[Name: Kelle]

[Class: Fire Blade]

[Level: 39]

[Attack: 186]

[Agility: 24]

[HP: 100/100]

[Affinities: Metal]

They’ve got me beat on every stat across the board. That’s a great start.

I grab a bottle from my bandolier. “So how do you feel about, like, just trying to knock each other out?” I call across our circle. “No blood. No death. Just spar until someone’s unconscious, and we both live to fight another day?”

Kelle frowns. “This would not honor the god of war.”

I gesture up to the spectator box. “Well, I don’t see him yet. Do you?”

Kelle crosses their very toned arms across their very wide chest. Fire blade, huh? It looks like they’re more used to lifting weights than daggers.

“Blood must be spilled,” they say. “This is a good offering.”

Figured as much. Is everyone in this tournament a psychopath?

I mean, yeah, probably. Everyone but me knew what they were signing up for when they became a candidate.

“Well,” I say, crouching in a ready position. “It was worth a shot.”

Kelle doesn’t move to draw any weapons. In fact, I can’t actually see any weapons on them. I don’t know what their deal is, but with an affinity like “metal” and class name like “fire blade” I’m not excited to find out. There’s one thing I do know: if I give them a chance to use their full power, I’ll be dead.

“The second round of the tournament will begin with the horn’s signal,” Maru’s voice again booms over the stadium.

There’s delight in her tone. She’s loving this. I struggle not to turn around and glare at her. For the next few minutes, the only person who exists in the world is Kelle.

Their gaze flickers to the potion in my hand, no doubt wondering what it’s for. It’s one of my modified smoke bombs. This time, I won’t wait for my opponent to get the upper hand. Once the smoke bomb goes off, I should have time to—

The horn blares.

Kelle blurs into action.

Unlike Minji, who had waited for me to make the first move, Kelle has no such reservations. They dart forward, already closing half the distance before I manage to smash the smoke bomb into the ground.

A plume of white erupts around me, and Kelle cautiously skids to a stop and skips back. I yank out the orchid poison next, spilling it over my blade. Plenty splashes to the ground around my feet, but I don’t have time to be cautious: I only have seconds.

I send the bottle rolling to my left at the same time I use Soft Step and dash right. Kelle cocks their head, squinting at my bottle which is clattering over the bumpy wooden floor. Or I should say, in the direction of my bottle. After being coated in the particles from my invisibility-potion-infused smoke bomb, my bottle is invisible.

And so am I.

[Invisibility Timer: 9 seconds]

Given my pathetic excuse for mana, that’s the best effect I can get from my invisibility potion, so I need to make use of every second.

I silently race away from Kelle, circling around so I can come at them from behind. Meanwhile, they’ve withdrawn two tiny throwing knives from their belt, both resting in their open palms. A moment later, they levitate above Kelle’s hands and begin to rapidly spin in place.

[Invisibility Timer: 6 seconds]

If it wasn’t for the timer on my potion, I’d be skidding to a stop right now. The knives glow red hot, and in a matter of seconds they’re no longer holding throwing blades, but spinning plates of molten metal. One of them zips from Kelle’s hand, smashing into the ground a few feet away. I hear glass shatter. The wooden floor catches fire where the red-hot metal sits embedded and sizzling in its surface.

[Invisibility Timer: 2 seconds.]

I’m behind them. When the potion wears off, at least I won’t be in their line of sight. Of course, they didn’t need to see the empty bottle to tear through that, and I doubt I will fare any better against a red-hot razor-sharp spinning hunk of metal launched through my spine.

[Invisibility Timer: Expired.]

I’m right behind them. Knife raised. One more step—

A piece of glass crunches under my foot. Kelle turns.

My blade sinks into the back of their shoulder as fire flashes from their hand. White-hot pain stabs through my fingers as their metal flashes by. Kelle screams, twisting to the side and falling to the ground.

[Status Effect inflicted: Poisoned]

[25 points of Piercing damage dealt.]

[6 points of Fire damage sustained.]

[17 points of Sundering damage sustained.]

Blood pools out beneath them as they shudder and cry, and I stand there, panting, unable to believe that my plan worked. My left hand burns from where they nicked me, but I don’t dare tear my eyes away from Kelle. I can’t risk letting them out of my sight for a moment—this fight isn’t over until it’s over.

I step around their body and grab my knife, pulling it from their back. My stomach turns at the way I can feel the blade scrape out, and the river of blood that follows, but I can’t leave my only weapon behind. Kelle doesn’t try to fight back. I watch their HP as it ticks rapidly down; this time, I had enough orchid poison on my blade to do the job.

The horn blares over the stadium. “Winner: Sal Blight!”

I reach for my scarf to wipe the blood and poison from my blade, but the moment my fingers brush against the cloth, pain seers through me. I suck in a startled breath, looking down at my hand.

For a moment, I can’t understand what I’m seeing. There’s so much blood and charred skin, it’s like looking at something that’s not even real. Definitely not something that’s attached to me. Like a movie prop: a grizzly, burned, fake hand.

A hand that’s missing three fingers.

I guess that’s when the shock wears off.

Fire shoots through my bones, from my fingers all the way up to my shoulder. I drop my knife, grabbing my wrist as I scream in agony. Something touches my shoulder, and I jerk away, tears blurring my vision and streaming down my face.

I’ve felt pain before, but this is different. This is so much worse. It feels like my whole hand is on fire, burning and clawing its way into bones, raking needles through my marrow.

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“Stop,” the person says. “Hold still! I’m a healer.”

I clamp my mouth shut, screaming through closed teeth as I try to hold my shaking hand out to the healer. I squeeze around my wrist tighter and tighter, as if I could cut the sensation off.

A light glows through the watery vision in front of me, and the pain begins to lessen as relief washes up my arm.

[Health restored.]

“Thank you,” I stammer, my breath coming in shaky gasps. I squeeze my eyes shut to clear away most of the tears. When I open them again, the charred skin is replaced by pink scar tissue. The bones are hidden beneath skin once more.

But my fingers are gone. From my pointer to ring finger, there’s just a scarred stub of flesh. I try to flex my thumb and pinky finger, but the motion pulls at the skin and sends a new wave of pain through my arm.

“That’s as good as I can get it for now,” the healer says, stepping back. “You should go see a doctor after the tournament.”

A spiteful laugh bubbles out of me. After the tournament? I’m dead. I might have survived the first two rounds, but I’ve only got a scattering of potions left, and now I won’t even be able to open them. Not with this hand, anyway. With my knife needed for the other, this might as well be a death sentence.

The healer bows their head and backs away as I’m left standing there, reeling in the knowledge that my fingers are really, actually gone.

The ground shakes beneath me, and a great crack slams through the stadium.

Widengra, I think, my heart sinking. Will he know what I am? Will he smite me on the spot? The thought only makes me feel hollow. I’m so tired of fighting.

But instead of cheers, the crowd is roaring with fear. Screams. I turn to find what’s going on, but I don’t need to look far.

There’s a great crater in the center of the stadium. A hole through the wooden floor, levels of the forest showing beneath. Cracks in the stadium have speared away from the crater and are heading for the audience. One of the candidates stands at the edge of the hole, looking down, hands raised as if to finish the job.

One of the officiants pulls the candidate away from the hole as dozen of dryads spread out over the field, summoning vines and twisting tree branches up in an attempt to patch the crater in the stadium floor.

A voice booms over the stadium. “There will be a brief intermission as the arena is repaired. Candidates, please make your way out the designated exit points and await further instructions.”

The borders around a series of tunnels at the base of the stadium flare with color: the blooms of flowers, I realize, twisting and turning like flashing lights. Numb, I pick up my knife, sheathe it, and cradle my injured arm to my chest as I make for the exit.

The shadows falling over me feel like a cool blanket as I step beneath the stadium. I blink against the dimmer light, eyes adjusting, looking around the quiet mumble of workers on the platform I now find myself on. It’s almost scaffolding rather than an actual room. Healers, city guards, and other employees of the stadium shuffle about their bridges and catwalks, all intent on some important mission or another—like keeping the stadium from breaking apart from overeager candidates, apparently.

“Sal? Sal!”

I glance around until I catch sight of Talia hurrying down a spiraling tree trunk, flanked by a grinning Lisari. Further behind them are a couple city guards, crying out for Talia to wait as they ineffectively try to flag her down.

The woman rushes over to me and wraps me in a hug before I can react. She’s warm and boney, but the gesture cracks something inside me. I lean into the hug.

“Thank the gods,” she says. “You’re alive.”

“Well done,” Lisari adds. “You actually took those two down. I’m impressed.”

I think of Kelle’s body in a pool of blood. The surprise on Minji’s face when I plunged my knife in his chest.

“Yeah,” I say.

The guards finish rushing down the stairs, puffing as they jog over. One of them I don’t recognize, but the other is Jules.

“Lord Talia,” she says. “You need to stay close to us. It’s not safe down here.”

Talia waves her off with an irritated sigh, which turns into a hiss of breath as she catches sight of my fingers. “Your hand.”

I wearily hold it up. “Yeah.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Talia says. “You’re alive. That’s what counts.”

“Plus, it wasn’t your primary hand,” Lisari cheerfully adds.

Talia gives her a withering look.

I just shake my head. “Doesn’t matter.” I’m too tired to feel upset. Besides, everything will be over soon enough—one way or another. I look up toward the top of the stadium, imagining Maru through the latticework. Now’s my chance, but do I even stand to have one? Killing her was already a longshot, and that was when I was at full health and had two fully functioning hands to work with. I try to summon that fire I’ve felt before, that anger that’s fueled me, but the warmth feels like it’s behind a pane of glass.

I’m just so tired.

“Lord Talia,” Jules tries again. “Really, we must get back upstairs.”

Talia grimaces, but beckons for me to follow. “Come on, then. You can come, too. Let’s get out of here.”

“They’ll just summon me back to the field when the next match starts,” I say.

“All the more reason to spend our time elsewhere,” Talia says. “No point in sticking around, hm?”

“And what, you’d rather just stay here and wait for that to happen?” Lisari asks. “Have you given up?”

I glare at her, irritation cutting through some of my mental fatigue.

“Lisari,” Talia warns her.

“No,” I say, turning to Talia. “She’s right. I’ll come. Lead the way.”

The city guards look relieved when Talia makes for the stairs. Lisari falls into lockstep next to me, smiling.

“You’re rather clever,” she says. “By all accounts, you shouldn’t have won either of those fights.”

“Thanks,” I say flatly.

“Sorry,” she says. “I just get so excited when I see creative uses of alchemy like that. What all have you got left? Although, I understand if you don’t want to talk about it.”

I take in a breath, and let it back out. I frankly don’t want to talk about it, and I’m rather annoyed with Lisari at the moment, but her words have shaken me from my stupor. I’m not ready to give up. I don’t want to die. And no matter how slim the chance I have at beating Maru, the moment to act is now, and I have to take it.

“All I’ve got left on this belt is one mana drain potion and some orchid poison antidote,” I tell Lisari. “Actually, would you hold them for me for a moment?”

“No problem,” Lisari says.

I take my primary bandolier off and pass it to her, then I summon my backup from my inventory. Lisari tips her head as I do that, but doesn’t comment on the newly appeared belt of potions. Perhaps with her wind magic, she couldn’t really tell where I removed it from.

I strap the second one on as we climb, fumbling for a minute with the clasp as I struggle to tighten it down one-handed. The injury throbs as the movement pulls at my tight, recently healed skin.

“On this one, I have a mana potion, some orchid sap, the rest of my water breathing potion, and a modified smoke bomb,” I explain.

“Modified?” Lisari asks.

I just nod. “Yeah.”

She raises a curious eyebrow, but doesn’t push it.

Sunlight breaks through as the stairs stop at a landing, and the platform leads out to a ledge of the stadium, looking down over the arena. I breathe a sigh of relief, stretching in the sun and fresh air, and lean on the railings, taking in the sights. The floor is about a quarter of the way patched already, and despite the enormity of the crater, the tournament grounds look so small and insignificant from up here. No wonder it’s so easy to cheer for so much death, being so removed from any of its horror.

From this vantage point, Maru’s spectator box is beneath us, lavishly decorated and crawling with guards, so it’s not hard to pick out.

It’s not far away, either.

“Please, my lord,” Jules again urges. “We should return to the other honored guests. It is easier to protect you all when you don’t scatter about like leaves on a wind.”

“You couldn’t even solve my sister’s murder,” Talia says, bitter. “Why should I trust you all with protecting us in this giant crowd?”

Even so, she turns to me with a grimace. “I shouldn’t keep the Captain from the others for much longer.”

“That’s fine,” I say. “I’ll come with.”

Talia frowns, eye flickering to Maru’s spectator box. “I don’t think that would be wise.”

I press my mouth into a line. “This is my only chance. If I don’t get rid of this mark now, I’ll die in the next match.” I tap Maru’s spell circle, burned into my forehead.

Talia squeezes my hand. “We’ll figure something out.”

“With what time?” I ask, irritation rising within me. “Figure what out? What other options do I have?”

“Hush,” Talia says as my voice raises. “All I know is that we can only solve this with level heads, not more violence and aggression. Perhaps given your injury, she’ll allow you to withdraw.”

“It’s the Champion of War, Talia,” I snap, that familiar hatred finally stirring in me once more. “She can’t be reasoned with.”

“Just let me try,” Talia says. “That’s all I ask. Let me try to speak to her, first.”

Vitriol churns in my gut like one of my potions, boiling and toxic. It won’t work. And more than that, I don’t want Maru to just suddenly act all congenial and agree. I want revenge. For Terimus. For Rena. For Layf. For myself.

“Please,” Talia says again. “What’s the harm in trying the peaceful way, first?”

There’s harm in losing my window of opportunity. Harm in the betrayal of having an olive branch met with violence. Harm in giving the enemy an opportunity to strike first.

But Talia’s gaze is silently pleading with me.

I glance back out onto the field; they’re still only about a third the way through repairing the crater, tree branches stretching up from the forest below to slowly grow and fill the gap. I have ten minutes, tops.

“Fine,” I say, sighing out my frustration. “You can try to talk to her. But we don’t have much time.”

Talia smiles, squeezing my hand again. “I’ll fix this,” she promises.

I grab the railing and squeeze as she and the guards depart, hoping I haven’t made a lethal mistake. I want to believe her. I want to have someone I can trust. But I’m not sure I think Talia’s persuasiveness can trump Maru’s bloodlust.

At least the spectator box is close. I can wait until the crater is three quarters patched, then make my move if I haven’t heard anything by then.

As Talia and the guards depart down a set of steps leading toward the spectator box, Lisari starts to follow after them, then pauses.

Without turning around, she jerks her head to the side in a beckoning gesture. Then she keeps walking, but not toward the stairs.

I hesitate for a moment, then hurry after.

“Lisari—”

“Shh,” she breathes, ducking around a patrol of guards as she weaves toward the back of the platform. “You want to see Maru, don’t you?”

I nod.

“Then follow me,” she says, pausing at the railing that marks the back of the stadium. Beyond it is open forest, and stories below us is the city of Fairwood. “And stay quiet,” she adds.

And with that, she jumps over the ledge.