Chapter 2.2:

Progressing further would get me answers, better accommodations, interesting tasks, and so much more.

After I spent a few minutes hacking at the straw dummy, I looked around and found Bjorn walking over to me. The man supported a huge smile and a cheery wave. I aborted my next attack on the dummy and lowered my sword while I waited for him to reach me.

"Care to spar?" The massive monster called when he was a dozen feet away. I blinked in surprise. From what I knew about the man, he was close to leaving the Lesser Hall. He should be focusing on making that last push. For each challenge, he killed nearly a dozen people and had the run of the place. I barely snuck in for the first time last night.

Most people practiced with people around their level, maybe a little better or a little worse, but nowhere near the gap between our skills. Still, I would be an idiot to turn him down. "Sure, why not."

I jogged to catch up to him as we pivoted to an open ring of sand nearby. Curiosity got the better of me, and I had to push it. "I have to ask, why me? You could spar with anyone."

Bjorn sent me a side-eye. "We had a good fight last night."

It took me a second to realize he was talking about the brawl rather than our extremely one-sided duel. He continued. "You are surprisingly creative. I wouldn't have ever thought to use a gravy spoon in that manner."

I flushed in embarrassment at the memory and didn't have the heart to tell him it wasn't intentional. A companionable silence followed us as we walked the last few paces. When we squared up, all hints of joking had vanished.

"What are you working on?" Bjorn asked me with a discerning eye.

"I'm still trying to get my strikes to come naturally without having to tell my body to move in a certain way," I said sheepishly. It had taken me nearly two months with the spear to get through that stage, and the sword had so many more options. Bjorn shook his head. And I flushed from embarrassment at how basic my practice must seem to him.

"No, that's no good. You don't do that during sparring; use a dummy and spare time for that. 1000 of each of the main seven moves a day until you can do it in your sleep." He looked at me and motioned for me to show him my moves. I ran through a few of the basic strikes and blocks for him. "You're good enough. As we go on, I'll leave you some openings. Even if you can't capitalize on them, I want you to call them out. I will hit you whenever you miss one. Okay?"

I nodded grimly. At least I passed the smell test. I would just have to find some time to finally get used to the sword. Even if it was swapped out again, I bet it would be back eventually. I kept my eyes fixed on his shoulders, trying to read his movements and avoid as much punishment as possible. It would be harder to make it into the Lesser Hall today if I was going to be as black and blue as I expected.

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Bjorn took it easy for the first few minutes, matching my pace as we traded blows. Then suddenly, his left fist came from nowhere and hooked into my ribs. The wind rushed out of my lungs, and I reeled back, coughing all the while. "I overextended that last thrust. Watch your footwork. It was a perfect chance to work your way to the side."

The next time he came in, I started with a looping strike toward his head; as he went to block it, I twisted my hips, sending my shin hurtling into his calf. He turned his foot slightly, and our shins met with a crack. We both winced, and he gave me a nod. "Much better, but your feint shouldn't be that obvious. The best feint is a strike that needs to be addressed. I could have ignored that lazy swing, and nothing would have happened. You need to be ready to follow through if the opportunity presents itself."

We went on for hours like that. Maybe I was improving, but against him, I couldn't tell. He was just that much better.

***

In the evening, the challenges started.

My first opponent walked from the opposite arch in the nothingness that surrounded the arena of sand we stood on. Surprisingly, I recognized the man standing on the other side of the ring. It was the second person I had bested last night. The one that had got me into the Lesser Hall. Somewhere, one of the gods was surely having a laugh at this joke.

From the man's eyes, I could see he recognized me as well. Though there wasn't any resentment in there that one might have expected. We both knew our place. So far down in the pecking order of Valhalla that we were merely entertainment, fighting and dying for some twisted game.

There was no fanfare to start the bout. The ambient light kept our 20-foot circle lit despite the inky blackness all around us. It cast no shadows, giving the motion an ethereal quality as our blades met. The rigging of steel on steel dissipated into the edges of the depthless void mere paces away.

Vibrations running up the blade and into my hand pulled my attention to the fight here and now. I needed to win this if I was going to get food tonight. And I didn't want to be cast out beyond the Courtyard to starve in the snow again. It was impossibly hard to pull yourself out of that bottom rung. I had already had to do it several times, and I would do everything I could to avoid it happening again.

There was some seeding mechanism that I didn't understand, making it so that I didn't have to face monsters like Bjorn right away. But at the same time, the closer you were to getting out of the current strata, the easier the first few fights were. That had little bearing on the later fights, but it prevented you from falling too far.

My opponent lunged forward in such a way that his feet made his plan obvious. I felt like I could see it happen hours before he even started to move. In my head, I heard Bjorn's voice. "Pivot and sidestep."

My blade came down on the exposed wrist. The hand still gripped the sword as it flew free of the wrist. The handle of my sword vibrated as it pulled free of the bone. A follow-up strike with my free hand to the throat sent the man to the ground.

As my fist came back from crushing his windpipe, I was already moving. I followed my opponent's body to the ground with my sword, giving swift mercy with a clean strike to the head. Losing a limb wasn't fun, and most of us were willing to end it quickly after that.

Looking down at the body and the loose hand gripping his blade several feet away, suddenly, I had an idea. Tugging the fingers free, I picked up a second blade. No one had told me there were any rules, and this just might work. Smiling to myself, I spun both blades and waited for the arena to reset.