Demetrios, a rich pretty young adult who was normally surrounded by girls and sycophants, was, for once, alone. He had just finished working out his graceful and slender body. His soft, almost feminine face was dripping with sweat. He was doing his hardest to catch his breath. He had taken off his exercise tunic, allowing the warm summer sun and the stuffy air to reach his body, and used it to wipe the sweat from his forehead and chest.

The Sc ōl Ampitheater was a unique building, the only one in all of the Bernician Isles. Maybe it was the only one of its type built in the past few hundred years. But it wasn’t alone; ruins of amphitheaters dotted the lands held by the great empire, which collapsed over a millennia ago. Demetrios wondered what it would be like to enter such an arena at the height of the empire, with the crowd calling for the death of one of those who entered.

But he hadn’t faced the fear of death. Not even back then, when… Well, maybe slightly then.

The roar of the crowd and excited cheers for the victors and laughter or groans for the losers was something he had faced when he entered the M ægen Scōl Tournament last year.

As a first year, he had done well, ending up in the top eight. But that bastard Berwyn had snubbed him by ending up in the top four. Still, he knew if he had to fight to the death, he wouldn’t be brave enough to face death in such a place.

However, he glanced at the tall, muscular barbarian who towered over everyone in the class. He was being led in training by the illustrious Osbert himself. Now him, Demetrious, sneered inwardly, would be the kind of fool who would gladly enter such an arena even in a fight to the death.

Unlike the amphitheaters from back then, which had stark dark stone walls, they built this one of the same creamy stone as the rest of the buildings within Mægen Scōl. So the whole atmosphere, he guessed, was softer and gentler. Only the black glyphs carefully carved into the stone, which were then filled with mystical metal, gave a harshness to the walls surrounding them. In the past, he has spent days admiring and studying them and their hidden potential to protect the audience and avoid death blows for those within the barrier. Those glyphs were extraordinarily powerful and subtle. He was sure there were hidden depths to them, but currently at his level of knowledge, he was unable to fully understand them.

Those black glyphs weren ’t currently in use right now, as the Scōl Ampitheater’s rust red sand arena was full of the second years who were currently in the midst of Osbert’s combat training. Being beyond such simple lessons, Osbert had excused Demetrious from them. So had been working on showing just how dedicated he was to Osbert, doing various muscle building and stamina enhancing exercises around the edge of the arena.

Despite himself being excused, that bastard of a barbarian, who was almost as good a fighter as Demetrious himself, was having special training with Osbert.

How fucking unfair.

He had to be careful not to let his emotions show on his face, however, as several people were watching him right now. Almost all of them, he guessed, were girls. A few were his fellow year two students gazing at him as they either pretending to do their combat forms or just outright looking at him topless. Most of the people who were looking at him were girls who had snuck out of class to watch him during his combat session.

A few of them were pretty enough for him to catch his eye, but he disliked how they were watching him, and giggling together after they saw his lean muscular body, or thought that the mindless smile he gave was aimed at them. He preferred studious girls, who would work hard, and then do their best to get his attention. Of all the beautiful ladies in the arena, only that brown skinned, Tan-bei, was paying attention to her lessons.

He liked her for her earnestness, but she was the wrong sort.

It annoyed him that even though she had spent the last month not attending any lessons; she was allowed back in to lessons without any comments. Though there was something different with her today. It wasn’t just in the way her gaze softened slightly as she looked at the brute of a barbarian: just what did she see in him?

Then again, she always seemed to have a soft spot for it.

No, the difference was in her movements. They seemed sharper, more distinct, and her gaze that bit more deadly.

It was a shame she was focused upon that belligerent fool and that she refused to leave the backing of the temple. Otherwise she would’ve made a good hero, what with her combat abilities and supportive abilities, too. Maybe he could’ve even overlooked her background…

It was not to be, though.

The girls in the stands of the amphitheater started whispering and pointed off to the side. Wondering what would distract them from himself and his glistening muscles shining in the sun, he looked over.

A short and solid mass of woman, wearing a solid black uniform, stood in the large entrance to the arena sands. She was wearing her rainbow sheened remnant gauntlets. The ones she won by saving the then Crown Prince, the now King, from a vicious battlefield. Though she was small, her solid muscular form and impressive presence made the arena entrance seem too small for her to depart from.

This woman was Castor from Castor’s Defiance. The only Livery Company who had, until today, never stepped into Mægen Scōl for anything other than a joint meeting.

Up close Demetrios could tell she was the real deal, a powerful powerhouse m ægen who, after retiring as a solider, worked to make Lundein a better place.

‘Everyone but Berwyn,’ Osbert called in his usual powerful voice, ‘leave the arena.’

Demetrios couldn’t help but smile.

That foolish barbarian had been getting too proud, so obviously Osbert had called on the one person in Lundein who could teach him humiliation. Oh, how he was going to enjoy watching this lesson unfold.

He pulled on his sweaty tunic and made his way up to the stands. Making sure he got a seat on the lowest level, even if he had to put up with having to smile and make promises for a date at Leornerum, the only bar in M ægen Scōl. Well, the girl was pretty, and would make for a pleasant diversion while he was searching for a woman to be his wife to help him with his plans and company.

Even Osbert left the arena.

That surprised him. Even during the duels in the tournament, he never left. The large arena doors closed. Being sensitive to the activation of magic items was a given, as he used them all the time during his hero duties in Lundein. He felt a powerful hum as the glyphs activated. Not to the low level they had been during the tournament, but to a level higher than what he expected the glyphs could go.

In the middle of the large arena, the two figures—one a muscular giant, the other a short, muscular squat figure who reached only to the giant ’s stomach—bumped fists. It was strange, though there was so much space around them, their combined overwhelming presence made the arena’s rust red sands feel cramped.

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Normally during duels, there was either a fast attack to try and either end the duel quickly, or at the very least swing it in the attacker’s favour; or the two duelists would start with a few testing attacks.

These two didn’t start like that.

These two impressive figures started their duel as if they were having a drunken brawl.

At first, he scoffed at them, thinking that they were messing around. More and more people around him laughed at the two of them in the middle of the arena, including the girl he promised a date with. But he saw Osbert was paying great attention to them, even mirroring some moves and blows from the two combatants.

So he started paying greater attention.

That was when he saw it.

Berwyn was smiling. Never during any of their duels had he managed to get Berwyn’s face to change expression. But here he was smiling joyfully. Even though his face was swelling up, making him lose the vision from one of his eyes, after taking a hard blow to his face.

Demetrios had never managed to land a blow hard enough on Berwyn to make such a bruise.

This wasn’t a simple drunken brawl.

Yes, the two of them were taking hits. He watched carefully. Most of the hits they took, they accepted. They often blocked or dodged other attacks. Sometimes the two of them would even step into an attack.

And these weren’t attacks on the level he could do. They were far beyond that.

The rust red sand of the arena was floating in the air, starting to form a rust-red mist. Just what amount of power did it take for their blows to cause enough wind for the sand to float and remain floating in the air?

Demetrios had an unpleasant thought: he had always believed that he was better than Berwyn. But he realised Berwyn had never, not once, gone all out with him. Not like he was going full out with Castor.

Would he ever be able to face Castor like that damned barbarian was?

Would he ever be able to smile even if Castor had pummeled his face like that idiot’s had been?

If Berwyn had ever gone full out, would he ever be able to fend off even a single attack?

He always thought that he was strong and powerful. That even though he wasn’t blessed with any mægen powers, he believed that his arsenal of magic items and remnants should be able to cover any short comings. Now, he realised Berwyn had always gone easy on him.

A lucky blow from Castor sent Berwyn tumbling across the arena’s rust red sands. He climbed to his knees just in time to grab, and stop, Castor’s downwards punch. From the wave of sand flying outwards from the impact, he knew it was a powerful blow.

Just how strong was he?

The mocking jeers faded as the fight continued.

He was sure that they understood the force of the blows that were safely sealed away behind the humming barrier. If not for that barrier, would any of the audience be safe from the effects of the fight?

Forget the audience: would the solidly built amphitheatre be safe from the effects of the fight?

Maybe some of the awareness of just what was happening within that rust-red tinted barrier was seeping into the other fool’s heads. Like it had his own. Either that, or though the rust-red mist were they seeing the same dangerous glint in Berwyn’s eyes that he was? That joyful smile was still plastered on his face, but there was now a sharp, dangerous edge to it, making it seem ominous.

For a moment the fight paused, the two combatants watching each other, their bodies heaving with the effort of their long drawn out fight.

The rust-red mist started to settle down.

Then a strange twist to their fight occurred: Berwyn snaked his arms around Castor ’s body. Castor snaked her arms around Berwyn’s in return. It was the first overtly technical move he could easily recognise happening in their fight. Though from the few bits of fight he understood, and how Osbert had been watching eagerly, the previous brawling fight must’ve been on a level he couldn’t even begin to understand.

Now, as Berwyn kept snaking his arms around Castor, and how she was writhing in return, it seemed he was watching some dangerous kind of foreplay rather than a fight.

It couldn’t be, though?

Not only was she a hero, and a true hero , she was ancient —there was talk she was grooming her successor. Berwyn was barely into adulthood.

In the end, the two of them separated and bumped fists again. They then collapsed together into a heap in the middle of the arena, leaning on each other’s back without a care that they had just beaten each other more-or-less senseless.

Once the hum of the glyph barrier died, he heard the two of them laughing.

Just how strong and tough were the two of them?

It was then, watching the two of them laugh, he realised he would never be able to stand up to Berwyn if he was being serious. Maybe Osbert was correct in choosing that brute of a barbarian for extra special combat lessons.

Thankfully, he knew just how far of a mountain he had to climb.

Now he knew that in the private lessons he’d paid for, he was just messing around, playing at learning. He had to get serious, otherwise that brutish barbarian would forever be beyond him.

Yes, Osbert was right not to pick him.

He had never truly been serious. Not in the way that Berwyn was.

Demetrios had seen those scars which covered just about every bit of the battered barbarian ’s torso and arms. Instead of mocking them as he had in the past, he realised that something harsh had caused them. Something so harsh that it had honed the barbarian into a dangerous weapon.

For the first time, Demetrios realised that the motivation of him losing his father to a random mægen mugging in Three Bridge wasn’t enough. It wasn’t anything anywhere near as disastrous as to what must’ve happened to Berwyn.

Just what had happened in that poor barbarian’s life for him to end up becoming the dangerous individual he turned out to be?

Demetrios didn’t know.

What Demetrios knew, though, was that he had to finally get serious if he ever wanted to beat Berwyn.