“Did you purchase anything with the money you got out?”
Mooch looked around and his shoulders slumped.
“Bought my wife a new diamond ring. She loves it. Cost me seventy-five gold.”
“Anything else?”
His shoulders slumped farther.
“A boat.”
“Price?”
“Two hundred gold,” he said with a faraway look. “It’s a gem.”
“And what are the return policies on this ring and this boat?” asked Stillwell.
“Thirty days, full refund.”
“How long have you had them?”
The nearly inaudible reply was, “Just over a week.”
Stillwell felt a small win at hearing this. It was obvious that Mooch loathed the idea of having to return either of these items, but something told Stillwell that he’d rather go down that road than suffer broken limbs.
“You just need to return one of the items if you’re to pay off your debt to us.”
“But I gotta keep them both,” Mooch said, his face the picture of desperation. “My wife would lose her mind if I took back her ring, and my boat is...well, it’s my boat!”
“And your legs are your legs too, pal,” Bank pointed out. “If you don’t fork over the money you’ll be walking on crutches for the next six months.”
“Fine, fine,” Mooch said, putting his hands up in surrender. “I get it. It’s completely unfair, though.”
“Nobody forced you to place a bet,” Stillwell said.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
“Besides,” he added reassuringly, “I’m sure there are less expensive boats that will still allow you to keep your dream alive.”
“What? I ain’t returning the boat.” He said it as though Stillwell were insane. “The ring’s going back.”
This was confusing to Stillwell. He’d never been married, but even he knew the saying, “Happy wife, happy life.”
“But didn’t you just say that your wife will lose her mind if you return her ring?”
“Oh, most definitely,” answered Mooch with a firm nod. “But she’ll get over it after a while. Until then, I’ll be out on my boat.”
He Got Lucky, Is All
Teggins couldn’t help but feel impressed with the way Gungren had taken out Chimsley. A punch that powerful was something that he would never have expected. He could use a guy like that as one of his goons.
Still, Teggins wasn’t worried. Yeah, he’d keep an eye on the little giant, but his guess was that Chimsley just assumed he’d roll through the guy. One thing Teggins learned when growing up on the streets is that you never underestimate anyone in a fight. The smallest ruffian could wipe out the biggest guy in the bunch by landing the right punch at the right time.
He scratched the back of his neck at that thought.
The fact was that this betting scheme he had going on was his fight. Not that he was physically in the ring, no, but he was pulling the strings to make sure that everything fell in his favor.
So he’d let himself worry a little.
He glanced down at the field to see Lucille bump into a scary-looking orc. A tiny flash of light bounced from her to him, signaling that she had just cast a small spell at him. The orc stopped and shook his head, looking as though something had just gone wrong.
This was the kind of fighting that Teggins excelled at. He was also deadly in standard fisticuffs, but that wasn’t on the agenda today.
He looked over to see Gungren entering the tunnel, obviously returning back to the locker rooms.
Teggins decided in that instant that it would be unwise to underestimate the little giant.
Getting Ready for the next One
Whizzfiddle was thrilled that Gungren had won his bout. Even more impressive was the fact that the little giant hadn’t been injured in the slightest.
They headed down the hallway and back to the fighter’s area. Since Gungren had moved beyond the first battle, he’d be given a private room.
Up ahead of them was Knight Chimsley. The fellow was having a difficult time moving. He was holding the wall and walking quite gingerly.
Gungren rushed up to him and helped him the rest of the way.
“Sorry about your stomach, mister,” Gungren said.
“Nothing to apologize for,” Chimsley replied between grunts. “You have done well and you have a lot of power in your fists. I am honored to have fought such a worthy foe.” He winced. “Besides, I’ve been considering upgrading to iron plating anyway. I shall need to become much stronger first, though, I’m afraid.”
“Where am your corner?” asked Gungren.
Whizzfiddle had been thinking the same thing. It seemed odd for a man of Sir Chimsley’s caliber not to have help during an event like this.
“I tend not to use one,” he answered. “I fear that was yet another misstep on this eventful day.”
“Yep.”
Gungren directed the knight into his own private dressing room. Then he and Muriel helped the man out of his outfit until they got to his pants. That’s when Barrie shooed Muriel away.
“Master,” Gungren said as he looked at the massive bruise on Knight Chimsley’s belly, “you got my healing stuff?”
“I do,” answered Whizzfiddle, patting his chest pocket. “Why?”
“Give it to this guy. Him need it more than me.”
“Now maybe, but you still have many fights to go…” Whizzfiddle stopped as he saw the look on Gungren’s face. “Oh, fine.”
Chimsley drank the potion and the bruising began to dissipate. It was rather incredible to watch, though Chimsley did seem to be in some distress during the fast heal. There was even the sound of a rib fusing. That couldn’t have felt great.
Still, Whizzfiddle made a mental note to stock up on these potions before his next quest.
He was never one to think witches were less than wizards. Different, certainly, but less? Never. In fact, he felt they brought an entirely different perspective to magic than wizards. They studied their craft, where wizards more fell into it. Some wizards scoffed at the notion of witches, but they were just magicists. Holding a negative attitude towards another simply because their elective way of practicing an art was silly in Whizzfiddle’s estimation.
“That’s so much better,” Knight Chimsley said. “You, my friend, are an honorable fellow.”
“I just do what is right.”
“If that doesn’t define the basis of honor, then I don’t know what does.” He stood up and grabbed his gear, looking like he felt much better. “Good luck to you, Mr. Gungren. If you ever are in the land of Dahl and are in need of assistance, I shall be at your service.”
“Thank you, mister!”
Chimsley bowed and left the room.
Only Gungren could punch a fellow in the gut, take away his chances for winning a tournament that only happens once every ten years, and then turn the entire situation around to the point where he’d earned a lifelong friend. Whizzfiddle rather enjoyed that aspect of the little man’s personality. It was charisma that was not ascribable to looks, height, or station.
“That was quite impressive, Gungren,” Whizzfiddle said, speaking about the fight now. “Was that something that Bekner taught you to do?”
“Sort of, yep,” Gungren answered. “But I couldn’t reach that knight’s head so I hit him in the belly.”
“Right.”
“The punishing of fisticuffs twists the underlying current of rationality,” Eloquen said with a voice of dismay.
Barrie gave the elf a funny look. “What did he say?”
“Him don’t like fighting stuff.”
Most elves didn’t. They were very good at fighting, but they preferred to use diplomatic means to resolve disputes. Some elves did enjoy battles, obviously, seeing that there were a couple participating in this event, but most would rather just have a nice tea party, a few dainty finger cakes, and an underlying hum of flowery music while they discussed potential resolu
tions.
“You did a decent enough job in your first bout,” Barrie said as he massaged Gungren’s shoulders, “but it’s going to get tougher from here, I’d imagine.”
“You’d imagine?” Whizzfiddle said loudly. “You mean you don’t know?”
“Remember, Mr. Whizzfiddle,” Muriel noted as she riffled through her bag, “he’s never been beyond the first round of a fight.”
“Damnable woman,” grumbled Barrie.
Krag vs Domino
“It looks like we have another interesting match underway, folks,” Optical announced after the green light illuminated. “We have Krag the Destroyer—a mean ogre, versus Domino—an orc of some size.” Without looking over, he asked, “What do you make of this one, Homer?”
“Honestly, I thought I knew everything there was to know about this sport,” Homer replied, sounding a bit tipsy, “but taking a three-month hiatus to try and regain my wizarding license clearly put me behind the eight ball.” The sound of whiskey filling a glass could be heard through the headphones. “Still, I’d say Domino has the edge here.”
“Indeed,” Optical replied in his usual way as the bell rang. “The fight has started and Domino is running away from Krag. He’s not facing him either. Krag is literally chasing Domino around the ring.”
“I’ve never seen an orc run away from a fight before,” said Homer. “It could be that he’s trying to tire Krag out, but it doesn’t seem to be working.”
“Hmmm,” Optical said before Homer could continue. “The referee has stepped in and is having a word with Domino. He’s wagging his finger in the orc’s face. I wonder what that was all about.”
“Fighters are paid to fight,” answered Homer, “not to run away.”
“True. The referee has signaled them to resume and Domino is standing his ground so far.” A cloud passed over, casting a shadow over the stadium. “Krag moves forward and swings, but Domino just yelps and runs away again.”
“There are no words to describe this,” Homer said in disbelief.
“You’re paid to have words, Homer.”
“Then I’ll have to give a refund because I’ve got nothing.”
“It seems that Krag feels similarly to you as he’s pounding his fists against his own thighs in frustration.” Optical leaned forward to get a better look. “Wait, wait, we have something here. Yes, the referee has called the match with a...huh. That’s new.” He searched his memories but couldn’t place the term he’d just heard. “I know that a TKO is a technical knockout, Homer, but I’ve never heard of a TCO.”
“That’s because it hasn’t been used in all the years this event has been running, Optical. It’s an embarrassment is what it is.”
“I see,” Optical replied. “But what does TCO mean?”
“Technical chicken out.”
Another Win
Murray was watching the tournament at his computer as he ate popcorn and drank a fizzie. While fizzies were only available in the Underworld, Murray was now connected to the grandness known as the Undernet. He could order anything he wanted and the UUPS delivery person would bring it within a day or two.
He scanned his cave and found boxes and boxes of things that he really didn’t need, though. But with all of the money that was pouring in due to the skills he had recently learned, he had gotten carried away.
“Maybe I could create a site on the Undernet where people could sell their old stuff?” he said aloud. “Yes, yes, that would be amazing. I could call it Murray’s Auctions, or mBay!”
The screen flicked over and showed Gungren standing across from Haley the Horror.
Haley was a dark elf who was covered with white tattoos. She was wearing just enough to cover up her naughty bits, which allowed for her skin-art to shine. Her weapon of choice was the spear, and Murray knew she was very good at employing its use because they’d just finished showing a brief documentary on her skills.
The elf jabbed a few times at Gungren, but he stepped out of the way.
Murray cringed with each thrust and parry.
"No, no, no,” he said, covering his eyes. “I can’t watch. I can’t watch!”
He slightly uncovered one eye, just enough so that he could peek through.
“Oooh...good move, Gungren,” he yelped as the little giant stepped past the elf’s spear and pulled her arm hard enough that she had to do a somersault. “Go, go, go!"
Haley spun around and swiped at the air. Had Gungren been a foot taller, he would have ended up being a foot shorter because he would be minus one head.
“Jab, Gungren, jab! Watch out for her spear. She’s very good with…” Haley darted in. “Oh no! Jump away. No, don’t reach out for the spear! You don’t want to grab…”
Gungren snatched the spear out of the elf’s hands and then he snapped it in two over his knee. He threw the pieces in opposite directions.
“Oh, I guess you do want to grab the spear.”
Murray was still getting to know Gungren, but he was baffled to see such a gentle soul fighting so well. It was as if he had grown up as a giant or something.
Murray looked up and to the left. “I guess he did grow up as a giant. Hmmm.”
Haley didn’t seem all that pleased with losing her weapon of choice, but she was clearly not done. She reached behind her back and pulled out a blade. It flashed in the sunlight.
“Look out, Gungren,” Murray yelled at the screen, “she’s got a knife! Ack, I don’t want to see this!”
Gungren wasn’t flinching, though. He merely waited for Haley to launch her attack.
She complied within seconds, diving forward and driving the knife directly at his chest.
Just as the point was about to pierce his flesh, Gungren turned, grabbed Haley by the wrist, and began to rotate. The combination of his strength and her momentum brought her into a fast orbit around the little giant. Just as she was about to lose her footing completely, Gungren spun the opposite direction, twisting her wrist backwards.
The elf shrieked and flipped, landing directly on her stomach.
“Ouch, that looks painful.”
Murray started clapping and bouncing around in his chair as Gungren sat on Haley’s back and pulled on her arms until she gave up.
“He wins again! He wins again!”
Wasn’t Expecting This
While Heliok was impressed that Gungren had made it past the first round, seeing him get through the second one also unscathed was nothing short of incredible.
“Are we sure he’s not using magic?” he asked the room.
“It would be detected,” Misty answered. “The judges you see there are in charge of catching any magic-use in the ring.”
“So he’s just seriously that good at fighting?”
“I’m not after believin’ it either,” Corg stated. “It takes years for a fighter to be seasoned enough to do what he’s after doin’.”
“He is strong,” Aniok said as if that answered everything.
“Aye, Ani, that’s obvious.”
There was no denying that strength played a heavy role in events like this, but the speed that Gungren was moving was also downright impressive. Plus, he always seemed to jump in the right direction at the right time.
Heliok was not well-versed in these sorts of matches, though. To him it was just barbaric. Two beings stepping out in front of a crowd and tearing each other apart while thousands cheered them on was disturbing. He wasn’t sure whom he felt more concern over, though—the fighters or the people cheering them on.
“You’re sure you’re not giving him additional powers or abilities, Heliok?” Misty asked dubiously. “If the people learn that he’s been given an edge—”
“I just asked if he was using magic,” Heliok said before she could finish. “If I was doing something that was making Gungren really good at this, why would I ask that?”
She raised an eyebrow. “A ruse, possibly?”
Just because dark elves played nefarious games all the time didn’t mea
n that Fates did…not all the time anyway.
“Aye, lass. I’m after agreein’ with ye.” Corg’s eyes narrowed as he turned to look at Heliok. “Yer not playin’ games with the games, are ye?”
“No.”
“If’n ye do, ye shifty Fate, it’ll mean my career.” His eyes grew even darker. “And that’ll mean I’ll be after givin’ ye a swift kick to yer tender vittles.”
Heliok rolled his eyes.
“I’ll keep that in mind, little man.”
Discussion
Gungren had somehow managed to get to the semi-finals.
His first bout had been relatively easy, though Whizzfiddle had imagined it shouldn’t have been. Taking down a knight was not a simple thing to do. The wizard had done it on numerous occasions, but he had used magic. Gungren had done it with a single punch to the stomach.
The second fight had been definitely more challenging for Gungren, seeing that there was a spear and a knife involved, and also because the dark elf wielding them was quite deadly. But, again, Gungren just went in and took care of business as though he were a seasoned professional.
“This are kinda fun,” Gungren said, “but it am making me want to throw rocks.”
“You consider pummeling people fun?” Whizzfiddle asked worriedly.
“I fix them up every time,” Gungren replied with a shrug.
Whizzfiddle sniffed. “You have an odd way about you sometimes, Gungren.”
“Yep.”
“A maelstrom of angst and bone inspires discoloring of flesh,” said Eloquen with a heavy dose of exasperation.
“Him said it just a bunch of people punching and bruising up each other.”
That was rather the point of the event.
It wasn’t exactly Whizzfiddle’s cup of tea, but the number of people in the stands demonstrated that many found it to be okay with them. He was certain that at least a few of the celebrities in attendance would rather not witness such battles—the ambassador to Argan, Pauli Vergen, came to mind.
The Ultimate Dragon Fighting Championship Page 16