**[Rita]**

The revelry had died down with the final consumption of the chef by the giant snake. It was grotesque, but Rita had watched along with everyone else as it happened. Now the Arena Master's aids were dragging the bloated adder into the tunnels. She assumed they were returning it to its cage to fight another day, yet with how things had been going it was difficult to be confident of anything. For all she knew, the snake, along with the body inside it, might be dinner tonight. It was a good thing she knew the cook.

She had heard the prince request Horace be brought out shortly after the snake was removed, and she worried for him. There was nothing she could do to spare him, yet she found herself looking into her status to make sure. It felt silly to be this helpless when Aiden had managed to pull off a miracle for her just the day before.

Rita Mae Malory

Level: 2

Age: 13

Faction: Leaf

Class: ----

Status: Crippled

Traits:

Enhanced Mind

Natural Grace

Fragile

Murphy’s Bitch

Stats:

Strength: 3*

Dexterity: 7

Agility: 8*

Charisma: 6

Intelligence: 10*

Wisdom: 8

Luck: 2*

Rage: 3

She had been glancing over the mirage that formed in her mind every time she focused on evaluating herself when something caught her attention. The status screen was never clear to her vision. It would buzz in and out of focus like the cheap telescope her brother had. This made it difficult sometimes to notice small shifts from leveling, but she could not miss the brand new stat that had appeared. Rage.

She had never seen that before, nor had she heard of it appearing without a class change. Some warriors gained it as a stat with the loss/merger of another, yet she had it along with all her regular stats. It was strange. The feeling it exuded as she looked at it was dark and feral. She feared what it meant since it was not completely unknown to her. It was the part of her that she hated which had only grown since entering the dungeon. In her experience, everyone had a hint of darkness lurking inside them, so she had never looked harshly upon herself on the rare occasion hers would rise to the surface. Julia, her caregiver, had normalized such 'bad days' and never made her feel guilty or abnormal. Still, seeing the stat appear on its own made her wonder if her childhood mood swings and tantrums were indicative of a greater issue. That was what the evil voice in her head wanted her to believe anyway. In all likelihood, the drugs or the stress from the previous day unlocked the new stat and it had nothing to do with her sanity.

The only time she could have gained this stat and not noticed would have been after her fight. It sounded like she had lost a lot of blood and been mostly unconscious in the hours following which might account for her inability to recall anything related to this. The ominous three beside it concerned her. From what she could remember, rage was not static. It shifted granting temporary buff and debuffs based on the number it was at.

All this made her wonder what else she may have missed, so she turned to see if any of her skills had leveled.

Skills:

Meditation: Lvl 5

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

(bonus: “Distance”: while meditating, the user can separate their consciousness from their physical form)

Dance: Lvl 4

Mana Manipulation: Lvl 4

Mathematics: Lvl 3

Linquist: Lvl 1

Leadership: Lvl 1

Painting: Lvl 1

Riding: Lvl 1

Knife Proficiency: Lvl 1

Unarmed Combat: Lvl 1

Improvision: Lvl 1

"Wow!" thought Rita to herself. The fight had really changed her skill sheet. Dance and mana manipulation had both increased, and she had gained two new skills. Granted, the ones she had gained were not the most useful of skills for her long-term survival, but they were welcome nonetheless. It seemed spearing an orc in the groin with your knee and having it shatter between the two of you was a good way to learn some skills. She hadn't had the chance to ask Aiden about it, but she guessed he was also sporting some skill gains. This dungeon was helping them bridge the gap at least.

As she watched a nearby orc throw a curved knife into the ground between another orc's toes, narrowly avoiding hitting flesh, she considered how far they had to go to truly catch up. These creatures were monsters in all aspects of the word which was further proven when that same orc looked betrayed that his knife had not sliced off a toe as he might have planned; he proceeded to start a knife fight with the rouge-like orc he had taken offense with. No-one stopped them. It was just more entertainment. Even with the knowledge that the amazing throw was the result of a quick dodge by the other orc, it made her feel weak by comparison. Magic gave her a slight awe factor with these creatures but had little offensive power. She felt relieved to know she was not fighting today, tomorrow, or anytime in the new future. The prince had not mentioned anything about her needing to prove herself further and while she was unsure of his plans, it seemed she was safe for the time being.

Horace's trial was only beginning. Murmurs of confusion were starting to fill the large room as their next source of excitement was not present yet. "These orcs have the attention spans of children," thought Rita to herself. Even her own brother could wait more than a few minutes before throwing a fit. The Dungeon Lord was relaxed next to her at least. He had set his gilded circlet onto the post of his throne and lay crosswise upon it. It looked exceedingly uncomfortable, but he seemed completely at peace. his large head dangled in the air beside her knee and his legs hung over the top of the throne. He seemed sated both in body and mind. There was none of that manic need for violence that shone in the eyes of his people. Hopefully, this would serve to help Horace since it was the Dungeon Lord who ran the arena, so it was on him to decide the threats Horace would face.

While a small portion of her had hoped Horace had somehow escaped, she knew the lull in time to collect him was probably caused by something else. It wasn't until he stepped out of the tunnel following a guard that she realized what that something else might be. If she had not known it would be Horace arriving from the tunnel and that they were the only three humans here, then she might not have recognized him at all.

The boy she had seen before had been heavyset, squat, and unstriking in appearance with dark hair and eyes. This 'man' that arrived was easily a foot taller, muscular, and strange. At first glance, it was hard to pinpoint what was off about him, but as he walked into the room further, she could not miss the texture present on his body. His new arm, she had no idea how that or the rest of his stark transition could have occurred, was dark and stiff with sharp angles to it. It was clearly made of some type of stone substance that had been melded into his entire body and originated from the new arm. His muscles rippled in an eery way with each movement he made. It was like seeing stone move under a mage's command: unnatural and perplexing. His face was expressionless with his formerly large face now proportional to his adult body.

His walk had changed as well. He no longer moved with an awkward self-conscious shuffle. His stride was self-assured and filled with suppressed power. He was not more attractive than before, in fact, he was more disturbing to look at, yet there was this appealing vibe emanating from him that had not existed the day before. It was impossible not to see the shift and beside her, the prince rose in his seat to stare.

"Can your people shapeshift, Ry'ha? This boy will prove more interesting than I had anticipated. Your group has pleased me greatly." The prince's previously restful expression had morphed. He now had a sheen in his eyes and a creepy grin on his face. She recognized that expression as greed. This man had an agenda that they were somehow crucial players in, and she wondered if Horace's increase in potential had just helped or harmed their position.

"We cannot your highness. I am honored to have pleased one such as yourself, but I cannot explain his change."

"Hmm... I would be displeased if he loses now, so pray to whatever human gods you have for a strong victory." He looked as though more hung on this fight than she realized, so she took his request seriously. However, she had never been a believer in gods or higher powers. Her family had tried, yet it had never resonated with her. Instead, she prayed to Horace, not for him. It would be his ability and skill that would claim a victory. She felt that no 'gods' could claim credit for his performace.

Either way, the people still wanted a fight and the prince was not about to deny their bloodlust. With a casual wave of his hand, he sent aids rushing to release Horace's opponent. The dropclaw that appeared was a few sizes above the one they had fought, but not nearly the size she would guess an adult would be. Horace looked like he was really to fight and test out his new body. His hands were balled at his sides and the orc aids kept the dropclaw from immediately attacking. They were waiting for the prince to give his approval for the fight to begin.

He looked towards her, "Ry'ha, what weapon does the warrior human prefer?" At his words, every warrior in the near vicinity held up their weapons as an option. She remembered that he favored axes in his skills, but against the drop claw a faster weapon would be better. Her eyes alighted on the shiny metallic hilt peeking out from the prince's side. Gar'ath his aid had an ax, and as the second strongest orc here his weapon would be good, yet she wanted the best for Horace.

"I think he would prefer the one on your waist milord."

She kept her voice light and casual to avoid offending him where possible and hoped that he would allow it. The stately orc looked down at her pensively before barking out an undecipherable command. Gar'ath understood and walked away. When he returned he held a fine-looking rapier. It was not the best weapon she had ever seen, but it was more than serviceable compared to the nicked, rusty, and badly made weapons the other orcs had.

"Will this do?" The amusing way La' Curk said it made her smile accidentally in reply and Gar'ath proceeded to throw the weapon into the sand below them for her companion. Maybe she had been able to help him a bit after all. The way the orc prince shifted closer to her after her friendly response made her concerns shift from Horace back to herself. Life was always so complicated. She felt like Aiden was the luckiest of them to be secure in his little kitchen while Horace fought for his life and she navigated the whims of the Dungeon Lord.