Morning Work-Out.

I've got a theory.
See, an armor made entirely of gold would be impractical and inefficient to wear, to the point of imposing significant danger to the user. So even if d'Artagan was really as strong as he made himself out to be, that wouldn't make fighting in such a cumbersome outfit any more of a good idea whatsoever.
Let alone prancing around in it everywhere he went.
Since gold can deform with strong enough impact, that would actually make it worse than wearing nothing.

So hear me out here... What if his armor wasn't actually made of gold? What if there's some kind of exotic species of goldfish unique to this world... And his armor was made from their hides?
That'd make sense, wouldn't it?
That would make it so much lighter and more practical! And who knows? Depending on what kind of goldfish there's around here, it might actually protect better than steel would.

The more I think about it the more this theory makes sense! After all, this Silvester Spartano d'Artagan certainly seems to have an affinity for goldfish.
At least judging by how much in common he has with them!

Day 2 of The 129th Rasheul Great **** Tournament
8:25 AM

What a day!
Not only did I have to deal with the childish temper tantrum of the Goldfish Knight last evening. Turns out they wouldn't let me take out my own pants without my Fighter's Pass! The very pants where I kept my wallet... Which is where I kept my Fighter's Pass! Let me tell you, that made for a particularly aggravating and circular discussion with the bureaucrats that run this place.
Sure, I get that in a world where shapeshifting is considered child's play, you have to take precautions against fraud. But still! You'd think these guys would have a modicum of common sense! But no! Just lecturing me about how my turning into a kid is proof that I should've known better than letting go of my Pass.

In the end, they did have at least some semblance of reason. After all, they'd need some way of identifying any Lucky Loser who'd skip out on a match. I mean, those guys for sure weren't gonna hold on to their Fighter's Passes at that point! Substitute contestants didn't have the opportunity to bail out on the Tournament.
They were in it to win it. Or lose, and bin it... To the **** pens.

Not that any of that had anything to do with me. I managed to acquire my pants in the end, and that's what matters. And thank goodness for that! By that time, it was already late. And since I couldn't get into my room without my keys, I hadn't even begun preparations for my next match!

Don't worry though. I managed to whip something up in good time. Even got a wink of rest before I had to wake up.
That's not to say I was any less drained from the ordeal of the past day. Let me tell you, I'm far from a morning person to begin with. It gets exponentially worse though when you're expecting the day ahead to kick you right in your core values.

For days like these, however, there's a universally accepted cure: Go right to the gym!
Have a proper morning work-out!
If you do it before breakfast, it gets even better! No spice is as sweet as the knowledge that your meal is well-earned!

After a quick warm-up and stretch, I managed to score myself a sparring partner. You'll never guess who?
It was the Fake Assassin! A small, spindly little fella with a cute face.
"...Please." He said with a dead-pan expression, "Do not call me Fake Assassin."
I cocked my head, "...Did I say that aloud? Well, sorry about that! I always forget which is the quiet part and which is the loud part! "
"I'm... Pretty sure you only have a loud part."
I laughed, "Guess that's an Assassin for you! Fake or otherwise! Everything would be considered loud if you move as silently as an ant! Oh! By the way... Congratulations on winning the match earlier this morning! Gotta tell you, that was a close call!"
"Yes." He responded coldly, "I was there..."
"That nimble footwork of yours sure came in handy! But you got into hot water when you had to move so up-close and personal." I rested my chin between my thumb and index finger, my gaze moving towards the dirks in his hands, "So... How come you keep using weapons that puny anyhow? Now, if you'd use something with a bit greater reach... Then you could get so much more outta that magnificent speed of yours!"
"Heavy weapons only slow me down," He declared bluntly, "And then I would be rid of any advantage in combat that I do have."
"True.... True... You're not the buffest Fake Assassin out there," I earned his most unwelcoming glare, squeezing his biceps as I passed by, "Can't really ask you to try out something too hefty then. But come on!"
I drew one of the blunted swords with a thin, wide blade hanging on the weapons rack, letting it bounce lightly in my hand, "A baby like this doesn't weigh much more than a hammer! Besides, it'll feel much lighter if you use both hands... Which is kinda what you're already doing! Look, I don't care how many knives you're holding. That won't make the slightest difference if you're cut way before any of those cutlery of yours can reach your opponent!"

The Fake Assassin cocked his brow, "...If you think it's so easy, then why don't you try it out? Hm? You with your huge sword, and me with my... Pathetic knives. Shouldn't be too hard. Not the way you described it, hmm?"
"Huh... Well, I didn't mean it like that..."
"Doesn't matter. Pick any weapon you want. Now I'm in the mood for sparring."
I shrugged, going over the weapon rack. Now, what'd work best against a quick little Fake Assassin? You know what? That sword I think would work quite well. But my eyes fell on a large round shield at the back of the weapon rack.
A small guy like him would have huge trouble getting around a shield that size. Not to mention it'd protect best from thrust attacks, which of course would be the primary threat of them dirks of his.
I grabbed the shield, facing my hot-headed opponent with my left foot forward, shield extended at an angle with my trusty sword slung over my shoulder.

The Fake Assassin extended his right foot forward, his right knife raised close to his body. What was he doing with his left knife? Beats me! His body angled with his back exposed towards me, he could've bloody well raised a flea circus with it and I'd be none the wiser. Still, he likely raised it at the level of his waist, not too far from his exposed dagger.

The Fake Assassin crunched his body into a state even more compact than his already lithe form, leaving himself able to spring into action at a moment's notice, while also keeping the exposed surface area to a minimum.

"You ready now?" I asked with a confident smirk.
"I was born ready." He responded, holding up the knife in anticipation.
"Heh. And the victor claims the underwear of the loser. All right?"
"All right." He responded, caught in the heat of the moment, "Wait, hold on..."
"Ready? Set..." I said, heeding him none, "Fight!"

With swift, graceful steps he darted around me, attempting to seek an opening with his nimble movements.
Now, of course I wasn't nearly as quick as he was... But I didn't need to be! The size of the circle he traced around me depended on the distance between us. And me, being at the very center of the circle, would simply need a single step to shift myself back into position. He could try and reduce the size of the circle by stepping closer, and indeed he did. But that came with the risk of getting into the reach of my blade.
Whenever he stepped left, I stepped right. Whenever he stepped right, I stepped left. Whenever he took a step forward, I took a step back. While he tried circling around me, I tried circling around him in turn.

At least that's how it was supposed to work. Turns out, keeping up with a speedster is hella tricky!
By the time I took one step, he'd already taken three. So that meant I had to quite literally keep myself three steps ahead of him at all times.

Fighting like this took all my focus. But then I had him in my sight! I kicked my right leg forward and swept my blade at him, extending my shield to guard my sword-hand.
That little cockroach danced lightly away! The blade just swung right past him! Didn't even look like he was exerting himself!
I kept up a barrage of strikes! I swung left. I swung right. I swung up and down...
Nothing seemed to surprise that fellow. He just moved away with ease, while I grew increasingly frustrated.

Fine. So sweeping attacks wouldn't work. I decided to switch it up, trying my luck with thrusts instead! I'd be damned if he could dodge those! A thrust is just poking him with a sharp stick; it's over just about as quickly as it began.
Or it would be that easy... If he just stopped moving so much! The moment I decided where to stab was the moment he was no longer there. Not that it was easy pinning down such a small target anyhow.
Have you ever tried catching a fly by throwing a dart at it?
That's what trying to get the Fake Assassin with a thrust attack was like!

The more I pursued him, the more exhausted I got. The more frustrated I got as well, so I pushed through and continued to pursue him. The more exhausted and frustrated I got, the more careless my swings got. That's when I saw one of his daggers soaring through the air. My shield rose between me and my promising new career as shishkebab. The dirk rattled against the wood before skidding off the tilted surface.
I staggered back. The projectile weighed nothing, but it could have been a cannon-ball for all I cared. I needed a moment to figure out whether or not I had been skewered.
That moment was all he needed. He bridged the distance with a swift step, raising his remaining dagger over my shield. The point loomed over me like a guillotine.
He had approached from my shield side! Damnit! The shield was in the way of my own blade!
I later realized I could've just dropped the shield if it was getting in the way. But even if that thought had occurred to me, my racing mind would never in a million years have allowed me to be left that ****.
Without thinking, I raised the shield over my head. I was safe from the stab.
But then I could see nothing beyond the shield!

If you thought I was disoriented before, then boy, that's nothing compared to when I blinded myself! Back then, the world was spinning around me. But that's nothing to when every possible world was spinning around me behind that shield!
I felt my own shield push against me with his weight behind it. His ankle hooked mine, and the world flipped upside dow.

I crashed onto the ground, landing sprawled at his feet.
He stepped on the weak part of my shield, pinning the rim against my sword arm.
"Ahhhw! Ow! Ow!" My wrist hurt, so I dropped the sword.
I felt his weight pin my own shield against my body. He emerged in my field of vision, leaning into me with his dirk aimed squarely at my throat.
I never realized I could stand as still as I was with the tip of that puny dagger pointed at my jugular. I was too scared to even blink. To even breathe.
"All right! All right!" I shrieked, embarrassment and anger flushing over me, "You win! Point taken! Point given!"

With a barely contained self-satisfied smirk he stepped off me, sheathing his daggers and dusting off his clothes. He reached his hand out to me, and I took it.
"Your choices of weapons made sense," He admitted, pulling me to my feet, "But your instincts failed you."
"No shit!" I laughed, my mind quickly winding down, "I only took that one week of summer in HEMA camp!"
"Still, that was my point to begin with. Your choice of weapon won't matter if you do not know how to use it." He pulled one of his daggers towards the ceiling, admiring its shine, "My skills with daggers may be on the meager side, but they've never failed me so far. The same can not be said for my proficiency with swords."
"Oh, you made that crystal clear, mister!" I said, looking up and down the length of his dirk, "But honestly, I don't recall telling you to toss away the weapon of your choice in favor of something you can't wield for snuff. All I ever said was if you're able to reach your opponent with a good blow first, then you'd be a shoe-in for your victory! Now, if it turns out the sword really doesn't work out... Just drop it! And grab your trusted knives instead! In fact, if you can trick your opponent into thinking they need to move into close combat, then they'll play right into your hand!"
"Hmm," He sheathed his knife once again, "That's... Something to think about at least. But... No. Whether or not that is a good idea, I really can't get a hold of a sword at this point. Not like that waster is going to make a dent on any one of the monsters we're competing against."
"Welp. You're on your own there, I'm afraid!" I laughed, scratching my head, "I'd offer you to whip up a sword or two in my workshop... But as it is now, my hands, and mind, are kinda full already! But hey! Maybe you get lucky and catch yourself a **** who just so happens comes with a sword!" I laughed uproariously, but gauged his reaction to my joke.
He looked startled, but offered a faint smile, "I know from experience that trusting my luck is a mistake."

"Oh, totally agree! Relying on luck is for losers. But to the victor goes the spoil, right?" My hand slipped into the hem of my tight-fitting exercise pants, fishing up the winner's prize.
He raised his extended palms, shaking his head, "This really isn't necessary."
"No, no! You won fair and square! A deal is a deal. I'm a woman of my word, so you'll get what is due!" I winked at him.
"...I insist."
"Sorry. Them is the terms of our agreement." I pulled the golden handkerchief from within my leggings, pushing the fabric into his hand, "There you go, brave warrior! Do with it as you wish! My panties are now at the mercy of your depraved whims. Whatever fate is in store for these delicates, it now is beyond my control. Congratulations, good sir! You have indeed bested me. And here is your trophy!"
The Fake Assassin pinched the shimmering silk by a corner, dangling it as far away from him as possible. His face contorted into an uncomfortable grimace. He shuddered, turning his head away from the handkerchief yet his eyes couldn't help glance towards it and look it over. When he spotted the embroidered cursive signature in the corner, dedicating it to Silvester Spartano d'Artagan, his expression turned from one of revulsion to bewilderment, and then abject horror. His face drained of all color when he realized he was holding the defiled beloved handkerchief of the Golden Knight.

"...Thanks." He groaned, "I think this was enough training for me. This has been... A pleasure, I suppose. I... Hope this thing won't get me brutally murdered."
With that he left, all the meanwhile holding my make-shift panties far away from him while also never leaving his sight.
"And thank you for a great spar! Good luck tomorrow!" I waved him away while he moved towards the showers.
I too had gotten enough workout for that morning. Still, I needed to sit down for a second before hitting the showers. And before that, I had to gather up the equipment I used.

What did I tell you though? That workout made my blood pump! Why, I could hardly even remember what it's like not to wanna get out of bed!
Sure, losing to a small guy like that wielding something only marginally more threatening than a butter-knife might not be great for my ego, but come on! I wasn't using my all against that Fake Assassin! I was basically fighting with one hand tied behind my back!
Obviously I'm not gonna use my babies outside the arena. That's the entire reason I joined the Tournament to begin with!

So I picked up the sword and the shield, and put both of them back on the weapon shelf, humming to myself ' Baby One More Time.'
Oh, how oblivious was I to the shadowy figure that approached me from behind...?