I looked at the very solid-looking stick in my hand, impressed that it hadn’t broken with the abuse.

  Is it time to learn sword training?

  “Fuck swords.” I threw it to the ground, and went in search of some padded mitts. Then, despite coming for the weights, proceeded to bash ten hells out of the wooden dummy.

  The deep voice of Estwin interrupted me. “Enjoying yourself?”

  “Sneaky bastard,” I snapped, spinning around and trying to hide my shock. “You’re light on your toes for a big fucker, I’ll give you that. But I’m glad you’re here. I need to know more about training my Toughness. Strength and durability in particular.”

  I did not like the smile he gave me in return. “The best way to improve durability is by taking beatings. But we have to be careful with your injuries, as only the Able can heal you now. It’s a shame because I know plenty who would love to help you. Most of my guards for starters.”

  “I bet they would and I’m not against it. But people will probably end up getting…”

  “Dead?”

  “Yeah. There’s gotta be better ways.”

  “Not here. Some of the top arenas will have less barbaric options.”

  “You think these mystery buyers?”

  He winced. It was a subtle and brief, but I caught it. “Changed their mind have they?”

  “Not exactly. They wish to meet you alone. Our Monarch is not about to let one of her most valuable assets go out into the city to an unknown party without assurances. There is a strong chance you will never return, either through your own choices or the choices of a new sponsor.”

  He had a point. “That is kinda weird, asking for that. Though I’m not even sure if I would run anymore. This place isn’t so bad. I get fed well, and I get to do what I love most, which is fighting.”

  Estwin laughed. “You would stay here even though you are hated in the arena?”

  I chuckled. “I’d stay here because I’m hated. That shit’s the air I breathe. Hell, not even my own parents liked me.”

  His face contorted into a thoughtful expression. “And your brother? Searching for him is how you ended up here, is it not?”

  “Something like that. But yeah, even he hates me. I’ll give him his due. He tried the longest not to despise me, but in the end, even he saw sense and pulled away.”

  “You don’t seem upset by the fact that your family dislikes you. How can that be? Is it not a natural emotion of all living things to desire kinship and the love of those closest?”

  “Probably. But I think we’ve already discussed the fact that there’s something not quite right about me, Estwin. He’s the only person I care about, in my own way. And if one person in this world was to like me, then I think I’d like it to be him. As for the rest, I don’t give a damn if they like me or not.”

  I wasn’t sure if I even cared if Adam liked me or if it was a lie I told myself to make me feel at least a little normal. Estwin nodded, and I saw something new in his eyes. Was it empathy? No, it was far worse. It fucking sympathy? The slight pang of sadness I felt over my brother dissipated like water on a stove top.

  My next words came out clipped. “So what now? Do I just keep fighting and wait for another sponsor?”

  He eyed me warily, noting the change and grunted. “Yes. I doubt it’ll be a long wait. For now, just train hard. And while I have other duties to attend to, first let me show you something since I can’t help you with durability.”

  He pounded off and led me through to the training bags meant for punching. There he snatched up a pair of gloves for himself before striking the bag with a straight right. Then he struck it again, and again, and again. Each time, he hit it in the same spot. Each time, putting tremendous speed and teeth-rattling power in the punch. It was hard not to be slightly impressed. Despite his girth, he moved so well.

  I was also impressed that the bag and the gloves didn’t split from the impacts. He turned round to me again.

  “A short demonstration. Once ascended, stats grow from use. Repetition and progressive overload are your friends. If you learned to hit the same spot again and again without having ascended, you would only develop at hitting the same spot on the bag. And while there’d be improvements in your fighting ability, it would not translate into accuracy.

  “Now it works a little differently. If you train accuracy in this way, whenever you think of a spot you want to hit, your mind will work though all of the adjustments and corrections you need to achieve the strike. And you will achieve the strike.

  “In this demonstration, I focused on speed, power, and accuracy. I did so for a very important reason. You could focus only on power and speed, but without accuracy, it is worthless. You could focus on accuracy and power, but without speed, it is worthless. I think you can guess what omitting power from training would achieve?”

  “It’d be worthless,” I said quietly, looking at the bag and thinking.

  “Combining all three together allow them to grow together. Your increases will be faster and you will become balanced and more powerful.”

  “I like it. But you’re missing something important from the training.”

  “It was a demonstration. I was missing a great many things for perfect growth. I merely wanted to set you off on the right path. If you can think of things you want to add to the training, then that is entirely down to you. I’m not here to train you, Earl.”

  I chuckled. “That’s fair. But there’s only one thing I’d add, and I might be wrong, but that’s awareness. It’s all well and good practicing all this shit, but without awareness, it all means nothing. It’s why sparring is so important.”

  “You’re doing well without sparring,” he noted.

  “Yeah, because I’ve done this all my life.”

  “Very well. And I don’t disagree. But I will leave you to work out how to add awareness because I certainly won’t be providing sparring partners for you.”

  After Estwin left, I thought about awareness. Nothing came to mind immediately, and I was happy to forge ahead with his suggestions, but it was something to work on.

  I practiced exactly what he’d said, and while it was boring and laborious, it was also… It was just boring and laborious. I felt like I was in a punch factory, and after a couple of hours had passed, I was tired, hungry, and deeply depressed.

  I traipsed back to my room to think on the problem. I needed something extra to make it engaging for me. I considered some kind of heavy object swinging back that I would have to dodge while I fought. I just couldn’t come up with a way to create something that would help rather than hinder.

  Scarfing my food, I put myself to bed to let the problem marinate. I read somewhere once that training only truly sunk in when you slept.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  I dreamed of swinging sandbags and striking bags. Some people said dreams had meanings. Good for them. I just wanted to keep dreaming, but something interrupted me.

  My eyes opened, but it was pitch black, and it didn’t help at all. I didn’t move, but I listened hard. There was a scratching sound in my room that seemed to be coming from the ceiling. Then from the door.

  Ready for anything, I slowly rose and approached the door to listen.

  The scratching stopped.

  Curious, I opened the door to reveal the candle-lit hallway and the supposed corridor guard sat on his chair. The useless git was asleep.

  I retreated back into my room, closing the door and plunging myself back into darkness, before dropping back into my bed.

  As I sat down on the hard mattress, a small hiss and an odd clacking came from above me. Jumping upright, I assumed a defensive position, legs wide, high guard. “Who the fuck’s there?”

  I jumped up with a probing right hand toward where I heard the laughter. My hand hit nothing, but I heard the passage of air. Of movement.

  From the opposite corner of the room, a green glow sprang up.

  “Bullseye,” I shouted, sprinting across the room in a heartbeat to punch the intruder. The glow died, and I hit air, and then stone wall before crashing on the floor.

  More tapping from above me, then words hissed out. “Finally, a reaction worthy of the name you are building for yourself. I am not here to harm you, Earl Henshaw. I am here to help. If I measure you to be satisfactory, that is.”

  “Who said I needed any goddamn help?” I growled into the darkness, regaining my feet as I spoke.

  “Oh, everybody needs a little help now and again. Your Arena Monarch has refused my employer to speak with you. I suspect it is because she has guessed who I work for.”

  “Who do you work for?”

  “An industrious group who believe they can be very beneficial to you.”

  “So far so good,” I grumbled, rubbing my head. “The Monarch wouldn’t let me go alone to you, so you came and saw me alone anyway. That’s the kind of audacity I can respect. But if you don’t mind me asking, how the fuck did you get in here anyway? Did you sneak past me when I opened the door?”

  The hissing, clacking laugh came again, but no answer.

  “Put your little green light on again. I promise I won’t attack this time.”

  “You would miss even if you did.”

  The green light sprung up again, and I looked up to see a cloaked figure somehow stuck against the ceiling in the corner of the room.

  “How the hell do you do that? You got magic?”

  “I do, Earl. But I have not yet used it in our meeting. Have you never seen a Tasiren before?”

  “Well, I’ve seen spiders. Is that what you are? But bigger and smarter?”

  “Your words mean nothing to me.” He dropped to the floor, threw back his cloak to reveal a very spider-like face and physique. He had a couple extra pair of legs, a couple of extra arms, as well and some epic mandibles.

  I tried to identify him, but got zero information, as if he wasn’t there at all.

  “Does my appearance offend you?” he asked, his mandibles clicking, which explained the sound.

  “It’s certainly different to what I’m used to, but I wouldn’t say it offends me. The clicking noise is fucking annoying, though.”

  He clicked even faster. A sound I know knew to be laughter. I wanted to go back to sleep so I felt he needed a little nudge to get the conversation flowing again.

  “So are you going to tell me why you’re here, or do we need to thrash it out with Morse code?”

  “I don’t know what Morse code is, but I assume you’re being pedantic. As I have limited time, I will cut to the core. You use the Akra in your fights. Do you understand the meaning of the gesture?”

  “I understand the meaning of the gesture, both to me and to the folk around these parts. Apparently, it’s a highly offensive salute from a bunch of murdering shitbags in the past, or something like that?”

  “Very good! So you have a basic foundation from which we can work. I will start by telling you that I work for that group of shitbags. Though, a modern-day version. I also know now that you are not sympathetic to our cause?”

  I held up a hand to stop him. “I’ve been told the Siroth are kid-eating, mass-murdering fuckers. But two things are important here.” I raised my index finger. “Number one: From what I’ve seen, the people spouting this shit haven’t exactly got a moral leg to stand on. Enslaving people across the universe, making them fight to the death in arenas, then bleating on about someone hurting them a thousand years ago? Sounds like bullshit to me.”

  I had to jump to my ring finger for number two.

  “Secondly: You’re absolutely right. I couldn’t give a flying fuck in a high wind about what your people did in the past, what your cause is, or anything else for that matter, unless it helps me.”

  More clacking. “Honest and succinct. I like you, Earl. And your disinterest in politics is refreshing, and for my particular recommendation, will stand you in good stead.”

  I frowned in the spooky, green light he emitted. “What…? You don’t care if I care?”

  Off he went again, clacking like a pair of fucking maracas. “I don’t. We may have to play it differently when the occasion calls for it. There are some important people feverously devoted to the cause, and we might need to appease them, but you’ve become something of a talisman to our people. Not just on this planet, but beyond.”

  “Me? From a couple of flip offs? You do know I can’t do it anymore?” I waved my four-fingered hands at him, demonstrating the missing digits.

  “Oh, Earl.” Clack, Clack. “It is your continuance to demonstrate the salute despite the adversity and the loss of those fingers that has truly elevated your fame. You have become a legend to the Siroth! Play this smart and you can become one of their most important members. And if you do become powerful, then you might do well to remember a certain messenger who can help you navigate the”—clack, clack—“corridors of power within the Siroth.”

  “Become powerful among a group whom everyone else in the universe hates? Not being funny, Clacky Mcgee, but it sounds like a short path to a painful death rather than greatness.”

  “Then you are a na?ve fool. What began as a revolution of slaves has become so much more. The Siroth is one of the most powerful organizations in the Union. Think about it. A back water planet like this, and you get crowds of Siroth sympathizers so quickly? You think that was by accident or coincidence?”

  I scratched my head. “This all sounds complicated and incredibly shady.”

  “Anything that involves true power within any society usually is. No group of sentient beings pretending at civility will ever agree! Which means the only way to the top is appeasement and subterfuge.”

  I thought about it for a hot second and decided he was completely right. “Okay. I’m sold on one condition. Your employer has to get me the best weapons and armor for my style of fighting.”

  He seemed surprised by my agreement but nodded. “We can. When the transaction takes place, you will receive equipment befitting your level, and it will be the best.”

  “No. I want top-tier, high-leveled gear. I’m not bothered about active enchantments, but I want excellent buffs. If you can do that, then I’m in. But I’ll want the gear quickly.”

  The insect emitted a perplexed sound. “I don’t understand. You won’t be able to use them.”

  “Whether I can use them or not, I still want them. If I die before I can use them, then I’m sure the selling price won’t have gone down too much. Think of it as part of the investment.”

  My demands seemed to have totally derailed him. “I’ll repeat what you have said to my employers. But… you will probably need to make a considerable effort to be compassionate to the cause for such an insane and unusable outlay.”

  I wafted a hand in his face. “We covered this already. I’ll play along.”

  “Fine words. But what do you actually know about the Siroth?”

  I failed at my attempt to stifle a groan. Despite the poor effort, he still began to reel off a load of information I wasn’t remotely interested in. I knew I wouldn’t retain any of it either, but for top-tier gear, I could pretend.

  “You have heard of the Archons, yes?”

  “Sure,” I said, settling back on my bed as he spoke.

  “Well, the Archons have been…”

  I was shaken awake. “You fell asleep,” spider face said, his creepy mandibles only inches away from my face.

  “Huh. Did I?” I laughed.

  “I haven’t got time for this!” he hissed.

  “Just give me the TLDR then.”

  “The what?”

  I slowly brought my hands together. “The condensed version. The very condensed version.”

  His clacking was definitely irritated now, but to give him his due, he tried.

  “The Archons were once a powerful race in their own right, long before the Union ever existed. They enslaved most of the races they came across until they came across the Velorians. Many brutal wars were fought between those two races, and many millions of lives were lost. But not many of those were Archons. As you can probably imagine, they used their slaves to fight on the front lines. Such were the horrific losses of those wars that the slaves of the Archons led by the Baranax finally rebelled. It was a battle against the Velorians on the world of Siroth.”

  I could feel my eyelids growing heavy again. I considered pinning them open, but he’d probably notice.

  “That battle turned the tide of the entire Archon-Velorian wars. Weakened by the loss of so many soldiers, the Archons found themselves on the back foot. No longer being able to fight the Velorians with the wildfire that was the Siroth rebellion, they made peace with the Velorians, who themselves were unaware of the upheaval going on in the Archons’ world. They’ve been fighting the members of Siroth ever since, and they haven’t been winning. Not at all.”

  “But the Siroth still hide?”

  “This is the way it needs to be. They are biding their time, gathering their strength, preparing for the day. Their fight is not only against the Archons, but against slavery across the Union.”

  I held up a hand and stopped him. “Seriously, dude, at first, you made it sound like you didn’t give a shit, and now you’re getting all… feverish or whatever. The more you talk, the more this is starting to look like a bad deal.”

  The clack was back to laughter, I felt like a boss for learning a new language so quickly.

  “Earl Henshaw, I do care. I am full of fervor for the cause of the Siroth. I also believe, despite your nature, you are just what is needed to draw attention to our cause as we rise form the shadows…”

  “Brilliant. I already said that as long as you give me the leg up with gear I was in. But please, no more crusader for the people bullshit. I just want to go to sleep.”

  Clack, clack. “Deal.”

  The green light disappeared. A few seconds later, the door opened ajar and closed just as quickly.

  I was alone once more, with lots to think about.

  Tomorrow.