For the next three days, I saw no one other than the food servant, and that was fine by me. I didn’t leave my room at all, and just ate, slept, and trained. I did every variation of pushup and squat I could come up with. I didn’t do a lot of pulling exercises because I rarely went in for holds and the like. If I wasn’t bludgeoning or thrusting, then in my opinion, I wasn’t doing it right.

  When Estwin finally came for me, I was rereading the report on my next opponent. A quick refresher, though there wasn’t much to it.

  Warkal. Level 18

  Warrior Class (7)

  Preferred weapons: Two-handed maul

  Fighting style: Heavy Weapons.

  Focuses on overwhelming offense with slow but devastating strikes.

  High durability and strength

  Last Known Stats:

  Toughness: 26

  Mental Acuity: ??

  Harmony: ??

  Race: Salorian

  Dimensions (Approx):

  Height: 6 ft 8

  Weight: 420 lbs

  A big old unit, but at least he was in the same kind of height territory, rather than the damn Ogrid they’d made me fight. And he sounded like a brick shithouse type. The kind of opponent I was born to fight.

  They always went for head shots because what else could they do up there. It meant lots of room to work on the body, and that’s where most fights were won and lost. You only worked the head once they were blowing out their arses and they couldn’t lift their big, daft arms anymore. Or in this case, a massive sounding maul.

  “You ready?” the big captain asked, eyeing the carnage that was my room with a bemused expression. The desk was just a pile of splinters now.

  “Born ready, big man, lead the way.”

  He stepped back and gestured for me to leave the room, and I eagerly obliged, snatching up the gloves from the bed.

  I hadn’t been wearing them as much the last few days as I didn’t want to lower their durability any further, and I wanted to rebuild my hand strength without using them as a crutch.

  We walked silently to the armory, but he seemed to walk with a spring in his step.

  “What the fuck are you so happy about?” I asked as I passed him to make my selection.

  “Did you read the description of your opponent?”

  “Sure did, sugar plum. But why are you answering my question with a question?”

  “I love tournament time, and I’m intrigued to see how you fare against the Salorian. They are hard warriors.”

  “Then you’ll see one crack today.”

  “That remains to be seen, but I would strongly recommend plate with a gambeson for the encounter. It will provide the best defense against a maul by spreading out the force of heavy strikes.”

  “Nah, too limiting on the old mobility.”

  “You would be surprised. We have well-crafted suits here. They’re designed to allow more movement than you might imagine.”

  I eyed the cumbersome armor with distaste. “Maybe if I lived in one like you guys. But I’ve never worn anything like in my life, and I really need speed and movement to win this.”

  I headed to the chain mail and lifted up what was essentially a chain-mail t-shirt. It looked so fucking cool, and I grinned as I felt the weight. This was what I needed.

  Estwin put a hand on my shoulder, and I had to hold back every instinct not to attack the bastard.

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  “Chain mail is truly awful against heavy weapons, Earl. It doesn’t distribute heavy impacts. Combined with a thick gambeson, it can absorb some of the energy, but if you are insistent on not plate, then you should look at Lamellar. It’s not as resistant as full plate armor, but it still provides good protection against crushing blows and allows for greater agility.”

  With some reluctance, I put down the chain mail. “Show me.” Though in my heart of hearts, I knew I was coming back for the chain mail, and to hell with the consequences.

  He led me along the line of armor until we reached armor that consisted of small steel plates riveted to a leather jerkin. I picked one up that I thought would fit, and jiggled it about.

  “Doesn’t seem like it would be any better.”

  “Yet it is. While I can accept your fighting style choices as an expert on the matter, you are no expert on our armor.”

  “But I really like the chain mail.”

  He held up his hands. “Whatever you wish. It’s not my choice to make. I am not technically supposed to be helping you anyway.”

  Perhaps it was because he didn’t try to push it that I folded. You come at me, I’ll come right back. You step away, I’ll probably stop… possibly. I still didn’t trust the bastard, but he seemed so earnest.

  “Fine, I’ll take this shit,” I said, giving the armor a shake.

  Estwin shook his head. “That one looks closer to your size.” He pointed a few racks down to a smaller piece.

  I ignored him and put the armor over my head. Then cursed internally. It was too fucking big.

  After admitting defeat on the armor, I point-blank refused to listen to him on weapons. He hated my buckler-dagger choice, but it had served me so well against the Ogrid that I went that way again.

  Before I knew it, I was dressed like a medieval soldier, and all of my worries of mobility and speed restrictions were washed away. I practiced a few moves on my way out. Rolling and ducking. Weaving, darting, and spinning along the arena corridors.

  I fully expected Estwin to take the piss, but apart from an expression of mild amusement, he seemed more intrigued than anything.

  When we reached the arena antechamber, he gestured for me to enter. Then standing at the doorway, he offered some final words.

  “He’s a good fighter, Earl. About my size, has a bit of speed about him and good technique. You already know what to do. Wear him out, then take him out, but have a care, he’s smart enough to feign fatigue. He’ll know how you’ve fallen back against your other opponents, so… maybe feign your first proper attack. Let him come again and…”

  I waved him off. “Thanks for the extra info. I need to be alone now, I reckon.”

  He nodded his big ass head and left the room.

  I was glad of the peace, but his words had sparked some fresh ideas that I wanted to think through. These were the waters I swam in after all, and having an opponent who knew what to expect was one of the greatest weapons you could have. Especially if you were an unpredictable asshole.

  I went through a few scenarios, imagining fighting the Captain for reference on size and movement. And when I was finally called out to the arena, I had to work hard not to grin my widest grin at what I had finally come up with.

  The boos rang out like an orchestra of assholes. Little did they know, all that did was fuel my desire to disappoint them all. I held my dagger and buckler awkwardly in my left hand so that I could offer them all the wanker sign.

  Much to my irritation, they all laughed. Either the gesture meant something else here, or word had gotten out that my two little birdies had flown off.

  As I considered my options, up to and absolutely not excluding pulling a moony at them, I realized one portion of the crowd hadn’t booed and they weren’t laughing either. Instead, they kept up a steady chorus of cheers.

  It was weird for me, but I embraced it, and waved to them, displaying my disfigured hand in full.

  They went wild. It had been a long time since I’d had fans, but these fuckers were lapping me up, and I was enjoying it more than I expected. I hoped it’d last. I doubted it would.

  Typical that the presenter would choose that moment to bark out our welcome to drown them out with his projected voice.

  “WELCOME TO THE FIFTH BOUT OF THE LAST 64. EARL HENSHAW OF THE VELKYN ARENA POOL FIGHTERS! VS WARKAL! THE SCOURGE OF THE SALORIAN.”

  I zoned out the crowd and took in my opponent. Big bastard. He was covered in gray plate armor, but what skin I could see was the color and sheen of crude oil alive with the throbbing of purple veins just under the surface.

  He was a little more muscular than Estwin, which I didn’t expect, and he swung his heavy maul around like it was made of Styrofoam, yellow and red eyes never leaving me.

  For a heartbeat, the world went silent… Then the announcer screamed the command.

  “FIGHT!”

  Warkal came fast. Charging like a bull with a hot iron up its arse. I could see it in his rapidly approaching eyes. He didn’t want me to play my games. He wanted to get the fight over and done with in the first few seconds.

  It was too easy to put a look of panic on my face as I retreated as fast as I could. Anthony Hopkins would have been proud of my acting as I fell to the floor.

  The big bastard loomed over me, victory in his eyes as he swung the huge, pointed hammer head in a wicked arc. It came whipping over his head to crush me into mush.

  I timed my buckler deflection and right leg extension to perfection. Yes, my arm broke, but you know what they say. No pain, no gain.

  The maul smashed into the ground next to my head. Exactly where I expected it to land.

  Something else that was exactly where I thought they would be were Salorian nuts. And my right foot smashed into those around the same time.

  He fought the inevitable fall that a good shot in the nuts brought, managing to get a knee down, but that only put his neck in the perfect position for my dagger. I buried it deep behind his trachea, then ripped it toward me.

  I would have done a lot more damage, but the fucker fell on me pinning me to the ground as blood gushed into my face from his new throat opening.

  By the time I managed to lever him off me, I’d already been declared the winner. Arena Guards were already around me, plus the mystery mage standing a few feet further back.

  I didn’t feel any touch on my mind, and I definitely still wanted to stab the Salorian, but it was the raucous noise coming from one corner of the arena that ended up pulling my attention away.

  My fans were going ape shit. Dropping the knife, I raised my good arm and waved again. They went up a notch, and I was l led away grinning like a bloody Cheshire cat.

  Estwin was waiting for me in the antechamber. He was smiling too. “Seems you used my advice slightly differently than I’d intended.”

  “Looks like it,” I said, heading past him to the water fountain to wash my bloody mouth out.

  “He wanted to finish it quickly, and you lulled him in to thinking you were going to play the same game. But you went for it. Sacrificed your arm and got the win in seconds. Crazy, reckless, and perfect. You’re a monster, Earl, but it’s an honor to watch how you work these things out.”

  “Monster, huh?” was all I managed to reply.