Holy Gladiator

Chapter 6; For the blade

Matilda's hand clasps my shoulder, causing me to look back at her. She sticks her thumb up with her other hand, giving a smile. The look in her eyes betrayed it, doubt glazed them. Her eye twitches as she backs away, blinking constantly and patting my shoulder.

"You got this Luca! Now go kick those Northerner ass's!" She exclaims energetically, giving me a final slap on the shoulder. My response is by looking back at her in confusion, curious of the name-calling, A pause occurs between us, the only noise being the clammering crowd. She does not recognize the confusion.

"Northerners?" I inquire, her then piping up, chuckling at nothing particular.

"Ya know! People who live in the north of course!" She answers with zest.

"They too commit these heinous deeds that spill the blood of god's children... what brings one to find joy here." I clench my fist around the collar of my tattered robe, matted in the dirt as I stare at the rising Portcullis. "Yet we must spill the blood to live. Where do they find joy... is it the struggle of life? Is it that if we slip we fall? What is the thrill?" I let out a sigh, turning to Matilda with half my body, "some of the people who rest with us are here because they wanted to, only to find regret and it to be much more difficult. Some say they dug their own grave, while few seem to take pleasure in tearing flesh from flesh."

The portcullis ceases as it stands high, the large gap allowing passage. "Matilda..." I stop myself, a lump welling in my throat as my restrained words beg to release, to continue confiding. I feel myself crack under the released pressure.

Have all I did was add to your burden from speaking... what is it that makes me want to live? My best friend was torn in two yet I am given the chance to wield something special. Back there rests a shattered child, a broken former holy knight, and a reserved doctor. I don't know what makes them fight, even though Rose isn't with a weapon in hand she too fights a different battle. All that awaits is death or more pain, why do we keep living... that I must ask. Those words swell in my throat as I turn, leaving a waiting cloaked woman who has fought them. Or maybe that's just my thought.

The crowd roars in cheer as I enter through my side, with another soul entering the other side of the court.

The opposing person wields sica, the curved shape dagger is backed up by a leather shield with what appears to be little pieces of metal stuck to the curve.

Gyle strolls out, two blades in hand, he offers the hilt of both: A basic tulwar along with a bastard sword. I nod, slowly grabbing the tulwar. I let out a low sigh as he walks away with the bastard. Both have decorated hilts with comfortable grips, gold wrapped around the centre.

I and the opposed walk toward the middle as a booming voice speaks from the Duke's stand. "Everyone quiet! These two will stand by for me to yell fight, after that it will be continuous!" It takes some time for the crowd to pipe down, though I am confused about how he was able to speak that loudly.

We meet in the middle. My eyes nervously scan the stands before settling on him, he looks young, with an aggressive gaze. He wears minimal armour, with a half-helm, iron greaves and vambraces.

"Ha! They send out a fresh-blood? They must take us for fools! Dressed in rags with a sword I doubt you can wield! I have no desire to fight you... though it could just be a scouting death to test us, or for me to let my guard down." The youth scoffs, moving around dramatically with his words to emphasize them. He has a smug smirk on him, "they send you out here to die to a better! What pathetic cowards to not test their mettle blindly!" He continues, moving about with flourish, performing for an audience. He brings up his sword arm, aiming the sica at me, his shield lowered, revealing his iron cuirass. "You should be thankful to have been giving your life to I, for I will end it quickly to end your suffering. My grandparent's armour shall not be scuffed on fighting someone who hasn't spilled the blood of another!" His speech starts to shift, turning into more of an actor's monologue as he raises both hands to the air, met with the crowd's cheers.