Seeing as it wasn’t a private area, he hesitantly walked into the “Tower of Iron Magi” with curiosity bolstering his step as he entered past the threshold.
“Wooo–!”
“Get him!”
There were cheers that echoed throughout the corridor, originating from a vast space deeper within the colossal building.
What’s this place…? He questioned.
Passing by adventurers who were exchanging coins, some being paid from receptionists after “winning” something, he reached the end of the corridor.
“–” Emilio was stunned.
His ears were overwhelmed by the resounding cheers of the audience that inhabited the arena within the Tower of Iron Magi, numbering in the thousands, as they overlooked an octagon-shaped arena in the center of the stadium.
In the arena, two combatants faced off while mages stood around the perimeter, maintaining a barrier to protect the spectators.
Playing a long-ranged game, a mage dressed in scarlet robes and long, black hair with pointed ears dual-wielded wands, flinging high-speed projectiles of water towards his opponent.
The opponent of the unorthodox mage was a hazel-haired woman dressed in steel-and-leather armor with light-brown trousers, sprinting with feline-like agility with a broadsword in her hand.
“…A tournament…?” Emilio realized.
While the water magic wielded by the elven mage was deflected by the adventurer woman’s blade, though managing to pass by her guard as a bolt of aqua struck her in the abdomen, the crowd went wild in response.
It was a spectacular bout; even faced against swarms of high-velocity arrows of water, the woman showcased profound skill in swordplay and physical might to match as she swept her blade through the mystical aqua.
“Grgh…!” The elven man gritted his teeth, witnessing the futility of his magic now.
–
They’re strong, Emilio thought.
“Sorry, kid, but bets are closed for this match. The winner is already clear.”
Speaking to him was a short-of-stature man who he didn’t even notice until just then; he was an elderly fellow, dressed in an exuberant, aristocrat suit with jewelry worn in the form of dazzling rings.
Though he was clearly not human–that much was clear by his stature and pointy ears: a dwarf. It caught him off-guard, taking his attention from the intense match going on in the arena.
“Bet? Oh, I wasn’t looking to do that,” Emilio responded.
“Oh? Hm…” The amber-eyed, silver-haired dwarf inspected him, “A sword and a catalyst, hm? I take it you’re not just a mere spectator, then? Or at least, you don’t want to be.”
“Err, what do you mean? I don’t follow–”
As if completely ignoring his words, the wealthy dwarf cut him off with a smile, “I have an eye for this, you know? I can tell–you’ve got potential.”
“Potential?”
“To win. To make money,” the dwarven man told him, “Good money. How does one-hundred crowns for one fight sound?”
Just the allure of those words alone caused Emilio to gulp as the emptiness of his coin pouch made him all the more attentive to the smooth words of the man.
“O-one-hundred crowns?” Emilio repeated.
“It seems I have your attention. I’m Alfobromli Merryfoot–a sponsor of the Tower of Iron Magi,” the dwarf told him, extending his hand, “Come with me to my backstage–we can discuss this further.”
“Emilio,” he gave his name in return.
He knew it was something Roan and Melisande alike would give him an earful for, but the temptation of coin and the allure of establishing himself to some capacity in the capital of mages was too much for him to reject.
Shaking the sponsor’s hand, he followed him to the back of the illustrious arena into a private quarters exclusively for Alfobromli.
“Take a seat and treat yourself to whatever you’d like,” Alfobromli told him.
The room was exuberant; there were high-end leather furniture with rich gifts of chocolate signed by names of those who seemed to be other sponsors. While he checked out the room, trying out one of the pieces of chocolate, he sat down, watching as the silver-haired dwarf fiddled through papers before finding a specific document.
“Aha, here it is,” Alfobromli said to himself.
“What’s that?”
“Your contract,” Alfobromli told him, straightening out the paper before setting it in front of him, placing a pen-and-quill beside the document for him as well.
He already began questioning his decision to indulge the offer by the arena sponsor as he looked up with a raised eyebrow, “I’m not a dumb kid, you know.”
“Huh? Ah, a sharp one, eh?” Alfobromli said.
“I’m not just going to sign whatever you hand me with the promise of coins–you haven’t even told me what the Tower of Iron Magi really is yet,” Emilio said, “…It says right here that I’m signing this because there’s a chance I could die in the arena. I’m not participating in some ‘death battle’.”
The elderly dwarf looked at him before adjusting his monocle, strutting around the room as he cleared his throat.
“In complete honesty, I believed you already understood what it was,” Alfobromli said, “That was a lack of judgment on my part. Emilio, yes? Do not worry–the Tower of Iron Magi is not some savage brawl to the death,” the dwarf continued, standing across from him, “That’s only part of the contract as…accidents can occur. That’s all.”
“So, what’re the rules, then?” Emilio asked.
“It’s simple, really. This is not the stale tournament you see in lesser cities–no, no, no,” Alfobromli waved his finger, “The Tower of Iron Magi is an organization of talented warriors of varying talents–magic, swordsmanship, and such, put under the management of a sponsor, like myself, to set up bouts against other fighters. That’s the beauty of it; there’s no commitment–you’re free to do a single fight, if that’s what you want. However, if you’re successful…there’s a bright future ahead of you, lined with crowns and thrones alike.”
It was all too alluring as the money-loving dwarf spoke right to the heart of his dusty wallet, though it didn’t sound bad, either.
Emilio sat there for a minute to ponder whether or not he’d sign up to participate in a fight or two for some quick cash.
I was initially thinking I’d have to sit through a whole tournament, but if it’s just one or two fights…I can get this done without Roan or Melisande knowing, Emilio thought.
“If I sign this, when’s the soonest I can fight?” Emilio asked seriously.
Alfobromli seemed pleased with his question, stroking his silver beard with a smile, “A motivated one, hm? It just so happens there’s a slot open in the next ten minutes.”
“Ten minutes? Really?” Emilio looked in surprise.
“Yes, yes, it’s unfortunate, really, but the fighter I had ready for this bout was…too sick to participate today,” Alfobromli said, “Don’t worry–nobody will be upset that you’re taking their place; the crowd loves surprises.”
There it was: the obvious reason why the wealthy dwarf was so impatient to contract an impromptu person like himself to fight: there was no other choice for Alfobromli.
…And here I thought I was finally being estimated correctly, Emilio thought.
Though he felt like he was walking into something above the paygrade of somebody his age, he grabbed the pen and placed his signature. Just as he inscribed his name in ink, the dwarf’s expression lit up with joy.
“A fabulous decision! I like a fighter that shares my passion for success!” Alfobromli laughed.
“So…who am I fighting?” He asked.
–
As those ten minutes arrived, he now found himself walking down the corridor exclusive for Tower fighters, left only with a vague description from his sponsor: “A rough fellow named Ikar; be wary of his fists.”
Those not-so-reassuring words from Alfobromli led him to nervously walk down the steel corridor, hearing the cheers of anticipation from the crowd.
Prompting him to move quicker was the loud yell from the announcer of the Tower of Iron Magi, who bolstered his voice with a runic device that acted like a microphone:
“Due to unfortunate circumstances, fighter Roy will not be participating today, however! We’ve got an even better surprise for you, folks! He may be young, but don’t count him out! Giiiiiive it up for Emilio Dragonheart!” The announcer boomed.
Following the announcer’s words was a thunderous response from the crowd, building further anticipation for his debut.
Alright…just one or two fights and you’ll have more than enough money to make up what you lost. Keep it cool…You’re strong, he told himself.
Still, the introverted part of himself was queasy at the thought of performing in front of so many people, pausing before the arena entrance before finally walking in.
“THERE HE IS!”
“WOO!”
“A KID?!”
“GOOD LUCK, BOY! TRY NOT TO DIE!”
He gulped, feeling pressure now as a droplet of sweat dripped down his cheek, looking up from his side of the arena to find thousands of people watching him, cheering with enough volume to lightly shake the sand floor of the battleground.
“…Thanks…” Emilio quietly muttered with a nervous chuckle.
As he held his wooden staff in his left hand, he felt a small breeze sweep through the isolated arena, tugging on his long-sleeved, scarlet tunic before finding the announcer’s voice booming again as the blonde-haired, leather-armored man shouted from his podium atop the arena.
“Don’t think I’m counting out the star of today’s bout! His record is fifteen-to-zero, currently undefeated and rising the ranks, it’s the “Brawler of Dimonia”–Ikar!” The announcer shouted.
An even more booming encore of cheers, roars, and applause came from the audience at the welcoming of his opponent, only further cementing his feeling of being an underdog in this bout.
Alright…Focus up, he thought.
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