Marco raised his fist up high in celebration, before promptly falling onto his knees - very much drained from the lady’s ordeal. Sir Ruggiero ran over to lend him aid. To his surprise, though, the old mobster was in much better health than he seemed. The bruises and cuts on his skin had already begun to heal, courtesy of his supposed healing skill.
“You have the vitality of a giant, Sir Marco,” Ruggiero said in awe. There wasn’t much he needed to do, but the man diligently invoked his spells nonetheless. Marco made a full recovery not long after and thanked him.
“Us Brooklyn folk are a hardy people,” he said, letting out a deep laugh from the belly. “Just, uh, count me out if the miss ever wants to spar again. Gettin’ beat up once is plenty ‘nuff.”
Bradamante walked over and shook her head. “Why not? In a month’s time, you may just become my equal. It’s not unlikely for a man of your persistence.”
“I appreciate the thought, but save some of that bloodlust for the kids, eh? Smack them around - can’t have the lads fallin’ behind this old fella.”
Bradamanate gave him a sly, knowing look. The paladin wasn’t stupid, and for a moment she appeared all too ready to call Marco out on his excuse, but fortunately he was spared of the embarrassment. “How admirable of you, Sir Marco. To care so much for your fellows… very well. I was going to delegate command over to Ruggiero, but after listening to your good-natured plea, I have decided to personally lead the training myself.”
The color in Marco’s face paled. Perhaps he should’ve kept his mouth shut.
Bradamante laughed and playfully patted his back. “But first, I am a knight of my word. You struck me, true and fair, so it’s only right I grant a fitting reward.”
Soon, an attendant rushed forth with a tray covered in cloth. Bradamante unveiled it with a dramatic swoosh, and there, sparkling with a luster that would make even the sun(s) shiver, was an array of incredibly grandiose weapons.
“This here’s my private collection - all the blades and steel that kept me alive during the crusades. I have no use for them now, but perhaps you’ll find one that suits your needs.”
Marco stared at the pile for a moment, before eventually picking a large gauntlet with a ruby embedded in the middle. “I like the look of this one.”
She nodded in approval. “The Rubicante, a fine choice. I prefer the lance myself so I scarcely wielded it. I’m sure the gauntlet would much prefer to be in the hands of a brawler. Why don’t you try it on? If it doesn’t fit, I can always call upon a blacksmith.”
So she said, but the moment Marco put his hand in the gauntlet, it shrunk down in size. Lady Bradamante gawked at the sight.
“... You otherworlders wield strange powers, indeed.” She didn’t try to make sense of it - likely for the best.
The gauntlet gleamed a crimson red. When Marco clenched it, flames spouted from the side and wreathed his hand in a sweltering inferno - blazing with a force that could disfigure a man in an instant. He couldn’t use it continuously, however. After a minute his body began to shudder from the backlash.
“It’s definitely… got a good kick to it,” he gasped, yanking it off.
“Quite. It burns not only foes, but the master as well. I daresay you are of the few who can truly master it, Sir Marco. Your body has an uncanny resistance to pain.”
He sighed. “Just my luck. Well, I’m thankful either way. Thanks for the gift, miss.”
“Of course. My doors are always open if you wish to challenge me again.”
“Eh… I wouldn’t count on it.”
Marco thanked her again and then made his way back to his seat, where a very enthusiastic Mili awaited him with a big thumbs up.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“See? I knew you could do it!” she said.
Lucius joined her, complimenting the man for putting on a good show. “It truly was an impressive display, Mister Bernardi. I doubt there’s any among this audience who could clash equally with such a powerful knight.”
Marco’s face flushed, and he shooed the two off with an embarrassed, but secretly pleased, gesture. “Bah, it wasn’t anythin’ impressive. Just did my best to tough it out back there and somehow got lucky - that’s all.”
“Perhaps, but it also takes skill to turn that luck into an opportunity. You won by virtue of your own wit, my friend. Accept it with pride.”
The old mobster broke out into a toothy grin. “Well damn, Lucius. Can’t let a guy be humble, huh? Alright, alright, I’m one hell of a stud. How’s that?”
“Perfect, if I do say so myself.”
The three of them carried on, celebrating in merry friendship and a round of applause. It was quite the pleasant mood, but the same couldn’t be said for those around them.
The players stared at Marco and backed away: tense, cautious. There was a wariness in them as they examined his features - a fear that one day his power would be turned against their own.
“Is it just me,” Mili began, leering back at them. “Or is the big guy gettin’ a real stinker of an eye from everyone?”
Marco didn’t seem surprised. He merely sighed and told the spunky musician to let it go. “It’s only natural, kid. I’ve always been judged for my size. Doesn’t help that I’ve got a mean face, but ya gotta make do with what ya have. Better to just keep quiet instead of makin’ a fuss.”
“But that’s not fair to you.”
“Life usually never is.”
Mili harrumphed and crossed her arms. She didn’t seem to like the thought of her friend being treated as some unpredictable gangster, even though that was exactly what he looked like, but there was nothing she could do about it… or was there?
Her lips slowly raised into a wide, devious smile.
Lady Bradamante returned to the arena, bringing the attention away from Marco and back to her. “I believe this should be enough for today. As much as I’d like to continue these spars, you lot look real desperate to go back to your dorms. That’s fine, I’ve already gotten what I wanted, so we’ll end things here. Ruggiero will lead you back to the training grounds in the morning, and then you’ll officially be recognized as new recruits. Look forward to it: I know I am.”
She turned around and began to prepare her leave. “Well then, may you all have a good rest—”
“WAIT!”
A powerful boom echoed across the stands, causing a very confused Bradamante to snap her head back around.
There, standing triumphantly with guitar in hand, was Mili goading her with the swagger only a punk-rock popstar could exude. “I haven’t had my turn yet, lady.”
“... Me?” The paladin said, pointing at herself. “I certainly do not mind facing another challenger, but do you really wish to do this now—”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s all I needed to hear. Better prep yourself, ‘cause you ain’t ready for what’s coming next.”
Mili strode into the ring and posed for all to see, making a peace symbol with her hands and warming up her instrument.
Bradamante stood frozen for a moment, shocked by her unapologetic moxie, but that only further stoked the paladin’s curiosity. “I accept. What is your name?”
“Mili. You better remember it.”
“Oh, I do believe I will. Go ahead, Lady Mili. The first move is yours.”
She didn’t regard Mili with the same prudence as Marco, likely due to the musician's smaller stature. As a result, Lucius could only laugh, knowing that the strongest among them was given free reign to wreak havoc.
“But where is your weapon?” Bradamante asked, glancing over to her guitar. “Surely it’s not that overtly-large violin now, is it?”
Mili smirked. “You’ll see.”
She took a deep breath, stomped her feet, and then played.
The only thing anyone could hear next was the deafening roar of thunder.
“LAMENT!”
Lighting rained down from the sky. A static field poured from her body and spread all throughout the arena. A flash; a cry; the strum of a musical legend.
Lady Bradamante’s composure wholly and utterly broke as she dived away with a primal terror from the unrelenting storm of electricity.
“If you wanted me to live, if you want me to forgive, if you want us to pretend like we’re civilized humans~”
Mili’s fury knew no restraint, nor also control apparently. Her sparks bombarded not just the paladin currently struggling to survive, but those in the audience as well. Lightning flew freely without discrimination, tearing into the stands - razing the entire area into a smoky ruin of ash and char.
Lucius clapped and stood up, applauding her with a rigorous cheer and a standing ovation. Perhaps this was her objective from the very beginning—to show the other players who they really needed to fear.
That night, their closing ceremony ended not with words or lighthearted farewells, but with thunder.
And the screams of those fleeing for their lives.