There were more people than Marcel remembered ever seeing in the guild standing around and watching him. After his months of solitude he felt somewhat uncomfortable having so many eyes on him. It made his palms a little sweaty.

But that didn’t matter much, there were more pressing matters at hand. He turned his attention towards the man standing on the opposite side of the arena from him.

He was wearing a golden breastplate that glinted in artificial sunlight that shone from the colosseum's ceiling. The same handsome, somewhat hawkish features decorated his face that also his cousin had carried. The relationship between him and the arrogant leader from the ogre fight was unmistakable.

Marcel had no idea who exactly the guy was. Fredrik and Will had given him his name more than once, intonating it in lots of different ways, showcasing their excitement as if that would change anything on Marcel’s decision. Maybe the guy was some local aristocratic bigshot to them, and all of the guild really, but to Marcel he was simply an obstacle.

He didn’t know what level the man might be. That thought brought an underlying feeling of worry for Marcel, one that he hadn’t truly felt when facing enemies for months. But Marcel was confident in his own levels.

“Marcel Houst [Warrior of Rhea Level 29]”

Stats:

Str 38

Dex 17

Int 6

Wis 26

End 13

Vit 26

Per 17

Marcel had enjoyed a windfall of experience after slaying the dragon. And he had invested those levels properly

“You really want to do this?” Will said for the tenth time that day.

Marcel nodded.

“There’s no shame in backing down still,” Messy chimed in. She looked uncertain all of a sudden, almost more uncomfortable than Marcel himself felt.

Will nodded. “No shame at all.”

The two had been going back and forth like this the whole morning. Not that Marcel could fault them much. What he was about to do must seem crazy from their perspective.

“Don’t listen to them,” a voice sneered behind him. “I’m sure you will do great. And even if not, you will most certainly provide some great entertainment,”

Marcel turned around to find none other than the arrogant, pampered, golden plated boy from the ogre quest standing behind him. Behind him were two other boys with similar sneers on their faces. The typical aristocratic retinue.

“Just one week after me kicking your ass, you want to have it handed to you again publicly? Do you truly have nothing else in your life? Are you so desperate for the guild that you would rather throw your whole life away without it? “

“I didn’t know they let dogs in the arena.” Marcel said flatly.

You could’ve heard a hairpin drop when he said that. There was a synchronic sharp intake of breath from behind him, where Will and Messy stood. The face of the noble trio remained impassive for a split second, their brains straining to process the joke. Then the Mungol boy almost had his eyes bulge out.

“What did you say?” He grew red in the face. “How dare you!”

Marcel stared at him blankly.

“I will see you pay for that insult! Don’t you know who I am?!”

“What, you want to kick me out of the guild?” Marcel said. “Or maybe have one of your bigger cousins fight me in the arena because you are yourself too precious for that?”

The man took a step forward. “I can take you quite well myself. Don’t push your luck.”

His face was quite close to Marcel’s now. The tension in the air was almost palpable. He could see the man’s friends inwardly wrestling whether they should draw their friend back or not. And he could almost imagine Messy and Will’s expression.

All he could think of though, was the surprising similarity the man’s face had to that of a kobold. It reminded him a little too much of them.

Marcel kept his face completely impassive. He didn’t fear that pampered boy. Those times were long gone. He let a flash of his killing intent escape through his iron mask, only a sliver of what he had shown the real kobolds.

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The man’s reaction was immediate. His eyes grew wide. He took a hasty step back, and scrambled to his friends. Both of which had also taken a step backwards.

The noble mumbled some more words directed at Marcel, too quiet for him to hear. Explanations of what made Marcel inferior and some curses about his mother, he was sure.

Then they walked away, tail between their legs.

“What. Was. That?” Messy snorted. “I would pay to see him scare like that again.”

There was a certain heaviness to Will’s look, but before Marcel could ask what it was about, his friends were carted out of the colosseum. The fight was about to start.

There was some announcement, but Marcel wasn’t really listening. His heartbeat started quickening as soon as the doors of the arena were closed. There was an electric energy to the crowds watching, one he didn’t like.

He understood his friend's reaction. From their perspective he had only been missing for less than a week. They knew he wanted to follow a lead that he had, that he wanted to train. But that was it.

They couldn’t fathom the jumps he had taken, or understand how strong he had gotten. To be fair, Marcel himself didn’t know that.

He had broken through the twentieth level during his grind and was on the way to level thirty, which meant that he had entered the second cultivation stage a while ago. The change had been rather underwhelming. There had been no achievement or bonus skill for it as Marcel had hoped.

All he had gotten was the knowledge that now technically he should be close to eye level with whoever they pitted him against. He could at max be six levels above Marcel. How much that mattered, he wasn’t sure.

What he was sure about though, was that he wanted to let off some frustrations.

Suddenly it was only Marcel and the other man left in the arena. They began to slowly circle each other. The man had a measured step. He didn’t rush in, he didn’t taunt Marcel.

He behaved so utterly different to his younger cousin, that Marcel was a little shocked. Not just because of their differences, but mostly because this showed what kind of person the man was. He wasn’t taking this battle lightly, despite what the rest of the people said.

Marcel gripped his trident tighter. This was where everything would be decided.

The man fought, as it turned out, with a weapon very similar to the one of his cousin. He wielded a giant sword, almost the size of himself. It must’ve weighed at least as much as a sofa, but he wielded it with surprising agility and grace.

Marcel almost would have admired it, had he not been in the somewhat precarious situation of having to keep on his toes in order to avoid said sword. He pushed himself backwards with his front foot, clearing just in time for the giant weapon to crash down where he just stood. It sank into the stone with terrifying ease.

Marcel used the small moment of distraction to dart forwards. He already had his [Heightening] and [Water Tentacle] skill running, deciding not to hold back for a moment. This man would probably already know his tricks anyway.

As soon as he was in range, Marcel activated [Thrust] and let a mana empowered strike sail towards the man’s chest. He sidestepped it, and forced Marcel backwards again with an upswing of his blade. Then he followed up with a series of quick flurries, letting his sword sing through the air like it was nothing.

Marcel pushed himself to the limits. His Dexterity was barely able to keep up with the man, and without [Rhea’s Boost] he wouldn’t have stood a chance.

From what he could tell the man must’ve invested heavily into his strength, as well as his dexterity stat. Probably more so than Marcel judging by the way he moved. But that didn’t matter, Marcel had a few other tricks at hand.

His water tentacles which had been rendered useless by the man’s aggressive pursuit spurred into action. Each of the four arms split up into two different ones, and suddenly Marcel had eight razor sharp arms of water sprouting from his back. Almost doubling his effectiveness.

It was a new effect his skill had gotten for breaking through to level 25. The most notable skil change he had gotten when passing the thresholds.

The new arms didn’t hesitate, they soared towards the man from all angles. Most of them were again deflected with deceptively simple looking swings of the man. But a few managed to get through, inflicting a series of small cuts all over his attacker.

Now Marcel was pushing the action. He pushed the man forward. His trident weaving an impenetrable net, catching and deflecting the man's weapon whenever he tried to strike. Marcel caught it between his spikes, and stopped its advance for long enough to make his tentacles go to work.

He landed cut after cut on the man. They were all small, much shallower than Marcel had expected even. Marcel had seen the impact his tentacles could have on the stone walls of the cavern, to see them have less of an impact on real flesh and blood almost scared him a little. Nonetheless little wounds started accumulating, and soon the man was leaking blood everywhere.

So far there hadn’t even been a grunt of acknowledgement though. The man stoically took his punishment, intending to keep Marcel’s trident busy and at range.

The only sound filling the arena was their clash upon clash of metal, and the sharp whipping Marcel’s tentacles caused. Every spectator, every judge and guild member collectively held their breath though. Marcel could almost feel their chins dropping upon seeing him fight.

For himself it wasn’t as perceptible. He had been there for every step of his way, but for his friends it must look superhuman. He was moving with more speed than he ever had before, faster than some of the spectators from the first stage could even process.

His attacks and feints moved and chained together with fluency and practice that one only achieved after years of practice. And the strength behind them was palpable. It was like he had switched from Clark Kent to superman.

For a brief second during his push in the fight, Marcel swore he had seen a tiny sliver of surprise in the man’s eyes. Only a spark really, but it had been there undeniably. No matter how professional he was, no one would’ve expected such a performance from a stage one adventurer.

Surprise was also what played a large part in Marcel’s plan of offense. He knew he would be underestimated, and had planned to make the most out of it. Unfortunately, surprise, by its very nature, didn’t last for very long.

Suddenly three of his tentacles were cut off with one smooth swing from the man. In the same motion he stopped Marcel’s trident dead end while he was thrusting towards the man’s abdomen. It felt like his weapon was stuck in concrete.

“Not bad,” the man locked eyes with Marcel. “I can see how you beat my cousin. But this has been enough.”

Suddenly he flared his aura. An intense pressure washed over Marcel, as his trident was knocked to the side and he was kicked in the chest. The world spun and Marcel flew through the arena. He crashed against the stone wall at the very end.

He coughed up some pieces of debris, trying to ignore the feeling that his ribs had just been trampled over by a bull. He resummoned his trident to his hand and straightened himself.

So now the man was serious.