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EA Chapter 21 - Let the Games Begin
🕑 Added 2025-05-19 22:57:27 +0000 UTCThe start of the Cadet’s Tournament was marked by an opening ceremony, presided over by the instructors of the Citadel who were congregated on a dais overlooking the cadets. And, at the head of the group, was the head of the Citadel: Master Yifang.
Luna had only seen the much-vaunted Arcanist a handful of times since she arrived at the Citadel, but even then only from afar. He was of average height, his brown hair tied back in a knot. His pinched, angular face was distinguished by a handful of reddish scales at the edges of his jaw. Some manner of beastkin, Luna noted.
The cadets stood in silence, all in formation, as Yifang gave a speech to them. “The Citadel has a time honoured tradition of running a cadet tournament for each new year of recruits. It is, we believe, a fine way to foster growth and competition among our people. We seek to bring out the best in our cadets, and the battles of a tournament always ignites the fire of youth inside of them.”
His cold, slitted eyes silently scanned the group. “There is, however, another reason for this competition, beyond merely inspiring growth and cultivating strength. I am aware that some of you are perhaps... anxious about the coming bouts. Stressed, even. This is entirely reasonable. For many of you, this will be a combat test far grander than what you are used to. This is by design.”
Luna fought the urge to roll her eyes. How frustrating it was, stuck among a bunch of fools being coddled.
“The life of an Elthremian soldier is a hard one, whether you are faced with the Mire or the Ashlands. By facing the stress of this tournament early in your tenure here, you are taking for first step into understanding the stress that awaits you.” He scanned the crowd, folding his arms behind his back. “Be willing to face challenges head on, to take risks you would normally fear to. And, win or lose, you will all emerge from this tournament stronger than when you entered.”
Applause filled the air, and the tournament began on one of the training platforms soon after. There were three ways for a cadet to win their bout.
The first, and perhaps most obvious, was to knock your opponent unconscious. The second method was to knock them out of the arena. Touching anything but the arena floor was considered an automatic ring out. Lastly, and likely most damning in the eyes of most cadets, was to restrain your opponent and force them to surrender.
The first bouts were from the cleric tournament, which naturally generated little interest in the audience. They were not a class entirely focused on defence and healing, but their offensive powers were naturally more limited than the others.
Nevertheless, Luna watched the battle unfold with a keen eye, paying particular attention when Romula took on her first opponent. Her bout was against Clyde Durrow, a skinny dark-skinned young man from the Sapphire Crabs. The fight was decently long, to be expected for a cleric fight, but Romula managed to eventually blind him with a well aimed flash, and then shoved him from the arena with all her might. She hadn’t even needed to drop her weights.
There was some muttering of discontent among the other cadets as the fight ended, disbelief that a Red Hawk had won a fight, and more than a few watchers said words to the effect of ‘lucky shot’, but Luna knew the truth of it. Sensing the two, there had been no doubt that Romula was always going to win. Even suppressed by her weights, her power had simply outmatched Clyde. Romula would have to have been a damn fool to lose.
When the last of the Cleric bouts ended for the day, the Ranger fights began. These were generally more exciting, but simultaneously harder to follow. Every fight between Rangers quickly devolved into explosions of smoke screens, both fighters darting from point to point with flourishes of speed, waiting for the other to make a mistake before trying to pounce on it.
Rema, Luna was pleased to see, had already entered the arena without her weights on. She bided her time, keeping her qi relatively low, as she parried Danta Mordias’ arrows away with her knife. She had moved about the arena at speed, testing and assessing Danta’s movements and accuracy, only occasionally countering.
To the untrained, it looked as if Danta was dominating the fight and running circles around Rema. But Luna knew the right of it early on. She was merely biding her time, watching and waiting with a sharpness in her expression that was uncommon to the normally giddy twin.
Danta was fast, certainly, but her movements were predictable. Anyone paying attention would quickly see the pattern in how she rushed about the arena, leaping from one corner to the other. And, on one such leap, Rema had made her move.
She spun with uncanny quickness, her qi surging in a sudden and intense rush, and clipped Danta in the side with an arrow that exploded with a great burst of air. The power of the blast was enough to knock Danta out of the air, causing her to thud onto the dirt just outside the arena. Her arm had been broken, and the Citadel’s medics had been quick to see to her after Rema was declared the victor.
Rema, for her part, got through the whole fight with only a few cuts and bruises.
“What in damnation?” one cadet muttered, only a few seats from where Luna sat. “Since when could a Red Hawk fight decently?”
“Got lucky, like her sister,” the boy beside him said, but he sounded uncertain.
Luna smirked. “Not luck. They were just better,” she said.
The boys looked at her, irritation writ large on their faces. “You’re their new girl, yeah?” one of them asked.
“That’s right.”
The second boy grunted. “Don’t go getting cocky. Your loser squad won’t get far.”
“We’ll see,” Luna replied, offering them a cryptic smile that only seemed to infuriate the two of them further.
Then came the Arcanist matches. The first few were flashy, unleashing waves of blinding light in a myriad of configurations. Fire meeting ice, light blasting shadow, wood clashing against steel. Luna made note of each technique she saw, but found none that she didn’t have a comparable counterpart in her own mental grimoire.
And then the time came for her own match.
“Good luck, Luna,” Syri said, giving the shorter girl a pat on the back.
“Try not to die,” Kiharu said flatly.
Luna rolled her eyes, making for the walkway that led to her side of the platform. “I’ll be fine,” she said flatly. Her opponent, Lethe Deskarte, was already waiting for her. She was an inch or two taller than Luna, a touch more muscular under her uniform too. Her golden hair was shaved into a short mohawk, perched atop her head like the plumage of a cockatoo.
“Alcett,” she said in a low, wary voice.
“Deskarte.”
The referee, squat and muscular, moved to the northern edge of the platform and watched them with a hawkish gaze. He always stood out of range during the bouts, but Luna had sensed his qi and seen his speed from the stands. If any cadet were to do anything to risk the life of another in these bouts, he’d stop it in an instant.
“You may begin!” he shouted, his voice carrying across the arena like a gong, calling a hush to the baying crowd.
Luna took a few steps forward and then stopped, parting her hands to either side of her in an open invitation. She smiled, seeing the discomfort that flitted across Lethe’s face.
“What in damnation are you doing?” she growled, her aura rising around her like streams of golden fire.
“Giving you a free shot.” Luna’s grin broadened, her rune thrumming on the crook of her elbow. “Go ahead. Make your move.”
