Dean swung his sword through the air, pivoting on his back foot as he thrust forward. The practice sword made a satisfying whack as it hit the sack dummy in a puff of straw.

  Better but not quite good enough.

  Dean let out a frustrated sigh, dabbing at his forehead with his sleeve. He’d been at it for the better part of an hour, and slowly, he could feel some muscle memory of swordsmanship returning. The truth was that he was not as strong or fast as he had been after his time on campaign, and although he remembered most of his sword forms, his body still required conditioning in order to keep up.

  So far, he’d managed to gain a single point in resilience. Dean opened his stat window and examined his new stats.

  Name: Dean Thompson

  Age: 17

  Minor proficiencies: None

  Class: to be determined

  [INHERITED TRAIT:] Killing Intent 0/3

  BASE STATS:

  Strength: 14

  Agility: 17

  Power: 11

  Resilience: 12

  Current Armor: + 26

  Current Damage: + 18

  Not bad for a few days' work. But Dean knew that if he wanted to compete, he was going to have to venture out into the wilds again. Maybe this time in search of bigger game. Then again, his last foray in the wilds had almost ended in his untimely death.

  Maybe it’s time for me to consider seeking out a party. The only question was – who would be willing to take him on? Being unaffiliated meant not having ties to a Guild and working on his own schedule. It also meant no sponsorship, party directories or supply chains. In other words, Dean was on his own until he found a group willing to take a chance on him.

  Sighing, he returned to his sword forms, determined to push himself this time. He exhaled, flowing from pose to pose as he moved. He was halfway through his second form when a stir caught his eye. He could hear the low murmur of voices, and when he turned, he saw someone pointing in his direction.

  “That’s him,” said one of the boys, and Dean straightened, suddenly wary. Three people were making their way towards him. Like many of the others in the training hall, they wore basic gear, but their armor was oddly uniform, marking them as guild-sponsored. The leader, a tall man with short black hair and a smile that didn’t meet his eyes, focused on him from across the room. The man’s eyes narrowed, and he tapped one of his companions on the shoulder, pointing towards him. All around, members of the training hall parted around the trio like the seas as they moved.

  Shit.

  Growing up in the lower city meant that Dean was all too familiar with trouble and the different forms it took. There was something off about this situation, and the old Dean would have already had his foot halfway out the door. But things were different now.

  Keeping his practice sword firmly in his hand, he turned towards the trio now winding their way towards him and plastered a false smile of his own across his face.

  “Can I help you with something?” he asked, all the while taking in as much information as he could. The trio was well equipped with basic armor, boots, and weapons at their belts. He didn’t know their base stats, but judging by the overall fitness level of two of the three, he assumed they were likely higher than his. What was more, the third man was carrying a spear. This was no practice weapon, and judging by the sharpness of the tip, it could gore a man as quickly as it did a monster.

  “You’re Dean Thompson?” asked the dark-haired man. He seemed unimpressed, but Dean wasn’t particularly bothered.

  “I am. What’s it to you?”

  The boy's eyebrows rose, and he turned towards his fellow, an incredulous smirk pulling at his lips.

  “Did you hear that?” he asked in a mocking tone. “An interesting tact to take with your betters. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you don’t know how things work around here. When an Adventurer asks you a question,” he leaned forward, eyes hardening. “You better damn well answer it.”

  Dean snorted. It was an involuntary sound, but judging by the nervous looks on a few of the nearby faces, it hadn’t been a smart move. The dark-haired boys' frown deepened.

  “Is something funny?” he asked, his tone shifting dark. Dean glanced between them then shrugged.

  “I answered your question,” he said. “You asked who I was. I told you. Now what do you want?”

  The boy’s fake smile vanished entirely, replaced by a hard stare.

  “What I want,” he said, raising his voice so that it echoed across the training hall. “Is to know how a liar like you made it this far on his own. See, we all know you didn’t kill an Alpha Beast on your own. Do you think everyone in this building is stupid? Either you got lucky and looted a corpse in the forest before someone else could, or…. You stole it.”

  The man’s mocking gaze slid over Dean’s second-hand armor, and he smirked.

  “I’m sure we all can guess which of the two is the more likely.”

  The woman in the trio, an archer by the looks of her, laughed, and several others joined her. Glancing around, though, Dean could see more than a few doubtful frowns on the faces of some of the other registrants. A few even cast the trio disapproving looks.

  “I don’t really care what you believe,” said Dean. “The Guild Administrators have ways of assessing the quality and condition of harvested items. If you have some sort of grievance, then you can take it up with them.”

  He made to turn away, but the man wasn’t done with him. He stepped forward, invading Dean’s personal space as he glared down at him. He had almost two feet of height on him, and judging by the look in his eyes, he was the type of bully to assume size made a difference in a fight.

  “I’m bringing it up with you, rat.” He said, reaching out and poking Dean in the chest. “I’m calling you out as a liar, and the worst you can do is deflect. That’s because you know you’re full of it, isn’t it?”

  Dean realized with a sinking feeling that he was being goaded. This man, whoever he was, had shown up with the pure intention of challenging him. He knew that if he accused him publicly, he’d have only two options. Run away and effectively concede the point, or defend his honor.

  I should have cleared out when I got the chance. Ah well, things were getting boring anyway.

  There was nothing else for it. With so many eyes on him, Dean knew what he had to do. Now was the moment that he’d mark himself in the eyes of the others. As either a coward… or something not to be trifled with.

  “Listen,” said Dean, flipping the practice sword over in his hand. “I don’t give a rat's ass who you are or what you think. If you have a problem, then we can settle it in the sparring ring. Otherwise, clear off and stop wasting my time.”

  The spearman laughed. “Matteo, you see the balls on this kid? I told you this was going to be interesting. Hurry up and kick his ass so that we can get out of here. I have a date with a barmaid I’d really rather not miss.”

  Matteo smiled, the expression forced.

  “Look at this. He wants to spar. Alright, kid, I’ll indulge you. Meet me on the mat in fifteen minutes. If you don’t show, I’ll assume you ran…” his smile revealed teeth. “And really, who could blame you?”

  “I won’t run,” said Dean flatly, stowing the practice sword in a barrel by the wall. And he meant it. The kid he’d used to be would have booked it out of there. He knew the risks of fighting a larger and stronger opponent – a lesson that had been taught to him over and over again by bullies in the lower city when he was a boy. But Dean wasn’t a boy any longer. After facing down certain death more times than he could count, a simple sparring match was nothing.

  He strode past the gathered crowd, ignoring the stares as he went for the washroom. When the wooden door shut behind him, he exhaled, closing his eyes. It was bound to happen sooner or later, he knew. Fading to the background wasn’t an option – not with all he still had to accomplish.

  He splashed his face in the water basin, staring at himself in the mirror. He still looked young, his skin smooth and his frame small. But his eyes.. they were different. In them held the wait of battles, or wars, and memories. All things he had carried with him in his past life.

  I’m not the kid I was. Not anymore.

  And maybe it was time to let that part of himself go… permanently. He dipped his hands into the cool water of the basin once more and was about to splash himself again when his mana sense flared. Without thinking, Dean jerked to the side, yanking his sword halfway from its sheath at his hip before he even registered what he saw.

  There was no threat, no hidden attacker. Instead, a familiar read-headed woman leaned against the wall wearing an amused smirk as she eyed his half-drawn weapon.

  “Well,” said Harper Forsa. “That’s one way to say hello.”

  Dean straightened, relaxing his grip on his sword as he glanced around.

  “You do know this is the men’s room, right?”

  She raised an eyebrow, crossing one leg over the other.

  “I didn’t take you as shy. Don’t worry, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” When his expression didn’t change, she sighed.

  “Look, I wanted to talk to you. For whatever reason, my Uncle seems to have taken an interest in you. I can’t say I see the appeal, but nonetheless, I feel obligated to give you a warning.”

  She pretended to examine her nails, avoiding looking at him.

  “Oh?” Dean tilted his head. “And what might this warning be?”

  Harper blew a strand of hair out of her eyes.

  “You shouldn’t fight Matteo.” When he started to scoff, she overrode him. “Not just because he’s a far more experienced hunter, not to mention a combat class, although that’s a valid reason as well. It’s why he chose to challenge you. Don’t you think it’s odd that a party of sponsored hunters you’ve never met decided to single you out on your first actual day of training?”

  Dean’s brows furrowed as he considered her words.

  “Not really. I’m new and I don’t have any means or sponsorship, let alone a class. It’s natural that they would be curious about me – maybe even want to test me.”

  “That’s part of the picture, sure. But you’re missing the most vital part.” She pushed off the wall, her eyes meeting his. The playfulness in them was gone; instead, it was replaced by a seriousness he’d never seen in her before.

  “This isn’t a commoner's game, Dean. When you start making waves, however small, others take notice. Matteo didn’t seek you out just to test you. He was likely either paid or prompted to do so with someone who has an interest in rattling you.”

  Dean straightened, his mind flashing to what the Dwarf had warned him as he’d walked out the door.

  There are many in this city who want to be Adventurers… those with connections and means. If word spreads of your.. skill… then you’d do well to watch your back.

  “So,” he said, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. “They want to see if it’s a fluke. They want to know how strong I am, and if I’m a threat or…”

  “Or if you just got lucky.”

  Harper’s smile was mild as she nodded her approval. For a moment, her eyes searched his then she let out a sigh and turned towards the door.

  “I won’t pretend to know what it is my Uncle saw in you, Thompson. But I’ll leave you with some unsolicited advice. Don’t stir the pot if you can help it. Whoever influenced Matteo doesn’t expect you to win. If you make a good showing of yourself and lose, they’ll respect you all the same. You stay out of the spotlight and continue on without opposition.”

  “And if I do win?”

  Harper turned towards him, eyes flashing with amusement.

  “You’re awfully sure of yourself for a seventeen-year-old classless with a few days of experience. Do what you will, Thompson. But just know news of whatever happens here will spread. The Training Hall may not seem like much, but this place is a proving ground. There are only four like it in the entire Empire – places where the greats once came to test themselves. Whether you want them to or not, people may take notice of you. Now, whether that’s good or bad… who can say?”

  She vanished from his sight, the door swinging shut behind her. For a long moment, Dean stared, his mind sifting through the implications. He could keep his head down, walk the path, and try not to draw undue attention to himself. After all, that was probably the safer option. But safe wouldn’t get him where he wanted to go.

  He left the washroom, winding his way through the hall until he found what he was looking for. The wall of fame stretched across the wall – a pillar of dark granite etched with names untouched by time. Dean recognized many of them from his time in the military, and still others from stories he’d heard as a kid. There were former saints, famous knights, Adventurers that had ascended to emerald rank or higher. These were household names.

  He paused when he saw Adrian Toussaint’s name. The rogue saint…. The man who had sacrificed himself in an attempt to give Dean, a common soldier, a chance at surprising the enemy. In the end, they had both died, but Dean hadn’t forgotten the man’s bravery.

  He fought til the end. Didn’t panic, didn’t try to surrender like the others. When I meet him again, I have to be stronger… strong enough to face the spear saint.

  With that thought, Dean turned away from the hall of fame and made his way back to the main hall. He was aware of the interest – of the eyes on him as he walked. Some had stopped what they were doing to stare. Others around kept up the pretense of training and sparing, but he caught many of them looking as well.

  Maybe it was the prospect of a duel. Or maybe they wanted to see what he was capable of. Dean drew in a breath and exhaled, calming his racing pulse. Matteo stood near one of the sparring squares, leaning casually on a practice sword. His body language was calm, sure, and devoid of any tension. Dean didn’t doubt that Matteo expected to win this fight.

  He was after all, a combat class with higher base stats and more experience. Dean hid his smile. At least, he thought he had more experience.

  “There you are,” said Matteo, turning towards him with a mocking smile. “Well, rat, I was beginning to think you’d scurried off somewhere.”

  Rat? Something jogged Dean’s memory. A certain blonde-haired noble who had almost knocked him over on a horse just the other day. Unbidden, his eyes slid up to the VIP section high above. Leaning against the railing was that same boy. His arms were draped over the wood, the same self-satisfied smirk as before pulling at his lips.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  Dean felt a surge of anger at the sight of him.

  So, it seems Harper was right. I do have enemies – if you can call the washed-up third son of minor nobility a worthy adversary.

  “Are you dense or something?”

  Dean’s attention snapped back to the present. Matteo was glowering at him, his practice sword propped over one shoulder. Beside him. His companion with a spear had an eyebrow raised. Dean realized he’d been the one speaking

  “What?” asked Dean, blinking. He tried his best to clear any distractions from his mind, forcing himself to focus on the moment.

  “I said are you ready to fight or do you need more time?”

  Dean swept his surroundings with a gaze, his eyes settling on Finnegan and his party. Theirs were some of the only friendly expressions in the room, and even as he looked, Finn shot him a thumbs up. Dean nodded in return.

  “No, I’m ready,” he said, turning back to Matteo. “But since your boy here is the challenger, I get to decide the weapons and the stakes.”

  There was a short pause while Matteo and his party seemed to digest this.

  “I didn’t agree to that,” grunted the hunter, his eyes narrowing. Dean laughed.

  “Are you seriously that ignorant of Guild rules? You can challenge anyone to a duel anywhere, but when you do, they have the right to choose weapon and fight stakes. But if it’s too much for you, then you can always back out, and I’ll accept your loss.”

  Annoyance flashed in Matteo’s eyes. Had he not been blinded by the prospect of his own swift victory, he might have noticed the look in Dean’s eyes.

  “Fine,” he said, cracking his neck. “Let’s just get on with it. I’m not giving you the opportunity to weasel out of it.”

  Good. That had been the reaction he’d been expecting.

  Dean walked to the weapons rack, eyeing the wooden practice weapons over carefully. He would be fighting at a disadvantage, especially since he suspected Matteo was an accomplished swordsman. It was entirely likely that he had a minor proficiency for swordsmanship, and if that was the case, Dean knew he had needed to avoid swords entirely.

  Spears were an option, though they were heavier. His own agility was his highest stat and he knew he’d need to rely on reach and mobility. He needed something he could move with… something like…

  “I chose quarter staves,” he said, snatching a pair from the rack and tossing one to Matteo. The boy hadn’t seen it coming, and only his quick reflexes allowed him to catch the practice weapon as it soared towards him.

  Dean noted the unfamiliar way in which the boy held the staff and suppressed a smile. If his assessment was correct, he’d just leveled the playing field.

  “Alright alright,” said the Spearman, sounding bored as he stepped up to the line. He gestured back and forth towards them.

  “You know the Guild rules. No foul play, and no killing blows. I’m assuming you want to fight until first blood?”

  The man didn’t even glance at Dean before continuing.

  “In that case-“

  “No.”

  Dean surprised everyone as the word rang out across the training hall. The small crowd that had gathered to watch the proceedings began to mutter. He ignored them, focusing instead on the spearman who was now giving him an irritated look.

  “I said I choose the stakes, remember? I don’t have any interest in dueling for first blood. If we’re going to do this, then I want to fight…” he leveled Matteo with a cold gaze. “To submission.”

  Matteo’s eyes widened and an incredulous smile spread across his lips.

  “Well, well, looks like he’s serious. Alright, newbie, I’ll bite. We’ll fight until you submit, but I have one condition.”

  Matteo stepped forward, flipping the quarter staff in his hands. His smile was sly, snake-like, and Dean recognized the gleam of cruelty in the man’s eyes. He’d seen it before in lower city bullies that delighted in tormenting those weaker than them.

  “That condition is that you admit you’re a liar in front of the entire training hall and tell them the truth about how you got that pelt.” His smile was cold. “If you think you’ll get a Guild Sponsorship after this then you’re deluding yourself.”

  Dean only spun the staff in his hands, testing its weight as he bounced from foot to foot. He didn’t need to reply. The fight would be his answer.

  Now he had the attention of the room. The crowd gathered around the dueling square had swelled, only adding too as several more Adventurers came to the VIP railing to watch the proceedings. One of Matteo’s party members was taking bets, laughing as he filled his helmet with coins. Dean knew most were betting against him but he supposed that was to be expected.

  He was surprised when Finnegan stepped forward, pulling a silver piece from a pouch at his waist and unceremoniously tossing it at the bookie.

  “I’ll wager a silver mark on Dean to win,” he said, gesturing with his chin. He met Dean’s gaze and gave him a wink.

  “Your funeral,” scoffed the bookie, sweeping up the coin and tossing it in the pile as the female warrior beside him recorded it in a notebook.”

  “But don’t come crying to me once you lose your money. We don’t do refunds…no matter how broke you may be.” The last was said with a sneer as the bookie eyed the half elf’s worn armor.

  “Well I for one am not broke,” boomed a familiar voice from up above. Dean looked up incredulously to see Draken hanging over the rail, his eyes blazing with an amused light. The Adventurer looked unhinged with a manic grin on his face as he glanced between Dean and his opponent.

  “I too wish to wager on the classless. Surely you wouldn’t reject my gold…”

  The bookies eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as a Guild servant rushed down the steps, a small tray piled with a dozen gold marks resting atop it. He wasn’t the only one. Matteo’s mouth was practically hanging open at the amount on display. His family, like many of the prospects in the hall, was likely well off, but that type of casual expenditure was awarded only to the truly wealthy.

  Just how powerful was Draken’s family? Dean felt a rush of resolve as the giant Adventurer met his gaze and gave him a lazy grin.

  “Don’t disappoint me now,” he crooned. “At least make it interesting.”

  Dean did smile then, even as a flutter of nerves hit his stomach. There was more riding on this fight then pure ego. Here and now, he was forging his reputation. And that alone might give him the opportunity to win both powerful friends and enemies.

  “Bets are closed,” called the Spearman, waving a hand for silence. The murmuring of the crowd ceased, the only sound left in the training hall the shuffling of feet and clack of weapons as a few spared in the background. Dean took up his position on one end of the sparing square. The grass mats of the training hall were cool under his bare feet as he turned to get his bearings. He and Matteo had removed their armor, as was customary in a duel, and were wearing only shirts and trousers rolled up at the knees.

  Dean couldn’t help but notice the man’s pressed grey shirt had an insignia emblazoned on the front. It depicted the head of a dragon with golden coins as eyes. Dragon’s Greed, and up-and-coming Guild that had risen from the south to contend with some of the larger organizations that already existed.

  Dean wasn’t really surprised that Matteo and his party were sponsored. To afford weapons and armor like that, it made sense. But neither Matteo’s armor nor his reputation would help him here.

  The spearman strode to the center of the square, his hands raised. Enjoying the attention no doubt.

  “Alright, alright.” He said, “I want this fight swift and clean. Oh, and Matteo,” the spearman smirked. “Try not to go too hard on the classless. Seriously, I don’t want to be stuck cleaning the blood out of the matts all evening.”

  A few bystanders laughed but Dean was focused on his opponent. Matteo took up a stance, knees bent and poised for attack. Dean mirrored him from his side of the square and waited as the noise died down. When the spearman raised his hand, Dean was already moving.

  It was a funny thing to see his opponents' surprise in real time. Matteo hadn’t expected Dean to charge him, naturally assuming that he, the man with the advantage, would be on the attacking end. To his credit, Matteo recovered quickly.

  He blocked Dean’s first strike, a tentative probe to his head, and stepped swiftly back, throwing out a counter blow. Dean caught the blow on his staff, and grunted. The force of the strike itself was powerful. Dean felt the strength of the blow reverberate through his arms even as he absorbed it.

  Matteo was strong, stronger even than he had anticipated. As if reading his reaction, the man grinned.

  “Thought your little trick would catch me off guard, rat?” he hissed as he pressed forward. Dean went on the offensive, moving into a side defensive stance to make himself a smaller target. Matteo didn’t hesitate. With a shout, he moved forward, releasing a flurry of strikes at his head and tosrso. Dean managed to block two in quick succession, but was forced to dodge aside as a third sailed over his head.

  Matteo followed, circling Dean as he tried to press him into the back corner of the dueling square.

  “What's the matter?” he asked, his eyes glittering. “Are you running already?”

  Dean didn’t respond. Instead, he focused, eyeing Matteo’s stance. The man’s grip on the staff was strong, but he held it more like a spear than a quarter stave. His wrists were locked, and he left little room to maneuver on the backend.

  He’s never fought with a staff before. He’s used to swords, spears, and polearms.

  The realization gave him new purpose. Matteo was advancing on him, his smile confident as he made to hem Dean into the corner. It was a mistake that would cost him. Without warning, Dean suddenly shifted his weight, springing forward and gripping his staff close together with both hands. Driving with his front foot in the method he had learned in his years on the front lines, Dean thrust the end of the staff like a spear.

  Matteo hadn’t seen it coming. Swearing, he managed to block the blow, but it didn’t stop the blunted end of Dean’s staff from clipping his forehead as it was knocked wide. Dean saw the opening, but instead of exploiting it, he merely retreated, circling.

  Matteo made to follow but blinked as something ran into his eye. He reached up to wipe it away, but his hand came away red. Dean smiled coldly.

  “Looks like first blood goes to me.”

  Anger flared in the man’s eyes.

  “You got lucky street rat,” he snarled as he advanced. “Don’t think your tricks will work on me again.”

  And he attacked. This time, the lazy confidence before was gone. There was real anger in Matteo’s strikes, and Dean felt it. Each blow hammered into him, rattling down his wrists and making his arms numb. Matteo’s advantage in strength and power was taking its toll. Dean tried to duck around him, but the larger man hemmed him in, using his staff to block Dean’s attempt at a dodge.

  “No more running,” he hissed, blood trickling over his brow and down his neck. “This fight only ends one way. With you on your knees.”

  He struck high, and Dean failed to realize the blow had only been a distraction. Matteo’s knee caught him in the stomach and Dean grunted, forced to dive and roll away as his diaphragm seized. For a moment, it was difficult to breathe, his vision slightly obscured. He could see Matteo coming after him and knew he didn’t have time to recover. He stayed on the defensive, dodging and weaving until he was able to suck in a few desperate breaths.

  “What did I say about running?” Matteo strode after him, lunging and forcing Dean to block. The impact drove him to one knee, where he panted, staring up at Matteo as the larger man bore down on him. His arms trembled against the weight as Matteo pressed his advantage.

  “You see,” he said, his voice almost a croon. “What did I say? There is only one way this would end. You don’t belong here, kid. Let this be a lesson.”

  Dean felt the strain as his arms were forced slowly down by his opponent's greater strength. He could see the veins bulging in Matteo’s neck, see the flare of his teeth as he grinned his vicious triumph. Once Dean was defeated, he doubted he’d get any mercy. Matteo was likely to break his bones.. or at least to leave him with a few scars to remember.

  Dean murmured something and Matteo’s eyes narrowed.

  “What did you say, street rat?” he called. “Speak up!”

  A notification flashed in his vision.

  You have gained + 1 strength

  “Gods, finally,” Dean repeated, shaking his hair out of his eyes. Confusion flitted across Matteo’s face as he stared down at him. But Dean was already moving. Planting his second foot beneath him Dean rolled sideways, coming out from under Matteo in a flash of movement. Without the resistance the man stumbled forward, only half managing to catch himself as Dean pivoted and lunged. Matteo brought his staff around, blocking the blow aimed for his neck. He snarled in triumph until he realized his mistake. Dean had released the staff entirely. It seemed to fall in slow motion, passing in front of the stunned Matteo’s face.

  Dean was already planting his front foot, pivoting on the ball as he snapped his arm up and around.

  And this Captain Ripley had taught him all those years ago in Militia training. Is how you throw a proper punch.

  Dean twisted his back foot, throwing his shoulder and hips into it as he drove the cross forward. Matteo’s face was one of incredulous shock as Dean’s knuckles slammed into his jaw. His head snapped backward and Dean followed up with a hook as the man struggled to regain his footing. The punches may not have had as much power as they had, but the form was tight, and that alone was enough. Matteo stumbled and Dean caught his staff with a foot, flipping it back up to his hand.

  With it he hooked Matteo behind the leg. He fell backwards on the matt and in an instant Dean was above him, trapping his opponent's arms beneath the weight of his knees. The bar flattened Matteo’s hands, crushing them against his chest as Dean used his weight to pin the man in place.

  “You were right,” he said, leaning down so that only Matteo could hear him. His eyes were wide as he stared up into Dean’s face.

  “The fight did end with me on my knees.”

  The crowd was absolutely silent, even the sound of sparring had died down as everyone turned to look. Matteo’s chest rose and fell as he struggled under the pressure of Dean’s weight. Twice he tried to twist to force himself out of the hold, but Dean didn’t so much as budge. Instead he smiled codly down at the man he’d bested.

  “Well,” he said, raising his voice to be heard. “Are you going to submit or will we stay here all day?”

  Finnegan chuckled, earning a few looks from the onlookers. Matteo glared up at him.

  “Fuck off,” he growled as sweat beaded at his brow. “I won’t lose to a rat like you.”

  “You already did.”

  Reaching down, Dean did what nobody expected. He backhanded Matteo like a mother would a foolish son, knocking his head to the side.

  “Submit,” said Dean cooly. Matteo’s eyes bulged with anger. Again, he tried to dislodge Dean to no effect, and again Dean lifted his hand and slapped him full in the face.

  “That’s enough,” snapped the spearman, stepping forward. But before he could intervene Finn’s party strode forward, and Finn’s hand resting on the haft of the hunting knife at his belt.

  “I believe the stakes were until submission. At least, that’s what I heard. Did anyone else hear otherwise?”

  When nobody said anything, Finn just gave an apologetic shrug.

  “I certainly didn’t hear a submission.”

  The spearmen clenched his fist around his spear shaft, but he knew better than to try to pick a fight with another party when they were down a member. Matteo was panting now, the anger in his face draining away to pale panic as he realized the situation. Dean stared down at him, completely at his ease. Some may think he was being harsh, but as far as he was concerned, this was a lesson that would stick.

  “Submit,” he said again, this time more forcefully. When Matteo didn’t respond, Dean raised his hand. Matteo’s bottom lip trembled, his cheeks flushing with humiliation.

  “Wait,” he croaked. “Fine. You… you win.”

  “What was that?”

  Dean cupped a hand to his ear, and Matteo’s cheeks flushed further. He licked his lips.

  “I said I submit. I lost, okay? I’m sorry that I called you a liar. I was…I was wrong.”

  There was a brief pause in which the training hall seemed to be holding it’s collective breath. Then he spoke.

  “Fair enough.”

  Without ceremony, Dean shifted his weight, rising to his feet as he allowed Matteo out from under him. The bow scrambled on his hands and knees, stumbling to his feet with a face as red as a tomato. He took one look at the look on Dean’s face and hurried for the washroom without another word.

  “Does anyone else have a problem?”

  Dean raised his voice to be heard, glaring around at every face he could see. Some were friendly, others were hostile, or simply neutral. But nobody, he noticed, bothered to challenge him. Even those that could. After a moment, the crowd began to disperse.

  “Hell of a fight,” said Finn, sauntering towards him with a pointy-tooth grin. “Not so good for him, though. He just lost a bloody fortune.”

  The half-elf jerked a thumb towards the bookie, who was now on his knees, his mouth hanging open as he stared at Dean. His helmet, which was still being used as an impromptu coin bucket, was clutched limply in his hands.

  “You cheating bastard,” he said. “There’s no way in hell that-“

  “Enough.”

  Draken was striding across the training hall, apparently having descended the steps from the upper deck so quickly that the wind of his passage stirred the hair of several members of the crowd.

  “Dean Thompson won the duel fair and square, we all bore witness to that. You and yours sought to take advantage of his inexperience in a hope that you might profit. If you expect sympathy from me, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

  The Adventurer loomed over the man, casting a shadow across the floor as others scrambled to get out of the way of his wrath. Draken glared down at the man who only seemed to cower in his presence. Again, Dean felt the brush of Draken’s powerful aura and had to focus on his breathing to avoid being affected.

  “Now,” rumbled the giant. “I do expect what I’m owed to be paid in full.”

  The prospect’s eyes bulged.

  “But I can’t.. we can’t…”

  “Peace, peace. I am not an unreasonable man. I will give you up to three months to pay off your debt to me. When that time comes, if you’ve failed to pay off your debt, then my household guard will come and collect you. There is more than one way to work of a debt, after all.”

  Draken’s eyes glittered at Matteo’s party members looked at each other in horror. Judging by their gear and clothes, Dean could assume they weren’t used to menial labor. He couldn’t help but chuckle as he watched them make their excuses before ducking through the crowd after Matteo. The spearman gave Dean a murderous look over his shoulder, one which Dean ignored.

  “Well now..”

  Aura washed over him, and Dean turned to stare up into the face of Draken.

  “It seems my initial read of you was right, Thompson. You’re a fighter – and one with a spirit that’s hard to break. It will serve you well in the days to come. I will be watching your career with some interest.”

  Dean bowed his head.

  “Thank you,” he said. Draken inclined his own and, following Dean’s gaze he turned to look behind him. The railing that Maxim had been leaning against was now empty, the boy apparently gone as soon as the fight had ended. Draken made a sound in his throat.

  “Ah. Be wary of my cousin, Dean. He may be mostly harmless, but even he can make trouble for you if he decides to hold a grudge. He tends to mind his behavior when I’m around, but even so I would caution you to watch your back. Even the most powerful are vulnerable when they sleep.”

  He winked and Dean stammered a reply, unsure of what to make of the odd statement. Before he could ask for elaboration, Draken was already halfway to the door.

  “He’s an odd one,” said Finn, watching as Guild security surrounded the man. “His father is Helios, so maybe that’s why.”

  Dean’s eyes widened as recognition washed over him.

  “Helios, the sun wielder?”

  “Aye the very same. They say he’s a madman. The Emperor only lets him out of the divine city when he has enemies to point him at. I don’t know if there is any truth to those rumors, but knowing his son I do wonder.”

  “Yeah..” Dean blinked away the memories.

  “Listen,” Finn seemed to struggle with something for a moment, glancing across the room at his party members. The woman gave a thumbs up, and after a moment, the northern monk gave a solemn nod.

  “I know you were intent on doing things your own way, and I respect that. However, my party has an opening for one more. With your skill, I don’t doubt we’d have a good harvest. Might even get to the point where we can venture into a zone 2 area. If you're up for it, that is.”

  Dean could hardly believe what he was hearing. It was true he could hunt solo, but he’d be much more likely to level quickly if he were able to clear zones and nests with a group. And the prospect of working his way up to a zone 2 area was appealing.

  “Yeah alright,” he said. “I could use the experience, and if we split the loot and drops, I don’t see why it wouldn’t be worth it.”

  Finn slapped him on the shoulder.

  “Consider it done then. We usually gear up a couple of times a week. Do you have most of the gear you need? Basic stamina, healing, and recovery potions?”

  “Uh, yeah,” Dean lied, with a sinking feeling. Even after turning in his bounty, he still had to pay for armor repairs and training hall dues. After fees, it was likely he’d only have enough for a few upgrades. Potions were famously expensive, given the amount of time and talent an alchemist class needed to brew pure stock. Sponsored prospects or Adventuerer’s were likely provided those supplies by their guild. Dean would need a few more hunting trips before he could afford something like that.

  “Excellent. Then we’ll meet up tomorrow by the east gate at noon. Ten’s found a toxic horn frog nest that we should be able to clear. Take an anti-toxin if you have one, though. Those tongue barbs are known to be nasty.”

  Dean grunted a response and watched as the party departed out the front door. He had done what he’d hoped to – made friends and found a party he could hunt with. On his own, he was limited in how far he could go and what he could hunt. But now, with a full party at his back, he might actually have a chance at maxing his base stats. Smiling to himself, Dean left the training hall, striding towards the second-hand gear shop with a purpose. It was about time he got himself some upgrades.