Chapter 20: An Important Lesson

Just as everyone thought Red Flame would propose using his left hand to win the match, he suddenly suggested switching to yet another style of competition, which caught everyone by surprise.

“It’s obvious that with the left hand you can’t beat me, and with the right hand I can’t beat you. If we keep competing this way, there won’t be any suspense. Even if I agree, the audience will find it boring, right?”

“Right!” The surrounding merchants and sailors shouted eagerly, as if the world wasn’t chaotic enough already. Indeed, a little bit of prize money might get the sailors excited, but to these merchants worth millions, it truly didn’t matter. The problem was, life on board the ship was too dull and boring. It seemed that everyone, trapped in loneliness and monotony, hoped for something interesting to happen to jolt their numb, weary spirits.

“So, let’s switch to a more exciting and thrilling event to continue our match, how about that!” This Elf was unbelievably enthusiastic. Even a rough Dwarf probably couldn’t make as much noise as he did.

“Alright!” A mighty cheer erupted from the crowd.

Red Flame continued: “Now hear me out. I propose that for the final round, we compete in swordsmanship. Of course, to avoid injuries, we’ll use short wooden sticks instead of real weapon s. And also, I want to duel you.”

He pointed his right hand straight at Fred, and the only visible eye burned with fierce passion.

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re the strongest among these soldiers.”

He was mostly correct, if not counting Carlson, who hadn’t gotten out of bed since boarding the ship and seemed determined to grow mushrooms under his blankets.

“I accept your kind offer.” Fred bowed elegantly. “However, for the sake of fairness, you should rest your arm a while first. That would also show respect to your opponent.”

With both parties in agreement, the match was set for after lunch.

The whole ship was in an uproar. One could imagine what a duel on the deck meant for a monotonous five-day voyage. After lunch, even the merchants who had been down below counting their goods put down their work. Except for the dozen or so sailors who had to stay on duty in the hold and up in the rigging to keep the ship running, and the hopelessly lazy pig Carlson who was still sleeping, everyone on board crowded onto the deck.

The two stood in the center of the arena. Fred held a slightly longer wooden stick in his right hand, politely nodding and bowing to the spectators around him. A merchant who loved excitement had kindly provided him with a fine set of black leather armor, which made him look even taller and more handsome, resembling a brave young Knight. Red Flame, on the other hand, held two slightly shorter sticks in both hands and kept riling up the crowd around him. Wherever he passed, loud shouts erupted — of course, most of the responses came from the boisterous sailors.

This was a match that defied tradition: on one side, an elegant human; on the other, a wild… Elf?

As Hugh struck the gong to signal the start, the two slowly walked to the center of the deck. Even at this moment, Fred hadn’t forgotten to perform a formal sword salute to Red Flame with great style.

The two stared at each other for a moment, and then suddenly Red Flame attacked. He swung his twin sticks with both hands, charging at Fred at tremendous speed. Suddenly his right hand swept horizontally, aiming straight at Fred’s left waist. Fred blocked with his stick and immediately thrust back in return. The two became locked in combat.

This was the most spectacular fighting display we had ever seen: from the very beginning, Red Flame maintained the offensive initiative, his twin sticks raining down on Fred like a violent storm, showing us a dazzling dual-blade technique never seen before. As he attacked, he shouted with unrestrained joy, seeming to savor the pleasure of fighting at full strength, as if deriving some indescribable thrill from the clash. His wild momentum ignited the passion of all the onlookers. The sailors accompanied his shouts with rough curses and cheers, rallying behind their hero. Even those pot-bellied merchants couldn’t help letting out strange cries. Some couldn’t resist already gulping down fine liquor that was meant for sale, venting the frustration that had been clogged in their chests for days.

Only Fred could handle such a crazy offensive. Against Red Flame’s earth-shattering assault, his figure drifted gracefully like flowing wind, repeatedly dodging the incoming sticks by mere inches in the most perilous moments. He wielded his stick in the manner of a one-handed Knight’s sword, blocking back and forth, with the sharp clatter of wood striking wood ringing between them. Occasionally he would spot an opening and counterattack, but if a single strike missed, he never greedily pressed on — he immediately fell back to defense.

“Thud!” At almost the same moment, Red Flame’s right knee slammed into Fred’s chest, while Fred’s left fist struck Red Flame hard in the face. Both of them tumbled backward at the same time.

“Ha! It’s been a long time since I’ve fought someone this satisfying.” Red Flame clutched his swelling cheek as he rolled back up, spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, then took two big cups of strong liquor from a sailor and handed one to Fred.

“After we drink this, we keep fighting, hahaha! You’re something else.”

Fred, rubbing his chest, also got up. He patted Red Flame on the shoulder and said approvingly, “You’re a true warrior!” With that, he took the cup and downed it in one gulp. The alcohol rushed to his head immediately, his cheeks flushing red as he smashed the cup against the mast. Red Flame cheered loudly beside him, downed his own cup, and with a burst of strength smashed his cup against the mast too, shouting, “Again!” Then he snatched off the eyepatch over his left eye and threw it to the ground, revealing another brilliant emerald-green eye.

Quite a few jaws dropped on the spot: this bold Elf who always wore an eyepatch was actually a fake one-eyed man!

“Alright, again!” Fred grabbed his stick and charged in, and amid the wild and friendly atmosphere, the battle resumed.

“Take this!” Fred, now rejoining the fight, switched from defense to offense. Gripping the stick with both hands, he brought it down in a mighty chop. Red Flame hastily crossed his twin sticks to meet it. “Crack!” A loud noise rang out where the three sticks crossed, and both figures staggered, each taking half a step back.

“Again!” Fred shouted, stepping forward and swinging his stick in a wide horizontal arc, sweeping it toward Red Flame’s chest. The strike was so ferocious that even Red Flame dared not take it head-on; he ducked beneath it. Fred couldn’t stop his momentum, his whole body turning sideways and losing balance slightly, exposing his back to Red Flame.

“Trouble!” The thought had barely crossed my mind when Red Flame’s twin sticks separated and came slashing down at Fred’s back. At this moment, Fred had no time to dodge or block.

At the critical moment, Fred displayed his extraordinary skill and courage. He didn’t even try to turn around and parry. Instead, he let his body complete a full spin following the momentum of his previous swing. Not only did he slip past Red Flame’s shadow of sticks by a hair’s breadth, but he also used the rotational force of his body to whip his own stick upward in a reverse slash.

“Whirlwind Slash!” Fred bellowed, his face completely red.

This strike defied all common sense in combat and caught Red Flame completely off guard. He hurriedly rolled sideways on the ground, escaping the range of the strike in an undignified manner, drenched in cold sweat from the scare.

“Good lad, don’t you run away if you’ve got the guts!” Fred shouted again and delivered another chop.

I found it both amusing and strange. Amusing, because although this Elf looked very young, he had to be at least two hundred years old, and Fred had the nerve to call him “lad” to his face — it sounded oddly out of place. Strange, because Fred’s demeanor was completely different from before. He had entirely lost his usual calm and composed bearing, acting even more wild than the rough Elf warrior himself. I looked questioningly at Dakla and the others, but they too wore astonished expressions, with no idea why Fred had changed so much.

This round of crude, technique-less fierce attacks completely disrupted the rhythm Red Flame was used to. The Elf warrior, who had been enjoying his aggressive assault with such gusto, now seemed to be facing a mad, irrational beast. Relying on a seemingly endless supply of raw strength and speed, Fred chased him down relentlessly. Having lost the initiative, Red Flame found all his superb blade techniques useless, his hands and feet tied, suppressed at every turn.

Finally, this fiery Elf could no longer endure being beaten and humiliated like this. Seeing Fred swing his stick straight at him, he cursed loudly: “Damn it all, I’ll fight you to the death!” He met the incoming stick with both of his, putting all his strength into it. There was no trickery in this exchange — it was purely a contest of raw power. With a tremendous crash, the verdict was finally reached:

Fred’s advantage lay in seizing the initiative and gripping his stick with both hands. Although Red Flame’s strength and speed were superior to Fred’s, he still came out on the losing end, his twin sticks flying out of his hands.

But Fred’s advantage wasn’t obvious either. Blood burst from the webbing of both his hands, and although his stick hadn’t flown out of his grip, it was clear he could barely hold onto it.

Fred threw his stick to the ground. We all thought it was over and were about to cheer and celebrate, but to our surprise, both men in the arena let out a roar at the same time and lunged at each other. The two handsome young men tangled together, throwing punches and kicks at each other, flecks of blood occasionally flying between them. Gradually, both lost all self-awareness of being elite warriors and degenerated completely into the fighting style of street thugs: Fred, panting heavily, grabbed Red Flame by the neck; Red Flame yelped and pinched Fred’s arm; Fred’s elbow slammed into Red Flame’s stomach again and again; Red Flame’s knee rammed into Fred’s ribs. Oh, heavens, the scoundrel — Fred actually bit down on Red Flame’s long pointed ear, which was perhaps the greatest weakness an Elf had compared to humans. But Red Flame wasn’t in a much worse state, for he had one hand clamped onto Fred’s crotch…

The spectators, who had been captivated by the brilliant display, gradually came to their senses. This was no longer a friendly contest of small wagers and warrior honor. The situation had completely spiraled out of control. The two protagonists, having lost all reason in the heat of battle, were now consumed entirely by the narrow, fanatical obsession of defeating their opponent. We rushed over and pulled the two apart, flinging them to opposite sides. After being separated, Red Flame lay sprawled on the deck, clutching his ear while shouting loudly: “What a thrill, brother, you’re something else! Damn, that hurts like hell! You’re awesome, and all of you are awesome! Ouch… it’s been so long since I’ve had this much fun, hahaha… ouch…”

I rushed over to Fred and saw blood at the corner of his mouth, his face flushed with an unnatural redness, his eyes unfocused, muttering something under his breath while occasionally letting out puffs of a smell that wasn’t exactly pleasant.

I couldn’t help but laugh. Now it was clear why Fred had lost control of his emotions so uncharacteristically, cursing up a storm and brawling recklessly with Red Flame. The answer was simple: he was drunk. That big cup of cheap liquor he’d downed in the middle of the match was far too much for someone like Fred, who had never been much of a drinker.

That day, everyone on the ship gained something. The sailors and merchants had enjoyed a spectacular fighting performance that added a bit of excitement to their weary journey. Red Flame, who seemed to greatly admire Fred’s relentless, clinging fighting style, felt that he had found a rare and worthy opponent. His spirits were soaring, and he kept raising his cup to toast the “brave young lad” — of course, that “brave young lad” was already down in the cabin keeping the ever-sleeping Carlson company. As for me, since the match ended in a draw, the bets placed on both sides naturally became my personal property.

Most importantly, this incident taught all of us an important lesson: never provoke a drunk Fred — this guy really can’t hold his liquor!