My trip back to the suited man was surprisingly uneventful and rather quick. Boriss’ presence spread the sea of bodies like Moses spreads water, complete with susurrus from their amazed audience.

As we approach Mr. Suit, the guy practically goes cross eyed in Boriss’s presence.

“Boriss, did you agree to fight this young man?” he asks.

“No, Arron. Comrade Quasi is stronger than me,” Boriss’s puts a hand on my shoulder, “I come request he make bear his suka. Is ok, yes?”

“Bear is- you want him to fight Tibbers?”

Boriss nods like it's the most normal request to ever make.

Arron rubs his temples, “No can do. I’d have to get permission from the guards, and they aren't going to release Tibbers on a random gold-rank, even if you ask for it. He is untested and unknown, but, if he fights you and wins, then I might be able to.. pique their interest.”

Boriss shakes his head. “No, I not like to lose. Is bad for health, yes? Maybe he fights another?”

He grimaces. “Hmm, it’d be a harder sell, but if you vouch for him, I can set up some fights with the better known veterans.”

“Da, I vouch.”

Aaron sighs, “Alright, give me an hour and I’ll have some contenders,” he looks at me, “if that's alright with you.”

I shrug, “Should be easy. Are there any rules I need to know about?”

“If they yield, you stop fighting. Other than that, go nuts.”

“Simple enough. Will you bring them to me or-”

“Head to the fighting pits. Shed seven is empty. Sit, prepare, and wait. I’ll have someone pick you up when it’s time.”

“Comrade Quasi,” Boriss’s grins, “win slow, play with food. Is good for gambling. I go make many passes now.”

And like that, Boriss walks off without another word and a grin on his face.

Once Boriss leaves, Mr. Suit, I mean, Arron, summons a lackey who leads me to a ramshackle hut with a chair and desk- both of which are well made. The chair is even padded too.

I only wait a half hour before Lackey A fetches me to enter the ring.

The crowd boos me as I walk onto the sandy floor of the pit. I stroll languidly to the center. salute each half of the jeering audience with my rapier. The crowd switches from jeers to cheers the moment my opponent enters the arena. The large, burly man, decked in armor like an extra from a Mad Max movie, strides a third of the way into the arena. In each hand, he holds a morning star that he waves in reply to the crowd’s adoration. I reckon they might hurt, if they hit me.

The man turns to me and looks me up and down, “Heh, did Boriss really vouch for you? I kinda feel cheated for accepting the fight.”

I glance into the crowd and find Boriss grinning from ear to ear. He gives me a thumbs up and then mocks a stabbing motion.

I roll my eyes at him.

“Welcome one and all to the Pit.” Aaron yells aloud and walks up to me in the center of the arena. Today, I bring you a brand new fighter, a newcomer to Downside.” His words spark a series of boos directed in my direction. “A man fresh from the outside world and graced with a Gold Rank.” The boos become mixed with interest as they glance at the shiny gold band on my leg.

“Yes, this man is a Gold Rank! The first Gold Rank with the balls to fight in the Pits.”

The boos, for the most part, go away and are replaced with muted cheers.

“To award such bravery,” Aaron points at my competition, “Galvin the Mauler will teach this young man exactly how much their rank means here!”

The crowd roars with applause and screams as Galvin, “the Mauler” strides forward, his morningstars held overhead. Then he turns away from the rapturous audience and grins at me, then snaps his faceplate down.

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“Fighters! When I ring the bell, you may both begin,” Aaron yells. He walks off the stage and arrives towards a bell.

I take a duelists’ stance with my rapier, one leg forward, sword extended in my right hand, and left hand behind my back.

Arron takes a hammer, raises it, and then slams the bell.

The fight begins and my mind jumps into overdrive. Time slows as adrenaline surges. I stare at my opponent, watching his every micro-movement and action. I gaze into his eyes and study his posture, reading him like an open book- well, as open as I can read a man covered in armor.

Galvin rushes forward, directly towards me, fully intending to plaster me into the ground. I lower my stance and lean towards his left. As expected by the posture of his movement and direction of his eyes, he raises his right hand to swing downward. When he raises the morningstar, I dive towards his left and under his other weapon with a burst of speed that professional sprinters would struggle to reproduce.

As I pass by, I kick towards his raised leg with enough force to push it into the path of his other one. Galvin trips and falls violently on the ground. His armor scrapes the cement floor until his momentum times out.

Not a second later, and he attempts to push himself back up, only for the weight of my entire body to land on his back and slap him back down on the ground with a violent bang. Then I hop off, do a backflip, and land several feet away.

During these few seconds of action, the crowd is completely silent. They stare at me flabbergasted, unsure of what they’d just seen.

With my stance made once again, I continue to point my rapier at Galvin, who is slowly getting back up again.

He turns to me with a pissed off glare.

“You’re fucking dead.” he curses. Then he unlatches his helmet and throws it to the side, revealing a broken nose and bloody teeth.

The crowd cheers at the sight of all the blood.

“Galvin,” I point my rapier at his discarded helmet, “Mind putting that back on? Your face is a bit ugly right now.”

“HA, is good taunt!” I hear a certain Russian yell from the stands.

“Your ass is fucking mine!” he roars and rushes forward, barbarian style.

I kinda wish those weren't morningstars. I’d honestly really love to parry them.

Learning from his first mistake, he keeps his momentum leveled as he swings in my general direction without an ounce of skill.

I dodge and pivot around the strike while circling around him. He follows and blindly slashes with his morningstar, but I’m always a tad bit out of range. After a good twenty seconds of this, he starts to show exhaustion, which eventually causes him to stop chasing.

“Are you just going to run and dance around?”

“Well, yes. A Russian guy asked me to play with my food- which involves not killing you instantly.”

Galvin laughs.

“Kill me? You can go fuck yourself you cocky shit. There ain’t no way your scrawny ass can take me out.”

“Not cocky, I’m just throwing out facts. Just watch.”

I aim my rapier upwards, and then I let it slowly fall and twirl around my arm, and then spin it up my shoulders, across my neck, down my left arm, and then I flick it up into a spin in the air.

All eyes look up and watch the rapier spin and then fall back into my arms.

Then Galvin falls choking on the ground with a dagger in his throat.

“See, facts.” I say with a grin.

The audience stares dumbfounded, unsure how to react.

“Da, is very good kill. Like sneaky mom with belt.” Boriss starts clapping.

Then the clapping spreads and I am given a standing ovation.

I bow to the audience and then look expectantly at Aaron, who is pinching the bridge of his nose.

________________________________________________

When the clapping dies down, I am directed back into the waiting area. Not five minutes later, both Boriss and Aaron arrive. One has a grin on his face, and the other looks like he’s suffering from constipation.

“Why did you have to kill him?” Arron asks, “He was a popular fighter for the shows.”

I raise an eyebrow, “Didn’t you say killing is fine?”

He groans, “No, it's not fine when a complete nobody kills a well-known veteran. I’m getting swarmed by veterans who want to teach you a lesson. They’re not happy about Galvin’s death, nor the fans.”

I grin. “Perfect. How many of these veterans do you think I need to kill before you can get me a fight with the bear?”

“Da,” Boriss nods, “fight many veterans. Is good for passes.” He says while raising up a small crate brimming with engraved metal coins.”

Aaron’s eyes pop out at the crate. “How much did you gamble to make that much?”

“Everything,” Boriss grins happily. “But I give half to Comrade Quasi like good communist, yes?

I lean back into my chair, “Aaron, just set up the fights. Give me five minutes between fights, and I’ll have everything wrapped up today.”

“You’re insane.”

“Da,” Boriss affirms, “Like crazy Russian mother. Dangerous, scary, but always wins. Is very fun.”

Aaron pinches the bridge of his nose.