Marlon quickly arrived near the Arena, but it was much more colossal than its name suggested.

If Marlon had to compare it to anything, it would have been with the famous Coliseum on Earth. He had seen holograms of this structure at the Museum of Remembrance, when he visited, and had been impressed by its majesty and the fact that it had stood upright, colossal, through the centuries.

The arena was circular, and its walls rose to over fifty meters. It was built with the same gray rock as almost all the buildings in Delia. The same polished and uniform appearance as everything else.

There were openings from the second floor, and Marlon could even see the people sitting in the bleachers from where he was, still several dozen yards from what appeared to be the entrance.

Clamors could be heard even from where he stood, and it seemed as if thousands of people were standing inside the arena, shouting their joy or disappointment depending on what was going on inside. There was no roof and the structure seemed to be a huge open-air ring where people came to watch the bloody and intense fights.

He was eager to see the interior of such a colossus of architecture and feel that primal sensation that seemed to come from the cries of the spectators.

The taste of blood and battle was almost on the tip of his tongue, and it brought his murderous rage to the surface, making him chomp with anticipation as he imagined himself fighting in that oversized arena, slashing and wounding his opponents before finishing them off with magnificence and dexterity.

"Calm down, kid. You'll have plenty of time to slaughter players soon, so stay focused on what you have to do in the first place."

He shook his head to get out of his darkening train of thought, amazed at the increasing bloodlust he seemed to feel without controlling it, and Loki's words helped him focus, but he felt a shadow close in his mind as he bit his lips to stay fully in control.

He refocused on the entrance to the arena, and only then did he realize that the street was crowded with people waiting in front of what appeared to be an archway leading to the arena's interior. A massive wooden double door seemed to open only a little at a time, letting only a handful of people through at a time. All those waiting were lined up neatly and properly, with a dozen or so soldiers seemingly keeping an eye on the crowd's behavior.

Apart from this gathering to get inside, the rest of the street was very lively as well, with many stalls of merchants present in front of the queue offering all sorts of foodstuffs. There were drinks cooled by magic, what looked like meat skewers were also being hawked. Others were selling shields or weapons that supposedly belonged to great champions of the arena.

"It's amazing how the same thing works in any dimension. It all reminds me furiously of Earth and everything that revolved around large-scale sporting events."

Marlon was careful to stay out of the way of the carioles this time, while their traffic was not interrupted for a moment and the drivers continued to shout at the poor souls who had the misfortune to block their way or to cross the avenue too slowly.

The smells of the craftsmen's district had disappeared to be replaced by others, less pleasant, such as the sweat of hundreds of people waiting for too long or the garbage that accumulated here and there in the alleys adjacent to the Arena.

Marlon decided he couldn't afford to wait that long and headed to the left of the structure, where a human-sized door stood guarded by a quartet of gruff-looking guards. His chimera kept a close eye on him but was discreet, watching the surroundings carefully as his master arrived at the service door.

When they saw him approaching, they all took up defensive positions and lowered the spears in their hands to prevent him from approaching further. Their stern faces left no room for humor or an attempt at unauthorized passage.

"No approaching! Back off, or we will use force to make you leave. This part of the arena is for gladiators and trainers only!"

Marlon raised both hands in the air and looked as innocent as was available in his repertoire of emotions. His eyes rounded, his mouth trembled imperceptibly, and his open palms to the sky made it clear that he was no threat.

Inwardly congratulating himself on his performance as two of the guards seemed to subtly relax, he told them:

"Easy gentlemen, I have been sent here by sir Rastan! I have a recommendation from him to meet with Mr. Jacob, who is supposed to instruct me further on the path of combat!"

The two soldiers who had let their guard down looked surprised to hear Rastan's name and their eyebrows rose noticeably behind the metal helmet they wore. The other two, however, glanced at each other before questioning Marlon.

"Where and how did you meet Sire Rastan? What exactly did he tell you?"

The young man then recounted in detail his meeting with the Master Swordsman, not missing any details, even the moments when he thought he was dying several times, until his separation from him and his recommendation to Jacob.

The four guards now had great compassion in their eyes and their spears had been returned to the vertical, no longer preventing the young man from approaching further.

"You really met him...welcome to the club of those who have...undergone Rastan's training. I'll take you to see Jacob, but first I must warn you. He's the same kind of person as his mentor. Same sadism, same methods."

One of the other soldiers put a cap behind his colleague's head rather abruptly, a gleam of fear in his eyes.

"Shut up! Imagine if he heard you talking like that! We'd all be good for an 'internship' as he calls it! Just hurry up and take the kid to Jacob!"

He turned back to Marlon and looked at him with an apologetic expression.

"Don't worry too much. He's tough, but you'll definitely learn a lot from him."

Without further ado, his first interlocutor beckoned him to follow him, and, placing his spear on a rack next to the service entrance, he opened the door and rushed in with a lively and determined step.

As he followed him, the young man couldn't help but overhear the comments of the guards who remained behind.

"Poor kid..."

"He's so young..."

"No one deserves this..."

He felt a slight pang of anxiety tightening his heart as he heard these weighty phrases. But if Jacob's training was anything like Rastan's, then he would survive it. It was because of the old man that he was still alive today. He would not have survived the ambush near the lake without his teachings and daily training.

Once past the doorway, the atmosphere changed completely. The metallic smell of blood was very strong, almost omnipresent with that of sweat. Luna tensed up surreptitiously and one could feel her hair bristle as they advanced. She threw furious glances to the right and the left, her attention diverted by the strong fragrances which emanated from the place.

The floor was not stone or wood. Marlon was now walking on golden sand that was almost as fine as dust. On his right there was only an ochre-colored wall, and he passed closed wooden doors behind which he could hear moaning or even crying.

To his left were what looked like cells. Rooms made of metal bars, and although most of them were empty, some contained people with ghostly looks, as if possessed.

Some were muscular men who seemed to seek conflict with anyone who met their eyes, while others were Nessos of various species who looked aggressive and even completely mad for some. Numerous scars adorned their bodies and some looked to be more than fresh. The cells still seemed to be set with minimal comforts, while Marlon spotted water jugs and what looked like chamber pots at the foot of simplistic but functional beds.

Marlon could not help but swallow at the sight.

"Don't pay attention to these people. They are prisoners who would rather take their chances in the Arena than suffer a summary execution."

"And...what's behind those doors?" the young man asked as a howl rose from behind just that.

"These are the restrooms for wounded combatants. We can heal almost anything, but it's often far more painful than the injury itself."

They finally came to a square that was much larger than what he had seen so far. Many people were present and chatting with each other next to what looked like locker rooms. An almost joyful atmosphere could be felt, and this contrasted with his first few meters in the Arena.

Next to this locker room area was a kind of ring with a sand floor, bounded only by four posts and a rope going around the posts.

Further on, there seemed to be the entrance to the Arena, the big one, the real one, where the clamor was coming from. A double wooden door as massive as the one he had seen outside separated the backstage from the main stage. He could still hear the cries of the spectators, but they were muffled by the closed double doors that separated the stage.

They all stopped when they saw Marlon and the soldier coming, but the young man did not feel any malice in their eyes, only a certain curiosity.

There was a mix here too, he could see almost as many humans as Nessos, and they all seemed to get along well. No reptile-men though, although he did see what must have been a dwarf furiously driving a double-edged axe into a training dummy.

He finally arrived in front of a man who must have easily exceeded two meters, but his musculature was rather thin compared to his stature, almost approaching Marlon's.

His hair was cut square and was platinum blonde in color, almost shiny because it was so light. The face was square, with a nose that looked like it had been broken many times. Numerous scars ran down his torso, the man being shirtless.

This man had a certain authority and presence, and Marlon thought that he would not like to have him as an enemy.

"Good morning, Sire Jacob. This young man says he has a recommendation for you from Sire Rastan."

The six-foot colossus' face closed and his sharp eyes turned to the young man as he seemed to read his soul.

"What's your name?"

There was no aggression in his tone of voice, but just like Rastan or Selia, a kind of natural authority emanated from it and broke through the young man's defenses as if they were made of butter

Even Luna, who had not left Marlon's side since his arrival in Delia, could not help but meow in a tone of warning to her master.

"My name is Revenge, sir, and I have come to seek your instruction."

Everyone laughed profusely at this answer, even Jacob. He was even the most hilarious of them all.

"You must be the only volunteer in this entire hemisphere to undergo my training!"

The tone annoyed the young man a little and he couldn't help but answer a little abruptly:

"I did suffer Rastan's, I would definitely survive yours!"

The mood changed dramatically and many of the people present looked at Jacob with a worried expression. Jacob had a smile on his face, but a certain curiosity now filled his eyes.

"Well, all right...here take this and get in the training ring!"

Jacob tossed him a wooden sword that was resting on a rack near him and took one for himself before moving toward the primary ring-like structure, stepping over the rope that encircled it before waving at the young man.

Marlon felt nervous, certain that Jacob's level was at least equal to Rastan's, or not far off at least. However, he couldn't help but feel some form of excitement at the idea of finally being able to fight. Since his last battle, he hadn't felt that sense of well-being that only combat and blood could bring him.

He also stepped over the rope and faced his opponent. The rush of adrenaline from the impending fight overcame him and his heart clenched, this feeling of absolute coldness overtaking him, making Marlon impervious to any emotion other than blazing anger.

He took an attacking stance and Jacob, facing him, also smiled when he saw the frozen smile on the young man's face.

"Interesting...come on, atta...!"

He had not finished his sentence when Marlon had already leaped on him, attacking from top to bottom with his wooden blade. The instructor's eyes widened but he was not in the least disturbed by the young man's assault.

He parried this attack effortlessly and with his free hand struck a powerful blow into the ribs of his opponent, whose breath was expelled from his lungs by this counter.

He slumped to the ground but jumped back while his breath was still caught. Good for him, because Jacob had not waited to attack and his sword came down where Marlon's head had been a second before.

The young man knew that he could not win against him, but he was happy, deeply happy to be able to face an adversary of this temperament. His heart beating furiously in his chest, the adrenalin running through his veins, the pain so familiar from the fight, all this gave Marlon an unavowable pleasure and he enjoyed every moment.

He picked himself up, and while catching his breath, he threw a handful of sand in the direction of the instructor's face. At the same time, he threw himself at him and made it look like a horizontal attack with his sword.

Seeing Jacob raise his to counter despite the partial blindness he was experiencing due to the thrown sand, he changed direction at the last moment and attacked with a low kick to try to mow down the colossus.

If it had been anyone else, his feint would have worked. But Jacob was a Grandmaster swordsman as well as being the official instructor of the arena fighters for many years. He was also constantly fighting against his peers to keep improving.

Marlon's leg met a wall, and he clearly heard a bone break on impact, a fiery pain running through his brain and making him scream.

The last thing he remembered was a massive fist powering toward his jaw, and then it was a total blackout.

He woke up a few hours later, lying on a rough bed in what appeared to be one of the closed rooms he had walked past earlier. Strangely enough, his leg didn't hurt at all anymore, and neither did his jaw.

He straightened up with haste and his head turned for a few seconds. The room was devoid of any decoration and the walls had the same ochre color as the corridor in which he had arrived. It was very dark, only a few rays of light being diffused by a candle which burned in a small alcove not far from the head of the young man.

There was a sweet smell as if herbs and other things had been burned that Marlon could not identify. Luna was lying at the foot of the bed, staring at a corner of the room.

He suddenly remembered Jacob's last blow and his blood ran cold as he thought back to the fight, which although short, had given him great satisfaction.

"Take it easy, kid. You've got a visitor, and I think you made a good impression. Haha, gotta believe your crazy can come in handy every now and then!"

Loki kept to himself of course that this would probably cause him more trouble in the future, but this was neither the time nor the place for that kind of talk.

A deep voice echoed in the back of the room and Marlon turned to his interlocutor who was none other than Jacob.

"You're a real dog when you fight, right?"

He looked at the giant without answering and the latter nodded as if he had answered.

"I liked your fighting spirit. You look a lot like I did when I was younger. But you have no style and very little technique! That said, I can clearly see why Rastan recommended you, that old fool!"

Despite the darkness of the room, Jacob seemed to be sizing him up once again.

"Answer me truthfully. If I hadn't knocked you out, you would have continued to try to kill me, no matter what means you used, right?"

Marlon swallowed as he felt colossal pressure from Jacob, only he nodded, preferring to play it straight with the one he wanted as his instructor.

"Haha, perfect! I don't take the small natures or the soft rags to train them! If we fight, it is to kill! Nothing more, nothing less! Anyone who wields a weapon must be prepared to die with that same weapon in his hand, having given everything to win, no matter what method is used!"

"Totally agree with you...Jacob?"

"Call me Master! When you can touch me with your sword then you can use my first name, hahaha!!! Come on, get off your ass and get over here, a healer already patched you up while you were napping!"

Marlon appreciated Jacob's gruff, outspoken nature, so he followed him without further question.

"You have one month! For one month I'm going to train you, and believe me, Rastan is a small player next to me! You're going to suffer as you've never suffered before, but in the end, you'll be able to beat quite a few people on this side of the world! Do you know the rank system?"

"I know the one from Beginner to Grandmaster, if that is what you are talking about, Ja...Master."

He returned a beaming smile and gave him a big friendly slap on the back that must have moved at least two vertebrae as they arrived in front of the training ring.

"Good, you're getting the right habits right away! But for ranks, it's good for trades, not for fighting arts! I'm explaining this to you properly, so you better remember! And while I'm talking to you, you get in the ring and do push-ups, without stopping. Come on, move!"

Marlon hurried to obey. He had already prepared himself mentally to suffer through the month of training that Jacob had told him, so his mind was barricaded like a fortress. Once he began to do the push-ups, the instructor, sitting comfortably on a wooden chair he had brought in, began to explain:

"The fighting arts are complicated to gauge, as your physical skills complement your knowledge rank. Lower, the pushups!...So a more correct system was put in place to evaluate a fighter's technique and strength in their art, whether it be a sword, spear, other melee weapons or ranged weapons. Come on, faster, it looks like a Donkey doing sports!"

Between two explanations, he didn't hesitate to put pressure on the young man, who complied without a second thought.

"That's better! So we put in a more comprehensive system for evaluating combat skills. That includes mages too, right. It's not my field, but I've seen them ravage battlefields without anyone getting near them...but I'm disgusted! This system includes more ranks, and they're organized like this: from weakest to strongest."

He had now moved towards the young man and placed his foot on Marlon's back, adding extra pressure as he pushed up on his arms.

"So we have, in order: Copper, Bronze, Silver, Gold, Vermeil, Platinum, Diamond and Mithril. I'm personally in the Platinum rank, as is Rastan, by the way."

Marlon was still pushing on his arms without complaint, but his muscles were starting to ache as the pressure on his back grew heavier and heavier.

"Clearly, for now, you are rank Copper! You have the rage to win, but you lack technique, and Rastan has trained you only a few days! Yes, yes, he sent me a message to let me know you were coming. But if you apply yourself, in a month you can easily reach the Bronze rank..."

As he finished his sentence, Jacob pressed almost all his weight on the young man's back, who crashed to the ground and could not get up.

"Come on, put your back into it, man! If you want to get there, you're going to have to put a little more conviction into it, hahaha!!!"

Marlon, pushing harder than his body would normally allow, managed to climb a few inches before crashing back down, face down. He threw an almost pleading glance towards his chimera, but this one was quietly washing itself at the edge of the ring.

"I have a feeling I'm going to love your new instructor! On the other hand, that same feeling tells me that you're going to have a very complicated month, hahaha! Good luck, kid!"