Crimson and Gold

It took only a few days for Lysandra to secure a fight for Saria.

From what she was told, she would face a skilled archer in a specially prepared arena, though the exact setting was a secret only to be revealed on the day of the fight.

When she got to the place, her new armor was already waiting for her.

“You weren’t joking about being half-naked,” Saria said the moment she saw her ‘armor’.

Although that was a rather generous word for what was essentially a steel manica for her right arm, a helmet, and a few pieces of cloth to cover her chest and hips.

“Well… you wished for something that would allow you to keep the usual mobility,” Lysandra said, standing next to her, “and I wished for something that combines the utility with enjoyment.”

Saria raised her eyebrows. “Enjoyment?”

Lysandra didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Her eyes, slowly gliding down her body, did all the talking for her.

A content grin rose on Saria’s face. “Are you sure it’s just for the fight, or perhaps you expect me to wear this in the evening too?”

“Why would I waste time dressing you up,” Lysandra purred and moved closer, “if all I want is to undress you?”

The guards and servant girls accompanying them looked at each other nervously. They knew very well what kind of reputation their mistress had and what she did to deserve it.

However, the fight was about to begin. There was no way they would… right before… they wouldn’t…?

“I think you’re making our entourage a bit uncomfortable, Your Highness,” remarked Saria, seeing how everyone except for them was flushed red.

Lysandra looked around, then turned back to her and winked. “Good. I have a reputation to uphold,” she whispered.

Saria laughed, but didn’t press the matter further. She had already grown accustomed to the Princess choosing to act quite scandalously when they were in public or had company.

“It’s not a normal steel,” Lysandra said, moving the conversation back to the armor. “Both the helmet and the manica were made out of cold silver.

“It’s a special kind of alloy forged in Liung-Mun. The procedure is one of the most guarded secrets, and the price is not something anyone could afford. But in return, it offers unmatched protection.”

“How unmatched?”

“Nothing that can be drawn by a man will be able to pierce it.”

Seeing Saria’s impressed look, Lysandra continued. “I also requested for enchantments be added.”

“Enchantments are allowed in the fights?”

“They are, but they are strictly regulated. Nothing that would give someone an unfair advantage is allowed, so no invulnerability, no enhanced damage, etc.”

“Then what enchantments did you request?” Saria wondered.

She didn’t know that the professional fights would be under such strict regulations. So far, her experience showed a completely different image of the arena.

Lysandra smirked. “Nothing that would break the rules. Rest assured. Just make sure to keep all of the armor parts on you.”

“Nudity is not allowed?”

The Princess gave her a reprimanding look. “The enchantments won’t work.”

“Oh.”

“Your Highness, it’s almost time,” said one of the servant girls.

“You should get ready. I’ll find you after the fight,” the Princess said and went to take her seat at the loge.

Professional fights were different than the ones Saria was participating in as a slave without an owner.

It wasn’t just about mindless slaughter, but the aim was to give the audience a good show. For that reason, there was a lot of thought put into the sets and themes of the fights.

This one was supposed to happen in an abandoned village.

Waiting at her gate, Saria looked at the wooden and stone houses—much smaller than their real counterpart—and the lush green plants at the edges of the village. Since the fight with the chimera, she was really impressed with the skill of the designers.

The set looked almost real, if not for the size difference.

She also quickly noted that the houses, aside from decoration, could double as a cover from arrows. Something worth remembering for later.

The horn sounded, and the gate flung open.

The decorations on the set made it difficult to see her opponent, so she took a careful step outside. Her instincts told her he was on the other side of the arena, but that was the only guess she could make.

Threading through the bushes, she entered the open patch of sand right at the entrance to the ‘village’.

Her eyes scanned for any sign of the archer.

Suddenly, she noticed a movement.

At the last moment, her right arm shot up, protecting her face from the arrow.

It hit the manica and broke in two pieces that bounced away.

Saria immediately darted towards the cover of the buildings.

Running, she heard two swishes right next to her head.

Her heart was pumping frantically as she realized that the first arrow was aimed perfectly at the opening of her helmet.

If not for the armguard and her keen senses, she would be dead.

Lysandra told her that the man was extremely skilled, but to be able to make a shot like this required more than skills.

She had to play it well, or it would be her first and last professional fight.

Saria took a couple of deep breaths and refocused.

Archers loved distance. It was their playground, where they were the ones controlling the situation. She had to shift the balance towards her.

Now that the archer made his move, she had confirmation of where he was, and she had two options.

She could try sneaking up on him using the houses and the foliage as cover, hoping that he won’t notice her approach. Or she could take a risk and try rushing at him.

There was a chance that seeing her charging would take him by surprise, but it was also a big gamble. One mistake and she would be dead.

Whatever decision she was going to make, closing the distance had to be the priority, and it had to be done fast, before he had the time to change his position.

Making up her mind, she lunged for the broken fence, then to a pile of boxes stacked on top of each other.

Every time she moved, she heard a hiss of arrows missing her just barely. One even landed a shot, but it only bounced off the helmet without causing any harm.

Saria thanked Lysandra for not sparing expenses on the gear in her heart, then took a peek in search for another cover.

The arrows never stopped coming, which was another thing that surprised her. Normally, a standard quiver was able to hold anywhere from twelve to twenty-six projectiles. However, from her calculations, that number had long been surpassed.

While it was somewhat possible that the Archer was sitting on a mountain of arrows. More probable was that he was using an enchantment on his quiver that gave him unlimited ammunition.

This meant that waiting out until he can’t shoot anymore was not an option.

As she was scanning the area, a stone well caught her attention. It was slightly further than the other covers, but it was also a spot close to the Archer.

If she could get there, that would force him either to run to gain back the distance or face her in close range. Both cases gave her a direct advantage.

Her opponent seemed to realize it too, as he started shooting arrow after arrow with even more determination, pinning her to her hiding spot.

But she couldn’t wait any longer.

Focusing her whole strength in her legs, she dashed towards the well.

A rain of arrows flew her way. She managed to dodge most of them, but one of them found its mark.

It pierced through her thigh and sank deep into it.

Horrible pain erupted from the leg, causing her to lose balance and fall right at the foot of the well. Fortunately, she was close enough to crawl the rest of the way.

Resting her back against the cobbled wall, she assessed the damage.

The arrow pierced the muscle, but it looked like it avoided the bone and any important blood vessels.

Under different circumstances, she would leave the projectile in the wound, as it was partially stopping the bleeding, but in her current situation, it would only make moving more difficult.

She broke off the arrowhead and clenched her jaw, pulling out the remaining piece from her thigh.

She groaned in pain and took off an armband to use it as a tourniquet.

However, before she even had a chance to do so, a bright light erupted from the wound. She felt a pleasant warm tingling in the spot where the arrow pierced the flesh, and as the sensation faded, she realized that her thigh was healed.

Completely surprised, she moved her leg a few times, but there was no pain, not even a sign that she was ever hurt.

Saria smirked. “Defensive enchantments, you say?”

A brazen idea formed in her mind, but before she was willing to commit, she had to test it first.

With her sword, she made two cuts. One long line on her stomach, the other—deeper—on her unarmed hand.

Both healed equally fast as the wound on her thigh.

Crimson eyes flashed with daring confidence.

This discovery changed everything.

The barrage of arrows never stopped, but Saria didn’t care anymore. She didn’t need to.

As long as she could avoid any blows that dealt instant death, she should be able to heal from anything.

She got up and began marching towards the Archer.

It caught him off guard. He never expected someone to do something so insane, but he thought it was even better for him.

He aimed at the opening in her helmet, right at the crimson eyes burning with a challenge.

The arrow left the bow with a deadly hiss.

Saria swung her sword, effortlessly slicing through the projectile. Then the next one. And the next. The last one hit the armored part of her helmet and broke into pieces.

At this moment, the Archer understood that things weren’t as good for him as he initially assumed.

The arrows started coming faster, more hectic. Some missed, some hit the armor.

Finally, one pierced her leg again.

He thought it was his chance, but Saria ripped it from her flesh without any regard for the pain or damage she was causing.

When the white light flashed and the wound closed, he finally understood just how dire his situation was.

He targeted her bare skin, hoping to inflict enough pain to stop her.

One arrow lodged in her side, another in her unprotected shoulder. The third sliced through her neck.

But she never stopped. At some point, she even gave up on ripping them out as soon as they hit, almost as if she was mocking him.

He strung another arrow, but it was too late. She was right before him.

Her sword sliced through the bow, splitting it in half.

He drew a dagger. His last resort. His last chance to win and survive.

Unused to close-quarter combat, he waved his arm clumsily. The panic was slowly taking over him.

Saria dodged each swing effortlessly. Deflected with her sword like it were a child’s play.

With one measured blow, she flung the dagger out of his hand and followed with a punch right at his nose.

The Archer was sent backwards, tripping on his own feet and landing flat on the sand.

The blood poured from his broken nose, the tears flooded his eyes, but he still saw her approaching.

Saria stepped on his chest, pressing him down to the heated sand. The sword in her hand stopped only an inch from his throat.

“Surrender,” she growled.

The Archer knew that it was his only chance at survival. He didn’t dare to reject it.

He raised both of his hands, marking the end of the fight.