Tirren trudged back to where he had discarded his small shield, and then back to his platform. Some of the audience were throwing coins into the arena, as Tirren watched that, something stirred inside of him. His platform was lowered, but a cheer had begun from the audience. “Tirren, Tirren, Tirren.” They were cheering for him. Everyone loves an underdog.

  Tirren slowly lost sight of the bright arena, and then he was again in the dark. Finally, his platform came to a rest, and a bright doorlight appeared as the door was opened from the other side. The clerk who had led him there was on the other side.

  “That was most unexpected. I didn’t think I would be seeing you come back this way. Fernaculas’ are popular because they are scarier than they are strong, but still. A Tree Seidren winning the fight. That is sure to cause a scene. Congrats, mister Tirren. If you follow me, I can take you back to the armory.”

  Tirren followed numbly, with barely a mumbled thanks when he was congratulated. Exhaustion and pain from the fight were catching up to him, and without his adrenaline, he was quickly tiring. They went back to the armory, and Tirren hauled the motley gear off of himself.

  “Can I keep anything?” He asked the clerk.

  “Oh yes, one item, if you want, though I know a quick trip to the market could get you some better gear, especially with your winnings.”

  Tirren perked up at that. “Winnings?”

  “Yes, they should have it tallied soon, I’ll have a runner report to your room with the details. Of course, there is the gold coin from the forfeit of blows, paid to you. The other will be the coins you saw thrown into the ring. For your information, there are seven leagues of blood pit fights. You are currently in the lowest league. The higher leagues are much better attended, and the audience richer.”

  Tirren nodded appreciatively at the information. “I’ll take the sword.” He said.

  They went back to the small room where Tirren was now staying. It could function as a cell, as the door locked from the outside, but the clerk left Tirren and didn’t lock the door.

  Tirren walked in, and then sat down in a meditative position, with his new sword across his lap. Tirren began debating if the sword could be more accurately called a club, due to its dull edge, and lousy balancing. He realized that his tired mind was drifting.

  No! Tirren didn’t have time to sleep. He needed power, and his fight had shown him what he needed. Tirren inhaled spiritually, drawing as much mana as he could into his mana well. He kept it up for several minutes until he began to feel his mana well becoming full. He kept pulling. Eventually he reached the point where he could no longer draw anymore, and he was struggling. He felt his mana well’s limits. He kept pulling, straining quietly for a count of 100 seconds. Then he was directing that mana into his body. He started with his hands, and moved up from there. His body was fairly suffused with his own mana, so it didn’t soak up the mana like the sword had, but he felt it working slowly. The mana helped ever so slightly with repairing his body, and he knew that it would strengthen skin, bones, and the other fibers and pieces of him.

  Then again. He was pulling mana into his well, stretching it as far as he could. After his 100 count, he then cast that mana, changing it to force mana, and directing it into the sword. His mana well’s contents emptied easily into the sword, and there was no noticeable difference.

  When the clerk returned, he found Tirren sitting in that same position.

  One gold, seven silvers, and twenty-three coppers total in earnings, Mister Tirren. Would you like that taken from your fine balance, or would you like it delivered?”

  “Get me a gold coin, but put the rest towards my fine.” Tirren said distractedly. He wanted the gold coin near him, as he had gotten used to wearing the one Jefremov had given him. Before his progression, the growth of his mana well and body had been intellectual. Something that Tirren should work on, but not something he could identify. Fighting a monster, for the first time in his life, had changed him. While traveling with Jefremov, they had been attacked, but Jefremov had saved him. Tirren now understood that his failure to properly empower himself would lead to a quick death.

  Two days later, Tirren was once again in the blood pits. He fought a belcher two days later, a quadruped monster with a large mouth. It was shaped vaguely like a horse-sized frog. The monster had opened its mouth, and all of its teeth jumped out of its mouth, and rushed Tirren. He had been forced to wade through the three inch teeth monsters, enduring their bone-like weapons, and the stabs of pain as they tried to crawl up his legs until he could get to the monster.

  Afterwards, he was back to his dark room, drawing in as much mana as he could, and pushing it to his body, or throwing it away into his sword. The monster fights became regular occurrences, and Tirren found himself winning these fights.

  Tirren’s manawell and the spiritual paths that he drew mana in through ached with a deep spiritual ache, similar to muscle aches after an extended workout, but Tirren felt something that he hadn’t felt since his departure from Serventis. He was eager to fight, and show what he could do.

  Tirren was becoming even better at his mana use, and he could cover his arms in force mana, and swing his sword spectacularly hard. He had been in the blood pits for just over a month, fighting monsters.

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  Tirren stood in the dark of the pre-arena arrival, he took a deep breath. He had not slept or eaten as much as he should have. As his platform raised, Tirren looked at the surrounding crowd with a flitter of excitement and a host of nervousness. The bright lights shone down on him, and his breath was loud in the same piece-of-junk helmet that he had used since his arrival. The stands seemed to be more full, but Tirren wasn’t sure. The same female voice echoed out over the crowd, announcing him. Tirren raised his sword and spun slowly, telling the crowd with his body language that he appreciated their support. The cheers seemed to grow slightly louder.

  When Tirren looked across the field, he saw something that stopped him. It was a large, brawny-looking woman wearing leather armor, and holding a club which was large enough to make it comical.

  “Gathered Seidren and Mortal alike. We have a special treat for you today. The Seidren formerly known as Brunhildadottarsforlust Olenslagervitterkalle, but now known as the beloved “Smasher”, will be fighting Tirren, the Rogue Seidren! I’m sure all the attendees know, but Smasher is currently the thirty-fourth ranked Seidren in the Red Sand Circuit, the seventh and lowest circuit in the blood pit arenas! Both the Red Sand and Iron Ring Circuits are capped at Sand Seidren, but after a consultation with our ranking judges, Tirren will be allowed to participate, given his great showing in the monster fights. That makes this a ranking fight.”

  The announcer continued, “Thirty-fourth ranked smasher versus thirty-fifth ranked Tirren… wait, I’ve just been informed. This is none other than Tirren of the Sunflower Cult! The fight will be to submission or incapacitation, fighters prepare!” Tirren’s head was reeling. Fighting monsters was one thing, but another Seidren? He remembered vividly the hundred or two losses that he had suffered at the hands of the sand Seidren around the city with his master, Jefremov.

  The large woman began screaming and running towards Tirren. As she approached, he noticed the studs of something metallic and purple colored embedded in her large club. Manasight quickly revealed that the weapon swirled with dark mana that reminded Tirren of falling, and of weight. Gravity aspect mana?

  Tirren turned to run, but found as he turned that there was a faint circle of purple mana around him, and his motion was slowed, and his whole body was slowly getting heavier. Smasher was trying to hold him down and then do as her name suggested.

  Tirren shoved mana from his well, down his mana pathways to his hands. Tirren would hit back. Force mana ringed his hands up to his shoulders, and a small corona appeared around his broadsword. He met the overhead blow from Smasher with his own sword. There was a massive explosion, and pain ran up Tirren’s arm. He felt the collision rattle up his arms, into his shoulders and through the rest of his body. He tumbled through the sand like a rag doll being thrown by an angry toddler.

  He glanced up to see an angry looking Smasher climbing out of a crater. The force of their collision had blown all of the loose sand away, leaving the harder ground below exposed. In his time fighting monsters in the arena, Tirren’s strategy had been one-dimensional. Hit harder. Looking up at the angry woman storming towards him, Tirren was at a loss. She hit harder than he did. Here was a Seidren working on the same basic principles as Tirren, but she had superior mana, weight, and strength.

  Tirren looked for his sword, but a quick glance didn’t reveal it to him. He covered his hands in mana anyways. He thought back to his many years sparring in the Dojo. He was a fighter, trained in several of the common forms of Serventis. His mana enhancement was actually just going to his hands anyway. Who said he needed a sword?

  Tirren, coated his feet quickly in mana with his hands, as his mana pathways went directly to his hands only, and then used that mana to spring away from the circle of gravity mana which was circling him again. Tirren had always thought of himself as a one trick pony, but smasher was proving to be ever more simple. Her strategy seemed to be: Pin enemy down. Smash.

  Smasher came towards him again, so Tirren came forward as well. He feinted forward, then dodged back, and the club bruised past him in the air. He jumped forward and struck with his mana enhanced arms. It was a quick jab, but it was all Tirren had time for before the club was descending with unrealistic speed towards him again. He rolled out of the way and then jumped as the club hit the sand next to him. He delivered a kick to the head. Three more blows were delivered in similar style, as Tirren was inside the effective reach of the club. Like a sparrow wearing down a larger hawk. Tirren began to see how the blows were affecting Smasher.

  They were also leaving their mark on him, and as he executed a one-two punch, he connected solidly with Smasher’s face, both in the nose and on the brow. Tirren danced back from the swing he saw communicated through the angry movements of smasher.

  She threw the club at Tirren, and he barely dodged the unexpected attack. Smasher came forward in an angry brawler’s move. Tirren ran away, ignoring the laughter from the crowd. Smasher was even angrier as she chased him.

  Tirren ran, looking over his shoulder and noticed Smasher bend down to pick up the club she’d thrown. Tirren turned then leapt. He caught Smasher by surprise with a flying leg lock around her neck. Their combined force swung the pair in a couple of awkward circles, Tirren clinging to the neck of the woman by his crossed legs. She finally dropped to the ground, using her weight to smash Tirren under her, but he didn’t let up.

  He quickly rubbed mana over his knees and feet, using it to strengthen his chokehold. He finally felt Smasher still, and he maintained the lock for a couple of seconds longer before he stood up and addressed the crowd. The crowd was laughing and hooting, making a general ruckus. Tirren watched it and couldn’t help but join in with the laughter. He ran to the edge of the arena, and began giving a couple of high fives to the younger participants who leaned over.

  “We have a new thirty-fourth ranked Seidren in the red sand Level Blood pit fights. May his name be remembered, and his glory untarnished. Tirren of the Sunflower Cult. Tirren was still jogging around the inside of the ring, when he stumbled as he recognized a familiar face. Jefremov stood, waving his hand excitedly from his spot along the edge of the arena, waiting for a high five.

  Tirren slowed as he approached. The man was still leaning out over the sands of the arena, eagerly awaiting his high five. Tirren slowly gave it to him. As their hands parted, Tirren realized that his mentor had slipped something into his hand. His large gold ring. He looked up to a nod of encouragement from Jef, so Tirren slipped it on.

  “Jef, I’m sorry for leaving, I didn’t find him. Where is Severin?” Tirren yelled.

  “Don’t worry about Severin! I’ll take care of it. I’ll have some new supplies sent to your room in the arena. You’re representing the cult now. I expect great things from you.”

  Tirren was baffled. He continued his loop around the arena.

  YOU WERE WAYLAID BEFORE YOU COULD CONFRONT TYLADRIEL? HMM. I HAVE A NEW IDEA. BRING ME INTO YOUR MANAWELL. I WILL FUEL YOUR PROGRESSION TO SAND SEIDREN.

  Tirren hadn’t missed his demon.