Back in my cell, I lay on the bed, nursing my mutilated hands. I studied the little stumps of flesh where my beautiful middle fingers had once lived.

  I was annoyed. Yet at the same time, I couldn’t help but find the whole thing funny. I’d really gotten under their skin, yet the daft bastards were so desperate for valuable fighters that they didn’t just kill me.

  I mean, I definitely didn’t want to die just yet. Things to do, brother to rescue, but most importantly, I was intrigued at just how high I could push Toughness. How many tournaments I could fight in!

  So yes, I had it all to live for, but I still wasn’t going to live on anybody else’s terms. Better dead than that. As for the Monarch and the rest of them, they could all boil in a puddle of piss as far as I cared.

  I probably would have plotted their eventual downfall some more, but my stomach rumbled loudly.

  I patted it gently. “Let’s get you fed, fella. You’re wasting away.”

  And it was true. For the first time since I’d been taken, I noticed the paunch I’d developed had well and truly gone.

  When did that happen? I chuckled, swinging my feet around to the floor. With the fingers gone, I probably hadn’t weighed so little since I was at school. I grabbed hold of my shoulder and flexed my bicep at the same time. Muscular, but none of the packed muscle I carried in my glory days.

  It would be a few hours until my evening meal came. I could call for snacks, but I had a better idea. Geldark’s meat pies were calling my name.

  I didn’t have my winnings yet, but the six Unitol stipend was on the shelf by the door.

  Swiping it up and almost dropping them with the lack of the usual complement of digits, I chuckled at the ridiculousness of it. Then I grabbed the doorknob, half-expecting to find it locked. It swung opened freely, but in its place, standing in the doorway, was the huge figure of Captain Estwin.

  “Ah, Earl, I was just coming to see you. Were you off out?”

  I eyed him suspiciously. Had he been waiting behind the door? Nah, he thought too much of himself for that. “I was going to go get a couple of those pies from the market.”

  “Nonsense, I’ll have better pies than that sent down for you.”

  I frowned. “I don’t know who you are, what you’ve done with Captain Estwin, or how you shape shift so convincingly, but it’s an improvement and I’m here for it. That other guy was a prick.”

  “Very funny, Earl. Amazing that you have so little civility or compassion, yet such a finely honed sense of humor.”

  I grunted, four-fingered hands on hips. “Why would that matter?”

  “Humor usually requires an understanding of those around you.”

  “Oh, I understand you all very well. Don’t ever fall into the trap of thinking I don’t. I’m not that kind of psycho, you see? I’m the laughing type. I laugh all the time. Even at losing my fingers.” I waved my hands in front of him, with a big smile.

  He took an uncomfortable step back, not sure how to take me.

  “What a story to tell in the pub when I get back, eh?” I stepped forward, the smile falling from my face. “But I can tell you what I didn’t find fucking funny. That bitch ruined my new gloves!” I rattled the six coins in my hand. “This shit isn’t going to cover the cost, is it?”

  “If you’re expecting sympathy from me about your gloves, Earl, you’re looking in the wrong place. If I was the Monarch, I would have killed you for what you pulled in the arena.”

  I snorted. “Well lucky for me, the Monarch knows a good fighter when she sees one.”

  He placed a hand on the sword at his waist. For a second, I thought he was going to draw it, but it seemed he was genuinely just resting it there.

  “You’re better than good. I watched you with a keen interest, and your fighting intelligence is nothing short of incredible. I do wonder how low your Harmony must be, though. I heard you tell the Grunir that your Toughness is Level 16 and your Acuity is 10. You paused when you told him your Acuity, which was odd. Added to the fact the difficulty I’ve witnesses in the Able’s ability to heal you, I suspect your Acuity is considerably higher and your Harmony…”

  “Go on, then. You know you want to guess,” I prodded.

  “Could it be that you have a Harmony of 1?”

  I chuckled. “It’s a secret. Now why the fuck are you here, Estwin, did the Able send you?”

  “He told me to pop in at some point. But I wanted to come and have a chat with you anyway.”

  “What about?”

  He held up a finger. “One moment.” Then he gestured at the guard a little way down the corridor. “Have Earl brought two oobel pies from the kitchen.”

  “Yes, sir,” the guard snapped, and I heard the pit-pat of his feet plodding away unhurriedly.

  Then the giant captain entered the room. “Your next fight’s in three days.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Have you been to the training room yet?”

  “There’s a training room? Left it a bit late in the day to tell me that, eh?” I’d known there had to be, but I’d neither been invited nor escorted to it, and I certainly wasn’t going to ask.

  “There is. I’ll show you afterwards.”

  I waved off the offer. “Don’t fucking bother. I’m happy to train in here.”

  “But there’s no equipment.”

  I shrugged. “I don’t need equipment.”

  That brought a frown from him. “Whatever you say, Earl. You evidently know what you’re doing.”

  “Yeah, I do. Was that it?”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “May I come in for a spell?”

  He closed the door, which made the room feel a lot smaller. I felt the hairs on my neck bristle and my stomach flutter in anticipation. Then he squatted down on his thick rhino legs, looking as comfortable as if he’d just sat down on a chair, and the threat left the room.

  I sat on the bed opposite him and waited. I was not prepared for what he led with.

  “Why have you never asked about the friends you came with?”

  I was laughing again. “They’re no friends of mine. Just happened to be lumped along with them.”

  “Hmm. They ask about you a lot. At least the brown-haired one does. The younger of the two gentlemen. He’s very interested in all of your exploits.”

  That caught me by surprise. “They’re still alive? Did they make it through their proving fights?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet. The proving fights are off until the tournament is over.”

  “So where are they now?”

  “They’re still in the prison cells. They’ll most likely be used as servants while the tournament runs, so they can at least earn their keep. They’ll be kept there on basic rations until the next pool intake and save our arena some money. They get the chance to train once a week at the moment.”

  I nodded along. “Ah that’s good to hear. I’m not bothered about the old one. I hope a rat crawls up his arse while he’s a sleep. But I am glad the other one’s all right.”

  “So there is a heart in there somewhere.”

  “The lad helped me out when I needed it. I know how to acknowledge a debt.”

  “That’s good to know. I don’t think either of them will win five fights, but I will give them your regards.”

  Like I gave a shit if he did or not. “So what did the Able want you to say to me?”

  “He wanted to give you a rundown of the tournament and the expectations. Firstly. Don’t kill anyone else.”

  “You already have a plan for that, don’t you?”

  “We do, but it would be easier if we didn’t have to. You’re in the last sixty-four now, and this is the first round that metal armor is allowed.”

  “Oh how fucking gracious. I’m allowed armor against some bastard with a pair of razor blade swords.”

  “You are.”

  “So what do we get in the last thirty-two, then?”

  “In the last thirty-two, you are allowed to take in one item of armor or weaponry that you own as long as it doesn’t have any boost enchantments. By that I mean anything that allows you to actively use magic. Standard buffs are fine and as the maximum level of the armor will be Level 20, it shouldn’t be anything to worry about. Assuming you win this next fight, you’ll have a decent amount of money along with your winnings from today. You will be able to purchase something to help you.”

  “I sense a ‘but’ coming. Let me guess before you spit it out. Is there any chance of me being able to afford an item with the money I’ll have that’s better than the gear you already provide?”

  He grinned. “There really is a sharp mind in there, Earl, and you’re right. It is unlikely that you can buy something as good as what we have to offer, and as you can’t use any item enchantments, that goes double for you.

  “In the last sixteen, you are allowed to use as many personal items as you want, but again with no active enchantments. Again, I would argue you do not need special equipment beyond what we can provide, and by this time, you will have built up a sizeable nest egg for yourself if you have been wise with your money.

  “For the last eight the contestants are allowed to use one item with an active enchantment. That number increases in the semifinals and again in the final.”

  “So save my money until then?”

  “Exactly. Though you can’t use active enchantments as you can’t bond with items and that will put you at a massive disadvantage in the later rounds.”

  “So it’s geared against me and the poorer people in the tournament.”

  “Not really. The design of the Peripheral tournaments in the early rounds is to even the playing field so that poor fighters with a lot of money can’t just buy their way through with good gear. And poor fighters can showcase their ability and still pick up sponsors. Once that’s cleared up, there’s no reason to continue enforcing restrictions.”

  I scratched my head and thought about it for a little while. Finally, I nodded. “That’s actually pretty smart.”

  “There’s no such limitations in the more prestigious tournaments, but it’s wise to avoid those until you have made your name here.”

  “Which is going to be hard because these bastards are going to be throwing magic at me in a couple of rounds?”

  “It is,” he replied. And then with a grimace and a furtive look around, as if someone might be listening, he whispered, “But you should know something else about the rules. That the level cap of 20 is for the participants.”

  “Yeah. I was already told that.”

  “It’s not for the items. It’s not needed because people can only use items of their own level.”

  “Aha!” I cheered. “I’m buying what you’re selling. I can get something with some crazy fucking buffs right? Like a Level 100 sword?”

  Estwin shook his head. “You are crazy, Earl. There are no Level 100 weapons. But you are on the right path. A Level 25 item with appropriate buffs should balance the scales of not being able to use active enchantments.”

  I rubbed my hands together. “I can’t wait to go shopping! I should speak to Dwim to start working out possibilities and prices.”

  “Win your next fight first. That’s where your focus should be.”

  “Yeah, yeah. So what tournaments can I fight in after I win this one?”

  “Another Peripheral until you are too strong. Once you reach Level 21, you will have to move up to the Rise tournaments. That’s followed by the Clash tournament at Level 30, and winning that is… well, it’s the pinnacle of what a warrior can achieve.”

  “Why did you pause?”

  “Because there is also the Grand tournament, which is the greatest tournament of all, but it is impossible for a warrior to win.”

  “No, no, no. Don’t be telling me there’s a better tournament then dashing my hopes. Is it a magic tournament or something?”

  Estwin grinned. “Better. The mages have their own tournaments just like warriors do.”

  “Then what?” I growled, starting to feel my ire rise.

  “The Warrior Mages. They may not be the best mages nor the best warriors, but when you combine the two paths to a suitably high level, they are invincible. If the Xeo return and war does break out, it is the Warrior Mages we will all be looking at to save our Union. Prince Elander, Aazi Stormfront, Marshal Trasn, to name a few. “

  I’d never felt so angry in my life. “No, they can’t be that tough. Jack of all trades and master of none and all that.”

  Estwin shook his head. “They are that good. I’ve seen some of the finals, and I promise you, you’ve seen nothing like it. Seamlessly blending Harmony and Toughness, they are single-unit armies all on their own.”

  “We’ll see,” I grumbled with a whole new desire blossoming in my heart. A new quest to embark on. Find Adam. Kill the Unalar who had kidnapped me. Kill everyone in the Velkyn Arena, and now I needed to beat and kill a Warrior Mage! Life was good when there was a purpose.

  Captain Estwin was watching me as I ran through my list, and I didn’t like it.

  “Is that all?” I snapped. “I have training to do. Need to get use to these hands without the fingers. It’s gonna play havoc with my grip strength.”

  With a shake of his head, he chuckled, raised his right hand, and removed the glove to reveal he had lost both his ring finger and half of his little finger. “You’ll be fine. It never stopped me.”

  It was hard not to offer a nod of respect. It was quite a naughty wound. “How come it was never healed? You can regrow fingers back here with magic, right?”

  I’ll be honest, part of the reason I hadn’t freaked out entirely was because I held out a hope that they could be grown back.

  “Not regrown. But if the fingers are saved and there’s a mage at hand, they can be reconnected. But if there are no mages and the fingers are lost in the stampede of a city on fire, overrun with Siroth rebels, then it’s a little harder.”

  “Fuck. Did they keep my fingers, do you know?”

  He stood and walked from the room.

  “Answer me, you bastard. Did they keep them, or am I going to have to go up there and find out the hard way?” I grabbed the wooden leg of the table.

  Estwin turned in the door frame, his eyes dropped to the wooden table leg, and a small smile reached his thin lips. “I would love to see you try. But part of why the Able sent me to see you was to let you know that your fingers are safe, and if you can behave for the next two fights, you can have them back.”

  “Fuck yeah!” I gave the air a little four-fingered fist pump. I would still have to kill the Able and the Monarch for stealing them in the first place, but I could be good—for a little while probably.

  Just as Estwin went to close the door, my pies arrived, steaming hot and carried by a nervous servant. I took them then kicked the door closed behind the servant as he left.

  Today was a good day after all.

  The pies weren’t better than Geldark’s, but they were damn nice and edged the contest of best pie on account of them being free.

  Once the last of them were swallowed, I dropped to the floor to do some pushups before I got to swinging my table leg about with gusto.

  The pre-workout pies might not have been the smartest of moves as severe indigestion surged up to punish me, but I had muscle to rebuild and there was no time like the present.