His grandfather attributed fighting to a dance or a heated conversation. One person is talking, and another is waiting to respond appropriately. Breathe, squint until I can see fully. Defensive stance. He could see now and held up a middle guard. She came at him again, faster this time, leaving little time for him to recover. I just need an opportunity for a feint. He switched the mace into his left hand and swung it across his body. A slow-pitched softball-type question that even a child could answer. The woman smiled a toothy grin before ducking, dodging the lazy arc of his swing, and cutting right. She underestimated him.

  He kept the momentum of his swing, placed the weight into his left foot, and brought his right leg up for a spinning back kick. A glance over his shoulder told him everything he wanted to know. The woman was low, still coming up from her cutting stance, and the look of shock on her face was worth more than all the gold in his inventory. His leg struck out like a mule kick, striking her square in the chest. She fell to the ground with a wheeze. Wind get knocked out of her?

  Blunt 12/250

  +16 experience gained

  131 of 400 until level 10

  Did that raise blunt just because I’m fighting with a club? Rook’s command presence faded, and he felt sick. Shit, please be ok. He didn’t like to hurt people. In his last martial arts tournament years ago, he shattered a man’s jaw with a spinning heel kick and didn’t forgive himself until years into the Army.

  He rushed over to meet her, and she stared blankly at the sky. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” she hissed with a sneer. “Never drop your guard.” She kicked his legs out from behind and rolled back to her feet.

  He fell forward on his hands, scrambling away to his feet several feet away. The command presence came back, and he grit his teeth. Well, should’ve expected that.

  “Okay,” Rook said, bringing his foot flat to the ground, ready to shoot into her legs.

  The woman threw a head kick, and Rook shot under the arc, going for her planted leg in a single-leg takedown. But she was ready, using her momentum to strike him in the side of the face with a spinning club strike that sent his world hazy.

  “How’s payback feel? Not great, I bet. If this were a real fight, your head would’ve burst like a watermelon, so keep your guard up,” the trainer said.

  Pain throbbed through his head, and he would need another feint. Wobble. He squinted at her, setting her up for another feint. Act like a defiant, wounded animal,l and your opponent can’t help but kick you when you’re down. Sure enough, she rushed forward for an easy telegraphed overhead strike. He grabbed her arm on the downward swing and hip tossed her, while jumping in the air to land on her with his full weight.

  She was wheezing again. Rook brought his mace up, ready to chop it down and return the favor she gave him to his nose.

  “I yield,” she choked out.

  He set his weapon down and knelt beside her, giving her a minute to catch her breath. He couldn’t help but think she was a fierce fighter, and if she hadn’t fallen for his tricks, he might not have caught her with a back kick or a hip toss. He held his hand to her and pulled her to her feet.

  The woman dusted herself off and regarded him. She walked over to a bag by the edge of the circle and pulled out a red crystal vial. She popped the topper and down half of the contents before wiping her mouth. “You caught me twice, more than I can say for a lot of fighters coming through here.” She held the vial out to him.

  “Thank you.” He drank the rest.

  “Don’t mention it,” she said with a smile. Not one of malice or a sneer before an attack. An easy, genuine, almost catty smile. “The potion should fix you up for the second round.”

  Rook swallowed hard. “Good, I was dreading that you were going to say I was done for the day,” he said with his cracker-dry humor.

  The woman broke into a hearty belly laugh, one that she had to wipe her eye after. Nice to see someone enjoys my humor.

  “So, you ready?”

  He nodded, grabbing his club. They began the round with clashing strikes. The club was lighter in his hands now, and his stamina bar was ticking off at a much slower rate. I could get used to this.

  His confidence in the weapon increased exponentially, likely due to a growing skill. His earlier notions of being weak faltered, and a renewed sense of confidence burned in his belly. The trainer attacked him, like a woman possessed by a lumberjack, chopping firewood. How long have we been at this? He held his guard up, waiting for the moment she faltered. Her strikes became more sluggish, taking longer to chamber. The next one has to be it. He held his club up, and as she went to strike, he sidestepped, striking just behind the hamstring, bringing her to a knee.

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  He lifted her chin with his club, stared into her wide-eyed gaze, and sighed. “I yield, I’m tired of fighting today.” He ignored her disappointed look and glanced behind him to see Reina resting in a seating area beside the arena.

  Blunt 120/250

  Block 15/250

  +244 experience gained.

  385 of 400 until level 10.

  Your skill with blunt weapons has turned into a deadly art form. You now wield blunt weapons with ease, and your stamina drains much slower.

  Everloving fuck, that’s going to be useful. But how? He gave a contented sigh. His high-speed, low-drag skill allowed for easier skill gains, but this was the second skill to raise so quickly, and it was getting ridiculous. There had to be something more going on with his recent skill increases.

  “So. How’d it go?”

  “I lost two and won one. You?”

  “I won one and lost one. Guess you can’t win them all,” he said with a shrug.

  Rook’s training partner tossed the club into the barrel and walked up towards them. Instinctively, he tensed, ready for a tirade about how weak it was to give up because you’re tired, yadda yadda. He hated the tirades, but resigned himself to the fact that some people yelled just to be heard.

  “Okay, just so I’m being honest,” Rook said. “I had the upper hand last match, but the defiance in her eyes told me she’d rather be knocked out than yield again.” He rapped his knuckles on the bench. “I can’t bring myself to hit someone who is down like that. I mean, it’s training.” He rubbed at the sore spot on his head. “A real-world situation that calls for it is different.” He drew in a breath before a slow exhale. “Just wanted to prepare you, if I get chewed out.”

  She smiled. “So you really won twice, against her no less,” Reina said with a sigh. “It’s not in her nature to give up.”

  “What’s your name?” The trainer asked.

  “Rook.” He was somewhat surprised.

  “Rook,” she mulled the name over. “You let me know the next time you want to grapple. Maybe I’ll come to you.” She walked away with a lot more of a normal stride than before and a little less I’m going to squash the bug. She glanced at him one more time, then turned into the stairwell.

  “What just happened?”

  “Astrid.” She scowled at the stairs. “Just Astrid.”

  The next party reservation arrived, of two human men and a dwarf. All eyed them with impatience, and Gerald joined them all gesturing to take their spots by the arenas, indicating the time to train was over. Reina thanked Gerald, and they walked towards the staircase. Rook was at odds with himself about the stat increases. Why is it happening to me like this? For now, that was something he needed to sort.

  He passed out a few of the mana wipes to Reina and used one on himself. In no time at all, the dirt and grime were mostly taken off, leaving behind used wipes that were still grimy. Now what? He looked around for a trash can when he made eye contact with Reina.

  “They’re usually in alleyways,” she said, pointing to the opposite side of the street.

  They saw what they were looking for: a barrel at the opening, filled with food waste and other miscellaneous trash. After depositing the wipes, Rook noticed a woman with two children huddled into her almost skeletal arms, and his heart twinged. Homeless here in Ollar? He kicked himself. Why wouldn’t there be homeless here in a major city, magic or not? He took a step closer to them when Reina gripped his arm with a trembling hand.

  “What?” He asked, with more emotion than he meant to convey.

  “They are the downtrodden, and if you’re seen helping them, it could mean issues with some of the city council who already don’t like their presence.” She let go of his arm, but didn’t tell him to come back.

  He gave a cautious approach, careful to let his boots scrape across the cobble. I don’t want to scare you. Please don’t run. When he was within five feet, he stopped and crouched. The woman’s eyes were wide with fear, and she mouthed the words no.

  “I’m sorry, I mean no harm. I just want-”

  She straightened, letting the cowl fall from her head, and placed it over the two children in a vain attempt to hide their presence. “Please…Please just leave us alone. If you must.” She choked the words out with teary eyes. “If you must do that, please not in front of my children.”

  That?! Rook stared at her, and his heart broke into pieces. He glanced back at Reina, who had tears in her eyes. He steeled himself, hoping his determination would convince them enough to let him finish the conversation. Then he prayed to any and everything that she would stay and listen.

  “I’m Rook,” he said, grabbing a stack of mana wipes and ten silver from his inventory. He set all of it down in front of her, and three sets of eyes went wide at the money. “Please use these to clean yourselves, get some food, and a place to stay for as long as that money takes you. I understand it’s not a lot of money, but it’s dangerous on the streets.”

  The woman wrapped up the gift with her shawl, revealing her dirty kids’ faces. “You saved us. You saved my kids.” Her face contorted into a grateful smile, and she reached out to him, wrapping him in a weak bear hug, before looking down at her dirty dress and frowning.

  “It’s okay, I promise.” Rook let out an immediate sigh of relief and hugged her back. “How many more are living in the streets, Ma’am?”

  “Name’s Gretchen, not Ma’am. This is Olith and Lilith,” she said, pointing at her children. “And to answer your question, hundreds of us live on the streets.”

  Rook nodded. “I’ll fix it, I promise,” he said, his voice barely over a whisper. They continued out into the alley, hunger being the last thing on his mind.

  “You gave her ten silver, if she doesn’t get into a building tonight, there’s a chance they’ll get robbed,” Reina said, with a tone of awe. “There aren’t people who just give their money like that.”

  Rook checked his inventory, still focused on the cost of building a shelter for these people. Eight gold, forty silver, and a handful of copper. He would probably need a lot more gold if he were to make a dent in the homeless population.

  “Is there any place that they can go?”

  “Not really. Normally, they stay in the underground or sewers to avoid unwanted attention. Why?”

  “Then, how do we commission the builder’s guild to create a place for them?”

  Reina pursed her lips as they walked the familiar streets. “You’d need to get authorization to commission; they would need to magically enhance the ground and walls with runes in order to expand and create running water. Then, finally, the commission would be approved by a council meeting.” She paused, giving him a wry smile. “I think I’m familiar with one of the members.”

  Rook chuckled. Is this what I’m meant to do, Grandpa?