1,000,000 Karma: My Reward Is a Quiet Life-Chapter 65: Tenacious Thunderbolt, Part Two

Across the now razed battlefield of displaced chunks of stone, the scarlet-armored woman was covered in cuts and bruises with disheveled hair, catching her breath. Despite more of her skin bleeding than less of it, a triumphant smile curved on the warrior’s lips.

"My lightning ain’t too nice to be struck by, is it?" Sylvan called out, using her own sword to support herself as if it were a cane.

Tederich was already sweating profusely with a reddening complexion, coughing into his arm while trying to keep himself standing tall, "Yeah, it’s a bitch, I’ll admit that."

The rare sub-category of lightning magic wielded by Sylvan was potent in its effect. For even the healthiest men, a single moment of contact with the plagued element would incur a nasty fever for a week. In the case of Tederich, it was a terrible match-up for one, simple reason:

Despite his greatness, the Champion’s best years were decades past, leaving him with an old body, all too susceptible to illness.

"Hkk–!" Tederich coughed up blood right into his hand.

Much of the crowd reacted in shock and horror at the sign of weakness from the defending Champion of Stars, while the shrill laughter of the warrior on the other side filled the tense colosseum.

"I knew it!" Sylvan pointed right at him. "You’re up there in years, Old Man! One more direct hit, and you’ll be bedridden for a month, puking out your guts the whole time. Two hits, you’ll start losing your senses–permanently. Three, and you’re dead. So, just concede!"

It was hard to believe as Noah watched intently, seeing the once untouchable figure now left coughing and struggling even to stand. While he frequently encountered magic in his short time within the new world, he was seeing an entirely new perspective of its vast variance.

’In terms of sheer prowess and ability, Tederich was leagues above her. At least double her "level", if I had to estimate. Still, just the nature of her magic was enough to close the gap with a single lapse of judgment,’ Noah observed, taking notes in his head.

"C’mon, Sylvan!" Lacian shouted, slamming his fist against the side of the wall. "You’ve got him on the ropes!"

"Keep it up!" Otto joined in.

Noah didn’t have a dog in the fight, though if he had to choose who he’d prefer to fight, he personally liked his odds against the claymore-wielding warrior more. He didn’t join the chanting, though the sense of supporting the "underdog" resonated through the arena.

"Sylvan! Sylvan!"

"You can do it!"

At the same time, the Champion received overwhelming favor–

"Stay strong, Tederich!"

"You’ve got this, Champ!"

Despite the mixture of sides amidst the crowd, the blending of cheers, of support and those of disdain, all that mattered between the two competitors was their foe on the other side.

Tederich wiped the blood from his bottom lip, exhaling slowly as he seemed to compose himself even as his complexion began to grow to a deathly pale.

Across the scarred battlegrounds, the swordswoman bled profusely, though kicked her claymore over her shoulder as though each wound was nothing more than a papercut.

"It’s a bit tiresome hearing my age brought up so frequently lately," Tederich claimed with a smile, slapping his leg to quiet the pain. "Try getting to my age in this profession."

"--I plan on it!" Sylvan responded with a grin of her cut-up lips.

With vigor that bypassed the limits of the human body entirely, the swordswoman sprinted across the enclosed battlegrounds. The unshakeable arrogance of the Champion was gone, this time replaced by respect for the threat of his opponent as Tederich walked forward, waving his hands as if conducting an orchestra.

Each motion of his hand commanded sharpened wind forward to intercept the challenger. It was impossible for the untrained eye to see, challenging even the vision of the archer, though Noah saw it if he squinted.

Tederich flicked his wrists, each movement mimicking the destruction of a strike performed by a legendary swordsman, cutting across the stone. It forced Sylvan to swing her blade, countering the blades of wind while evading, persisting all to close the distance.

"SHE’S ATTEMPTING TO REACH HIM–! CAN SHE DO IT?! CAN SHE REACH THE DEFENDING CHAMPION?!?!?"

The closer the swordswoman approached, taking a stride forward, she was immediately forced to defend against an incoming slash, only to be cut across the shoulder by another.

"Nngh–!" Sylvan winced in pain, moving on.

A perfect offense and defense; Tederich’s mastery over wind made battling him feel like being swarmed by a hundred swordsmen. As she got within a few strides of the old adventurer, each step she was pushed two back, slashed at by the unrelenting gale.

"You’re made of tough stuff," Tederich complimented, sending another pair of slashes ahead without giving her a break. "I’ve cut through the scales of Elder Dragons easier than you."

As she attempted to hold her ground, sliding back, Sylvan drove her claymore into the ground to catch herself, huffing while blood poured onto the stone, "’Course I ain’t going down easy...!"

In those magenta eyes, unyielding resolve remained as she looked ahead, never losing sight of her opponent.

["From as far back as I could remember, the one thing I had goin’ for me was my strength. Not a damn thing else."]

–

Perhaps it was the fact her body felt itself teetering the threshold of life-and-death, purely desperately and grasping as memories like straws, but nonetheless–she recalled her youth.

A childhood; a time of freedom and bliss that people remember fondly. For her, it was nothing but strife and misfortune at every turn.

In the slums of a city she cared so little for she forgot its name, her home were the grimy streets. She chased rats through the alleyway, hunting her meal with nothing more than a broken, rusty knife in her hand, "C’mere–!"

["I had no parents. My best guess is my mom worked in a brothel and decided taking care of a kid wasn’t worth the hassle. So, from my first breath–I had to fight to survive in this world."]

"Ah. I couldn’t catch it."

She laid there under the night on the cold, stone tiles of the unforgiving streets. Rain poured down mercilessly, landing against the child’s face as she stared up in quiet defeat at the stars.

["Livin’ your life isn’t a given. Some people don’t get that. If ya don’t fight for anything, you’ll be washed up and away."]

"Not dead, are ya?"

The question brought the girl’s eyes open just as she had drifted off into a dream, though it wasn’t from somehow getting comfortable huddled up by trash, but from a lack of nutrients. She looked up to see a stranger standing over him: a brawny man with a massive sword strapped to his back and slicked-back, blonde hair.

From one glance, he looked like a no-good bandit, though she didn’t care–

"...Gonna sell me off? I’m not worth much..." The child weakly said, closing her eyes.

"Just what kind of messed up life have you had that you assume that? Sheesh..." The stranger said with a sigh, scratching his head.

["That day, I was shown kindness for the first time in my life."]