Trash: Chapter 154 The Ballad of Badassery (Patreon)

Chapter 154

The Ballad Of Badassery

They say that battles can be won and lost based solely on the mental state of the people who are doing the fighting. The assumption goes down to the fact that all things being equal, the one who wants to win more, will win more times than not. This is why the idea of psychological warfare exists, but trust me when I say most men are not prepared for the drama that can come from females in high school. Unfortunately, I have had to live through this process twice, which is why I don’t waste my time with the minor head games, the scuffing of his shoes and clothes, using my Trash skill to remove threads of his clothes so that they break at inappropriate times.

Instead, I go for the much more psychologically destructive approach. An approach that can really only be wielded once, but that one time if done effectively can be deadly.

My goal is not to get into the mind of my opponent, as that method is far too simple. Instead, I want to go one level further. See there is only so much psychological pressure that one person can put on an individual. With the obvious counter to a singular point of pain to be to ignore that source of pain. Which is why I instead appeal to the masses of students and fellow gawkers who are trying to understand what is happening. Though based on the procession of people, the fact that we have a faculty instructor leading us, and the direction we are going towards. Most people already understand what is happening without any words being said.

“Oh look, Maximus is already exerting dominance on another new healer,” one student commented.

“Do you think they would allow half of his antics if he wasn’t such a promising healer?” A second student asked.

“Hey, stop that. You know they can hear you right?” A third student cut in, trying to hush the first two. But it was already too late as Maximus turned his glare towards the trio, causing them to instantly be cowed. Still, seeing even that little bit of reaction was good as it showed that there was already discontent. Then I thought about how to bring out that discontent fully. Which is why I decided to bring everyone together with a song.

Well, more of a converted battle hymn that was in the form of a whistle. One that was both captivating and didn’t require any words, but instead did the most important thing music can do, it stirred something deep within you.

I began simply, as we were marching, I went for a timeless classic. Or what I wanted to be a timeless classic of a war marching battle whistle. In the end I think I came up with a hymn that was a blend between “When Jonny Comes Marching Home,” as made famous by GNR in their song “Civil War.”

Hearing the sound, and the way it echoes off the nearby buildings and reverberates back, I let my musical talent soar. Making every use of the sound and acoustics that the area offers. My sound is so intense that everyone who had been making muted comments of the events going on, all stopped and seemed to stare at me as I made my way forward. The more I purposefully ignored everyone around me the more I could feel the crowd joining in, subtly. It is hard to describe the moment that you know you have a crowd, but it is something deeply exciting. The way a few other musically talented students take up the repeatable chorus, adding harmony to my sound. Apparently seeing me as a sister in arms due to my violin still strapped to my back.

Perhaps feeling the pressure that the crowd was now exerting on him, I could see the moment when Mr. Zabal broke. Again, this is something that can only be used as a weapon once, for after you lose a crowd. Once you are shown the disparity of what happens when a crowd turns against you, you build up mental resistance. So, while this tactic might work in the future, its impact the first time, particularly for someone so loved as a healer candidate who always had people to coddle him, would be devastating. This point was proven when he finally broke the unspoken rule of us not talking to each other on our way to the dueling arena.

“Can you stop that?” Mr. Zabal asks, but his tone is more of a command as in I will comply. Hearing him, I see that my plan is already working, in that I am getting under his skin before the fight even begins. I pause, but fortunately the other whistlers have already caught the tune and continue to carry it, even while I reply.

“Sorry, I whistle when I get nervous,” I say, stopping my whistling only long enough to speak, to go back to whistling my blended hymn.

“Well, you see plenty calm to me,” Mr. Zabal hisses back, anger and ire already filling his words.

“See, it’s doing its job then,” I reply before going back to whistling immediately. Though he is right, by now we have been chanting the same song on repeat for three full times. Not terrible, as this song was meant to be repeated ad nauseum, but I have a different plan.

Holding up my hand to stop the crowd, a gesture that the crowd immediately listens to by going silent. Seeing their silence, I smile inwardly at myself as I realize I already have them. The crowd, again one person versus another there still needs to be the factor of who has better Attributes, Skills, and more. But one person versus the collective mental might of a few dozen or even a hundred peers, now that is something else entirely. Now it is not just me against this elder healer who likely could leave at any time, against me, a new arrival. Now it is the injustice of this long time veteran still using the position and authority against not just me but those who were put down by this healer before me. I can feel all this, which is why I switch it up.

“You don’t like that one, well then, how about this one,” I state as I begin whistling “Twisted Nerve,” a song made famous by its incorporation into the Kill Bill franchise.

Again, this is all psychological warfare as the sounds are deeply haunting, especially when you go in for the crescendo at the end. At one point, I even see the instructor, the military officer who is to act as the proctor for this now sanctioned duel, looking back at me with a look of both fear and wonder.

By the second time through, the more adept whistlers join in, and by the third, we have a marching gaggle of people all whistling the new tune. To most who are gathered, it is just a fun song to listen to and to join in on, but the effect is different for my opponent. Hearing my intense whistle being echoed back to me, has a haunting effect as I can see goose flesh rise on the back of his neck as he tries to act stoic despite everyone seeming to join in on the song of resistance being whistled around him.

Finally, we get closer to the arena, which looks like how I imagine the Colosseum in Rome looking back in its prime. White walls, not certain if the Colosseum ever had white walls, but these are white. Well stone bricks painted opal white, with columns that jut out and hold up a bowl like seating area.

Just walking up to the place, it seems simultaneously massive and smaller than one would expect. Particularly once you go inside and see that most of the space is made up from the retainer walls that are built for support.

In the end, it is large, easily able to hold thousands of people, but not the largest complex I have ever been to. Well, the largest for this lifetime.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” The instructor calls out, taking a moment to interject himself in a lull of my whistling.

“Sure, I guess,” I state and again, I mostly mean it. But I remember seeing the traveling circus with elephants in larger places than this, but I keep that all to myself, that was a different lifetime. Seeing that I was relatively unimpressed with the situation, the instructor just shook his head before directing us towards perspective platforms.

As I go, I switch to my third and final song. While the first two songs were chosen to first get the crowd behind me, and then to induce psychological pressure on my opponent. This last and final song, this is all for me.

I begin with a two-note triplet reset pattern. D Sharp to A Sharp.

In my past life I was never able to whistle this properly, as it was always outside of my abilities. But here in this life, I hit the notes flawlessly.

The notes are the kill shot for this entire procession as I whistle the iconic intro to Ludacris’ “Get Out The Way.”

Whistling the sharp notes in rhythm, I stand, letting my notes flutter about the open arena and fill every inch of space, all while the students on the streets began filling in the empty seats. Those people who followed us, many of whom were whistling iterations of the previous two songs that were used on the way up here.

Realizing that I had time, I began unstrapping my sword and violin case from my back. Giving my sword to Lucia and my violin to Luna. Then I gesture for them to go stand at the wall.

“You know you can still keep your weapons for this duel, right?” The instructor asks, a note of concern in his voice.

“Don’t worry, I will only use those when I intend to permanently harm or cripple my opponent, I am not there yet,” I respond before going back to my spot and doing my same two-note triplet reset pattern. All while stretching and throwing a few punches to make sure I am loose and limber after having spent so much time in a cramped train car.

Every once in a while, I would take a quick glance out of the side of my eye to see how my opponent was dealing, and I could see that my propaganda was already working. He too tried to stretch out and move but his moves were clunky, as his body slightly trembled when he heard the discordant notes of the crowd whistling “Twisted Nerve” back to him.

All while, I was already going through the lyrics of my song, despite keeping the same musical rhythm going.

There was some talk, and I stopped whistling long enough to hear the instructions. At least I tried to. By now the audience was unruly whistling and making up lyrics to the song that didn’t exist. Finally, after a few moments of trying to speak over the crowd, the instructor just shook his head and shouted at the top of his lungs.

“You ready?” The Instructor asked Mr. Zabal first. Mr. Zabal nodded and raised a right fist into the air while holding a long sword that had clearly seen more polish than use in its day.

Then turning back to me, he asked, “you ready?”

“Born!” was my one word response as I raised my clenched right fist in the air.

There was a pause, as I could feel the kinetic energy of the stadium building up to a crescendo as suddenly everyone was quiet as they all waited for the one word to unleash the chaos.

“Begin!”

Then finally the instructor spoke, and the chaos was unleashed.