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His RUSTY plate. Where the plates joined, where the contoured muscles formed deep ridges, the dark brown rust gathered.

“You look overly stressed.” he said to me.

“Your armor.” I said. “It’s...”

He chuckled. “I know. In my youth, I would have taken pride in it. I would want to die looking well.”

“You aren’t even that old.” I said. “A decade or so into your adulthood, from the looks of it.”

He spat to one side. “Oh, it may not be today, and it may not be you, but I have known for years that I will die upon these sands, for some petty claim or other of my wife.”

I blinked.

“I love her, you see.” he said. “It is the cruelest of chains, and I desire death more than to break it. I know it is love, because I see her with her younger husbands, and do not envy. I am ... glad, I think, that she can find enjoyment, even if it is the hands of youth she gets that enjoyment from.”

.....

“I cannot understand.” I said.

He winked at me. “My hands are not idle. I just don’t grace her bed nightly, you see. Well.” He drew up a spear whose haft was wider around than the bones in my arm. “Shall we see which of us is fated to draw breath, and which tastes death?”

“I am sorry we had to meet this way, Banarius.” I said.

“I am not. That axe is far too large for you.”

Those unfamiliar with the spear forget how quickly it can be drawn back and thrust forward again, versus the axe, a slower, more cumbersome weapon. I discarded it the second time he struck me.

“Why throw away your life in such a manner? Aaagh!”

This latter was because I leaped right for his helmet.

[You have been struck for eighteen points of Piercing damage; after armor, eight points have been received...]

But I rolled, and gained purchase on his shoulder pauldron, swinging my left hand into his exposed chin. A yellow critical, but the crowd went wild, even as Banarius got the spear between us and shoved me loose.

“You’re fast.” he said, “But I have the better skills.”

“No.” I said. “You have skills, but you’re just shy of what a champion...”

“Flash step thrust!” he shouted, and was right there. I twisted, but it was still a solid hit.

I grabbed the haft of the spear, tried to ride the shaft up for a wrist lock. I never reached that wrist, instead hearing the cheers of the crowd, as he whipped me about like a piece of laundry one was attempting to dry in the wind.

“Don’t tire out on me already!” he shouted.

“You don’t seem tired, either.” I replied.

When he finally threw me, I rolled. The axe was off to the right, blade mockingly turned toward the roof.

He smiled at me. “Far, far too late for that.”

“I’m sorry.” I said. “Let me show you why you’re wrong.”

“I’m not letting you do anything other than die!” he said, moving in again.

I crouched, but threw myself at his ankles. It was cheating, I knew. His greaves protected the front of his legs, but the back?

I sank my fangs in deeply, injecting venom. It wasn’t an attack I employed often, but I was desperate.

He kicked me with the other hoof, doing little enough damage, but inflicting a [Concussion].

Some day, I’d like to be in a hard-fought melee where I didn’t get one of those.

He thrust his spear at me, and I dodged by clambering upward. The knee guard, the belt...

A simple backhand removed me from the front of his armor, in the direction I had intended.

“Ah. You thought that would end me? Your nasty little trick? Already it fades!”

I shook my head. “Tell me you see it.” I said.

He snorted. “I see you making excuses!” He came at me, not charging and not breaking his Spearman’s stance. I fell back before his assault, also falling below half health.

“And to think I dared to...”

Without my Strength, I wouldn’t have been able to do it. I spun him, where his back would land on the exposed axe blade.

In mid-air, he swept a hand behind him, knocking the axe off alignment. He rose laughing, with no new wound. Threw his arms wide, bellowed for the screaming crowd.

Then he kicked the axe to me. “At least die with a weapon in your hand.”

[You have two champion points.] my System responded, as I picked up the axe.

I dismissed the details of the resulting power. It was simple enough. For a cost in fatigue, I could add my Wrath rating to my damage. Similar to what I could do... with... the Jaws of Wrath.

I was too late into today’s battle to make use of it, but with a heavy heart, I realized there were advantages other than mere venom that I could use against heavily armored enemies.

I took a feint at his weapon, and then struck at his leg, the joint of his knee guard. I missed the joint, but it resounded with a large clang, bending in a way that impeded movement of that leg.

He was smiling as he thrust at me. “Yes! I knew you had power. Show me!”

It ended then, as he took a thrust at my groin, a thrust I had to leap over. He had to know. He had to. I tell myself that, because it’s easier than thinking that he was just enjoying himself, toying with me.

He pulled his helmet away, and the axe, empowered by Wrath, instead struck his horn. It didn’t break it off, but with a crack of bone, it whipped his head around.

Far around, like my neck could do.

[You have scored an ORANGE...]

“What?’ he asked. “No, that’s not right.”

The entire left side of his body went limp, and he tumbled to the sands.

“Uhhh. Heh.” he said, pulling a sword with his right hand. “Well, be about it, then. I’m not just...”

The sword fell from his limp grasp.

“No.” he said. “Not like this. I die... in battle.”

I picked the sword up, placed the tip inside his helmet. “You die in battle, Banarius Gothicus Antares.”

And then I killed him, to the roar of the crowd.

If my eyes were leaking water, nobody alive was close enough to see it.

“Spears of air...” I said.

No. Focus. This was planned.

“Spirits of air, it is I, Rhishisikk, Child of the Ocean and Adept of Water. I call upon you; please grant my request. Make my voice as the voice of four, I ask this of you. Shout!”

“Minotaurs of Othello!” I called out, in a voice far too loud to be mine. It was crisp and clear and not at all fatigued. It could not have been my voice. But it spoke my words.

“Minotaurs of Othello! For too long, you have been oppressed by this mountain! Barely enough food to go around. For some to feast, others must endure famine! This is no way to live! I call upon those with courage, with grit, I call upon you to leave this place. In the heart of the land of Achaea, there rises the Red Tide Empire. Join with me, join with the empire. Join your destiny with that of the new Axe Hero, a minotaur like yourselves! Many are the preparations, but no later than next spring...”

“NO!” boomed a voice that was greater than mine, even when I augmented mine with magic.

He flung himself to the sands from above, shirking the ladders as he normally did. He lacked his armor of enchanted bronze, harder than iron, sturdier than steel. He did not carry his stone-hafted mace, set with blades of black iron. But he was still Maximus the Free, champion of the Arena, and his voice carried weight. “I say NO! There will be no delay of a year. Two weeks. We meet at the Southern Dawn gate, two weeks from today! Two weeks, free men and women of Othello! And I am in charge, not this...”

The word he used is one suitable for something you would scrape off the bottom of your shoe, and then throw away the knife you’d done it with. And then burn the boots, when you had a pair to replace them with.

“No offense.” he said. “The people HATE you.”

I looked over to the corspe of Banarius. “They should.” I said.

“I did see that. You could have left him to die slowly. He would have wanted such a clean death. It was butchery, but there was honor in it.”

Then, he whispered at me. “Tell me this exodus of yours can succeed. Crossing the plains of the centaurs is foolishness.”

“So is passing through the elven wood, which is my plan.” I said.

“I knew I liked you for a reason. We WILL speak of this later. Three days, no more.”