I slept like the dead after the fight, and I suspected that Grathskin's healing had something to do with it. The use of energy, maybe. Vitality didn't go up this time—however, my injuries were less severe, and by now, I was positive that the difficulty of gaining attributes increased with each growth.

The sun was hot on my face when I stepped outside, a change from all the cool days I had experienced here. I stood there for just a moment, feeling something like nostalgia. About what, I didn't know.

Behind me, the door opened again, and I recognized Eskal as he sighed.

"The weather gods are happy today," he told me.

"So it would seem."

He seemed chipper, and even though I found his lighthearted attitude toward me odd, it made sense. It was just a job, and Eskal would most likely see all the people he had fought on a regular basis.

"You really got me yesterday," he laughed.

I shrugged. "Luck, probably."

"I won't disagree with that. Anyways, where ya headed?" I shifted, feet crunching over the gravel.

"Lifdol gave me money last night. I want to see if I can buy a new knife." The man had approached me in Grathskin's ward, dropping a sack of heavy coins on my lap. He said he sometimes gave his fighters an "allowance" every time they won; it was a payment that wouldn't affect my debt, he assured me.

Eskal sighed. "Must be nice. Those are win bonuses, so none for me this time." He didn't sound resentful. "I can join you, if you'd like? Show you the nearest market. Answer any questions I know you must have."

Such generosity, and my brow furrowed. "Why? What's in it for you?"

"Eh, good karma, I guess. Scorne helped me out when I first joined; figured I could do the same for a newbie." Eskal coughed. "Besides, seems like you would need more assistance than others."

"You're not wrong," I nodded.

Feet crunching over gravel, he beckoned me forward. "Let's get a move on then. Fuckin' shopkeepers are hell to deal with."

I followed him quietly, but only for a few minutes. Curiosity was nagging at me, and so was the pyromaniac. He wanted to know all of Eskal's secrets, murmuring over my shoulder.

"What was that move you used? I still can't picture it," I asked.

Eskal laughed. "I guess I'll tell you. I'd been debating whether to maintain the mystery, but decided you'd hear it from someone else if not me." He kicked some rocks, and they clacked across the ground. "It's a skill called [Warp] that came along with my [Brawler] class."

"You don't seem like a brawler."

"You think? I got into lots of fights as a kid. Eventually fucked with the wrong people, and that's how I ended up a servant of our Great Lifdol." He grew quiet, seeming to reminisce.

"Anyways, the skill allows me to move an attack to wherever I want it, but within a distance of five meters. It takes a huge amount of mana, so I only use it when I have to."

I frowned, thinking. "Couldn't you just direct it into a person's body, then?"

"If only," he sighed. "Can't go in or through something solid. I couldn't be on the opposite side of a wall from someone and hit them in the face, no matter how nice that sounds."

I nodded. If Eskal had been able to do that, our fight would've been over in seconds. My insides turned at the thought of being directly hit. Even through skin and muscle, Eskal's punches had been brutal on my body.

As he talked, more people began to pass us, going both directions on the street. Murmurs and conversation filled the air. The sounds were nothing as they increased, and I figured I had become desensitized to anything lower in volume than the crowd in the pits.

"Just past this turn is the market street," Eskal informed me. "Ignore the people shouting at you—anything in stalls is likely crap and not something you'd expect to last a while. We'll go into my favorite weapons shop and see if you like anything."

I nodded in assent, following his lead. The street we turned onto was crowded, and I couldn't go a second without someone brushing against me. I tightened my hold on my pack, hoping the top was closed securely. The small sack of money hadn't been small enough to fit in my pockets without bulging awkwardly, so I had stuffed it in the bag.

A litany of smells hit me practically all at once: smoked meat, sweat, the sickeningly sweet chemical smell of dye used in fabrics, baked bread, and more.

Shouldering my way through people, I tried not to lose Eskal in the crowd.

He turned right, and I stuck to him as he made a path. I heard a door open, and I followed Eskal through it. It closed softly, the sounds from outside becoming muted.

The room smelled of metal, varnish, and rust, but a sterile tang weaved through the scents.

"Eskal!" rang a boisterous voice, and Eskal laughed as I heard the familiar sound of backs being slapped in greeting. "It's been long since I've seen your ugly face!"

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"And I yours, old man." He turned, placing a hand on my shoulder. "Victor, this is Cain. We're here for your knives."

"Excellent." Victor clapped, feet moving over wooden planks. Clattering and metallic thuds accompanied his movements, and he beckoned Eskal and me over.

I reached out my hand as I approached. Feeling over the edge of a wooden counter, its splinters caught on my callused fingertips as Victor set everything up.

"I've got a fine selection here. Anything you're specifically looking for?"

Moving my hand, the backs of my fingers brushed over leather pommels. "Durable. Long, around the length of a forearm."

More clattering, the selection in front of me shrinking. "I'd like to think all my weapons are durable," Victor said, "but I'd say these are the best. Out of the ones with the specified length, of course."

I could hear Eskal moving around behind me, probably looking around. Selecting the knife furthest to the right, I gripped the handle. It felt too smooth, this one made of wood. I put it down, not bothering to check it over more, as I felt like it would slip right out of my hand.

Moving on to the next, I found the weight of it all wrong and unnatural in my hand. The third's handle was good, but the weight was also off to me as I bounced the blade in my palm.

The next one's weight was practically perfect, and I slid my thumb up the flat of the blade. It was littered with ridges like it had been used. Shaking my head, I put it down.

I paused when Victor spoke. "Eskal, you sure a man like this should be handling knives?"

Eskal scoffed somewhere to the right of me. "You don't watch the pit fights, do you?" Victor confirmed, mumbling a no. "This guy beat me last night, and would probably beat you."

"No kidding? I'll take your word for it."

Continuing, I picked up the next knife in line. I liked the weight and feel of the leather in my grip—it was almost malleable. Running my fingertips over the blade, I found it smooth. When I bent it, it flexed just a tiny bit each way.

One side had a slight curve, and the other was straight but had a deep bend that led to the point about 3/4ths of the way up. I pressed my finger against the tip, and the skin broke, blood bubbling up.

"Sharp," I murmured. Then, wiping the finger on my pants, I set the knife down. Checking the others—only three left—I found that fifth one the most to my liking.

Pulling it closer to me, I took my pack off. "How much?"

"Ten gold and eighteen copper," Victor stated, voice daring me to argue. Turned out I didn't have to.

"Have you gone senile, Victor? Six gold pieces at the most," Eskal insisted, hand hitting the countertop.

"Eight," he huffed.

"Seven."

"Done." Eskal chuckled at Victor's reluctant tone.

"Don't think I'll let you scam my new friend."

There was really nothing stopping the two from scamming me, and I had no way of knowing if the knife's actual price wasn't even worth one gold piece. But I opened the pouch half full of money and let Eskal pick out the—seemingly—correct pieces.

The metal "coins" were curious things. I had felt over them last night, and they were hexagon in shape, with a matching hole stamped through the middle. Little grooves lined each side, but I couldn't determine what they made.

Victor removed the remaining knives from the counter and handed over a leather sheath. Sliding the blade into it, I settled it behind my belt, the knife's small pommel keeping it from slipping through. I planned to find something to tie it more securely when I returned to Lifdol's building.

"Pleasure doing business," I told Victor, but he only grunted. Eskal gave his own farewells, and we exited the shop. When I could, I'd come back later to look at the selection of axes, but I was now positive that the remaining money I had wouldn't be able to cover it.

The street outside was oddly quiet; the excited chattering was dulled down to whispers and muttering. Eskal grabbed my shoulder before I walked any further, squeezing down once.

"What is it?" I softly asked.

"The King," he murmured back. "He's got an entire escort; wonder where he's headed."

I listened for a moment. "Everyone doesn't seem so happy to see him."

He snorted. "Of course not. He's ruthless, and those soldiers of his will lop off any head he commands them to. Been terrible on the taxes lately. You'll hear Lifdol rant about it sooner or later."

The clop of horses grew louder, accompanied by heavy boots against the ground and the rustling of metal against metal.

Eskal hummed next to me. "He was at the pits the night of your first fight, you know. Left right after mine, like he'd seen enough."

He grew quiet as the parade passed right in front of us, and I kept my head down. If the King was like Eskal described, I was pretty familiar with the type. Men like that would pick a fight just from meeting their gaze, eyes or no eyes.

Right now, I couldn't deal with that type of power. What must your stats be like as a king? Or was he just a puppet, and the strong surrounded him?

That didn't seem likely. People with power were sure to get top-of-the-line training in this world, starting right as a child. My growth had only come from experiences, and I wondered what deliberate training would do for me.

Figuring out what I could do to address that was the second item on my list after buying a knife. Lifdol must have access to training facilities, or people who could teach me about things I still hadn't even begun to understand, like my flames.

The intense heat inside me was ever present, and though the pyromaniac and I didn't mind it, there was still the feeling I might implode. The man from the sea had said my flames were burning me, and I could tell he hinted that my control of them was clumsy at best.

When I used the skill [Summon Flame], it sometimes felt like I was forcing it out, making it boil me from the inside even more. Scorching heat would sizzle through my fingertips, like they were turning into ash from the inside out.

The King and his entourage finally turned a corner, the ruckus fading. Eskal breathed out.

"Fucking Wolfgang Vestorius the Third. What a pretentious name." He began to walk, and I followed along.

"Vestorius? Any significant meaning?"

"Not that I know of. The royal family's name used to be Rakfall, hence the name of the Kingdom, but there was a whole revolution a few hundred years back," Eskal responded.

I nodded, though he probably couldn't see it. "Do you know the King's class?"

Eskal stopped, feet kicking up gravel as he pivoted towards me, his voice clearer. "Don't ever ask anyone that. If a guard or some government hire hears you, you'll be arrested and killed in the King's dungeon. After being charged with conspiracy towards the Crown and tortured."

Turning back around, he sighed. "So no, I don't know His class. I'm sure no one does except close family, which I'm still skeptical of.

"Be careful, Cain. Questions are many a man's downfall."