The crowd swells around the arena, shoulder to shoulder. Hawkers shout for wine and meat pies from behind carts, children climb crates to see above the masses, the whole town buzzing with energy.

  "There he is!" Osric bellows, clapping me hard on the back. "Ready to flatten the mayor’s boy?"

  "I’m ready."

  Elsie peeks out from behind him, nervous. "I don’t know who to cheer for..."

  "Me," I say with a grin.

  She blushes, saying nothing.

  “Alright. Time for me to go.” I say as I wave them off and make my way toward the pit. Osric claps me once more on the back, grinning. "Good luck, lad. Give us a show."

  As I pass along the perimeter, I spot Luna and Ren near the edge of the arena. Ren, arms folded, gives me a small smile and Luna gives a sharp nod.

  So she came after all...

  In the arming pavilion, I don my gear quickly, the mail heavy on my shoudlers, the cudgel solid in my grip.

  It’s time. However....

  I saw how Daniel fought. I'm not his equal. Even if I'm stronger, and I'm not sure that I am, he's better trained.

  Even so, it doesn’t matter.

  From my pack, I draw a small vial. The liquid inside pulses faintly, an orange glow shifting through it. One of Zaenith’s potions. The same she gives me before our combat training.

  With this… I’ll beat him. He won’t match my strength.

  The tent flap stirs. I hear it before I see movement. Instinctively, I close my hand around the vial, tucking it from view.

  A tall silhouette darkens the entrance.

  Zaenith.

  She looks me over, then fixes her eyes on my clenched fist.

  "Open your hand," she commands, voice sharp as steel.

  I hesitate. "Why?"

  Her fist lashes out, iron-strong fingers crushing around my wrist. I grunt as the pain shoots up my arm, my fingers forced open. The vial slips from my grasp, but she catches it before it hits the earth.

  Her voice is cold.

  "So, you meant to use my potion to bolster your strength."

  I shrug, defiant. "Naturally. Why wouldn't I?"

  I've got thirty silvers to win, not to mention the prize.

  She looks at me, then closes her fingers around the vial. "You’ll fight without it."

  "Why?" I snap with anger. "Was this not the purpose of my training? To put it to use beyond your walls? Out in the world?"

  She steps in close. "This isn’t the world. It’s a game for drunk peasants and bored nobles. And for you? It is no more than training, to hone your body further."

  Her voice drops, sharp and cold. "You'll receive no help in defeating Edwin's boy. You'll do it with what you've learned alone. Or not at all."

  Without another word, she turns and strides from the tent, the potion clenched tight in her hand.

  Dammit.

  We stand in the middle of the fighting pit, the dirt beneath our boots churned and uneven from the matches before. Around us, the onlookers gathers, their eager murmurs loud as they wait for us to start.

  Daniel stands relaxed, almost lazily, twirling the blunt sword with casual confidence. "Ready?" he asks, voice calm and composed.

  I don't answer, forcing myself to focus. I lost my edge, without that potion... do I have a chance?

  No, I need a plan... but there's nothing. It's just me and him. No tricks, no terrain to use. Just a clean, public duel. Exactly the kind of fair fight I thought I wanted.

  Maybe Zaenith is right. I should just give it my all and take it as an opportunity to learn.

  But then... I'd lose out on the prize and the thirty silver. Not to mention I'd be losing to this bastard.

  His grin sharpens as he notices my conflicted expression. "Nervous, 'Brigand Killer?'"

  I glare but don’t get to answer. Gandre strides into the ring with a commanding presence, raising his hand to still the murmurs from the crowd. His voice carries clearly.

  “Combatants, take your marks. This is the final bout. Seven, red sash. Daniel, blue.”

  He waits for each of us to give a nod.

  “Step forward. Salute your opponent.”

  We do, Daniel with a flourish, me with a simple dip of the head.

  Gandre lowers his hand.

  “Begin.”

  Without another word, Daniel lunges.

  He’s even faster up close, his movements fluid and aggressive. The tip of his sword flashes forward like a snake’s strike, aimed straight for my chest. I curse and twist sideways, narrowly avoiding the jab.

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  I stumble back, barely keeping my footing as I lift the cudgel in a defensive guard. He’s already advancing again, pressing the advantage.

  He comes in, aiming for my thigh. I sidestep and bring the cudgel across in a wide arc, he ducks, the blow whistling past his head, and retaliates with a swift jab that catches me square in the ribs. Not hard enough to break anything, but it knocks the breath from my lungs.

  Fuck! That hurt. Right where Zaenith got me yesterday.

  It’s not going well. He’s skilled, that much is clear, and his longer blade lets him control the distance, keeping me at bay with his strikes. Every time I try to close the gap, he punishes me with a jab or a sidestep, resetting the distance.

  I need to bait him. Force him to commit.

  Daniel moves with a taunting smirk. He feints high, then slashes low. I jump back, barely evading. The crowd gasps and he presses forward, without pause or mercy.

  "I expected you to be more aggressive. How exactly did you kill those brigands again?" Daniel taunts together with his next swing, aimed at my ribs. I smash the blade away with all the force I can muster.

  How did I kill them? Not like this.

  His blade crashes down on my helmet, sending a sharp shock through my skull. I groan, vision reeling, and swing wide on instinct, forcing him back a step.

  Dammit. To hell with an honorable fight. I can't win his way.

  I hurl my cudgel at Daniel, a crude and desperate move. He instinctively bats it aside, sneering at the feeble attempt. But his sword arm is occupied, just for half a second, but it's all I need. I charge forward like a bull, my boots pounding across the dirt, and slam into him with all my weight.

  He barely has time to react. My shoulder crashes into his chest, and together we hit the ground hard, a cloud of dust erupting around us. The crowd roars in surprise.

  He grunts beneath me, swinging his sword at me, but its weak, the wind is knocked from his lungs. He struggles, but I’m larger, heavier. It's not something I’d try if his blade was sharp, but against that practice blade? It works just fine.

  "Here's some aggression." I snarl, slamming my fist into his jaw. His head snaps to the side, golden hair spilling across his face. The crowd lets out a shocked cheer as I draw my arm back to strike again.

  But Daniel isn’t done.

  He twists under me, hooking a leg and kicking off. My weight shifts, I tumble to the side and hit the dirt with a heavy crash. Before I can scramble up, Daniel’s weight crashes down on my chest. His knee pins my shoulder while one arm holds my wrist down and the other pushes my head into the dirt.

  The crowd cheers at the reversal, and Daniel leans in, flushed and grinning, a smear of blood on his lip from the first punch.

  "Not bad, 'Brigand Killer'" he breathes, tightening his grip. "But you’ll have to do better."

  I roar, every muscle screaming as I twist violently beneath him. His hold is good, tight, practiced, but sheer force is on my side. I surge up with a growl, throwing him off me He hits the dirt with a thud but recovers instantly, rolling onto his feet with the grace of a born fighter.

  He lunges for his sword, but I’m already there, my boot kicking the blade away. I drive a fist into his gut. He growls, stumbles, then swings back, catching my cheek with a solid hit. The shift is immediate. Steel forgotten.

  Fists. Now this is something I'm familiar with.

  He might be well trained in swordplay, but I’ve seen more brawls than I can count. And I’ve got the reach this time, longer arms, longer legs. He’s quicker, maybe. But...

  We clash with fists, the thud of flesh on flesh drowned out by the screams of the crowd. His punch lands first, a quick jab to my jaw that snaps my head to the side. I counter with a brutal hook, my reach letting me hammer into his ribs.

  He stumbles, then surges forward with a flurry of strikes, fast, disciplined. I block some, absorb others. He's trained, even beyond the sword.

  He ducks under a wide swing and drives his shoulder into my gut, trying to knock me off balance. I growl, stepping back, and slam my elbow down onto his back.

  “Grrgh!!”

  He grunts loudly, dropping to his knees under the blow, but twists low, sweeping my legs from under me with a sudden kick. We hit the ground hard, grappling, dirt flying. He locks an arm around my neck, dragging me into a headlock, but I twist, driving an elbow into his side. The hold breaks and I roll free, gasping.

  He leaps, delivering a powerful kick with both feet. I go flying, landing hard in the dirt. Grit stings my palms as I push up to my knees. He's already charging, ready to kick me while I’m still down. I roll aside, scrambling to my feet and backing away.

  He doesn’t let up. A punch flies toward my face—I catch it. Another comes just as fast—I catch that one too. Our arms tremble as we lock together, pushing and grappling for control.

  "Give up." Daniel growls between clenched teeth.

  "Fuck off." I snap back, forcing him a step backward.

  We strain against each other, breath ragged, boots scraping through the churned earth beneath us.

  Blood trickles from Daniel’s brow, staining the collar beneath his mail, while my left eye is already swelling shut, my lip split and bleeding. Each movement draws a fresh stab of pain, our muscles trembling, legs barely holding steady. Exhaustion gnaws at us both.

  But my body handles it better. Whatever Zaenith did to me, both exhaustion and pain... now limits me far less. I push forward, driving him back. He plants his heel and turns into me, trying to use my own momentum to execute a hip throw.

  But I don’t budge.

  “GrrrAAaaarrgH!”

  I bellow, strength surging through me.

  I plant my feet and wrench him up instead, gripping his mail tight. Then, I heave him off the ground. Daniel goes airborne, his body twisting as he’s flung through the air.

  He crashes down several meters away, dirt spraying from the impact.

  The crowd gasps, shock and awe erupting as I stand tall, having tossed the large armored man like one would a child.

  I pant, the strain of all that spent power crashing down on me. My arms tremble, burning deep in the muscle, bones aching like stone under pressure.

  Since when did I have strength like that...?

  I look to Daniel, writhing in the dirt. He forces himself onto his belly, then up to his knees, breath ragged. I begin to stagger toward him, each step heavy. He shifts back instinctively, then his head jerks left. His eyes lock onto something.

  His sword, not far, just two meters away.

  In a heartbeat, he leaps for it, dust flying as I break into a charge.

  His hand snatches up the arming sword, and he whirls around without hesitation, bringing it down in a brutal arc toward my head.

  Crack.

  Pain flares as the blunt edge slams into my my arm, coming up just in time to block the blow. But the weight behind it is undeniable, I groan in pain.

  Daniel’s eyes widen in surprise, as I shake off the sword, my arm pained but intact.

  Bruised though my bones are, they are thicker and stronger than they ever have been. They won't break, not for him.

  But his sword twirls once more, a blur of motion and steel. I raise my bruised arms, blocking the blows as best I can, each strike sending fresh spikes of pain through my body.

  I try to back away, eyes darting in search of my cudgel, but he's on me, pressing in, strike after strike, giving no space to retreat.

  One blow slips through, cracking against the side of my hemet with a dull thud. Stars burst behind my eyes. My vision swims.

  I collapse to one knee, dazed, breath ragged, blood dripping from my temple. Daniel steps forward, blade raised, and then, with a smirk, lowers it to my throat.

  The crowd goes quiet.

  It’s over.

  He’s won.

  Fuck

  Gandre steps forward, voice ringing out clear and formal above the silence. "By judgment of the marshal and the laws of contest, the field is held by the blue sash. The match is decided. Let all present bear witness, Lord Daniel Stont stands victorious!"

  The crowd erupts into raucous celebration, cheers and shouts echoing across the pit like thunder. Folk stomp their boots, wave caps in the air, and cry Daniel’s name with unrestrained fervor.

  I lift my gaze. Osric meets it, offering a grim smile and a short nod of respect. Beside him, Elsie claps with wide-eyed excitement, swept up in the crowd’s energy.

  Further back, Luna stands, arms crossed tight over her chest, her golden eyes watching Daniel like everyone else, though she doesn’t cheer. Beside her, Ren watches me. His eyes are wide, pupils narrowed, like he's just seen something he shouldn't have.

  Across the pit, near the healer’s tent, Zaenith stares from beneath the canvas. She watches me, her expression empty, neutral. No doubt she's furious though.

  Dammit. If only she’d let me use that potion.

  The cheers fade, in time. Daniel strides toward the raised platform, where his father awaits with the promised rewards. A small crowd trails after him, eager to witness the victor’s moment. The field empties slowly around me.

  The tournament has ended.

  With my loss.

  Results

  + 1 Skill

  + 1 Strength