Chapter 43 - The Test of Valor

My eyes quickly flitted open, and I instantly recognized the room I was in. My brief respite had been interrupted by a knock on the door—I was a light sleeper, always aware of my surroundings unless I chose not to be. I lay awake on the feathered bed, feeling well-rested even though I guessed not even an hour had passed. Sleep didn’t matter much when you only needed an hour to feel like a new man—or rather, a dragon.

I jumped out of bed and walked toward the door. I opened it, curious to see who had interrupted my sleep. I suppose I wasn’t being very cautious, opening the door without knowing who was behind it, but it didn’t matter much when you had skin impervious to most weapons. It would take ten or twenty well-made stabs just to pierce my human skin, and by then, the sword would be quite dull, and the owner even duller. Dead, if you catch my meaning.

"Hello..." Initially excited, her voice trailed off after a small stutter. "...Verath."

It was the voice of the girl I had met not long ago. I wasn’t the least bit surprised by her interruption.

“Afternoon,” I replied.

Almost instantly, her face reddened with a small blush as one of her hands tried to cover her eyes. The attempt was unsuccessful, her fingers leaving a small gap for her left eye to peek through.

Her strange behavior caught my attention, and I realized I was completely naked. It hadn’t even occurred to me to get dressed—I was so used to being naked as a dragon. Multiple thoughts crossed my mind about how to explain this, but I decided to ignore them. I’d just continue on nonchalantly.

“How are you?” I asked dispassionately, with no inflection in my tone.

She seemed to take courage from that, her hand immediately dropping from her face—though it hadn’t really covered her eyes in the first place. Her soft brown eyes traveled over my body, pausing briefly at my manhood. Or was it dragonhood? I thought to myself in amusement.

Her inspection wasn’t the least bit reserved. She wasn’t shy. I suppose it made sense, given how her mother had acted in the short time I’d spoken to her. The daughter looked to be about seventeen, close to what my human form appeared to be—around eighteen, though my actual dragon age was just two and a half years.

Her eyes eventually returned to my face as she realized what she’d been doing. "Oh... I’m well." She paused hesitantly before continuing. "I forgot to give you my name. Call me Alice Silver."

So that’s where the inn’s name, *Silver Beauty*, came from, I thought. I had been a little curious about that. Alice might have forgotten, but I already knew her name from when her mother scolded her earlier. I decided not to mention that.

I nodded. "It’s been nice meeting you, Alice. I need to get dressed now."

I waited for a moment, but Alice didn’t move. She had probably forgotten she was still blocking the doorway. "You should probably move out of the way, Alice," I reminded her softly.

A furious blush spread across her face as she quickly stepped back from the door. "Oh, um... sorry."

I nodded to show there was nothing to apologize for. Her reaction was mildly amusing. She might have thought that since I didn’t mind my own nudity, it was okay for her to stare. I could be wrong, though. I wasn’t very good at understanding the emotions and thoughts of others. That would require strong empathy, which I didn’t possess. Instead, I relied on my observations and experience.

I gently closed the door, so Alice wouldn’t get the wrong idea. It wouldn’t do me any good to have the innkeeper’s daughter angry with me, even though it wouldn’t be my fault. It was better to err on the side of caution, especially since I would likely be staying at this inn for about a week.

After gathering my clothes from the desk, it wasn’t long before I was fully dressed, with my stolen, shabby short sword strapped to my back and my two coin purses hidden inside the depths of my long-sleeved black shirt.

It was time to sign up for the tournament.

----

Before I was finally outside on the cobbled streets of the city, with my cowl hiding more than two-third of my face, I had another run-in with the mother daughter pair, both of whom decided to join in on my afternoon meal of soup and bread. The soup was delicious with a hefty amount of soft rabbit meat, venison, and a sprinkle of some vegetables in it; the bread was freshly baked, warm and soft to my great liking.

I will skip the conversation with the mother daughter pair, since it was a tedious task, with me politely nodding and giving positive answers. If I had to generously estimate, I would say that my words only amounted to five percent of the conversation, with most of them being “yes.” If nodding were to be counted, it would probably go upward to seven percent.

Well, you get the idea, my guest.

Having been to Asolance a few times in my human life, I recognized the areas for the most part. I knew that I was in the western quadrant of this enormous city; you can get an idea of how big this city was from how it needed to be divided into four quadrants. To picture it better, the population was in the tens of thousands. It was hard for me to know the exact number, since there were always many people going in and out of this city at random intervals of time. Trade cities were usually like that.

That said, it was not long before I finally found someone to give me directions to the place where I needed to sign up for the tournament. Most of the men I had asked were not very helpful, entirely ignoring my polite question, or growling at me for the large part of my time. Perhaps it was my appearance, but it was unlikely. I learned quickly, though, only asking women and men who had polite demeanors and were not too busy.

I stood before an enormous training ground where dozens of fighting men and women, mostly the former, were sparring with each other. A few of them had fallen down due to missteps and by the looks of it, would have bruises to show for it tomorrow. Luckily, the floor of the training ground was made of soft, earthen soil, instead of cold, hard stone. Had it been made of the latter material, the possibility of broken bones and even more bruises were very likely.

Around the perimeter of the training ground, there were dozens and dozens of city guards, all of them in an orderly fashion, all of them wearing the tabards of the Serle family, a majestic, grey wolf sewn onto the front.

They were there to control the fighting men and women who had come from everywhere across Shail Kingdom. It was better to be safe than sorry in case heated disputes broke out.

Beside the training ground, I could see a long line of warriors and a few men and women holding bows waiting for their turns to sign up for the tournament. Most of them had patient looks, signs of good willpower, while they waited.

The fighting men and the few fighting women were in one, long row waiting behind a large wooden table where there were two scribes sitting down on cushioned, wooden chairs. Beside the two scribes, there were two grizzled warriors, each with a longsword strapped to the side of their shoulders.

Even standing still, the two warriors were alert, their eyes never resting in one spot. They had a dangerous and experienced air to them, most likely veterans of many battles. There was a presence to them, an aura of a sword half unsheathed, always ready for danger.

One of the two grizzled warriors came forward, walking in a cold, efficient manner toward the line of waiting warriors that wanted to sign up for the tournament. Though he was the shorter of the two, the warrior was as heavily muscled as the other taller one. Even with his old age, perhaps past forty or so, his muscles were still in better shape than the younger fighting men. There was no doubt about his prowess.

“Listen up!” he barked, his voice like drawn steel. All heads, including mine, turned to listen to him, clearly knowing that the old warrior was the one in charge of signing up for the tournament. “I can clearly tell that you louts are going to take up most of my time. Thus, what I and the other grandmaster have decided to do will be to have you all fight each other, until only ten of you are remaining. Then I will give the lucky ones a Test of Valor.”

The hard, grey eyes of the short grandmaster calculatedly met all our eyes. “The other men and women who arrived before you are on the training ground battling some of our less experienced guards. If they win, they will be able to sign up for the tournament.” He held up a large, calloused hand to stop short any protests. “If any one of you say that is unfair, then it is by your grace that you leave this area. You can try the other places and see if you have more luck signing up, but that is none of my business if you choose to bother the other four grandmasters.”

The grandmaster waited, but none of the fighting men and women, including me, knew what to do. “Well, what are you louts waiting for? Go pick up those wooden swords over there and crack each other skulls until only ten of you are remaining. If you use a bow, then you are out of luck. Just quit.” He raised both his graying eyebrows, waiting for us to react.

One of the men finally reacted, hurriedly sprinting toward the three pile of wooden swords. This started a chain of reactions, propelling the other men and the few women to also rush toward the wooden swords.

The first fighter to reach the wooden sword was not the man who had reacted first, but a slim, tall brunette wearing a light, brown leather armor. She quickly picked up a wooden sword from the pile to the right and started attacking all the other men who were busy trying to grab hold of a wooden sword.

Still unmoving from my spot, I watched on with amusement as the brunette's action led to other fighters assimilating the same idea, which led to more unfair attacks. And though I say unfair, it was only fair since it was the woman's legs, her natural and hard-earned ability, that led to her obtaining an advantage. All was fair in war, even elimination fights.

There were accusations of cheating thrown from the men and the one or two women who had been the victims of the “unfair” attacks.

Before long, the earthen courtyard beside the training ground was a jumble of fighting men and women. A few of them had been knocked unconscious or had surrendered due to heavy bruises and bleeding.