The group of young people that Bjarke had been with began hooting and hollering words of encouragement. Iuli and Maria tried to shout over them, but they both went unheeded.

Erland’s heart kicked into overdrive, and his blood began to sing in his ears.

He took a quick step back as he ducked Bjarke’s blow, his right fist shooting out in a quick jab that he managed to pull slightly at the last second. It wouldn’t do for this to be over so quickly.

Bjarke let out a pained bark, before turning and dropping his arms in a wide-open stance. “You shit-kicker!” He roared at Erland, barreling forward in a low charge. “I’ll feed you your teeth!”

Bjarke had shaggy dark brown hair, just long enough to cast a shadow over his eyes in his low charge. His eyes were a light brown, clouded by jealous rage, and a snarling rictus painted his features.

He so resembled the bear whose namesake he carried in the old tongue that Erland couldn’t help but laugh. He’d never fought a bear before, though not for lack of trying. That was one of the many battles his parents' over-protectiveness had robbed him of during his childhood.

Erland dropped into a mirror of Bjarke’s stance, his hands shooting out to arrest the other man’s charge. His body went rigid as he absorbed the force smoothly, locking Bjarke down.

“Do they call you Bjarke because you smell like you sleep in a pile of bear shit?” Erland asked, sniffing the air. His smirk changed to a sneer. “It surely can’t be for your strength. I’ve wrestled sheep with more points than you!”

“Bastard!” Bjarke cursed him, struggling to try and gain advantage in the grapple. “See if you can handle this then, you pompous fuck!”

Suddenly a green light passed over Bjarke’s eyes, before expanding to cover his whole body. A spectral green bear outlined his shape now, and his strength quickly doubled. Erland’s grin widened as his grapple collapsed. The blood in his ears rose to a crescendo.

Before he could lose control of the fight completely, he darted backwards, pulling where he had once been pushing. His opponent, not expecting the sudden shift in force, stumbled forward.

Right into Erland’s rising knee.

A chorus of boos and growls rose into the air from Bjarke’s companions, joining the spray of blood from his flattened nose. Erland followed through, planting his raised heel onto the other man’s chest and kicking him backward. He let go of the grapple at the same time, sending his foe sprawling.

“Take it outside, NOW!” Iuli’s scream finally pierced the noise of the crowd and the fighting. “If you’ve broken anything of mine, your hides will pay in kind!”

Erland graced the man with a mocking bow, grabbing one of Bjarke’s legs and dragging the dazed man outside before his friends could interfere. Maria glared at him, but he just shot her a smile.

As they crossed the threshold, Erland made his first mistake. He pulled harder to drag the man over the slight bump of the doorway, and Bjarke sprung forward into the opening. His feet rocketed forward, catching Erland in the ribs. The spectral bear was still surrounding the previously prone man, and the added strength caused Erland’s ribcage to buckle.

He staggered away, clutching his wounded side and whirling towards his assailant. Bjarke rushed to his feet, shaking his head to clear the stars from his vision. He smelled blood now, and he was the one smiling as Erland reeled from the pain.

“Not so lippy when you’ve felt my strength, are you?” the bear-like man growled out, though his technique was fading. “I’m going to enjoy tearing your arms from their sockets!”

He dashed forward once again, arms spread as he attempted to tackle Erland to the ground. Raising his hands to meet his opponent’s advance once more, the blue-eyed man grimaced against the shooting pain from his broken ribs, prevented from bringing his full strength to bear. Slowly, he was forced backwards into the middle of the street.

Here was his second mistake, as Bjarke suddenly twisted the force of his grapple to Erland’s injured side, crumpling him in pain. Bjarke tossed him to the ground, before attempting to collapse on top of his wounded opponent. Erland sensed the danger if the larger man was able to pin him to the ground, barely slipping the lunging tackle.

He twisted as he pivoted off the ground, isolating Bjarke’s head and right shoulder from behind. Erland forced the man’s face into the ground, his greater strength sufficient to the task now that the man’s buff had worn off. Bjarke struggled, but with his only skill on cooldown he was no match for Erland’s stats.

Bjarke began to panic, his free arm flailing at Erland’s head. The panicked grasps were easy to avoid. As the strength slowly left his foe, an exultant feeling swelled inside Erland’s chest. It almost came crashing down when the other man’s friend started trying to break the two of them loose.

“Let him go, man, you’re killing him!” shouted one of the other young men, but it was clear that Bjarke had been the leader of their group.

They didn’t have the strength to stop him.

With a final wrenching effort Erland twisted, snapping his prey’s neck. Horrified gasps sounded from the crowd around him, but no one moved. A feral satisfaction rippled through Erland as the Player system awarded him for the kill, experience flooding him in a pleasant wave. He felt himself level up, and his ribs knit themselves back together in seconds. He dropped the dead man’s head, rising to his feet and stretching like a cat.

“Monster,” whispered Maria, dragging Erland from his reverie. Her face was twisted in disgusted grief. “He was just jealous, he wouldn’t have badly hurt you!”

Erland didn’t bother mounting a defense. People close to the fallen never listened to reason, no matter what he said anyways. They became even more disgusted and enraged when he openly admitted that he’d sought to kill his opponents before the fight ever began. He’d used that to provoke other fighters before, but no one here was even close to Bjarke’s strength except for the innkeeper.

Erland liked him, so he wouldn’t try to provoke the man.

“What are you gonna do if Hel decides to keep him?!” Maria exploded, fists clenched tightly at her sides. “Or one of the Aesir claims him?!”

It seemed she had cared more for the dead man than he’d thought. Erland couldn’t bring himself to care. The familiar melancholy was settling in now. The itch was gone, but it left emptiness in its place.

“Hel and the Aesir have no interest in weaklings,” Erland stated, his voice flat. “He’ll pop out of the Valkyrie crystal in a week, two tops. Weak as a newborn, but he’ll come back.”

“His sister’s gonna kill you,” growled one of the other girls, and Erland perked up at that. “She’s an E-Tier. When she finds out you killed Bjarke, she’ll tear you apart.”

“Tell her I’ll be waiting outside town,” Erland said, his grin returning as he began walking away. “No hurry. She’s got trash to bury, after all.”

They made no move to stop him as he left. Most of them were barely level one or two, and he could crush them even if they swarmed him. The innkeeper was another matter, but Iuli didn’t seem to want to get involved.

He began whistling again as he strolled back through the town, his stomach competing to drown out the music. he thought wistfully. He had bread and cheese in the pack that he’d wisely left at his impromptu campsite. He’d left it there for the same reason he hadn’t traveled into the city last night.

Murder wasn’t strictly illegal in a world where death wasn’t necessarily permanent, but most proprietors wouldn’t suffer them once word got out. Still, Erland didn’t let that dampen his mood. He had another fight coming up, and it sounded like it would be even more fun.

As he left the city he pulled up his status with a simple thought. If Bjarke’s sister really was an E-Tier, Erland would need every edge he could get.

Name: Erland Grim

Race: Human

Age: 18

Level: 8 (▲1)

Experience: 3 (▲55)

Class: Brawler

Profession: N/A

Stats: 3

STR 9 END 5 AGI 9 DEX 5 VIT 4 CON 3 INT 2 WIL 2 CHA 2 LUK 76

Skills: [???]

Equipment: N/A

Achievements: [Player Killer], [???], [???]

Bjarke had apparently been level five, given the amount of experience he had been worth. It was always easy to tell with people. They were worth exactly as much experience as their total level, though any progress they had made to the next level was inevitably lost.

Erland’s eyes lingered for a moment on his hidden skill and achievements. He wished he knew what they were, but it wasn’t in his nature to linger on such things for long. He brought his strength and agility up, keeping them maxed out, then put his last point in constitution, bringing it in line with his other stats.

He knew that at least one of his hidden achievements was the source of his bonus stats, but what they were for and when he had gotten them were a mystery to him. They had been there as soon as his Player system had activated, and neither of his parents had a clue. Truthfully, it had scared them, and they had harangued him about it daily before he had left them behind in search of greater battles.

Erland reached his makeshift camp and rooted through his bag, settling in to wait for Bjarke’s sister. As he did, his mind finally turned back to the fight. It seemed strange now that his nose had led him so quickly to a mere level five. Normally he’d find people on or above his level when the trail ended.

Erland realized, slapping himself in the forehead.

He knew that the way his nose led him to tough battles had to be related to his hidden skill, especially since it had only sharpened as he leveled up. Just a few weeks ago it had been barely a tickle until he was practically already on top of his opponent. This morning it had begun several blocks away, even leading him through side streets.

Shrugging off things that he couldn’t change and didn’t understand, Erland pulled a book out of his pack and settled in to wait. He hoped she wouldn’t be long.