“We could go back and get the sea monster corpse. I could learn much about my newest skills by practicing on it.” Chrys suggested.

Before Claire or I could answer, Remy did.

“That’s a bad, bad idea, darling. All Kraken possess powerful regenerative properties. What would kill any other creature will leave it hurting for a minute or two before it is healed. As long as its near water you have to kill it with a decisive blow, or it’ll heal. Or you can spend a few days running it out of mana to regenerate.” Remy explained why that would be a bad idea.

“Even from biologically certain death?” Chrys inquired.

“Magic has a way of ruining science, same way thinking beings love to ruin reason,” Remy answered with a shrug.

Chrys seemed to mull his words before she committed them to memory if the tightening of her lips and the rare shape of her cheeks were any indicator.

When the mists faded, our party stood with a sea to our back, vast plains sprawling on either side as far as we could see, and beyond them were jagged mountains, the largest of which belched black smoke into the sky. The sun here had a yellow cast, but its light felt weak and insubstantial compared to the likes of Mithras.

“What’s the deal with all the encampments?” I asked Remy, who’d been here before.

Clumped around large, nearly out of place arenas were wooden and stone palisades. Those closest to us were predominantly wood. In contrast to the simplistic palisades, the arenas were immense works of stone and brick, column and arch, and each of the four I could see from here were different from one another.

“They come out of the Gossamyr and challenge each other for the title of champion. Each arena has their own champion, and sometimes their own rules. The encampments closest to the water are the newest comers, while the more established warriors take residence closer to the mountains, but not too close, yeah?” Remy laughed.

“Why don’t they go to the mountains, is it because of the volcano?” Claire asked.

“Partially, but the Obsidian Arena is at the base of the mountains, and those who go there don’t come back. The obsidian arena has two champions who are said to be undefeated. They take on all comers in hopes of gaining an edge over the other. It is said every night they fight to the death and wake up in the morning to repeat it all. They, the arena, and its surroundings are cursed. We had more sense than to explore that way, but not much more.” Remy grimaced, remembering his own experiences here.

“So where do we find Xian the Chained?” I asked.

“Where else? The Obsidian Arena,” Remy answered somberly.

“We are here to recruit the dark champion; to do so we must break his curse. How do you propose to do that?” Chrys inquired of both Remy and I.

“I need to study the curse,” Remy answered. “Once I see it, I’ll know how to break it apart. Something that ensnares creatures as powerful as the Obsidian Champions isn’t going to be a snap my fingers deal, so don’t go expecting that. Even I’m not that good.”

“So, we just tromp through the middle of all these encampments and other arenas and walk straight up to the Obsidian Arena?” Claire asked skeptically, but she had a grin when she said it. I assumed she wanted to use her new bow.

“We’ll need to challenge our way through the arenas. We start in white, like all newcomers. From there the locals should be able to tell us which conquest we make next.” Remy shrugged. “They fight with magic as much as swords here, so any of us can fight.”

Claire took the lead position as scout, and I moved up to walk next to her. Technically, I was the only real fighter in the group, with Remy being a mage, Claire being a scout, and Chrys being a crafter.

“So, I’ve got to fight at each arena?” I asked.

“Doesn’t matter. You progress as a group, as long as someone can beat the champion of an arena, they can either chose to be the new champion or move onto a higher arena.” Remy explained. “At least, that is how it was last time I was here.”

“What stops someone from simply going to the arena they wish to fight?” Chrys asked.

“All the other fighters. You break their traditions, they break you.” Remy answered with a laugh.

“So, if you’re strong enough, you could just go straight to where you wanted?” I wondered, was I strong enough?

“The Plains of Valor are vast, and you don’t want to try and fight that many enemies at once. All it takes is one lucky hit and you, me, or the ladies are down.” Remy eyed Chrys while he said that, as if he wasn’t entirely certain what it would take to defeat the Gneissling, but he errored on the side of caution in assuming she could be destroyed. Since some Gneisslings had died to Scavs and OreBiters, I knew they could die, but I still had no clue what it took to kill one.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Okay, okay, we’ll go with their tradition. Any complaints if I’m the fighter?” I asked, not expecting anyone to disagree.

Claire almost spoke, but when she looked at me again, she shook her head.

“You gave me a run for my money before you had power, or became a dragon. As much as I want to play with my new bow, gladiator fighting isn’t the way to adjust to a new weapon,” Claire reasoned.

“I only wish to observe your fights,” Chrys noted.

Remy simply shook his head no, the mage had no interest in gladiatorial combat.

No one inhibited our progress to the nearest arena. For all its grandeur and construction, it was only a quarter filled with spectators, most of whom were fighters themselves. A small gnome sat behind a desk in the grand entryway, a notebook before him. When I told him I wanted to fight, he wrote my name on the ledger with a fancy white quill.

A group of orcs watched our signing up and made comments about fresh meat for the grinder just loud enough that they clearly intended us to hear. As tempting as it was to walk over and punch them in the face, I was on the clock. Mithras controlled time in his realm, and relative time. I needed to get Xian on board, then formulate a plan to attack Solarias and rescue Etienne.

“Utu and Abzu have moved their realms to sandwich the realm of Mithras. You have time, but not enough to waste it,” Arx Maxima spoke directly into my mind, since none of the others reacted.

Who? Why?

“Allies who also dislike Mithras and oppose his goals,” Arx Maxima answered without revealing anything. No reasons for why they hated Mithras, no details on their origins, just an answer without an explanation. That was fine, I didn’t really care, so long as they could screw up Mithras’s relative time control to prevent Etienne from becoming a lost cause.

We were led through the arena to one of the competitors rooms by a small young gnome who identified himself as Sven.

“Are there many gnomes in the Plains of Valor?” I asked Sven, while the rest of my party settled onto benches and chairs.

“We live under the plains and manage the arenas. Where are you from? Are you a dragon?” Sven stared at me with wonder in his eyes.

“We’re from Monados, the heart of the Gossamyr,” Chrys answered enthusiastically, as if she’d been waiting for someone to ask that question. Clearly Arx Maxima had put her up to answering that way.

“Okay,” Sven answered Chrys’s enthusiasm with disinterest.

“You might say that I’m a dragon, but I don’t have wings yet or can’t breathe fire.” Which meant I was a pretty shitty dragon, in my mind. A real dragon could fly and spit fire on people. I didn’t have a huge hoard of treasure yet, but the idea of one did sound very appealing. “Do your people trade with any other realms?”

“Oh, sure. We have traders. If you want to trade with them you’ll need to get past this arena, every other arena has a gnome trader stationed there. We sell weapons, armor, provisions, and can repair any gear that gets damaged in the fights,” Sven happily explained about the gnomes money-making business. I wondered about their presence here, and if they were a malevolent force behind the tribes fighting, or simply opportunistic?

I didn’t have long to think about it.

“You’re up, Emery.” Sven said, and gestured towards the door we hadn’t come in. “Go through the door, and when the portcullis opens, go through that. Good luck!”

The young gnome left through the door he’d initially brought us in, a hop in his step.

“Good luck, Em,” Claire chirped, and leaning on her tip toes, she pecked my scaley cheek. Chrys copied her, on my other cheek.

“I’ll just pat ya on the back, if its all the same,” Remy laughed and did what he said. “With gladiator fights, you want to show off the least amount you can to beat the foe in front of you. The more hidden moves you have for tougher foes, the better. Make them angry, too. Taunting them, mixed with you wearing those ridiculous fey silks to an arena fight will make them see red.”

I winced. I’d completely forgotten I still wore the black gloomthread clothing that Liora had provided me. I looked like an overly emotional poet-dragon instead of a warrior dragon, but they had been a gift from Amaranthine, and I didn’t really have anything else to put on, anyway. Behold the grand pauper, Emery LeeRoy, Lord of Monados, who doesn’t even have a change of clothes.

I smiled to myself as I railed at my impoverished life, and then the portcullis lifted and I walked out into the arena with Delirium of Ruin held firmly in my right hand. The arena ground was sand, and the only thing in it besides me were long needled cacti and a hulking orc in a loin cloth, with an axe that seeped an awful looking cursed liquid.

“Can Grazzok beat our draconic newcomer? Will the Axe of Azzark pierce the scales of a dragon, or will his blood feed the cacti that he’s so fond of hurtling enemies into? Axe vs spear, orc vs dragon! Let’s go!!!” Whoever the announcer was, and they sounded like a gnome despite the booming magical projection of their voice, they didn’t waste any time.

Grazzok rolled his neck and swung his axe lazily through the air, bisecting one of the cacti before him, which he kicked with his impressive sabaton covered foot. Other than the loincloth, the big plate armor boots were the only thing the orc wore.

I sidestepped the cactus easily, and calmly approached the orc. I didn’t even need the warnings from Instincts of the Gossamyr to avoid the cactus, it seemed to be more about intimidation than anything else.

“Thanks, but I don’t like salad,” I said gruffly.

The orc blinked, and guffawed. I dashed forward and thrust Delirium of Ruin at the orc to test his reflexes. The big axe came quicker than I thought to intercept my attacks. I shifted my grip on Delirium of Ruin slightly with each parry he made, so that I didn’t cut his axe in half and end the match immediately.

By the fourth feint, I concluded that Grazzok was just a big strong idiot, and my fifth thrust took him through the abdomen, spilling his blood everywhere. I hopped back after the blow, and asked words I’d dreamed of saying while looming over an injured enemy.

“Do you yield?”

“Fuck no! This is just a scratch!” Grazzok shouted, one hand holding his wound to stop the bleeding, while he swung his giant axe at me with the other.

My next thrust put the blade of Delirium of Ruin through his throat, and then I watched him fall over. Strangely, the blood didn’t seep into the sand, but pooled into a ball.

“Winner, Emery!” The gnome shouted energetically, and the ball of blood flowed back into Grazzok. An elderly orc walked over to the body, and began chanting.

“Oh, death isn’t permanent then?” I asked the old orc, who ignored me and kept chanting. I stood there awkwardly, uncertain of what I was supposed to do now.

“Up next, Emery vs Gojin!” The announcer cried, so I stood my ground. Maybe Gojin would be a better technical fighter.