Volume 5, Chapter 6 – The Tournament. Cherubima
The 1/8 final fight... It didn't happen. The opponent surrendered immediately when he heard the commentators say "Release the Kraken" and "The Butcher is coming to work." Khlorun was paid off by a new participant and now gave me a new name. It seems the mercenary Commentators feel best of all — they love their job, and on top of that, they get paid extra for the absurdity they have to announce. Looks like advertising culture here is just being born, and there are no restrictions.
And I'm sitting on the pyramid, in the sun, enjoying the fact that I don't have to fight again... Plus an extra two hours while the other 1/8 final fights happen. And I just have to wait for my 1/4.
Yeah... Reputation has run far ahead of me. The names they invent for me — and they even pay for it. It looks scary and a little appealing. But what surprises me more is their gold exchange rate — I always thought gold was extremely valuable in the Middle Ages, but here all bets are in gold coins, everyone talks about gold coins, and the sums are impressive. Khlorun was paid two thousand gold for a new nickname for me, and before that — a thousand, and Norn — five hundred. Their salaries for announcing all fights from F to S are fifty thousand each. Though in F and up to A there are five hundred fighters in each division. How do they not burn out talking so much? And the prices here are strange too. The Commentator said I could earn four million gold. Is that a lot? Or a little? Because when I paid in this world, it was only twice.
First — in the tavern, where I got a bed for one gold and ate for free.
Second — a bribe of ninety gold Euros to the GPSD, which made the special service agents decide not to pack up Uyana's Agents.
But in any case, I currently don't have a single coin in my pocket — only the rapier and a shirt with pants covered in blood and ink. A terrible outfit, but I'll probably go through the whole tournament in it, since I'm unlikely to get free clothes.
(Sigh...) The sun warms beautifully, the blocks under my feet are hot, giving off wonderful steam. I examined the rapier in my hand, already battered from battles — a weapon that has taken more than one life. But I still don't blame myself for doing it. What gives me more anxiety are the clashes with Guya. Thank goodness I haven't seen her now — at least something good... I set the rapier aside, next to me, and watched the tent camp below. (Who helped me?.. Why... But I'm grateful to them — without wanting them to repeat it.)
A girl with a turquoise bob was climbing the pyramid — calmly, sometimes with effort climbing onto the next block, someone even helped her up, for which she thanked them and continued upward.
(A suspicious person looks exactly like this — to waste my rest on a new intrigue. Probably from some special service — not the Empire, but Ruma's. Well, in general, she'll start accusing me again. I hope that's not the case, and she's not targeting me — though she keeps glancing over, and that unnerves me.)
I stood up and decided to descend from the other side of the pyramid, and, heading into the crowd of participants, sometimes getting positive comments from fans and sometimes negative.
(Butcher! Is it true you only kill men?) (Butcher, you're the scum that vomited up a volcano) (Butcher, do you think you're the one who'll win the tournament?) (Butcher, I'm your fan!)
(What? How did I end up in a circle of medieval press?)
"I..." — I wanted to say something, but why bother?
(Butcher, is someone threatening you?) (Is someone forcing you to kill?) (Do you want to kill a woman? If yes, then how exactly?) (Why did you decide to kill at the tournament?) (Don't you want to change clothes, considering it an image for intimidation?) (Who controls you??)
(This is so strange — they stand with quills, inkwells, and paper, trying to find out some crap from me, and also shoving each other and sometimes spilling ink on one another.)
(Nonsense...) I shoved them all, making them pour inkwells on their neighbors. Seeing that girl already descending the pyramid, I quickly went around the other side and climbed back up while she was coming down.
(Hoo-oh! I'm back on top, basking in the sun... Bliss... Silence — and that's it.)
"Good..." — I lay down on the blocks, shielding my eyes with my hand.
The pyramid is so hot that you want to lounge here like a cat and doze. That's what I'll do... I hope that girl doesn't find me soon...
"Mind if I join you?" — Pex removed his cylindrical hat, making an elegant bow.
(A familiar voice...) I lifted my head to look at his face — and froze... So close, a ghost from the past — I could hug him right now, even smell him and hear his breathing... He sits and looks down, and I... I could talk to him right here, but... "Sand" got in my eyes, and not a single sound came out of my mouth. I froze, watching all the memories with him flash before my eyes — from smiles to grief. (How... Why is he here?)
(What do I do? He doesn't know me — and I know everything...)
(I'll play mute) — I decided to wave him off, because in reality I couldn't even say a word to him — that would mean he'd "react" to words. And that would mean I'd intervene in their lives again. I want it so much — but I'll give up my happiness for their safety.
Pex nodded and started communicating with gestures.
(Heh.) I smiled, pulling my cheeks toward my eyes, trying to hold back the shine. (This is Pex — he knows all languages if they exist in this world. Why did I hope to fool the Special Forces guy who can do whatever his heart desires? No wonder he's the hands of the Democracy of Silence...)
I shrugged, tried to play mute to the end, and stood up to leave — and below I noticed the turquoise girl already climbing back up. (It feels like the "Immortal Snail." I'm between a hammer and an anvil. Behind me — my past. Below — an unknown future. Left below — the press. And to the right... Guya is pacing there. It's a siege...)
(I don't want to go back... It hurts... Forward, to the Snail — also... The unknown. Right? No... So meeting the press is more or less okay.)
I turned, starting to descend toward the press, glancing with aching pain at Pex, who sat and watched the horizon. And as soon as I was below, fans and haters came at me with questions and autograph requests — and many other demands — but through effort I squeezed through them, heading toward the river. (The Syndicate might bother me there, but better the Syndicate than the past — Pex, the present — Guya, and the future — the Snail.)
Sitting under the bridge, I watched the ships pass and came back to myself. (There's a bit of sun here, and I can lie down without all the people. Be alone for at least another thirty minutes before the 1/4 final.)
(Silence... Ships, the sound of planks, quiet gurgling of water and the rustle of duckweed. The damp aroma of spices and rum from the ships. What could be better than this?)
And so I spent half an hour of pleasant calm. Returning, I noticed the Snail talking with Pex at the top of the pyramid. (Maybe she is the Lady? Doubtful — she looked strange. She just noticed we were sitting nearby and communicating with gestures.) I tried to hide in the crowd, but the attentive Pex pointed a finger in my direction — and the Snail tiredly began descending the pyramid. But I'd already run inside, waiting for a new fight to distract myself.
[Norn: The Butcher is coming to work!]
[Khlorun: RELEASE THE KRAKEN!]
I looked around — no opponent. In the stands, about eighty people were already beating a primal chorus, tapping on their legs — the hum of war to raise fighting spirit.
[Khlorun: Where's the opponent?]
[Norn: One second... (flips through papers) It says [Name] broke his leg... More precisely, it turned to dust because he tripped over a tent peg.]
[Khlorun: Well then. The peg must have been struck by lightning and come straight from the heavens. Participants, be careful — pegs can cost you a leg.]
[Norn: Yeah. So watch your step.]
(What? A peg capable of turning a leg to dust? It wouldn't happen to look like a brick three by three by one meter with a stick, held by a girl with a fringe and a voluminous skirt?)
[Khlorun: Well, apparently Seraphim is lucky — and now he advances to the 1/2 final.]
[Norn: Yeah... Congratulations only. But also a reminder that two hours are given for rest — not for using your body for blood rituals.]
[Khlorun: Completely agree. But notice — this time he came in much more intact than before.]
(Terrible...) But maybe I can leave the pyramid before the Snail comes down to the exit. I quickly, amid the crowd's indignation, headed for the exit. Squeezing through fans and haters, I ran out to the tents and exhaled. (I'm under so much stress from all these intrigues, the Snail, Pex, that I want to distract myself somehow or smear someone.)
"Ex—" someone behind me didn't finish before I quickly drew the rapier and pointed it at their throat.
"Who are you?" — I met the Future in the form of the Snail with the turquoise bob in fear.
She was dressed in a turquoise shirt tucked into high-waisted black pants. Not very fitting for the Middle Ages — and there were eyes painted on her sleeves.
"Y-you talk?" — she was shocked, hands above her head, glancing at the blade.
I sighed. (God, a new person who wants something from me. Who is this? Ruma's MVD? If they have such a thing. Or the Royal Migration Service?)
"What. Do. You. Want," — I lowered the rapier and looked at her tiredly.
She adjusted her sleeves and smiled carefully, radiating so much kindness you could sell it by the barrel.
"My name is Cherubima," — she leaned forward a little, extending her hand.
(Probably the Thrones will come to introduce themselves next. I don't know much about biblical ranks, but of course I know a lot about myH own name — how could you not Googleear what your name means?)
"And what does the highest rank need?" — I decided to play along with her joke.
"Oh!" — she bowed. "I noticed you have no magic. You're not from this world?"
(What? She knows about other worlds? But if so, how did she figure out I have no magic?)
"Do you have magical vision, highest rank?"
"No! Of course not. And... What's your name?" — she decided to get acquainted, straightening from the bow, her turquoise bob elegantly trailing behind her, showing off in the sun.
(You. Thou. She hasn't decided?)
"My name is Seraphim."
"(Under her breath, fist pressed to her mouth) I knew it!"
"Bye, highest rank!" — I waved, sensing she was just warming up and soon something even more dangerous than Guya's leg-dusting would fall on me.
"Mister Seraphim!" — she called, catching up.
"Dominions?" — I looked around. "Do you see a middle rank somewhere?"
"No. That's not what I meant, I—"
"Enough. What is this, a circus within a freak circus? Maybe enough with the Bible?" — I snapped. "Where do you get that I'm not from this world if you have no magical vision? Huh??" — I poked her forehead — and she backed away.
"And you don't exactly look wise for a Cherub. Maybe it's better to stop joking and leave me alone?" — I exhaled, looming over her.
"Okay. Pff You want it the wise way. And your brain, which has been in degradation, can handle it? Stupid monkey," — she jumped up from the ground, poking my chest. "— Listen!
ken, O traveler, for my words are imbued with ancient knowledge, granted to the Cherubim — guardians of divine secrets.
Through this ethereal crystal, bestowed upon me by higher providence, I behold not flesh, but the subtlest emanations of the spirit — auras and the interweavings of magical flows, hidden from mortal sight. Behold the truth: you are devoid of the spark of heavenly flame, while in the very fabric of this universe, every being carries at least a small grain of primordial magic.
Ten annual cycles have passed since the moment I underwent the mystery of metamorphosis, reborn into this lower world. Even before my incarnation, the Creator announced to me: the hour will come when an entity of the Highest Rank will descend into these lands. And now, the foretold has come to pass.
However, before my eyes appeared not grandeur, but absurdity. This being, claiming kinship with the Seraphim — the blazing spirits of love — presents only a sorrowful sight. His behavior is devoid of divine dignity and full of vain ignorance. He lingers here like an uninvited youth at a feast to which he was not summoned, exuding only pitiful dullness where the light of heavenly wisdom should have shone. Truly I say to you: the fall of greatness into the abyss of worthlessness is a sight worthy only of a sorrowful sigh."
—
By the time she finished, I was already lying on the ground, listening to her displeasure as she circled around me, speaking in biblical language that was quite alien to me. I didn't understand a single thing — probably that's exactly what she wanted to show: that I'm stupid and don't look like a Seraphim. But hello — it's an ordinary name. It's like if Michael equaled Archangel, then there are somehow too many Archangels on Earth. It's nonsense, as if she deliberately took and dragged by the ears the coincidence in our names — and probably went crazy from her own name. (What can you expect from a girl? Only instead of some artist, she chose her own name and decided to believe she's some highest rank with four wings. But she has no wings — just like me.)
"Got it, traveler?" — she crouched on her knees behind me, looming over me.
"Of course, wise Cherub, I have accepted your confession and received useful thoughts, so I ask you, highest rank, to leave me... For... Fifty annual cycles," — I said with complete emptiness in my head after her words. I understood absolutely nothing.
I nimbly got up and quickly headed somewhere — the main thing was away from her. (It turns out Guya wasn't as bad as this strange Cherubima, who only gave me a headache and made nothing clearer.)