Legend of the Spellthief

Logan, Marcus, Amalia, and the whole guild were walking proudly down the streets of Gauntlet, all wearing newly crafted capes with the V.I.P guild symbol emblazoned on the back. Several other groups flanked them on all sides, wearing similar capes with varying guild symbols, and a few adventurers repping no such guild association.

The capital city was loud and boisterous, almost all the villagers were gossiping about the coming entertainment at the coliseum grounds. Their chatter was only interrupted by magical explosions in the sky that replicated fireworks, and the roars of monsters for interim combat.

Reaching the 160th day of Logan’s arrival into Avanar, this was quite the spectacle to celebrate the near half-year anniversary. An excitement unlike any other welled up in the Spellthief’s stomach, his cheeks hurting as if he was undergoing a sour candy challenge as he held back a smile.

“Go get ‘em, Phasing Hunter!”

“Crush those caster-haters!”

“Blessed Devout! Do your best!”

Cheers turned into applause for Logan and Marcus, the pair having gained a shining reputation with the capital from both hunter work and other tasks they took on as classed beings.

It wasn’t just about them, however, as many others called out other titles such as “Swift Quilt” and “Demon Drinker” also prevailed amongst the praise.

Moving into the sign-up area of the coliseum halls, the trio and a few other guildies, Castore, Alice, Jayd, and Shanin, all signed up for their own brackets. The lower-ranked adventurers had undergone reassessments a few days ago, so there was no issue there. Logan’s improved rank of 20 to 21 was quickly reconfirmed by a mage from the Magi’s Tower association who had much better assessing magics at their disposal.

As was tradition, Logan double-checked the rules for this year’s tournament.

“This is a single-elimination tournament. No allies may join the fights ahead of time, if you have the capability to conjure summons or undead once the fight has started then you may.

No combatants may leave the preparation rooms until they lose a fight or win their whole bracket of fights. You may request items be delivered or brought to you. No communication outside of item requests, written or otherwise, is permitted with anyone outside of your current opponent or the staff attending to you.

Any of the rules below may be subverted if both combatants agree to such in the arena before their battle begins.

A match is won when one of the combatants cannot fight. This can be due to being killed, knocked unconscious, put to sleep, or otherwise unable to take any action.

Death moves are permitted, but if your opponent is unable to fight you must stop attacking. Surrenders must be accepted.

Non-passive Demon-clan spells, skills, and effects are not permitted.

No other restrictions on skills, spells, items, or other actions are present in the fights. You are allowed to have drunk potions or apply magical enhancements before the fights begin.

Any breakage of rules without allowance will result in you forfeiting your match and possibly banning from future tournaments.”

Most of what the rules came down to, for Logan, was that he couldn’t easily bring in his summons nor use his Demon-clan abilities. The former wasn’t much of an issues, while the latter worked both ways and probably evened out for him in the long run.

Logan signed his waiver and let the rest of his guildies do the same. It was going to take some time until everyone was fully signed up, but with so many counters it would go fast enough.

Looking over the other faces in the hall, the Spellthief saw countless unknown adventurers. No doubt many were over rank 10, and the few thousand that went over 15 were also present. If the goblin invasion had occurred near the start of the year it would have been a non-issue with so many strong individuals present.

The continent Logan stood on was large, easily double the size of the UK, but he still wondered where all these people spent their time. There was also the question of what they did in said time. A good handful probably protected their hometowns so they stayed close, another bunch for keeping control of dungeons that had faster spawn rates.

All this power and they had yet to cross the ocean.

“A PC is currently viewing you”, “A PC is currently viewing you”, “A PC is currently viewing you.”

Logan slowly moved his head around at the occurrence of three System windows warning him of potential allies and foes. This wasn’t Amalia or Ahren, Logan had altered his settings to not alert him to those two, so it was three unknowns.

“I can’t make myself obvious, there’s a big enough crowd that they might not know it’s me… But then if they’re here, they will be in the tournament”, Logan calculated in his head, moving his gaze around quicker.

Moving to the side of the hall, saying his farewells to his companions, Logan continued to scan for the other PCs but returned no result. He could only hope they were in other brackets if they were foes.

“You are currently viewing a PC”, “You are currently viewing a PC”, “You are currently viewing a PC.”

Logan finally washed his sight over the three who probably did the same to him, but it was to little avail. So many faces, so many races. He couldn’t pick out the important persons in the crowd.

Time was finite here as Logan had to move to his own waiting room. He’d just have to find the three later, but it at least gave him a number to work off.

Passing down a three-person wide corridor with numerous doors on both sides, Logan entered into a small room for himself. It reminded the Spellthief of a university dorm room. A single bed, desk, and wardrobe were all that was inside, aside from a clear gem placed on the wall like a clock that would be used for notifications.

Logan took off his jacket and laid it over the chair to the desk and sat on the bed. This was a comfy locale to await his first few matches, and probably the best way to halt contestants getting a leg up on one another. It was like speed blind dating, except you’d be bloodying each other’s noses.

Several minutes went by as Logan spent the time casually reading a book. A number dinged onto the clear gem in the wall, revealing a number to the Spellthief. Logan smirked as he returned to his book.

Far from the rows of contestant rooms were the main tournament grounds. A wide arena of sandstone floors and brick walls that held up tens of thousands of seats. Four large metal portcullis gates guarded entrances to the varying halls of the coliseum, from the people to the monsters.

A man fully garbed in plate mail was cutting down a slew of vulpine monsters with clawed tails and long beaver teeth, blood spewing across the grounds as the crowd cheered the warm-up entertainment.

High up in the stands within an enclosed chamber with reflective glass sat three announcers, a human, a saeber, and a gashriek.

The human grabbed a gem in his hand and held it to his mouth like a microphone, “Hello, wondrous people of Gauntlet and far travellers. I welcome you all to this year’s Yestar tournament. I have just received word that our ordering systems are nearing their end, so I hope you’re all ready for even greater matches than this!”

The gashriek grabbed a similar gem, “I’m sure they are, Rebrin”, he said as he looked at the human, “I know many are excited to see these deathmatches play out. Bref agrees with that sentiment I am sure”, he continued as he looked at the saeber.

“Of course Strolbem. Many adventurers had the wind sucked from their capes at the news of the Ice King’s death”, the saeber, Bref, started before being interrupted by a large cheer from the crowd, “An amazing turn of events for all others though.”

Rebrin continued, “That it was, Bref. As such, this year’s tournament is a one-on-one elimination-style affair. Two people enter, one either dies or gives up, and the other moves on to fight more opponents.”

Strolbem picked up the pace, “We’ll be starting the matches from the first through fifth-ranked adventurers, then the sixth to tenth, until we reach the last group of forty-five to fifty. This will then loop back around until all fights are complete.”

“And how many are in that last group?” Bref asked.

“Twelve this year, but I wager we’ll have them last a good quarter-hour each.”

“Rebrin, you’re one for following fame. Any contenders to look out for this year?” Strolbem asked.

“Quite a few. I’ll start off with the bad news though, as I see many fans in the crowd with their banners. Raid Master Cass will not be joining this year’s tournament”, Rebrin started before waiting for the boos the die down, “I know, I know. Cassius is currently otherwise preoccupied so he cannot engage in this year’s entertainment.”

“Alright, so who ‘do’ we have?” Strolbem re-asked.

“For starters, the Master of Hunters, Mr Cross, shall be joining this competition. There’s the Low-Rank Advocate, the Blaze of the South, Captain Gaius of the Scythe Regiment, oh, and of course, the Dungeon Eradicator himself, Logan Hall the Phasing Hunter!”

Bref waited for the cheering crowd to abide before butting in, “A name known even amongst my kind. The Phasing Hunter is one of a number you could count on one hand that has been able to eradicate dungeons and halt their spawning powers.”

“Will those powers expand into eradicating our contestants?” Strolbem asked rhetorically.

“We have many other hunters on the roster this year, so let’s hope they don’t eradicate the opposition too quickly”, Rebrin laughed.

Time continued to pass as Logan heard rumbles in the distance every so often, the noise was only broken up when the gem on his wall dinged again with the words “Match Start” to alert Logan to his own fight.

Leaving his room, Logan was escorted by a staff member to the metal portcullis gate separating the halls from the coliseum grounds. With a grind and creak the gate rose, allowing the Spellthief to exit to a roaring crowd.

“This next match will see Logan Hall, a rank 21 Wizard, facing off against Herward, a rank 21 Fighter”, Rebrin announced clearly, causing the crowd to begin chanting “fight” in reply.

The pair stopped a good hundred feet apart from one another, eyeing up one another to identify any weaknesses and strengths just from aesthetics.

“Hah, what luck”, Herward laughed, “Sorry to say, caster, but this is a terrible match-up for you.”

“How’d you figure?” Logan asked.

“Because I’m an anti-caster. You won’t get a single spell to land”, Herward informed as he drew up a sword.

“Sure, buddy”, Logan replied half-heartedly as he kept his hands empty.

“Three, two, one, let the fight commence!” Strolbem counted down.

Herward began to shout, “Haz—” but was interrupted as a dash of dandelions hit him in the face.

As the Fighter fell backwards, Logan retracted his clawed hand slightly, having Silentcast Sleep Skystrike with minimal movement. “So much for being an anti-caster”, Logan laughed in his head.

“Referees, is Herward able to continue fighting?” Bref asked as his voice echoed over the arena. A few seconds passed before he continued, “Herward has lost due to unconsciousness. The winner in the first second is Logan Hall!”

The crowd laughed and cheered loudly, the human announcer, Rebrin, having to speak up to be audible, “It seems our Fighter friend lacked protections against Sleep spells, what a shame!”

“How pitiful. A Steel without that foreknowledge?” Strolbem added.

Bref growled a bit as if to clear his throat, “We’ve seen a few now that were the same. These early matches are oft the place to see this kind of attitude. It’s one of the easiest ways to take down boastful foes, as we’ve just witnessed.”

“But our spectators still enjoyed the fight, right?” Rebrin gauged as the crowd chanted “Phasing Hunter” in reply.

Logan waved his hand to the crowd as he turned to leave, a sweat beading down his brow as he side-eyed five windows that had appeared during the match.

“A PC is currently viewing you.”

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