This time, he started slow.

Alarion's opening was measured and cautious, a far cry from the reckless abandon of his early attempts. Haste and ferocity had a solid place in his arsenal, but the time for both was long past. He wasn't going to catch Kali off guard, not after ninety-six bouts; rushing in would only lead to an early defeat.

That didn't mean he was timid. His weapons lashed out with speed and vigor at every opportunity, as much for offense as for defense. Even with his prodigious durability, Kali could not shrug off a direct hit from either of Alarion's weapons, and they both knew it. The big man had to dodge and weave, ever at the edge of Alarion's reach.

Until he wasn't.

"Empowered Solar Burst!" Alarion incanted the moment he saw Kali pushing forward. A wave of heat and light punished the big man, searing his skin and halting his advance with a surge of pressure. A follow-up swing sent the soldier into full retreat, but the satisfaction on Kali's face spoke volumes about who'd won that exchange.

[Empowered Solar Burst] was Alarion's only real escape option, and it was expensive. The spell ate up his HP and MP, doing proportionally more damage to him than it did to Kali. Its only real use was stopping Kali in his tracks, forcing a reset of their positions whenever the Sergeant found an opening to get in close.

And Alarion only had three of them—two, now.

That countdown had become the ultimate rhythm for their bouts. Alarion would do his best to keep Kali at bay, and Kali would wait for a mistake or an opportunity. When he found one, the Godborn would exploit it, and Alarion would inevitably be forced to spend one of his empowered spells to drive the man back. They'd reset and repeat until Alarion ran out of chances.

He'd tried other tactics, of course, but none had let him live anywhere near as long. Going on heavy offense opened him up too quickly, to disastrous results, while turtling up let Kali pick him apart with ease. His other spells were of little use; [Empowered Void Crush] was too easy to dodge, and [Empowered Mend Body] was never useful in an actual fight. Thrown weapons did next to nothing, and some of his best skills, such as [Dimensional Evasion], were blocked out by the limitations of the array.

The pattern they'd settled into was the best Alarion could muster, but it wasn't enough. He could win, or at least finish his quest, if Kali made a fatal mistake, but the Godborn warrior was frustratingly consistent. There was no flash to his fighting style, no tricks or vulnerabilities to exploit; he hadn't even used any active skills. He walked Alarion down, over and over, applying steady pressure until something finally cracked.

Usually, it was Alarion's skull.

"That's all of them, yeah?" Kali asked as the blast wave from Alarion's last [Empowered Solar Burst] faded. The phantasmal burns on the right side of his body from the previous attack were not inconsiderable, but they were nowhere near enough. "Do you want to call it?"

"I forfeit," Alarion said with a sigh.

The pain of his wounds bled out in an instant as the pylons disengaged. Alarion flexed his now-empty hands, already marching for his corner and the next attempt.

"Wait," Kali told him.

"Hmm?"

"If we're just going to do this three more times, I'd rather call it and go eat," the sergeant said, crossed his arms as he studied Alarion. "I was hoping to force an epiphany, but you're just treading water."

A protest formed on Alarion's lips, but he didn't speak it. Treading water was too apt a description of the last several hours to be easily refuted.

"W-we could reconvene tomorrow?" Bergman suggested. "Sleep on it?"

Alarion shook his head. "I am not frustrated, and I have had plenty of time to think. A few hours will not help."

"Are you close with anything?" Kali asked.

"No. I am at the boundaries of some of my skills, but you do not leave me much room to push them."

"Thought as much," the giant plodded over to Alarion's equipment and hefted his enormous mace, tossing it to him as one might a pillow. "Then you're going to need to use everything."

"Outside,' Bergman said sharply enough that all eyes turned to him. He blushed slightly, then added, more timidly. "I-if you're going t-to actually fight, do it away from my expensive e-equipment."

--

"You enjoyed the hospital that much?" Nessa asked minutes later, as Alarion stared down Kali across the open courtyard.

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"I will be fine; it is just a spar."

"Famous last words," she scowled. "Just be careful. I already remember dying once, I am not keen on finding out what happens to me if he punches you a little too hard."

Alarion frowned. It had been bad enough when ZEKE had been relying on him. Not for the first time, Alarion thought back to those days of deprivation in the Old City. He'd been hungry and desperate, true, but there had been no one depending on him.

And no massive soldiers ready to punch his teeth in. Simpler times.

Then again, those issues paled in comparison to his newest concern—stage fright.

Rumors had spread throughout the fortress the moment Kali had given the order for the courtyard to be cleared, and by the time the various laborers had cleaned out a sizable space, their impromptu ring had drawn a crowd. Most ringed the inner edge of the palisades, with others crammed into watchtowers or stone stairways, their legs swinging as they shouted wagers back and forth.

Not all were soldiers. Stablehands and cooks watched from the cover of the adjoining buildings, keeping a careful but curious distance. Sparring matches between awakened were nothing new, and rarely drew such a crowd, but the Martyr in the West going up against the strongest soldier on base? Now that was something worth watching.

Alarion was suitably mortified. But at least he wasn't the only one.

"E-everyone, if you c-could. If you c-could quiet d-down we would like to get started!" Bergman declared from atop the pile of lumber that served as his impromptu stage. When the words fell on deaf ears, he tried again. "If e-everyone could just-"

"Shut the hell up!" Kali demanded with such volume that the clamor died in an instant.

"T-thank you, S-Sergeant," Bergman stammered. His face was redder than Alarion had ever seen it, and Alarion felt a kindred sympathy stronger than any magical bond. "W-we are here for… I guess this would be an e-exhibition match?"

A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd before being knifed in the heart by Kali's stern expression.

"O-our rules are fairly simple. This will be a Three-Quarters M-Match under s-standard Vitrian terms."

"Which are?!" someone heckled from a nearby tower.

"W-well, they are fairly complicated b-but in essence they… uh…" Whatever Bergman had intended to say fell clear out of his head as he saw something in the crowd.

Alarion, and most of those in attendance, followed Bergman's gaze. At the end of it, they found Lily, pushing her way through the crowd with purpose. Predictable hooting and hollering followed from the predominantly male audience, but the Vitrian woman ignored it as she broke free of the crowd. She walked between the two combatants with imperious grace, scything Alarion with a sidelong glare as she passed him on her way toward Bergman.

She lifted a hand when she reached him, then wiggled it slightly until he got the hint and reached down to help her scale the pile. Then they spoke, exchanging a few intimate whispers over the raucous clamour of their onlookers. Bergman nodded once, then twice. He said something that made Lily laugh, then took a half step back as she turned to face the crowd.

"Well," Lily's voice cut across the courtyard, sharp and clear. The crowd quieted at once, as much from her beauty as her stage presence. "I let the Martyr out of my sight for a few hours; and look what happens."

A cascade of laughter followed her words, but it was of a different sort. They were laughing with her, not at her.

"Some of you have heard the rumors that he is somewhat… direct, in his methods," Lily gave her most winning smile as she turned from left to right, taking in the whole of the assembly. "These, I can confirm. Others are unfounded. He is no traitor, nor is he cursed. Some call him a puppet of the Empire, but I learned about this little event by looking out my window." She paused for another round of mirth before adding, "As for his strength? Well, this is an opportunity to judge for yourself."

"For those of you unfamiliar with Vitrian dueling codes, and why would you be, allow me to enlighten you. This will be a Three-Quarters Match, which means combat ends when one of our duelists is driven to twenty-five percent health or less, or when one of them yields."

Her words rolled out with the ease of a practiced script, a testament to her skill and confidence.

"To those concerned for our combatants, fear not." She gestured toward a small cluster of figures standing to her left. "We have Healers on station, keeping track of combatant health. Any injuries will be seen to immediately at the end of the bout, should either prove… overzealous."

What she didn't say was that accidents could happen. That was why Three-Quarters Matches were prohibited under most circumstances; the margin for error was too narrow. But not so for Alarion. [Pig-Headed Resilience] meant that three-quarters was only half of his total HP. Kali wouldn't accidentally kill him, and given that Alarion hadn't even forced Kali below fifty percent, there was little risk that he'd overshoot.

"As you can see, the edge of our arena, such as it is, is clearly marked," Lily continued, pointing to the rectangular chalk outline drawn haphazardly in the dirt. It was anything but clear, but it did the job as well as could be expected on short notice. "Being driven from the field is a fifty percent penalty. Not an instant loss, but certainly unwelcome."

That was putting it mildly, though Alarion wondered if it would count for the purposes of his quest. Unlikely, though probably higher than his chances of forcing Kali out in the first place.

"Finally, this will not be an endless grind. As a rank II bout, this match has a time limit of ten minutes. If no conclusion is reached by then, the one with the higher percentage of remaining health will be declared the victor."

"Like that is going to happen," Alarion muttered.

"Now then," she said, her voice dipping into something richer, dramatic, perfectly showman-like. "On my left, your new commanding officer. The Martyr in the West—our so-called Orphan, whose stubbornness has outlasted a hundred defeats, and who dares to seek victory against the odds. I give you Alarion!"

"Ninety-Seven," he grumbled as the crowd roared.

"And on my right. Giant. Veteran. Sergeant and Godborn. I have had little opportunity to get to know him, but your admiration for him says everything. I give you Kali!"

The cries this time were just as loud, but there were words mixed among them. They cheered for Alarion for what he represented, but the men here knew Kali. They cheered for who he was.

"As neither of our combatants is wearing the appropriate finery, I will lead in their stead," Lily announced, fumbling at one ear until the crystal earring came free. She held it up, letting it dangle between two fingers for all to see. "When this strikes the ground, you may begin."

Lily tossed the earring high in the air, and Alarion watched in odd fascination as it fell, glittering.

That momentary distraction almost cost him the bout.

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