Our enemies are the whetstone upon which we hone our bodies and minds. Ever striving to reach perfection, until all that is left is only that which is required.

- The Living Sword by Fen Vaigorus circa 520 AC.

Repeating the mantra that this was just a game, I was able to suppress a blossoming panic that had taken root in my mind. Unlike the previous contestants, through some stroke of luck or the devil’s meddling, I knew who I was facing. And with my character sheet, I was aware of my own abilities. I wouldn't have to waste Mana on an initial Identify.

I sped towards the center of the arena, eager to obtain the instrument of death that awaited me. With every step, my determination to complete my personal quest grew stronger. As I rushed, I stumbled slightly and grabbed a short infantry-stabbing spear. The polearm had a shaft length of just under a meter, with a long and wide-bladed leaf-shaped metal spearhead. Whether it was my expertise in polearms or simply the need to feel secure with a weapon in hand, the spear was a reassuring and solid weight.

Jongshoi lacked the grace and calm confidence of the other warriors whom I witnessed bloodying themselves in the arena. He looked skittish, like an animal about to bolt. He made his way to the center cautiously, where I waited, now trying to exude an aura of calm, like an animal approaching a dangerous watering hole for the first time. However, he was no lion, no roaring warrior thirsting to prove himself by wetting his blade on the blood of his victims. The fear of violence could be seen in his eyes, and in another world, I would have held no ill will towards him.

But I was here, and he was merely a steppingstone for me to reach greater heights of power. And with power came freedom.

The unblooded would-be warrior was garbed in armor of heavy scale and plate. His hauberk bore circular scales, akin to those of monstrous fish, buffed to a shine that mirrored the high afternoon sun. Interlocking plated steel pieces draped over his shoulders and arms, and metal gauntlets with round steel nubs encased his knuckles. Thick iron leggings and greaves covered his legs, and an intimidating plumed open-faced helm that depicted a roaring lion completed his armored ensemble.

A spiked oval shield, reminiscent of the scutum, rested upon his left arm, while on his right, he brandished a small straight-stabbing sword reminiscent of the Roman gladius.

But despite all of his formidable equipment, the young boy looked out of place, like a rabbit that had grown horns and fangs. For he looked untested in battle, and the weight of his armor and weaponry seemed to burden him more than lend him strength.

Jongshoi was already breathing heavily, each exhale a ragged spurt in the hot sun, no doubt in part because he was suffering from some equipment penalties due to wearing such heavy armor. I, on the other hand, was only equipped with my initial robes and could move much more freely. A glimmer of a battle plan began to form, and I decided that I would need to wear him out before striking hard and fast.

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He came at me first with a tired, hesitant probing thrust that I was easily able to step away from. I returned with my own weak thrust to his center, aiming to preserve my stamina. He blocked it easily with his shield, turning aside my blow, and then returned with another thrust of his short sword which I was able to avoid thanks to my greater reach. Since I was unarmored, I had to be careful, but he, on the other hand, looked like he could certainly take a hit or two.

Piercing the boy's defenses was proving almost impossible. On the other hand, he simply could not land a blow on me as I darted backward after one of my own failed attacks. Then something changed. After deftly deflecting one of my rapid jabs, Jongshoi let out a desperate cry, "Shield Bash!" before lunging forward with his shield, breaking through my feeble guard. The spike of the 'scutum' tore a bloody gash across my left arm, and to my surprise, I felt my health drop by five points. Worst of all, I was left feeling stunned and disoriented, my world spinning as I struggled to gather myself.

My enemy moved into his follow-up, a little awkwardly but nonetheless still deadly. With a panicked fury, he struck at me, raising his sword arm, and screamed “Power Strike!” Barely able to shake off my fugue, I raised the haft of my spear just in time to meet his down coming blade. Strong, sharp steel met the wooden haft of my spear, causing a sharp crack and sending splinters flying from the point of impact as his attack savagely bisected my weapon. His skill-enhanced blow continued its deadly arc, tracing a red line across my chest. A sharp pain blossomed within me, and my health dropped by another thirteen points as I stumbled backward."

Jongshoi was now breathing heavily, barely able to stand on his feet, his sword arm faltering and he appeared almost totally spent. Blood was running from his nose and mouth as he had pushed his body well beyond its physical limits. I knew that feeling well. With the remains of my weapon in a death grip, I grinned savagely, knowing that his desperate gambit had failed.

He had likely depleted all of his Stamina with his continuous use of skills, while I still had a healthy amount remaining. And I had magic. I needed to keep the pressure on. Through the red haze of pain, I continued to throw jabs and light slashes with my half-spear and broken spear haft. My adversary was barely able to defend himself. To add to his troubles, his exhaustion was even probably draining away at his Health.

Using the Silent Casting, I cast the Heal spell and felt the energy spread through my body like the warm touch of a lover. Surprisingly, my Health increased by seven points, and I absently concluded somewhere in the back of my mind that my spell must heal a proportional amount of damage instead of just a set amount.

My opponent's eyes widened in surprise as he saw me stand a bit taller, the bleeding now stemmed by magic, my weapons sure in my hands. The crowd grew bestial and wild, shouting epithets at both my opponent and me. In my own desperate bid for survival, I charged him, as the crowds above us gasped in surprise that I still yet lived.

Raising my broken spear haft like a club, I started raining blows on his weakly raised shield. I threw a jab with my left weapon, which he met with a weak parry of his sword before I began to initiate one of my skills silently. In my mind, I called forth the Power Strike skill, the energy of its release like an arrow from a war bow.

My blow skidded across his hauberk, ripping out a few scales, and went upwards and savagely cut across his face. His youthful innocent features were now made into a vision of horrible deformity. He screamed, crying out in utter animal pain, as he dropped his sword and reached for his face.