To this day, Dallion had seen only a few magic weapons in this world. Most notable, and first, was the dual sword of Dame Vesuvia she had used to kill the chainling with. More impressive than the dartbow—a weapon that at the time he had also viewed as ridiculously overpowered—the blade had the power to slice a creature believed to be unstoppable.

Somehow Gola had also been granted such a weapon. The magic material was considerably less—according to Dallion’s forging skills, only a small area of the tip was coated by it. However, its potential for destruction surpassed that of Dallion’s Nox dagger. While the crackling blade was capable of creating deep cracks in virtually anything, Gola’s spear—unless Dallion was wrong—had the strength to slice straight through armor.

I won’t be much help against this, the armadil shield said. I might save you once if you’re lucky.

Dallion unsummoned it. At this point, the shield would only limit his movements.

How was one to evade an ever-piercing weapon while having low reaction skills? That was the problem Dallion was facing. He could rely on instances, and there was a good chance he would succeed. But given his opponent’s experience, it was likely Gola had other things up his sleeve.

He still needs to hit you to win, Nil said in an attempt to encourage Dallion.

As do I, Dallion replied, summoning a common buckler in his free hand. Unlike before, though, the buckler wasn’t strapped by his arm.

I really should have learned throwing daggers, Dallion thought. Almost on cue, Gola charged at him. Green markers appeared, indicating possible defenses. With Dallion’s mind at twenty, the options had grown considerably, to the point that they weren’t at all helpful on a strategic level. As Nil liked to say during Dallion’s training early on: a person had two options… to act or react. Reaction was passable when facing low level enemies, but against anything more skilled opponents, risks had to be taken to avoid inevitable defeat.

Using his athletics skill to throw the buckler at his opponent as a shield, Dallion then jumped up over him, targeting Gola’s neck with the Nox dagger. The action surprised Gola slightly, causing him to leap to the side in order to avoid the flying shield. That much was expected. Dallion also expected him to try and block the dagger, but in doing so, he believed it would create an opportunity.

The moment the two weapons made contact, a flash of light engulfed everything. It wasn’t only the weapons or even the combat field that was affected, but the entire realm. Dozens of questions popped in Dallion’s mind, likely everyone else was asking just as many. However, this was not the time to get distracted. Taking advantage of the welcome diversion, Dallion summoned the harpsisword and proceeded to perform a falling vertical chop. His opponent saw it and did the only thing that he could in the circumstances—twist the spear so as to meet the incoming attack.

MINOR STRIKE

MAJOR WOUND

Your health has been decreased by 50%

The red rectangles appeared almost in unison, letting Dallion know the outcome. The damage he had received was massive, lowering his health to dangerous levels. However, that didn’t make him stop. Before the rectangles had disappeared, Dallion summoned his dartbow and shot a bolt at his enemy.

A new rectangle stacked along the other two, but it no longer mattered. Gola had disappeared, ejected from the realm.

A bit desperate there at the end, Nil said. You could have handled it a lot better.

Next time, I promise to do better, Dallion said, breathing heavily. While brief, the fight had exhausted him. Not there was so much physical pressure—Dallion had experienced a lot longer and physically taxing battles. Rather, it felt as if there had been some invisible clash of wills that had taken place.

Still, you did well for a beginner. Keep in mind that all your battles will be like this from here on. Skills and stats are vital, but that’s not all you need to win a battle.

You always love giving conflicting advice, Dallion sighed mentally.

“Well done.” Lady Marigold clapped. “This could truly be called a final.” Dallion could see she was lying, but he bowed nonetheless. “I’m a bit surprised. I was almost certain you’d lose. In most cases, raw talent gives way to dedication and experience. Clearly, it’s not always the case. A pity, though. Do you have anything to add, Constanza?” the noble put her hands on the child’s shoulders.

“The fight was short,” Constanza replied. “It should have lasted longer.”

“These are the preliminaries, dear. The fights here are short. The contestants don’t have the health and stamina to last long.”

The child’s disappointment was apparent, as were the large blotches of boredom appearing throughout her.

“In any event, congratulations, Dal. You’re one step closer to the starting spot. A few more victories and you’re in. Hopefully Gola will manage to make the cut as well. I really admire that boy’s dedication.”

“Thank you, Lady Marigold.”

The realm’s reality crumbled, taking Dallion back to the waiting room. From the point of view of an observer, no time had passed since he and Gola had taken hold of the tournament sphere. Both former opponents pulled their hands back.

Staying in the room with the person he had defeated felt somewhat awkward for Dallion. In the past, both applicants would leave after the end of the fight and never see each other again. This time, the finalists were to patiently wait until the rest of the participants arrived, and leave only after a formal decision was made. At the very least, that meant that Dallion would spend the next few hours with Gola.

Talk about the weather, the armadil shield suggested. That always works.

The weather rarely changes in Nerosal, Dallion replied.

Precisely. Perfect for breaking the ice.

Shield, you really should have become a stand-up comedian.

There was no way Dallion was going to use that as an opener. However, the shield was right. Spending the next few hours in silence wasn’t a realistic option.

“You almost got me there,” Dallion decided to go right for the throat. “If it wasn’t for my first hit, you’d have won.”

“Almost didn’t help anyone achieve anything,” Gola replied. “But you’re right. I didn’t think you’d be this good. Rookies usually lose it near the end.”

“Why didn’t you use your weapon from the start? I doubt I’d have won against that.”

“I didn’t want to use it at all. By tomorrow, a dozen people will know about it. The day after that—half the tournament. Same thing goes for you. Everything you’ve shown so far is common knowledge.”

The implication was clear. Dallion didn’t want to voice it, but if he understood correctly, Gola had just accused the tournament committee of leaking info on fighters to other contestants.

“Yeah, I’m used to that,” Dallion said. “I’ll have to make up for it by becoming more creative on the battlefield.”

“Over five hundred participants start the tournament. Every next day, half of them leave. You think you’re the only one who’s creative on the battlefield? Maybe you’re lucky the first round, but not twice.”

The truth was that Dallion was planning on leveling up at the end of each day. Initially, it seemed that would give him an advantage. After the battle he had just gone through, he was forced to admit he had to reevaluate his plans. Leveling up a few levels wasn’t going to cut it.

Unofficially, Dallion had learned that higher-level awakened were discouraged from taking part. Watching seers match their skills was entertaining for the nobles. Watching someone of superior skill would feel too much like an open challenge. Level twenty-five seemed to be the median. However, that didn’t account for personal experience. If a sanitation worker had managed to nearly defeat Dallion, what would happen if he had to face an actual mercenary or a war veteran?

“That weapon you used,” Gola said all of a sudden. “What was it exactly?”

“Sorry, I can’t tell you that just yet. I can tell you a lot of other things, though. As long as they don’t have anything to do with fighting.”

The offer was made—two hours of idle chatter, while waiting for the next fight to start. Given that Gola didn’t have much in terms of entertainment, an agreement was struck. And so, a normal conversation started.

As it turned out, Gola was a fifth-generation citizen. His great grandparents had come to the city as laborers back when the city was expanding so fast that even non-awakened workers were welcome. All this had taken place long before the Inheritance Wars. However, as it turned out, people who were welcomed one day could easily become hated the next. The war that had wrecked the entire province had left deep scars. All those who hadn’t backed the right person had faced serious consequences, creating a domino effect. Adding to that the turbulent years that followed, and it was no wonder that a large regiment of city sanitation workers had formed. The best way to describe them was “prisoners doing community service for life.” Technically, they got paid and were allowed to bear arms, train, and do most of the things a free citizen could. The two things they weren’t allowed to do were: leave the city or have an area domain of their own.

Some time ago, Gola’s father had joined the tournament in an attempt to break the chain. It remained unclear whether he had succeeded, but Gola had ended up doing the exact same thing, mostly due to his own mess ups. Since then, he too had become a constant participant, although lately he was doing it for the thrill and not so much to change his life.

In turn, Dallion shared his own story, omitting certain things. There was a lot said about Dherma, including the Luors—with whom Gola was familiar.

Of course everyone would know about the pure-blonds, Dallion thought, starting to feel the slightest bit envious. Somehow, the people of his village had become more than local movie stars. Dallion wouldn’t be surprised if they were invited to the VIP stands while he fought at the arena. Some people were definitely born with all the luck, although Dallion couldn’t complain.

“You’ve been here your whole life, right?” Dallion asked.

“Difficult not to.”

“Do you know anything involving mages in the city? I heard a few things, but it’s impossible to distinguish myth from reality.”

“If you mean the incident, it’s nothing special. Mage apprentices came to have a fun time, they caused trouble, so someone from a Flameforge was punished. Nothing so special about that.”

“Flameforge? Are you sure?” Dallion had heard a somewhat different story.

“People tend to talk more in front of sanitation workers, especially since often we’re the ones called to clean the mess. The guilds are cool and all, but some things are better dealt with in-house, if you know what I mean.”

Dallion could only nod.

“Everything was quickly covered up. The countess didn’t want any problems, and neither did the Academy. That’s why everything was neatly covered up and explained away. To be honest, it’s better this way.”

“I’m not sure about that. Secrets have a tendency of causing problems in the long run.”

“Well, if that’s the case, the entire empire is done for,” Gola said with a shrug. “Every town has its secrets, especially Nerosal.”

“Like what?”

“Take your pick. This is the place that nobles get sent to die. If anyone in the province or even the empire messes up, they have their name erased and are then sent here to not be seen. I’ve heard there are other cities like this in other provinces, but I wouldn’t be surprised if this were the only one.”

“That’s dark. Why exactly here, though? I didn’t notice anything special.”

“Never wondered why so many artifacts are found here? And the number is growing by the month. Nerosal wasn’t the name some local nobles gave to this place, although they like to think they have. The name existed long before anyone settled here, as did the ruins it was built on.”

“Ruins?”

“Why do you think the nobles’ houses are the way they are? They are chunks of what’s left of the original city, and also the means to keep the nobles busy. Where there are ruins, there also are creatures. The Lord Mayor’s domain provides protection, but not beyond it. Ever noticed how many hunters live here?”

“No,” Dallion lied. “I never noticed that.”