Dungeon Life

Chapter Three-Hundred Ten

Olander

He hopes he can get his armor and glaive repaired after this. They were both what he used before he got promoted, and he never imagined anything less than a Conduit would be able to damage them like Rocky has. The armor damage is one thing. It’s designed to break so he doesn’t, but snapping the haft on his glaive was truly shocking.

He chuckles as he stows away the two pieces of his old weapon. He let himself underestimate the zombie again. After his show against Onyx, Olander knew he was strong, but he should have realized the undead boxer has a lot going on upstairs, too. He might look like a zombie, but he needs to be treated like a dragon for how strong and clever he is.

The fight replays as he takes off his battered armor, tossing each piece into his Travel Bag and letting it sort and store each piece properly as he thinks. Be wary of consecutive hits. He’s seen singers break glass with their voice, and their explanation feels a lot like how Rocky is using his thunder affinity. He needs to remember his kinetic defenses, not just offense.

The fire and ice also play a role in the zombie’s combination attacks. Even if his old armor wasn’t covered in dents, he would bet the temper is ruined as well. It might be time to finally hang the old suit up as a memento. He grunts as he gets his chest plate off, relieved to be able to breathe easily again, and looks at the damage for a moment before it joins its companions in his bag.

It’s definitely going to only be fit for decoration after this. Maybe he won’t repair the glaive, come to think of it. It’d look pretty good hung on the wall, both pieces angled over the head of his old suit.

He shakes his head as he removes the last of his armor, pulling the chain undershirt over his head to toss into his bag. This is not the time to get distracted. He still has a fight to win.

And a cover to burn. He hopes Tula won’t be too mad with him once she realizes. He also hopes Berdol won’t treat him too differently. Their reactions were pretty high on his list of reasons to not go all out. But now he truly has a proper challenge before him, he has to just hope the dynamic with them won’t be shattered along with the identity of ordinary retired Olander.

He pulls his glaive from the bag, glad to have dimensional storage for his really good stuff. Where his old glaive was a dark and dangerous thing with no frills, his Wideblade Glaive is covered from tip to tang and beyond in intricate engravings. The haft looks like solid gold with the blade gleaming silver, but Olander knows it’s all a single piece. Even his title as Crown Inspector couldn’t get the mastersmith to reveal the details, just that it’s an alloy of mythril and orichalcum with a few other interesting things, and that the coloration difference was because of a difference in treatment.

Scattered gasps come from the crowd, but Olander does his best to ignore them as he props his weapon against the turnbuckle. He needs to get his armor on. Said armor is of the same alloy with the golden treatment, and he doesn’t rush putting it on. Murmurs travel through the crowd as those who recognize his armor tell those who don’t. He ignores them, and instead focuses on his preparations. The defensive enchantments are second to none on his armor, but his personal favorite feature is the automatic fitting. He only has to slip his foot into the sabaton for it to tighten itself. Then comes the greave, which he only needs to close around his calf before the enchantment takes over.

Each piece of armor goes on easily and connects seamlessly like a second skin. He always thought it made him look like a partial spiderkin, or other race with an exoskeleton, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the mastersmith took them as inspiration. He finishes with changing out his circlet for an intricate gold-colored one. He never could get used to full helmets, even with special sight enchantments. He trusts his eyes and ears more than anything he’s seen enchanters manage.

He takes his glaive and stands, the crowd murmuring and trying to figure out what his true identity means for the fight. He levels his glaive at Rocky with one arm, the zombie looking eager, and speaks up.

“I am Olander Wideblade, Inspector to the Crown! I have been charged with bringing King Horlon himself information about this dungeon! Are you prepared?”

The crowd goes silent as Rocky shakes his head, and for a brief terrible moment, Olander fears the zombie may forfeit. Instead, he starts embracing his titles.

Boxer is expected, and Olander only wonders how much better the zombie’s form will get with that title embraced. Affinity Savant gets Olander’s blood pumping. He’s already seen the undead pull off insane elemental combinations, what will that title mean for the coming round? He can only try to imagine, and try to contain his eagerness.

Rocky’s grin echoes his own as the boxer starts unlacing his gloves, tossing one over his shoulder, then the other, before embracing his third title: No Kid Gloves. He meets Olander’s eyes and hits a fist into his palm, nodding to show that now he’s ready.

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Olander laughs. “Are you sure you’re not a Conduit, too? No?”

Rocky grunts and shakes his head as Aranya’s voice carries over the crowd.

“Neither is holding back for this round! Olander the retired adventurer is none other than Olander Wideblade, Crown Inspector and I’m told one of the strongest delvers in the land! It looks like they’re both ready, too. Let the third round begin!”

The bell rings and energetic music fills the arena as Slash does his part to ensure both fighters are at the top of their games. If Rocky is going all out, how can Olander not do the same? He taps into his Fate affinity as Rocky’s mana floods the ring.

The elf grips his glaive properly and takes a defensive stance as the attack bears down on him. Like a lot of the zombie’s other attacks, it’s a building combination, but Olander is watching carefully now. He can feel his armor trying to shake itself apart, cold creeping to try to embrittle it, and heat waiting just out of contact to obliterate anything that snaps off.

He doesn’t let the vibrations build, and dampens it with his kinetic affinity like a hand might stop the ringing of a bell. After a few moments, the energy recedes and he can see Rocky with a manic smile, elated that Olander could counter such an attack. The boxer rushes in, and Olander eagerly follows suit.

The two clash in great gouts of mana, booms echoing through the arena, columns of flame and spears of ice flying to the ceiling, yet each combatant still in control enough that the crowd is in no danger. It may have not been explicitly stated in the rules, but even a speck of active mana landing among the crowd would be seen by either fighter as a loss. Olander slashes, blocks, and stabs while Rocky, weaves, counters, and adapts, each testing their own limits as well as those of their foe. Olander taps his Fate affinity deeper, moving through his fast technique of the spinning glaive. Without his second affinity, it was only half the technique it can be, and though he feels Rocky disrupting his footing like in the previous round, he lets his instinct guide him through all the attempted disruption.

He follows how he should move, subtly disrupting Rocky’s own attempts to attack, ducking a crescent of flame, sidestepping a patch of ice, deflecting a hammerblow upward, and riding the flow of the fight. It takes longer than usual, but he finally feels the time to strike, and channels his affinity as he brings the blade of his glaive around.

He’s not called Wideblade just for the odd shape of his weapon. Sure, it gives his attacks more force, but that’s a bonus for his signature weapon. The glaive head almost appears to morph into a hammer, but even that is a trick of the eyes. He multiplies the cutting edge of his weapon more times than he can count, and what’s worse for his foes, getting hit by a single one is the same as getting hit by all!

“Inescapable Demise!” he shouts as the blade swings up to slice into Rocky’s side. And then fate twists.

Defiance! pulses through the arena, the refusal carried by Rocky’s mastery of thunder affinity, and an explosion erupts from the boxer’s fist. Instead of overwhelming Olander, however, the force sends Rocky flying back and out of the reach of the attack that shouldn’t be able to miss!

He doesn’t get the time to declare that’s not how that works as Rocky hits the ropes and rebounds toward him, the chill and weight of a glacier in one fist and an inferno in the other. He reinforces the haft of his weapon and blocks both fists, planting his feet and not letting the attack overwhelm him. His instinct whispers a plan, and he moves before he’s even aware of it, knowing to trust in the quiet pull of his affinity. A swift empowered kick sends Rocky up into the air, and sets up Olander for another Wideblade technique to catch the undead as he plummets.

“Destined to Fall!”

And once again, destiny twists as Rocky shouts his refusal to accept fate. Olander feels the kinetic energy for but a moment, and he quickly shatters it, but it’s still enough for Rocky to gain footing in the air and leap back.

The elf takes a moment to examine his foe, and he can feel the diminished energies around the zombie now. Whatever he did to deny those two attacks, it took a lot out of him. Olander is also drained from those attacks, but still far from spent. Rocky rushes forward, the potency of his affinities concentrated into small points on his fists, and Olander knows he needs to avoid them.

He spins his glaive once more as he gives ground, parrying at the wrist instead of clashing directly against his attacks. His affinity whispers a plan, and for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t immediately follow. It’s reckless, even for him. But with Rocky putting his all into his onslaught, it’s his best chance.

He drops his guard for just a moment, the blade of his glaive just a hair out of place. But just like he had to take Rocky’s opening last round, the boxer has to take this one. He can feel the scion’s fate affinity resonating with what’s about to happen, and Olander tries to ignore the incoming fist as he brings the butt of his glaive up. He angles his head just slightly to accept the pulsating orb of kinetic energy, knowing it’s his best bet to handle the incoming force.

He’s not sure if it’s his own move, or Rocky’s, or somehow a combination attack, but the words and concept solidify just before fist and haft make contact. “Cross Counter!”

Olander is driven to the mat by the impact of Rocky’s technique, his mind reeling from the impact. The only coherent thought is that the zombie somehow adapted his own Wideblade technique to work over different affinities. All the other energies converted to kinetic for that punch! Affinity Savant indeed! He shakes his head and stands, his balance still uneven, but a wide smile on his face.

Rocky hits the floor a few moments later, thrown out of the ring by the force of Olander’s contribution. The crowd roars as Aranya’s voice carries over it.

“Winner by ringout! Olander!”