「Fight!」

The announcer throws his arms down, and the battle begins.

Gooonnnnnnnngggggggg…

The gong echoes loudly across the arena. Cycelia watches the Northman charge in at the masked man, bellowing out a battle-roar as dust kicks up behind his feet. The wolf-masked man doesn't move, and only lifts his arm up through his cloak to point the edge of his sword at an angle towards Wulf.

Wulf leaps in, swinging his huge sword over his shoulder. The masked man recoils, dodging its blade at last second. He backpedals away from Wulf, but the Northman takes another swing. Sturm dives to the ground, and begins crawling away in a manner ill-suited for a respectable warrior.

Cycelia, and the rest of audience for that matter, seem to come to realization that this isn't the battle they were all waiting for. Cycelia is no longer fidgeting, she stares with slumped shoulders and bored eyes at the sight of Sturm crawling on all-fours, rolling away in the sandy dirt from the Northerner's slashes. She sighs.

《Actually… He's not missing out that much…》

「Get on with it already!」 「Stop running, you boring fucking coward!」 「Gut him Wulf! Stop wasting our time!」

The audience is bloodthirsty, screaming at the arena. Jeers and foot-stomping drowns out the clashing of metal as Sturm blocks the Northerner's slash while crawling away from him on his back. People at the seats below begin throwing their corndogs and debris into the arena, in a very flaccid and futile attempt to perhaps hit Sturm.

「Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen, please stop throwing things into the arena! The spectators may not disrupt the match! You may be barred from attending the event if you do not cease!」

The announcer warns the audience, and the flow of trash stops. The flow of trash outward towards the audience continues within the arena, however. Sturm manages to roll away and jump up to his feet. Wulf the Northerner taunts the wolf mask man. He screams at him in fury, spitting uncontrollably as he shouts. The Northman spreads his scarred muscle-bound arms, inviting an attack.

Sturm obliges, and slashes at the Northman. Wulf sees the attack coming, and tries to grapple his sword arm with his free hand. He slips away at the last second, provoking more angry shouts. Wulf throws slashes left and right in a blind fury, nearly catching Sturm. However, he narrowly dodges each swing, wobbling and stumbling as he does. His movements devoid of any grace, the wolf-man provides a tepid experience for the audience.

Sturm jumps back, pointing the tip of his sword at Wulf. Wulf closes in, and Sturm starts stabbing wildly. The Northerner manages to dodge most of the stabs, but some leave shallow nicks. He is not discouraged, and continues rushing at his cloaked opponent.

Sturm jabs his weapon at the Northman's wrist, and blood sprays out when the blade connects. The sword falls out of Wulf's hand, and he pauses momentarily, clutching at his wounded wrist as Sturm backpedals further. The Northerner's face twists into pure hatred.

He lunges at Sturm, grasping at him with both arms. He once again manages to slip away, stumbling and staggering, just barely out of reach. The masked man keeps hopping back, much to the audience's dismay at the prolonged and tedious battle.

Sturm stops, sticking his blade out directly at Wulf's chest from a distance, and pressing the pommel against his own from beneath his cloak. Wulf has left a trail of blood in his chase after his opponent, the wolf of metal. He hesitates at the sight of the sword's tip pointed at him.

The Northerner then lets out another roar, louder than the jeering audience, and jumps in to grab Sturm regardless of the threat. The audience goes silent. Either because of the roar, or because of what happened next.

Sturm has driven his sword through the Northman's torso. Or to be more accurate, the Northman jumped right into the blade. Perhaps he overestimated his ability, or he underestimated his enemy. Regardless, the tip of the blade is sticking out of his back, slightly off-center. And his opponent is still out of reach, his fingers almost reaching the mask as Wulf stretches his hands out towards it.

Sturm yanks his weapon out and backpedals in haste. Wulf coughs out blood onto the ground and presses his hand against the puncture wound on his torso. He pulls his hand away, and looks at the blood coating it, almost as if in a daze. The wolf man stands still again, his sword pointing downward. His green cloak conceals everything else.

The Northerner dashes forward without a warning, throwing punches and still attempting to grapple his enemy. The masked man once again falls over, rolling away on the ground and crawling like a worm with not a shred of dignity. The announcer is watching in silence, while the jeers and stomping from the audience intensifies as the evasive behavior returns.

Sturm rolls away and jumps up to his feet again, slowly backpedaling away from Wulf, much how like a crab walks sideways. Meanwhile, Wulf breathes heavily and sways left to right as he walks straight towards Sturm, leaving a zigzagging trail of blood.

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Thud.

Wulf collapses on his face and kicks up a cloud of dust. The announcer throws up his arms in frustration, and the audience explodes into furious and incoherent yelling. Cycelia squints her eyes at the arena with mouth slightly open, furrowing her brows.

《…Am I supposed to bet on him tomorrow?》

Gooooooooooooooonnngggg…

Even the gong sounds disappointed, and barely overpowers the angry screaming. More food is thrown at Sturm as he walks towards the exit, but he manages to dodge it all. Healers run out into the arena and begin treating Wulf, as blood pools beneath him.

「Ladies and gentlemen… Looks like we have a winner. Despite everything, contestant Sturm wins. Ladies and gentlemen! Please stop throwing food into the arena!」

The announcer sighs before he announces the winner, then cautions the audience again. Sturm disappears in the dark hallways beneath the audience…

《…What do I even tell Straf when he gets back? I don't even feel like watching any more of this today.》

Cycelia thinks as she stares at the flying food, propping her head up on her fist with a face as if she was about to fall asleep while sitting. A minute or so passes before the audience finally calms, or perhaps has run out of ammunition.

「Ladies and gentlemen… I must warn you, if any more objects are thrown into the arena, we will dispatch event guards to eject the disruptive spectators! Please, observe the rules of the tournament! Next up is…」

He pulls out his trusty lineup paper again. Straf appears from the top of the stairs and sits down next to Cycelia, the seats around them seem to have vacated considerably.

「I'm back. Here.」

Straf says as he holds a hotdog out in front of Cycelia's face. She looks at him, her face still frozen in the same expression.

「Hey, don't look at me like that. I washed my hands.」

Straf's eyebrows furrow as looks at her with a sideways glance. She blinks and puts her face in her hands, then rubs it as if she was washing it. When she pulls her hands away, her face bears a neutral, normal expression. She takes the hotdog.

「What'd I miss?」

「You… Tsk.」

Cycelia clicks her tongue and sighs, then bites down on the hotdog. She chews in silence for a little bit, her eyes growing more and more bored as she looks down at the bloodied dirt down below.

「Nothing, I guess. Good timing…」

「That right? Well then.」

Straf says, then looks up at the orange sky as he bites down onto his own hotdog.

「Ish gettn' kinda dak. Wanna go do de inn?」

Straf asks Cycelia with his mouth full. Her shoulders slump, and she sighs.

「…Yes. I'm kind of tired of this.」

「Of what?」

Straf swallows, and asks.

「I mean I'm kind of tired, from all the walking.」

Cycelia gets up and shuffles out of the row of seats, and heads down the stairs with Straf…