"Did I miss much?" Aun asked in a panting voice, catching his breath as he sat beside me on the bench.

"Just one fight," I replied without turning my head. "And don't worry, it wasn't particularly interesting."

After the drawing for the Bronze stage was completed, like nearly half of my future opponents, I did not leave the Arena but went to the stands. Even more so since a separate, albeit small, sector had been allocated for all participants and their escorts, and there was no need to find seats ourselves. I chose a bench located nine rows from the sand, settled on it, and began to observe. Of course, I did this with the most indifferent and bored look, as required by my new image.

First, I had to watch the Steel stage draw, which was interesting to me only from the perspective of organization, and what it looked like from the outside. As soon as all three rounds of the draw were completed, the arena sand was cleared of extraneous objects such as the assembled stands, and the first round of the Iron grid matches began almost immediately. I didn't lie to Aun: the first fight was extremely boring. The difference in class between the opponents was too great, and the match looked more like a beating than a fight.

"You're early; I expected you later," I told Aun, not taking my eyes off the arena, where the next pair of fighters were already entering the sand.

"As soon as the draw was over, the crowd, like a herd, rushed to place bets," explained the young man in a self-satisfied tone. "But I remembered your words that if you get one of the favorites as an opponent, then I should not rush with your bet. And I..." Out of the corner of my eye, I see how complacent he looks. "Assessing the size of the crowd, I didn't wait for it to thin out. I ran straight to the municipality."

"And?"

"Alas, the fleet has already cleared the fire site, and they say no one survived. The fate of the 'Bloody Wave' has not yet been decided, there are some controversial nuances, but the municipality will deal with the fleet regarding them. But I can say for sure: neither you nor even me will get anything from the possible sale of the galley."

I wasn't counting on a miracle, but it's still a pity; a few thousand gold coins would have been very helpful to me.

"Having found this out," the merchant's son continued his story, "I immediately returned here and placed a bet." He rubbed his hands, which clearly indicated that he was pleased with the odds. "And then came straight to you."

"Good job." After yesterday's revelations, any support will do him good, and it's not difficult for me to praise him. "A correct calculation of time is an important skill."

But the lad wasn't listening to me anymore. Two fighters met in the arena. A swordsman with a medium-length straight blade against a mage with a massive staff.

"The mage will lose!" Aun declared confidently. "Magic is much weaker on the metal coil than honest steel!"

I just snorted in response, I saw how the mage held his staff, and I had no doubts about the outcome of the duel. It's just that this outcome, in my opinion, would be completely different.

"A mage doesn't necessarily have to fight with magic alone," I began to explain.

In confirmation of my words, the caster, instead of casting spells, twirled his staff and went on the attack, striking not with magic but with his weapon.

"A staff is not just a magic amplifier," I asserted, "It's also quite an effective close-quarters weapon."

The swordsman fell for the feinted strike to the chest and immediately rolled on the arena sand as the mage's staff swept his knees out from under him. No one allowed the warrior to rise back. Of course, he tried, writhing like a snake, but when you're knocked off your feet, and your opponent's weapon is almost twice as long as yours, in addition to occasional streams of fire pouring out of the staff, the outcome is largely predetermined. And so it was this time, too: no miracle occurred. The mage, unhurried but not tarrying, struck measured blows, eventually disarming the warrior, and the referee ended the fight, declaring the victor.

"But... He didn't even cast a single spell other than the basic flame!" Aun cried out indignantly.

"Why should he?" I asked him.

"Eh..." The lad struggled to come up with a quick response.

"Exactly, he didn't need to - he was stronger anyway. And remember, the mistake many warriors make is to think that mages are defenseless in close combat. That's far from the truth because nothing prevents all types of casters from learning to use weapons, not just perfecting magic. And I'll tell you more, at high ranks of the Spiral, all mages handle their staves and wands quite well. So well, in fact, that many swordsmen would easily have their head cracked without any magic at all."

"Oh!" Was all Aun could utter after my mini-lecture.

There are no newspapers, publicly available encyclopedias, let alone the internet in Ain, so many misconceptions and myths have no one to debunk them, so they circulate for thousands of years, and people believe them as if they were the only truth.

The next fight turned out to be evenly matched. Aun, watching it, even hopped on the bench while I was bored. Yes, two equal fighters clashed in the duel, but it was an equality of the incompetent. If such as they had passed the selection, then apparently, the general skill level in Tries is almost a head lower than on the other side of the Great Ridge. There, such "fighters" wouldn't even be allowed within an arrow's flight of tournaments. And after that boring duel, there was another one almost the same. Just pointless and ruthless[1] waving of weapons, no style, no understanding, just a competition in raw speed or strength. It was more like a street fight than a duel of the city's best.

But then again, Aun and the spectators seem to like it. Boom, ding, wham. Blades spark, fists punch faces, shouts, growls, expressiveness. And I just want to yawn. Maybe I shouldn't have decided to spend my day on this. Probably, I should have left right after the draw and dedicated the time to training. Especially since I have to fight the main favorite of the Bronze network tomorrow. However, there's a nuance, I still don't feel very well, and training in such a condition will hardly bring much. So, sitting in the stands and watching the fights, I'm really not losing much. I'm just bored. Which, however, works for my image, so I can continue to sit around.

After three more duels, even Aun didn't seem so anxious anymore, apparently having exhausted his stock of emotions. I was watching the spectators more than the fights. The longer my gaze swept over the spectator stands, the more often it got stuck on one VIP box. This box was different from all the others in that it was provocatively empty. Time and time again, my eyes returned to it; the box was like a spot in my vision.

"Aun," I distracted the boy from watching another senseless swordplay and asked, "Do you know who owns that empty box?"

"Huh?" The young man didn't understand at first, but then he followed my gaze and smiled. "Remember, I mentioned that the 'Righteous Elevation' sect still owns some property in the city? Well, that box belongs to them." He lowered his voice and continued, "They say it has been standing empty for two hundred years! But someone still pays rent for it!" Suddenly, he froze as if remembering something and started chattering, "How could I forget?! They say that at the end of the Bronze Selection, in which you participated, someone appeared in that box. It was for a brief time, but someone appeared."

"Didn't you see it yourself? You were in the stands at that time."

"As soon as the end-of-round gong sounded, I immediately ran to the bookmakers," he explained. "To collect the winnings quickly and not to stand in a huge line later. And, by the way! You yourself were standing on the sand and should have seen."

"Me? See? I was under the effect of Swamp Lily, and even if Eyrat's Return had happened at that moment, even that wouldn't have interested me," I smile in response.

That ended our short conversation with Aun. The boy returned to watching the fights while I continued to scrutinize the empty VIP box with much greater curiosity. As if its appearance alone was supposed to tell me something.

For the young man sitting with me on the bench, the "Righteous Elevation" sect is just one of many urban myths, but for me... For me, after talking to a high-ranking alchemist, or rather after the interrogation he arranged for me, my interest in this sect is more specific. But no matter how closely I looked at the empty box, I couldn't find anything remarkable about it. That wasn't surprising, though - an ordinary-looking box, just no one inside. But watching it was still more interesting than watching what was happening on the arena's sand.

Time and time again, my gaze returned to this vacant VIP box as if I hoped to notice something interesting, some insignificant detail that had been overlooked by thousands of other curious eyes over two centuries. But, of course, I saw nothing special.

But now I understood the interrogation itself. I clearly remember that when the steward announced my name as one of the winners, the audience was silent. And only someone was clapping. I didn't care then who exactly was applauding, but if we assume that this unexpected visitor of the now-empty VIP box was the one who expressed his admiration for my performance, then... Then the interest in me from the Alchemists' Guild becomes clear. More precisely, if the Guild was at odds with this sect, their interest was clear. Apparently, the conflict between these two organizations was serious, and the alchemists didn't consider that conflict over. Now I even feel a little sorry that the "memory of the future" doesn't store any memories of the "Righteous Elevation" sect. The only thing I really hope for is that the sect's interest in me is accidental. I don't need a conflict with one of the great Guilds, not now, not ever in the future.

"Master," Aun whispers quietly. "Remember, I told you about how the 'Rising Dragon' school decided to put their fighter in this tournament unexpectedly for everyone?"

I nod without taking my eyes off the empty box.

"Well, the steward just announced him."

"Thank you."

Not that I was very interested, but I turned my gaze to the sand.

The representative of the famous Tries school of martial arts was easy to identify, even for me, who was unfamiliar with the city's heraldry. It's simple, the school's fighter wore a mask covering almost the entire face. And, of course, this mask was styled after a dragon's muzzle. However, could it be otherwise, remembering the grandiloquent name of this school? This fighter was a little above average height, not an ounce of fat, tanned, he would have made a good athlete, and long arms gave him a decent advantage in battle. It was impossible to determine his race because of the mask, but I still thought he was a Westerner. The choice of the weapon of this fighter was unusual: not a sword, not an ax, not a spear, but a pole. A simple, not even metal-clad, pole.

That's curious. Especially since his opponent was clearly not a novice. Smooth movements, competent stance, gliding steps, and in his hands, a spear almost identical to mine. It's immediately apparent that perhaps for the first time in the entire Iron round, onto the arena's sand have stepped two fighters who knew which end of the weapon to hold.

Both warriors seemed to understand this. They were not in a hurry to get closer. They circled each other for almost a minute. The spectators clearly did not like this. Someone even started hooting, urging the competitors on. Of course, neither of the fighters paid any attention to these extraneous sounds. With every second, the disgruntled hum in the stands grew louder, but the two warriors weaving their step-nets in the arena's sand didn't hear it. All their attention is focused on each other.

The spearman was the first to lose patience. His combination was fast and impetuous. Deception, deception, and a real attack from an awkward position. But his opponent easily parried this attack. And the way he did it made me clutch the bench with my palms.

No, it can't be! I must be imagining it.

The circling again, almost for a minute, and the rumble of the tribunes had already turned into an annoyed howl. Even Aun, putting his palms around his mouth, is disapprovingly howling. Of course, there were those who understood. Like, for example, Paravi Malik, who is sitting three rows from me. She also cannot take her eyes off the sand, and her clenched palms have turned white from tension.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

And again, the lancer carries out an attack, and again to no avail.

And again, circles, circles, circles. Another clash. This time the man in the mask attacks. The lancer deflects this attack. But! I saw it! I saw that if the fighter, defending the honor of the "Rising Dragon" school, had wanted to, he would have ended the fight here and now.

He didn't want to.

He didn't end it.

He was enjoying what was happening.

And this undisguised pleasure from the duel gave him away completely. I was not mistaken. I knew this fighter. I knew from my "past life."

How could I not recognize the one who was one of the three teachers of my past self?! And no mask can foil me.

"Ronin..." My lips whispered soundlessly.

In the past Cycle, he began his journey in Ain from the northern lands - to the west of the Tyberian Plateau. But because the questers from the first group stage of the trials mixed groups of people differently this time, he, apparently, ended up in this area. Ended up and already found himself a martial arts school, where, apparently, he is now mastering the intricacies of local martial arts.

I recognize my teacher!

But how exciting! Especially if you consider that he doesn't know me at all! A curious situation that's worth considering.

The fight in the arena continued for almost another quarter of an hour, and most of the spectators, for example, the same Paravi Malik considered it equal - it was clear from how the girl was worrying. I, on the other hand, understood that the outcome of this confrontation had been decided long ago.

In the past Cycle, while still on Steel, Ronin clashed with Katashi Atsushi, who was on Wootz. And the future God of Labor lost. Later, when Katashi partially uncovered his true potential, he took revenge, but it was already when they both were on the Precious Coil.

So I was sure, in the entire iron grid of the tournament, there were no real opponents for Ronin. And the fact that the fight lasts so long is just because this fencing fan wanted it to be so. No other reason. This is simply Ronin's character. Fighting is his only obsession, his lifeblood.

Ah, if only Ronin were the Shard of the God of War and not Nate with his shitty character; alas, it didn't happen. And my "former teacher" was not a Shard at all. Shards do not die so foolishly as Ronin did in the past Cycle, simply trampled by buffalos. And even though they were divine buffalos, and it happened on the fifty-eighth floor of Sino's Inverted Tower... still, he was simply trampled, and no weapon skills of the fencing master saved him.

When the organizer declared the "Mysterious Mask of the Rising Dragon School" as the winner, I turned to Aun and quietly said:

"About my part of the bets..."

"Yes?"

"Do I understand correctly that first, the initial round of Iron will pass, then the same stage of Bronze, and then Steel?"

"That's correct."

"And in the future, this cycle will be the same, i.e., first the battles of Iron, then Bronze, and then Steel."

"Exactly."

"Then my bets will change slightly. You don't rush to bet on me after the draw, but first, you bet on this Mask! And after his fight, taking the winnings, you bet on me. Clear?"

"You want to bet on this bungler who couldn't cope with his opponent for almost a third of an hour? Are you serious?!!" The merchant's son looked puzzled, rolled his eyes, and threw his hands up.

"More than serious. And the one you called a bungler is a real master."

"A real master?!!" The boy exclaimed in astonishment, first covering his mouth with his hand.

"And look at how Paravi Malik is watching him," I nodded toward the girl. "Take a closer look. She thinks the same way."

"Oh-oh!!" Aun was surprised for the umpteenth time today.

"Besides, he's my fellow countryman, and I know him."

"You know him?!!" Oh, where is my own youth with such genuine emotions?

"He doesn't know me, but I've seen him more than once. You could even say that I learned to fight by watching this man."

"You don't say..." This time much quieter, on the exhale, Aun said and looked with respect at the back of the Ronin leaving the arena. Then he looked at me and asked straightforwardly, "So he's stronger than you?"

"No."

"Because you know what he can do, and he doesn't know your abilities?"

From this utterly correct answer, which this young man had somehow arrived at in such a short time, I was even momentarily stunned. And only after two deep breaths did I find the strength to nod in agreement:

"That's correct. It's amazing how quickly you found the right answer."

"My grandpa always said I was smart!" The intolerable boy raised his nose smugly, completely ruining his image of a smarty-pants.

We sat through another fight, and Aun asked me:

"Are you really bored, or is it a pretense?"

"Really."

"So maybe we should leave?"

"No need, we've already seen a lot of fights, let's just watch them all. Besides, I haven't quite come to myself for training, and as long as you're here, we can't expect any assassination attempts."

The reminder that an assassin was wandering around the city, hired for his soul, brought the boy down to earth. Perhaps I remind him of this too often? Or maybe not. It's useful to rein him in from time to time.

In the end, we sat in the stands until evening, until all the fights of the first round of Iron were over.

"You haven't changed your mind about the bets?" Aun asked me when the organizer announced the end of today's tournament day.

"We've seen three more decent fighters, but none of them even comes close to the 'mask,' so yes, I haven't changed my mind."

"Can I... Can I also bet on him?" Greed flashed unabashedly in the young man's eyes.

"Look." I take out a coin and show him the obverse. "On one side, 'Mask' - the strongest Iron fighter in this tournament." I flip the coin. "On the other, as far as I know him, he values the process, not the result."

"How so?" The boy didn't understand me.

"Well... If he decides that losing is more interesting to him than winning, then he will lose."

"So even if he is stronger, he will still lose?" The young man became even more confused.

"Exactly. That's how it is. That's why I, for example, won't bet on him in the Iron final. Because I don't know what will get into his head."

"And until the finals?"

"I will - until the finals, but there's a risk, unpredictable risk at that, and you should understand this when making your decision."

"Then..." He thought for almost a minute, then pronounced with clear disappointment in his voice, "Then I will refrain from betting on 'Mask'."

Sometimes he acts like a five-year-old, and sometimes he is so thoughtful that many people with gray hair could learn from him!

When most of the spectators left the Arena, we stood up from our seats and went to the exit. Already on the central staircase, Aun asked me to wait and dashed off to the bookmaker's stand, which was still operating at this relatively late time. He came back quickly, and when he approached, I saw genuine admiration in his eyes directed at me.

"Master!" The young man exclaimed. "How did you guess?!"

"About what?" I pretended not to understand his question.

"About the fact that bets will come in waves?" Saying these words, the boy drew a big wave with his hand. "When I placed my bet right after the first crowd, the odds on your victory were five and a half to one!"

"And now?"

"And now only four to one!"

"Smart ones don't rush. They're the ones who drove down the odds."

"So the smart ones are betting on you? Even though you will be fighting against the tournament's favorite?!"

"Are you smart?"

"Yes!"

"And who did you bet on?"

"On you!"

"Well, then, what was your question about?" Leaving him gasping for air, I quickly strode down the wide staircase.

Apparently, I overdid it, as Aun only caught up with me at the Grand Fountain. Moreover, when the young man joined me, he didn't start talking non-stop as usual but walked silently. He remained silent all the way to the market until he started to haggle fiercely over the products for dinner.

After buying fresh vegetables and turkey breast, we calmly walked home. And while Aun was busy cooking, I, overcoming myself, still started training. Moreover, today I was training not with a dagger but with a spear. Each movement was a little harder for me than usual, but I could feel the poison leaving my body.

I can't believe I was careless enough to get poisoned out of nowhere! I didn't get poisoned by alchemy even once throughout the last cycle! And it's not about my knowledge or luck, but because the "Enhanced Body" also gave increased resistance to poisons. That's precisely why, when I was buying a sleeping potion, I chose it for its effectiveness, not paying attention to anything else. But apparently, the swamp lily and the mountain squill were so incompatible that they even broke through this resistance. That's a lesson for the future.

From how I feel, I should fully recover by tomorrow morning after sleeping. And that's heartening. Because I had no illusions about the fact that I was in for a tough fight tomorrow.

Oh no!

This Shiin Karim will be a very challenging opponent. Very.

A fighter who deliberately stays on Bronze for years to remain undefeated. There's something flawed about this approach, of course, but it doesn't make Shiin any less dangerous. Honestly, I'm not even sure I can defeat him. I simply have no other choice. Losing tomorrow would be equivalent to death for me. I have nowhere to retreat, and therein lies my strength. To win, I'll have to go all out, not just a hundred, but all one hundred and fifty percent. I have to overreach.

And...

I'm ready for this.

Or rather, I'll be ready once this damn weakness from the poison passes!

I even skipped dinner, training until I was soaked in sweat because I felt that with this sweat, my body was getting cleaned. Aun had long since gone to sleep, and I was still hopping around the atrium and spinning the training spear until I was completely drained. But unlike last night, I fell asleep immediately. I fell on the bed and passed out. Shut down.

I fell asleep only to be woken up by a loud noise in the next room in the middle of the night! Springing to my feet, I immediately unsheathed my dagger and, with a push, sent Aun, who was trying to get up, back into bed.

"Stay down!" I whispered through my teeth.

And then I smoothly slipped behind the door. I knew where this noise was coming from. Someone had stepped into that water trough that I had moved under the window in the next room!

The situation was complicated by the fact that this someone had cast some strange spell on me. It felt like someone had thrown a sticky ball of dense web on my head. And this web was constantly swinging in front of my eyes, obstructing my vision. But I felt that this magic was not an immediate danger, so I didn't get distracted by it. I had to be quick and intercept the enemy before he recovered from the unexpectedly raised alarm.

"Discharge!" I burst into the next room with a sliding jump, simultaneously putting the weapon forward and activating the Move.

But all this was unnecessary. The one who was trying to sneak into the house, realizing that he had been discovered, did not engage in battle. The light from the Discharge only allowed me to see the silhouette of the stranger who was already skulking on the roof of the house that stood on the opposite side of the street. It all happened so quickly that I didn't even get to see the Rank Sign of the one who tried to infiltrate the house secretly.

A noise behind me.

But it's a familiar noise, the footsteps of Aun. The boy didn't listen to me after all, and now he's standing in the doorway, brandishing a dagger, and he's holding the weapon so clumsily that it's painful for me to watch.

"Relax," I wave my hand dismissively.

"M-M-Master?" The boy asks in surprise.

"Who else?"

"But your…" He runs his hand through his hair, and I involuntarily mirror the gesture.

Damn it! That's not cobwebs on my head. And it's not some spell cast on me by the attacker.

"I look like a man who has spent a year on a desert island, right? And I urgently need a visit to a barber?" I seem to realize what's going on.

"Yes! Your hair! It's grown incredibly overnight. It's down to your waist!"

"Well, Kiadi of Mundi!" I growled. "I'll remember this!"

"What?" Aun didn't understand me.

"Recently, I declined an offer from a high-ranking alchemist, and this hair growth is the result of my refusal," I explained my anger.

"Really?" The young man seemed surprised.

"Yes, such jokes with blatant hints are typical of this Great Guild. I've seen this trick personally, albeit from the sidelines." And in the previous Cycle, of course. "I took from the alchemist's hands and drank what he called an antidote, and this was a trap. If I had agreed with their offer, they would have given me some pill and..." I tugged at my grown hair, "... this would not have happened. But I refused, and here's the result."

"You're saying it's a hint?"

"Let's board up the shutters tightly and then continue the conversation," I insisted.

We brought planks from the first floor and boarded up the damaged window. I probably should have done this earlier instead of setting up water troughs. Nails and boards - it's just more reliable.

"So what's the hint?" Aun asked as soon as we finished.

"Oh, it's simple." But seeing that he didn't understand, I explained, "If I dare to refuse them a second time, I will likely suffer more than just unexpectedly overnight hair growth."

"By the way!" The boy suddenly perked up. "Master, do you by any chance know the composition of this alchemy?"

"No. Despite it seeming like a simple composition, its exact recipe is a closely guarded secret of the Alchemists' Guild."

"Pity…" The young man seemed immediately disappointed.

"Why do you ask?"

"I know a few bald people who would pay a lot of gold for such alchemy…"

Damn! Someone just tried to break into his house and kill him, and he's thinking about gold and profit! A true merchant.

"Judging by the position of Seguna, sunrise will be no later than an hour from now," Aun said, peering through a crack in the boarded-up window.

"That suggests that the attacker was an experienced professional," I said, my lips twisting into a bitter smile.

"Really?!"

"Yes! This is when human sleep is the deepest."

"Should I go and prepare breakfast then?" The young master of the house abruptly changed the topic.

"Can't sleep anymore?"

"Of course, I can't sleep!!" He seemed surprised at my question.

"But I still can sleep. Just help me with my hair."

The young man helped me gather my hair into a large ponytail and made sure it wouldn't fall into my eyes. A paradox! I always wanted to grow my hair long, dreamed of having a ponytail, but I never had the opportunity. First, sports demanded a short haircut, and then the office dress code didn't allow me to stand out. And now, I actually have waist-length hair, but I'm not happy. Why? Because everything should be in moderation.

Before Aun descended to the hearth, I asked:

"Do you happen to know a good barber who can take me as soon as possible and relieve me of this?" I ran my palm over my head.

"I do. And I think you'll have time before your fight."

"That's good," I said and flopped onto the bed.

"Master, are you seriously able to sleep right now?"

"Yep," I yawned loudly in response and, turning to the wall, dozed off.

Aun woke me up an hour after sunrise. And not only did he wake me, but he also served a light yet hearty breakfast. In response, I shared with him my observations of the attacker, albeit minor ones.

"You're smiling?" The young man couldn't understand my mood.

"This attack is a good sign." I nod in response.

"Really?" He didn't get me.

"The attack wasn't well-prepared - it was rushed. This means the assassin is pressed for time. He will hurry, and haste leads to mistakes. Also, despite this haste, the assassin was alone. So with high chances, we can assume it's not a group but a lone killer trying to eliminate you."

"That really is good news!" The lad brightened up.

"I saw him briefly, but I did manage to catch a glimpse of a couple of his moves, and something tells me the assassin stands no higher than at the Steel step."

"But Steel is quite high, and you're only Bronze," the young man seems slightly upset.

"Yes, Steel is a lot, but it's within manageable. He can be countered. If the killer were of the Ruby rank, we wouldn't have a chance. However, a Ruby one wouldn't have run away upon falling into such a primitive trap; they would have moved on and completed their job."

At my words, the young man visibly flinched as if he had visualized all of this in vivid detail.

[1] TLN: without diving into too much detail, I'll say that "pointless and ruthless" is a very old (two centuries) expression/meme created by A.S. Pushkin. Usually is being used to describe something that defies the reason of the observer in its brutality and lack of logic. The original was, "God forbid you to see a Russian riot - pointless and ruthless!"