Nobody came to see me for almost a week, other than the servants with food and drink. Explicitly drink.

  I tried to do some training, but it was difficult with only one hand. I focused mainly on squat-jumps onto the broken desk. The tilted, rocking angle offered an extra level of difficulty and entertainment as I invariably fell before I could jump off.

  The fourth day brought two changes. The first was an increase to my Toughness taking it to 17 and my overall level to 10. I was happy to see that. I didn’t mind being underestimated, but I didn’t like odd numbers. The increase coincided with a noticeable improvement in my balance on the desk which was also nice as I preferred not to fall like a jackass.

  The second event was the return of the Able to my room.

  He actually knocked before entering, though he didn’t wait for a reply. “Hello, Earl. And how are we this fine day?”

  “Starting to think I’d been forgotten about,” I replied honestly.

  “Oh goodness, no. You are the talk of the arena! I’ve never seen such betting on a first round fight. Not unless a favorite is involved.”

  “They like me that much, eh?”

  He chuckled. “Not at all! The betting is against you. Apart from a few of those in the know, of course. I’m due to make a tidy sum myself if you win.”

  “Can I bet?” I blurted out.

  “I’m afraid contestants are forbidden from betting.”

  “Will you put a bet on for me then?”

  “I will not. And according to Captain Estwin’s report, you have no money left!”

  “True, but you pay me every cycle, so I must be due paying again. A cycle is five days, which means I’m due another six Unitols tomorrow. And after I win this fight, another sixty, so you know I’m good for it.”

  “If you win. What if you lose?”

  “I still get another five Unitols just for fighting.”

  “You do, yes. So let me understand this. You are willing to bet and lose your weekly stipend and fight money on this fight match? You do realize that if you lose, you will have no money at all for the foreseeable future. Your position as a pool fighter will almost certainly be revoked. Lose here, and the only way for you to earn money will be as an apprentice servant. Trust me when I say, those five Unitols will seem like an incredible amount of money to you then.”

  “I won’t lose. Even with this,” I said, waving my purple, swollen hand at him. “But I’d prefer it if you could heal it.”

  His face went through a series of emotions but landed on annoyance. “Even in an empty room, you manage to find a fight.” He cast an amused glance over at the battered desk.

  “It was looking at me funny.”

  “At least you won.” He held out his own hand palm up. “I think. Now give me your hand.”

  I lay mine in his, hoping I hadn’t misread the signs.

  “This shouldn’t take too much effort as it’s an isolated injury.”

  He closed his eyes, and began to hum as his hands began to glow. I noticed him wince, but he kept pushing, and I felt the slow process of the bones in my hand move back together. The bruises and swelling began to fade, but the process stopped as he pulled back gasping.

  “I think you have become even more difficult to heal if that is possible. That could be due to your recent increase in level?”

  “I’d say so. It was in Toughness.”

  “Then there is a correlation between the two. That is helpful to know. And on a positive note, I feel my own skills strengthening by working on you.”

  “Glad I could help,” I said absently, inspecting my fist. It felt good, just a little yellowing left over from the bruise.

  “Hopefully, you can help me even more tomorrow morning in your first official bout.”

  “I’m fighting tomorrow?”

  “Indeed, you are.” He pulled out a sheath of paper from his robes, looked forlornly at the desk and then handed it directly to me. “I suggest you read that thoroughly and prepare accordingly. Your opponent is no pushover. His rank of 71 is not respective of his ability.”

  “Huh, thanks. I didn’t think I’d be getting full dossiers on my opponents.”

  “You’re very welcome, Earl. I will leave you to your preparations.” And with that, he was out the door quicker than a rat down a drainpipe.

  I lay back in bed, document in my hand. The paper was thick and of incredible quality. I held it to my nose and smelled it for some reason. Then opened the first page. I’d be a fool not to take advantage of the information, and I missed having something to read.

  Artomi Willowstrip. Level 18

  Warrior Class (5)

  Preferred weapons: Dual sabers

  Fighting style: Dualist.

  Elegant and swift, emphasizing speed, precision, and fluid movement with an aim to outmaneuver and outsmart opponents.

  Last Known Stats:

  Toughness: 23

  Mental Acuity: ??

  Harmony: ??

  Race: Archon/Velorian (Mix)

  Dimensions (Approx):

  Height: 5 ft 11

  Weight: 160 lbs

  The document went on to describe their speed and finesse, but mentioned nothing about strength or durability. By the end of it, I had a great idea about the type of opponent I’d be facing. I got up and began jumping up and down on the desk again, though I changed my angles, and added in rolls, jump backs and lunges forward. I kept at it for the rest of the day until my dinner and three pitchers of mead arrived.

  It was mid-morning the next day by the time a guard came for me, with a heavy-handed knock on the door.

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  I opened it to be greeted by the Captain Guard.

  “Earl Henshaw,” he said with the grimmest expression I’d ever seen. “I have been given the honor of escorting you to your first fight of the tournament.”

  “Oh lucky me.” I went back into the room and grabbed my gloves before being led out.

  He looked down at my vest as we walked and smirked. “It fits well for a Grunir vest.”

  “It’s not a Grunir vest. It’s a vest made by the Grunir. There’s a difference.”

  “Is that so? Did you bother to read the run down on your opponent?” He affected a look of mock concern. “Can you even read?”

  “Fucking hell. Are you wearing a personality enchantment or something today?”

  “Very good, Earl. But seriously, did you read it?”

  “I did. Sounds fast.”

  “You have no conception of fast. Your next fight is against an Archon blade master, yet you chose to wore a vest. I imagine, at the very least, you’re regretting that decision?”

  “No,” I snapped defensively. Though in truth, I hadn’t even considered it until that moment.

  I cursed inwardly. My arms were probably going to be shredded by the time this fight was over. It had me wondering what information the elf would have received on me and how he would counter it.

  That brought a smile to my face. He would have no real idea what my preferred weapons were, other than fists and I suppose a dagger.

  “So do you have any ideas how you will counter speed, accuracy, and skill?”

  “You tried to screw me over in the market. I’m not telling you shit.” But I’m definitely getting something to protect my arms if I can.

  He didn’t respond, and when we arrived at the armory, he stood to one side of the door and left me to it.

  The swords came first, and I snatched one up. It felt more comfortable in my hand with the gloves on, but still not something I’d ever use in a fight. I did want to check something important though, and gently ran the blade across the back of my glove. It sliced a shallow groove, and that was with no pressure beyond some of the blade’s weight.

  That meant that my gloved hands definitely weren’t good enough to be used as protection. In hindsight, as they were going to be my main damage dealers, I wanted to protect them most of all.

  I put the sword back where it was and continued to look through the weapons.

  The guard watched me with an uninterested expression, but still spoke as I passed the knives. “I do hope you’re not intending to choose dagger and buckler again?”

  “What’s it to you?” I grumbled, moving on with the vaguest of ideas simmering in my mind.

  “They are easy to counter with dual sabers, and your opponent will no doubt have received information on your preferred weapons. Changing them when they are so inadequate is a smart move for multiple reasons, not least to upset the expectation of your foe.”

  “Thanks for the concern. You needn’t worry, though. There’s no fucking chance I’m sauntering out there with a little pig sticker and a dinner-plate against an industrial slicing machine. I need something a bit more defensive. Have we got any long, narrow shields to cover my arms?”

  He grunted. I reckoned it was a laugh. “You want my help now, Earther?”

  “No. I want you to shut the fuck up so that I can find what I need. You’ve probably got a bet against me.”

  “While your personality makes it tempting, I would have to watch you fight before I risked any Unitols on you or against you. I will know by the end of today whether you are worthy of a gamble.”

  I nodded. “Not half as stupid as you look then, huh?” I hoped that would be an end to the chit-chat as I redoubled my efforts on finding something that sang to me.

  The guard fell silent for a little while, and I thought he’d gotten the message, so when he spoke again, I was about to clarify in no uncertain terms the value of silence. Except he piqued my interest.

  “We have Essau sticks.”

  “Essau sticks?”

  “They are baton-like weapons, predominantly used for keeping the peace. Essentially, they are stout metal sticks with an offset handle. They are poor for this kind of fighting, but they would at least provide some form of defense for one of your forearms. I would recommend a sword or axe for the other.”

  “Let’s have a look then.”

  He walked down the far aisle next to the tower shields, and I followed with an inkling of what he was talking about. I’d been hit with a nightstick or two in my time, and it sounded very similar.

  He bent down to shelves under the counters I hadn’t even noticed and retrieved the exact thing I was thinking about. It was slightly longer than what the British police used, but I felt a flutter of excitement at the sight of it all the same.

  I took it from him reverently, then snatched another from under the counter. The I thrust them in the air.

  “Dual wield Essau Sticks for the fucking win! They’re perfect!”

  I looked back and activated Identify:

  Name: Olas Estwin

  Title: Captain of the Velkyn Arena Guard

  Level: 28

  Class: Warrior

  “Thank you very much, Captain Olas Estwin. You have just gone up in my estimation. It wasn’t hard, but you did it.”

  If he was surprised by me finally using his name, he didn’t show it, and quite frankly, I didn’t care. I’d found my babies!

  “You really are an odd specimen, Earl. I can’t imagine a single other fighter in this tournament looking at these and describing them as perfect when they are about to face a skilled swordsman.”

  “And that, dear Captain, is why they’re all going to get their heads stoved in.”

  “We’ll see. Now, if you’re happy with your selection, I’ll escort you to the waiting area and you can familiarize yourself with your… weapons of choice.”

  “Hell yes. Lead the way.”

  “And, Earl?”

  “Yes?”

  “I have been asked by the Able, and I would also like to bring it up myself. If you win and you do not have to kill your opponent, please do not do it. Show restraint and you will go far.”

  “Sure, sure. It’ll be fine,” I replied non-committally.

  Before I knew it, I was alone in the arena entrance antechamber, pacing back and forth, throwing punches from a high guard with the batons reversed so that the long part covered my forearms and the short part stuck out past my knuckles. I would be punching though that stubby little bar and causing a lot of damage with it.

  As I paced, I swayed from side to side, loosening up my hips. It was common knowledge that punching power came from the legs, but what they didn’t often tell you was that good head movement was in the hips, and I’d need every inch of head movement in this next fight if my suspicions were right.

  By the time the call came for me, I was loose, warm, and ready. I switched the hold on my batons so that they looked like I intended to use them as batons. Nothing like a bit of subterfuge to kick off proceedings.

  Two arena guards appeared a few minutes later and beckoned me to follow. It felt more formal than all of my other fights, and they were surprisingly respectful.

  They escorted me to the entrance and wished me luck, but I barely heard them as I listened to the raucous atmosphere outside. That was certainly new as well.

  There was a little bit of a wait, and then silence fell upon the crowd like a wet blanket.

  A booming voice rattled the woodwork in front of me. “PLEASE GIVE A WARM WELCOME TO OUR NEXT COMBATANTS!”

  The door swung open. From there I had a good view of the arena and also my opponent. He covered the ground to the center with incredible speed and was greeted with raucous cheers.

  When I sauntered out at a sedate pace, the atmosphere changed, cheers turned to boos, the hostility was electric, as if I was some pantomime villain.

  I replied in kind with my middle finger salute, and I swear, for the briefest of moments, I heard a small cheer from the far corner of the stands. When I looked up, I witnessed a commotion in the crowd. Within seconds it descended into violent brawl.

  I grinned as it grew in intensity, but had to look away as I approached the center. My opponent’s eyes were on the fight as well, but he turned as I came to a stop. His expression told me everything I needed to know. He was a pompous prick, dressed immaculately in tight-fitting leather armor. His long blond hair was tied back. He looked nothing like a Velorian except for perhaps his height and build. His skin was a dark gold, and his hair seemed to shimmer like burnished copper.

  When our introductions should have been made, the announcer came with a different message.

  “APOLOGIES, EVERYONE, THE FIGHT WILL BE DELAYED FOR A MOMENT WHILE WE REMOVE A TROUBLESOME ELEMENT FROM THE ARENA.”

  I saw the armored Arena Guard moving to brutally subdue and remove a section of the audience. I guessed they were the ones who had cheered for me when I made the Akra. Probably for the best. I’d never been one for political… stuff. I had a left hand and a right hand, and I was more than happy to use them both. Or go straight down the center with a headbutt of course. Whatever the situation required.

  Still, it was a blow to lose the only fans I had, no matter how touched in the head they were.

  “I’ll win this one for you guys!” I roared as they were led out. Definitely not the smartest move on my behalf, but I got such a buzz from antagonizing sensitive fuckwits.

  The fighting broke out again, but it was mostly the guards beating my fans down as they cheered like dickheads for my words.

  I chuckled and turned back to the elven man to find him watching me with utter contempt. I winked at him. “Alright, sweet cheeks. You ready?”

  “I have no idea how you got a place in this tournament, but you will go no further.” His nasal, arrogant voice was like nails down a chalkboard, and I was tempted to shut him up early.

  “And wherever did you find those things from? Are you intending to entertain the crowd by playing the drums?”

  Too easy. “I’m going to play you like a fucking drum. And when I’m done, as hard as it was for me to find these, it’s gonna be a damn sight harder for the guards to find them when I’m done.”

  To his credit, he was confident, his eyes showed no fear and his words dripped with nothing but disdain. “I have no idea what you are talking about, Earther, but I do not class those as weapons. I do not consider this a challenge, and to be quite honest, I am embarrassed to be involved in this fight. A fighter of my caliber should not be expected to fight a Level 10 bar brawler. But I am an eternal optimist, and I will at least get two things from this battle. An easy buy into the next round, and the adoration of all these fans who you so love to enrage.”

  The announcer interrupted my reply about the sticks being dildos, which was probably just as well.

  “APOLOGIES FOR THE DELAY, BUT WE ARE NOW READY TO GET FIGHT NUMBER THREE UNDERWAY. CAN I HAVE A BIG CHEER FOR EARL HENSHAW OF THE VELKYN ARENA POOL FIGHTERS!”

  Nothing but boos.

  “AND FOR ARTOMI WILLOWSTRIP OF THE NEZARUS SYSTEM!”

  The bastard got cheers. He grinned at me. I felt nothing but surging anticipation.