Chapter 113: Dodolo the Lackey

Although winter was nearly over, the weather suddenly shifted. A fierce snowstorm descended upon the northern territories of the Byzantine Empire, blanketing the land in heavy snow for three consecutive days. Roads were blocked by the accumulating drifts, and many bridges collapsed under the weight. The halted flow of goods caused prices to skyrocket in several regions. In this bitterly cold season, soaring grain prices weighed heavily on the poor and struggling families.

Yet these troubles seemed worlds away from the nobility. While the snow fell relentlessly, aristocrats busied themselves with extravagant outdoor banquets, horseback hunting across the frosted plains, and admiring the pristine winter scenery. Noblewomen and ladies of high birth joyfully took the opportunity to showcase their latest collections of exquisite fur-lined gowns and luxurious winter attire.

Xia Ya and the caravan from the Galans Trading Company found themselves caught in this disruption. Blocked by impassable roads, they were forced to remain in Merika, the capital of the Armenian district.

Armenia lay close to the imperial capital, Osgrilia, but administratively, it was not directly governed by the central empire. Instead, it was a thematic military district composed of Merika and six smaller cities, alongside dozens of villages and towns. The district’s population exceeded half a million. Geographically, Armenia was the closest thematic district to Osgrilia, with Merika ranking as the empire’s third-largest city. Among the empire’s forty-six thematic districts, Armenia consistently held a top-three position in terms of strength.

Armenia was among the first districts established under the empire’s thematic military system. The current governor, General Hughes, was a powerful figure within the imperial faction. His family had controlled the Armenian district for over seventy years, passing down authority through three generations without relinquishing it.

After seven decades of stewardship, Armenia, like many other districts, resembled a state within a state. Governor Hughes commanded not only over fifty thousand thematic peasant soldiers on paper but, more importantly, had developed a standing army of twenty thousand troops unique to his jurisdiction. This force existed unofficially—still listed as “thematic peasant troops” in imperial records—mirroring the structure of most districts.

It was said that of all the thematic districts within the empire, Armenia was the one most closely watched by the emperor. Its proximity to the capital Osgrilia meant that, with rapid military mobilization, troops could be at the gates of Osgrilia within three days.

Given the often tense relations between these local military warlords and the central government, such a situation was a source of unease for successive emperors.

Armenia possessed a highly valuable iron mine discovered sixty years prior, which had greatly enriched Governor Hughes’s family. With fertile lands, a large population, and rich mineral resources, Armenia’s strength had more than doubled. It was even rumored that the infantry armor produced there surpassed that of the empire’s regular troops.

The district was the source of the finest armor and weaponry in Byzantium, with astonishing production capacity. This advantage made the Hughes family a key player among the empire’s regional military factions. Armor and weapons from Armenia were frequently traded to other districts, bolstering the warlord coalition’s core strength.

Governor Hughes ranked among the top ten most powerful figures in the imperial faction and naturally had no interest in pandering to a minor figure like Xia Ya. Yet the Hughes family’s pervasive surveillance network in Merika detected Xia Ya’s arrival on the second day after his arrival. His travel documents revealed his identity as one of the empire’s rising stars.

Despite the intelligence reaching the governor’s office, Hughes showed no inclination to meet the so-called “Empire Hero.” Instead, his spies were instructed simply not to provoke Xia Ya and allow him to pass through smoothly.

Unfortunately, the snowstorm kept Xia Ya and his party trapped in Merika for several days.

While the snow-covered countryside attracted nobles eager to revel in its beauty, the city itself presented a different scene. Snow compacted and trampled by carts and horses turned into filthy black slush. Melting snow created muddy pits everywhere. Passing carriages splashed dirty water onto pedestrians.

Grain prices had soared dramatically. Although the governor ordered the release of reserved grain stocks and banned hoarding by merchants, bread prices had risen by 40%, and meat prices had doubled. Although rich in iron, Armenia was not a major grain producer and had only a modest livestock industry. Much of the district’s food was still brought in from elsewhere.

Overall, the governor’s family had managed the city well enough to prevent widespread starvation or freezing deaths among beggars.

However, the snow-blocked roads trapped not only Xia Ya’s group but many other caravans traveling north and south. Traders, for the most part, remained orderly, but Merika also attracted numerous mercenaries and warrior bands.

The reason lay in the impending annual martial tournament held in Osgrilia just after spring’s arrival. Any official member of the Byzantine Empire bearing a recognized warrior rank could register for this grand event.

This tournament was an ancient imperial tradition dating back a thousand years. Legend held that at the empire’s founding, the competition was intended to promote martial spirit. Originally, it consisted of solo duels among warriors, with victors receiving imperial accolades, honorary badges, and generous rewards. Some even rose to fame and were recruited as palace guards.

Over centuries, the event evolved dramatically. Individual duels remained, but team battles were introduced. Under the watchful eyes of tens of thousands of spectators, teams clashed in fierce combat. Warriors of various specializations—swordsmen, axe bearers, archers, assassins—fought not only for individual valor but also to demonstrate coordinated tactics and collective prowess.

Often, the losing side suffered terrible casualties, sometimes being slaughtered to the last man, while victors received astonishing prizes.

Beyond human combat, the tournament featured battles against wild beasts: raging bulls, lions, tigers, leopards, and wolves. Eventually, captured magical beasts were even pitted against competing warriors.

Rules grew increasingly brutal. Contestants signed death pacts before entering the arena. Once the gates closed, it was a fight to the death. Only the last survivor could demand the gate’s opening to end the match.

In recent years, the bloodshed had reached appalling levels. Convicted criminals could compete, and after a series of victories, they might earn imperial pardons signed by the chief justice, wiping their slate clean.

Slaves who triumphed could gain freedom.

Consequently, professional warrior teams had emerged as full-time combatants. They trained rigorously year-round, flocking to the capital each spring to compete. Winning brought fame and fortune; losing meant death in the arena.

Slave traders also profited by supplying strong slaves, training them through hired warriors, and entering them into the tournament. Victories yielded handsome rewards, while slaves earned their liberty.

However, the tournament also fueled a burgeoning gambling industry rife with corruption and crime.

With less than a month until this year’s grand tournament, many warrior teams en route to Osgrilia found themselves stranded in Merika by the snowstorm. These fierce fighters filled the city’s inns. Unable to channel their restless energy, they often instigated brawls.

Some were longstanding rivals nursing bitter grudges from previous tournaments, their hatred intensifying upon meeting again. Others, though strangers, seized the opportunity to eliminate potential competition through treachery and violence.

In recent days, Merika’s security had deteriorated into chaos. Soldiers patrolled ceaselessly, struggling to quell frequent fights, brawls, and vendettas.

Despite their efforts, the soldiers’ authority was weak against the battle-hardened mercenaries and warriors who lived by risking their lives. Several especially formidable bands even clashed fiercely with the city guards before slipping away into the snowy outskirts, confident they could hide in remote villages until the weather improved.

Xia Ya and Guro, staying at a local inn, had been there two days. One evening, while dining in the lobby, they suddenly heard shouting and curses nearby, followed by the crashing of tables and broken dishes. Two groups of obvious warriors exchanged heated words before abruptly rising, drawing swords and charging at each other.

“Third time today,” Xia Ya sighed, taking a long drink from his bottle and settling back to watch.

The innkeeper and staff cowered behind the counter, pale and trembling, praying silently as their property was shattered.

The Lantis warriors quickly formed a protective circle around Guro and his companions, who had grown accustomed to such scenes. They remained calm, observing at a safe distance.

At first, Xia Ya had been curious during the initial days but soon lost interest in mere street brawls. Instead, something else drew his attention: these warrior bands harbored hidden masters, men with formidable and unique martial skills.

Xia Ya knew his own abilities well. His greatest assets were the Crimson Killing Aura and Dragon Thorn. The former could be used regularly in combat; the latter, when unleashed, drained his strength completely, leaving him vulnerable if the opponent survived.

His sole formal technique was an inherited martial art called “Breaking Kill Thousand Armies,” a powerful group combat style designed for battlefield scenarios. It excelled in sweeping multi-target attacks but was less effective in one-on-one duels, where speed, power, and defense were paramount.

Originally, Xia Ya had not minded this limitation, but Dora, the dragon within his pendant, had convinced him otherwise.

“If you had learned a proper martial art,” she said, “you could at least last several rounds against Hastings. As it stands, even with your Crimson Killing Aura, you’d be cut down instantly. The Dragon Thorn might wound him, but you’d surely die.”

Yet, where could he learn such skills? His previous fights had relied on his physical prowess—strength, agility, and instinct—to outmatch ordinary foes.

Dora’s critique was harsh: “You just swing wildly, bullying the weaker. Against a true expert, one precise strike would lay you low.”

Unfortunately, no place offered formal training. Dora, though knowledgeable, was a dragon and unfamiliar with human martial arts. His acquaintances, like Sharba, were no better skilled. General Adrick was formidable but unlikely to train him amidst war preparations. Hastings was strong but hardly one to take him as an apprentice.

Watching the skilled warriors battling, Xia Ya felt a sudden desire to learn by observation.

Though he had seen mercenaries fight in Wildfire Town, they were mostly unrefined brawlers. These warrior bands were different: professional fighters dedicated to mastering their arts, training tirelessly for this tournament. Many were true masters, their skills far beyond his own.

Even disregarding practical combat, their technique alone dwarfed his abilities.

As the two groups clashed again, a sharp shout rang out. A warrior clad in black leather armor leapt up, brandishing his sword. A flash of steel struck an opponent directly in the throat, who staggered, blood spurting between his fingers before collapsing.

The black warrior’s blade shimmered with fighting spirit, revealing mid-level warrior status. His swordsmanship was ruthless and cunning. Swift, deceptive, his strikes targeted vital points, piercing armor gaps with ease. In moments, five or six foes lay fallen before him.

Xia Ya watched, entranced. He picked up a dining fork and mimicked the sword’s movements, but the subtle flicks and feints required wrist skill beyond his grasp. He stared wide-eyed.

An axe-wielding adversary swung down, but the black-armored warrior parried with his blade’s edge. With a deft motion, he sliced through three fingers, then thrust forward, felling the axe man.

“Impressive!” Xia Ya exclaimed involuntarily.

His cheer broke the black warrior’s composure. Turning sharply, the man glared at Xia Ya with hostility.

Xia Ya’s casual demeanor was out of place. Surrounded by Lantis archers, he sat serenely, bottle in hand, watching while others fought for their lives.

The black warrior snorted, sword dripping fresh blood, and approached cautiously. His comrades gathered, glaring at Xia Ya, some cracking knuckles, ready to resume fighting.

“You seem a warrior yourself,” the black-clad man sneered, eyes sweeping over the Lantis men. “But I don’t recall foreign warriors being allowed in this year’s tournament. Which team do you belong to? You look unfamiliar.”

Xia Ya set down his bottle, sighed, and smiled. “I’ve watched for three days. Today’s fight was the most exciting. Your swordsmanship is truly formidable.”

The man’s expression darkened with anger. “Exciting? So you treat our deadly clashes as mere entertainment?”

Xia Ya scratched his head. “Well… I’m just eating. You chose to fight. Am I not allowed to watch? It’s not like I’m a woman with no shame. What’s wrong with seeing a little bloodsport?”

His bluntness silenced the warrior. Though rude, his words were hard to refute: the public square belonged to all; if they chose to brawl, by what right could others be barred from watching?

The black warrior, evidently not skilled with words, struck the air coldly with his sword. “I am Afrekate, captain of the Wolf Fang Warriors. Judging by you, you’re a warrior too, probably here for the tournament. If you haven’t heard my name, I don’t mind making sure you remember it after today. State your name, warrior! Let me see if your arrogant face hides any true skill.”

Before Xia Ya could respond, Dodoro leapt up beside him. Now was the time to show loyalty. Dodoro would not miss such an opportunity. Though fierce, Afrekate was no match for their master, and the magician felt emboldened.

“You’re blind in more ways than one!” Dodoro slammed his fist on the table but stayed close to Xia Ya, not daring to step forward. “Our lord is no mere warrior like you! Ridiculous! He’s a fierce general, not some team fighter you can challenge! You think flashing your fighting spirit makes you arrogant? How does your swordsmanship compare to Odin Hasting? Hasting fled wounded before our lord! Are you better than him to dare challenge our master?!”