Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump…
This was the only sound Lloyd heard during Michael's speech, as his heart violently pounded against his chest from the constant flow of adrenaline being pumped into his veins. As he climbed each step leading to the platform, it all began to dawn on him, the burden seemingly heavier than ever.
What if he lost? What then? Would he even be allowed to leave this place? Would he be captured by the Wixtons? What about the slaves? Would they be killed?
The never-ending flow of questions began to torment him relentlessly, as doubt and fear started to take ahold of his sanity. Despite facing the Emperor earlier with his newfound resolve, he recognized that he was still completely powerless here, a fact that bluntly fell upon him.
The only thing he controlled, right now, was… his image.
He had no strength, no prestige and no achievements. He was, for all intents and purposes, a decorative figurehead. And it sickened him. At this particular moment, he wished to be more, to be something that could actually get him out of here.
⁂
Alexander felt the hot and bloodied sand beneath his feet while reminiscing about his past. It had been so long since his last proper duel that he felt a fleeing tinge of nervousness within his chest.
This was it, the feeling he was looking for.
During his last, bedridden moments, he had only seen hallucinations of his past achievements and battles. He hadn't known why life had chosen to forsake him in such a way, but he had felt no regrets whatsoever, not even after his last, dying breath… Up until Lloyd had told him about his hidden son. He had tried his best to hide and repress it, but the news had truly shaken him to his core. One of his beloved poisoning him was one thing, as they competed for his affection, but he simply couldn't fathom not being told about his offspring, especially since it was the first and only one. To a man as pragmatic as him, it made no sense, and it felt like he had been robbed of a part of himself, one he never even knew he wanted.
The cloaked fighter, meanwhile, remained still, his stance that of a calm yet poised predator ready to strike. In each of his hands had appeared his swords, their steel blades gleaming with an eerie light, as if kissed by the spirits of battles long past.
This development made the former King come back to the present, curious as to why his opponent had already shown his hand. But although strategically premature from his point of view, he could already tell that he was much stronger than the United's instructors. He had felt it during the registration process and confirmed it now: this was not going to be easy.
Of course, he had not paid one iota of attention to DeLoris during all of this, instead deciding to put away his reminiscing for later and focus on the task at hand.
The cloaked figure, when seeing this, decided to let out terrifying bloodlust, a move that immediately made Alexander draw out his Zweihänder, its dark and awe-inspiring allure evoking a few isolated gasps in the crowd.
"... Merchant Lloyd has wagered, instead of currency or materials, the life of his very own fighter."
When this line reached his ears, the General couldn't help but a crack a vicious smile while the audience ridiculed them. They obviously weren't holding him in high regards, which he'd correct.
"With the stakes now revealed, let's reiterate the rules one last time: Everything but external help is permitted. LET'S BEGIN!"
With this last rousing declaration, the arena reached its fever pitch, transforming every spectator into a bloodthirsty, soulless ghoul. It was clear that only winners were acclaimed in this ruthless domain. But before the General moved, he saw that his adversary had lifted his hood, revealing his features. His hair, dark as the abyss, wildly flowed down his back while his eyes, sharp and piercing, held the wisdom of ages and the fire of a thousand battles. They were the color of the midnight sky, deep and endless, with flecks of silver that danced like stars in the night. His face, marked by the scars of his mercenary tales, told a story of resilience and strength. His jaw was set firm, and his lips a thin line, pressed together with determination and resolve. There was a grace to his features, a deadly beauty that spoke of a life lived on the edge. As he stood there, under the watchful gaze of the Sanguis, the dual-wielding fighter seemed to become one with the arena, a phantom draped in black armor, a warrior whose tale was woven with the threads of legend and lore. His aura, which had been mostly directed at Alexander so far, then exploded throughout the surroundings, covering every inch of the battleground before assaulting the former King's senses, the latter now in disbelief. This was a display of strength on a scale he had rarely seen, sending his instincts in an uncontrollable frenzy. Despite the massive chasm currently existing between his present and past self, he couldn't help but become… excited. Excited at the prospects of a fight truly meeting his standards.
With adrenaline coursing through his veins, his features contorted devilishly as his nasty perversions finally came to light. This was who he, Alexander of Macedonia, truly was. With his thirst for battle reaching its zenith, he simply couldn't wait to see his foe's expression when he'd put him beneath his feet. But before they engaged, the mercenary spoke.
"Alexander, was it? I've heard a lot about you. I just hope you'll at least entertain me."
His voice was smooth and resonant, each of his words deliberate and measured while carrying the weight of experience. But to the Conqueror and legendary figure, the only thing he heard was a dismissal, a sign of disrespect so grand he failed to contain his fury.
Me? Entertaining… you?
It had been a while since he had been so blatantly brushed aside, prompting a giggle that soon transformed into uncontrollable and sinister laughter.
The man who had been responsible for hundreds of thousands of deaths, the man whose name had made entire nations tremble and the man whose strategies had forever etched his name in the annals of History…
He had played the role of a bodyguard so far and had 'mostly' kept a low profile, but there was no need to do so here, not on this battlefield. It was like madness had washed over him, confusing both the commoners and nobles present. What the hell was going on down there?! Why had they not started fighting already? Even the mercenary started to question his mental state, almost pitying the poor merchant standing above him.
This was your bodyguard?
But after a few seconds, Alexander's laugh receded before finally, while keeping his head low, answering.
"Well, well… It's been so long… What's your name, soldier? No, you're no soldier… You're just a prostitute of war, one that only fights for money and has no concept of honor nor loyalty… In fact, I doubt knowing your name would make any difference, since I plan on beheading you anyway."
The vulgar provocation made the so far measured mercenary twitch. What had he just been called?
But before he could even realize the extent of the disrespect that had befallen him, he felt his influence get rebuked around the General, as if it had suddenly grown… scared. Instantly, Alexander raised his eyes to meet his, a vicious smile now plastered on his face. It was like another predator had entered the arena.
"We've waited long enough."
As the words left his lips, he detonated forward with speed and strength he hadn't yet shown, causing the sand beneath him to conically explode backwards.
Meanwhile, the mercenary, who was still processing the taunt, was completely taken aback by his foe's pace, as he had never expected such a monstrous figure to move this fast. It was as if all of his muscles were working in harmony, ultimately synergizing into perfect motion. This led him to hurriedly assume a low defensive stance and balance the weight evenly on the soles of his feet, thus allowing for quick movement. Paired with a relaxed grip that allowed for swift and fluid strokes, it was clear he knew he had lost the upper hand.
In a split second, Alexander had already crossed the 25 meters separating the two before, while only using his right arm and his immense momentum, recklessly swinging his gigantic sword at his neck. While whistling through the air, the mercenary immediately recognized the threat of the incoming blade, making him position both of his swords in a way to redirect its trajectory away from him. The effortless and masterful way in which he did so jumped to Alexander, who quickly reacted by using his remaining momentum to drop his left shoulder in an attempt to ram into him. Of course, the parry succeeded, with the comically large blade screaming against the two smaller ones before passing over the man's head and continuing aimlessly. But so was Alexander's follow up, whose shoulder fully connected, the resulting cracking sound reverberating through the arena as the mercenary was sent flying and violently colliding against the pillar supporting Thomas' platform, whose expression contorted. The crash had been so brutal that it completely quieted the Sanguis, with the spectators unable to grasp what had just happened.
After all, the commoners had only seen the immense man briefly disappear before a large cloud of smoke had risen on the opposite end, as if a side had already won.
"Don't fuck with me! I know you're far from down."
Alexander's booming voice suddenly shook them from their stupor, but it was nothing when compared to the eerie and maniacal laugh rising from the cloud itself.