Nearby, a couple people groan, and my own head still pulses faintly from the summoning spell, but my eyes are glued to Maru.

I can kill her now. Leap forward and attack. Pull out all my potions, throw everything I have at her—

Except I don’t have my knife. I’m weaponless. And without a blade, nothing I have prepared will mean anything.

Shit!

“Pull yourselves together,” Maru snaps. “You think you’re Champion material? Pathetic. I hand-picked each and every one of you—don’t make me regret it.”

A few mumble apologies. Reluctantly, knowing there’s nothing else I can do, I tear my gaze away from Maru and quickly take in my surroundings. Judging by the wooden surroundings, we’re somewhere in Fairwood. I crane my head around and finally catch sight of something familiar: the latticed structure of the underside of the stadium’s seats. We’re somewhere beneath the tournament field. The room we’re in—if you can call it that—has three walls which reach up to the underside of the bleachers. The fourth angled side is taken up by the seats themselves. There’s circles drawn across the floor, for training rings perhaps, and against two of the walls—my heart leaps. There! Rows of spears, swords, shields, and all sorts of weapons I’ve never seen before. At least I’ll have some way to arm myself.

But even as I’m looking at them, I realize there’s not enough. There’s perhaps a hundred other people in the room, and only six racks of weapons, each with less than ten weapons a piece. In fact, if I had to place a bet, I’d guess there’s exactly half as many weapons as there are people.

Slowly, I begin edging back.

“Welcome,” Maru says, her voice booming through the room. The people in the back are moving up, trying to get closer to the demigod, which isn’t helping me slip away in the opposite direction. I bump lightly into a few shoulders, then mentally switch tracks, focusing instead on my Agility. Bodily awareness, as Cyros called it. Predict where others will move, and slide around them.

“If you’re standing in this room,” Maru continues, “then congratulations—one of you might become a demigod. I say might, because Widengra will only choose someone who truly embodies his spirit. If all of you fail to meet his expectations, there will be no qualms over establishing a new tournament and starting again. Here’s a tip free of charge: it will be in your best interest not to disappoint him.”

A few other people are looking around in confusion now, sizing up our surroundings, not entirely paying attention to the demigod. More than a few are coming to the same conclusion I did, slowly drifting toward one of the weapons racks.

“Why are we here early?” a man grumbles to a woman he’s standing next to. “I was planning to get some extra training in tonight.”

“An excellent question,” Maru says, her head snapping in his direction, despite the fact that she shouldn’t have been able to hear from so far away. Well, no mortal would have been able to.

I pick up the pace, dropping all attempts at subtlety as I make it to the nearest rack. This one has a longsword, a spear, a shield, a whip, and a small bladed weapon that looks like a one-handed scythe. I grab that, since everything else is too big for me. Next to me, a woman grabs the whip and hurries away.

“You’re right,” Maru says. “Your summoning is a day early, after all. Regretfully, Widengra informed me that I was too generous with my initial selection. Apparently, he would rather the pool of candidates who are given the opportunity to display their skills tomorrow be of a more…impressive stock. As such, I’ve been instructed to pare down the crops.” She smiles as a stir goes through the room. “Whomever remains standing when I return will be allowed to participate in tomorrow’s tournament. I’ll be back in… Oh, whenever I feel like it, I suppose. Good luck.”

With a flash of light and a thundering boom, the demigod vanishes.

For a moment, the room remains stunned. The contestants look around at each other with wide, shocked eyes. Some of them finally notice the weapons racks. Those ones are too late.

The room erupts into chaos. People are yelling, swearing, diving for the weapons. A lucky few already had their own with them. The rest, well. Something tells me this was no mistake on Maru’s part, and the violence that is about to take place is exactly what Widengra had in mind.

I run away from the weapon stands even as the crowd presses toward them. Luckily, with a sharp pointy object already in hand, most people dodge out of my way as soon as they see what I’ve got. I make for a corner near the underside of the bleachers, where there are no weapons and therefore less people.

Briefly, I consider trying to squeeze my way out. Maybe Maru won’t notice. I reach for the nearest gap in the slats, intending to grab the vine cross-bars and tear them away, but an invisible force stops my reach.

[Access Denied,] Echo says. [Zonal barrier in effect. Minimum required level to penetrate: 20.]

Of course it is.

I put my back to the wall, eyes darting around for anyone who might wander too close. I use the moment to drape my scarf around my shoulders, then I grasp the sickle with both hands, my grip so tight it burns.

The dash for the weapons is over in a matter of seconds. Fighting breaks out near the racks, people scrabbling over the weapons. Someone screams. Red splashes the floor.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

It’s like the ebb and flow of a tide. One minute it's a rush toward the racks, the next it’s a rush away. Several unarmed candidates race for a door on the opposite wall, probably hoping to flee the carnage, but the door won’t open, and many are slain from behind then and there.

The brief moment of people avoiding me due to my weapon is over; now I notice a few who are eying my weapon and sizing me up. They probably think they can take me; they’d probably be right.

I need to get my bandolier out of my inventory. If I summon it now, it’d fall to the floor and probably break several of my bottles. I need just twenty seconds in a corner somewhere to pull it out and strap it on. But at this moment, twenty seconds might as well be an hour.

A man dashes toward me. I raise my weapon with a yell, startling both of us. He reaches a hand out toward me, and I swing the weapon around. The blade slices through his arm, spraying a crescent of blood, and now he’s the one screaming. Echo recites the damage dealt, but I try to brush the notification aside. I need my head clear.

I sidestep the man as he stumbles to the floor, cradling his arm to his stomach.

“Stay down,” I shout at him, looking around wildly for the next attacker. Luckily, a couple of the individuals who had been eyeing my scythe are now backing off. “You won’t win a fight like that. Keep out of the way.” Good advice for myself, in fact. Maybe if I can find somewhere to hunker down and not appear as a threat—

Before I’m given a chance to find one such hide away, a woman runs at me with a spear. I raise my scythe, fully aware of how pathetic my weapon looks against hers. It’s enough of a deterrent, though, as her gaze slides off me, and she runs past. With an arc of the weapon, she slashes the man I had previously downed across his back. Only a single, shocked breath escapes him as he collapses to the floor.

“Why?” I cry, but the woman is already gone, swallowed up by the chaos of the crowd. And I know why—easy targets will be the first to go. It’s kill or be killed.

It always has been.

I jump over the man, still bleeding out, and crouch down behind him. I quickly drop the scythe and summon my bandolier, which falls into my waiting hands. I sling the belt over one shoulder, snatching up my weapon once more. The bandolier is hanging loose, but I don’t have time to get it strapped down tight.

Echo, Check anyone who gets within twenty feet of me, I tell her. But only level and class: nothing else.

[Affirmative.]

Level numbers and class names start appearing above the heads of anyone who gets too close. The man I’d downed is a Level 21 Hunter. I guess that means he’s not dead yet. Maybe if Maru returns in time, he can get healing before he bleeds out.

I touch the health potion on my bandolier. Then I push myself to my feet and leave him behind. I don’t feel as much regret as I think I probably should.

Another person comes at me, this one unarmed. I sink into a defensive stance, tightening my grip on my sickle. They raise a bare fist, and I prepare to cut through their hand. I register their stats only a moment before they strike: Level 25 Wind Mage.

Their punch blasts forward with a gust of air. My weapon is ripped from my hands before I can react. Their fist strikes me in my chest, and then the world spins around me.

[5 points of Bludgeoning damage sustained.]

[3 points of Bludgeoning damage sustained.]

I land on my back and go skidding across the floor. My brains are jumbled and my vision swirls. Even so I scramble upright, trying to shake the disorientation away. I’d been so focused on the weapons, I’d forgotten about magic. Talia had said most of the population wasn’t trained in magic that could be used offensively—but I’m willing to bet the people in this crowd aren’t representative of most of the population. Crap. Yet another thing to worry about.

The wind mage is coming at me again. I plunge my hand into the bag of frost seeds, already activating my magic, and withdraw a handful to throw across the floor between us. Shards of ice explode across the ground at contact—thanks to my Augment potion—and crystalize up one of the wind mage’s feet. They stumble, their boot stuck in the ice, and fall forward with a cry, hand falling on one of the icy stalagmites. I leave them there, bleeding and screaming, as I scramble over to my scythe, snatch it up, and run once more.

The room’s become a bloodbath. The wooden floors are slick with red, and the air stinks like death. Everywhere I look is the flash of weapons, a belch of flame, screams and pleading. My stomach roils at the horror of it, but I keep moving, just focused on staying on my feet and out of everyone’s way. As more people fall, I order Echo to expand her range, and I pay particularly close attention to anyone at level 30 or higher. Circling around the highest level individuals, I manage to avoid most of the fights. A few more people still target me, and I take one giant man down before he can close the gap by throwing my scythe into his chest—I guess working on my Knife Throwing skill came in handy after all. I pull it out, trying not to think about the way it stuck in his flesh, trying not to remember the way it felt to stab Enrold again, and again, and again—and I keep running. I never finish any of the kills. If they’re down, they’re out of the way, and my number one priority is to survive. I watch more than one person caught blindsided by a different opponent as they move in for the final blow. Perhaps putting them out of their misery would be kinder, but I won’t make the same mistake.

Time stretches insensibly. Surely, it’s been hours? A day? My arms ache, and my mouth tastes of blood. My chest hurts from where the wind mage struck me, and somewhere in the chaos I’ve earned a cut down the length of my left arm, burning and pulsing as blood saturates my sleeve. My breathing is labored. I can feel myself moving slower. More and more of the high levels are left. Once it’s just them and me, it’s over.

One maniac is running blindly through the room with a giant shield, knocking people over like bowling pins. He turns my way, and I leap out of his path, watching him go by. There’s red veins glowing on his skin, and I briefly catch a glimpse of Level 28 Berserker over his head. I turn back to—

Agony lances through my shoulder, fire ripping through my arm and chest. I scream out in pain as I look down, the head of a spear protruding from my shoulder. Shock and numbness wash over me in electric waves, and some detached part of me thinks, That probably severed an artery.

A boot plants itself on my back and shoves forward. I scream again as the weapon is ripped through my arm and I go stumbling forward. Blood gushes from the wound, from the hole in my body. I stumble forward, but force myself to remain standing. If I go down here, I’ll never stand up again.

I stagger around to face my opponent, trying not to fall or scream or be sick. My left arm is dead, a numbness spreading through me as I fumble for the health potion with my right hand. My fingers are slippery with blood. I can’t undo the latch. My knees tremble.

The spearman sneers, raising his weapon again. “Good,” he says. “There’s honor in dying on your feet, looking your killer in their eyes.”

There’s no honor in dying, I think. You’re just dead.

The clasp on my potion snaps open. The man stabs forward.

“Time!” Maru’s voice booms through the room.