Chapter 48: First Round

Instead of getting a chance to see how the tournament matches operated, Rick found himself pushed down a confusing set of corridors toward the arena. He realized that the route was actually logical, as a way to get multiple fighters down into the arena without congestion, but that was little comfort as he was rushed out.

Several other fighters joined him in the area below the arena, preparing to take the stage. All of them had lucrim generation rates in the 25,000 to 30,000 range, which made sense since anything less would be a disadvantage in this power class. With generation rate out of the picture, it would all be about skill and lucrim portfolio, but he was too frazzled to analyze anyone in greater detail.

"You're still alive?" One of the other fighters, vaguely familiar from his time in the Underground, looked at him with a bit of pity. "Do you need money so badly that you're willing to suffer in front of everyone?"

Part of Rick wanted to snap back a reply, but most of him was numb and distracted. Trash talk was irrelevant, all that mattered was getting his head in the game. When a ramp up to the arena floor lowered from the ceiling, he followed in the middle of the group.

They came out in the arena, the lights overhead blinding and the crowd roaring from all sides. Actually, the lights prevented him from seeing the crowd unless he particularly focused, so Rick tried to ignore them altogether. He let the crowds become a hum in the back of his mind and just drew his aura up around him as he prepared to fight.

The arena floor was covered in about a foot of tough rubber, heavily reinforced by ether enchantments. Not a comfortable place to fall, but better than the concrete floor of the Underground. It spread out to the edges of the octagon, where there were pillars at each of the points. Overall, it was much more open than the previous arena, with the thin lucrim chains barely visible in the light.

Once everyone had arrived, they began to spread out. Eight different fighters, looking rather small in the huge octagon, which rose up to three times his height. Presumably the size was better-suited to the higher power classes, who might find the arena too small if anything. Still, the size gave mobility an advantage, which should work for him.

A horn blared out, signaling the start of the match, and everyone leapt to attack at the same time.

They leapt rather slowly. At first Rick thought that his mind was too numb, showing him the world in slow motion. Yet when he began to move, he felt light on his feet. It was more than just an issue of speed: his mind had transformed, ready to fight at much higher speeds.

He had grown used to fighting Emily and Lisa, who were substantially faster than him, and he had seen true speed when confronting Teragen. Compared to them, these other contestants seemed to be moving with exaggerated care. Not absurdly slow, but he felt as though he had plenty of time to react.

Some had already begun to attack each other while he was thrown off by the speed of combat, so he needed to get involved. This wasn't the time for flashy or dramatic moves, just earning points. Two fighters were struggling near him and he attacked directly with blows to the head.

They were completely taken off guard and his earliest blows landed easily. Though the two fighters were too tough to go down with single blows, they reeled away from him. Rick kept up the pressure, raining down blows and preventing them from recovering until they both dropped to the arena floor.

Behind him, he heard a rush of flame. When he turned to look, he saw the man who had mocked him was now encased in flame. Almost the definition of a flashy move. When the man swept a hand toward him, releasing a sphere of fire, Rick considered dodging and decided against it.

Instead he struck aside the first flaming sphere, sending it to scatter against the barrier at the edge of the arena. Rick was actually taken off guard for a moment at how easy it had been. More than that, he marveled at the fact that his hand didn't hurt at all. His aura was powered by a defensive core of over 10,000 lucrim, and that meant more than he'd expected.

So Rick charged in directly, barely dodging the flames released toward him. He felt the heat, but he didn't think the flames would have harmed him even if they struck directly. His opponent became more and more desperate, hurling a last spread of spheres and then drawing up all his power to expand the flames around him.

Not that it mattered, since Rick charged straight into him, slamming him back into one of the eight pillars around the arena. The flames licked at him harmlessly, no hotter than a campfire.

Before his opponent could recover from the shock, Rick lunged up, slamming an elbow directly into his chin. In an instant the flames went out and then his opponent dropped.

Turning away from him, Rick examined the rest of the arena. Three more people on their feet, one of whom he recognized as the old man from his three-on-three match. He was sending out tendrils of aura again, but they seemed no stronger than last time. Rick instead focused his attention on the others. One of them was an aura sphere user who seemed to have invested a lot of lucrim into the skill, so she was the next priority threat.

Except that some obscure instinct told him to jump.

Rick leapt away from the aura tendrils that approached him, uncertain if he was being unnecessarily cautious. A moment later he realized that he had been right: the tendrils leapt up around the aura user with surprising ferocity. They squeezed hard enough that she grunted in pain, then they contracted and smashed her into the ground.

As Rick landed at a safe distance, he realized that the old man had been hiding his power. The same strategy Granny Whitney had forced on him, but intentionally using a weaker version of the skill so that people would underestimate his binding ability and not dodge. Rick still couldn't identify what exactly had stuck out to him as wrong, but some part of his brain had identified that there was a hidden threat.

More tendrils were coming for him, so Rick considered his strategy quickly. If his opponent needed to trick people to catch them, then he must not be confident in his technique's speed. Rick prepared a Bunyan's Step, then flashed over the arena.

Though he reached his opponent instantly, already punching, the old man reacted in time. Tendrils extended from his body, wrapping around Rick's arm even as he struck. His body strained as he reversed direction, tearing free from the aura tendrils with difficulty. More were grabbing at his legs, forcing him to power through and leap away.

Okay, so that hadn't been successful. Rick bent down and grabbed one of the unconscious fighters, then hurled her at his opponent.

The old man managed to push aside the body with more tendrils, but couldn't react fast enough as Rick used a Bunyan's Step to get behind him. He started with a blow to the man's back, which staggered him but prompted more tendrils to grasp at him.

Rick jerked his arm back and tugged the tendrils with it, pulling the old man off balance. While his opponent was stumbling, Rick swept his legs, then brought both hands down on his chest, smashing him to the ground. The old man hit hard and groaned, still able to fight, so Rick prepared to leap away...

Except the tone sounded again. Suddenly he realized that the match was over and he was the winner.

Should he have held back more and pretended to struggle? Surely the odds would shift in his favor now, so Granny Whitney might not make as much betting. Then again, perhaps his top priority was to gain as many points as possible. More importantly than either of those: Rick was done losing with a handicap. He was going to throw himself into every single match with all the power he possessed.

The crowds were cheering for him, but he had already begun tuning out their noises. There was no point boasting or getting their attention. Now that he was done with his fight, Rick was abruptly very much done with the spotlight. He waited for the ramp beneath the arena floor to open and walked down into the space beneath without looking back.

Once he was out of the blazing light and the sounds of the arena were muted, his head spun. He found himself trembling slightly, though not in shock or fear. Though he'd needed to expend much of his strength, that had been easier than he expected. Yes, some of it was Granny Whitney's strategy, but he'd still won.

A tournament official walked up beside him, giving him an odd look. "Uh, sir? The victors are actually supposed to leave through the exit ramp."

"Huh?" Rick looked up as if he would see it there, then realized the official was talking about a ramp above. "You mean walk off the field instead of going below again?"

"That's right. Everyone already made their entrances, but victors get to make exits."

"Oh. I'll... keep that in mind next time, I guess."

"Good attitude. Get back to your place and enjoy your rest, then." With that, the official gestured him toward the corridor and Rick began heading back.

Okay, so he'd won and then immediately made a dumb mistake. Would the crowd know he'd gone the wrong way, or did he get away with it because he was the first match? After a little thought, Rick decided that it didn't matter at all: he'd won. Smiling to himself, he sped up to a jog as he returned to his team's room.

When he entered, everyone seemed to be focused on the arena, where another match had already started. He'd wasted too long returning. But when they noticed him, Malati gave him an encouraging smile, while Anthony raised a fist for him to bump.

"That was great, man! Got us off to a fantastic start!"

"I did what I could." He glanced around the room and found the others present, it was just that Emily remained focused internally and Teragen ignored everyone. "Who's fighting now?"

"More featherweights, dearie." Granny Whitney's smile seemed authentic as she approached and handed him a can of serum. "You didn't think you won the whole class, did you? No, your next match will probably be more difficult, so get ready."

That raised more questions about the exact mechanics of the tournament, but there were more important questions. Not wanting to seem ignorant, Rick first checked the screens and quickly found what he wanted: a scoreboard. The results of his match were listed there, though thankfully he was listed as "Granny's Underground Featherweight" instead of his full name. According to that, he'd earned 10 points for the team, the highest score from the first round.

Beside that box, there was another that listed team scores. It seemed like there were 24 teams overall, meaning there were over a hundred fighters total. More importantly, over a dozen rival featherweights he hadn't fought yet. It looked like eight more of them were fighting now... no, at that moment the battle ended. Two were still standing, having fought each other to a draw.

"Which of these are your rivals?" Rick asked as he looked at the team scores. He wondered for a moment if Granny Whitney wouldn't answer him, but she didn't hesitate.

"Alger named his team after himself and Obsidian Thirty is Gerald's team. There are a few others who will be contenders as well, but we're the main three."

With that in mind, Rick checked the screen of rankings. It displayed the top ten teams prominently, though at the moment many of them were tied. All the other teams were listed in smaller font, but he ignored those.

[1) Obsidian Thirty - 11 pts

2) Granny's Underground - 10 pts

3) Serpenza - 8 pts

4) Alger's Heroes - 5 pts

5) Branton Bulldogs - 3 pts

5) Chayichita Clan - 3 pts

7) Verdant Mountain Sect - 2 pts

7) Graham's Gym - 2 pts

9) Branton Chamber of Combat - 1 pt

9) Swiftfist Sect - 1 pt]

Rick frowned. "How does his team have more points than ours?"

Malati shook her head as if he was supposed to know these things. "They've finished two rounds already and his featherweight fought in both rounds. It's randomized, so sometimes things like that will happen. He didn't do as well in the second round because you hit him pretty good - only 3 points - but the combined total is still higher."

"Don't worry, dearie." Granny Whitney patted him on the cheek. "This sort of tournament isn't decided in one round. You drink your serum so you're ready for your next fight. We've only just begun."

As Rick got back to his seat, he saw that the signs of the arena were rolling through the power classes again. He braced himself to get unlucky and have to go straight back out, but it wasn't his class.

Middleweight. Emily was up next.