As they fought, Jak found himself losing. There was simply no way to block the enchanted blade that flew off the end of Garrow's dagger. After a few minutes his troll skin would flare up, turning what would have been a deep gash into a thin cut. Still, Jak was getting more and more injured as they went on.

Among the crowd, various guards were shouting encouragement. Gavin said nothing, watching silently. Jak, realizing there was no way to win, finally raised a hand.

"I yield," Jak panted, "you win." Garrow's head cocked sideways in mock surprise.

"Didn't you hear the captain? This is to the death. I haven't had this much fun for years. I can finally put peasants in their place." He lunged forward, this time cutting off Jak's left hand. If this had happened weeks before, Jak would have been stunned. Instead, this was just another injury, the same as many he'd get on the Gauntlet. He leapt back into the fight, knocking Garrow's knife aside as best he could, blocking with his left forearm while raining punches with his right. Garrow took a few blows, but soon an opportunity came and he whipped his knife toward Jak's throat. Jak had enough time to dodge the blade itself, but the enchantment would slice right through him. He suddenly felt angry. Angry at Garrow for not being fair, fighting with a weapon when Jak himself was unarmed. Angry at Gavin for letting this continue. Angry at himself for not being strong enough. He unleashed his aura. Not completely, he tried to direct it only toward the knife sweeping toward him. The knife went dull, all the light fading from it. Garrow's eyes widened with shock just as Jak's fist slammed into the side of his face.

"Here!" The guard had finally returned with Jak's spear, and he threw it into the air. Jak caught it, pulled back the mental tension on the shaft, swiftly moved the blade to face Garrow, and unleashed fire. Flames washed over Garrow, the heat enough to make the crowd step back. There was a shriek from within the flames, and suddenly Garrow's smoking body was next to the obelisk of life, which lit up as it activated.

The crowd of guards cheered. Jak felt woozy, bleeding from many cuts as well as the stump where his left hand had been. He stumbled past Gavin on the way to the obelisk of life.

***

Gavin said nothing, a frown on his face as he watched the boy who had drained a magical weapon dry. The others hadn't noticed, or if they had they were distracted by the power of Jak's fire spear. That, too, was an anomaly. Only the strongest, and unfortunately the richest, could get their hands on weapons of that quality. And here this boy had it, what had he said? It's under my bed. Gavin snorted. That boy needed some lessons. But more importantly, what had caused the knife to go dull? Was this Jak an enemy to cut down quickly, or a potential asset? Gavin didn't feel qualified to answer, so he headed to see Elder Windrunner.

***

Jak finally reached the obelisk of life and sat down, leaning against the monument while his cuts started to close up, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of his hand regrowing. Garrow lay next to him, flakes of ash falling off as his charred flesh renewed. When he was done, he left without saying a word.

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Jak watched him go, noticing how completely destroyed all of Garrow's clothing was. The obelisk healed the person but not anything else. That was good to know. Jak looked down at his own clothes, covered in cuts and holes from being sliced and stabbed repeatedly. He sighed. He'd have to go back to Makerstown soon. He could use the Travelers Gates, but that was 12 gold each way. The other option was to trek through the Mystic Forest, where creatures like the fire boar existed. He felt much stronger now than when he first came, but he was also a lot more conscious of the danger of the forest. According to the other guards, the fire boar was no where near the top of the food chain. Apparently the school makes some kind of pact with the stronger beasts to keep that first journey relatively safe, which raised a lot of questions for Jak, but that pact wouldn't help him if he ventured in alone.

"That spear of yours is amazing." It was the guard that had fetched it for him. "My name's Danger."

"Your name is Danger?" Jak asked, wondering if he was still suffering from blood loss.

"Yea, we have to choose names as part of our coming of age ceremony, and I thought it sounded scary at the time." Danger said, sitting next to Jak. He reached for Jak's spear, and Jak nodded permission for him to pick it up and look at the intricate carvings Bobo had inscribed.

"I've since learned that names should be earned, and people should respect what you can do, not what you tell them. But the name stuck." Danger ran his fingers over the grooves of the carvings, tracing the circuitry in obvious awe.

Jak looked at him, trying to gauge the man. The one thing worse than people like Garrow, were people who pretended to be friendly, but ended up just like Garrow. Danger seemed to be genuine.

"I've seen fire weapons before," Danger said, "but nothing as strong as this."

"You should see my sister, she can make fire like that without a weapon."

"Ha, mages eh. Not natural what they can do. I'm glad they don't pick up fighting." Jak frowned at that.

"Why don't they pick up fighting? Surely they'd be strong, casting magic without needing a weapon to do it for them?"

"Yea that's the trouble. They are too strong. That's what caused the arcane war, leading to the empire collapse 500 years ago. Since then, mages keep away from fighting, and the rest of the world let them be. A sort of unspoken truce." Danger looked down at the spear. "...but then crafting was invented, and now whoever has the best gear wins the fight. So, in a sense, mages are still winning every conflict." Danger looked sideways to Jak. "You don't go to history class?"

"Haven't had much time outside the Gauntlet."

"Ay, there's that."

"What made you join the guard, Danger?" Danger looked at him with surprise.

"It's the highest honor you can get. Who wouldn't?" Jak looked at his hand as the final pieces of flesh reknit themselves into being. Then he looked again at his shirt, covered in holes, each one a memory of pain.

"Who wouldn't." He mused to himself.