Chapter 107: Blooded
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Chapter 107: Blooded
Blooded
Lothar's staff came sweeping out against Martel the moment that Tibert gave the signal for the fight to begin. Near panicking, Martel barely raised his staff in defence, saving himself a heavy blow to the head.
His opponent quickly followed up, clearly experienced with his weapon. He launched a series of attacks that flowed smoothly, and Martel struggled to keep up with the high rhythm.
When sparring with Maximilian, there had always been a limit to how much pressure placed on Martel. Even when fighting with Cheval during those early lessons of empowerment magic, his tormentor had never attacked at full strength, preferring to toy with Martel and make a spectacle of him.
No such considerations here. Lothar attacked every opening, only relenting if he took a step back to regain proper footing before striking again. Martel had never fought with a staff before where his opponent was putting every effort into defeating him, quickly and decisively.
While the novice had certainly been in scraps before, most notably against a Tyrian berserker, those experiences did not help him fight back in these circumstances. He could not use fire to make Lothar regret his aggression, nor throw a golden chain around him to wither his power away. Martel could only use magic to protect or empower himself, neither of which he had achieved with any success against Maximilian under much less pressure.
But if previous encounters did not offer aid on what to do physically, they might help mentally. To begin with, Martel had been in worse straits. He had survived a berserker and being kidnapped by soldiers. He was not in genuine danger here, not like what he had already suffered and overcome. Martel would not be beaten so easily. He began to fight back.
The next time that Lothar retreated, Martel stood ready. He lashed out against his opponent's blind side, calling on his magic to empower his strength and land a hefty blow on the shoulder. The crowd erupted with excitement as Lothar staggered, spurring the stableboy on.
The retaliation came swifter than Martel could anticipate or defend against. Extended from his own attack, he could not withdraw in time. The old veteran's staff came swinging through the air to smash against Martel's temple and sent him hurling to the ground.
His vision turned black for a moment. The cacophony of the crowd pierced his ears, amplifying the ringing inside his skull. He could smell blood, or taste it, or both.
Martel struggled to think, to determine what he should do. If he got on his feet, his vision still blurry, he knew to expect another blow just like this, and he felt nauseated.
But if he stayed down, that was the end. He would not get a second fight. He would have failed his assignment, and the cold-hearted lady of the copper lanes was sure to punish him for it, getting him thrown out of the Lyceum.
Grasping his staff next to him, Martel staggered on his feet. He finally remembered his sole advantage and summoned his shield for protection, however feeble. It did nothing, but the situation proved less dire than anticipated, as the expected attack did not come against his head. Instead, Lothar hit him on the arm, which smarted, but nothing worse. Regaining proper footing, Martel defended himself.
He had been hesitant to call upon his magic, afraid to give himself away, but clearly, the alternative was a humiliating defeat with barely any resistance shown. When he got the chance to attack, Martel poured empowered strength into his staff and struck.
Lothar intercepted as expected, but the sheer force of the blow pushed him back and off-balance. Still letting magic flow through his body, Martel increased his speed to strike before his opponent could ready himself, smashing against the shinbone.
~
Martel left the tavern through a backdoor, avoiding the crowds in the front rooms, and found Maximilian waiting for him. "Well fought!"
"I didn't win." Speaking the words summoned disappointment. If Martel had won, he would at least have had all the money for Shadi and something to show for his torment. The realisation that he would have to do this again appeared in full force, driving away his fleeting sense of relief that the night was over.
"There is always next time," the mageknight remarked prosaically, which only depressed Martel further.
"Let's just get home." They set into motion, walking down the alleys of the harbour district.
They had not come far before a voice hailed them from behind. "Good masters, wait one moment!"
"If this is a mugging, you deal with it," Martel said with a tired voice.
"Yes, yes," Maximilian replied impatiently, one hand on the hilt of his dagger as they turned around.
The speaker approached them, looking like any ordinary worker from the harbour. When he had come so close that Martel, despite his weary state, felt ready to blast him with wind, the man finally spoke again. "Kerra sends her regards, glad to see you sticking to the bargain."
"A pleasant description for extortion," the mageknight scoffed.
"I'm just here to deliver a message. Kerra suggests you walk home through the copper lanes after your fights."
"That'll take twice as long," Martel complained.
"Why?" Maximilian asked brusquely.
"If anyone gets curious about the man underneath the mask, don't make it easy for them to follow you home." The messenger shrugged. "Seems foolish to take other precautions, but leave this door wide open."
The novice and the acolyte looked at each other. Martel sighed and turned towards the slums. "Let's go."
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Chapter 107: Blooded
Blooded
Lothar's staff came sweeping out against Martel the moment that Tibert gave the signal for the fight to begin. Near panicking, Martel barely raised his staff in defence, saving himself a heavy blow to the head.
His opponent quickly followed up, clearly experienced with his weapon. He launched a series of attacks that flowed smoothly, and Martel struggled to keep up with the high rhythm.
When sparring with Maximilian, there had always been a limit to how much pressure placed on Martel. Even when fighting with Cheval during those early lessons of empowerment magic, his tormentor had never attacked at full strength, preferring to toy with Martel and make a spectacle of him.
No such considerations here. Lothar attacked every opening, only relenting if he took a step back to regain proper footing before striking again. Martel had never fought with a staff before where his opponent was putting every effort into defeating him, quickly and decisively.
While the novice had certainly been in scraps before, most notably against a Tyrian berserker, those experiences did not help him fight back in these circumstances. He could not use fire to make Lothar regret his aggression, nor throw a golden chain around him to wither his power away. Martel could only use magic to protect or empower himself, neither of which he had achieved with any success against Maximilian under much less pressure.
But if previous encounters did not offer aid on what to do physically, they might help mentally. To begin with, Martel had been in worse straits. He had survived a berserker and being kidnapped by soldiers. He was not in genuine danger here, not like what he had already suffered and overcome. Martel would not be beaten so easily. He began to fight back.
The next time that Lothar retreated, Martel stood ready. He lashed out against his opponent's blind side, calling on his magic to empower his strength and land a hefty blow on the shoulder. The crowd erupted with excitement as Lothar staggered, spurring the stableboy on.
The retaliation came swifter than Martel could anticipate or defend against. Extended from his own attack, he could not withdraw in time. The old veteran's staff came swinging through the air to smash against Martel's temple and sent him hurling to the ground.
His vision turned black for a moment. The cacophony of the crowd pierced his ears, amplifying the ringing inside his skull. He could smell blood, or taste it, or both.
Martel struggled to think, to determine what he should do. If he got on his feet, his vision still blurry, he knew to expect another blow just like this, and he felt nauseated.
But if he stayed down, that was the end. He would not get a second fight. He would have failed his assignment, and the cold-hearted lady of the copper lanes was sure to punish him for it, getting him thrown out of the Lyceum.
Grasping his staff next to him, Martel staggered on his feet. He finally remembered his sole advantage and summoned his shield for protection, however feeble. It did nothing, but the situation proved less dire than anticipated, as the expected attack did not come against his head. Instead, Lothar hit him on the arm, which smarted, but nothing worse. Regaining proper footing, Martel defended himself.
He had been hesitant to call upon his magic, afraid to give himself away, but clearly, the alternative was a humiliating defeat with barely any resistance shown. When he got the chance to attack, Martel poured empowered strength into his staff and struck.
Lothar intercepted as expected, but the sheer force of the blow pushed him back and off-balance. Still letting magic flow through his body, Martel increased his speed to strike before his opponent could ready himself, smashing against the shinbone.
~
Martel left the tavern through a backdoor, avoiding the crowds in the front rooms, and found Maximilian waiting for him. "Well fought!"
"I didn't win." Speaking the words summoned disappointment. If Martel had won, he would at least have had all the money for Shadi and something to show for his torment. The realisation that he would have to do this again appeared in full force, driving away his fleeting sense of relief that the night was over.
"There is always next time," the mageknight remarked prosaically, which only depressed Martel further.
"Let's just get home." They set into motion, walking down the alleys of the harbour district.
They had not come far before a voice hailed them from behind. "Good masters, wait one moment!"
"If this is a mugging, you deal with it," Martel said with a tired voice.
"Yes, yes," Maximilian replied impatiently, one hand on the hilt of his dagger as they turned around.
The speaker approached them, looking like any ordinary worker from the harbour. When he had come so close that Martel, despite his weary state, felt ready to blast him with wind, the man finally spoke again. "Kerra sends her regards, glad to see you sticking to the bargain."
"A pleasant description for extortion," the mageknight scoffed.
"I'm just here to deliver a message. Kerra suggests you walk home through the copper lanes after your fights."
"That'll take twice as long," Martel complained.
"Why?" Maximilian asked brusquely.
"If anyone gets curious about the man underneath the mask, don't make it easy for them to follow you home." The messenger shrugged. "Seems foolish to take other precautions, but leave this door wide open."
The novice and the acolyte looked at each other. Martel sighed and turned towards the slums. "Let's go."
Chapter 107: BloodedBloodedLothar's staff came sweeping out against Martel the moment that Tibert gave the signal for the fight to begin. Near panicking, Martel barely raised his staff in defence, saving himself a heavy blow to the head.His opponent quickly followed up, clearly experienced with his weapon. He launched a series of attacks that flowed smoothly, and Martel struggled to keep up with the high rhythm.When sparring with Maximilian, there had always been a limit to how much pressure placed on Martel. Even when fighting with Cheval during those early lessons of empowerment magic, his tormentor had never attacked at full strength, preferring to toy with Martel and make a spectacle of him.No such considerations here. Lothar attacked every opening, only relenting if he took a step back to regain proper footing before striking again. Martel had never fought with a staff before where his opponent was putting every effort into defeating him, quickly and decisively.While the novice had certainly been in scraps before, most notably against a Tyrian berserker, those experiences did not help him fight back in these circumstances. He could not use fire to make Lothar regret his aggression, nor throw a golden chain around him to wither his power away. Martel could only use magic to protect or empower himself, neither of which he had achieved with any success against Maximilian under much less pressure.But if previous encounters did not offer aid on what to do physically, they might help mentally. To begin with, Martel had been in worse straits. He had survived a berserker and being kidnapped by soldiers. He was not in genuine danger here, not like what he had already suffered and overcome. Martel would not be beaten so easily. He began to fight back.The next time that Lothar retreated, Martel stood ready. He lashed out against his opponent's blind side, calling on his magic to empower his strength and land a hefty blow on the shoulder. The crowd erupted with excitement as Lothar staggered, spurring the stableboy on.The retaliation came swifter than Martel could anticipate or defend against. Extended from his own attack, he could not withdraw in time. The old veteran's staff came swinging through the air to smash against Martel's temple and sent him hurling to the ground.His vision turned black for a moment. The cacophony of the crowd pierced his ears, amplifying the ringing inside his skull. He could smell blood, or taste it, or both.Martel struggled to think, to determine what he should do. If he got on his feet, his vision still blurry, he knew to expect another blow just like this, and he felt nauseated.But if he stayed down, that was the end. He would not get a second fight. He would have failed his assignment, and the cold-hearted lady of the copper lanes was sure to punish him for it, getting him thrown out of the Lyceum.Grasping his staff next to him, Martel staggered on his feet. He finally remembered his sole advantage and summoned his shield for protection, however feeble. It did nothing, but the situation proved less dire than anticipated, as the expected attack did not come against his head. Instead, Lothar hit him on the arm, which smarted, but nothing worse. Regaining proper footing, Martel defended himself.He had been hesitant to call upon his magic, afraid to give himself away, but clearly, the alternative was a humiliating defeat with barely any resistance shown. When he got the chance to attack, Martel poured empowered strength into his staff and struck.Lothar intercepted as expected, but the sheer force of the blow pushed him back and off-balance. Still letting magic flow through his body, Martel increased his speed to strike before his opponent could ready himself, smashing against the shinbone.~Martel left the tavern through a backdoor, avoiding the crowds in the front rooms, and found Maximilian waiting for him. "Well fought!""I didn't win." Speaking the words summoned disappointment. If Martel had won, he would at least have had all the money for Shadi and something to show for his torment. The realisation that he would have to do this again appeared in full force, driving away his fleeting sense of relief that the night was over."There is always next time," the mageknight remarked prosaically, which only depressed Martel further."Let's just get home." They set into motion, walking down the alleys of the harbour district.They had not come far before a voice hailed them from behind. "Good masters, wait one moment!""If this is a mugging, you deal with it," Martel said with a tired voice."Yes, yes," Maximilian replied impatiently, one hand on the hilt of his dagger as they turned around.The speaker approached them, looking like any ordinary worker from the harbour. When he had come so close that Martel, despite his weary state, felt ready to blast him with wind, the man finally spoke again. "Kerra sends her regards, glad to see you sticking to the bargain.""A pleasant description for extortion," the mageknight scoffed."I'm just here to deliver a message. Kerra suggests you walk home through the copper lanes after your fights.""That'll take twice as long," Martel complained."Why?" Maximilian asked brusquely."If anyone gets curious about the man underneath the mask, don't make it easy for them to follow you home." The messenger shrugged. "Seems foolish to take other precautions, but leave this door wide open."The novice and the acolyte looked at each other. Martel sighed and turned towards the slums. "Let's go."
