Chapter 397

"Berhenti!" Tun Rahman snapped, freezing the Second Chancers. They glanced back to the older lord, his own hands on his hips, flanked by a pair of ghostly guards. Not that they did more than flick a glance at those creatures, as though the ghosts were unimportant. Perhaps they were, because Arthur certainly didn't get the same sense of danger radiating from them as he did the Tun.

Then again, killing Tun Rahman likely would have meant the failure of the quest entirely, which was why the entire group relaxed, moving hands conspicuously away from their weapons.

"Boss..." Arman started but was cut off.

"No. Unless you have evidence, there will be no accusations or attacks." Then, something flickered across the man's face, as he continued. "If breakfast is over, we must begin our next steps." The Second Chancers froze, and then nodded to one another, stretching. Ramli was grinning and Nor looked a little excited, a shift in stance that had Arthur worried. Moments later, it made sense, as Tun Rahman continued. "Training will begin. Come!"

He strode pass the group, ignoring the pair of still poisoned Climbers, slowing down only as he reached the doors when all but the poisoned ones had followed along and frowned, staring directly at Arthur and the other. "Are you shirking your duties, warriors?"

"No, my lord!" Struggling upwards, the other man moved forwards.

Arthur, caught out, took a moment more to follow. He might be confused, but he understood what was going on. And delaying on healing was over - he wouldn't go into a fight poisoned, no matter what.

Outside, the group had gathered in a line before Tun Rahman who seemed to be ignoring the entire issue about them being poisoned, speaking to the group.

“…strongest warriors in the nation. We will show Tun Lok what it means to threaten me, and to do that, we must train and be led by the most gifted of you all. As such, you will pair up and fight one another for the honor of leading the raiding party!”

The moment he finished speaking, the others were moving. On his right, Nor pivoted to face him, a fraction too late as Ramli got in front of Arthur, smiling wide even though it lacked friendliness.

“Apologies, Dato’ Chua,” the last two words said with intense sarcasm. “But we all must win, yes?”

Arthur opened his mouth to answer, found his jaw still not working well and just gave him the best, most skeptical look he could. He shuddered, feeling a wave of coldness ripple through him, then heat as yang energy replaced it moments later.

“Take your space, all of you.”

Arthur nodded, sweating now as his body dumped the very last of the poison into the open air. He turned sideways as he walked forwards, vomited a little to remove some of the brackish and metallic taste from his mouth, his body finishing the last of the sped up purging process as he made it to his spot opposite the man.

Not that grounds were more than some scratched out space on the earth, but Arthur figured that was the way it worked. Near the edge of the other side, hand drifting down to the kris he wore, regretting he didn’t carry his spear.

Then, blinking, as a ghost servant appeared, carrying a spear. Not his, but a training one, the tip wooden and blunt. Ramli took his without even looking, pointing the short weapon at Arthur one-handed.

“Begin,” came the command from Tun Rahman as the other warriors got into position as well.

Arthur’s hand was just on the weapon when the command was given, but Ramli didn’t seem to care. He launched forward, his spear leading the way in a one-handed grip. Arthur snorted a little inside, though he took his time reacting, knowing he had to wait for the weapon – and its wielder – to close before he moved.

Then, it was a simple matter of swaying to the side, raising his left hand upwards as he dropped the same side leg back, blocking and wrapping the spear up at the same time. His own spear he tucked in close to his body, aiming not for the body but the legs.

Somehow, he was not surprised when his casual deflection and block was dodged, Ramli managing to literally leap over his attack, using his greater weight and the leverage to rip the spear out of Arthur’s arm. Ramli nearly sliced the back of his body too as he did so, forcing Arthur to jerk and twist himself as he spun, bringing his own weapon to safeguard against the kick that followed moments later.

Skidding backwards, his arms and weapon shaking a little, Arthur straightened as Ramli smiled, wide.

“Not as sick as you tried to show, eh?”

“Not as foolish as charging ahead, without a plan, eh?” Arthur answered.

Now, the weapons were taken together, aimed at one another. A small acknowledgment that their attempt at fooling one another had failed.

Now, the real fight would begin.

 

***

 

A flurry of blows, each of their spear tips and shafts used, a combination of elbows and knees and legs utilized when possible. Arthur cursed, as he dodged an unexpected elbow, throwing himself into a roll and coming up with a sweep of his own spear, forcing his opponent to check it with own weapon rather than follow up.

Ramli was untrained, his methods entirely unorthodox. Arthur could tell his stance, his choices of how to react to attacks and even the way he blended his attacks together came, not from training, but hard won experience.

That was the trap, he realized. The various Second Chancers might not be able to progress their cultivation bases or empower new techniques, but nothing stopped them from learning. It was like fighting his Tsifu again, his master having acquired decades of experience and wiliness that made it hard to win against.

Times when he felt open, shown to be lies, as Arthur had to frantically dodge and twist and block attacks. Openings that were just there to draw Arthur into different positions, setting him up for follow-on strikes.

The only advantage that Arthur had was that he had trained, he’d put in hours and hours of work, on days when he was tired, on days when he was in pain, because he knew he would need to fight in all such conditions. He’d practiced fast and slow, against newcomers and old hands, and while the style was unusual – the body and the weapon could only move in so many different directions and ways.

The longer the fight went on, the more Arthur began to glean of his opponent’s habits. He received numerous cuts, bruises and stabs in the meantime. Never anything fatal, never sufficient for either party to call an end to the spar; but he acquired them faster. It might have been crippling – if they weren’t sparring, using blunted weaponry.

Most of all, Arthur was waiting.

“One minute!” Tun Rahman called, indicating a stop to the spar.

He sensed it then, the sudden change in intensity. Now was the time, the time when ‘accidents’ were going to occur.

After all, what better time to wipe the board clear than now?