To say he was a bit jittery would be an understatement. At the moment, Jebe was damn near hysteric.

It was the first match, the very first match, and he was up against the new leader of 7th squad. A man of broad shoulder, quick wit, and malicious temperament.

Jebe heard that the man had become squad leader after beating everyone else in his squad to a bloody pulp with nothing but a chair leg. He was a man driven by a volatile temper and uninhibited ambition.

“First match of the Third Arena begins now,” declared the referee; startling Jebe from his frightened considerations.

The opponent revealed an evil grin as he rushed across the arena with his sword raised high. Jebe stumbled backwards and awkwardly drew his saber. He quickly realized he had messed up by stepping back as he had surrendered the initiative to his enemy.

A ferocious overhand chop came careening towards Jebe’s skull, which he narrowly dodged with a sideways roll. He came up fast and tried to regain momentum with a stab, but was forced to retract his saber to defend against the opponent’s next violent swing.  

Jebe continuously back pedaled as he parried, blocked, dodged, and deflected a wild assortment of savage blows. His opponent was like an angry child trying to stomp a particularly pesky bug to flaky bits.  

But as he continued to defend himself, Jebe realized something. The opponent was slow. Not just that, but he was not even skillful. Compared to Vik, this guy’s swings were awkward and embarrassing. Furthermore, Jebe lost to Vik while wielding a sword, if he had a saber during their matches it could have been a completely different result.

For this competition he was allowed to use any weapon, Jebe had chosen a cavalry saber. While sabers are generally considered less flexible weapons, they made up for it with fluidity and cutting power. They were also the weapons he grew up practicing.

Enlivened, Jebe switched up his technique. He went from a straightforward sword defense to a more circular and fluid saber defense. With each sweeping parry, he would redirect his blade toward the opponent’s throat, forcing the man to retreat with each exchange. Soon, it was Jebe who had pushed his opponent into a corner with his skillful foray of attack and his opponent who was desperately defending.

Sensing that his opponent was faltering, Jebe set up a faint with a big overhand swing. Predictably, the opponent lifted up his sword for a block but Jebe surprised him by spinning around and sweeping his legs.  The opponent crashed heavily on to the ground and had a blade pressed to his neck before he could sit up.

“I… I surrender!” the boy stammered. Collective gasps could be heard from the surrounding crowd. A squad leader losing on his first match was a shocking event. In contrast to the cadets, most of the officers had calm expressions on their face as if all of this was to be expected.

Jebe got off the stage and met up with Viktor, who had also won his match. Viktor had faced an unremarkable man who could only perform the most basic of strokes that had been taught the first week.

The pair were unable to find Samson, and so they chose to wander around the courtyard observing the competition.

“Now that is an unusual sight,” remarked Viktor as he gestured towards the Fourth Arena.

Jebe looked to where Viktor was pointing and spotted a young man with spiked hair dashing in and out of his opponent’s defense with two deadly daggers flashing every which way. He was so incredibly quick that his opponent could not even muster the faintest hint of resistance. Within seconds it was over.

“Mathael of First Squad has won over Tolly of Seventh Squad,” the referee announced.

“Well that explains it,” said Jebe.“Yes, indeed,” replied Viktor.

First Squad was made up of boys who had already broken through to the Human 1 Stage before enlisting. That meant that each and every one of them was at least as strong, fast, and tough as two full grown men. Compared to normal fourteen-year-old boys, they were monsters.

All of them were given special treatment by the academy as squires and would be released into the service of a knight for two years upon their graduation. They were basically noblemen in the making.

“I think we should treat every member of First Squad as someone equal to a squad leader,” said Viktor.

Jebe shook his head. “No, they are quite a bit stronger than squad leaders. Let’s just hope we don’t run into them anytime soon,” he said.

The rest of the morning passed slowly as Viktor and Jebe wandered lazily from arena to arena, observing the competition. The entire tournament was set up as ten separate arenas’ with space for eager cadets to watch and socialize between them. If one did not know the purpose of the competition, the bustling crowd and brightly colored flags would make it all seem like a marketplace.

After wandering for a while they got word of Samson’s first match wherein he reportedly, ‘grabbed his opponent by the neck and tossed him towards the crowd like a monkey throwing shit’ The imagery was somehow both startling and expected.

Round two of the competitions began in the afternoon with Jebe up against a rather large cadet wielding an axe.

“Split him open Jacob!” someone roared from the crowd.

Jebe stepped backwards reactively before stopping himself. He let out a deep breath and consciously forced himself to hold his ground. “No more fear,” he said. “Fear leads to weakness, weakness leads to defeat, I have no interest in defeat.” Jebe spit into both his hands and slapped them together.

He stared at his axe-wielding opponent and gave his best impression of what one of the mating bulls look like before they were about to jump the fence and lay a cow. He’d always found that look to be rather disturbing.

 At this moment an inexplicable shiver went down Jacob’s spine.

The referee signaled the beginning of the fight and both combatants advanced confidently towards one another.

His opponent gave an arrogant laugh as he slapped the side of his axe against his palm. “Tiny, tiny, tiny. A small man with small bones, you won’t even leave a notch,” he taunted.

Jebe continued forwards silently as he spun his saber calmly in his right hand. He had learned to fight single handed from his grandfather, an old frontier scout. One of the reasons he had so much trouble with the military’s sword arts was that it is a rigid, two handed style.  

Scouts, due to the nature of their profession, wielded a cavalry saber in their right hand and horse reins in their left. When on foot the scouts retained their one handed swordsmanship and used their free hand for grappling and trapping techniques.

The swordsmanship of the Leo Frontier Scout was one of sweeping graceful fluidity. The blade was always in motion, deflecting the opponent kinetic energy with elegant arcs before flashing back towards the enemy with deadly precision. This was a form of swordsmanship intended to end battles quickly and move on; wherein one used every act of defense as an opportunity to attack.

When the raiders tracked Jebe home from a hunt year’s ago it was his grandfather who came in midway to save both Jebe and his mother’s life. His father, unfortunately, was not so lucky.

The combatants met in the middle of the stage with the axe warrior going for a violent hack. Jebe was ready. He traced his saber behind the opponent’s axe and pushed it harmlessly to the side. Before the opponent could recover he brought his blade across the man’s neck and watched the blood fly. It was an instant defeat. Then…

Silence. A deathly silence.

Jebe looked down and saw his opponent on his knees grasping desperately at his neck. His face was pale and trembling, and his eyes were blood red and frantic. Blood leaked out from between his fingers like he was squeezing and orange.

He had forgotten. He wasn’t home, this wasn’t a raider, this was a cadet, a fourteen-year-old, a child.

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An officer from the crowd rushed forward at a lighting speed and put his hand on the boy’s chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean too, I’m so sorry, I just…” Jebe stuttered as his eyes watered up.

“Enough,” the officer commanded gruffly. A bright glow came from his hand as he placed them upon the boy’s neck. Before Jebe’s very eyes he saw the blood flow stem and skin start mending together. Jebe recognized this glow as qi. The officer was transferring energy from his own dantian to the child’s wound. To mend a wound like this would take at least the qi of a Human 2 cultivator.

As Jebe was worried about the possibility of having killed the cadet he felt strange tingling sensation beneath his skin. It was incredibly uncomfortable, like veins that never existed before suddenly began pumping blood at a furious rate and all of this blood was being dispersed through his bones, tendons, and muscles. 

“The Grand Vicar,” he mumbled. He glanced at the boy trembling on the ground and looked at his terrified eyes. The boy began shaking violently and whimpering incoherently as he scratched at the ground and tried to crawl farther away from Jebe.

A bursting sensation exploded from deep within Jebe’s veins. His body felt like it was tearing apart from the inside out, almost as if his cells were leading a revolt against the very body which held them.

 “Arrgh!” Jebe screamed as he fell to his knees, grasping his skin. His breath came in ragged gasps and he clawed at the stone beneath him, quickly transforming his fingernails to bloody mush. Soon, he was curled up in a ball, immune to the going on's of the world around him. At the crescendo of his pain he heard a sound, a familiar sound, a sky shaking, earth trembling neigh. And it was over.

He blinked. His body felt… good. Better even. Everything about him felt bigger and stronger. He felt like a snake who had shed his skin and grown anew. No! He felt like a carp who swam up the highest of waterfalls and flown into the sky as a magnificent dragon. He felt born anew.

“Did you just advance to Human 1?” asked the shocked officer.

Jebe looked down at his skin. It was darker, tanner, healthier most likely. His hands seemed unusual to him, far larger than they used to be.

“Yes,” Jebe replied slowly. “I believe I have.”

The officer stared in shock. “From battle?” he asked.

“In a sense,” said Jebe as he glanced at the now unconscious boy. “Will he live?”

“What? Uhm, yes. He will just need a moment to rest now. Does this…”

“Am I disqualified?” interrupted Jebe.

“No, you are not disqualified,” replied the officer. “I’m just wondering how you broke through without meditating?”

Jebe shrugged his shoulders and thought up a quick excuse. “I was on the verge of advance before the battle, the excitement must have pushed me over the edge.”

The officer nodded in thought. “It happens on occasion, and I congratulate you for this. You will, however, receive a demerit for injuring your opponent.”

Jebe nodded. Once a cadet has received a hundred demerits they will be kicked out of the academy and banned from joining the Leo Military in the future. No matter how good of a fighter someone was, the military needed people capable of following orders. That was the difference between a warrior and a solider.  

“I understand,” Jebe said.

The officer nodded. “You have won this round. Why don’t you rest up before your next fight?”

Jebe agreed and walked off stage to a terrified crowd. It was a strange feeling to walk through a swath of people that all feared him. He felt like he a lion who had just killed its tamer and strolled out of the circus.

But he also felt power. A rush of energy unlike any he had gotten when meditating. His body was filling up with qi just as quickly as when he had cut the boy’s throat. Of course, reaching the second rank was a hundred times more difficult than the first. Otherwise there is no way the Grand Vicar would have died as only a Human 4 stage cultivator.

Viktor was standing outside the arena with a complex expression on his face. “That was…” he began.

“Shut up Vik, please, not now,” he said. He found a small piece of shade beneath a tree and leaned his head back against the bark.

Viktor was smart enough to say nothing and snuck away quietly.

Jebe sighed and closed his eyes. His opponent’s terrified expression was branded upon the inside of his eyelid and sleep proved to be elusive.

“Hey! Jebe!” someone shouted.

Jebe opened his eyes and peered towards the directions of the voice.

Samson was walking over with his rich prick prince friend beside him.

“Yes?” Jebe responded.

“I heard you hit rank 1,” spoke Samson.

“I did,” Jebe replied.

Samson gave him an interesting look. It was perhaps, admiration? “You’re going to need that boost. I looked at the brackets. Seeing as we won our first two fights we only need to win three more to fight each other, two more for me and Viktor.” he said.

“You don’t think Viktor is a threat to you.”

“No.”

“You underestimate him.”

“You underestimate me.”

“Perhaps I do, “Jebe replied calmly. “We’ll learn soon enough.”

“Your name is Jebe, correct?” asked Roland suddenly.

Jebe glanced at the prince. “It is that, sir.”

“No need for sir,” said Roland. “You are worthy of calling me by my name.”

“Oh good I’m glad that I’ve earned that honor,” Jebe replied.

“Jebe.” said Samson sternly.

He shook his head. He was off his game. He couldn’t be rude to someone like Roland, that would be like digging his own political grave. “Sorry Roland, it has been a difficult afternoon.”

Roland’s face kept an amicable smile throughout. “It is quite alright. You should catch some rest, I’ll talk to you again if you last another three rounds,” said Roland.

Jebe nodded. “As you wish,” he replied. He said farewell to the both of them and tried to settle his emotions before his next match.

The heavens can be strange, Jebe thought. He did not wish suffering on others. He had been the powerless one before. He had been the one with a blade to his throat as he watched his loved one’s die. But now his spirit the terrifying Nightmare Steed enjoyed the suffering of others. From their fear it grew more powerful, and so from their fear Jebe grew more powerful. If he went against his morals he would advance rapidly. It was simple. If he abandons who he is he can become someone greater. But Jebe wouldn’t do that. He had no issue being a normal person. Grand aspirations were for people like Roland. All Jebe wanted was enough strength to do his job, pay back his debts, and protect those around him.

As the sun passed the midway point in the sky and began to slowly sink downwards, he stood up. It was time for round 3, the final round of the first day.

He stretched his limbs and cracked his joints before wiping the fatigue from his eyes. With his cavalry saber at his hip, he strode boldly up the steps and into the arena. His rust-colored eyes stared calmly at his new opponent.

His opponent was unremarkable to a remarkable degree. He had the standard issue sword and uniform, as well as a medium build with forgettable facial features. However, to be in the third round, he must have already beaten two men so Jebe couldn’t take him too easily.

The match began.

They both walked slowly towards the center of the arena with their weapons drawn, and began circling one another. The sunlight reflected off the opponent’s blade and cast a glare towards Jebe’s eyes. Instinctively Jebe lifted his hand to cover the glare.

The opponent took advantage of Jebe’s loss of vision and dashed forward with a lunge. Jebe nimbly deflected the attack with a twirl of his saber and came forward with a series of diagonal slashes.

His opponent defended against the flurry admirably, but he was noticeable struggling. The opponent was clever but lacked combat experience. Jebe began to confuse his enemy by rapidly changing the rhythm of his attacks. Sometimes he would strike quickly, other times he would swing slowly. He was like water being poured down a mountain side working its way around every obstacle and never stopping its advance.

While performing this foray of blows he gradually adjusted the newfound prowess of his Human 1 body. Faster, stronger, tougher. Those were the words most often associated with ranking up, and Jebe could feel them all now.

The cadet was putting up an admirable fight but suddenly he misjudged the speed of Jebe’s slash and took a cut across his forearm, forcing him to wield his sword one-handed. Then they were back to their dance. Steel and iron flashed through the air like two birds at play, as if their blades were the beaks of birds pecking at each other’s sides.

Yet Jebe’s dominant speed and strength slowly overwhelmed his opponent. Suddenly, as these things always tend to be, Jebe’s saber knocked away his opponent sword and stopped just short of the boy’s jugular. The cadet froze.

“Jebe of 14th Squad wins his third match of the day!” announced the referee.

Nobody cheered. Jebe sighed and sheathed his sword. His incident with the axe kid from earlier had damaged his reputation.

 “I might as well go watch Vik’s match then,” he said to himself.

Viktor was up against a man by the name Bartholomew. He was, unfortunately, the leader of 1st Squad and the expected winner of this tournament. Viktor was doing well so far, which was to say he hadn’t lost yet, but he was far from winning.

The crowd surrounding the arena was stomping and chanting vivaciously,” Barth! Barth! Barth! Barth!”

Inside the arena, Viktor was on his last legs. His swordsmanship was unquestionably top tier, but he simply did not have what it took to take on Bartholomew. The leader of 1st squad was only a slightly worse swordsman than him, and already Human 1. Uniquely, he had a 5th Rank Spirit called the Six-legged Leopard that made him significantly faster than your average Human 1 warrior.

“Kick his ass Vik!” shouted Jebe.

 A couple people in the crowd gave Jebe unsavory looks but didn’t say anything. He was no longer that short barrel chest 5’2” nobody that he was at the beginning of the tournament. After his rank up he had grown to average height and was now complimented by his thickly muscular body and darkly tanned skin. Furthermore, the word of him nearly killing his opponent had spread around quickly. Therefore, when he chose to be the only person cheering for Viktor, nobody dared to say a word against him.

The battle raged on with Viktor gradually blocking less and less. Within 30 seconds his body had become covered in small cuts and blood, soaked so thoroughly into his shirt that it appeared freshly dyed. A thunderous crash resounded across the arena as Viktor’s sword went spinning from his grasp. It was over.

Viktor descended from the stage with the help of Jebe, leaning heavily on his shoulder. as they were walking towards the barracks, Jebe could hear a sneer from behind followed by some laughter.

Jebe turned around to see Bartholomew laugh with a couple people from 1st Squad. He turned around.

“Excuse me,” he said. “You see something funny? He asked with steel in his voice

“Jebe don’t,” said Viktor.

 “I do. I see a weakling and a weakling’s friend. Two sheep herding together because they can’t stand with wolves,” he insulted.

Jebe grew quiet and could feel Viktor’s grip on his shoulder tightening. “Calm on, let’s go,” Viktor said.

“I’m going shove my boot so far up your ass you’ll be spitting out shoelaces for the next week,” Jebe spat.

1st Squad and the surrounding crowd grew quiet with stunned silence. Whether it was from the graphicness of Jebe’s threat or actual fear he did not know, but neither did he care. He was serious.

“See you soon,” he said.