They took their place in the waiting area for the hand-to-hand elimination.A number flared on Lancelot's chest, another on Mordred's.Thirty-seven and thirty-eight.Well, at least they wouldn't have to wait too long.
Mordred sprawled across a bench, but Lancelot remained standing, pulling up a viewing screen to keep an eye on the others.Galahad and Arthur had really late numbers, eighty-eight and -nine respectively, but the troublemakers were eighteen and nineteen, so about to enter the arena.
He smirked, prouder than he'd ever say to their faces, when they unseated their opponents without expending any real effort.Whatever he said to harass them, Tristan and Percival knew what they were about.Most knights their age were far too reckless, impetuous, and arrogant to be trusted the way that Arthur trusted them.Young they might be, but Tristan, Percival, Bran, and Galahad had proven their worth a hundredfold.Lancelot was the 'greatest' of Arthur's knights only because he'd been the first.
"You look like a proud uncle, you know."
"Get fucked, Dred."
"Already did, and will again later, thanks."
Lancelot had meant the words to sound teasing, but they sounded more bitter than he liked when he replied, "Rub it in, please."
Shame immediately filled Dred's face."I'm sorry, Lance—"
"Forget it.I shouldn't have said that.I'm happy for you, I am."He dismissed the screen and looked around their waiting area, smirking when he found one of the parties he was seeking."I spy a Hobbit."
As the Hobbit turned and saw him, Lancelot waved.That made the little brat scowl, but before either of them could speak, a number was called, and the Hobbit headed for the archway that led to the arena.Lancelot hoped he won long enough forhimto ruin the little rat's day.
The rounds went quickly, him and Dred barely having to work to eliminate their competition.'Full immersive games (FIGs) like this had to account for a truly impressive—or horrifying—number of variables.Like the fact that many players barely knew which end of the sword to hold, while others came with full military training, and still others were disabled in some way, up to and including full paralysis.So it applied boosters or handicaps to combat skill as necessary, without making it look or feel like anyone was being affected either way, and balancing that with the leveling up your character did throughout the course of the game.Intricate work, even with AI doing the heavy lifting.
External handicaps, however, could only do so much against years of experience gained back when this sort of combat was the standard.Lancelot had begun training with all manner of weapons when he was five—on land and in the water.Even modern military wasn't going to best Arthur's finest here.
He wiped his brow as he sat down, finally finished with the elimination round."Can't wait to kick your ass at the end."
Instead of grinning and answering the taunt in kind, Mordred scowled."I think that little Hobbit is modding.I've been watching him closely, since sadly the other fuckhead is in with the jousters.His moves…something is off about them.They're slightly offbeat, like the mod and the game aren'tquitesynced up properly.I think he should have been knocked out right at the beginning, but I feel he's going to make it to the final four.If I go up against him, I think I'll throw the match, so you can humiliate him good and proper when he's so close to victory it hurts."
"You sure?You deserve a fair fight."
Mordred scoffed."This is a stupid game.I'll get my fair fight when I get a rematch with Kinborough.I don't care if that bitch shows up as a hundred-headed dragon again, I'm removing every single one personally and pissing on the necks."
"Drink lots of water beforehand," Lancelot said dryly.
Mordred flashed his toothy grin."Count on it."
They sat there in companiable silence through the rest of the trials, until finally only sixteen remained.
Archery went first, and of course it came down to a battle between Arthur and Galahad.The stories marked Arthur for his prowess with the famous Excalibur, but his earliest military training had focused on archery, and he'd served as a scout for years before moving to infantry.
Galahad came close, very close, but Arthur beat him by a matter of two and a half points.Dred puffed up with pride, and Galahad himself looked only pleased to have come so close.They accepted their medals, and of course there'd be additional prizes like unique clothes and such delivered to their inboxes, and then it was time for the hand-to-hand final rounds.
Lancelot lined up with Mordred and the others in a special viewing box.
First up was the Hobbit, who'd apparently named himself Scrob Bagsack.That wasbeggingto be called Ballsack, but Lancelot wasn't going to point that out.
A message from Gawain popped up in front of him.Dumbass even put a bio as if he's a real Hobbit.Says he's the great great grand nephew of Lobelia.Like that's a good thing.Majorly wincing.
Lancelot had no idea what any of that meant, other than Scrob was all the more a dumbass, but he didn't ask because he didn't have time right now to listen to Gawain wax poetic about something he loved.But he would later, over dinner, because listening to anyone talk about something they loved was always a pleasure.
Replying with a laugh emoji, Lancelot then dismissed the message and went back to watching intently as Scrob faced off against a woman wielding a crazy ass broadsword that in real life would be entirely ceremonial, far too heavy and impractical for actual battle.Unless Galehaut was wielding it, of course.Lancelot had only seen him strain once, against a boulder many, many times his size, and he'd still succeeded in the end.
He watched closely, and sure enough, the tell-tale slightly offbeat movement of a mod was there, as it moved just ever so slightly ahead of Scrob's movements to ensure he was faster, stronger, overallbetterthan his stats and game checks would permit.
Predictably, he won the match because of it.The woman walked off bitterly, and likely signed off once she was out of sight, hopefully to file a complaint, if she'd noticed the bastard was cheating.
Eventually, Mordred faced off against Scrob, taunting and harassing him, making him work harder and harder, until he was red-faced and wheezing.Then, abruptly, Mordred cried out, "I surrender" when it was painfully obvious he could have won, and walked out of the arena into the waiting area.
Even the game itself seemed baffled by that turn of events, but surrendering a match was an option, so Scrob was allowed to carry on to the final match.
