A Prisoner's Trial

There were more than a few things I learned while I was… I suppose ‘communing’ is the right word, with the nameless god. Like the fact that, despite having no defined identity yet, it already has a nature, shaped by the struggles of the people that have passed through this place, their fears, their hopes. For all this I’ve decided to call it the Prisoner.

It has been here just as long as the mine has existed, back when actual career miners dug up the first tunnels to reach the veins of precious ore deep underground. Those first explorers also discovered, by way of many tragedies, that the ground at Zedia is brittle and prone to dangerous cave-ins.

Too many lives were lost. Those miners that could seek another path readily did so. Despite the generous salary, workers stopped showing up, unconvinced that the mine’s riches were worth their life. Zedia ground to a standstill.

That is when someone conceived the brilliant idea to offer workers something beyond mere monetary compensation. Something like freedom, which for the mine was cheap to give, and who could be more needing of it than inmates?

Zedia was rebranded as a penal operation. The inmates sent there were petty criminals convicted only of minor, nonviolent offenses, and so they were encouraged to see Zedia not so much as a punishment, but as a privilege, a golden opportunity to set their record straight while learning valuable skills, reserved for those that had not yet done enough to lose any chance at returning to civilized society.

The reality of said arrangement was more pragmatic: it was simply assumed that nonviolent inmates would be easier to control, simpler to pressure into gruelling shifts and dangerous tasks. For the most part, that assumption was accurate.

The new miners worked diligently to serve their sentences, but the tunnels collected their share from them in turn. Each tragedy that occurred was quickly and callously blamed on error, on incompetence, on vicissitude, encouraging those who survived to count themselves lucky and move on. Most of those that passed through Zedia fully intended to never speak of it again.

But a few did recount their tales and shared the truth of Zedia with others. Their stories gradually spread, challenging the redemption dream of the penal mine. Conscientious speakers decried the abuses, inquiries were conducted, conflicts of interest came to light, and those involved were eventually themselves indicted for corruption. The deals that had supplied Zedia of its workers fell apart. For the second time in its history, picks and carts sat idle, tunnels grew silent.

And once more someone conceived a brilliant yet callous idea. If the issue was that the miners did not deserve to face the dangers of Zedia, then why not employ those that did? The kind that nobody would miss if the tunnels claimed them, like the discontented, the violent, the undesirables.

People like Nuren.

Of course, that plan only led to a tragedy of a different kind, resulting in the current state of things. In a way, Nuren and his fighting pit did little more than reach what Zedia was always headed towards, with all pretense of principle abandoned in the name of greed.

But that’s the story told from the eyes of those running Zedia. For the people that must actually endure the tunnels and brave their many dangers, nothing has ever truly changed. Even now they continue to labor just as they did when the mine was first founded, trading blood for money, blood for freedom, blood for the very right to exist. The contestants of Nuren’s arena are bound to this same fate, and so each and every one of them, fighters and miners, have etched their stories on the Prisoner’s being.

What they shared with me was merely a taste of that collective experience, soaked in the courage, fear, fury and resolve of a hundred warriors. Now when I pick up a weapon and face my foe, I can feel them subtly but decisively guiding my every move.

Yet as I’ve come to learn, borrowed experience is no match for actual experience.

—-

No matter how much I pant, I cannot ease the burning of my lungs. Sweat keeps flooding and stinging my eyes. The Prisoner screams at me to keep my back straight, but I can barely manage with the weight of my shield and my weapon pulling me down.

I raise my head and look at Gunther as he grins fiercely at me, baring those fearsome tusks of his. “Had enough?”

Not yet. I muster my strength and pull myself to my feet to take a step towards him, holding a low guard. He observes me carefully, sledgehammer held at the ready.

It’s been three days since our last battle and my encounter with the nameless Prisoner. In that time, Gunther has trained me like mad. On the first day he verified that the Prisoner had imprinted all the fundamentals in me, and since then he’s subjected me to grueling physical conditioning, only stopping when I could no longer stand.

The conditioning has included frequent sparring matches, most of them against Gunther himself.

At first I wanted to try out all sorts of things, but Gunther advised me to dedicate myself to only one weapon. Following said advice, I decided to focus on the gun and bayonet because, well, you can’t go wrong with a firearm, but even in melee a bayonet offers great range while being easy to handle. Now, of course we didn’t have any guns on hand to use in practice, so I had to settle for a leaden pipe I found lying around that’s roughly the same length and weight.

At first I thought my “gun” would be enough, but once Gunther mopped the floor with me several dozen times, I decided to add in the shield as well, one I could fasten to my arm so I still have both hands for the gun.

I approach Gunther slowly, eyeing his posture to catch any intent to swing his hammer. It’s unlikely he will; he knows as well as I do that missing a swing with such a heavy weapon will leave him exposed, so he has no issue waiting for me to make the first mistake.

But I’m already wise to that trick. Since he won’t attack first, I provoke him by stepping forward and thrusting my pipe-bayonet at his heart. He reacts by pivoting his body and parrying the thrust with the handle of his hammer. I keep pushing, launching more strikes with every step I take while Gunther quickly retreats, blocking every attack. Little by little, I close the distance.

When Gunther starts running out of space, he thrusts the head of his hammer directly at my head to halt my advance, just as I was hoping he would. I take the chance to crouch and push my shield up so his attack bounces harmlessly over my head, leaving his lower body completely exposed. Decisively, I thrust my pipe at his shin…

Only for Gunther to step on the length and pin it under his boot.

…!

Should I pull back? No, the best course is to push forward and use the bayonet as a lever to lift his foot. That will knock him off balance and give me a chance to-

My shield slams against my face. I blink, disoriented, already falling.

With a swing of his hammer, Gunther smashed my own defense against me. Really, with how smooth his movement was, the battle was over the moment he pinned my weapon.

I hit the ground. One more loss for me.

“On your feet!” Gunther commands. “The Prisoner might have taught you but you’re still a pup wet behind the ears!”

I try to look at him, but I’m seeing more than one Gunther. “Time out, time out. M-my head is spinning.”

“Good! Then you can practice powering through it!”

“That’s insane!”

“Tell that to the enemy! Think a foe or a beast will grant you a timeout when they’re trying to kill you?! Get over it!”

That’s true enough. I know he is absolutely right.

But we’ve been training for five hours straight; three for intense physical exercises, two for lessons on survival, first-aid and combat drills. Even before we began sparring my body felt heavy and my mind was fried. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Gunther is purposefully leaving the sparring for when I’m most exhausted.

…wait. Haah, this sonuvabitch.

“On your feet, Leo!” he insists, prodding me with his foot. “Will you call it quits here?!”

“No, but can’t we take a small break?” I plead, climbing back to my feet with my head still spinning. “Even if it’s more exercises. I just don’t think I’ll be able to take another hit like that.”

Gunther rubs his beard for a moment. “Alright, we’ve been at it for an hour. I think you’ve earned a little break.”

I breathe out, feeling a surge of relief in my breast. “Luach!” he then calls. “Lend me some help here!”

Oh fuck.

Luach looks up from her notebook. She’s been sitting at the edge of our training area, scribbling away at it since we began. Giving Gunther only a nod in response, she sets her things aside and picks up a wooden training sword from a barrel set against the wall.

I’m still amazed that our cave-cell has a chamber big enough for our training. Gunther claims it was most likely a garrison space for the mine wardens before the outlaws took over.

I imagine the witch had a part in making sure the Bewitched could have it, but as Gunther would say, it’s better not to give her much credit.

“Would you do a couple rounds with Leo?”

Again, Luach only nods as she switches out with him. “Gunther…!” I cry with all of my exhaustion and the pain of the bruises I’ve just earned, but it falls on deaf ears.

“What’s the issue?” he asks with a cocky grin. “Luach definitely won’t hit you like that.”

This merciless geezer!

Without delay, Gunther yells, “Begin!”

Already?!

I turn towards Luach and she’s already in range to strike, having swooped in at a low angle. Her sword swipes up in an arc aimed straight for my head.

I lean back and her swing misses me just by a hair’s breadth. The pressure of her strike is incredible, but she is only getting started. The return swing shoots in immediately.

But I’m able to bring up my shield in time to deflect her sword. Before she can attack again, I brace my feet on the ground and bash my body and shield forward to punish her forceful advance. Luach steps at an angle to slide around my push; her clawed fingers catch the edge of my shield to pull herself towards my exposed side. I respond by pivoting my body back and tugging her along with the shield, hoping to pull her off balance and into the tip of my bayonet. Yet she is unfazed by my attempt, simply flowing with the momentum to unleash a short barrage of strikes that keep me on the defensive.

This is how Luach fights. Unlike Gunther’s crushing attacks, a swing of her sword is not that dangerous on its own, especially against my shield. But she is fast, accurate and unrelenting, always aiming for the slightest gaps in my defense. Falling behind her ferocious tempo is a death sentence. Even if my substitute musket could shoot, I can’t be certain I’d hit her.

Yet it’s not the first time I’ve faced her. Gunther has asked her to spar with me a few times to mix things up and I’m starting to adapt to her overwhelming style. Besides, thanks to the Prisoner’s guidance, she’s not the only one that can aim for the other’s weaknesses. I hold fast to the cover of my shield for a moment, purposefully leaving my flank open, and wait for the moment when Luach tries to get around me and strike.

She falls for the bait, swooping low around me to slip by my defence. This time she tries to thrust right under my ribs, but that suits me perfectly. Rather than deflect, I let her launch her strike while I adjust my position just right to let the length of her sword pass between my body and the inner face of my shield. That’s when I pull my shield, trapping her weapon in a tight embrace. Held like that, I just need to turn my torso to wrench the sword out of her hand, leaving her defenseless.

And that’s what I do. I throw her weapon away with a victorious grin, but when I turn back to give her my finishing strike, all I see is her tail swinging towards my face.

Luach’s tail, I’ve learned, is a powerful limb of concentrated muscle, sinew and bone completely encased by rugged, hard scales, and she can wield it with the dexterity of a whip. Or perhaps a flail is a better analogy. At least I can count myself lucky hers isn’t spiked like with the sickle lizards.

Her strike hits me on the side of my head hard enough to knock me off my feet and slam me on the ground. I try to recover, but the world is spinning around me.

By the time I figure out which way is up again, Luach has knelt atop me and pushed her razor-sharp claws in front of my face.

“That’s Luach’s victory!” Gunther announces. “Good job, but better be careful or he’ll catch up to you in no time.”

Luach simply sighs, standing off me.

“Dammit, I thought I had you for a moment.” I sit up and let the world settle back from the dizzyness. I also make a mental note to start using a helmet before I suffer a serious concussion. “Do you even need a sword with those claws and tail? They’re not fair at all.”

“Life or death combat is not fair,” Luach responds, her tone firm, cold. She lends me her hand, but her eyes admonish me.

“I was just joking,” I counter, taking her hand to pull myself back to my feet.

“Hmm.” She looks away and walks back to her spot at the edge of the chamber without another word.

In these three days I’ve been able to exchange maybe just a handful or words with Luach. She looks around my age (not that I can be sure since she’s clearly not a regular human), so I’ve been interested in getting to know her a bit better, but she usually sticks to her own and rarely speaks up about anything. When I’ve tried to spark up a conversation, she’s only ever listened to me in silence and answered my questions with as few words as possible. Don’t think I’ve seen her smile at all either.

But while she’s difficult to approach and more than a little curt, she’s given me nothing but solid advice and already treats me like a member of the team. That’s more than enough.

If only Rosa could be here as well, but she remains at the ground floor infirmary somewhere above us.

“Have you had enough of a rest?” Gunther asks, approaching me with his hammer once more at the ready.

Yeah, if Rosa was here, she’d put a stop to this before he kills me!

“Friends?” a courteous voice draws our attention. It’s Siabahn poking his feline head in from the entryway. “Lunch is ready.”

And not a moment too soon. Before Gunther can say anything, I discard my shield and pipe-gun and quickly walk towards him. “Thank you! I’m starving!”

“Better eat quickly, though,” Siabahn says as I approach.

“Hm?”

“A guard just came by. The next battle will be in an hour.”

“Damn, about time!” Gunther comments as he catches up with Luach following close behind him. “It’s been some time since they last kept us waiting this long. I was starting to get worried.”

“Aye,” Siabahn agrees, though his smile lowers. “There is a complicating condition, however.”

“What do you mean?”

“Leo, Luach,” he looks at each of us in turn, “they have called you specifically. Neither Gunther nor I will be allowed to join you.”

—-

That next hour was spent sharing lunch together and preparing for the coming fight. Siabahn prepared a hearty meal of starchy and leafy vegetables, seasoned with herbs and meat broth, perfect to restore the energy I spent training. Once we were finished, I had a chance to rest a bit with a cup of invigorating tea to clear any lingering feelings of tiredness.

I wish I could’ve enjoyed lunch more than I did, but my mind was burdened with worries. Gunther must’ve noticed because he offered me a few words of encouragement. “You might not have felt like it, but you did really well in our spars. Just lean on what the Prisoner taught you and everything will be fine.”

Reassuring as he tried to be, when the guards came to fetch us, I could tell that he and Siabahn were a bit upset. That actually felt surprisingly nice, actually. I found it a bit more heartening than his words.

Luach for her part was acting the same as usual, quiet, focused. If she was feeling at all apprehensive like the rest of us, she made no show of it. We were quiet all the way to the armory.

As soon as we entered the armory, I beelined straight for some armor and an unloaded musket. With how advanced and convenient firearms have become back in my world, it’s easy to forget that those guns were once just as primitive and laborious as the ones here. To load the musket, I have to fetch a cartridge made of paper, bite it open, pour some powder into the priming pan, pour the rest down the barrel, then stick the ball-shaped bullet in and ram it down to the bottom.

All of that just to load one shot. I slot in the bayonet as well; I’ll need it.

Gunther and the Prisoner taught me the steps, but this is my first time actually loading a gun. Gunther claimed that, with practice, a trained soldier ought to be able to do all this fast enough to fire as much as three shots per minute, but that’s while standing still and focusing solely on the task. I’m well aware that I’m unlikely to get that luxury once we step onto the arena, so I must assume this is the only shot I’ll get.

Make it count.

As a final detail, I quickly pick up a kite-shaped shield, one I can fasten to my forearm, broad enough to offer comfortable protection while not too big or bulky that it would restrict my ability to shoot.

When I’m done, Luach is already waiting by the door to the arena, holding her favored katana. I hurry to her side. “Hey, you got any idea what we’ll face out there?”

“No,” she plainly says.

…

“Is there a plan or…?”

“Stick together and see what we’re up against,” she explains. “Start defensive.”

“Right, sounds good.”

…

“Uhm, so just the two of us. Does this happen often?”

“No.”

“...aren’t you nervous? I mean, just us two, up against unknown odds.”

“I’ve been called to fight on my own before.”

“Really?” I gasp, hoping that’s never my case. “And did you win?”

Luach only glances coldly at me with an annoyed expression. It’s about then that the iron bars blocking the way to the arena grind open and she heads up ahead of me without another word.

Did you win? Idiot, she’s still alive. Of course she did.

I hurry to catch up, climbing the stairs to the arena. It’s different this time, less stressful, less scary. That’s mostly thanks to the experience I received from the Prisoner, the familiarity of the many fighters that learned to climb these steps as if it was just the path to work each morning. Having had the time to ready my equipment and put on some adequate protection definitely helps as well.

But the knot in my throat? Yeah, that one’s not leaving quite yet.

We step onto the arena to the roar of the audience gathered all around us, up in their ramps and scaffolds. All the remnants of the battle we went through three days ago, the dead, the frozen creatures, it’s all been cleared out. But there are stains of what seems to be blood smeared around the area, each one still looking fresh. There are also more obstacles; more wrecks, more rubble, more boulders scattered about. I wonder how they bring all that stuff in.

The blood smears make me more than a bit anxious. Then it gets worse when I look around and notice no other fighters have stepped in. There’s only Luach and me, standing side by side at the bottom of the fighting pit.

…please don’t be what I think it’s going to be.

“And now for the next event!” echoes a familiar voice, Nuren’s. I glance up and spot the alcove where I thought I saw him before and there he is again, on his underground throne, with his important guests. “For this fight, I called in two members of the hottest battle team currently vying for the top price of the Zedian fighting pit! You know who I’m talking about!”

The crowd roars, pitching into the hype. Nuren lets them have fun for a moment, then raises his voice to drown them out. “One of them is their star swordwoman and fan favorite, the Drakki ice queen, give it up for Luach!”

The crowd erupts for Luach, but not with cheers, I notice.

“ICE BITCH!”

“BORE QUEEN!”

“MAKE OUR DAY AND DIE!”

My fingers tighten around my gun so hard that they hurt, but Luach for her part doesn’t dignify any of it with a reaction. Her eyes remain focused on the hatch from which the lizards emerged the last time. Even so, her expression is harsh.

“And the other is the newbie that surprised us all with an heroic upset during the last beast hunt event! The mysterious marksman who dominated a pack of fierce sickle lizards! Everyone give it up for Leo!”

I feel my face heat up a bit. I mean, I shouldn’t take all the credit for that; none of it would have been possible if the Bewitched and the other team hadn’t followed my lead. I even almost died a couple of times.

But the cries I get from the crowd…

“HIS BALLS HAVEN’T DROPPED YET!”

“FEED HIM TO THE MONSTER PEN!”

“HE’S A CO-WARD! HE’S A CO-WARD!”

…alright, I sympathize fully with Luach. Fuck this audience.

“SHUT YOUR YAPS!” booms Nuren, easing down the rowdy fans. “These two will face a beast on death’s door, a creature with nothing left to lose but its pride! It will meet a glorious end, but not before rending someone to pieces with every last shred of its rage!”

I let out a breath of relief hearing mention of a monster. I was starting to fear this would be a duel.

Then a powerful rumble shakes the monster hatch, and me out of my thoughts. This time it sounds like something big.

Luach lowers her stance. “Remember, stay on the move, save your shot. We must figure out what we’re up against.”

“Got it,” I respond, planting my shield forward with my musket held as a spear.

“Tonight I give you a duo battle against a great, a mighty, a frenzied hellcloud dragon!” The bars holding the hatch slide open. “May the carnage begin!”

The hatch crashes open immediately. From it emerges a giant of a creature, a purple-and-black-scaled monstrosity. It rushes out of the hatch, almost tumbling, and crushes a pile of wreckage into splinters with a step.

It was my understanding that dragons have wings. This one doesn’t, though it is still as big as an elephant, with a collar around its neck and mud coating its body. It lifts its face and tilts it around, making a sound somewhere between a hiss and a growl. I try to find its eyes, but spot only gored, empty sockets covered in dried, dark-red crusts.

Is it blind?

Luach seems to notice it as well because she merely sets her hand on her blade and then holds still. I do the same, taking the chance to observe the creature.

In terms of threats, it has long claws and a maw filled with sharp teeth. Its long tail doesn’t bear any spikes, but with its size I would not risk getting hit by it. More importantly, its maw is also big enough to likely swallow either of us whole.

Then I take a closer look at the mud covering its body and realize that’s not mud, but caked, dried blood. The dark colors of its hide make it hard to notice, but the creature is covered in cuts that stretch open and close with its movements. The biggest one is on its belly, stitched closed, but it looks infected.

What in the hell has been done to that creature?

Its nostrils flap as it takes a deep breath and suddenly it turns its head directly at us.

“Here it comes,” Luach warns.

The dragon runs at us, faster than anything its size has any right to, pushing aside boulders and demolishing every pile of rubbish set between it and us.

“Run!” I yell, not that Luach needs any reminding as we both bolt to get out of its way. The monster rushes past us and crashes against the wall behind with such force that the whole arena shakes. The crowd above us roars.

The dragon steps back from the wall and lets out a pained wail. Then, a cloud of thick, greenish gas starts bubbling from its mouth, quickly spreading around it.

What did Nuren call it? A hellcloud dragon? Whatever it’s doing must be how it earned its name. “Don’t breathe that,” Luach warns.

“I’d rather not even touch it,” I add, and we both cautiously step back as the cloud slowly rolls forward, filling the air with a faint smell of rot.

We can no longer see the monster within its greenish cloud, but I can hear it moving towards us again; the rumble of the ground is unmistakable. Its head emerges from the cloud like a crocodile peeking out of water, searching for us as more of the ominous gas leaks from its open maw.

Maybe I can hit its eye? Well, what seems to be its eye socket? I plant my shield on the floor and rest the barrel on its upper edge, using it as a stand to try and line my shot.

“Wait, Leo…!” I hear Luach call to me, and she’s not the only one; the Prisoner’s instincts are also screaming at me to take cover. Forgetting about my shot, I quickly jump in front of Luach and raise my shield.

The creature snaps its jaws shut instantly and I see a spark fly from its lips. A moment later, the entire volume of gas it has gathered becomes a billowing fireball.

Flames flow over and around us, not so much an explosion, more like a flood of flames quickly spreading in all directions. The heat wave is incredible. Luach and I quickly retreat, huddled behind my shield for protection.

Just as quickly as they surged, the flames recede like a tide, leaving us a bit toasted but alive. It seems we avoided the worst of it, though my eyebrows were singed. “Probably toxic, definitely flammable gas,” I think aloud. “At least it incinerated itself.”

Luach grunts behind me, gripping her sword. “Don’t count on it, cough!” She clears her throat from the lingering smoke. “Its hide is likely fireproof. We can’t let it spread that gas again.”

True enough, as the smoke clears out I catch a glimpse of the hellcloud dragon again, standing unharmed among fragments of burning wreckage. It steps through the dying embers of its flash fire, sniffing the ground to track us.

I check my gun, suddenly worried that the flames might’ve ignited my powder and triggered the shot. Thankfully, it still seems loaded. “Well, ready when you are.”

“I’ll distract it, you hit its flank. Do not stay close to it.” Luach doesn’t wait for me to acknowledge her plan before running towards the creature at an angle, trying to circle it from the left. That’s enough for me though, and I follow her lead by heading to its right for a pincer attack.

“Over here!” Luach yells, and the dragon immediately turns and lurches towards her with its mouth open.

But its blind bite doesn’t stand a chance to catch Luach, who swiftly runs past and avoids the monster’s snapping jaw. That’s when she finds her window to swing her sword at the monster’s exposed neck.

The monster hisses in pain, recoiling away from the cut. Luach hurries to swing again but the dragon swipes its long and slender claws in her direction, forcing her to back away. A drop of darkened blood oozes from the area she cut, but not enough to seem life-threatening.

While I, on the other hand, consider my options. I have my shot, but I know better than to hope that will be enough to bring down a creature that size. Perhaps if I could target a vital spot, but with so many cuts covering its body, I don’t know where to look. Maybe its heart…?

Because the only other obvious choice I have is…

“Leo! Do something!”

I shake my head clear. As I stand here hesitating, Luach is still fighting, narrowly dodging the claws and fangs of the monster again and again, but it doesn’t look like her sword can cut deep enough into its hide to do any real damage. They’re at a stalemate.

Eventually the monster hangs its maw open and more of the green gas starts to bubble out. Luach pauses and breaks off her assault, quickly retreating. I should likely do the same, but the way we made it through the first hellcloud blast unscathed might have been only a fluke. Luach was right when she said our priority should be to prevent another buildup like that.

So I fling my shield behind my back, grip my musket firmly with both hands and charge behind the giant lizard, right at the opening Luach’s distraction has made for me. My body grows more and more tense with every step I take. Then, just as Gunther and the Prisoner taught me, I thrust my bayonet firmly into its hind leg with all my strength and momentum as I let out an anxious war cry.

“ORAAAAH!”

The blade pierces deep into its flesh right where the leg curves at the knee. Blood and a clear fluid spray out from the wound. The beast bellows angrily and staggers towards me as it loses the support of its leg. I hurry to pull away before it tumbles on me. Just as I had hoped, that stops the flow of flammable smoke, with what little it had let out already quickly fading into the air.

“Got it! Hah!” I yell victoriously. Even if I hardly stand a chance at killing it, I can still play support. “Luach! Hit it again!”

The Prisoner’s instincts flare, screaming at me.

“Watch out!” Luach seconds.

I just made the rookiest mistake of all: taking my eyes off the opponent. When I look over to see what the danger is, the dragon’s tail is swinging at me too fast and too close for me to do anything about it.

Being run over by a car must be pretty similar to this. Somehow I miss the moment of impact; just like a magic trick, I blink and suddenly the world is spinning around me at a maddening speed. My arms and legs flail instinctively, desperate to find something to hold myself still so I can try to figure out what is happening, but for a few seconds I can’t reach anything at all.

Then I crash, hard. My back hits the ground first, but I continue to skid, lying on my shield, bouncing repeatedly off the many bumps on the stone until I finally slam against a wall. I look around in a confused stupor and notice my musket rolling to a stop just a short distance from me.

I was knocked clean across the arena, maybe five meters? Ten? With my head still spinning, it’s hard to tell for sure. My chest burns tightly for a moment until I realize I’m forgetting to breathe. Fortunately, despite the aches in my back and wrist, I think I’m not severely injured. Should count myself lucky that its tail is not spiked either.

“Leo! Are you okay?!” I hear Luach calling to me as she runs to my side.

I sit up slowly and make the effort to smile and nod. Shaken, but unharmed. “Yeah, I-I’m alright. I don’t know what’s with me today but I keep catching tail, haha.”

I cringe as soon as the words leave my mouth. Way to overdo it. Thankfully, Luach has more important things to focus on than my dumb ass, keeping her eyes on the hellcloud dragon across the arena from us, standing close as if to cover me.

Meanwhile, the dragon stumbles, hissing angrily. For the time being it’s not trying to sniff us out, busy regaining its footing. It takes a few limping steps towards the wall and leans against it, then turns around to lick its injured leg.

Despite how fearsome of a creature it is, seeing it huddled against the wall like that gives me a pang of guilt.

“...stay here.”

“Huh?”

“You can’t take another hit like that.” Luach steps in front of me. “I will take things from here.”

My chest tightens even more. Despite the practice, despite the Prisoner’s guidance, I’m still not very reliable in a fight, am I? I got cocky for a moment and I was flung across the arena. If anything, I should be thankful Luach is willing to take over for me at all.

Plus, as much as Luach is trying to present a brave front, she is winded, panting heavily, a bit worryingly so. I had never seen her like that, not even after her spars with Gunther or Siabahn. Is she hiding an injury from me? Or was she more tired than she let on?

In either case, even though a part of me would prefer to leave things to her, I can’t just let her continue alone. Then again, I can’t simply charge in again or I might not get as lucky with the next hit.

As I ponder, I reach for the wall behind me for support, the same one I crashed against. It’s stone, one of the boulders set around the arena as an obstacle. The top of it is a short distance above me, probably around two meters tall, high but not high enough that I couldn’t climb it.

And with that, a plan starts forming in my mind. I don’t think Luach will like it, but it’s better than nothing.

“Luach, wait.”

She pauses right at the last moment, already braced to get back into the fight. I can’t tell if the glance she gives me is worry or exasperation.

“Bear with me,” I say as apologetically insistent as I can. “I have a plan. Bring it closer and I’ll try to jump on its back.”

—

Running a fighting ring is pretty rough.

A lot goes into a match, much more than the fans realize. But that is fine; they don’t need to know. If someone is in it just to see sparks fly and blood splatter, then they’ll get what they paid for and go home happy. That is good enough. The more avid fan might sink their teeth into details on the fighters, the monsters, the matchups, the odds for the wagers, but those also are a part of the show, mere entertainment.

What about the logistics, the financing, the planning, the execution? That’s where the lifeblood of the operation is at, though they’re also the most boring parts. Managing it all can be so dull that you start to hate it, but every effort made builds up to the silver lining: a chance to witness that fantastic moment when beasts and people are matched tooth and nail, the crowd is holding its breath, with the odds hang balanced at the edge of a blade. Only in such moments does pure storytelling magic write itself on the ring.

But this match is sadly not one of those.

The hellcloud drake had a good start, showed off a little, landed a solid hit, but now it’s limping around the edge of the arena, trying to sniff out its two opponents as they huddle by a boulder and leisurely come up with a plan. Obviously it’s not like I didn’t expect it to be a bit sluggish, what with all those holes cut into its body, but that’s just sad. It’s a damn shame a healthy one is so expensive.

The witch princess must be thinking so too cause she’s just looking at the arena with that aloof, disinterested glance of hers. Before the battle began she was anxious; she pretended otherwise like she always does, but I could tell, known her long enough for it. Now there's no sign of that left. Makes me feel like a bad host.

“Enjoying the match?” I ask, trying to patch up the moment with a little conversation.

Cethlenn doesn’t respond, eyes focused on her two fighters down in the arena. Perhaps she is a little worried after all? They’re holding out well so far, but they’ve been roughed up a little. Her new guy in particular surprised me, standing up after he was flung across the arena like that. What was his name again? Leo? I wouldn’t be surprised if he broke a few ribs but the adrenaline hasn’t let him notice yet.

“Nervous?” I ask her again, prodding for an answer.

“About?” she finally replies, feigning ignorance.

“Your people down there. Been a few months since a member of your team bit the dust in the arena. Could happen again any day now.”

She smirks. “I think you’ll be waiting for a while longer, Nuren” she responds smugly. “They won’t go down to any second-class monster. Another lizard, by the way? Really? We’ve been seeing a lot of those recently.”

Phew, that stings a little, but I can’t help but chuckle. Talking about her Bewitched never fails to make her defensive. “I started doing business with a trader from Vulani province, close to Ungaradesh,” I reply, keeping the conversation going. “Gave me a good deal on these beasts.”

Meanwhile, down at the arena, the swordwoman, Luach I believe is her name, runs towards the dragon, yelling taunts at it to lead it forward while staying just beyond engagement range. Whenever greenish smoke starts to bubble from its mouth, she strikes at its injured leg, and the beast stops to cover itself with a mix of pain and panic. Luach then retreats before the dragon can pay her back with fang or claw.

It’s obvious her sword isn’t piercing deep enough into the creature’s calloused hide to do any real damage. Inflicting pain is one thing, lets her control her opponent, but that won’t kill the dragon. There must be another reason for getting it to follow her like that.

Not that it makes any difference to the crowd as they start to jeer and whistle impatiently, unimpressed by the lukewarm exchange, and I can’t really blame them.

I sigh, leaning towards Cethlenn. “If anything is souring the matches, it’s that blue Drakki woman of yours. Like with that last battle against the pack of lizards. Things were going great until she used her breath power, and just like that,” I snap my finger, “it was over. People absolutely hated it. It’s really a shame; she has the skills and the appeal to be a top fighter, but she’s a complete letdown in the arena.”

“You just haven’t found anything able to match up to her abilities,” Cethlenn counters in defense of her team. Am I getting under her skin?

“If only it were that simple,” I muse. “Personality, crowd work, flair, style, she’s missing all of it. Only her breath power stands out at all and we’ve seen it so many times now that it’s just a bore. Barely even counts as a glory kill. Worthless, really worthless.”

Cethlenn narrows her eyes. I brace for more of her venom, but before she can say anything, a roar from the arena draws our attention. The hellcloud dragon has grown tired of Luach’s evasive, taunting dance and pounces at her, sprinting as well as it can in its injured state. Luach keeps retreating, but slower, carefully baiting the direction of its charge.

Then, she takes a deep breath and blows her freezing mist on the ground between her and the monster, spreading a white, icy patina over the stone. That’s new. When the dragon steps on it, its claws slip on the frozen surface and it skids forward uncontrollably, tumbling and rolling towards the boulder Luach’s partner is standing on.

What? I was so focused on checking what the woman was doing that I hadn’t noticed Leo climbing on that same boulder they were huddled against just a moment ago.

Right when it seems the monster will crash against him, he jumps onto its back, landing just behind its shoulders. The boulder he was standing on is smashed aside while he clutches the creature’s scales, holding on for dear life.

The crowd below us softly gasps at his bold maneuver. Cethlenn cannot help but curl her lips into a smug grin. “Then it’s a good thing I insisted on including my new recruit. Does he not entertain you more?”

“Ho ho!” I lean forward on my seat. “That boy is crazy, but he has some guts. Where did you say you got him again?”

“Like I told you before, from a travelling caravan Celmund’s scouts raided,” Cethlenn impatiently explains, though it doesn’t erase her smug grin. “He was working as their bodyguard.”

I have a strong feeling that’s not all there is to it, but I can take my time figuring it out. More importantly, the dragon climbs back on its feet with an angry hiss and shakes its body to try and knock Leo off. His grip does start to slip, but that’s when Luach intervenes, striking with a barrage of painful sword slices to draw the monster's attention back to her. While it’s distracted trying to catch her, Leo climbs a bit further, making his way up its back little by little.

And once he reaches its head, he could make a point-blank shot directly into its skull. Aye, that must be their plan, and it would certainly kill it.

“Too bad,” Cethlenn comments, no doubt noticing the same thing. “It seems my Bewitched will steal victory yet again, Nuren.”

…yet again, she says. One more win for her spotless, unremarkable tally.

What a bore.

It’s true, the Bewitched are putting on a good show this time, but it will take more than a new face and his audacious plans to make up for the staleness of their months-old victory streak. I know what my other sponsors have been murmuring behind my back, that I’m playing favorites, going easy on Cethlenn’s team just because I’m sweet on her. There’s only one way to smash those rumors.

“It’s too early to cry victory, my friend.” I gesture to my personal aide, a pretty girl that’s been standing at attention behind me the whole time, and say to her, “Send word to the pen to release the second beast.”

Cethlenn’s smile immediately fades. “What do you mean ‘second’?” she demands as my aide steps away with my order.

I lean back on my throne. “Well, I’ll admit those Bewitched of yours are all strong, and that’s not wrong in itself, but take it too far and you can’t call it a contest. Without conflict, the show dies. Nobody is excited when your team steps onto the arena anymore. So I’ll do as you said and give them a bit more of a challenge.”

“And you’re telling me about this now?!” she demands, raising her voice at me.

The nerve on this bitch. “Woman, where do you think you are?” I reply, stern. “In the Zedian ring, fighters die. You signed off on it when we started doing business and had no issue with it until now, but all of a sudden you want your team to get special treatment? Go against my program, ruin the reputation of my arena, harm my business?! Don’t you forget that I’m the one that makes the rules around here! Not you, ME!”

Cethlenn glares at me, cold, spiteful. Her hooded bodyguards take a step forward, ready for anything, and mine do the same in turn. Guess I raised my voice a little more than I meant to.

But Cethlenn dismisses her people with a gesture and they quickly step back with an apologetic nod. “Fair enough, it is your arena,” she concedes, plainly, politely, with a courteous smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “So what did you prepare?”

I take a deep breath and run my hands over my golden hair, then signal to my own men to stand down as well. She might be my best sponsor, but it was my duty to put things back in their place. I’m glad she understands.

“Just watch. You’ll thank me later. Think of it as… rekindling the hype.”

—

Frankly, I’m amazed it worked.

I would have preferred if Luach froze the dragon whole, but she told me it wouldn’t work with something that big. Should have figured since she could’ve started the battle with that. Getting it to slip on frozen ground was my plan B, a safety net to let me jump on its back without getting chomped out of the air like a meaty morsel on a silver platter. I mean, sure, it’s blind, but its sense of smell is no joke. In any case, part one of the plan really went off without a hitch.

But then comes this, trying to climb its back up to its head. The dragon’s scales are rugged enough that they work as surprisingly solid perches for my hands and feet, kind of like those climbing walls with plastic footholds. This one is eager to shake me off and eat me.

Luach is struggling to keep the dragon’s attention focused on her, giving me small windows to gradually climb my way up. Frankly, I may have overestimated how quickly I’d make it to its head, so her doing this much wasn’t something we agreed on. But Luach realized I’d need help pretty much immediately and started doing everything in her power to help me out. The initiative of a seasoned warrior is something else.

“Move it, Leo!” she yells as she swings her sword and opens a gash on the monster’s snout. The creature hisses angrily and rushes after her, desperately trying to catch her. Despite it being blind, its jaws and claws only narrowly miss her.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?!” Not wanting to waste the opportunity she’s giving me, I hurriedly crawl up between the dragon’s shoulderblades towards the iron collar locked around its neck. I should be close enough to the head to make the shot, so I reach behind my back to fetch my slung musket and grasp the collar to pull myself up.

The monster immediately roars, though it sounds more like a scream, a loud, agonizing cry. I raise my gun, readying myself mentally to kill the beast, but it surprises me when it suddenly jerks forward and breaks into a mad sprint, seemingly no longer caring about its busted hind leg.

“Dammit you, sit still!” I yell in frustration, holding the collar tight so the creature doesn’t buck me right off its back, musket still held firmly in my other hand. Luach hurriedly jumps out of the way and we shoot right past her, as if the dragon wasn’t aiming for her at all. I can see the nape of the monster’s head just within arm’s reach, right in perfect range, but there’s no way I can aim with so much turbulence, let alone make a clean, killing shot. Did the creature realize what I’m trying to do?

Before I can decide how to respond, the dragon crashes against the edge of the arena, hard enough to splinter and bend the reinforced wooden wall. The impact catapults me from the creature’s back, my grip on its collar slips, and I slam against the wall as well, knocking the wind out of my lungs.

I almost drop to the ground, but the dragon is close enough that I manage to catch myself by grasping its scales with one hand. The pull on my shoulder as it catches my weight plus the gun and the shield feels like it will tear my arm off, but I grit my teeth and endure it.

That was lucky, but I don’t think I will be so fortunate twice if the monster tries that again. Thankfully, it simply stays huddled against the wall, panting, groaning. We both must be messed up.

Hanging close to the dragon’s collar, I notice that the inner surface of the iron ring features iron stakes pointing inward, each one pierced through its hide and dug into its flesh. Can’t tell how deep, but judging by the gangrenous color around them and the foetid stench, the dragon must’ve been wearing that tortuous collar for some time now. No wonder touching it caused so much pain.

“Leo!” I hear Luach’s voice. Gritting my teeth again, I pull myself up to the creature’s shoulder, enough to peek over the dragon’s body. My head is still spinning a bit from the hit I took, but I can see Luach running towards us. “If you can move, now’s your cha-“

There’s a brief blur, a dark green-and-brown smear that crosses the arena at a blinding speed with a distorted buzzing sound. It intercepts Luach and she vanishes right before my eyes.

“Huh?” I mutter, blinking a few times to make sure I’m not seeing things. My vision focuses back as it ought to and I glance around the arena, but again, Luach has disappeared. “Luach?!”

Then I hear her voice, a grunt, a cry of pain somewhere above me, along with a cheer from the crowd and a low, ominous drone. I turn my head up and spot her floating over the arena, caught in the spiny arms of an insectoid creature somewhere between a praying mantis, a locust, and a wasp, and by my estimation, a little larger than a man.

Luach struggles against the bug’s grasp, thrashing, hitting, anything to loosen its grip. Her sword is still in her hand, but with her arm caught in the bug’s embrace, she cannot move well enough to hit it.

The mantis-locust-wasp monster leans in and stabs its mandibles into Luach’s left shoulder. “Ghn!” she grunts loudly, gritting her teeth to avoid screaming out.

“Luach!” I hurry to pull myself onto the dragon’s back. As I do so, Luach furiously swings her head, helpless to do anything other than try and headbutt the bug monster holding her. One of those attempts hits true and her left horn stabs the monster close to its eye. The creature shrieks in surprise and drops Luach a good four or five meters onto the stone floor.

That fall would probably be too much for me, but Luach seems to have no problem with it, even landing on her feet. But when she tries to stand back up, she grimaces and stumbles to her knees, holding the bleeding gash on her shoulder as her left arm falls limp at her side.

I’m a bit shocked to see the same Luach that I’ve already come to respect as a formidable warrior, who I’m still ages short of being able to defeat in a spar, injured so grievously. That insectoid abomination moved so quickly that neither of us even noticed its presence before it struck. Between it and the hellcloud dragon, I don’t need the Prisoner’s instincts to tell me which is the bigger threat.

So I raise my musket and aim directly at the bug while it’s distracted rubbing its injured face. I’ll be left without the shot I was saving for the dragon, but we can worry about that later. For now, bringing down that monstrous insect will have to do.

But right as I’m lining my shot, the dragon under me moves, toppling over both me and my aim. “Why now?!” I yell at it, but unsurprisingly the scaly giant only hisses and shakes more violently, now earnestly trying to throw me off. It forces me to lie back down atop it and grip its scales for dear life.

Luach notices and quickly climbs to her feet, even as she grimaces from the pain. She knows as well as I do that I need help, but she is making my same mistake, taking her eyes off the immediate threat. The monstrous bug finishes rubbing its face and fixes its pair of bulbous eyes on her.

“Luach, watch out!” I scream. She reacts in an instant; sparks fly as her sword collides with the dented legs of the insectoid abomination. They start trading strikes, locked in a blurring dance of slashes and parries.

Luach is fast, but the bug seems to have her outmatched, swiftly maneuvering to attack her from a new angle again and again. While I’m relieved to see she can still hold her own, she definitely won’t be able to lend me any aid while she’s locked in that fight. More importantly, her arm has been coated red by all the blood leaking from her injured shoulder.

Did I lower my guard too much? Did I grow overconfident cause I felt victory within reach? I will have to think long and hard about what I could’ve done better, because all of a sudden there’s no sign of that victory anymore. Both Luach and I have been separated, left to fend for ourselves in our own desperate struggles, and it seems only a matter of time before we’re overwhelmed.

Dread thumps in my skull. A hundred memories, the Prisoner’s memories, shred my senses as they cry to me with sobering apprehension, recalling the final, hopeless moments of the warriors they once belonged to. They demand that I do something, anything.

Because if I don’t, someone will surely die.