Chapter 13:

When I returned to the next bout, my mind was still distracted by what I had seen. The image of the desperate man played through my head, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt that I quickly suppressed. 523 years, Loki had said.

I wasn't sure if I believed him, but it seemed like an odd thing to lie about. I really didn't trust anything Loki said unless I had to or could verify it. Well, he probably wouldn't have ever made it out of Lesser Hall if he hadn't at this point. Or maybe he would rise above it and recover. If he was good enough, it wouldn't matter.

Feeding myself that comforting outlook on it, I shrugged and refocused on the charging enemy. I backpedaled, giving myself some time to think.

The man held the halberd a little awkwardly, but no more so than I did. As I circled to the right, he chased after me without trying to cut off my angle. Interesting.

Stepping forward, I extended a thrust, trying to keep myself out of his grasp. He used the haft of his weapon to clumsily knock it aside. With his weapon vertical after the deflection, I stepped forward. I swiveled with the momentum of his deflection and smacked the butt of the halberd into his upper arm with a large crack.

He stumbled backward, and I came forward, both of our weapons still out of position but using the butt as a spear to ram it in his throat like a quarterstaff. It was a nice trick that Jonas had shown me to take people off guard. Kind of like using the pommel of a sword.

My opponent coughed and gagged but stumbled backward, his eyes watering. I completed the spin with no fanfare and smashed the back of the halberd's heavy blade into the same arm that I nearly broke with my first strike, slamming him to the ground. He lost control of his weapon, and it tumbled on the sand next to him. Raising the halberd up, I brought it down in a chop, mercifully taking his life before he suffered too much.

Perhaps I was wrong in my initial assessment. Perhaps he was less skilled than I was. It could also just be my increased stats, finally showing something to make up for my lack of native martial prowess. Whatever it was, I wasn't too disappointed. Back at the threshold of the Lesser Hall, I didn't even need to cheat anymore. That was a comforting change of pace.

My third opponent appeared and spun the halberd around in a simple kata before giving me a salute with a cocky smile. I rolled my eyes and readjusted my grip. Well, if he was going to be like that, then I had no reason to respect him.

We charged at each other, and I tried something that I practiced earlier. A simple thrust that was supposed to be batted aside, but I yanked back, catching my opponent's halberd with mine. The lower edges of the blades tangled together as they slid up the shaft, and the two weapons interlocked.

I yanked hard, pulling him off balance towards me. Letting go with one hand to dip into my belt, I pulled out the dagger and rammed it into his chest. As we moved past each other, I kept a hold of it and slid it out.

As I took a step past the man, he fell limply to the floor. That must have been a record for me. The fight couldn't have lasted for more than six seconds, and I was already moving on to the next round.

This would be the arena round, and I appeared with the four other opponents. The freshest I had ever been when it came to this bout.

For once, I was lucky, and everyone else focused on each other, leaving me the one man out. As the two duels emerged, I stalked to the side, keeping focus. Not quite ready to interfere. It wasn't so much out of a place of honor to let them do a let-out, but I wanted them to take care of each other.

The first man finished off his opponent, and I stepped in to take the open space. I was a little hesitant as he hadn't received many wounds, but I did notice he was limping slightly. So when I pressured him with a flurry of blows, I kept trying to force him onto his wounded foot as a back leg.

It was easy to lose myself in the fight and not about the other fight going on just a few yards away. But when one of them screamed, I suddenly became aware it was now only the three of us left. Would the other man wait to fight whoever won? Or would he...

I watched, not giving anything away with my eyes, as the man slammed into the side of my unsuspecting opponent, cutting him down, before turning to me. I inclined my head.

"Thanks for the assist," I said sarcastically. The man smiled at me.

"Idiot wasn't paying attention. You were." He said in a pair of clipped sentences. And he came at me. He came at me faster than I was, even with my recently improved stats. But it didn't worry me too much. All I had to do was lock the blades.

I kept backing up, making him miss occasionally but putting out probing attacks. This was my preferred style, feeling out the opponent, but the halberd really wasn't good for it. Its weight and heavy momentum made it more crushing than the spear but less maneuverable, at least when I wielded it.

When Jonas or Bjorn were wielding it to them, it looked like it was a toothpick in their hands. The balance, grace, and timing they displayed was something that I would not be able to get with a few days of practice. It would take years to get there.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

This man wasn't nearly as good as them, but he was better than me. And he knew it, too.

He kept herding me towards the edge of the circle. I still had yet to find out what would happen if I stepped out, but I wasn't about to. I remember floating in the void with Loki, and I imagine it would be similar. Still, it would probably be a lot less pleasant.

I put some effort into getting out of the cage he was building. But I didn't try too hard. I let him get close to me, thinking that he had me boxed in and was fighting within his range where I couldn't be careful and probing. And as soon as I crossed that invisible barrier, he increased the pressure. But I surprised him and charged.

My halberd just held horizontally to block his strike as I crashed into him, chest to chest, and bore him to the ground. I jammed my horizontal stick up under his chin. That forced his halberd over his head in a position where he couldn't defend.

He looked up at me, snarled, and started to do something with his legs intertwined with mine to work on flipping me over. But I let go, and his eyes filled with surprise. But then they went wide, and he gasped out as my knife found his lungs through underneath his rib cage.

I winked at him as I rolled back up onto my knees and grabbed my halberd from the sand, using it to lever myself back up to my feet.

"It was a good fight, my friend." He coughed at blood sprang from his lips. I couldn't hide my surprise. I had fought dirty and all but stabbed him in the back. Why was he congratulating me?

"A good fight," he wheezed before he died. I slipped the dagger back into my belt. Victory was all that mattered to some men, I guess. At least he had the grace to recognize it was the same for others. Was I as gracious in defeat? No, not so far.

Standing up, I got ready for the next fight. I stretched my shoulders, moving around and limbering up.

This was the first time I'd ever made it completely uninjured out of the melee round. This was going way better than I thought it would. Maybe word would get around about the dagger, but I doubted it. It was going to be very effective for a long time. Hopefully, it would be effective enough to really get me to the next level.

I stood in the center of the ring, waiting for the next round, breathing even and mind calm.

***

My next two fights were a breeze. I kept going with basic tactics, running in, tangling weapons, and knifing them in the back or stomach when we were in close. They were completely unprepared for my tactics. In fact, it didn't even really feel like a fight.

I easily broke my record, making it to eleven fights before I even took an injury. Was this what it was like for Bjorn? No wonder why he hadn't minded taking me in and teaching me his quote-unquote competition. I never was. I was so far beneath his notice when it came to ability that I would never have challenged him.

As I was waiting for my next fight, I curtailed that line of thought. No, that wasn't quite right. Jonas was just as good as Bjorn with a halberd, and they helped each other. I should probably stop trying to use my own motivations to describe Bjorn and the others because I might have been very lucky and found some of the only good-hearted people in this bloody hell. I wanted to be more like them, but I wasn't sure I had it in me.

The tenth round started and ended no differently than the previous ones. I finished in record time against someone who was severely injured and limping, almost dead from blood loss already. I actually didn't even need to use my dagger. A few heavy blows knocked the weapon from his hand, and I decided to be nice and congratulated him on his accomplishment.

He smiled as I took his head.

My eleventh-round opponent proved much trickier.

For the first time, someone twisted out of the way of my dagger. I didn't think it was that they were prepared, but rather just bad luck. He was trying to throw me over their shoulder when I was trying to stab him.

My dagger took them in the arm instead of the back. He flinched in surprise, rolling away, but managed to knock my halberd out of my hand as I only held on with one. I stayed in close but received a heavy kick to my ankle. I didn't hear it crack, but something burned like fire when I put my weight on it.

The bout turned into a bloody grapple as we clawed at each other and pounded each other's faces with our fists as we rolled. Soon, his halberd was left behind as he gripped my knife arm with both hands, trying to force me to stop me from forcing it into his chest.

Slowly, it bore down until its point rested on his skin, unable to break through the tough barrier of his sheepskin jerkin. I tried to put more weight on it, but he could slowly push it away with superior strength.

In a desperate move, I let go with my left hand and hammered my fist down into the pommel three times. The jerking motion made it through his skin, and it punched deep.

He gasped after each hit until it was fully embedded to his hilt in his sternum. I stood up, putting my foot on his chest, and yanked my blade free.

One more. Or was it three more? I couldn't tell. I didn't quite know how the group battle was counted, but Mary had always counted my kills for that. So, I assume that I had to do a few more. If I needed a certain amount of kills. But if it was a certain number of rounds...

My answer was given to me as the arena faded white this time instead of the black previously, signifying the next round. The number 12 appeared before me, and then I waited. This is much longer than the normal fight interludes. I stood there, catching my breath, and in the white glowing space of nothingness. I checked and found several slashes I had received in my leg and my left arm. This was going to be hard. I could barely grip the weapon, and I felt dizzy from blood loss.

When the arena finally appeared, I heard a deep base laugh echo. That wasn't Loki. At least, it wasn't the same as the laugh I had heard earlier. When I made out my opponent, I understood.

Opening my mouth, the words just spilled out. "Bjorn?"