Chapter 163: Martial Arts Tournament (1)
The presence of the two governors was a sobering one, and the commotion in the stands quickly subsided. At a signal from the governors, a eunuch upon the platform announced in a booming voice that the tournament had begun.
Tradition dictated that Suda, as the challenger, would be the first to send a warrior into the arena.
Suda's first choice was a champion gladiator, fully encased in steel. He wore a suit of black plate armor that covered him from head to toe, and in his gauntlets, he gripped a heavy war maul—a brutal weapon with a blunt hammer face on one side and a cruel spike on the other.
The man was a veritable giant of iron. Even from the stands, the nobles on Hazan's side could feel a palpable sense of oppression radiating from him, and a wave of uneasy whispers rippled through their ranks.
But Ian knew this was a gift. He leaned close to Hazan and whispered a few words.
A moment later, Hazan called out the name of his champion: the water dancer, Yada.
The choice ignited murmurs of debate in the stands on both sides of the arena.
It was common knowledge that Water Dancers were at their worst when facing men encased in steel—damned tin cans, as they were often called. To defeat such an opponent, a Water Dancer had to rely on precision, striking at the narrow eye-slits of a helm or the vulnerable gaps in the armor beneath the armpits.
While the armored giant would struggle to land a blow on the nimble Water Dancer, consuming a great deal of stamina in the attempt, his margin for error was far greater.
Yada, however, paid the doubts no mind. He walked onto the sands of the fighting pit with a steady gait and gestured for Suda's warrior to begin.
"Mazral, three-time champion gladiator of the Coliseum of Volantis," Suda's champion announced, his voice muffled by his helm. "I fight for my master, Governor Cecito Morn, and for his friend, Suda Tetrus."
"Yada, Water Dancer, former Second Sword of the Sealord of Braavos, and King's Guard to His Majesty," Yada replied, his voice clear and sharp. "I fight for the honor of His Majesty, Viserys III of the House Targaryen, and for his friend, Prince Hazan."
After both men offered a salute, the referee at the edge of the pit immediately declared the fight begun, then hastily leaped from the platform.
Champion gladiator Mazral hefted his war maul and charged, a roar of approval erupting from the stands.
Yada, in stark contrast, seemed to be taking a leisurely stroll. He waited until the charging giant was a mere two paces away before drawing his sword with the speed of a thunderclap.
The distinctive ripples of the blade shimmered with a dark, blood-red and pitch-black luster, catching the sunlight in a crimson flash.
The cheering died in an instant.
Most of the spectators had not seen what happened. One moment, Mazral was charging; the next, he was collapsing to the ground. Yada stood over him, dark red blood dripping slowly from the tip of his sword.
*A Valyrian steel sword,* Ander Poole thought, his heart sinking. Unlike the others, he had seen it all clearly.
The Water Dancer had sidestepped Mazral's hammer blow, and in the same fluid motion, had driven his blade through the man's steel gorget with a backhanded thrust. Mazral's attention had been entirely focused on protecting the usual weak points—his eyes and armpits. He had never imagined his foe could pierce his protection from the front.
It was a single, unexpected blow, and it had killed Mazral instantly.
But what Ander Poole could not fathom was where Ian's man had acquired a Valyrian steel swift sword. Even if Ian had been the victor of a treasure hunt in King's Landing or Oldtown, the prize would have been a greatsword, not a slender blade like this. Had he found a Qohorik smith to reforge it?
Of course, Ander, who had not yet unlocked the third tier of the Points Mall, could never have imagined that such a blade could simply be purchased.
"What did you just say?" Suda Tetrus's voice broke into Ander's thoughts. "Valyrian steel sword?"
"Yes, my lord," Ander nodded, quietly explaining what he had just witnessed on the field.
"Damn it all," Suda snarled, gritting his teeth. He could not accept such a result. Mazral was one of his three finest warriors. He had been sent out first to build momentum, to set a tone of dominance. Instead, he was cut down in a single exchange.
The real problem was this: how was he supposed to deal with a master Water Dancer armed with a Valyrian steel sword?
Suda had little time to devise a countermeasure. As soon as the servants had cleared Mazral's body from the sand, Hazan announced the name of his next combatant: Yada.
He made no move to substitute his champion. He intended for Yada to fight again.
It made a certain sense. Not only was Yada unharmed, but he had expended almost no energy at all. Why would they replace him?
"Send in one of the other two Water Dancers," Ander Poole advised Suda in a low voice. "Against a Water Dancer with a Valyrian steel blade, our armored men are useless. We must use another Water Dancer against him. Even if we cannot win, if we can just wound him, or at least drain his stamina, I am certain I can defeat him myself."
Suda nodded grimly. He had no other choice. Against Valyrian steel, heavy plate was not just useless; it was a liability. Yet to ask his armored champions to fight without their protection would cripple their effectiveness.
Their only remaining option, then, was to use the two turncoat Water Dancers. Even if they lost this next man to Yada, Suda felt he still had a chance of victory with Ander and the elephant hunter in reserve.
At Suda's command, another Water Dancer stepped onto the fighting stage and saluted Yada.
Across the arena, Ian breathed a quiet sigh of relief. It was exactly as he had planned. He had put Yada forward for the second bout for this very reason: to force Suda's hand, to make him send one of the two Braavosi onto the field.
After all, both men had taken the gray mushroom powder Hazan had provided six hours ago. If they were not made to fight soon, the powder would take its full, debilitating effect. Ian's plan to have them use up Suda's tournament slots would fall apart.
The second battle began quickly. The opposing Water Dancer came at Yada aggressively from the start, launching a flurry of violent attacks. Yada simply parried, seemingly content to conserve his strength.
The water dance was fast and lethal. The two fighters' steps were nearly identical, their movements quick and elegant as they feinted and lunged, drawing repeated cheers from the nobles in the stands.
Ian had to admit, from a purely aesthetic standpoint, the Dance of Water was far more beautiful than the Dance of Steel.
The battle on the field reminded Ian of a rumor he had once heard—that true masters of the Water Dance could duel upon the surface of a pond without leaving so much as a ripple. He knew it must be an exaggeration, yet a small part of him wondered. *Could they truly do that?*
But the admirable display did not last. As the gray mushroom powder began to take effect, the tide of battle turned sharply against Suda.
Suda's champion suddenly faltered, a spasm of unbearable pain shooting through his abdomen. In that moment of distraction, Yada's blade pierced his chest.
At this, not only Suda, but Ander Poole's face turned completely black.
Yada was still uninjured. He had still consumed almost no stamina. And they were now down two men. If this continued, would that single Water Dancer simply kill all their champions?
And were these two Braavosi not supposed to be high-ranking masters from the Sealord's Palace? Why did he seem so fragile before Yada? Ander Poole could not understand it.
He walked over to the remaining Water Dancer, intending to question him, but stopped short. He found the man curled on the ground, clutching his stomach, his face a pale sheet of sweat.
*Poison,* Ander realized with a jolt.
His gaze shot across the arena, locking on Ian, who sat beside Hazan.
*You have no honor,* he thought, his hand clenching into a fist. *I will carve you into pieces for this.*
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