, but it was hardly an issue; neither combatant cared much for ranged attacks.

Lana grabbed a cookie out of one of her pockets and quickly crammed it into her mouth. It was a delicious, mouth-watering sample whose flavour was further enhanced by a strong liquor. Everything she needed to regain her calm.

"Take your stances!"

And then, with one last crashing wave, came the ring of the bell.

"Let the battle begin!"