The flail missed me by inches, but a fight is a game of inches.

I leaned forwards, spear flicking out fast as a hawk on the dive. My opponent ducked low beneath my lunge, but he was a half second too slow. A fight is a game of seconds though, and so my spear point sliced across his helm, leaving a deep groove in the metal above one eye.

He stumbled away, pressing a hand to his head to check for blood. Seeing none, he looked to me and laughed. "Ha! A good attempt, little man!" he called, brash voice booming over the sound of falling water.

I couldn't help my own smile from widening. Grashtan of Blue-Cavern, as he'd introduced himself to me before our match began, was a boisterous and gregarious man with an attitude that bordered on cocky. I was almost surprised that nobody had beaten it out of him yet, if it wasn't for the fact that he weighed as much as a bear. Possibly an overexaggeration, but it didn't feel much like one when I stood across from him in the arena.

He was tall and muscular, and had a head so big it almost seemed an inviting target, hence the helm. He'd come out strong, looping strikes of his flail battering through my guard and forcing me back right from the start, but I'd managed to circle away and reset, and by the time I started to send out my own probing attacks, I'd woken up to the battle. The Forgotten Spear was a versatile weapon art, and some of the unorthodox moves I'd started practicing back in Colchet were now coming in handy given his strange, articulating weapon.

Grashtan's smile dimmed a little as he rushed back in with a dramatic roar, though it never entirely left. A mirror to my own, though my teeth weren't stained with blood like his. He swung low, aiming to take my feet out from under me, but I stepped neatly over the chain as I spun, battering his shield to one side with the haft of my spear as I twirled. He turned to face me, and once more we were head-to-head, but I'd let my grip slide down the haft and spun the weapon around to slam the butt into his chest before he could react.

His tough brigandine took most of the impact, but I heard his breath whoop from his lungs, and followed up with a sweeping kick, sinking low as I did so to avoid his retaliatory swing with the flail. He hit the ground, rolling and covering up with his shield in an admirable display of awareness. I didn't follow though, letting him regain his feet without interference. I was having too much fun to see this end here, and Grashtan clearly agreed.

"A good strike," he said as he levered himself to his feet. "Sad to say it won't be enough, though."

And then he was charging back in, flail sending up chips of stone from where it slammed into the marble where I had just been. I had tried the same trick as the last fight with Faultline, seeking to make the ground a chaotic mess, but he bulled his way through with surprising balance for one of his size and so I'd given up on the tactic.

He appeared to have many passive Skills to increase his physicality, from increased balance to sudden bursts of speed and sometimes even moments of overwhelming strength. My spear was the perfect weapon to keep him at a distance though, and with my greater agility I was able to dance around him, dealing small wounds and exhausting him with conventional attacks. Occasionally I used Tilt to interrupt his movements, and as long as I got the timing just right, it seemed to be inordinately effective at breaking his rhythm.

That was what I had to look out for with his flail – building the rhythm. The moment I let him seize control of the fight and dictate the pace, he would start to hem me in with a constant unceasing barrage of threatening attacks. Luckily, The Forgotten Spear had techniques for breaking rhythm quite effectively, and I'd made good use of them throughout our battle.

I was beginning to see where Jorge was coming from with his amulet enforced limitations now. Had I access to my full power, I would have stopped this warrior far quicker, taking his heavy blows on my shield and fighting back man to man. Without my greater strength, I'd been forced onto the backfoot, and in doing so I'd discovered the utility of some techniques I'd initially been sceptical of.

I spun away again, warding my flank with my shield and harrying the bigger man with my spear as I backed off. I watched the flail circle beneath his arm, perpendicular to the ground, and as it reached just past its zenith, I sprung forwards. Grashtan jerked backwards and the swung the flail forwards, momentum carrying the flanged iron ball around in a warding swirl before him.

I had predicted exactly though, noting how he had fallen back on that same technique a few times already, so as the weapon came hurtling through the air towards me, I snared it with my spear. The chain wrapped around the haft, but rather than let him pull my weapon from my hand, I pulled first, making the man stumble towards me.

In the same movement I spun and ducked beneath the haft of the flail, twisting his arm out to one side. The spin continued, until I slammed my shield into his back, which turned his stumble into a full-on fall. He managed to retain his footing, but at the cost of crossing near half of the arena in an out-of-control tumble. I had disengaged my spear from his weapon as soon as I spun past, so once he steadied himself, he turned to find me standing across from him, breathing even and weapon in hand.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me! Where did that come from? I've not seen the like from a spearman before in all my days!"

"You've barely seen thirty winters!" I replied with an exasperated laugh. "That doesn't mean anything."

"Right you are," he agreed with a cheery grin, spitting blood to one side and rolling his burly shoulders. "But it's a fine thing to witness, I'll tell you that. I'm used to those fancy little flourishes from bladesmen, but with a spear?" he whistled. "Shame you fight like a scared child."

I gaped at him a moment. "I've kicked your ass easily enough, you fucking oaf!" I shouted, indignation lacing my tone.

I couldn't quite keep the smile from slipping back on again though, and the big man roared with laughter again at my outburst. Everything he did was overexaggerated, it seemed. "You gave me a few love-taps, sure enough. But you lack the conviction to finish anything, little man. You stand there like a nervous babe, having fought back for the first time and unsure what to do now that you've actually changed things for once."

I raised an eyebrow, shrugging out my own shoulders and casting a glance to Finanda to see if she was still there. Perhaps I was hoping she share a conspiratorial glance, and say 'yeah, I know – he's crazy, right?' If I had been hoping for something like that though, I had no such luck. She was calm and composed, watching us with focus, which was a relief considering her role.

"Alright then," I said, twisting my neck to work out a kink. "I've enjoyed this, and you've been a great sparring partner, but if it's time to end things, then it's time to end things." I held his gaze for a moment, noting his seriousness despite the faint smile. "You ready?"

He simply nodded.

I drew a breath and then activated Indomitable Prey. My aura washed over him, and I saw his smile vanish in an instant. He grit his teeth and grunted, taking a step back and I stalked forwards. I watched him shake his head, wide eyes squinting my way, and with a roar he swung once more. It was a little sloppy, but once he got moving, he seemed to shrug off the panic that had seized him when he had felt my predatory aura.

His weapon was great for stringing together combinations of looping strikes, never letting his weapon sit still as he charged forwards, seeking to push me back and control the pace of the fight. It hadn't worked before though, and it wouldn't work now.

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I wasn't smiling anymore. Instead, I was gripped by the intense focus of my pathbound Skill. There was a viciousness there, but also an indignation. I didn't need him to submit to me as if I was superior, but I could not tolerate being seen as lesser. I was not prey for him to taunt and judge. He had come to me. He had fought against me. Anyone that sought to make me prey would swiftly be disabused of that notion, and that's all there was to it.

My soul screamed that message out into the world, empowered by mana from my core, given direction by my pathbound Skill, and my body moved to communicate that message in the only way it knew how: Violence. I gave ground for a time, letting him whirl his flail around me, and the second he hesitated, I struck back. I activated Tilt, disorienting him briefly. Only a moment, but a fight is a game of moments.

His next step forwards brought him too close, and I slipped beneath the path of his flail, dropping my spear in the process. He tried to bash me with his shield, but I was pressed close, the bronze magical alloy on my arm pushing against the wood and banded steel on his. He tried to step backwards, but I was a step ahead, looping my leg around his and tripping him. Even as we hit the ground, my dagger was already rising, and though he managed to drop his own weapon and wrap a meaty fist around my arm, it wasn't enough.

Even as the dagger halted in its fall, my left arm snaked out of my shield and towards my waist, pulling free the small hatchet. I raised it on high, and then I was suddenly floating. I looked around in shock to see Finanda holding me bodily off the ground as she retreated a few feet to place me back on the stone dais.

"Are you in control of yourself?" she asked, looking deep into my eyes, though I noticed she kept her body between myself and Grashtan.

I nodded, eventually overcoming the disorientation, and cutting the mana flow to Indomitable Prey. She held my gaze for a moment longer before nodding and turning to the cliff face above us, gesturing to whatever judges presided over the tournament to signal the outcome of the match.

I strode over to Grashtan as he pulled himself to his feet, giving him a tentative smile and holding out my hand. He looked me up and down, face still serious, and for a moment I worried that I'd bruised his ego. But then his face split into a wide grin, and he slapped my hand away to wrap me in a hug. Before I knew it, he had me on his shoulders as he did a little circle of the raised dais we'd just fought on, pumping his fists towards the cliffs where the crowd roared their approval at the fight.

I couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up from deep in my belly. There was something so infinitely joyous about the big man, and I was further buoyed on by my most recent victory. All things end, though and I eventually managed to convince him to put me down.

"Well fought, little man," he said, clapping me on the back as he did so. "I'll be sure to seek you out soon enough for a rematch!" Then he leaned in close with a conspiratorial grin. "And perhaps a few drinks afterwards? I have a cousin, and she's just had no luck finding a man. Too fiery, they say. I think you might have a chance, hey?"

I laughed off his advance, slapping away the idea with a vague gesture. "The rematch sounds great, the cousin not so much – I'll be moving on in a few weeks at most. But I might just take you up on those drinks. Lake Vashtegara tomorrow? I'm sure there's a tavern we could–"

"Tomorrow night it is! I'll find you, little man, have no fear," he said with great enthusiasm, as he seemed to say everything. And then he was bowing to Finanda and leaving the arena.

I shared a perplexed look with the Holder, and she finally returned my confusion with a slight shrug before gesturing back the way I had entered. "Well fought, lowlander. That is a powerful aura you have. Use it well."

"I shall do my best," I replied before stepping once more through the waterfall. What else could I say?

As I was waiting for Nathlan, I let the voices from the next room drift over me. Grunts and laughs, nervous whispers and hearty congratulations. I heard it all, and let it filter into the background as I thought about my progress in this 'Blending' so far.

I was beginning to get a little too confident. I could feel it creeping up on me; the cockiness just below the surface trying to wriggle free from the grasp of my self-awareness. If I wasn't careful, my smile would turn into a smirk and I'd start saying things like, 'You dare?' and 'Don't you know who I am?' when people bumped into me in a crowd.

Nathlan soon arrived and brought me back down to earth though. In no surprise to me, he had won his second match as well. In classic understated Nathlan fashion, he told me it was a hard-fought battle, and his opponent was 'of respectable skill' – despite the fact he'd won in such a short span of time.

The fact that he could even be competitive was impressive to me, given that he'd had his class no more than a few months by this point. While I was being reigned in by Jorge's artifact, Nathlan was simply under-levelled. Due to his rare combat class he was roughly on equal footing when it came to his attributes, but his Skills were comparatively weaker, and he'd not received any of the late Skills his class might boast, while I had both, and had spent plenty of time with at least one of them to get used to it.

He was somewhere in the low thirties in level at my guess – he was cagey with giving out that sort of information, and I was not interested in pushing – and these clansmen were no slouches. They were all in possession of powerful support classes themselves, and all at or near the peak of the 1st tier at level 50. That meant they all likely had somewhere between 100 and 150 attributes to distribute, in addition to the original values they began with, and the 15 they'd gained from levelling before receiving a class.

I had found surprising success so far, but that didn't mean the competition was weak. I was simply stronger than I'd realised, with well-levelled Skills and ample experience in real battles. Most of these fighters were a little younger than I was and had spent much of their brief lives working toward other goals. Fighting was just one aspect of their lives, even as warriors for the clans, whereas I had been fighting ever since I'd arrived in Tsanderos.

For Nathlan to beat them as he did was an accomplishment, and I was impressed. He had trained with the sword since a boy, and despite what I may have been tempted to think given his complete lack of talent when it came to most practical matters – tracking, general survival, etc. – he was incredibly proficient with the weapon. Add to that Jorge and Vera's teaching and the man was practically a savant at this point.

He'd won his second match against a lithe woman who had pressured him with fast strikes of two long-hafted axes, but he had eventually torn a hole in her aggressive offense and won with little more than sweat to mar his body. His third fight was easier – he'd faced a brash man with a bow. Why anyone would enter an arena tournament with a bow was anyone's guess, but whatever trick he had intended to pull out of the bag had failed to save him, and Nathlan had defeated him easily.

I did suspect he would start to struggle against more aggressive fighters in the later rounds though, as would I, to be fair. Neither of us had really faced the best the clans had to offer so far.

We chatted idly in the waiting room, watching the competition as they warmed up, cooled down or just commiserated and celebrated with one another. There were clearly factions present within the marshalling quarters, but I couldn't tell what the various groups were delineated by. It certainly wasn't clan lines that they were split down. Clearly, the festival was also intended to bring the clans together and forge new bonds, not simply prove who had the better warriors.

It wasn't long until my fourth fight was called, and I wearily climbed to my feet. I was escorted back through the large room, swaying between half-dressed fighters when the escort told me who my next fight was against, and I saw some faces whip around to stare.

A man to my right winced and gave me a sympathetic smile, shrugging as if to say, 'sorry friend, enjoy getting beaten'. That was my interpretation anyway. Sandent Varselli of Yellow-Peak was apparently a name that inspired dread in her competitors. Good to know.

I continued with my now customary walk-out through the geyser, and the crowd looked to be roaring enthusiastically as I took the stage, not that I could hear them over the thundering water. Evidently, they thought my fights so far had been entertaining. Perhaps they had a pool running on who would be first to beat the lowlander.

Given the looks I'd received in the antechamber moments prior, I suspected most of the money would be bet against me on this fight, assuming the crowd knew the match ups ahead of time. I was preparing myself to meet a monster, psyching myself up to deal with ungodly strength or impossible skill at arms. Hence my confusion when a young girl, no more than fifteen winters by my best guess, slipped through the wall of water and onto the dais.

It was an impressive entrance, certainly. The cascade above her just froze in place for a moment, hanging suspended in a single sheet of swirling ice, before crashing to the ground a moment after she had slipped through. But despite her impressive command of the elemental, seeing a young girl barely into her teenage years stalk across the fighting ring towards me was a strange experience.

I shot a brief glance towards Finanda, checking that I was actually expected to punch, kick, and otherwise commit myself to heavy violence against such a young person, and received an impassive look in response. Okay then.

I wasn't stupid, and based on the looks I'd received earlier, not to mention her age, I could assume Sandent was actually a very dangerous competitor. I wouldn't underestimate her like some arrogant young master, but it did feel weird to contemplate punching a child in the face.

But when you've got a job to do…

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