A week after the splendid start, the second round the tournament begins.

My opponent is the very first veteran I have had to face, since joining the circle’s fighters. And our fight choreography reflects that.

Like my very first fight as a scripted villain, I extend my hand to offer the show of respect, but my opponent simply lifts his sword and gently bashes it away. I then proceed to fake injury rolling around in the sound, grabbing my hand and screaming.

This causes my opponent to run over to check on me, but at his apparent low guard, I kick him softly in the stomach. He jumps backwards, and rolls on the ground, at which I dash after his with my sword. The jeers are already at a high level. I swing it down with both hands, although lightly, and the veteran makes a gesture of holding up his own sword to block it, and kick me over the legs.

Cheers erupt at his supposed successful defense. I create 6 small balls, my currents maximum, and send them careening after him with the technique taught by Yorgar. He dodges each of them easily, as their paths are predetermined, and rushes me down. This is where he is supposed deliver me a shallow cut across the breast, but it slices through far more flesh than we practiced. What? Did I fuck up? And how did he deliver more than a scratch? Even if it was a mistake, my skin should still be tough as leather and no more than scratch should have formed.

I grit my teeth at the pain, while cheers erupt from the audience. Shit, I quickly move to the next part. I am supposed to fling sand in his eyes, but my opponent disregards it, and instead of back off, holding his eyes, as we practiced, executes a stab. I try to move, but the surprise makes me not able to in time. The sword makes another easy piercing wound in my flank. Cheer erupt.

Shit, this guy is cheating, using the choreography to his advantage, while being cheered on by it. That is fucking ridiculous.

He sees that I have grown serious and smirks. The hole in my side is bleeding softly. He must be thinking I am fighting on borrowed time, though I know through my many bleedings, by the hands of monster or Jorgen, that the wound will stop shortly

I decide to all out. With bestowal channeled in my legs, I dash at him, but he himself gains great speed. He knows bestowal too? He dodges quickly to the side and come unleashes another stab from my left side. Due to my improved read, I can evade him without looking, and I do so while turning to do a counter-attack, but this time I am in for yet another surprise.

My sword doesn’t pierce him, though the force of it is still felt. He is knocked back, and staggers a little, holding his side. I dash after him, but he still retains high mobility, dashing back to avoid my blow and trying to counter with one of his own.

For some time, we trade blows, though most of mine land, and few of his does, his causes wounds to appear and mine only causes him to feel the force behind them.

But he grows tired. He cannot match my near bottomless stamina, where I can run for 24 hours straight.

And all of a sudden, his movements slow to a crawl. Did he run out of mana? I should still have a little in the tank. I debate taking revenge on his betrayal by taking his life, but I quickly dismiss the thought. I may have killed a few in the past, but I should hold taking lives to a higher standard, only to do so when it is necessary.

I semi-casually use my bestowal and deliver a heavy knee to his stomach, upon which he collapses.

I actually feel pretty good. Though he may have played dirty, this is the first time in a long while I fought with another human, I couldn’t take out in a split second. But that feeling is quickly robbed by the jeers from the entire audience. The hate and refreshments flying towards, which I found pretty entertaining some time ago, is now pretty soul crushing. I think I can’t wait till this whole thing is over now.

At the portcullis, Porar is waiting for me.

“Good job keeping your cool. I should have known Vegar would be tempted to play dirty… It’s my fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“Vegar considered himself the sole rival of Spetus here in the arena. For eight years, these two have bouted in the finals, but Vegar had yet to take a single win, though he came close a few times… Or at least, it appeared so. The interest Spetus showed in you, and your strength probably made him envious and scared of losing his position”

“Huh, Spetus has won many times? Do the winners not get hired by the hero or leader?” I am a bit puzzled.

“They get the offer, but Spetus always declines, saying his place is here, where he can fight to his heart’s content.” Different strokes for different folks, I guess. But I am curious.

“If you feel like you owe me an apology, why don’t you tell me Vegar’s gift?” That impenetrable skin and sharp blade, what’s the connection?

“Sorry, that’s too much. I wouldn’t tell anyone who asked for yours either.” Damn. I hate leaving an unknown like that.