Blood is a warrior’s immortality.

~Lugh, God of Battle and Craft

Otto and Crow walked past Lugh’s statue, and once more, Crow gave the spear a blood offering. It practically thrummed this time and was noticeable enough that he couldn’t ignore it. Staring at the spear while his hand was still pressed against it, he didn’t notice anything strange. It was clearly polished stone. There was no shimmering of formations or any trace of mana besides the trace amounts of Stone Mana.

Torcail said the original spear was lost, and Crow doubted the spear was here. It’d be outlandish if this spear was the one everyone had searched for, but that didn’t mean the statue wasn’t still linked to Lugh. It could contain his essence or a bit of his will, especially if this plaza could be considered a temple, a place to worship gods.

Grandpa Niall and Gavin hadn’t been around lately, mainly because they were part of reforming the Druid Council. While he was at the Shores, this reformation had occurred, and he heard about it only after he returned. He did manage to tell Gavin what he saw and heard in his vision dream. The man seemed genuinely surprised, and Crow hadn’t seen him much since then.

While Eoghan Trinovant was still the leader of the Druid Council, he was joined by two others. The Druid War Council was represented by the Jackdaw, and Niall was in charge of it. This group also enforced laws, dealt with punishment, and managed all events pertaining to the Arena, including Honor by Combat.

The Druid Wisdom Council was represented by the Oak Tree. It was in charge of Scholarly Talents, judging laws and criminals, and intelligence gathering. Crow was reasonably sure that Gavin was put in charge of this group. The Bards now all reported to this council, too, as part of the intelligence-gathering branch.

The Druid State Council was represented by the Awen. It was considered the ruling body in all other affairs, including diplomacy, lawmaking, and financial expenditures. This council was the primary ruling council, except for wartime efforts. In those situations, they deferred to the Druid War Council. However, all three branches were meant to counterbalance power, so one branch couldn’t grasp absolute power.

Crow easily memorized all that but didn’t give it much thought. Especially now, as he walked in through the front gates of the Arena. He waded through a sea of Druids, and more than a few slapped Crow on the back, shook his hand, and some girls even tried to kiss him. The spectacle was beyond his imagining. It almost reminded him of some of the rowdy festivals held near Rhapsody Lake. It was something Bards put together every few years, and the crowds were massive. Crow’s father had only taken him once when he was much younger. Still, he remembered the ethereal feeling of everyone singing, dancing, laughing. The nighttime affairs were just as loud, only Crow didn’t know what was going on at the time. Stepping into the Arena today felt like that.

The entire event was more popular than some holidays, and everyone was here to see Golden Mouth. However, while the praise was overwhelming, others ridiculed the event, finding it reprehensible that a cripple was getting this much fanfare.

Eventually, guards had to step in and escort Crow through the crowd to reach the Arena floor. Amazingly, the event had become large enough that the central arena had to be used. So the main platform in the center had lowered below the surface a few meters, and the other five arenas raised up, creating tiered seating and standing areas.

Munro also arrived, and Esme clung to his arm as he walked down. The crowd went silent, knowing that this girl had once been betrothed to Crow. Everyone knew it was targeting Crow’s mental game. However, Crow only felt pity for Munro, especially after hearing of his father’s death.

If Crow was honest, Esme and Munro did look good together. He was big enough to admit that Munro was better looking than him, and the two looked like a royal couple.

“I have been waiting for this, cripple.”

“Me too. Question for you, if you marry Esme, besides potentially killing her family by fighting me, will you be cursed too? Remember to invite me to the wedding.” The previous quiet crowd gasped and then started laughing when Esme involuntarily stepped away from Munro. Only four people knew the curse was a hoax, and Crow wasn’t one of them.

“We’ll see if your Golden Mouth can please the crowd shortly!” Esme’s voice cut through the crowd.

“Well, my sharp tongue would have definitely pleased you. It’s too bad about Munro. His tongue is—” Cough! “—too soft…”

The crowd was utterly silent, waiting for something to happen. A crystal clear laughter rang out, and Crow recognized Mara’s laugh. It turned Munro’s face purple with rage.

“My… tongue works just fine. Ask your old fiancé!” Munro roared, and the crowd was mixed with chuckles and ‘ooohs,’ but mostly, they just ridiculed the Duncan boy.

“No need,” Crow said.

“Why, did I stump the Golden Mouth?”

“If you insist, yes, let’s ask the Whore of Teonet because she’s literally paid to tell you that you have the biggest… tongue in the world. I’m just saving you the effort of embarrassing yourself.”

This is what they all crowded into the Arena to witness. Crow didn’t disappoint them. Still, he saw tears in Esme’s eyes and felt guilty about the last thing he said. Between the curse and the things he said about her, she looked like she aged prematurely. She was still elegant and beautiful but thin and haunted.

“Crow! Leave my sister out of this, or this mommy will beat you senseless,” Mara growled.

“Yes, dear,” Crow turned and smiled at her.

Malcolm Teonet stood up and roared at Crow but didn’t say anything. He stood there pointing, and Crow’s half-smirk only infuriated him more. It wasn’t that he was speechless, just that he feared to speak. His jaw moved up and down, but it just made him look like a fish out of water. The people in the crowd turned their heads back and forth between Crow and Malcolm, waiting for something to happen, but in the end, Malcolm turned and left the Arena.

“…did you see that…”

“…woah, he left…”

“…damn, Golden Mouth is my idol…”

“…domineering…”

“…marry me, Crow…”

Otto roared with laughter, enjoying the show. Crow gave him a big smile and a thumbs-up before turning back to Munro.

“Well? Do your worst, Munro, this is what you were waiting for, right? To humiliate a cripple in front of a crowd. A coward’s victory! Well, here I am.” Crow got into his speech now. Venting his frustrations on this clown in front of him. “Strike me down! Father Oak as my witness, I do not fear a gutless whoremonger like you!”

Crow rushed forward while Munro stood there sneering, not even trying to dodge. As Crow’s fist struck Munro’s stomach, he had used a good bit of his Qi to reinforce the blow. It wouldn’t do much for someone like him if he’d prepared for it, but Munro didn’t. His arrogance took the full force of the impact. It was only when he tumbled back, flipped over, and landed on his belly that he realized Crow had tricked him.

Once more, a hush fell on the crowd. This result was unexpected. After a momentary pause, they roared with approval. Even Munro was feeling anger, shame and only now understanding everyone’s apprehension in fighting this guy.

“Get up!” Crow growled while delivering a swift kick to the down Munro. The Duncan boy blocked using his Source but was unexpectedly sent rolling across the rocky ground of the cave setting of the Stone Arena. This place was chosen to offset Munro’s wind affinity.

“What the hell?” Munro roared and finally regained his feet. “Aren’t you crippled?”

“I’m still very much crippled,” Crow laughed. “You are just this weak.”

Crow knew Munro focused on techniques and spells using the wind element, but Munro attacked using an ability Crow didn’t recognize. It was easy for Crow to see through it because Munro lacked fighting experience. His movements were telegraphed too much.

Crow had gained combat awareness because of the relentless battles he’d fought. He’s survived the crucible of the arena. In all the younger generation, it could be said that he was the most experienced arena fighter, and every fight was against overwhelming odds. He might not have won, but they all knew if his Source was whole, they’d never stand a chance against him. It was the reason most didn’t take it too far, afraid that Crow might actually recover.

Dodging, Crow strode forward and struck the opening on Munro’s side, once more tossing in a bit of Qi. It wasn’t nearly as effective as the first time, but this close to each other, Crow still heard the sharp intake of breath. A backhand knocked Crow down for the first time, and while he was rolling to his feet, a kick took him across the face. Using his Source this early was rough, but he couldn’t let that blow land on his face, or it’d be all over.

This time Crow rolled backward and rocked slightly when he rose to his feet. He spit out a mouthful of blood and smiled despite it. Munro wasn’t complete trash, and his reactions were pretty quick. Crow used Ghost Steps and danced around the arena and obstacles, trying to buy time to clear his head.

Crow’s understanding of his movement ability grew increasingly profound, and he really didn’t know how to explain the ability anymore. He had reached a bottleneck, and that required using a graveyard to advance. It didn’t mean he couldn’t make improvements. The footwork’s disharmony made Otto and Mara uncomfortable just watching it. Still, both agreed that was what made it such a powerful movement ability. It was unpredictable.

“Give up. You can’t win,” Munro said with a voice filled with disdain. Crow dodged another lightning-fast blow. “I don’t know how you are doing this, but I’m sure it is harmful to your body.”

He was partially right. It would be harmful to his body if he used his Source instead of the purely physical aspects of the footwork. Until they gained Shields, powerful physical martial abilities were still effective. At least for body strengthening, speed, and strength. If Crow was like Otto, he could use pure physical strength to break through Munro’s body which was reinforced by his Source.

“I don’t admit defeat.” Crow shrugged with a smile and realized he liked fighting in the arena. It mainly was the showmanship of the events. He wasn’t such a masochist that he enjoyed having his body broken every fight. He was already bruised, and the backhand felt like it broke his jaw.

Dodging again, he got out of the way of the fist but took a knee to the side of his thigh and nearly screamed out as he felt the bone bending. Luck was the only reason it didn’t break, but the muscles were spasming so badly he had to limp away.

“Admit defeat,” Munro said, grinning while sauntering forward. Crow, who was limping backward furiously, tried to recover as quickly as he could.

“You admit defeat? That’s awful magnanimous of you!”

“Thank—what? No! You admit defeat, you piece of trash cripple. You are a waste of time—a has been genius. Accept your reality; you are a nobody. In two years, when I gain my Shield, no one will remember who you are anymore. Just. Give. UP!”

“Yap yap yap. Listen, you barking fool. If you want to win, then come here and win. As long as I draw breath, I will fight!” Crow’s voice contained a mesmerizing power that kept the crowd on the edge of its seat. He launched himself at Munro and took a blow to the chest that staggered him backward.

“I do not bow down!” Crow’s voice carried forth, following the crescendo of the previous statement. Once more, he took a strike to his head, blood showered down, and his eye started swelling to the point he couldn’t see out of it.

“You want to break me?” Crow’s chuckle had a tinge of madness to it. “You want to show you’re a man? Watch me, and do as I do. This daddy will teach you why you will never be my equal.”

The crowd roared its approval, their feet stomped, and the vibrating echo was felt inside and outside the Arena. Crow charged forward once more—and again and again. Every time Munro pummeled him, knocked him back, or knocked him down, but Crow got back up and kept coming. It wasn’t long before multiple bones were broken, and Crow was covered in blood.

Pausing, his breath starting to wheeze, Crow stood before his enemy like an emperor before his subjects.

“You have your Source, so you can physically beat me—but you already lost. I can tell by your eyes that you don’t understand,” Crow smirked. “But you will.”

Every time he spoke, the crowd quieted so they could hang on to his every word. He was their hero, standing against the villain, against tyranny, against all injustices, a beacon in their hearts. Every word was recorded, and Crow had no way of knowing that this event would inspire future generations for centuries to come. Every blow he took, they felt it. Every time he stood back up, they cheered. Every time he spoke, they listened. Every time he spewed vitriol, they stared at Munro like a corrupted worm.

Crow stood, his spine still straight, refusing to even bow to the pain. His words were becoming more strained and softer, but the crowd could hear every sound because of how the arena worked.

“See me,” Crow roared and pulled apart part of his shredded shirt, exposing the tree tattoo while hiding the three-headed crow. “My heritage is the mighty oak, and I stand tall in the face of every storm. Ha!” Crow’s face paled, and he spat blood while quelling the fire in his soul. Despite broken bones and pain, he raised his arms to the sky. “I stand proud with my arms clawing at heaven’s throat. My roots are my resolve—they go deeper than you can fathom.” Crow’s body swayed like a tree in the breeze.

“Nothing but an act of God can stop the oak from becoming what it’s meant to be. A symbol that defies the heavens!” Crow’s voice gradually rose in power, getting louder and louder. “You want to strike me down, then do it, coward! Strike! But the only thing that can stop me… is DEATH. Buaidh No Bas!*”

“Buaidh No Bas!” The crowd roared with him, shouting their defiance to anyone that dared to suppress them. Their blood soared, and even Munro felt in awe as their rage washed over him, and he felt the sheer willpower of the crowd. It was unknown if Crow was screaming at Munro or the heavens, but it didn’t matter to the people witnessing it.

Crow took a step forward, his body covered in wounds and blood. His leg was clearly broken, his face a wreck, and his body damaged in unimaginable ways, but Crow didn’t cry out once. He kept moving forward, leaving a bloody trail across the arena floor. Munro stood there waiting.

Before Munro could strike, the head of the Druid Order stepped in.

“This fight is over.”

A winner wasn’t officially declared. There was no point. While Munro wasn’t injured, his fighting spirit had left him. Crow would have dragged his corpse from the grave to continue fighting. The old man sighed, not for the first time realizing how they’d wronged this boy.

Otto leaped into the arena and charged over to Crow.

“Well fought,” he said and caught Crow, cradling him gently towards his chest before walking out of the arena. The people he passed reached out to touch Crow, and their hands came away bloody. It was something they brandished proudly for all to see.

After the fight ended, no one said anything. In that silence, one person hummed the Warrior’s Hymn. It was an ancient tradition that had seen little use in recent years. It was a sign of respect given to fierce warriors who left the battlefield carried by the men and women who fought beside him.

Unexpectedly, this honor was given to a boy who had not yet gained his Shield. Age didn’t matter. All generations could be seen humming along with the crowd.

Crow’s fist rose into the air, and he called out weakly, “By root and limb!”

The crowd roared back, “By limb and root!”

Afterward, Crow passed out. He never saw Munro’s lifeless eyes and the utter look of defeat on his face.

***

Tor arrived next to Gavin at an unknown time. “That kid is something else.”

Gavin could only nod. He’d wanted to stop the fight, but nothing could stop Crow’s momentum.

“I’m only allowing you to take him as a disciple because this pond is too small for him.”

“I’m only taking him because I need something from him.”

“I know. Don’t worry, I haven’t told him who you are. However, tread carefully. If you betray him or cannot do what you promised, you’ll regret it.”

“I’ll keep my part of the deal. In two years, during the ascending trials, the boy will definitely get his Shield.”

Gavin never took his eyes off Crow as he was carried out of the arena. The corners of his eyes tensed when he saw how broken the boy was and yet couldn’t stop his heart from pounding in admiration. The boy was a fighter—a sane person wouldn’t have put themselves through that. Knowing that Crow couldn’t fight in the war, Gavin wondered if this was his way of contributing. Stirring up the spirits of those around him. “Fine, I agree to your terms.”

“That’s the Gavin I heard about in the tower. What was it they called you? The Indomitable Scholar? This fight is over, but damn, this kid aroused my fighting spirit.”

***

Mugna watched the fight and felt tears running down his rough-skinned face. “ Danu, is this what you’ve been waiting for? The Droiadh have reversed their fate and regained their soul in the shape of a child. Let’s see how far this champion can take them. Maybe we’ll finally be reunited in a few short centuries.”

There was no answer forthcoming, but Mugna gently stroked the amber within the heart of Father Oak. Through the glass-like surface, he could see a graceful woman whose beauty was far beyond natural. Her lifeless body appeared to be sleeping and unmoving.