Titanyana's next two matches went forward without anything particularly interesting happening. The battles weren't boring, but they didn't really qualify as 'exciting' either. Titanyana would approach, circling her opponent depending on the result of the opening engagement, find an opening, and then deal a fatal blow. They were fast, but methodical.

That is to say, nothing went wrong.

Everything went exactly as Titanyana planned, which was nice, but it didn't make for a particularly entertaining fight. At least it wasn't to Donovan. The crowd just ate her performance up.

"Why are they all so excited?" Donovan munched on a sandwich, one of satisfactory make if a little bland, between his sentences. "Like, they are really only fighting for two or three seconds, ten at most."

Len sipped from his fruit juice before responding. "It's the thrill of it, or so I've been told."

"Mm!" Wall downed his liquor, almost choking to get his word off before the conversation progressed. "They call it 'Feats of Skill', heard it at a bar some time before you took us on. To the common man this sort of fight is incomprehensible, so they can't help but get worked up."

"Feats of skill . . . you make it sound like they think we are entertainers."

"Aren't we?" Wall was finished with his alcohol, but he wasn't going to ask for another yet. "It's not like we are losing anything for it. We want to fight, they think it's entertaining. We get practice and glory, they get to scream and yell for eight hours. We get fame if we do well, they get to obsess and gossip about their favorite fighter."

Donovan kept munching, eyes firmly on Titanyana's approaching figure. "Is that why everybody keeps calling Trebar 'Lord'?"

"Probably."

"I'd think so."

Neither of them seemed particularly confident about their answer. Titanyana on the other hand. . .

"Mhmhmm~!!!"

Absolutely brimming with confidence and joy, humming as she made her way up the ramp. Her ears twisted and turned while her tail swayed serenely behind her. This was a rare state for her, and nobody involved wanted to ruin this for her. She deserved the happiness, though they worried about what might happen when she inevitably lost.

Trebar, 'Lord' Trebar, was in the competition this tournament, and judging by the thunderous applause from one section of the arena he was winning just as hard as Titanyana. She didn't stand a chance against him, at least not from what Donovan had seen.

"Having fun?"

"Hm!" She was shocked out of her melody, suddenly brought back to a position where she needed to be serious. "Oh um, yes? I think so."

Her tail, still gently swaying side to side behind her, betrayed that she was more certain than she thought. Just looking at her, you would think she was some teenage girl who had just received a confession from her crush and as trying to hide it. You would never guess that she had just decapitated someone. Admittedly, the fact that there wasn't any blood on her helped in that regard, even the sword could be mistaken as some sort of accessory.

"Good. If you ever want to enroll in one of these tournaments, you don't have to ask. Just tell me." Donovan didn't want to rain on her parade with orders or demands. "I think these tournaments will be a good experience for the both of us."

"Mhm!" She was smiling, and there was light in her eyes. Who would have guessed that the way to make this maiden smile was to give her someone to slash open with a sword. "I wonder what the rewards are. . ."

Titanyana's focus trailed off as she took a seat. She wasn't worried about her mental state, she was in 'the Zone' right now, but she was curious, what were the rewards like? Up to this point she had only known they existed. She had no idea what they actually were. Was it money? Would that even be something they would give to nobles? Money? To the richest social strata? Surely not, right?

So what could they give out? Weapons might be a good reward, but once again that was something that could be equated to money. Clothing? That was a definite no. It wasn't easy to give influence and notoriety either, those had to be earned.

What could they give? She could not think of anything material that couldn't be given monetary value.

She could always use the money of course, even with Donovan's support she could only be described as dirt poor by noble standards, but that didn't mean that other nobles would want it. It made no sense to give a reward nobody wanted.

- - - - -

At the same time as Titanyana was wondering what she would be receiving for her performance, a man who understood very well the rewards for these tournaments was finishing his fifth match, and his fifth victory, of the day. He was the crowd favorite, it was unfortunate but true, and he had no doubts that he was going to end up on top this time around.

Trebar was a showman, as much as he hated showmanship, because he needed to please the crowd - Montaug's orders. It didn't take precedence over victory, but considering the fact that there were only a select few people who could challenge him - none of them participating - he found he was quite bored of it. If there was someone who could make flaunting his skill challenging it would at least be interesting, but so far all of his opponent's fell into the 'single swing' category.

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

"A good showing." He was greeted on the levy by one of his subordinates, specifically one of his squad. "You should probably smile though."

"I don't need to, Zulf. I've built an image as something of a confident stoic, so it would be jarring to see me smile." He kept a dead neutral face as he responded to the one and only member of his squad not to make the Final Eight that didn't have a good excuse. Of course, Trebar wasn't mad at him for it, Zulf was still a first year, but he had a bit of an attitude. "How are the others faring?"

"Let's see . . . Cholst is sitting undefeated right now, as is Kerefel and . . . Nemo?" Trebar nodded. "Those three haven't taken a loss yet. Zhoie got dropped to the first losses bracket this round, Anbel won another match, meaning he's still in the second losses bracket, Stokkie is still sitting on a single win, and Yabo has lost every match so far."

Trebar closed his eyes and took a deep breath. These results were well within his expectations. Cholst, Kerefel, Zhoie, and Nemo were veteran duelists, so their performances thus far were expected. Zhoie's loss wasn't necessarily that surprising either, there were other experienced duelists here, not all of them would fall for her tricks.

Stokkie's and Yabo's performances weren't that surprising either. Yabo wasn't built to fight alone, and Stokkie used a fairly 'weak' weapon in addition to being a first year. If anything Anbel was the most surprising of the seven. With that combat record he was sitting pretty high up in the rankings, though there was always the possibility he had gotten lucky.

Weak opponents would occasionally be matched up against each other, artificially improving their record until they hit someone who was an actual challenge.

"What of the other squads?" His squad had eight participants, a little more than half of the fifteen in the second army that were participating.

"That's Gawan's job."

Gawan grunted, a little annoyed that he had been dragged along today. "Some good, some bad, same as always. It looks like there is actually another of ours we failed to account for though."

"Really?" Trebar was doubtful that somebody would fail to report their participation to him, but it was always a possibility. "Who?"

"The young lady from your 'special squad'."

Special Squad? Someone from Donovan's squad managed to get to this point? No, it was a young lady, so it had to be Titanyana."

"How is Titanyana doing then? She bested Zhoie a few times in a spar, so I shouldn't be that surprised, but still." Trebar accepted the tea from the levee's butler. It was something he had ordered before his match started.

"So far? I think she has a perfect record. That'll probably change this round though, won't it?" Gawan started to pick at his buttons out of boredom. These duels were boring to him.

"That or next round, yes. It really depends more on who she gets paired with. Is there anybody else in the second without a loss?"

"Nope."

"Great. . . that makes five out of sixteen left undefeated. One in four chance of fighting one of my own, right?"

"They've changed the pairing rule this tournament, so that sounds reasonable."

"Damned neutrality." The isolationist Trebar muttered those words before he closed his eyes and downed a cup of tea. Slowly, someone's face came to mind. "What do you feel about physical conditioning, Zulf?"

". . . sorry?"

"What are your thoughts on training your body without using split, physical conditioning."

He didn't have to open his eyes, Trebar knew Zulf had raised an eyebrow. Just as he thought, everybody thought it sounded stupid.

"I am thinking of having our squad join hands with a certain other squad in our army. I know the guy personally, and I have this feeling that his training will yield results. What do you think of that?" Trebar was not above asking the lowest ranked members of his squad what they wanted. "It's the same guy that throttles Cholst, mind you."

Zulf was now very receptive to the idea. "So long as I get to meet him then I'll give it a shot."

Donovan had become a bit of a legend amongst those Zhoie bothered to gossip with, the members of her squad obviously being a part of that number. She had told tales of how Trebar's number two, a man close to being on par with Trebar himself, got his brain rattled by a younger man who didn't even bother to use split. Of course, the 'didn't bother to use split' wasn't as much a truth as it was a 'this has to sound believable', the truth was that Donovan couldn't use split. Zhoie felt it made it all that much more impressive, but people were only willing to believe so much.

Cholst, of course, was quick to defend himself whenever he heard her spilling the beans. He couldn't deny it, Nemo and Trebar would confirm the story, but he could at least try to do damage control.

"I'm sure you two will get along fine. Apparently he uses his fist as well."

"Does he?"

"Well, he is going to fight using the sword, but he is not above using his body to deal damage in a fight. He managed to keep Cholst suppressed without a sword, mind you." Zulf's eyebrows furrowed, his confusion evident. "Maybe the two of you can spar, without split of course. Even if he can use it at this point, he shouldn't be much good at it."

"Are we talking bare fisted?"

"I would think so. I haven't seem him use gauntlets or knuckles."

Zulf pumped his fist. "Perfect!"

Zulf was a descendant of a warrior clan, not a kingdom, under the Holifanian Theocracy's protection. They were excellent hunters, however they refused to use most weapons on cultural grounds. The Vulzen, much the same as other races, believed themselves to be superior however they took it a step further when it came to their combat traditions, believing their own body's to be superior to any creature or man they could possibly come up against. Any Vulz that died in combat to an unarmed foe was considered to be inferior, and any Vulz that survived a loss was considered to be immature.

When it came to fighting other people they had a few exceptions though; fists, gauntlets, claws, and knives. They would allow the Vulzen to defend against swords and lances to some degree, and they were not too different from fight with their hands.

"Don't get any ideas about using your claws, Zulf. I won't permit you to scratch him up." Trebar kept one intense eye on his subordinate. "They are a weapon he does not have access to, and it is imperative for his future that he look at least somewhat presentable."

"Why does he need to look nice?"

"Politics, diplomacy, I'm sure you understand that a good image is vital to getting a good deal." Gawan answered his question from the side.

"Hmph." Zulf didn't like it, but he could accept not being able to use claws. Vulzen were always itching for a fight.

Trebar knew this, but didn't say anything further. Any more might tip Zulf, one of his numerous arrogant and ill-tempered subordinates, off to the fact Trebar thought he was going to be humbled by Donovan. Cholst had been so much easier to control after his run-in with Donovan, for how long was still yet to be determined, but he had to imagine there would be a similar effect with Zulf, someone who might have challenged everyone in the second army to a fight at least two times at this point.