Chapter 68
Among the perks of this inn, one had to note the sufficiently wide and sturdy bed. It barely even creaked as I pressed the thief's body into it, thrust after thrust. The elf, lying on her stomach, was clearly having a difficult time. The dimensions of my magic-enhanced body had increased in more ways than just muscle mass. However, the thief seemed to be holding up for now, though I had to provide her with a pillow, which she was currently gripping with her teeth.
I don't know about her, but I was quite enjoying the proceedings. I'd wanted to take this new body for a test drive like this for a while.
Of course, it would have been better to do this with Liandra instead of a one-armed stray, but as they say, a bird in the bed is worth two in the friendzone. Plus, I think luck will smile on me with her yet. We have a long journey ahead of us. If there's chemistry, sooner or later I'll manage to fan that spark into a flame. For now, though…
— Wait… where are you going?! — I said in Norscan when an escape attempt was made from under me.
Or rather, a crawling attempt.
I climbed off the elf, and she immediately recoiled. The one-armed girl was trembling slightly, pulling her legs together. Her small chest heaved rapidly, like a frantic bird's. In the darkness, I could make out several more scars on her naked body. Ah, the pirate life.
— Can't take any more? — I asked.
The girl gave a barely perceptible nod. Does she actually understand the Northern tongue, or did she just guess from my intonation?
— Too bad. We aren't exactly finished yet.
She turned away and tried to stand on wobbly legs. I pulled her back toward me, dragging her to the brightest patch of moonlight on the bed. I looked closer, spreading her legs. Well, no blood flowing, so there shouldn't be any serious damage.
She tried to stand again, but I didn't let her. I rose to my feet myself, looming over her. Grabbing her by the hair gathered in a ponytail, I pulled her face toward my groin, hinting at the next phase of the plan. The one-armed girl refused to cooperate. Fine. I needed to add some motivation.
I stepped back, reached for the pouch on the nightstand, and pulled out a single gold coin. I twirled it in front of the nose of the failed thief and underwhelming lover.
That kind of motivation worked, though not instantly. For about thirty seconds, the elf looked from the coin to me, then to my loins. The latter were currently closest to her face, which now reflected the agony of an internal struggle between pride and greed. Greed won out. The one-armed girl set to work.
Overall, it was pleasant. At least I managed to reach the finish line. A few times the elf nipped me painfully with her teeth—I'm not sure if it was accidental or on purpose. Regardless, I was satisfied with the results.
When the deed was done, the girl curled her thin lips and began looking around, likely searching for water. But there was none. Should have prepared in advance. Then, with an even deeper grimace, she made a visible effort to swallow.
— Neat? No chaser? Good girl! — I smirked, speaking in Russian now, and then handed her the coin.
She tried to take it with her hand, but I caught her wrist. Sorry. If you hadn't bitten, I would have just given it to you, but as it is…
I was still holding out the coin, but I kept a grip on the elf's hand, preventing her from taking the gold. She caught the hint, snarling angrily and flushing redder than before. But she clearly needed the money. She opened her mouth, sticking out her tongue. I placed the gold coin directly onto it, summarizing the situation in Norscan:
— Now get out. If you want to rob me again, bring a pitcher of water.
Quickly gathering her things, shooting me a couple of angry glares, and attempting to swipe another coin that had fallen from the pouch to the floor, the elf left my humble abode.
— You didn't earn two, — I called out after her. — If you feel the urge again, knock next time, or it'll be rougher.
I locked up from the inside again and then asked mentally:
— Loom-Pia, you there?
There was no answer. Did he take offense? I was about to lie down when the Hypnotoad finally replied:
— Your mating rituals are crude and tedious. To avoid observing this fumbling, I immersed myself in my own thoughts, visualizing ancestral memories.
Didn't peek—at least there's that. Not that the local Lizardmen care about sex. They're spawned in batches in special magical pools created by their beloved Old Ones.
After this sudden-for-both-parties sex, I felt pretty good, though I definitely don't want to live in a place like this permanently. I fully approve of debauchery, but one must know where to draw the line. Did I treat the one-armed girl poorly? Yes. Did she deserve such treatment? Absolutely.
I'm certain she didn't get those scars while playing carelessly with a giant kitten. This bitch was a sadist, a thief, and very likely a murderer, even if she was currently retired on medical grounds. Such treatment definitely won't cause her any moral trauma. It might even add some respect for my person.
Closing my eyes, I passed out almost instantly and slept until morning.
Liandra was either unaware of the night-time intrusion into my room or pretended to know nothing.
— We are going to Kehmor today, — she said. — Even before dawn, his messenger sent an invitation for you to the arena.
— Excellent. Then let's have breakfast and get to the fight.
An hour and a half later, I was in the staging area of one of Clar Karond's gladiator pits. Around me was an abundance of weapons and various helmets, but no armor. Swords, axes, two-handed greataxes, even massive warhammers that looked like sledgehammers.
— Take what you like, — Kehmor Spiked-Whip said in Norscan, standing behind me. — If you win, you keep it.
How generous. Besides the beastmaster, his wolves and several guards were present. Liandra wasn't allowed back here; she had already taken her seat in the arena stands.
— I have my own weapon, — I replied, displaying the Axe of Khargan. — But I'll snag something of yours too.
I walked over to one of the tables where the weapons were laid out. My eye was caught not by an axe or a sword, but by a round shield with spikes around the edges. A longer, jagged spike protruded directly from the center of the design. The shield was light by my current standards. The core, glued from wooden slats, was faced with metal on the front.
I also picked out a helmet. It was a heavy, crude piece of Norscan craftsmanship. An open-faced helm decorated with a pair of horns. The presence of the latter bothered me. Ideally, head protection should have a streamlined shape so that a blow can slide off, whereas horns will prevent that. All the force from an enemy attack would be transferred to the neck. However, even a horned bucket like this could be useful. At least it would protect against projectiles.
— You will go through three bouts in a row, — the beastmaster announced. — Your opponents will mostly be greenskins. Your goal is not merely to kill them all, — Kehmor said with a bloodthirsty smirk. — Do it spectacularly, barbarian. Then you shall learn what the favor of the Druchii truly means.
Yeah, I think I got a taste of that last night. Though that little thief was hopefully just the appetizer before the main course.
— Come, — Kehmor pointed toward a wide staircase leading down with his partisan.
Even from here, I could hear the roar of the crowd outside. Bread and circuses for the masses. "Those who are about to die salute you," and all that.
As we walked down the corridor, purple magical lanterns flared to life on either side of us, adding a touch of solemnity to the situation. Kind of cool. So, Druchii magical lighting has motion sensors.
Finally, we found ourselves before a metal portcullis with thick bars that had almost no gap between them. Nothing bigger than a mouse could slip through that construction. From beyond the gate, the voice of the arena announcer could already be heard. His words were likely amplified by some sort of magic.
— The Beast from the North! The Norscan Berserker! The mad servant of the Dark Gods, Jurg the Goblinslayer!
The metal gate began to rise, inviting me to enter the list. Goblinslayer? That title will do for a start.
I can't say I was nervous, but I felt a pleasant rush of adrenaline. The coming battle was associated in my mind with newly absorbed energy. I understood I was risking my life, but the arena still seemed like a safer alternative to regular battles. At least there wouldn't be any ambushes here. Three fights in a row, each more difficult than the last. Victory would bring gold, glory, and, of course, leveling up. It was an opportunity for us to make useful contacts. To rise in the brutal society of the Dark Elves, where violence is extolled as one of the highest arts.
The gate rose, opening the way onto the spacious stone bowl of the arena. I stepped forward, armed with my axe, shield, and enchanted dagger. Beneath my feet was dark stone resembling granite. From the stands, hundreds of cold, bloodthirsty eyes watched me. The Druchii didn't exactly give my arrival a thunderous welcome. No matter. Paris will yet hear of D'Artagnan.
In my previous life, I hadn't performed in public all that often. I can't say I had any fear associated with it, though. I didn't lose my voice or start stuttering. But I wasn't a great orator or actor either. Now, standing before a massive audience, I felt… fine. Definitely much better than being alone with Tamurkhan.
These pointy-eared bastards want a show? I'll give them a spectacle.
I tried to recall all the gladiator movies I'd seen. I raised my axe above my head, scanning the stands.
— Does our new beast crave blood and meat? — the announcer proclaimed. — Release the appetizers!
On the opposite side of the stone bowl, another iron gate began to rise. Behind it appeared a ragged crowd of small humanoids. Goblins. The runts whose destruction had started my journey in this grim world. Tasty and useful mushrooms on legs. Though, they only become useful once they've been killed and cooked.
There were nearly thirty Goblins here. A real crowd. Almost no armor. For weapons, they had short spears, rusted cleavers, and clubs. I could easily kill each one with a single blow. Hack them from their eared heads down to their filthy asses. However, nearly thirty of them could be a trial even for my current combat potential. Especially given the lack of armor besides the helmet.
No matter. "The eyes are afraid, but the hands do the work, and the axe keeps hacking."
About a dozen Druchii infantrymen used jabs from long spears to "help" the Goblin horde get closer to the center of the arena. The greenskins went reluctantly. They were clearly terrified. They shoved each other, trying to stay away from the edges of the crowd. Then the elves retreated, and the gate began to close behind them. I smiled, looking at the mob of gobbos.
— Dere's only one of 'im! — a large Goblin with a spiked club shrieked suddenly. — Get 'im, boys! Bash 'im!
The other greenskins supported his idea with squeals and shouts. The disorganized mob surged toward me. I walked toward them too. Why delay?
I pulled the axe back over my shoulder and held the shield out in front of me. They didn't seem to have any throwing weapons. A few stones flew at me, but these primitive projectiles were slow, inaccurate, and predictable. Only a couple of small ones grazed me, and one clinked against my helmet. I suspect the elves deliberately didn't give them ranged weapons. The Dark Elves wanted to watch a bloody slaughter in close quarters.
The most correct tactic for the Goblins would have been to start throwing the spears they had at me. However, the greenskins either hadn't thought of it, or each of them was simply terrified of parting with their personal weapon. In the end, we closed for melee.
The most critical moment of this encounter arrived. I stood face-to-face with the gobbos. Or rather, face-to-muzzle. Damn, they're tiny. Goblins were shorter than me before, but now they seemed like something akin to Chihuahuas. But they shouldn't be underestimated.
They immediately tried to flank me. Shouting and shoving, the Goblins rushed to both sides of me, leveling their short spears. I lunged to the left, simultaneously swinging my axe in a wide arc. I didn't hit any of them. The goal was to intimidate them and push the spears aside.
Damn. If I had a sword, I'd have reached one of them already. The Axe of Khargan didn't have a very large strike radius, and without the buff from the Blood Chalice, swinging it wasn't exactly easy. But I had consciously gone into battle with this weapon. The axe possessed phenomenal killing power and durability. If they released some particularly tough beast against me, I wouldn't be able to defeat it without such a weapon.
— Bash 'em! Bash 'em! Poke 'im! — the Goblins yelled, tripping over each other.
I retreated and shifted to the side, not letting them pin me down. I was "cycling" the ring, as boxing fans used to say. I needed to find the right moment, pick someone out of the crowd and…
I didn't have to.
The Goblins made the task easier for me. Their crowd fell apart. The fleetest of the greenskins began to pursue me individually. That's how much they believed in themselves. It's amazing how easily these creatures switch between cowardice and battle-frenzy.
Too bad for them. Their fear hadn't been misplaced.
Taking a couple of side-steps, I focused my attention on the large Goblin with the club who was charging at me at full speed. Stopping abruptly, I took his blow on the shield. It was a hard block. I didn't even try to deflect the strike, but met it with all the power of my new musculature.
Before the Goblin had time to be surprised, my right hand had already brought the heavy Chaos axe down on his skull. The dark-magic-infused metal easily crushed the little bastard's bones. The skull cracked. The axe split the Goblin's head almost in half.
I immediately kicked him in the chest with my left leg to make it easier to free the weapon. And back again. A few spears managed to scratch my arms, but I avoided any serious hits.
The first drops fell into the bottom of my Blood Chalice. I was charging up with the life force spilled from the green freak's body. The axe began to feel lighter.
The second Goblin practically volunteered too. He apparently hadn't noticed his comrade's death. While some of the greenskins were already starting to retreat, grouping up again, this lively one was still attacking.
Smaller than the others, filthy, armed only with a single rusted knife. I didn't even use the axe on him. I struck with the spiked rim of the shield. It left deep gashes on his face. The Goblin dropped his weapon, jumping in place and looking at me in a daze. A moment later, a second strike from the shield rim hit him. This time, I took out his eye and turned part of his face into a bloody furrow. I managed to achieve this effect by dragging the spiked edge slightly to the side. Another drop of energy.
I intentionally didn't kill the Goblin instantly. First, a wounded freak would spread panic among the rest. Second, I had to provide a show for the audience.
The Goblins realized the "bashing" wasn't going according to plan. Even the slowest among them scrambled away from me. However, having the advantage in stride length, I managed to catch another greenskin and hack him across the spine. The blade of the Axe of Khargan punched right through the body. Several gruesome spikes protruded right from the freak's sternum. Again, I had to use my foot to help free the weapon.
By this point, I had one full segment of the Blood Chalice and half of another. Excellent.
The mob huddled together, shoving and squealing in fear again. Now I had to crack this shit-formation.
Like a shark circling a school of fish, I walked around the crowd of little freaks. They pointed their remaining spears at me. The weapons weren't particularly dangerous, but three or four jabs from even these toothpicks would cause nasty wounds. I'm not an RPG character here. I don't have an HP bar. If I get poked and start bleeding out, I'll have to consume the Chalice. That would complicate everything. I need the empowerment charges for the next fight.
A few times I tested the crowd from different sides. I couldn't find a weak spot. The terrified Goblins had gone into total defense mode. Dozens of pairs of tiny red eyes watched me unblinkingly. They caught every movement. The spears, like the tentacles of some massive organism, swayed in sync, constantly pointing in my direction.
Use the ashen lash? No way. This is only the first fight. If I had a larger shield, I could ram the enemy formation. But what if?..
I stepped away from the crowd, jammed the spiked edge of the shield into a gap between the arena flagstones, and picked up one of the Goblin corpses. I had enough strength for that now. I grabbed it by the leg, lifted it high, and, stretching into a grin, headed toward the crowd.
The Druchii in the stands whistled. Some even stood up to get a better look at what was happening. It seemed they had caught onto my plan. The Goblins, however, had not. For them, the new tactic was a surprise. Instead of trying to use a shield to protect myself from the spears, I swung the corpse with all my might against part of the enemy line.
The dead Goblin's body "tanked" the spears, swept them aside, and some tips even got stuck in the deceased. Letting go of the corpse and leaving it lying on top of the Goblins, I immediately seized the moment.
Axe in both hands—strike, strike, don't dawdle, and retreat.
I took off a chunk of one Goblin's head, hacked into the neck of a second, left a deep wound in the shoulder of a third, and sliced a piece of an ear off a fourth. The last one was screaming the loudest.
The axe in my hands already felt no heavier than a regular sword. Three and a half segments. We were properly warmed up.
With a skip, I went back for the next corpse. The Goblin mob wasn't nearly as well prepared for defense this time. Panic was eroding their foul little souls like poison.
On the second pass, I managed to land four strikes. The Axe of Khargan crumpled and shredded the flesh of the greenskins like soft, warm butter. Bones crunched. Some Goblins were already fleeing, literally dropping their waste as they ran.
And then there weren't thirty of them anymore, but almost half that. Moreover, some weren't trying to hold the line but were scattering. In the thinned-out crowd, no more than a dozen remained.
I went back again, grabbed my shield, deflected a spear thrown at me, and rushed in for the final onslaught. Now I could do without throwing dead bodies. Just making new ones.
Knock a spear aside, step in, land a quick blow, dodge another thrust, catch the parasite on the arms, bash another with the butt of the shield.
It was great. It was fun. After the heavy fights with top-tier Nurgle-worshippers, crushing gobbos was pure pleasure.
When seven were left, they broke and ran as a group. Fear had triumphed over their worthless minds. Maybe there are truly insane, cunning, and malicious bastards among Goblins, but these were clearly not among them. Just meat.
To the roars of the frenzied crowd, I hunted down and killed the greenskins one by one. I filled the Blood Chalice to five segments.
When the last Goblin had been split from shoulder to belly, the arena announcer proclaimed:
— Our new beast has won the contest of cunning and cowardice! Jurg the Goblinslayer has carved himself his favorite meat, but will he live long enough to taste it? After the pathetic trickery of the wretched runts, he must face brute strength and fury. Release the Orcs!