71 The First Round

Jacob watched the first fight, eager to see the skill level of his opponents. He didn't quite catch their names due to the general ruckus of the arena, it quieted down enough to make it easy enough to hear the rules. Since it was the first fight of this year's Autumn Tournament, the announcer went to great pains to make it clear what rules the referees were operating by.

Each fight was to first blood. If your opponent received a fatal wound, you were disqualified, but not further justice would be sought. A combatant could surrender at any time, and matches could end if someone stepped completely off the edge of the raised platform sitting in the center of the coliseum. It was simple enough, and Jacob focused his attention away from the retreating announcer to the fighters he left behind.

One, a waif of a girl stood with a pair of knives in her hands. While she wasn't the most intimidating warrior Jacob had ever seen, she was clearly good enough to get past the qualifying contests any participant without the backing of a Blade College had to take part in. The other was a similarly small boy. His hands gripped onto the handle of the most disproportionately large greatsword Jacob had seen to date.

With a horn, the fight began. The girl leveraged her weapons' close-range specialty, moving in towards the boy's blind spot without hesitation, even as he hurried for the edge of the platform. As she raised her arms to strike, the boy spun around, whipping his greatsword into the girl with the flat of his blade. Effectively a club, the weapon threw the girl out of bounds.

That was expertly done, Jacob conceded. Without having seen a fight of this nature, he might not have ever mustered the courage nor the imagination to pull something of this sort off. His techniques were simple; kill or be killed.

Cynthia's name was called over the raucous audience around them. Perhaps this world had something akin to a microphone. Something like an enchanted rock made to amplify sound, maybe? Once more, Jacob wished that he had the opportunity to go study at the Academy. Even if it was useless for his off-brand magic, he could learn to apply his skills to enchanting. If it was anything like the fantasy movies he'd seen back on Earth, an enchanted tool was worth its weight in gold.

In fact, he was about to get a demonstration right now. From an affluent Baron's family, Cynthia wielded the best sword money could buy. It was nearly to the same quality as her aunt's, but it had words etched into the metal. From this distance, Jacob couldn't really read them. He could, however, tell that whatever was written definitely wasn't in English.

Cynthia systematically destroyed her opponent, another warrior unaffiliated with a Blade College. His armor was simple and lackluster, and his equipment was rather shabby. It would prove to be his undoing when it failed to stop a glancing blow from Cynthia's longsword. Jacob felt for the poor man, knowing what it felt like to be disadvantaged from the beginning. He glared a hole into Cynthia's back, meeting her eyes when she turned around.

She shrugged, returning back to her spot at the opposite end of Relentless' section to the sound of thunderous applause. This had been a real fight, unlike that takedown the greatsword-wielding boy got. Adrenaline ran through his veins when his name was announced shortly afterwards. Rising to his feet, Jacob checked his sheathe to make sure his borrowed spatha was still there: it was. Then, he began his descent down to the platform.

A man in the purple of Dauntless awaited him, his spear held out to the side in an easygoing manner. Jacob was the first dressed in the Kingdom's colors, the only soldier to have made it to the Autumn Tournament without a family's backing. He would have liked to think it was his ostentatious armor or his cape that forced the crowd to gasp, but a cynical part of him knew it was that damn collar.

"Fight!" cried the announcer, breaking the hushed whispers circulating through the arena as if they were waves. Jacob followed the first girl's tactics closely, trying to close the gap between them before the Dauntless warrior figured out how to keep him at bay. Without a heavy weapon like a greatsword, Jacob knew that there was little to fear in the way of being pushed around by his opponent.

He reached for the edge of the man's calf with his spatha, hoping to end the match quickly. It was not the case, as a spear materialized in front of the attack as if by magic. Jacob's opponent was fast. Really fast.

That didn't bode well for him. He relied too much on his speed to be able to survive a sustained fight with an opponent that was not only faster than him but also had a greater reach. His eyes accidentally caught Provost Thomson's, who sat in a section unknown to him until that instant. Her determined gaze reminded him of her words. His fate was to begin here.

With renewed vigor, Jacob seized the attack. His spatha was as a viper, striking indiscriminately and without impunity. If he couldn't get around the man's defense, he would have to wear him down. If the match would be down to stamina, Jacob knew he had an edge over most people. Fighting as a soldier didn't do wonders in terms of technique, but all the soldiers that Jacob had ever known were superior at remaining in combat for prolonged periods of time.

Eventually, the spear dipped just enough for Jacob's strike to nick the warrior's arm, causing blood to pool out from the cut. It was his victory, but it had cost him much of his reserves. He hoped dearly that he would have enough time to recovery his energy, because he was as good as dead in the next round if it happened within the next half-hour.

More than a hundred people remained; there'd be plenty of time to rest before this first round of the Autumn Tournament was resolved. Or so he hoped.