"There are three ways to beat a fella in a fight. You can be better than them. You can make them think that you're better than them even if you're not. And you can just be plain old lucky.

I prefer to do all three personally, but that's not an easy ask for anyone not named Henny half-hand, now is it?"

- Post fight interview with Henny Half-hand after defeating Thraskall The Bloodless to claim the title of Arena Champion of Salazar, circa .179

I stood across from my opponent, his sneer setting my teeth on edge and the swish of his glittering glaive parting the air setting my ears itching. It was a lazy movement, twisting from his wrist rather than using the full range of muscles in his back and hips to drive the blade around.

He stood relaxed; shoulders drooping and one arm held out to his side in a facsimile of a dandy gentleman. Or so I assumed – didn't really have much experience with fancy lads, but from what I'd seen in Colchet when passing by the various inns and restaurants filled with finely dressed fops, this man would fit right in.

It was incredibly annoying, but I fought down my frustration, knowing that this was either a tactic to deliberately piss me off, or the guy was just that much of an ass. Did it matter though? Either he was trying to rile me up, in which case I should stay calm, or he was just a pompous prick, in which case fuck him and his opinions.

My little pep talk helped me somewhat, and I felt my shoulders relax a hair. I breathed deep, in through the nose, out through the mouth. Felt the grain of the wood in my hand from my spear, heard the creak as I gripped the leather wrapped handle of my shield too tightly. I was ready.

The moment he had appeared through the water I had felt my attributes lower in response to Jorge's amulet-guided influence. A big drop all around – somewhere between half and a third of my power disappearing, trapped behind a soul-binding enforced by my mentor. I'd adjusted to it already, having at least a few dozen breaths to feel my body change and understand its new limits.

Finanda stood between us and gave a quick rundown of the rules – basically, fight as if your life is on the line, because she would step in to prevent any fatalities – and then, after asking us if we were each ready, she stepped back with a sharp gesture.

"Begin," she said, somewhat anticlimactically.

The man started to stroll towards me, eyeing me up and down with a dismissive sniff. He still looked far too calm, like he didn't consider me a threat at all. He raised his glaive in one hand and saluted the crowd – or the cliff to our right anyway, no idea who was watching – so I moved forwards. He had actually turned his head away from me to look at where his weapon was pointing as well. What an arrogant prick. Did he really think I was going to stand there and let him posture?

He turned to face me, surprise widening his eyes as he saw me rushing at him, but his weapon was too far out to bring around in time. I was inside his guard before he could properly set it and thrusting my shorter spear towards his stomach in a flash.

He backpedalled, moving with rapid steps to propel his body out of the way of my thrust. It would have worked perfectly if I'd aimed for his throat, as he could have simply swayed his head to the side to dodge. It would have worked fairly well if I'd aimed at his chest, as he could have leaned backwards while staying just outside my range, maybe getting a slight scratch on his chest plate.

But I'd aimed for his stomach, and the only way he could keep his intestines on the inside was if he caved his body, sucking in his gut and hoping the extra few inches of space would save him.

And they did. The lanceolate blade stopped only inches from his unarmoured waist. He no doubt thought himself safe as it began to retract, and I saw his eyes look back up to my face after watching the spear miss its mark.

Once again, they widened in comic surprise as my shield arm came barrelling towards his unprotected chin. I'd used the momentum of my spear thrust to propel my other arm up in a savage uppercut, shield rim leading the way.

He was clearly a fighter of some skill from the speed he had reacted to my unexpected assault, and he might have even been more agile on the feet than I was considering my artificial limitations, but he was moving backwards and off-balanced while I was striding forwards, centred and ready in a move I had drilled a hundred times before.

I knew he would be too slow, and in those final moments as his eyes almost crossed each other trying to track the path of my shield rim as it barrelled towards his lordly chin, he knew it too. I saw the moment he accepted his fate, clenching his eyes shut and bracing for the inevitable pain. I too prepared myself for the meaty thwack of metal against skin and bone... But no sound came.

I hit nothing with my swing and stumbled to a halt, looking up in bewilderment. For a half-second I panicked that I'd underestimated the noble and he had activated some insane escape Skill, but I needn't have worried. Finanda had shot from her position behind me to knock my opponent backwards, leaving my shield to impact only empty air where his head would have otherwise been.

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She interposed herself between us, gesturing sharply again to signal the fight was over. It had only lasted a dozen heartbeats, but I was panting all the same. The adrenaline coursing through my system wouldn't let me off easily, and I had to breathe through my nose, leaning back to compose myself quickly as the Holder helped the arrogant prick to his feet.

He glared at me and spat to one side, shouting something about me being a 'lowly cheat', utilising 'unsporting behaviour' and how I was emblematic of all the ills of the world as a 'filthy lowlander bitch'. I felt he was reaching with that last one, but the Holder escorted him quickly from the dais before more obscenities could be hurled my way. Not that I'd care a whit for words from him, the useless prick. Taking your eyes off an opponent once the fight begins? Idiot.

I looked up to the crowd, seeing faces shouting through their little water-windows. I still couldn't hear them over the thunder of the waterfall, and I couldn't tell if they were yelling in support or consternation.

I shrugged, turning around and walking back to where I had come from. It was only once I'd made it through the waterfall that I realised I was facing the wrong part of the circular sinkhole and had to trek around the edge to find my waiting room.

*Vera*

"A dominant performance!" Ventus cried, clapping Jorge on the back.

Vera snorted. It was a cheap shot, and Lamb was lucky he was fighting a preening peacock and not a true warrior. It was more likely to happen in the 1st tier bracket, but he was still lucky to have met someone so unprepared for a duel, even so.

Jorge didn't let his emotions show, and even Vera couldn't tell what was going on in his mind. Was he satisfied with the quick win, or disappointed Lamb had resorted to such underhanded tactics? Vera couldn't deny a little pride at the outcome, personally. She'd been the one to teach Lamb that true combat had no rules. He'd obviously taken that message to heart.

Not that his opponent didn't have it coming, but she doubted his reputation would recover unless he could pull out a few spectacular wins. At the end of the day, a crowd loved a winner, so long as they kept winning.

Sadrianna had lent forwards following the brief fight but was now leaning back against the cave wall again in thought.

"Not what I was expecting" she muttered, almost to herself. Her mother questioned her though, so she explained further; "He was incredibly patient when we met for the first time. Given what I now know about Jorge and Vera here, their team was never in much danger from us, but Lamb was trying to avoid escalating things. Just wouldn't have picked him as someone who would fight dirty, that's all."

"He's practical. Like you, Sadey," Her mother said, and Vera saw the girl flinch from the nickname before casting a quick glance at both Vera and Jorge. She filed that info away for later – the girl clearly wasn't as confident as she projected.

Arynia continued, unperturbed; "Jorge here says he found him in the wilds at a very low level, and when they next met, he had gained a class. Spent a few months in the wilderness fighting for his life against wild beasts. He's not a favoured son or daughter like many of your peers."

Vera could hear the approval in the powerful woman's voice. She clearly agreed with the idea of getting real combat experience against creatures trying to kill you over safe sparring. That Sadrianna also did the same was no surprise – two powerful classers would obviously insist on their children being equally powerful, and that required solid foundations.

Sadrianna nodded. "I'm more interested in his next fight now, at least. Still not sure why he walked through the waterfall though."

Vera knew though. She considered it a personal favour to the boy that she kept her mouth shut.

*Lamb*

"That was quick," Nathlan said, looking up from where he ran a cloth along his bare sword. I sat heavily on the wooden bench next to him, my legs no longer wanting to support my weight.

"Aye, I guess it was." I grinned tiredly. "Don't feel bad though, Jorge and Vera no doubt understand you still lag far behind me and won't hold you to the same standard."

Nathlan's head whipped up, eyes squinting dangerously, and I laughed out loud. He broke into a small smile as well after a moment. I started peeling my armour off piece by piece, hanging up the leather and scale vest on an armour stand nearby before wringing out my drenched shirt.

"At least I did not trudge through the waterfall like a sodden blanket," he retorted.

I almost asked how he knew but caught myself before making that mistake. "Seen any good Skills yet?" I asked instead.

He hummed to himself in thought for a moment, cocking his head to one side like a small bird trying to decide if it was a stick or a worm on the ground before him. "Nothing particularly interesting. I suspect my last opponent had a powerful Skill relating to binding magic, but I did not give him time to work with it."

"Aye, not much beats quick metal," I conceded.

"You?"

"Nah, no idea. The prick I fought looked away mid-fight to pose for the crowd." Nathlan gasped at the sheer stupidity, and I grinned in response. So I might have embellished a little – it was still a damned stupid thing for the man to do.. "Aye, he paid for it, don't you worry. Though, now that I think of it, if you see a tall man – blonde hair, square jaw, nose all pointy and a little wonky to the left? – best keep your head down. I doubt he's a fan of me, and that tarrs you by proxy."

"Understood," Nathlan replied simply.

We shared a few more minutes of friendly conversation before I looked around. "Any idea how long we'll be waiting between fights then?" I asked.

Men and women were bustling about in nearby caves, connected by open corridors. I could hear the clink of armour and weapons being moved, and the chatter of excited voices. An official came to our cave, bustling in and gesturing for Nathlan to follow.

He turned to me as he slid his sword back into his sheath, and I noticed for the first time that he was almost completely dry, with only the lining of the bottom of his robe being damp.

"Apparently not very long. Luck with you," he said with a nod, and then he was turning away and striding after the official.

I turned back to the armour stand I'd commandeered, watching a small puddle forming beneath it as my sodden armour continued to drip.

I sighed.

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