The Hunter’s Guide to Monsters - Chapter 99

The sun climbed higher in the sky, burning away the clouds to cast its scorching summer cloak over the world.

Four platforms became three, became two.

The scent of sweat permeated the air. The referees had the platforms strewn with fresh sawdust several times to prevent competitors slipping on patches of blood.

Hulach brought over a cup of lukewarm water, laced with Low Revitalit. It was the only drink the organizers allowed. “Are you alright?”

“In this heat?” Krow greedily drank the water. There were several wounds on his torso and legs, but those were minor and already healing. “What’s the news then?”

Hulach was silent.

Krow glanced at him, saw the draculkar looking worriedly back. “I’m fine, what is it.”

The only serious injury he had was from a Lvl 11 player, but his HP was slowly recovering from that. A few more minutes and he would be back to a hundred percent.

“Dabalt finished half his matches in under a minute, and the rest under three.”

Krow grunted. The opponent wasn’t one to hold back, it seemed. A good strategy, really. He was more rested than Krow, who had prolonged most of his fights.

Ugh. Gaining goodwill in a competitive environment was difficult and tiring.

“That’s fine. How about the rest of it?”

Hulach grimaced.

Krow nodded. They needed a decisive win, then.

“Number 157 of Avaldaaan!” yelled the referee.

They were on the last leg of the tournament.

Only ten people remained.

Krow stood. Being the first to go meant more rest. Excellent.

Hulach had that hidden worried look again. Krow gripped his shoulder. “It’s going to be alright. Just stand strong.”

He walked up the stair onto to the platform.

His opponent, #81 of Tetlochris, smirked at him – a female mafmet, twirling her curved sword around like it was a toy.

He stepped. She stepped. They circled each other.

“You know,” she said. “Even if you set your profile to private, you should also change your starting gear if you want to hide that you’re a player.”

Was he trying to hide?

From the challenges, yeah.

She charged, quick as a striking snake.

Shkav, what was the natural DEX of mafmet again?

Krow blocked, blade sliding against blade.

“Thank you for the advice.” He stepped into her block, pushed until she unbalanced and leaped away.

“So what’s your quest?” She feinted, slid her blade under his, and twisted.

He grit his teeth as the bones in his wrist grinded against each other, moved with her follow-through, and kicked to deflect the blade coming for his throat.

His quest was to defeat Tamvost’s Dabalt and secure better trade relations for Cerkanst, because some bleeding merchants bet on everything.

What was her quest?

If it was just to win the competition, she wouldn’t have asked.

If it was a competing quest…

Krow’s vigilance heightened. “Does there have to be one?”

Wait, this was the competitor that liked to play with her opponents.

After a while, he stopped watching the matches – they were too short to gain any sort of useful information, and most of the good ones were hiding trump cards.

Her blade scratched his torso. If he hadn’t twisted to dodge, there’d be a sword through his gut.

Technically, a player death didn’t count as actual death in Redlands. It was only a coma, until revival. She was going for his head since the tournament rules wouldn’t penalize her.

Shkav. He evaded, evaded again.

Those weren’t Swordsbearer moves.

She twisted, flipped into a somersault, boot catching him in the jaw.

He staggered.

Ow.

He dropped to avoid the swing of her sword, but her next attack nearly cut his left arm in half.

She smiled at the blood splashing onto the sawdust.

“Also, a private profile still lists your battle-class, eh, Sharpshooter?” She giggled as he rolled away. “This isn’t even your kind of fight. So why not just surrender, hm?”

“Do you have to be creepy while asking me to lose?” Krow swung his lower body in a move worthy of breakdancing fame and swept her legs out from under her.

They both flipped upright. She snarled.

Shkav! She was suddenly faster. His sword barely parried the thrust sent at his heart.

Was that red in her eyes?

He fell backward, brought his feet up, tossed her head over heels to the platform. Scrambled to his feet, as she recovered from having her head hit wood with such a loud smack.

Her blade was rising when he kicked it away, and the tip of his falchion touched the armor above her breastbone.

In this position, just a small adjustment and his weight would drive the sword into her heart.

She stared up at him, spat a disgusted curse.

There was a ring of red spreading from her irises.

“Yield.” The single toneless word didn’t give away the abrupt alarm he felt at the sight of those bleeding eyes.

Berserker.

“I lost.” She snarled.

“Number 157 of Avaldaaan wiiins!”

[You’ve defeated a Lvl 14 player in a duel and gained eight (8) silver serpens!]

[You’ve won twenty (20) duels with an unmatched weapon!]

[You’ve gained the Wolf in Sheepskin Badge from winning twenty (20) duels with an unmatched weapon!]

[You have gained one (1) level to achieve Lvl 14!]

One of the Cerkanst herbalists grinned at him when he came off the platform.

Tharjan, Krow thought his name was.

“The Tamvost contingent is buzzing right now. You’ve lost a lot of people a lot of bets.”

Krow drank more water. “Not us, right?”

The other’s smug look intensified. “No. Definitely not us.”

Krow nodded, still processing that he’d just had a match with a Berserker. He’d just won a match with a Berserker.

No wonder she’d been toying with her opponents.

The weakness of a Berserker was they needed time to get into a state of frenzy. But after…

In the armies of Zushkenar, Berserkers were the second wind, allowing their allies a moment to breathe. The frenzy of a Berserker was something to behold, bloody and awe-inspiring, burning HP and MP both to accelerate their movements and strengthen their bodies.

Even with her disadvantaged by not holding a bone weapon, Krow would not have survived if he’d prolonged the fight.

He’d be in pieces.

He shook his head. No. Those were higher-leveled Berserkers. A Lvl 14 Berserker would only give him broken bones.

Probably.

The crowd roared.

“Number 157 of Avaldan!” came the call.

What, so soon?

Tharjan studied him, worried, pressed a cup of water in his hands. “There’s been five matches already. Granted two of them lasted less than a minute.”

“Oh.”

The opponent already stood on the platform. Dabalt stared at him, more serious and enraged than Krow thought was warranted.

After all, this was the first time they were meeting since the registration.