“Well, well,” a scar-faced man said, his voice dripping with mockery. “If it isn’t our good friend Silas. Fancy meeting you here.”

Silas’s body went rigid. “Karven,” he said tightly. “What do you want?”

“You know what I want,” Karven replied, stepping closer. His grin widened, exposing sharp yellowed teeth. “It’s collection day, Silas. And you’re a little behind.”

Jude’s eyes flicked toward Silas with an unreadable expression. “Not a friend of yours, huh?”

Silas didn’t look at him. “Not exactly.”

Karven’s gaze shifted to Jude, his grin fading slightly. “And who’s this? Your new bedfellow? Didn’t know you swung that way, Silas.” He made some obscene gesture.

“Just passing through,” Jude said evenly, his tone giving nothing away. “But it sounds like this is your business. I’ll stay out of it.”

“Smart man,” Karven said, nodding appreciatively. “You might want to pass along some of that wisdom to your friend here. He’s got a bad habit of dodging payments.”

Silas clenched his jaw. “I told you, I just need a little more time.”

“Time?” Karven repeated, laughing. “You’ve been singing that tune for weeks, Silas. My boss is getting impatient.”

“Your boss can wait,” Silas snapped. “I’ll get the money.”

Karven’s grin vanished. He stepped forward, close enough that Silas could feel the heat of his breath. “Not how this works, kid. You don’t pay, we take something else. Your weapon, your gear... your teeth, if it comes to that.”

“Try it.” Silas’ throat was raw, but the words still sounded threatening.

Karven’s men shifted, their hands moving to the weapons strapped to their belts. Jude pushed himself off the wall, but Silas threw up a hand.

“Don’t,” Silas said, glancing back at Jude. “I’ve got this.”

Jude raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t argue. He crossed his arms, stepping back to give them space. “All right. But then no mace, either.”

“Seriously?” Silas hissed, his eyes wide.

“Otherwise, it’d be too easy,” Jude said calmly. “You’ll figure it out.”

“There’s four of them!” Silas’s voice rose an octave

“You told me not to interfere,” Jude said. “So I’m not gonna.”

Karven and his crew laughed, stepping closer. “What’s this, Silas? Your babysitter too scared to fight for you?”

I’ll step in if it gets too hairy, Jude told himself. They sound meaner than they look. Silas has a pretty good chance.

Jude was usually a good judge of fighting odds.

Usually.

Silas’s jaw clenched, his eyes darting between Karven and the other fighters. They were a rough-looking bunch—scavenged weapons, scarred faces, and the kind of cocky confidence that came from picking on weaker prey.

Silas was no easy prey, though.

Karven raised his fists, mockingly mirroring Silas’s stance. Only he had trench knives with brass knuckles in both hands. “Come on, buddy. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Silas took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He squared his shoulders, remembering Jude’s advice from earlier: Stay balanced. Stay in control.

Karven struck first, his movements quick but undisciplined. He threw a sharp jab aimed at Silas’s face. Silas slipped the punch, pivoting to the side and countering with a straight shot to Karven’s ribs.

The blow landed with a dull thud, making Karven grunt and stumble back.

“That all you got?” Karven snarled, recovering quickly.

The other fighters moved in, circling Silas like a pack of wolves. One of them, a burly half-orc with a chipped axe, swung wildly. Silas ducked, the blade whistling past his head, and delivered a hard uppercut to the half-orc’s jaw.

He staggered but didn’t fall.

Another lanky fighter lunged from the side, brandishing a rusted dagger. Silas barely avoided the swipe, twisting awkwardly as he threw an elbow into the attacker’s face.

Pain flared in his ribs as Karven capitalized on the opening, landing a glancing blow with his trench knife.

HP: 870/950

“And you were doing sooo good, Silas!” Karven taunted. “Thought you were tougher than this!”

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Silas gritted his teeth, his breath coming in short gasps. He glanced at Jude, who was still standing off to the side, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. “Anytime you wanna step in, feel free!”

“No need,” Jude called back, his tone flat. “You’re doing great.”

“Thanks, coach,” Silas muttered, barely dodging another swing.

I’m not a coach, Jude thought. His fingers were pressed into his arms.

The pack pressed in, their movements tightening as they sensed Silas’s fatigue. But Silas refused to give in. His mind replayed Jude’s earlier instructions: Tighten your stance. Control the fight.

Look for the openings.

When the burly half-orc with the axe swung again, Silas ducked low, stepping inside the arc of the swing. He drove his knee into the half-orc’s stomach, following with a brutal hammerfist to the back of his head.

He crumpled to the ground.

Karven cursed. Jude could see his confidence wavering.

I guess it’s the same in any world. A cowardly thug is a universal archetype.

“Don’t just stand there, Mook!” Karven barked at the remaining fighter. “Take him down!”

The fighter—or, rather, Mook—lunged again, aiming for Silas’s side. This time, Silas was ready.

He sidestepped the attack, grabbed the man’s wrist, and twisted sharply. The dagger clattered to the ground, and Silas finished the move with a headbutt that sent the attacker sprawling.

Karven hesitated, his eyes darting between Silas and Jude. “You’re dead for this,” he snarled, but his tone lacked the bravado from before.

“Come and try,” Silas said, his voice low and steady.

Karven roared and charged, swinging with reckless abandon. Silas ducked the first strike, then another. He did so almost effortlessly, but Karven was even harder to hit.

None of Silas’s punches could find their target.

Another swing from Karven, but this time Silas was too slow to react.

“WATCH OUT!” Jude yelled.

What is this kid doing?

The blade of the trench knife caught Silas directly in the palm of his right hand.

Karven let out a sickly laugh… but it quickly fade away once he realized that the blade was stuck.

Silas clenched his right hand into a fist around the blade.

“My turn.”

Special Ability Activated: Blood Fury

Gain +5% to Strength for every 10% of HP lost

There was a terrible crunching sound as he drove his mace-like fist into Karven’s gut. Karven’s red face went almost pale. He doubled over, and Silas brought his knee up into the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

He wrenched his hand free from the blade. He waved at Jude, and the latter could see right through the wound in Silas’s hand.

“Guess I’ll need a new glove,” Silas said as he flexed his bloodied hand. The wound was nasty, the edges ragged where the trench knife had torn through skin and muscle.

Still, Silas grinned as if it were nothing more than a paper cut.

Jude stepped forward. His eyes flicked from Silas’s hand to Karven’s crumpled form. “What was that ability you just used?”

Silas shrugged. The collectors had already fled, dragging their groaning leader away like wounded dogs.

“Why didn’t you use it when fighting me?” Jude demanded.

“I was about to,” Silas replied. He sounded almost apologetic. “But I only use it as a finishing blow, and you didn’t give me enough space.”

“You’re an idiot,” Jude said flatly.

“An idiot?” Silas repeated, incredulous. “I just took on four guys and won!”

“And now every thug in the Warrens knows it,” Jude said with slight annoyance in his voice. “Which means they’ll be coming for round two.” He raised two of his fingers. “And next time, they’ll bring more than just knives.”

For just a moment, Silas’s grin faltered. “So what do we do?”

Jude sighed, glancing at the empty alley where Karven’s gang had disappeared. “First, we patch that hand up before you bleed out. Then, you’re going to tell me exactly how much trouble we’re in.”

* * * * *

The two found themselves in a small, dimly lit shop that smelled faintly of herbs and alcohol. The healer, a wiry old man with ink-stained fingers and only one good eye, worked quickly, wrapping Silas’s hand in clean linen.

He didn’t ask questions, but his knowing looks spoke volumes.

“This oughta hold,” the healer said gruffly, tying off the bandage. “But you’ll need to rest it if you want it to heal properly.”

“Rest isn’t really an option,” Jude said. “How long until he can swing a mace again?”

The healer’s sharp eyes narrowed. “Couple of weeks if you don’t want it to tear open again. But something tells me you’re not the type to wait.”

Silas winced as he flexed his fingers. “I’ll manage.”

The healer shook his head and waved them off with a scowl.

Back on the streets, Jude led Silas to a quiet corner away from prying eyes. This time, Jude wasn’t about to let the man off the hook.

“All right,” Jude said, leaning against the wall. “Start talking. How much do you owe?”

Silas hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck with his good hand. “It’s… not a small number.”

“How not small?” Jude pressed.

Silas exhaled sharply. “About a thousand gold.”

All Jude could do was stare at him incredulously. “A thousand? What in the hell were you thinking?”

I’ve been in this world for maybe a month and even I know that a thousand is a giant sum.

“I didn’t have a choice!” Silas snapped, his voice defensive. “My sister, she loaned me the gold to keep them off my back. But I couldn’t pay her back fast enough, and things just… uh, spiraled.”

“Your sister’s involved in this?” Jude asked.

Silas nodded, his gaze dropping to the ground.

Like a schoolboy, Jude thought with amusement. Ty had the exact same expression the few times he was caught skipping school.

“She runs a side business, loaning out gold to people like me,” Silas explained. “Thought I could use her help to get out of a bad spot. Instead, I dragged her into it.”

Jude’s jaw tightened. “And now the mob’s breathing down both your necks.”

“Pretty much,” Silas admitted, his voice quieter now.

Jude took a deep breath, rubbing his temples. “We’re in deeper than I thought. You know they’re not going to stop until they get their money. Or make an example out of you.”

Something tells me the mafia operates the same in every world.

Silas straightened stubbornly and shoved Jude’s hand away. “You think I don’t know that? I already have a plan.”

“Please don’t tell me it involves fighting the mob.”

Jude had seen where it leads. Silas was not the first student of his with ties to shady people.

“No, we pay them back,” Silas answered. “There’s good money in tournaments. Not, like, the kinds where we participate. I mean the real deal.”

Silas expected some reaction, but when Jude didn’t say anything, he sighed and made a face like he was explaining something to a five-year old.

“The Emberclash Tournament. Ever heard of it?”

No.

“Sure.”

“It pays much better than any sorry excuse for a fighting venue we’ll find otherwise.”

Jude didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he studied Silas, weighing his friend’s resolve against the odds stacked against them. Finally, he nodded. “All right. But if we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way.”

“Your way, huh?” Silas smirked. “That means you’ll finally become my coach?”

Jude rolled his eyes. “You may like me as your friend. You will hate me as your coach.”