Chapter Text
Techno was no stranger to fights, far from it, really. For almost as long as he remembered, he had to fight to live. Once upon a time, those fights were only with guards, shopkeepers, or fellow desperate urchins. Since then, he’d turned to competing in various tournaments, some more dangerous than others.
He'd grown to be very skilled in all types of combat, whether that be hand to hand, ranged, even weaponless. He initially developed his skills with the help of a long gone friend. Someone so dangerous, he was titled the Angel of Death. It'd been years since the man left the kingdom to explore the wilderness and Techno had come to peace with the fact that he’d never truly know what happened to him. Regardless of that, he would still unquestionably lay down his life for his mentor if that was ever needed.
The weapon he was taught first and foremost, the one deemed most important, was his mind. He was always a clever person, but it never went farther than a few measly tricks to get what he needed. Phil taught him strategy, trickery, how to manipulate his opponents, and even how to read and write. He showed him how to look for weak points, how to anger them to the point of carelessness, how to use his environment to his advantage. He lives on through Techno's combat prowess and a lovingly cared for book read a thousand times over, The Art of War.
Soon after he left, Techno carved a name for himself, competing in the bloodiest tournaments which always had the most handsome rewards. Through games in which you either won or died, he earned the alias Blood God. Though, after quite a few tournaments of desperate bloodshed, he was able to survive off his earnings for at least a few months.
During his rest, he learns of other tournaments, ones that didn't necessitate harm. They weren't nearly as popular and they had a much smaller prize pool. But he didn't need a grand prize, he just wanted to fight. After many attempts and disqualifications, he learns how not to be lethal, not to debilitate, not to kill. With the combined loss of his desperation and the constraints of these new rules, he was able to hone his craft and his skill flourished. He was able to learn new weapons, train with new teachers. It gave him people he could call friends, a community.
In his time in these tournaments he furthered his skill in the sword and bow, becoming more precise than ever. He learned how to use an axe and a shield, he held a crossbow for the first time. He trained with people of equal or more skill, with the likes of TapL, Fruit, and Calvin. While his combat skill alone wasn't the best of the best, his strategy, planning, and quick thinking allowed him to rise to the top. Soon he's not just the Blood God, the name Technoblade alone was threatening enough to make most shiver in fear.
Occasionally, he’d take a break in participating, instead choosing to observe his opponents in battle, see what he can note when he’s not fighting them. On one of these days he sees a lanky teenager in the mess of battle, a blonde with messy hair fighting with an anger and weariness that belonged more in his old fighting grounds than the monitored combat that was taking place. He made it into the top half, Techno noted with vague interest.
Two others approach him after the competition. One with a bright smile spouting congratulations, which soon became teasing, and then squabbling. The other was more withdrawn, watching their antics with a warm familiarity. Something compelled Techno to walk towards them.
As Techno neared the trio, the blonde’s ramblings could be heard.
“...never fail, for I am the biggest and best-”
“Ahem, Tommy?”
“Yes, Ranboob?”
“Hello,” Techno said, “I’m-”
“The Blade! I know who you are, of course, who doesn’t?” The tallest nodded along. “I’m Tommy, that’s Tubbo and Ranboo.” He said, gesturing to each respectively.
“How well can you guys fight?”
“I’m better than Tommy.”
“No you’re not! Dickhead.”
“He is better than Tommy. I’m a bit worse than both of ‘em, but I know a bit about strategy.”
“Would you like to learn?”
“From you?”
“Are you sure?”
“Really?”
“If you’d like,”
They took one look between one another, “Yes! Of course.”
After they settled to meet at the training grounds a few days later, he left them to immediately break composure, speaking in shushes and awed whispers while he was still in hearing range. The rest was history, he learned Tubbo was better at making weapons than he was using them, Tommy was much smarter than he seemed, and Ranboo was much more practiced than he led on.
______
There were rumors of a new tournament going around, one which would give the winners a chance of a lifetime. It was posted on public boards near the center of the city and word of mouth spread it until any half competent fighter knew exactly where and when it would take place.
It would probably be the biggest tournament Techno had ever participated in, potentially the biggest that had ever been held. The prize? An opportunity to win fame and vast sums of money through one of the nobles’ tournaments.
Anyone was allowed to play, given they could defeat a few amature guards. The skill threshold was low, but high enough that there wouldn’t be an overwhelming amount of participants and the fights would remain interesting.
There were all kinds of people there - veterans well respected from all their time competing, new people Techno had never heard of from other parts of the city, friends, enemies, legends. It seemed anyone he’d ever heard of and more were participating.
Gradually shifting through the crowd of participants, he found his way to the gates of the coliseum. It was a grand thing, placed in the center of the city, towering over the lavish shops and overpriced inns that surrounded it. It housed the tournaments of nobles, chariot races, and, on rare occasions, even maritime battles. Even though the participants seemed endless, their numbers were only a fraction of what their audience would be.
After clearing the guards, they were each assigned a number. It would determine what days they’d be competing on, where they’d be housed, and where they could train. It was unexpectedly one of the most organized tournaments he’d ever taken part in.
The tournament would start with brawls, a free for all with one winner that would quickly cul the numbers. It would then shift to teams of four, then pairs, and finally it would end with one on one duels. The area would be changed into makeshift replicas of different terrain, and they’d have to be resourceful enough to take advantage of it.
Techno disarmed and defeated the guards with ease, told his name to one of the scribes, and received an ornate card with his number: #8220. Checking the rosters, which seemed to contain randomized numbers, he saw he would be one of the first to go. His inn would make traveling to the coliseum rather inconvenient, though it was fairly close to the training grounds. He left, starting his trek towards the edge of town, ready to rest up for the fight the next day.
Unfortunately, when he arrived at his room, he found a setting that was not very conducive to peaceful sleeping. The room itself was fine, more than fine, really. While it was a simple inn on the edge of town, it was still part of the capital. So, naturally, there were over the top decorations, soft beds, and plenty of space. It was a pretty nice place, except for the fact that there seemed to be a screaming couple in the middle of it.
A man with light brown hair and green eyes, swathed in a thick black coat with red accents was wildly gesturing to a slightly taller man wearing cerulian clothes that were a touch too detailed to belong to a peasant.
“-got to be kidding me. Why the muffin are you doing this? This is so dangerous! The prize doesn’t even matter to you! Do you know the places these people come from?”
“Bad, I know what I’m doing, I’m good at this. Just trust me okay? This is going to be so much more exciting than all those ‘tournaments.’ Come on, be reasonable here.”
“Some people out there are murders, Skeppy. I don’t want you to get hurt or worse.”
“I know, but I won’t, I promise.”
“But-”
“But it’s his own choice,” Techno interrupted, “and if he wants to fight, he can fight.” The two men jumped, turning to the new presence in the room.
“See, he agrees with me. You don’t need to baby me.”
Bad looked at Skeppy flatly and pointed to Techno, “That is what the average contestant looks like, do you really think you can beat him?”
“I- well, okay it’s not about that though. It’s about the fight itself, I know I’m not going to win, but it’s going to be fun. There are rules, I’m not going to get hurt. Besides, he's probably not that good.”
“I’m still here, y’know. Now, can you two stop insulting me and take your lovers' quarrel outside?” Both of them snapped their heads towards him.
“Oh, uh, sorry I didn’t mean like that. I just- I wanna fight.”
“And I want to sleep. How about this, Bad was it?” Bad nodded. “I look after Skeppy for as long as he’s here, and you can go watch the tournament like everyone else.”
With a reluctant sigh and a look at the twilight shining through the window, he turns to Skeppy and responds, “I’m still going to check on you every day.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less. Now will you let the poor man sleep?”
“Fine, bye Skeppy, bye - what was your name, again?”
With a roll of his eyes he says “Techno”
“Bye Techno, apologies for the inconvenience. I’ll be going now, be safe and good luck.” Somehow Techno felt the last sentiment was only meant for Skeppy.
“Bye Bad, I will.”
And with a soft smile, Bad goes out the door, leaving silence in his wake.