Chapter 2.2: Something to Prove - (Rakatan's Trial)
Personal System Calendar: Year 0009, Day 11, Month I: The Imperium
Imperial Calendar: Year 6854, 1st month, Day 11
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Rakatan's Turn
The two-hour break seemed to pass in mere moments for those waiting to compete. One moment Rakatan was sitting in the preparation area, centering himself and reviewing his strategies. The next, he heard his name called across the arena. Time had a strange quality during moments of anticipation, stretching and compressing unpredictably.
He rose smoothly and made his way toward the combat zone. As he passed through the crowd, he caught a glimpse of his eldest brother being carried away from the medical tent on a stretcher, definitely towards a place that was a bit more quieter, Adam walking alongside under his own power but clearly exhausted, also heading out from the medical tent. Both warriors looked like they had been through a war, battered and spent but satisfied with their performance.
Rakatan wanted to ask what had happened, to understand the nature of Baliti's challenge so he could prepare appropriately. But the spectators around him remained deliberately silent, and when he caught someone's eye, they simply shook their heads. No advantage should be given to the challengers. They must use their own strengths to overcome their own challenges. That was the essence of the trial.
Very well. He would face whatever came with the skills he possessed.
When Rakatan entered the arena proper, he was surprised to find a human waiting for him, not a beast folk warrior. This one was leaner than Adam, built for speed rather than raw power. He stood with the relaxed confidence of someone completely comfortable in their own capabilities.
Erik Rubbard waited in the center of the arena, his earth-attuned armor gleaming in the midday sun. Even from a distance, Rakatan could sense something unusual about this human. There was a scent about him, not the normal human smell but something wilder, something that spoke of deep connections to the beast world. It was the scent of his bond with Rexy, though Rakatan didn't know that. He only knew that this opponent was far more dangerous than his appearance suggested.
Erik wore his full combat gear, a mixture of materials gathered over years of hunting and combat in the Great Forest. The armor incorporated leather from various beasts, metal worked by August's mysterious smith, and enchantments provided by Master Ben. August had spared no effort or material to equip his team properly. He recognized early that solo efforts alone wouldn't achieve their goals. A strong and proud Maya Village required strong and well-equipped defenders.
The village bell rang once, signaling the start of combat.
Both fighters immediately began circling, neither rushing to make the first move. It was like watching mirror images of each other. Unknown to the casual observer, both were hunters by nature and training. Both preferred similar approaches to combat: patience, observation, calculated strikes rather than reckless aggression.
This was immediately evident in their equipment choices. Both carried bows, both wore lighter armor designed for mobility rather than pure protection, both moved with the fluid grace of predators accustomed to stalking dangerous prey.
After a full minute of circling, both warriors simultaneously drew arrows and nocked them. The crowd, which had been cheering loudly, suddenly hushed. This was a different kind of combat than the brutal slugfest between Baliti and Adam. This was a duel between hunters, where a single mistake could be decisive.
The arrows were blunted, their tips wrapped in thick padding, but being struck by them would still hurt considerably. More importantly, in a real combat situation, these would be kill shots. Both fighters knew it.
Erik was naturally faster on the draw, his fingers a blur as he prepared to loose. But Rakatan had something Erik lacked: sheer physical speed born from his beast folk heritage. Where Erik relied on practiced technique, Rakatan relied on reflexes that operated beyond conscious thought.
They both had different approaches to hunting. Erik was pinpoint accurate, his arrows hitting exactly where he intended with mechanical precision. Years of practice had refined his technique to near perfection. Rakatan was fast and instinctively precise, his shots guided more by intuition than calculation. Both methods were effective. Both had their strengths.
They stood frozen for a moment, arrows drawn, each waiting for the other to commit to a shot. It was a waiting game, a test of nerve and patience. Who would break first? Who would give the other the opening they needed?
Then, as if both understood simultaneously that this approach would lead nowhere, they lowered their bows in unison and set them aside. The crowd murmured in confusion, then understanding. These two warriors had recognized something in each other. The bow duel would be inconclusive. They needed to test themselves differently.
Erik drew his short sword and dagger, his preferred close combat weapons. Those who knew him well understood that when Erik equipped these two blades, he became an entirely different fighter. More quick, more agile in his movements, more calculated in his approach. The short sword allowed for rapid strikes and easy defensive positioning. The longer dagger provided additional options for parrying and counterattacking.
Rakatan drew his weapon of choice: a versatile spear that could function as both a mid-range weapon and, if necessary, a throwing javelin. It gave him a reach advantage over Erik's shorter blades but required more space to use effectively. If Erik could get inside his guard, that reach advantage would become a liability.
They resumed circling, but now the dance had changed. Both were calculating their next move with intense focus. To the untrained eye, nothing was happening. To those who understood combat at this level, every micro-movement was significant. Every shift in weight, every change in breathing, every flicker of the eyes provided information.
They were both aiming for a single decisive strike. In a real battle, the first significant blow would likely be the last. The first one to move would either win immediately or create an opening for their opponent. It was a 50-50 battle where everything could change in an instant.
The deciding factor was range management. Would Rakatan's spear hit first, or would Erik's superior agility allow him to close the distance and overwhelm with his dual-blade technique? If Rakatan overextended with a thrust and couldn't pull back in time, he would lose. If Erik misjudged his approach and fell into the spear's effective range, he would lose.
The tension was unbearable. The crowd barely breathed. Even the judges leaned forward, completely absorbed.
Then Erik did something unexpected. He shifted his weight ever so slightly, a movement so small it was almost imperceptible. But both fighters were in heightened states of awareness, their combat instincts operating at peak efficiency. That tiny shift was enough.
Rakatan reacted instinctively, his body moving before his mind could fully process what was happening. His spear thrust forward with explosive force, aimed directly at Erik's center mass. It was a committed attack, full power, designed to end the fight immediately.
Erik had been waiting for exactly this reaction. He had deliberately created that opening, baiting his opponent into overextending. Now he moved to capitalize on it, his body pivoting to evade the spear thrust while his blades came up for a double strike that would catch Rakatan before he could recover his guard.
It should have worked. It was a perfect counter, the kind that masters spent years teaching to students. Erik had executed it flawlessly.
But Rakatan did something that should have been impossible.
In mid-thrust, with all his momentum committed forward, with the spear extending toward where Erik had been standing, Rakatan stopped. Not gradually, not by redirecting momentum, but stopped completely. His muscles locked against the forces trying to carry him forward, straining with effort that would likely cause significant damage, but stopping nonetheless.
It was the kind of body control that took decades to develop, the ability to abort an attack even after full commitment. Most warriors never achieved it. Rakatan had just demonstrated that he possessed this master-level skill.
And having stopped his overextension, he immediately recommitted to a different attack. The spear redirected, lightning-fast, now pointing directly at Erik's exposed throat.
Erik's eyes widened in shock. His counter had been perfect, but his opponent had done something that shouldn't have been possible. He tried to adjust, to bring his blades up in defense, but he was off-balance from his evasion, committed to an attack that was now ineffective.
The blunted spear tip stopped inches from Erik's throat, held steady despite the intensity of the moment.
There was a heartbeat of absolute silence.
Then Erik raised his weapons in the universal gesture of surrender. "Your match," he said clearly, his voice carrying across the arena. "Well fought."
The crowd erupted, but differently than before. Where Baliti's battle had been explosive and exciting, generating wild cheers and battle cries, this duel had been technical and tense, generating a more thoughtful appreciation. The sweat on faces in the crowd wasn't from exertion but from the intense concentration of watching two masters at work.
Chief Madok rose from the judges' bench. "The second trial is complete. Both warriors demonstrated exceptional skill. The victor showed mastery-level technique rarely seen in one so young."
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The Matches Aftermath and Reflections
Erik and Rakatan left the arena together, both bowing respectfully to the crowd and judges. As they walked toward the recuperation area, they spoke quietly, their conversation carrying the easy camaraderie of warriors who had tested each other fairly.
"That trick you did was brilliant," Rakatan said, with genuine admiration in his voice. "The false opening, the perfect counter. If I had been even slightly less skilled, you would have won decisively."
Erik smiled ruefully. "Thanks, but your muscle control was just perfect. I wouldn't be able to do what you did, stopping an attack mid-thrust like that. Even if I tried for another decade, I'm not sure I could master that technique."
"It's a beast folk specialty," Rakatan admitted. "Our muscle structure is different from humans. We can exert force in ways you can't. But your technique was fundamentally sound. Against most opponents, that counter would have succeeded."
"Against most opponents who aren't master-level warriors," Erik corrected. "Which you clearly are."
They reached the quiet recuperation area (not the one near the arena) to find Adam and Baliti already there, lying on medical cots and receiving treatment. Both looked up as the new arrivals entered.
"How did it go?" Adam asked, his voice tired but curious.
"He won," Erik said simply. "Outplayed me at the critical moment. It was a technical match, not a slugfest like yours, but intense in its own way."
Baliti studied his younger brother with new respect. "You demonstrated master-level control?"
Rakatan nodded. "I've been practicing the forced-stop technique for years. Today was the first time I successfully used it in actual combat rather than training."
"Father will be pleased," Baliti said. "That technique is considered the mark of a true warrior master among our people."
Theresa Peerce arrived to examine the new arrivals. "Any visible injuries?"
"None," Rakatan reported. "Though I may have strained several muscle groups when I stopped that thrust. I'll feel it tomorrow."
"Let me apply some preventative treatment," Theresa said, her hands already glowing with soft healing light and some of her home-brewed healing potions. "No point suffering unnecessarily when we can prevent the worst of it."
As she worked, the four fighters began sharing details of their respective matches. The medical tent became a space of mutual respect and growing friendship, where beast folk and human warriors found common ground in their shared experiences of combat at the highest levels.
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Banog's Entrance
Back in the arena, preparations were underway for the third match. The crowd was still processing what they had witnessed. The contrast between the two trials was striking—one had been raw power and endurance, the other technical precision and perfect timing. Both had been exceptional in completely different ways.
What would the third trial bring?
Banog, the third son, waited in the preparation area as his name was called. Unlike his brothers, he had no illusions about matching their pure combat prowess. Baliti was the strongest warrior in the family. Rakatan was the most technically skilled hunter. Banog's strengths lay elsewhere: in innovative thinking, tactical versatility, and the willingness to use unconventional methods.
As he entered the arena, he noticed the crowd's demeanor had changed again. Where they had been loud and excited during Baliti's match, and intensely focused during Rakatan's duel, now they seemed almost contemplative. Whatever had happened in the previous trial had clearly affected them deeply.
Banog swallowed nervously. The stage was silent, giving him no clues about how Rakatan's battle had concluded. He only knew from the faces of the spectators that something spectacular had occurred.
Now it was his turn. His eldest brother's match had been full of shouts and excitement. The second match had generated tense, breathless silence. What would his own match bring?
He wished desperately that he could have seen the previous battles, and could have learned from his brothers' experiences. But rules were rules. Each challenger faced their trial blind, relying only on their own capabilities.
As he walked toward the center of the arena, Banog caught sight of his opponent and felt his heart sink slightly.
Isabel Peerce waited for him, and she was smiling.
The third trial was about to begin.