Beam POV: Day 87

  Current Wealth: 224 gold 18 silver 2 copper

  I sought out Argar first, because frankly I considered him my highest priority. Helena could wait, as awful as that sounded. She was stable, I knew, and that meant I had no limit on the time I could take to speak with her and offer whatever comfort I could.

  Argar, though, had to make the most of every hour we had. Every minute. There were only so many days before the second round finally started, and I didn’t want to see a repeat of our other bodyguard’s performance when it did. I found him in one of the central lounges.

  God, he was still ridiculously big. Like someone had stretched out a normal man in every direction. I supposed a single freakish giant wouldn’t take the edge of seeing a seven foot man just a few yards from me, particularly when that man was lounging and moving. I almost felt sorry for the chair he was strewn across, his weight was torturing it almost to the limits of breaking.

  “Alright boss.” Argar grunted, without his usual grin. I couldn’t blame him for that in the slightest, grins of any kind, usual or otherwise, were in rare supply around our company these days.

  “Alright Argar.” I echoed, not entirely sure how else to. Then I paused, and realised I couldn’t actually have cared less about beginning the conversation properly. “We need to talk.”

  Argar turned to me, confusion and suspicion written clear across his features.

  “Nobody ever starts a nice conversation like that.” He correctly pointed out. I just moved past it. Didn’t matter how right he was, it was still coming.

  “I’ll be blunt then, we’re all into the next stage of the tourney, and the competition is fierce. We can’t be sure you’ll remain a cut above the enemy.”

  Argar scoffed.

  “Please, I’m twice the fighter-”

  “No you’re not, Argar.” I snapped. “I’m sorry, but you’re not. You need to train. You’re a mountain of muscle already, and your natural talent is absurd, but you still just lounge around most times and treat fighting like a game. It’s not a damned game anymore and we can’t afford to have you charging in like it is. I need you to start properly training with me, not just enjoying practice bouts, actually training. Concentrating on learning, pushing yourself physically, burning fat and building muscle.”

  And building whatever magic infused those muscles to strengthen them. He couldn’t level up, but the people of this world still grew more powerful, and generally through training. With luck Argar could at least follow us up as we strengthened.

  But I saw defiance in his eyes, as I might have expected. His stubborn streak seemed to be holding strong regardless of my appeal.

  “What do you know about what I need?” He growled. “I’ve got Northern blood, we never needed to train. My people’s heroes did their deeds while sleeping rough and struggling between meals, they didn’t have time for some fancy instructor or tutelage, they never set foot in some nobby training halls and they definitely didn’t swing weighted swords or any crap like that. They were strong because the world had built them like that from birth. That’s what strength is, natural and inevitable.”

  I almost didn’t know what to do about the tirade, it was so out of left field. I supposed different sorts had different views on things, but still. Something as alien as being opposed to training…How did I even go about contradicting that?

  Slowly, I guessed.

  Northmen, of which Argar was apparently descended, were our…Well, they were generic pop-culture Vikings basically. And Celts, sometimes. Your typical hard men doing hard things while hard. And a lot of what Argar had said was true, they tended to produce freakish mutants capable of wrestling trolls before they’d even finished puberty.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  What he was overlooking, though, was that they weren’t morons. With luck that’d be a worthwhile angle to pursue.

  “And do you think any of your heroes would’ve done without proper training if they’d had the chance? Hell, do you think they even did without it in the first place? That they just knew how to use shields and axes, how to form walls, all that? Come on Argar, you’re taking this to a ridiculous extreme.”

  “Because I’m already living better.” He snapped, angry now. “How do I make a name for myself, how do I even follow them at all, if my entire life has just been luxury and comfort. I’m in the bloody South, and I can’t afford to go to where the really hard living is. I’m soft. So I won’t train, no matter what. I’ll get where I get with my own talent and nothing else.”

  I sighed, and thought about it for a while. Argar was speaking again before I could finish.

  “And I don’t know what you think you’re saying about me keeping up with you, but I’ve been holding back every time we had a practice bout. Don’t get so cocky over nothing you tiny little bastard.”

  Idea time.

  “Why don’t you prove it, then?” I challenged him, taking a step back.

  I had my rapier on me still, it rarely left my side ever since I nicked it from that Vampire, but I didn’t reach for it. Conjuring one of my magic weapons instead, making it a challenge.

  “I’ll make this fair, and not use my armour.” I promised him. “Seeing as you’re naked too.”

  Argar’s eyes narrowed.

  “You’re going easy on me?”

  I thought a moment before answering.

  “Yes.”

  With a roar, and an explosion of motion so instantaneous it even surprised me, Argar was flying at me like a thrown brick. I stepped back, raised my weapon and caught the axehead just as it came at my chest. I realised two things in an instant.

  One, was that Argar must have been as jumpy as the rest of us to be keeping his weapon so close by. The other was that he was fucking strong. My grip almost surrendered at the impact as I stumbled back, weapon too light and muscles too weak to fully meet his strength. Argar’s own came flying back with ridiculous speed, coming for my head this time.

  I ducked it, by inches, and felt a boot thud into my chest for good measure. My preternatural reflexes let me roll with the blow and mitigate some of it, which is probably all that spared me a broken rib. Still, it hurt.

  My back hit the ground, and I rolled another few feet before finally stopping in a crouch. Argar just kept coming, though, like a damned flood. I scrambled into a roll and came up swinging for his face.

  It had been a reflex, really. And it was damned lucky my sword missed a solid connection. Argar moved a single inch a single instant before impact, and the edge of my weapon opened up the skin from just atop one ear to just behind an eyebrow. Blood fountained down, but he didn’t even shift his face in response.

  Just kept on fucking swinging.

  One missed, another missed by less, and I was backing up again, swearing as Argar kept on tireless as a damned machine. Something caught the back of my leg, a fallen chair, and I threw myself over it in a sightless dive, rushing back to my feet, melting away from Argar’s swings.

  I bought myself a moment, at least. And as he closed again I had my balance set, my stance ready, my mind keen. His next swing didn’t get close, and I saw the one after it coming before it had even started. I took a half step with each parry, calmly controlling the space between us, smacking Argar’s weapon away once, twice, a dozen times. Soon enough beads of sweat were starting to make themselves known across his face. With a growl, he closed faster to try and bodycheck me.

  That, of course, had been well within expectations. I punched him the moment he came within range, an ungauntleted fist which nonetheless carried enough speed and force to crack open a normal man’s skull. It thudded squarely into Argar’s chin and stunned him.

  Stunned only, though. It was a testament to his ludicrous durability that he remained standing, so I helped him down by taking a backstep, shifting my sword into a blunter shape and swinging that for good measure. Argar’s toughness did not prove the equal of that.

  He fell hard, actually landing on the chair I’d caught my leg on and crushing it flat. The floorboards creaked and the room shook slightly as four hundred pounds of dumbass smashed into the ground. I watched, waited for Argar to regain his wits, and stared as he struggled to stand a few moments later. Glaring up at me.

  “You held back.” He growled. “When we sparred.”

  “I’m stronger now.” I told him. “Because I focus on improving myself. And yes, I held back. So did you.”

  Argar spat. “Doesn’t change anything.”

  “Yes it fucking does.” I growled. “You stubborn arsehole, who’s legacy do you think you’re upholding by losing to a weaker talent because you sat around drinking beer all day instead of training?”

  Argar had no answer for that.