The three of us hadn’t brought our weapons into town. We hadn’t thought we would need them, not in a nice little town like that, and Berenguer had instructed us not to scare the locals. He hadn’t mentioned that the locals might come after us.

“Oi, you hear me?” the man asked.

“We don’t want any trouble,” I said, hands raised.

“Then hand her over, polluted. We let you pimps hang around for the women, not so we can waste our time talking with you degenerates.”

So that’s what they think.

“The lady is content,” Cadoc responded. “She doesn’t want to accompany you. If you wish to fight us, however, challenge us.”

The leader turned to one of his companions in mock surprise. “Did that illegal just talk back to me? Did he really just talk back to me?”

Illegal, I thought. I supposed we were there illegally. Was that so common? I didn’t think getting in was so easy. Cadoc had made it sound impossible.

The three men weren’t any more armed than we were, but they didn’t need to be. They were deformed monuments to muscle, and each looked like he could crush our heads between his hands.

Although… it was easy to miss when intimidated by their size, but they weren’t muscular all over. Their legs were shriveled baby-legs, and once you noticed this, the men looked goofy and top-heavy. It looked like a stiff breeze would knock them over. I stifled a laugh, but apparently not well enough.

“The polluted is laughing!” a different one said. “He sneaks into our city, takes our women, and now he laughs at us, too.”

Anger spread across their faces, and I couldn’t help laughing even more. They looked like cartoon villains. Not even that. They looked like the low-level goons of a cartoon villain.

“Come, then,” Cadoc said. “Do you intend to fight us, or stand there and be offended?”

Before any of them could answer or make another move, Amaia ran forward. She had been quiet the whole time, looking for an opportune moment.

She punched the leader of the three square in the nose, catching him off-guard, and it broke with a crunch. Blood gushed out immediately. He reeled.

Cadoc and I rushed to join her, though I considered running, for a moment, telling myself that surely Amaia and Cadoc could handle this on their own. But I joined the scuffle, and alcohol may have played a role in my decision-making.

The leader of the thugs was stunned, but the other two converged on Amaia. She threw punches at them, too, but to much less effect. As she struck at one, then the other, back and forth, they covered their faces, and her blows hit purposelessly against the rock-hard muscles of their arms and torsos. She may as well have been punching a wall.

It was obvious to me that their weak points were the faces - who would waste muscle on a face? - and their legs. But that was a harder thing to exploit then you might think. They knew better than to let you get a shot at their faces, now, and while I tried to kick at the legs of one of the thugs, it was impossible to get close enough. He brushed me aside as he lunged at Amaia, and even this casual movement knocked me back, stumbling into the dirt.

Cadoc clearly had had the same problem, shoved back, and the two men completely ignored us as they successfully grabbed Amaia. She struggled, but it was pointless. They were stronger than any of us. And she couldn’t use her magic to disarm someone who was already unarmed.

My mind searched for plans of attack. Old faithful would be getting Cadoc to summon sticks beneath their feet, but that really only worked if they were moving, which they weren’t. And only once, more than likely. I didn’t think the sticks would be hard to avoid if you knew they were there. Say he summons them, and they trip and fall - then what? We run? And that’s assuming Amaia isn’t crushed in the fall. Or that we aren’t crushed when the men rush at us, and fall onto us.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

The leader had recovered his senses, a little, though blood still streamed from his nostrils. One of his men stood beside him, holding Amaia, who still struggled wordlessly. Cadoc and I stood across from them.

“Ungrateful little shits!” he said, his voice sounding funny. “Know your place! You’re lucky we let you scum sneak into our city at all. You’re lucky we even let you cling to the outside of our walls, you parasites.

“Sometimes I wonder what the point of reincarnation is, when I see you. The rest of us, we were born as workers, and so we work! We farm, we mine. You were born as trash. Servants. You exist so that people can take advantage of you! That’s the only reason you’re here! Has no one ever told you this? You sinned terribly last time around, and this is what you deserve. So take it! Pay what you owe!”

The man shook his head. “Why do I waste my time? I have work in the morning. I just wanted a little release at the end of a long day. When I want eggs for breakfast, does my hen attack me? Does she talk back? No, she doesn’t. She gives me what I want, because she’s below me.”

The man pointed at the ground between us.

“Kneel down and beg for your lives, or else you’re about to find out what’s below polluted in the chain. Maybe it’s chicken.”

As interested as I was in this sudden profession of religious belief - does everyone in this city believe in reincarnation? - I had a plan. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it would have to do.

“Sticks!” I yelled. “Staves!”

If we couldn’t win in a fair fight, it was time to tip the scales.

Cadoc had likely been thinking something similar, because he summoned three sticks in quick succession. They were as long as he was tall, and thick, like bo staves. He grabbed one with both hands.

I had already had my hand in my pocket. I rushed ahead and threw a handful of nails into the face of the man holding Amaia. Luckily, she was shorter than he was, so I could throw them over her head, though one or two still missed the mark, burning little spots on her face.

“Magic!” the man yelled as I lit the flames. He recoiled. It wouldn’t do any real damage, but it didn’t need to. He had let go of Amaia.

Amaia was our best resource. She clearly had more combat experience than Cadoc or I, and though her magic was worthless in this situation, and any physical strength she might have had was moot, experience matters. Cadoc tossed her a staff, and grabbed the next one.

While I retreated to arm myself, Cadoc rushed forward. He had left the last staff on the ground, apparently too bloodthirsty to wait and hand it to me.

Amaia had immediately begun to attack. She poked at the men’s ankles, using the staff like a spear, and she kept two of them on the back foot with this as Cadoc rushed to the third.

I grabbed the last staff, but before I even rejoined the fray, the battle was won.

Amaia had thrust the staff with an aimed strike, and it connected with a thin ankle, shattering bone. The man crumbled. Amaia soon did the same to the leader, who had been about to turn and run.

Cadoc’s man had been taken down with a sweeping swing, and, as soon as he landed on his back, Cadoc had beaten his legs with the stick until there was no chance of the man getting back on his feet.

I was very happy that these two people were on my side.

“Mercy!” the leader blubbered, panicked. “We had no idea! How could we have known you were mages? Forgive us, please!”

I walked up to the downed man, staff in hand. I may have played only a support role in the conflict, but I was as cocky as if I had done it all myself.

I pointed the staff at him, the tip only inches from his face. It wasn’t sharp, of course, so the only threat was that I could pummel him with it. Which he really didn’t want me to do, clearly.

“Let this be a lesson to you,” I said, possessed by a billowing pride. If I hadn’t been a little buzzed, I might not have said anything, just thanked my lucky stars. But I continued.

“I am a polluted, for your information. If I understand the term. My magic only effects my nails. And I do owe a debt from my past life. Everything you said is correct. Except for one thing.

“You are below me.”

-

I suddenly understood why Berenguer was such an asshole. It was fun.

After the fight - we had left our attackers in the road - we laughed and joked and continued back to camp - though much quicker, and with many glances over our shoulders.

“Well done,” Amaia said, on the walk back, grinning.

“Well done yourself,” I responded.

“A noble victory!” Cadoc shouted. “The first of many for our fledgling party. Those thugs won’t soon forget what happened tonight.”

“No,” I said, shuddering in a sudden burst of sobriety. “They won’t. It’s a good thing we’re leaving in the morning.”

“By the way,” Amaia said. “Your magic sucks.”

“Mine?” I asked.

“Both of you.”

Cadoc shrugged. “Served us fairly well in that scuffle, didn’t it?”

Amaia laughed. “Sure. But you’re weak. They’re just weaker. I’ll teach you.”

I didn’t know how someone who spoke as little as Amaia did could teach anyone anything, but I was ecstatic. We’d been needing a teacher, desperately.

Of course, ironically, her magic had been the least useful of us all in that scuffle, but I didn’t point that out. I was in too good of a mood, drunk on victory and violence - and a little bit of ale, still.

Back at camp, we retired to our own tents, with one last cheer.

The next morning, I found myself vomiting into a bush, while the sun rose. It wasn’t because of the alcohol - I hadn’t drank that much. I was thinking back to the night before. I should have knelt, I thought to myself. I should have knelt, and not risked my life for nothing. Fucking idiot. This isn’t a movie, Miles. This isn’t a video game. You can’t respawn when you misjudge how strong someone is. You got lucky.

I threw up one more time, then wiped my mouth, and helped pack up camp.

That day was uneventful. We didn’t have a chance to learn anything from Amaia - that would have to wait until after we arrived - and no further violence met us. The more I thought about it, the more I doubted how much Amaia would really have to teach us. But something was better than nothing.

We were very near the outer wall now, the heights of Eraztun a distant mountain, peak still unseen.

I expected to see greater signs of corruption as we approached. Warped animals, or blackened earth, swamp, something. I had no idea what kind of place would spawn the Kalamuzi, but it couldn’t just be the plains of the First Ring.

But we saw no such thing. If I hadn’t seen the carnage of the Kalamuzi with my own eyes, I would have thought the dungeon had already been destroyed. And if I had thought Berenguer was foolish - which, unfortunately, he wasn’t - then I would have thought he had gone the wrong way.

So it wasn’t until we were practically on top of the dungeon before I noticed it. From a distance, I thought it was a hunting camp.

Which, I supposed, it was.

“Welcome,” Berenguer said, his voice booming over us in an illusion. “To the dungeon.”