Corrupt Light Dragon

Chapter 3: Of Monsters in Tournaments

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I took a deep breath. Ah yes, come here my pretty ducats, come to mama! It’s a shame though that Noirxus’ preliminaries were held in a different location. I wanted to see his opponent get beat up, I meant cheer, cheer for Noirxus.

The tournament was set in a simple single elimination bracket where the order was decided by drawing lots. The bracket was already designed so all the players have to do was grab a number pin from the officials and proceed to their respective arena. The preliminaries were not done in the coliseum arena like I first thought. It was done in vacant buildings sprinkled throughout the city that already contained stages used as underground fighting and betting arenas. This way, the city could accommodate multiple fights and cater to a ton of gamblers in a single day. Had the preliminaries been held in the arena, only the rich who could afford the seats would attend. They might not even attend to watch just a bunch of weaklings slugging each other. There was no money in there. Therefore, the preliminaries were used to extort money and at the same time, entertain the poor people. And the more people attend, the higher the bets go, and the richer the city funds become. The city’s leader was absolutely brilliant. If we met, we would really get along.

But a stage is a stage. People attend to watch a good fight and cheer at another person’s suffering. That is all there is to it. And sometimes the more entertaining the fighter is, the more people bet for that fighter, and where the money goes, the hearts of the judges follow. So what is left for a fighter to do but to entertain the masses?

I climbed the stage in that mindset and surveyed my opponent. He looked like a simple average man or student but obviously a beginner in sword fighting or just fighting in general. Definitely the opposite of Noirxus or myself. Like most amateurs, he held his sword like he was holding a heavy log – crude and tight. His stance was full of openings if one could even call his dramatic pose a stance. He looked at me from head to toe and sneered, his thoughts and actions clearly filled with male chauvinism.

Poor soul. You must have done something to anger the Heavens to have them send you to me. For your type, I don’t even need to draw my sword. That would be like cutting a twig with an axe. No, for someone like you, good old hand-to-hand combat would do.

“Why are women allowed in this tournament?” my opponent yelled at the two judges. “They taint this event with their soft bodies and breasts! If this is my opponent, I should win by default!”

“Look at you, complaining like a nagging housewife,” I said in a bored tone. “You’re more in touch with your feminine side than I am.” A chorus of laughter surrounded us.

“You! How dare you speak of me that way! How dare you speak in my presence at all! Do you know who I am?” he demanded, pointing his finger at me angrily.

“Oh please do go on,” I smiled pleasantly. When he really did go on talking, I rushed in and shut him up with a good roundhouse kick to his jaw, followed by a lunge and a backward elbow jab to his chest. He fell on the floor with a dull thud, a sound more welcome than his incessant prattling.

“First rule of combat, don’t mess with me!” I said, stepping on his fallen form. “Second rule of combat, you shut up.” My point emphasized with a stomp and a sharp exhale. “Now get up,” he got a kick to the side, “and I’ll gently beat into you the rest of the rules – like a real woman.”

I made sure my moves were flashy and attention grabbing but trying to cram all the moves I know in one person without looking too brutal was very hard. I mean, I could knock the guy out in one punch but I have to hold back, enough to keep him conscious so I can display my other moves. By the end of the fifth rule of combat, which was I don’t show mercy, he was begging for mercy. Of course he fought back with commendable effort – with my permission – but I made sure to at least snicker at each blocked punch or missed sword swing. It’s vengeance for all the women he looked down upon. In a last desperate attempt, he dove for the outside of the stage. I grabbed the collar of his shirt and contemplated on letting him go or beating him some more. A glance of the judges’ pale and frightened faces was all it took for him to land ungracefully on the floor. He then scrambled away screaming and crying while the judges could only sigh in relief.