I was suddenly aware of the roar of the crowd, and the announcer going, “Tribute to Ahmesh, the young warriors did it! Jarrec and Soralee’s victory streak has ended!” Justice was similarly startled and flinched away from the sound above. The referee stood up from Soralee and offered her a hand. She took it and stood, meeting Jarrec, who was trying to staunch some of the blood dribbling down his chin. 

Justice, still with one arm clutching her shoulder, came over to me, where I resolutely stood, one leg shaking, not trusting my balance to keep me from falling over after the flood of battle left me. 

He had the familiar guidance screen indicating another level to the side. I had dismissed mine immediately, but because of my scribe talents, I had a permanent log of the deity messages to review later. The announcer continued, “Look at these two warriors, managing to grow in the light of the gods against such odds. Do you have anything to say for yourselves? Will you fight another round?”

I recognized the small glimmer of white magic washing over Justice and I as a sound modulation spell, and glanced at Justice, who managed to turn paler than usual. I spoke up, “We are honored by the arena and our opponents. I will go out on one limb for each of us, specifically an arm and a leg, and say we will need a proper convalescence before bringing blood to the floor here again.” The unseen crowd gave a mix of cheers, laughs, and disappointed cries. 

Soralee turned to us and gave a big grin. “Showed us up good for being overconfident! Ahmesh doesn’t reward those dead by their own foolishness. Good show you two, but we won’t take it easy with you if we see you in the ring again.” 

Cheers rose again.

“Excellent bluff on your part. I was going to let you lead the dance if I never figured it out myself.” She offered the handkerchief I’d dropped in her lap, stained with blood, but I indicated that she could keep it. 

She winked at me, and sauntered with Jerrec, who needed help seeing through his black eyes to the same corner they came in from. The referee aimed us at one of the exits that hadn’t been open previously. 

Once the glimmer of amplified sound dropped, I asked, “Justice, may I brace myself on you? I don’t think I can walk unassisted.”

“What? Oh yeah! Of course.”

She half-assisted, half-dragged me into the next antechamber where there were benches and chairs and cushions. The referee gestured to the cushions, and I thankfully collapsed on them, wounded leg up. They had the oddly clean feeling of [Mending], likely to remove bloodstains. They would need to be cleaned again. 

The cleric of balance and referee looked over my wounds with [Diagnose] spell and tutted. “It looks like one of the tendons has been damaged, but you haven’t lost too much blood. May I use some magic to fix the worst and accelerate the healing?”

“Please.”

“This will be uncomfortable, so please do not thrash.” They said this with the bored tone of someone who expected me to thrash anyway. 

I might have been incapacitated last night, but I had full control of my faculties now. “I have been healed before,” I said, clipped. 

They didn’t blink as they pressed their hands to my exposed skin on my neck and the top of my thigh.

Ice penetrated my veins and replaced my bones. For an instant, the mind reacted by desiring only death. It was so cold, so empty, and the mind would be so much warmer for its absence. 

I pushed it back. I managed to only swallow, not flinch or blink, as my small reaction.

The cleric nodded in respect, rubbing their hands together as if to warm them. I looked to see that the larger gashes along my back were already mostly closed, and I could stand completely on one leg. “Alright, good. That should finish healing over the next hour.” They turned to look at Justice. “Your turn?”

Justice nodded. I considered warning her that it would not be a comfortable experience, but I didn’t want to betray how naive I thought she was. Some very small but vindictive part of me also wanted her to be reminded of what her arrogance put me through just a dozen hours ago. 

The cleric put a hand on both of her shoulders and light pushed into her skin. She made something between a swallowed shriek and a gasp, with a full body shudder, like the Orc had to hold her in place in order to finish the brief spell of accelerated healing.

The cleric gave a small disapproving noise and said, “The first one’s the easiest. Find a new path if this is too much, girl.” He walked away, towards one of the smaller doors at the other end of the room, leading away from the arena. 

Justice was left still shaking as she wrapped her hands around herself. 

“You alright, Justice?”

She stuttered, “Uhh, maybe. Do- does it-” She gestured ambivalently. 

“Yes it’s always like that. And no it never gets easier. It is not covered in your world?”

She looked a little queasy. “There are references to the phrase ‘the cure is worse than the dis-ease’ being a fact of life in the game, but it's so not explored in detail. Healing magic can’t be learned by the players in the game. Only specialized locations can heal you unnaturally. Usually you just push a button and wait for time to heal your characters naturally.”

“Only the rich can afford to heal naturally. Many have to get back to work or else their families starve. The military pays extra, in times of relative peace, to soldiers who need healing, but that's waived in a war, so I understand.”  It is not uncommon for people to choose death for grevious enough wounds, for soldiers to throw themselves upon their sword rather than be dragged back to the medic tents, especially if it's not their first healing of the week, let alone the day.

She gulped, “I’m glad I haven’t needed to before. My world only has very slow healing.”

“How slow?”

“Simple nicks and cuts take days. Broken bones take months. Sometimes longer.”

I shuddered, but mused, “I wonder what the actual difference is, other than convenience for pretend games.”

“It might be just ma-” The other door to our comfortable victor’s room opened up, sound and light spilling in. Captain Fochet Raim followed, wearing a semi-formal shirt and a sarong that brushed along the ground. He wore a satchel across his chest and had a simple bag in hand. He was looking pleased as the Ahmesh cleric at new blood for her god. I could tell that past the jolly exterior, he was evaluating Justice closely. 

“Hello you two! Blinding Blade and and Dawn Ender, what great fighter names. You sure I couldn’t coax you back into the ring again tonight?”

“No.” I said flatly. Something told me that he was probing for reactions from Justice, and I didn’t want her to give up her secrets unwilling. “We have received and, presumably, passed your entrance exam, Fochet Raim. You seem to be enjoying your early return from vacation. Let me introduce you to Justice. She’s more or less new to Sumar City, so I’ve been her companion around town.”

“So it seems.” He nodded, as if to acknowledge my push in conversation away from the fight.” “Its a pleasure to meet the other responsible for keeping me alive. Thank you for giving Scaleen the information sh- he needed.”

Justice nodded warily, not sure how to take this Human, so easily slipping from joy to business. “Glad I could help.”

Fochet gestured, “Can I interest you two in a private booth in the gallery? I’m a premier patron here and it does have its perks. You can count your winnings there as well. I’ll have you know, the odds were against you, and any who bet on your victory was well rewarded.”

“I am glad you fared so well,” I said, no accusation or inflection in my voice. 

He laughed, “So it goes. Come on, they also have a very good kitchen.”