“I’ll say one thing for you, Earther. You excel at making enemies.”

  “I’m a talented guy,” I replied, feeling a little deflated after the promise of action, only to have it slip away.

  “You realize if I allowed that fight to happen I would have also had to kill you?”

  “Nah, it would have been fine.”

  “No. I would have had to kill you. It is the law here.”

  “Sure, but how was that woman’s sister in the pool fighters? I thought it was just bought slaves that proved themselves.”

  “That was Varela Domina, and she is a well-respected fighter from a fearsome Verlaz family line. They have fought in the arenas across the universe for as long as arenas have existed. But, word has it, the family has fallen on hard times, and the only way to pay for her younger sister’s ascension and the tournament entrance fee was for her to enter the pool fighters. She would lose half of her winnings but would be released at the end of her service. It is not an uncommon practice.”

  “Ah! Then why the hell did they put her with me?”

  “I imagine it was the 500 Unitol prize money.”

  “She was a decent fighter.”

  “She was. But very low leveled. Still, based on your ascended levels you should not have been able to defeat her. I wonder why our Monarch has decided to put effort into your development. A Level 9 who is more rabid dog than anything else.”

  “Ooh, you have dogs!”

  His face twisted once again, but he said nothing so I filled in the silence.

  “You know the saying, it’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog?”

  He side eyed me curiously.

  “Well Talla Mount fuckin Domina just didn’t have enough fight in her.”

  “I didn’t watch, but I heard you weren’t impressive. I heard that you used a dirty trick to win.”

  “Dirty trick? Is that what people are saying? She was the bigger fighter, with a bigger weapon and she was ascended. I used my movement to evade, baited the big pig and waited for my moment. If you call that a dirty trick, then you fuckers don’t know fighting half as well as you think you do.”

  “I will be in attendance at your next fight. I will reserve judgment of your supposed skills until then.”

  “Good for you,” I replied, irritated at the insinuation that I needed to cheat. I mean, I wasn’t above cheating, at all. But on this occasion, I hadn’t needed to, so the accusation stung.

  We continued in silence, and I took in the sights and sounds until he brought me to a stop at another stall. I scanned the gear he had available, but a quick glance told me there were no vests or sleeveless t-shirts, and definitely no fingerless gloves.

  “Are you deaf or something? There’s literally nothing here I said I wanted.”

  “Yet this is what we have available for you to peruse.”

  “Where’s the gloves at? Where’s the vests I asked to see?”

  Stern faced, he glared back at me. “Look or we can return.”

  I threw my hands up and gestured all around. “You’re telling me, in this entire market place, this is all the clothes there is?”

  With the most disinterested look he could muster, he turned to stare down the street as if something had caught his attention.

  I turned back to the stall owner. “Right, mate, is this everything you’ve got?”

  “It is, sir. Yes, sir.”

  “And are you the only clothes shop in this whole place?”

  “I am not, sir. No, sir.”

  “Good to hear. Now, all your clothes look very fine and nice and everything, but I’m looking for something a little bit more durable and rugged. Yeah? So do you know anywhere I can get that kind of clothing?”

  His eyes flickered over to the guard, and I spun to check on him. He was staring back at the seller impassively, even so, I felt like something had passed between them.

  “I’m not entirely sure, sir. There may be other shops, but I wouldn’t like to say.”

  “What an absolute pile of shit.” I turned back to the guard and prodded him in the bulky chest plate. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but if you’re going to fuck me about and not actually show me what I need, then I’ll look myself.”

  “You can’t look yourself. You are to be escorted. Those are my orders.”

  I thought for a moment. That hadn’t been the agreement with the Able, but I nodded. “Escort away.”

  Then I stormed off down the street, trying to put a bit of distance between us before I could bust the idiot’s head open. Despite my effort, the big bastard was fast and kept up easily, while I was already blowing out my arse in the heat.

  I stopped at a stall full of tools. Hammers, picks, chisels and the like sat on his wide table.

  I slammed my hands down on it to get his attention. He was a very short, very wide man with a bald head, and a red-braided beard hanging from his chin to his waist.

  “I need proper durable clothes, and you look like a man who knows where to buy them from.”

  Like the last seller, his eyes flicked up to the approaching guard, and I slammed my fist down this time.

  “Don’t be looking at that bastard. I don’t know what facial expressions he’s pulling and telling you to do, but he’s got nothing to do with this. He’s just supposed to be making sure I don’t get into any fucking fights, and he’s trying to stop me buying the clothes that I need because he doesn’t like me. And that’s all right because I don’t like him, but he’s trying to screw me over for my next fight.”

  “And is there any reason I shouldn’t try to screw you over for your next fight, too, Earther?

  “No. No reason at all. We don’t even know each other.”

  “And what about your display of the Akra in each of your previous fights?

  “That doesn’t mean the same thing in my world as it does on your world.”

  The stall keeper was intrigued now. “And what does it mean on your world, Earther?”

  “On my world, it means sod off, you bunch of arseholes.”

  “So it’s still not a positive?”

  “Definitely not. When I won my first fight, they booed me. Why would I be positive towards them?”

  “Because they will play a big part in your progression.”

  “Nah, these beauties are the only part in my progression,” I said, waving my fists. “And this,” I added, pointing at my head.

  “You don’t know the arena very well if you believe that. The crowds are a huge part of any fighter’s ascendancy under the lights.”

  “Fair enough. Fair enough then, I might stop if it means that much to you all. Now can you help me with the durable clothes?”

  He glanced at the guard and back to me. “You’re right in your assumption. The Captain is warning me with his eyes not to answer your question. Luckily for you, I have no love of the Arena Guard. If you continue along this route all the way to the back wall, you will reach the old town shops. Head right and it’s around ten shops on your left. You’re looking for Dwim’s Adornments. Dwim is my brother, and he’ll have what you need.”

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

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Dorsh.”

  “Well, Dorsh, you’re a good dude. Thanks for the help.”

  And with that, I was off again, marching down the road toward the wall, pondering the big questions in life, such as should I stop using the middle finger salute to the crowd? Would it make my life easier? Or was I right and all I had to worry about were my fists and my mind?

  By the time I reached Dwim’s Adornments, I still hadn’t made a decision. But I was impressed with the entire street of shops. They weren’t scabby little stalls at all, but a well-constructed terrace that was built into the base of the wall.

  Inside Dwim’s adornments, there was a definite medieval vibe, and looked very much like a shop run by a Grunir that dealt in hard-wearing work clothes.

  I heard my shadow enter behind me. Silent, but with annoyance radiating off him. I moved to the gloves first. They were the most important, and Dwim had a fine-looking selection to choose from. I whistled softly as I took them all in. Mostly leather, though there were some mail on show too.

  “Like what you see?” came a gruff voice from across the shop.

  “I do. I really do. Some very cool stuff here. You must be Dwim?”

  “You must be able to read,” he stated dryly.

  “I can. But just because you’re in the shop doesn’t mean you’re the fucking Dwim on the sign now, does it?”

  “Fair point,” the Grunir conceded. “Unless you’re ascended, which you are.”

  I nodded. “Looks like we’re all making fair points today. But I don’t check identifiers. The reason I guessed you were Dwim was because you look like your brother, only with a wig on.”

  He grasped at his hair defensively. “You can tell?”

  I burst out in laughter. “Well, now I know, definitely! But I didn’t know it was a wig when I said it.”

  Dwim was furious, which wasn’t the start I wanted. He resettled his wig and then put his hands on his hips.

  “Why don’t you use your Identify ability?”

  I shrugged. “Just keep forgetting. You can’t undo twenty-seven years of not checking identifiers in a day, you know?”

  “Makes sense. So what do you want? If you want the best clothing, I’ll need your stats so that I can direct you.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care about anything other than hardest wearing pair of gloves you’ve got that still give me a bit of dexterity. Oh, and the toughest sleeveless top. Oh, and of course, I’d have to be able to afford it.”

  His eyes narrowed. “And how much have you got to spend?”

  “Whatever’s left in this pouch. About 65 Unitols.”

  “And your stats? I need to know what we’re working with here.”

  “Toughness is 16 and Mental Acuity is…” It suddenly struck me that the leveling stats weren’t hard to work out if I told him, and I didn’t want to give away all my secrets to the first wigged Grunir I met. “…Acuity is ten. My Harmony is so shit it’s not worth mentioning.”

  “Understandable. There’s plenty poor in Harmony, but it does limit the enchantments worth buying.”

  “I don’t need magic at all. Just Toughness.”

  “What did you say you had? Sixty-five?” He pursed his lips. “You’ll not do great with that amount.”

  “It’s a bit less.” I upended the bag on the glove display. He scanned them quickly.

  “It’s a bit more,” he said tentatively. “You got ninety-eight and seven. We can probably do something half decent with that.”

  “How is that ninety-eight?” I asked.

  “You don’t know our money, eh, Earl?” He pointed at the coins. “This is Union standard, so listen well. The little bronze bits are Decels. Ten Decels make a larger bronze, which is a Unitol. Silvers are Decitols which is ten Unitols. Gold are Primarks. They’re worth a hundred Unitols.”

  I was genuinely grateful for the rundown. “Thanks, Dwim. I appreciate that.” I turned on the guard. “You fucking knew I had more, didn’t you? What an utter bastard you’re turning out to be. And a Captain as well! Do you not need honor to be a Captain?”

  His jaw was set, clearly pissed off. “Do not speak to me of honor, you wretched creature. I was handed a pouch for you. I did not stop to check the contents like some greedy miser.”

  “Blah, blah. You knew.” I slapped my hand on the pile of money and grinned at Dwim. “So, whatcha got for me? I want the best for that amount of money. I’ll get paid again when I win my next fight.”

  “If you don’t need any enchantments, then you won’t need to spend it all.”

  “If having magic attached means the durability of the gear is higher, then I’ll take it anyway.”

  His expression spoke volumes. “You won’t be able to wear them without the right Level and Harmony stat, you daft sod. Are you not listening to the words that are coming out of my mouth?”

  “I heard and I’m listening. It’s you who’s not listening to me, because I already said it doesn’t matter. I don’t care about the stat or overall level.”

  The red faced Grunir threw up his hands. “You want to give your money away. There’s no better place to do it in my opinion.”

  “I do. Now show me the most durable gloves you’ve got for the amount of money I have, and if there’s anything left, show me the most durable vests for the amount remaining.”

  “You’re going to spend all of your money on garments you cannot wear,” the guard muttered.

  I spun and thrust a finger in his face. “Don’t you be fucking talking to me, Hippo breath. Not after leading me a merry dance with silken gowns and fancy fucking jewelry.” Turning back to the Grunir, I snapped my fingers. “Come on then. Show me what you got.”

  He sighed, clearly unhappy with the situation. “I’m with the guard on this one. But if you want to throw your money away, I’m happy to catch it. Follow me.”

  He led us through the shop to another selection of gloves. “These go from sixty up to three-hundred.” He pointed out a set of beautiful leather gloves. “These are ninety-eight, and they have the best durability and best Toughness modifiers for the range you can afford to play in. They have a level requirement of 16.”

  “Will these give me extra damage?”

  “You aren’t allowed extra offensive items beyond what you are given in the armory for the first few rounds,” the guard said.

  The Grunir huffed. “They’re not designed as weapons. Or Armor.” He lifted the gloves from the rack. “They don’t have a damage rating, but these are all workman’s gloves. They all have a force multiplier on them to assist with heavy lifting and the like. They will pass the basic requirements for use in the arena.”

  His eyes lit up. “In fact, I’ve actually got these gloves with the highest force multiplier of them all. The durability is only slightly less than the 98 unitol pair, and on a par with all the others, and they have a lower-level requirement. Still too high for you at Level 14, but… you’re insistent. They’re only 85 unitols because they don’t have a magical action, but I think they could be perfect for you, Earl. They increase hand strength, none of them will help with impact, but grip strength, pushing and pulling…”

  “I’ll take them,” I said, holding out my hands.

  His eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard some things about you, Earl. Public Akras and too violent by half. Now I’ve met you, there’s a decent man in there.”

  I shook my head. “You seem an alright sort, Dwim, so I don’t want to disappoint you. There’s not an ounce of decency in me, and there never will be.”

  He laughed like I’d told a joke, and I laughed along with him because it was funny. Then he handed me the gloves.

  “Seeing as you’ve spent most of your money, finding you a durable work vest is much easier. 14 Unitols will get you a bog-standard work vest.” He headed over and rustled through piles of leather vests, occasionally holding one up in front of me before shaking his head and dropping it back down.

  They looked like solid tops, so I decided to trust his process and put my new cloves on.

  “Well?” the guard asked over my shoulder.

  “Well what?”

  “You’ve been able to put them on, so what are the stats? Better to tell me now so that they can be passed for use in the arena.”

  “I don’t know what the stats are,” I muttered.

  He frowned. “They should show up when you put them on. I don’t know how you’re wearing level-capped items, but you should still have to bond with them.”

  “That’s right,” Dwim said, watching the interaction with a vest, finally chosen, dangling in his hand. He had a worried look on his face. “They didn’t register with you?”

  “Nope. But that’s on me. Too many knocks to the old noggin I reckon,” I said, tapping on my head with my fist.

  Neither looked convinced. Dwim was first to speak. “Can you at least check them on your Ascension display?”

  “How would I do that? I’m like a dog on a keyboard with this stuff.”

  “Bring up your basic stat information,” the guard said, ignoring my quip.

  “Done.”

  “Now… mentally shift to your right. Your stats should be replaced with your Holdings page. It will show what you currently possess.”

  I did as he asked and found it was like swiping on a phone, only with a thought.

  Holdings.

  Wealth: 13.7U

  Clothing: Linen Trousers (Common rags)

  Linen Shirt (Common rags)

  Armor: None

  Weapons: None

  Adornments:

  Labor of Glove:

  Level Requirement (14)

  Price Range – 73 – 110 Unitols

  Attributes:

  Durability - 1000 – 100%.

  Comfort – 68 of 100

  Special:

  20% increase in hand and forearm strength.

  I regurgitated the information on the gloves, and Dwim looked relieved.

  “So they’re showing up. That’s good. Can you feel the increase?”

  I clenched my fist, then shrugged. “Not sure. I think so. Got anything I can crush?”

  He stuck his hand out. “Squeeze my hand.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “I might break it.”

  He laughed. “I’m Level 30 in Toughness from years working the forge, lad. You aren’t breaking anything.”

  “You asked for it,” I said, gripping his hand and squeezing. It was like squeezing a lump of rock, and though I could see discomfort on his face, he kept grinning.

  I let up. “It felt strong, but you tell me.” I removed the glove on my right hand and squeezed again.

  Dwim started laughing. “A definite difference! I don’t know how you’re wearing them, but they work as they should.” He clapped me on the back with his left hand. “From what I hear about your fighting style, these are going to give you an extra edge. If they don’t, come back here and we’ll talk some more.”

  I grinned at the shop owner. “I like you, Dwim, and I don’t say that often.”

  The journey back to my room was both uneventful and carried out in complete silence. I spent most of the time mooning over the gloves, clenching and unclenching my fists.

  Once inside the room and relieved to get rid of the guard, I locked my door and grinned down at the gloves. “Right, lads, let’s see what you two can do for me.”

  I looked around the room; there was a bed and a desk. I’d never used a desk in my life other than for sleeping on at school, and I couldn’t really see me using one in the future. So I walked over and punched it in the center with all my force.

  Dwim was right. No difference, and my fist hurt like hell. I tried again, this time with an open palm strike. A huge crack appeared along the center of the desk though I couldn’t really appreciate the damage as my right hand was now a jumble of broken bones.

  With my left hand, I grabbed one of the table legs and yanked. It didn’t rip off fully, but there was no doubt that the force multiplier had kicked in. One more yank and I had it free.

  Satisfied at how the testing went, I lay down on the bed and nursed my broken hand while my mind got to work on all the ways the gloves could be useful.

  Visions of a certain nameless Captain guard dropping to the floor with his throat ripped out. The high cheek bones of Varela Domina’s stuck up face being crushed. And a thousand more images floated around my mind like butterflies. Despite the damaged hand, this was a good day to be alive.