Chapter 4


Enjoy! 

The Victor

Vill woke because he was being violently shaken. He jumped up and noticed right away that it was the guard who had been shaking him.

“Up with you!” the guard said. Vill obeyed, but nearly fell down in tiredness. The guard ran to the dresser and grabbed a flask. He forced the liquid down Vill’s throat; Vill suddenly felt vigor in him that he had never felt before. He remembered everything he needed to do. He walked out of the potion room into the training room. Everyone was on the ledge watching a match. It was the last match before the third round; Vill joined the others and watched it.

It seemed to be nearing an end: one of the opponents was striking with great skill and aim. Vill recognized this man to be Simion Rondin, a top choice to win the tournament. Vill did not know the name of the other; that though would not seem to be very important, since Simion was about to win.

Soon Simoin’s opponent breathlessly said “respite”. The crowd cheered loudly and stood up from their seats. The door opened and the equipment was thrown into the room.

“All in round two follow me,” said the guard. “Those in round three, stay here.”

Vill noticed something: there were four men missing. He supposed they were those who lost their matches.

The guard re-entered the room, and said, “Harold Marcus and Elarkin Stroner!” The two addressed hopped down from the bench and put on the equipment.

Soon they were on the field and the match had begun. This was the match that decided who one of the last four contenders would be. Harold was fighting much better than Elarkin in this match; he had successfully defended many of Elarkin’s attacks, and had dealt even more good blows himself. Now, he was finishing up the job by tackling and pinning Elarkin to the ground. Elarkin soon uttered the familiar word “respite” that had been heard many times throughout the day.

Morning had turned to evening as the sun was beginning to descend; it would soon be dark and the tournament would have to end. Fortunately, the third round was beginning, and the tournament would end before completely dark.

It was now time for the second match in the third round; the guard had said, “Vill Rosen and Horace Strow!” Vill and Horace stepped down from the stone bench and put on the very sweaty equipment piece by piece. They followed the guard out to the middle of the field. Again he announced the names, and ordered the match to begin. Vill had the upper hand this match, because he was well fit, while Horace Strow was short and fat. Stamina was the key to some matches; this match was the same.

It went on for at least thirty minutes, Vill trying different moves. There was one time where Vill pounced on the fallen blubbery man; this though proved unwise, because once he was on the vast fat belly he just slid off, giving Horace a chance to stand up.

Vill’s strategy was to fight long enough so that Horace would forget his move that had won him his first match. It appeared to be working; Horace looked like he could hardly stand, much less remember something that happened a few hours ago. Vill found his chance; he charged the large man, swinging his sword at Horace’s helm. Again, Horace took the bait. Vill charged him with his shield, and landed squarely on him.

“Respite!” said Horace immediately in a hoarse voice. “You win! You win! I’m exhausted!” Vill stood up and helped Horace up.

“Thanks,” Horace said. “I don’t think that you had in mind when you helped me up, that I was a two hundred and fifty pound man!” Vill laughed and shook hands with him; they then returned to the room.

 Everyone was laughing when they entered; “You just slid off!” said Harold Marcus who had been watching. “You almost had him!”

“Well, I prefer to give chances to people that have none,” said Vill humorously. They all laughed happily for a while, until Vill stopped.

“It is strange that though we are all competing for the same thing, eliminating whoever is in our way, we still consider each other friends,” said Vill. Everyone nodded in agreement, looking at Vill.

“It is true,” started Harold, “that though we want something great, our friendship is still greater.” Just then the guard came in; “Those in the previous round please take a flask each,” he said. (He was referring to the sac he had full of energy tonic.) Everyone did as addressed, and soon there was a new vigor in the air. Vill felt like he was to do the deeds of the world, one by one until finished. This vigor could be seen in the eyes of everyone, (save the guard.)

“Nicolas Strond and Simion Rondin!” yelled the guard. The two addressed took up the equipment and retreated to the field, for an exciting round.

“Here’s somthin’ I just noticed,” whispered Harold into Vill’s ear, “Nicolas is an arrogant man; the one who didn’t introduce himself to you. I’ve got a feeling that he’ll get his mind changed once Simion whips ‘im inta’ shape!” This kind of talk had lingered since the start of the match; Simion was a sort of hero to all that knew him, all save Vill. Vill had no intentions to favor a hero over his newly made friends, for Simion had never truly appealed to Vill. He seemed like the proud man who would act like a hero for those who adored him. \Vill did not keep company with these sorts of people, because they would not act like a true friend to him; they would only speak about themselves, trying to earn new “friends”.

“There they go!” shouted Horace, clearing Vill’s mind. “They’ve got some talent don’t they! Man, look at Simion jab!”

“But look at Nicolas!” said another whose name Vill did not know. “Why, he fights with more skill!”

“Yes,” said the other, “but his heart isn’t in it; he’s got no spirit!”

“Though Nicolas does not have the heart of gold, (soft but cannot be bent to breaking,) his sword will be the one to talk.”

“My friend, Simion’s skills with the sword and the vigor of his heart is ten times Nicolas’!” The other gave up, seeing that it was no use to compete any longer; his energy should be saved for his muscle, not his mouth. Meanwhile Simion indeed had the upper hand. He had Nicolas on his back, and was waiting for the word that everyone knew. Horace smirked at the other, knowing he had won.

The next few hours passed quickly; and before knowing it was his turn, Vill was out in the arena, ready to face off his new opponent.

Harold was strong, tough, a little short, and a very difficult opponent. The match went on, and little by little, Vill was given the upper hand. Soon he had Harold on his back, and was given the victory. More cheering, more praise. Vill’s greeted with congratulations in the training room, as his one of three competitors left.

Vill no longer thinks of his mother, and thinks instead of his own glory. He has decided to become a warrior.

Vill found that Simion would be his opponent. This meant nothing to Vill, for he was willing to do anything for his glory.

And then Vill saw him, his new enemy. Simion. Vill scowls and returns to watching the stars.

“Simion Rondin and Vill Rosen!” yells the guard. “You are the final contestants. Please ready yourself for the match.” Vill confidently steps down from the ledge, knowing that this match will decide the winner. He and Simion put on their gear, and take up their sword and shield.

The arena is unbearable; once they step in, the crowd starts cheering so loudly, that everyone’s ears are buzzing. The real warriors look very irritated, and are lifting their hands to their ears.

“Let the final match begin!” yells the guard. Simion attacks immediately, dealing a blow to Vill’s side. They fight for a while, Simion taking the upper hand. Vill has tried his strategy, but with no success. He cannot take Simion with brute force. Vill has stalled to long; Simion is on him in seconds, trying to bring Vill to the ground. Vill has just moments to think before he falls. Fall. That is the key. Immediately he stops struggling, and falls on his back. Simion falls down on him, but was not ready. Vill rolled over, pinning Simion down. Simion though, was not to give up so easily. Struggling with all his might, he nearly was able to break loose, but Vill only tightened his grip.

Vill felt like a child trying to bring down a fire dragon. Simion was strong, so Vill had much difficulty keeping him down.

After what seemed like hours of back breaking struggling and no surrender, Simion’s hoarse voice made a noise; at the same time, he stopped struggling against Vill. Vill let up, knowing he had won. Vill’s ears were no longer buzzing; they were ringing. The crowd was like a hoard of beasts, screeching and yelling with all their might. Vill’s mind was blurry, not taking in much, except that a crowd of people was carrying him off somewhere, and he was exhausted, and, he managed it into his head that he was a warrior; a brave man, who could fight off beasts of terror, and who could save people from evil beings.

He indeed was the man he had wanted to be all his life.

But then he caught sight of a figure, one with its face in its arms. Once lifting its head, Vill saw the figure was his mother.