“Vesuro!”

“Vesuro!”

“Vesuro!”

The mob could be heard for miles on a clear evening. They chanted for a man they knew only as Vesuro, which in the local tongue translated almost cleanly to “executioner.”

The people stomped their feet and yelled at the top of their lungs. Adrenaline rushed through their veins after spectating hours of bloodshed and now the final fight was about to begin and they wanted more. The so-called civilized were, in their nature, blood thirsty.

Nicolaus stepped into the arena to the sound of thunderous applause. The crowd was entertained by him. They knew what was coming. They anticipated the kill, no matter how short the fight may be. The people were here to see blood and blood they would get.

The arena was large, but nowhere near the size of the colossus structures in the capital and surrounding cities. The ground was dusted with snow even though it hadn’t snowed in days. The air, however, was so frigid in the mountain region that it never melted -- just cleared away for games.

There were two main entrances into the “Pit,” as it was appropriately called. Two fighters entered through their respective gates and, in most cases, only one left. Long wooden spikes lined the top of the wall, some stained with dry blood from a fighter who managed to hurl his opponent into them or from a failed escape attempt.

Many fighters failed to realize there was a level directly beneath the Pit. The surface of it was not earth, but wood, masked by a thin layer of soil and snow.

However, the layer was just thick enough to mask four wooden hatches that created a perfect square of death. Anyone who managed to survive their first fight would never overlook these hatches in the future.

When one of the hatches opened, there was no way a competitor would know what was going to come out of it. Additional weapons were common, but the host loved a good surprise.

Sideous Mordeus, the wealthiest land owner in the region and the only lord in Stepus, was a man who knew how to give the people what they wanted. He had developed a reputation over the years of hosting the most enthralling blood matches, games that could not even be equaled in the capital.

Mordeus is the only reason people outside the mountain range knew the name Stepus and the only reason it thrives on a merchant economy. Born just outside the capital of Cyrias, very few people understood why the son of one of the wealthiest lords in the region would leave his home to pursue this life, but he was good at it and loved the games.

When people saw a wild beast jump out of the hatch or jagged spikes or flaming arrows,  it captivated them and they always came back for more.

Nicolaus looked ahead at his opponent. The man’s body was slashed, cuts cleaned as much as a pale of water would allow them to be. He stood as tall as he could, but Nicolaus could see that he had been through hell to survive this long, and he was using whatever strength he had left. The hand holding his blade shook slightly, but he quickly steadied it.

The man knew he was dead. That was the fate of the people who entered the Pit. Hope was only an illusion and it was more for the spectators than the competitors. For some, the mob may want to see them overcome the odds, but not this man. This man was a criminal, accused of multiple citizen murders and theft. There were likely many in the crowd who were disgusted he lasted as long as he had.

Whether they were a slave or a criminal, in the Pit it made no difference. Someone was paying good coin to watch them die. For the slaves, they had the misfortune of having masters who took pleasure in making more money off their deaths than they would by just selling them. Blood matches were a profitable venture.

“Ladies and gentleman!” Sideous Mordeus yelled, the acoustics in the arena magnifying his voice. “It is the moment you have all been waiting for! I am pleased to give you all one final match for the evening. All the thrills thus far will pale in comparison to what you are about to see.”

The criminal didn’t take his eyes off Nicolaus. While he tried to maintain his composure, Nicolaus could see the panic in his eyes. Even if he managed to survive this match against Nicolaus, how long would he be allowed to live? There was no way he was going to leave the pit alive.

“Who will survive?” Mordeus continued. “Will it be the blood craving murderer Thedian, whose savagery is unmatched in the arena?!”

He paused for a moment to let the crowd boo and hiss.

“Or, will victory once again be taken by the undefeated champion of the Pit... your Vesuro!”

The crowd erupted in cheers. Chants of “Vesuro!” continued once more. Thedian broke eye contact to look into the crowd. It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to keep his composure.

“Let the final match begin!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Thedian rushed Nicolaus like a man with nothing to lose. He swung wildly at Nicolaus, too eager to try to kill Nicolaus before Nicolaus could kill him. Nicolaus ducked and allowed Thedian to stagger to the side until he was finally able to maintain his balance.

The criminal rushed him again. This time, Nicolaus sidestepped the attack. The man tripped over his own feet. His face hit a patch of snow; some in crowd laughed, some cheered, and some booed at the criminal. Instinctively, he got to his feet before Nicolaus had time to take advantage. Thedian was breathing hard and the fight had not even begun.

He advanced on Nicolaus, but this time paced himself a little more. He made a calculated strike, which Nicolaus blocked with ease. He recovered quickly and raised his arm to swing down on Nicolaus. His blade met with Nicolaus’ and Nicolaus pushed off, sending Thedian to the ground again.

Nicolaus felt like he was teaching a child swords play. He couldn’t figure out how Thedian had lasted so long. He was too impulsive, but then again, very few who were forced to fight in the arena had much experience in hand-to-hand combat. Even the training they had couldn’t prepare them for the Pit.

Thedian’s desperation increased with every failed attempt to hit Nicolaus. The more desperate he became, the less thought he put in his attacks. Nicolaus caught Thedian's wrist in midswing and sent a right fist into the side of his face. The crowd cheered widely as Thedian hit the ground.

Nicolaus advanced on his fallen opponent. He had yet to encounter anyone who had given him a real challenge. The will to live only got a fighter so far before they simply became outmatched by a more skilled opponent.

With every step Nicolaus took, Thedian pushed himself backward, hoping to grasp on to a few more moments of life.

A creaking sound caught Nicolaus’ attention. It was faint enough that Thedian couldn’t hear it, but he could. The sound of the opening hatch door Nicolaus had positioned himself in front of was followed by the steps of a giant quadruped. Nicolaus ducked just in time as the beast soared over him and landed on Thedian.

Nicolaus looked up to see a lion ripping and mauling his opponent. Thedian screamed out in pain as the ferocious beast tore through flesh and bone. Blood spurted everywhere as the man’s last moments were spent in unimaginable agony. His arms and legs twitched and flopped violently for a few minutes before they fell limp and life escaped him.

The crowd cheered even louder at the death of the accused murderer. For them, justice had rightfully been served.

The lion chewed on Thedian a little more before turning its attention to Nicolaus. While many in the crowd were entertained by the spectacle, the sound of applause and cheer could not completely muzzle the sound of vomiting.  There was blood everywhere and all over the beast’s mouth and mane. Bits of tendon hung limp from the crature's mouth. It was a way anyone would want to go.

The beast turned to glare into Nicolaus’ eyes and he, in turn, met its gaze. It began to pace back and forth, contemplating its next move -- never breaking eye contact. Nicolaus could see an immense veracity in its stare, but beneath the fury was a hollowness that could only come from a predator that had longed been removed from its natural state.

Perhaps when the beast looked into Nicolaus' eyes it saw something it could relate to because for what seemed like a long moment, neither made a move. The crowd fell silent in that moment, uncertain of what would happen next.

Back and forth, the lion continued to pace, never taking its eyes off Nicolaus and while he would have been willing to give the majestic creature the death it deserved, a part of him did not want to be forced in that position.

The lion stopped, silence filled the arena. No one moved. No one made a sound. The beast looked poised to strike. It took one step forward, watching what Nicolaus would do, but he did not react. He did not back away and he did not raise his blade. Nicolaus waited for it to strike first.

To Nicolaus’ surprise, the lion didn’t advance on him any further. It let out an immense roar, causing some in the crowd to gasp and even scream, but it turned around, walked a few paces back, turned to face Nicolaus again and knelt down in a resting position.

The arena was very still. The collective heartbeat of the mob was intense, the blood rushing through their veins. It was something none of them had never witnessed before and so the silence continued. Not even Sideous Mordeus could bring himself to announce the end of the games in that moment.

“Vesuro! The Lion Tamer!” A man in the audience yelled and as if awoken from a trance, the crowd snapped back to reality and erupted in cheers again.

Mordeus jumped on the mob's enthusiasm like it was his cue and rose from his seat on the top balcony. He raised his hands in the air in an effort to draw everyone's attention.

“And your victor and still undefeated champion of the Pit! Vesuro! The Lion Tamer!” he shouted, playing off the excitement of the crowd.

Nicolaus did not look at Mordeus, nor did he look into the crowd. He turned in place and walked toward the same gate he had entered from. Nicolaus believed there was not a soul nor creature on the earth that could challenge him. Removed from his natural state, Nicolaus had become nothing more than an executioner.

To get to his quarters, Nicolaus had to pass through the training yards where Mordeus’ slaves would spar day and night to prepare for their next bout in the Pit. Their master ensured they were better prepared than most fighters, but in the end, they too would fall in this arena.

Mordeus’ slaves never had to face Nicolaus in the arena. He wasn’t called to fight at the end of every tournament either. Nicolaus was the Vesuro and the host wanted to keep his role intact. Mordeus knew he would lose a notable amount of coin if he allowed Nicolaus to participate in the games too often because no one would want to enter a tournament they knew they would lose.

Vesuro was well known in these parts and beyond. People came from all over to see the executioner fight the best these games had to offer and to administer justice on criminals like Thedian who, either by luck or skill, managed to survive through the gauntlet all criminals sentenced to die had to endure.

No one stopped to acknowledge Nicolaus or speak to him. They knew better. While Nicolaus held no contempt for any of these men, he did not care to waste breath on them either. He was not there to socialize with the condemned and the damned. He only wanted to find someone who was worthy enough to challenge him.

“Vesuro!”

From across the yard, one of Mordeus’ guards called out to him. As Nicolaus turned to face him, the guard hastened his step to get to him as quickly as he could. The guards were just as afraid of Nicolaus as they were their employer for not completing a task in a timely manner.

“Lord Mordeus has requested your presence,” the guard informed him. “He would like you to accompany him and his guests for dinner.”

Nicolaus gave the guard an uninviting look.

“Please, sir, he insists,” the guard added quickly. The pitch in his voice raised slightly from the typical monotone he spoke in.

“And who might his guests be?” Nicolaus asked. A not-so-subtle hint of irritation heightened the level of discomfort for the guard.

“C-Captain Carlo Jesenith of the Capital Guard and his wife, Vixsephanie.”

“Vixsephanie?”

The guard let out an uneasy laugh, but quickly fell silent. While amused by the name, he did not want it reported that he mocked his employer’s guests, especially the wife of a high ranking official in the capital. Nicolaus didn’t care. It was an odd name.

“She was raised in the capital,” the guard said as if that was enough of an explanation for the peculiarity of the name.

The guard waited for Nicolaus to say something or give some indication that he accepted Mordeus’ request. Nicolaus didn’t say anything; he just rolled his eyes and nodded. Relief overcame the guard as he turned in place to escort Nicolaus to Mordeus’ home.

As the wealthiest landowner in Stepus, Sideous Mordeus wasn’t modest about it. His estate was limited by the natural landscape, but was larger than the actual village of Stepus. The mansion he lived in towered three stories and was handcrafted with the finest brick and marble available. There was no telling how many slaves perished during its construction.

The slender metal gate which allowed the guard and Nicolaus to exit the training yard marked the end of a winding passageway that curved around the horse barn, flirted with the edge of a cliff, and parted a large garden, which would have been more magnificent if more than a few plants and flowers were able to grow at that elevation, in half.

People who visited the estate mostly marveled at the sculptures located throughout the garden. Some of them were handcrafted at the very spot they stood. There was not another estate like Mordeus’ in the entire northern region of Cyrian and he was proud of that, though he often complained about the lack of plant life in the garden -- a frustration he took out on the slaves tasked with maintaining it.

Mordeus owned more than a hundred slaves, only a couple dozen of whom were trained to fight in the arena. If he was extremely displeased with a slave or the slave was intentionally insubordinate, he could throw them in the Pit to make an example of them, but it wasn’t something that happened often.
As well-trained as his fighters were, Mordeus did not have to replace fallen slaves frequently. In fact, unlike most lords and slave-owners, he only purchased new fighters twice a year -- three times on a bad year.

Mordeus had a talent not only for offering entertaining blood matches, but personally picking out a new stock of fighters. He employed the best trainers from around Cyrian and beyond to maintain his reputation in the arena. His fighters were among the few slaves who were ever rewarded for good work.

The guard led Nicolaus up the steps to the massive front entrance of the mansion. The doors were wide enough to allow three average-sized men to walk through it at once and tall enough that there was not a man alive who could possibly be so tall he had to adjust himself accordingly to walk through the threshold.

The main corridor to the mansion ran directly through the center of the first level. Once inside, the grand stairs leading to the upper levels could be accessed to the left and to Nicolaus’ right there was a large opening to a common area where Mordeus would entertain a large number of guests.

In the center of this vast room was a fountain depicting the image of three priests offering sacrifice to he god of the eternal light. Nicolaus had not known Mordeus long and didn’t know the intricacies of what made him the person he was, but he didn’t come off as the pious type and even if he was a believer, he certainly wasn’t devout.

Before Nicolaus reached the dining area, he was led to a bathing room for guests and for the masters and mistresses of the house if they so chose to use it. A slave girl was waiting to wash him and dress him in fine linens for a formal dinner. She bowed low to Nicolaus as he entered.

He was not a lord, nor was he a citizen, but Nicolaus was a free man and slaves were expected to bow to anyone who was considered above them in society. He grimaced slightly at the gesture. He was disgusted by slavery and the social norms that accompanied it.

The girl walked up to Nicolaus, her head lowered the whole time as not to make eye contact with him. She began to take off his loin cloth, but Nicolaus grabbed her wrist, perhaps a little more tightly than he intended.

The girl quivered when he grabbed her, certain she had done something to offend him and would now be struck for it. She turned her cheek to him in anticipation of being punished, but Nicolaus wasn’t going to hit her.

He pushed her wrist away; he wasn’t going to be dressed by someone else. He could bathe and dress himself.

“You are not in trouble,” Nicolaus assured her. “I will take care of myself.”

The girl wasn’t sure what to do. She had been instructed to clean and dress Nicolaus and would certainly be punished if it was discovered she had not done what she was told, but Nicolaus was not going to let her do either, and she was afraid he would hurt her if she kept trying.

“I promise your lord will never know,” Nicolaus added.

The girl stepped to the side of the room and remained in place as Nicolaus removed his loin cloth and began to clean up. She kept her head lowered the whole time and turned slightly to avoid looking at him. In her world, an offense could come from the slightest of things and she knew she was already in a difficult position if anyone else should enter the room.

No one did and as Nicolaus dressed himself in one of the finest tunics he had ever seen, he turned to the girl who was still shying away from him.

“What’s your name, girl?” He asked.

She looked up for a brief moment, but quickly lowered her head again.

“M-my name, sir?”

“Yes, your name.”

“I-I don’t have a name,” she answered. “I was born a slave”

Nicolaus scoffed at the notion.

“Even slaves have names,” he said. “What do they call you?”

The girl hesitated a moment before answering.

“Delina,” she said in a reserved tone.

“Well, Delina, I make this promise to you,” Nicolaus said. “Not a word will escape my lips of this. If anyone asks, I will say you served me properly.”

Delina didn’t say anything. She bowed as low as she could before Nicolaus walked out. As he turned to leave, he heard her softly whisper, “Thank you, sir.”

The guard who escorted Nicolaus to the house returned to meet him in the corridor and led him into the dining area. Another large room, the dining table was enormous and made of a thick, strong wood not found in the region. The room was lit by small torches affixed to each wall and a fancy candle display in the middle of the table.

Mordeus was sitting at the head of the table, conversing with the Captain who sat to his right while his wife sat to his left. Captain Jesenith’s wife, also to the right of Mordeus, sat behind her husband.

The guard entered the room and announced their latest guest.

“Excuse me, my lord,” he said. As Mordeus raised his head to look at both the guard and Nicolaus, the guard continued. “At your request, I give you Vesuro.”
Mordeus clapped his hands together loudly as he rose to greet his executioner. Everyone rose as Nicolaus entered the room, a common formality in the civilized world, even for people who were not considered citizens.

Sideous Mordeus personified the image of wealth in Cyrian. He was a portly man of average height. He only wore the finest tunics adorned with a red sash, which was not only a symbol of citizenship, but of lordship. The Captain wore a dark blue sash common among high ranking citizen officials.

Mordeus' balding head was covered in a type of oily substance that was often used by men to style their hair back though he had no real need for it. Everything about the man, from his estate to the number of slaves he owned to his appearance screamed excess -- the perfect example of what too much wealth looked like.

Jesenith could have been considered Mordeus’ opposite. He was a tall man of medium build. He stood upright when he got up from his chair as opposed to the master of the house who hunched over slightly when he stood and slouched to the same degree when sat down. He wore a tunic that one might consider to be pratical for a man of his stature -- not beneath him, but not exessively luxurious either.

His hair was the common cut for a veteran soldier and he did not keep anything in it for style. As a military man born in a wealthy family, he conformed to the social graces common in high society, but he composed himself in a very disciplined manner. It was something Nicolaus could have some degree of respect for.

Mordeus held out his hands as he walked up to Nicolaus and grasped his arms firmly as if he was going to shake him, but did not have the strength. He smiled widely, exposing all visible teeth, and let out a deep chuckle.

“Here he is,” he said joyfully. “The Vesuro of Stepus; the undefeated champion of the Pit; the only free man in all of Cyrian to willingly fight in the arena and has yet to meet anyone who can challenge him.”

Nicolaus found it hard to take the praise seriously from a man who had no problem feeding him to a lion. He did not respond, but stood tall and looked beyond the fat man.

Jesenith clapped his hands together, a gesture that was followed by his wife. Hearing their reception, Mordeus didn’t turn so much as he wobbled to introduce his guests.

“May I introduce Captain Carlo Jesenith of the Capital Guard, a highly-respected citizen of the kingdom and a decorated former general of the Cyrian army.”

The Captain nodded his head as a gesture of affirmation.

“And his wife, Vixsephanie, whose beauty is second to none in the capital.”

Nicolaus found that hard to believe. While she was in no way an unkempt woman, her powdered skin did not match well with the dark color tone of her hair. She smiled widely at Nicolaus, which he found to be an unsavory gesture from her.

Delina, who was never allowed to wear makeup and was only permitted to look just presentable to guests, was far more aesthetically pleasing to the eyes than the Captain’s wife.

There was even a hint of dishonesty in Mordeus’ voice, and while it may not have been picked up by Vixsephanie or her husband, revealed that he did not believe the words he spoke either.

“Only the capital?” Vixsephanie mused.

She let out a shrill laughter that was echoed by everyone else in the room except for Nicolaus. The laughter from Mordeus and his wife were obviously forced attempts at politeness and even the Captain’s didn’t seem completely genuine. This was, however, the basis of high-class society: fake gestures and forced compliments.

Mordeus motioned for Nicolaus to join them. His wife moved down a chair to sit across from Vixsephanie while Nicolaus sat directly to his left and across from the Captain. It was a common sitting arrangement as the men would discuss politics and important matters at the table while the women would remain mostly silent.

“Captain Jesenith is the man responsible for the apprehension of the murderer you faced in the Pit today,” Mordeus said as the three men sat down. While Nicolaus found some measure of respect for the Captain, he did cared not what his relationship was to a dead man.

“Chased him for days,” Jesenith remarked. “You may or may not have been prevued to the information about the criminal, Thedian, but he was wanted for the murder of three citizens, one of whom was a resident in the capital.”

“I had heard rumors prior to facing him in the arena,” Nicolaus said dryly.

“Murder in the capital?” Mordeus interjected. Nicolaus could not tell whether it was genuine surprise or if he was merely placating his guest.

“Yes, the first in several years,” Jesenith sighed. “Ever since the King decreed harsher enforcement of the city’s laws, the amount of criminal activity in the capital decreased to impressive levels, and while crimes like theft are still common, a crime as horrendous as the murder of a citizen...”

Jesenith let his words linger mid-sentence, the look of disdain plainly telling the rest of the story.

“The Captain was overseeing the scoundrels... execution as it were,” Mordeus chimed in.

Jesenith nodded stiffly.

“The man gave me and my men quite the trouble, leaving us a small trail of bodies to follow has we pursued him further north,” the Captain said. “These murders were not clean either, may I add. They were... barbaric. I have never seen such savagery, which he unabashedly displayed in the arena today.”

Mordeus didn’t interject this time. He merely nodded his head in agreement. The Captain shifted his gaze from his host to Nicolaus. Jesenith studied his emotionless reaction for a moment before speaking again.

“I must say, Vesuro, I was impressed by your performance today,” he said. “Your moves and skill are not seen often in the arena. They are calculated and disciplined. You do not rush into the fight, but wait for your opponent to make the first move. You know how to anticipate your opponent and use his weaknesses to your advantage.”

Jesenith paused again to further his study of Nicolaus’ reaction. The response given to him seemed to impress him even more.

“Even now as I praise you, there is no gleamer of arrogance in your expression. You maintain a steady composure inside and outside the arena. If I may be so bold, I would venture a guess that you were once a soldier -- no, not just soldier, but an officer of rank.”

Nicolaus was impressed; very few people had the ability to read Nicolaus the way he did. Then again, Jesenith was an experienced soldier and it took a veteran warrior to know a veteran warrior.

“In another life,” Nicolaus replied.

Impressive!” Mordeus exclaimed, clapping his hands together with overbearing enthusiasm. “Truly impressive, Captain. I must confess, I did not know that about him.”

“You come off as a man of honor and pride,” Jesenith continued, ignoring the praise. “Not the type to desert one’s post or obligations. It’s curious...”

“What’s curious, darling?” His wife asked, pushing him to continue.

“You are young and yet you are far more hardened by war than someone your age should be,” he commented. “Your eyes tell the story of a man who has seen so much and been through the fire more than once.”

“I think his captivating,” Vixsephanie said.

Her husband rolled his eyes.

“My dear, a man like Vesuro does not want to hear how captivating his eyes are.”

Mordeus broke out in uncontrollable laughter. His posture was sloppier than usual which indicated he already had too much wine. The Captain’s wife fell silent after being lectured by her husband like a child being lectured by a parent or adult.