After meeting with our new teachers, Cato and Odwic, and confirming our next lessons with them, the day proceeded as usual.

That afternoon I had another match, but this wasn’t too hard either. The only way I could get some challenge here was probably if I faced a few opponents at the same time.

There weren’t many people to go around with, though. It seems that my sudden popularity in the first few days was mostly because they found me interesting, more than anything else. Some of my opponents even asked me if I could avoid hitting them too hard when it was clear I had a good hit. More than the pain, they were worried about the costs of healing and repair for their equipment.

I suppose that’s a reasonable concern, I thought when I left the cage.

Most of them used cheap, spare armor without enchantments for these fights, but costs were still costs. The lower they were, the better.

The spar wouldn’t be as good if I held back, but I supposed that refining my control was also a good way to train. Stopping a blow before it could deal too much damage wasn’t as easy as it seemed in the heat of battle, and even if I could do it with reasonable consistency, usually, when using mana things were a bit trickier.

I also didn’t want a reputation as an equipment destroyer, or I’d lose even the few opponents I had. I needed the practice, so even if it could be better, I'd make do.

Other than that, I was having some problems understanding how to level up. I was still making some progress while I trained, but I only reached level 20. My strength was also increasing at a slower rate compared to before, so I wasn’t sure if I was just doing something wrong or if it was just a natural process.

What I was sure of, was that training with my mana didn’t help much, or, if it did, it was a small improvement.

I wouldn’t stop doing it though, given how much my combat abilities were improving thanks to it. My sensitivity hadn’t improved much, so I could just use it roughly, but the day I’d be able to put into practice all my theories I’d be a monster in combat — I was sure of that.

In the meantime, until I could think of something else, I was stuck with the same old routine.

During morning training with Freya, I ran alongside her while wearing the manacles. It wasn’t as hard as it was in the beginning, but it helped. After that I took them off when I went to the gym since they weren’t too useful there; the small difficulty they added could be achieved by adding more weight.

Freya’s training was proceeding well. During barehanded combat practice, which was the only thing I was teaching her besides body training, she showed as much grace as a blind drunkard, but she was improving. Her perseverance was outstanding.

I was worried, instead, about her... merciful character.

“Put some strength on your back and punch! You can break it! I know you can! Do it with a shout, come on!” I pointed at my nose while half kneeling, trying to encourage her. It was one of my last attempts at self-harm — a pathetic one, but I was at my wit’s end.

“Aahhh,” she said almost timidly.

Her punch gained speed, then slowed as it was about to it. I barely felt anything as she squashed my nose a bit.

“Ok, I felt something. This is an improvement! Again!” I said trying to sound positive, despite her failure.

I had to reduce her reluctance to inflict pain on other humans, somehow. Many people had some of that — even I did to some extent the first time — but she was a bit extreme. In cases of danger, hesitation could be fatal, so I wanted to find a solution sooner rather than later.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

There were two ways I could think of: either make her hate someone so much she’d want to hit them, or put her in a situation where she could only do that.

The first option was a bit hard to do.

I wasn’t sure I could find a way to make her angry. I hadn’t found one until now, so I was feeling stumped there.

If I knew it would work, I could even steel myself and give her a few beatings. I would feel revolting, since it would remind me of the slavers “education”, but if I could light a fire in her, I would still do it. I was sure though, that the only result that would come out of it would be her fearing me, or losing confidence in herself; of which she didn’t have much already.

My training was becoming harsher and harsher instead, in the hope that she’d get fed up with it one day. Wanting to give a beating to a harsh instructor was a common feeling; I saw it more than a few times in the gladiator’s school.

But she’s too damn good, I thought as she went back into position. She followed every instruction without a complaint.

I was, instead, starting to feel bad about how harsh I was with her.

Fuck! I’m the one that should influence her, not the other way around! I wasn’t sure if I was not made to be an instructor or if her character was just that fearsome. There was a need to constantly remind myself that what I was doing was good for her, or I’d start having doubts about giving her this choice; it was still too early to give up.

If she only would curse at me from time to time, It would be easier.

Unfortunately, for the other option, it was still a bit too early.

I needed to train her at least until the movements became ingrained in her and trust that what she could pull through when put on the spot. Then I’d bring her to kill a few goblins as practice, which was the only thing they were good for, and after that a few matches in the arena.

Maybe, I should thank Larin for telling me of that place, I thought while Freya’s punch bounced off my nose. I didn’t like it, but it gave me viable options that I would have a hard time finding alternatives to. Or maybe not. He’d bug me again to get in the matches if I did.

When I saw him the following day at the guild training grounds, he, in fact, tried to convince me again.

“It’s going to be easy!” he exclaimed. “You don’t need to participate in many of them. Just around three or four. If you participate in the Level 36 to 40 fights, the odds they'll give you will be reeeeally low since you’re so young. By the time they catch on, we’ll get out with a killing!”

Or the organizers kill us.

He was stubborn. I thought he resigned himself when he relented the other day, but maybe he thought to try and harass me continuously until I gave in. We both thought wrong.

“No,” I repeated. I was starting to get annoyed, and maybe it was showing since he changed the topic.

“Okay, okay, I’m sure you’ll see the benefits soon, but I have some news about what you asked. I convinced my party to have a spar with you. What do you say about tomorrow?”

A good news finally.

“Sure, give me a time, and I’ll go book a cage right away,” I told him.

“No need, we already booked one for practice, but that aside, how about a bet?” he asked with a grin.

I refused.

His party consisted of an archer, a healer, a swordswoman, and a mage. They all had similar Levels as Larin and were five against one, not to mention they were used to fighting together. It would be a good practice, but I wouldn’t be the one with the advantage this time. I was probably in for a beating, instead.

He told me that they accepted because he told them I was good enough as an “Orc dummy”, and since the following day was the one they used for coordination practice, they agreed to add me to the exercise.

It was a bit of a stretch to compare me to an orc, but I had to admit that fighting against me could be somewhat similar to fighting one, if said orc was smaller, more agile, with a hundred times the skill, and a thousand times the handsomeness.

That aside, it would be good for me. The increased difficulty would allow me to improve faster.

“Fine. See you tomorrow then,” he said as he started to leave. “Oh, and please, don’t say anything about me losing a bet tomorrow.”

“Yes, sure,” I said, waving him away. I had training to do now.

With the prospect of a good fight in front of me, I was in a good mood when I met his party members the following morning. I was waiting for them near the cage when I saw them coming.

I could distinguish them by how they were dressed. The healer was wearing a coat full of pockets, the archer and swordswoman, wearing leather armor, could be distinguished from their weapons, and the mage was wearing an expensive-looking robe. Aside from the mage, who looked younger, they looked all around the same age as Larin — he, on the contrary, looked older than his age, with all that fur on his face.

When they reached me, the swordswoman, a brunette with a scar under her left eye, greeted me with a, “So you’re the brat looking for a beating, right?”

I narrowed my eyes as I looked at Larin.