Interconnected: Spliced Souls

“Hmm…” Two koena locked their eyes on me when I sat. Blood oozed down their chipped, pearlescent scales. Edgar was busy talking to someone near the ring.    

“Let me guess. You think I don’t deserve to be here?” I asked.   

“Not at all.” The answer came from a scrawny kobold. He looked like an anorexic Feral, complete with a skinny tail. “For those who follow the Great Scaled Serpent, it is imperative that we find challenge in all who we fight. We should not look down upon those who desire glory in battle. “  

“I…didn’t expect that.” I was partially stunned because I felt like an outsider.   

A tall, muscled Amazonian-like woman spoke. “Gender doesn’t matter if you can carry your weight in a rumble.”  

And I kinda respected that. Itarr told me Momo was nervous, but she was trying to calm her.   

“Do you all follow that religion?” The eight kobolds and koena nodded. The others shook their heads. “Is this something you do often?”  

“Yes, it is,” answered the singi. He was bald and was missing the fur on his tail’s tip. “These offer a great chance to hone our skills before signing up for the amateur circuit.”  

“But healing and mending aren’t included,” added a brown-skinned Cowkin. She had a nose ring and sat near a pale Bullkin. Unlike her, he had sharp, pointy horns branching off his head. “Is this your first time here?” she asked. Delicately wrapped bandages covered her palms.    

I nodded and said I hadn’t come to Arcton before yesterday.    

They drilled me about my combat experience, and I just told them about my experience in Warden while leaving out the obvious. And when I knocked out that pervert in Waveret.    

“Keep in mind that we do not hold back. A newcomer will not be given a handicap. Do you still wish to fight at the risk of having your bones broken?”  

“I do. I know my way around a brawl,” I answered the scrawny kobold.  

It almost felt unfair. Fighting and drinking contests were guaranteed to end with me winning. Even a race would see me as the victor if it was long enough. Or any physical competition that wasn’t based on some skill or technique would have me earning the gold every time.   

Raw fighting?  

A bare-knuckle brawl?  

Wasn’t that right up my alley for someone who had died dozens of times? A punch wouldn’t hurt more than exploding from the insides. Or having your heart cleaved in two.   

If someone put me in a submission hold and broke my arm or leg…  

So what?  

No. That kind of overconfidence leads to someone's downfall, right? I'm strong, but a kobold outmuscles me. They could pin me down, and I couldn't break out. Or one could hold me in an arm or leg lock and keep me there until the referee ends the fight to protect me. In that scenario, my immortality wouldn't have helped. You gotta think about that, Servi. 

“Your ring will be a problem. Swords, shields, and other equipment are not allowed,” said Edgar when he hobbled over. “Passive abilities, too. If you have them, turn them off. And don’t start whining about it being unfair. I’m not heartless to make you go toe-to-toe with a kobold or koena. Singi have sharp nails, but there are rules to prevent them from being used. Accidents are called accidents for a reason, but this is a sport. It’d be bad for the city if people start dropping dead or develop a reputation for fighting dirty.”  

This is more professional than I thought. I’m kinda impressed.    

“Okay. That’s fine with me,” I said, stashing it in my pocket. Edgar pulled a small wand from his pocket and said it dispelled any enhancements or enchantments I might have had while checking for any passive abilities I might've kept on. Splicing souls with a goddess didn’t count, apparently. “On second thought, let one of your friends hold your ring. Just to be on the safe side. You don’t want it to fall and break, do you?” 

“Fine. Is it time?”  

“It is. You’re going against the furless cat,” Edgar pointed at the singi, who chuckled. “We’re doing ten rounds for three minutes. Is that acceptable?”  

“It isn’t up to me to decide. You’re the showrunner, aren’t you?”  

“Good answer,” Edgar smirked. The singi cracked his knuckles and stood, and we followed the hairy dwarf to the ring. I looked at my friends, and Momo still looked nervous. Saline was confident as she held Cue in her lap—she knew I was strong and believed in me. She caught my ring when I tossed it and promised to keep it safe.    

Edgar stood in the middle and presented us to the crowd. He hyped us up, and the onlookers cheered. Momo adorably looked around and began cheering after Itarr texted her.    

“You can do it, Servy! I believe!!! You can win!!!”  

“Come on, Red Eyes!” shouted Gerld, joining in. He raised a fist and hollered. Cue barked a few times. Saline raised his paw and waved it in my direction.   

“And without further ado… It’s time to rumble!!!!!!” Edgar hopped out of the ring as someone slammed a bell with a hammer.  

---

The singi was fast. His footwork was honestly impressive. He held his hands up and remained nimble, keeping his body loose and free. My foe’s hardened eyes were sharp as they observed me up and down. Perhaps he was analyzing my guard?  

I remained back and observed his steps—trying to read the flow of his movements.   

He was probably a speedy type. Singi were naturally quick and athletic. Momo often incorporated handstands in her workouts.   

And the fight didn’t have many rules regarding techniques.   

Let’s test him.   

I advanced and kept an eye on his feet. He twitched, I stepped back, but it was a feint to catch me off guard.   

With a swift roll, I evaded his attempted tackle, and as he soared over me, I seized the opportunity to spring back onto my feet. I adjusted my stance, my guard poised, ready to respond to the next burst of movement.   

“Your instincts are sharp.”  

“I told you. I’ve been around a fight or two.”  

The singi provoked a subtle twitch in my defenses by feigning a jab. Sensing an opening, I lunged forward, aiming to sweep his legs. However, he pivoted gracefully, avoiding the sweep, and countered with a lightning-fast punch, clocking me across the cheek before stepping back.    

It busted my lip, but I wiped the blood and turned to face him.  

“That’s the look I wanted to see. You can’t ever get ahead in life without enduring the pain. I’d have lost all respect if that was enough to make you reconsider.”  

“Trust me,” I said, taking another stance. “I’m not backing down.”   

The fight continued in a seamless exchange of strikes and evasions. He unleashed a flurry of kicks-- his movements fluid and unpredictable. I weaved through the onslaught without emerging unscathed, but he made a mistake when he thought he could finish it in one decisive move.   

The enemy had kicked me in the stomach. I dropped and clutched my belly…  

“Is this it? Will Servi face her end?!” Edgar cried, continuing to announce the fight.  

…but it was a trap. The singi didn’t spot it. He planned to finish it in one move.  

Momo cried my name. Sissy shouted for me to move—their pleas only served to verify the dubiousness of his ill-fated plan.   

But it was too late.   

I grinned when he lifted his leg and caught it between my arms—mere moments before it would’ve knocked me out.   

“What?! The crowd gasped and went dead silent.    

And then they erupted into a thunderous applause after hearing the tiniest…snap.  

In this position, after all… It took very little power or pressure to fracture a limb. If you didn't know where to strike? Someone like me could make up for the lack of accuracy with overwhelming strength. 

I couldn’t guarantee a clean break, but that didn’t matter. We had potions and healing magic. Hell, there was no better place in Lando to break a leg than Arcton.  

The singi bit his lip and became unsteady. I pulled him close and used an elbow strike to break his chin. My foe used the momentum to roll back, but he heavily favored his unbroken leg. The adrenaline didn’t stop him from another failed attempt. His groggy uppercut was slow. I sidestepped back, responded in turn, and saw two white, bloody specks leave his mouth.   

Wet crimson splashed against the ropes, and I just smiled.    

“Good attempt,” I grinned. “But it'll take more than that to hurt me.” I cracked my knuckles. “I’m coming for that arm next time.”  

“Were my kicks ineffective?”  

“I’m sorry, but yes. It was an act.”  

“Haaa… Then… It’s my loss. Eddy! I’m calling it!” The singi raised an arm, and Momo danced in her seat. Cue stood on Saline’s thighs and howled, and it seemed like I garnered more respect from the crowd.    

Edgar hobbled to the singi, and Momo stood. “I have healing magic,” she said. “It’s not anything powerful, but it could help.”  

“Thank you, but I must refuse. The path to martial arts mastery cannot be taken with shortcuts. I desire rest and natural remedies. Nothing more. And nothing less.”  

“Umm… Okay, if you say so. Good fight, Servy! You rocked!”  

“Woah… She seriously said that didn’t hurt?” Gerld looked astonished. He had somehow bummed a cigarette. “You think she has abs of steel? Maybe she can take one of your punches. Hey, why didn’t you—"  

“Don’t talk to me like I’m some brute!” barked Sissy. She proved him right by slapping his neck.   

It seemed like I was surrounded by smackers.    

In a whisper, I asked Itarr to text Albert.   

He says your technique lacks finesse. It is unrefined and borders on using raw strength to overcome disadvantages.   

“Yeah, I figured.”  

He’s sorry. I think he regrets being honest.   

“It doesn’t bother me. I know I’m not exactly trained. I swing hard. I punch hard.”  

Although I need to learn actual techniques. I trained with Dineria in Waveret, but that was for the bow and other basic combat techniques. She didn’t do much tutoring in hand-to-hand.  

“ Swing...hard? You sound more like a kobold than a human.” Edgar looked honest-to-God scared. “Have you lost your mind, lassie? Do you need to sit down?”  

“Nah. I always talk to myself,” I said, watching the singi return to the canopy, refusing anyone’s assistance. “Hey, is what I did okay?”  

“Eh? You didn’t kill him. The fool should’ve known it was a trap, and he fell for it. Ehh... It's a learning experience for him.”  

“And if I had fallen for it?”  

“I’d have barred you from my shop.”  

“Even if it meant losing a sale? What if I spread rumors of your store’s poor quality?”  

“So what? Actions speak louder than words. I don’t forge to make money, girl. I make what I think is right.”  

“Apparently not if your daughter said you regretted that rapier. Why have something you aren’t proud of?”  

“I’m glad that you have a bark to back up your bite,” he said, swapping the subject with a belly laugh. “But let’s see how sharp your fangs are.”  

Murmurs spread amongst the crowd as we talked. Someone wanted to throw down money, but another admonished him-- saying that was illegal unless you were registered with the circuit. A third else offered to take the fall, but they were cursed at.    

“Let me guess. That’s not enough to impress you?”  

“You’d be right. Oi! It’s your turn!” The hairy dwarf pointed to that Cowkin. She shared a hug with the Bullkin.  

“What? No break?”   

“Are you tired? Don’t tell me you tried to finish it to take a rest?”  

“Okay, I see how you’re playing it, jackass.”  

“Bwhaha! You were expecting this, weren’t you?”  

“It wouldn’t be a test if it was easy, although I’m sure you’d find I’d pass with flying colors.” I looked at my next opponent as she approached with a pep rally in her step. She wasn’t as muscular as the Amazonian-like woman…  

Or so I thought.   

She removed her shirt, revealing a sports-like bra, and exposed a toned stomach with rock-hard abs. Her arms were…  

Well, she had large muscles. I never expected a baggy shirt to have hidden that.    

“Confidence can be an excellent thing. It can also lead to someone’s downfall. It's a fine line between self-assuredness and arrogance. One must tread carefully, for hubris often precedes a humbling fall. Let's find out which part you belong to.”  

Edgar turned to the crowd and introduced us. He said my opponent relied on her raw strength to unleash a volley of powerful, speedy punches while remaining impenetrable. Apparently, she had taken thousands of punches to her stomach from her husband—the Bullkin-- to strengthen her abdomen. 

The two were muscle-heads, I guess. Or battle junkies? They probably carved a sense of love from a shared understanding of fighting? She seemed girly and cute when she was hugging him earlier.    

I mean, why not? People were bound to form friendships in odd ways. Was it my place to judge bellicose lovers when I shared a deep fondness for an amnesiac goddess?  

“Itarr, is it a good idea for me to use my...you know...to win these fights?” I whispered, the wound on my lip all but healed. Stubborn blood obscured it, so it wasn’t arousing suspicion.    

Your immortality? I nodded. She asked Albert, and he believed I was fine, but I was still only a ‘human.’ Wildkins’ muscles differed in density.  

I saw it as clear as day in my opponent’s arms and legs.   

A clean hit from her would shatter something that I couldn’t shrug off without questions being raised.    

“It’d be so much easier if I didn’t have to be wary,” I whispered.  

Hmm… I can always lower [True Immortality]’s intensity to make the wounds last longer, but I have another idea. Why not heal the internal damage while leaving the proof unaffected? I’m sure I can do that. Should I try it? I’ve been sensing a change in the skill for a few days now.    

I nodded.   

Okay. It's done. Look. The cow lady is ready. I’m sure the bell’s about to ring.    

---

My foe’s first strikes were like a calm thunderstorm—a barrage of punches aimed to test my mettle. It was much like what I had done in my previous fight.    

I ducked and tried to sweep her leg, but her powerful thighs took the blow. It was like I had kicked a solid steel wall. My leg became bruised, and…  

…the throbbing vanished as quickly as it appeared, but I falsely favored my other leg. The Cowkin was impressed that my bones withstood the blow and replied with another punch.   

It narrowly missed—her fist almost grazing my cheek. I crawled through her legs and recovered. She turned around and continued to advance with a tight guard.   

I didn’t see a way around, so I poked and prodded, throwing a few jabs. She didn’t avoid them as her massive arms blocked everything I threw at her.   

Suddenly, she swatted me with her left hand and pulled back her right.   

It was a haymaker—no. It was too obvious! Something screamed that this was a trap.    

My eyes glanced down, but it was too late for her. I already sidestepped to the side, avoiding piercing damage to my stomach while grabbing her leg.    

I dropped to the ground and rolled, bringing her to the mat. The takedown was successful. She flipped to her back and raised a guard while I straddled her chest.   

I punched, but it was like striking a tree.   

The woman was more flexible than I thought—she had kicked me in the back of my head. I fell forward. The Cowkin pinned me to her chest and rolled.   

The situation was reversed.   

I was on the receiving end of a ferocious barrage. Her fists were as heavy as stone, battering my forearms until the ache throbbed like a nail being jammed into the bone…until the discomfort instantly vanished a heartbeat later.    

“You can’t always guard!” she said, grabbing my wrists with her large, sweaty hands.    

“Maybe you should!” I head-butted her as hard as I could.   

Snap!  

Her nose broke. The momentary daze weakened her grip for a moment, and I delivered two strikes to her face before pushing her off of me. She stood when I did, and we both held smiles, yet the Cowkin’s curled lips were tainted by wet, sticky crimson. She pinched her nostrils, realigned the bones and cartilage, and blew out the rest of the blood.   

She approached more readily, and I did the same. Her first two jabs were dodged, but the third got me in the stomach.   

Instinct took over. Before I knew it, I had slammed an elbow across her face.   

She remained resolute and returned it twofold, knocking me back. She ran for a tackle, but it pushed me against the ropes, and I hammered her back.   

Thud!  

Thud!  

Thud!  

She kneed me in the stomach, lifted me, and tossed me away behind her, but I recovered in a roll and ran back in. She tried to punch, but I caught onto the feint.  

Again, instinct made my body act before I could process what was happening, snatching her kick between my elbow and knee at the last moment. I dropped to the ground, wrapped my legs around hers, and rolled, entrapping her in a leg lock.    

The whole maneuver felt like muscle memory— something I had done a thousand times before.   

Suddenly, a dull thud stabbed me in the head. It felt like something was drilling into my brain. The foreign flashes... I abhorred it. No-- maybe they were fragments of…fighting? Techniques I thought I had never done before suddenly became known and clear.    

I had once told Itarr that anything could trigger a memory—be it sight, sound, smell, color, or taste. Perhaps the same could happen to muscle memory? But why now? And not before? Was it because I was fighting with my hands? I’ve always had a weapon with me. That drunk in Waveret didn’t count.   

But what about that singi? Nothing strange happened when I fought him, so maybe it was the damage I was taking?   

Or was the cow lady’s fighting style?  

“What the hell?” barked the Cowkin, prying my legs away.  

“Yay!!! Way to go, Servy!! Woohoo!!!”  

“Holy hell, did you see that?!” The crowd became energized and erupted when I followed with a resounding punch to her stomach. The sheer force behind it vibrated every sinew in my muscles, and the brawl continued—punch for punch—blow for blow—for the next minute.   

I was getting better.   

Submission holds? The knowledge of leg and arm locks seemed like they were always there—just waiting for me to rediscover them.    

Counter strikes? The Cowkin’s technique relied on overwhelming power and speed. I repeatedly saw gaps I could exploit and acted accordingly, with each heavy pummel acting like the beats of a heavy war drum. I focused on power over accuracy, delivering devastating blows to her stomach and shoulder.    

The Cowkin tried to throw a sudden kick, but I slipped under, wrapped an arm, and rolled, throwing her to the ground. She caught herself with a hand, but my prior focus on her left shoulder was showing its consequences. She was too slow and unsteady, allowing me to deliver a hard axe kick to her back, slamming her into the ring.    

She cried out as I was approaching to finish it, but…  

...the bell suddenly rang, ending the first round.  

I had no choice but to stop.  

I backed off and winced, feigning the pain that everyone thought I was feeling.  

My foe had seen better days as she stood, her generous chest slightly heaving. There wasn’t a single unblemished spot on her face. Her arms were covered with welts, and dark purple bruises occupied her like fleas on a diseased dog. But it looked like she enjoyed it? Or found the battle worthy? The Cowkin almost nodded in respect before walking to the ring’s corner. There, she leaned and looked up, trying to catch her breath as her significant other approached with a cup of water and a rag.  

Edgar was explosively rambling about what he had witnessed.  

Momo dashed from her seat and jumped to the ring when I approached my corner. She had probably never expected to see me with bruises, a busted lip, a fractured finger, and dislocated bones that I popped back into place with a satisfying crack.  

I couldn’t say I looked worse than my opponent, though. [True Immortality] was a crutch I definitely relied on while we thrashed each other.    

“Itarr told me the plan,” she whispered, wiping my cheeks. She had to play the role of a healer. “Are you…sure…this is okay? Are my magic and potions enough to…you know?”  

“Yep. If not, I’m sure Cassidy has something strong I can use.”  

“Does it hurt? And please, be honest.”  

“I promise it doesn’t. It used too. Back…a few months ago, the pain would linger even after it was healed, but Itarr’s little changes have made it so much better. I swear I feel as fine as when we woke up this morning. The discomfort lasts for less than a second.”   

“You say that, but your face paints a different picture, Servy.” She rubbed the cloth under my nose and cleaned a little more blood. The injury was still bleeding, but that was it.   

“Even someone like you can bleed without it hurting.”  

“Maybe… I know this is something I need to get used to. And maybe I feel a little better about it since what I’m seeing is just visual,” she whispered. “I’m super uncomfortable, but that’s... I need to work through it. I know I can overcome it, but… It might take a while, you know?”  

“Yeah, I know.”  

Momo looked over her shoulder. Saline looked worried in the dim, hazy lighting until I waved. And Suusa was into it. I caught him smiling, but he huffed, crossed his arms, and turned away. Sissy had her eyes covered. Gerld was chatting it up with someone to his left. He kept pointing at me. Albert was a silent observer. The butler wrote something in a journal and kept a watchful eye on us.  

I told her about the dull thud and how previously locked or unknown muscle memories appeared from nowhere. But why did it relate to violence? What did that entail? “It’s… probably a hint to what I’ve forgotten. Are you scared?” I suddenly asked. “What if…I used to be really… unpleasant?”  

“Nope. But I’m kinda mad you asked that.” She pouted, interrupting me. “Don’t be a dummy. The you now is who I like. This you is my friend. And whoever you used to be? I’m sure I’d like her. And I’m sure I’d be friends with her, too. But you know, maybe you were a fighter? A martial artist, maybe? You can be one of those without being really violent, right?”  

“I mean, yeah. You can, but…” Would a martial artist really be as okay with killing as I was? I didn’t say that.    

I didn’t know. Maybe the better option was to shrug it off?   

Again… Maybe my cynicism forced me to believe the worst. That was an awful trait, and I needed to break it.    

 Momo reassured me until Edgar called for the fighters to return to the ring’s center. I felt better after talking to her. 

“Thanks, Momo.”  

“You’re welcome, Servy! Oh, and good luck! We’re rooting for you!” Momo raised my phone. The screen flashed twice, and she darted to her seat, her tail wagging and bouncing, and talked to Sissy.  

I approached my opponent.   

“Hmm… You’re only here to prove yourself to Edgar, yes?” I nodded. “I think he understands the type of summoner you are. A coward wouldn’t hit me as hard as you.” She touched her stomach, and I desperately hoped I didn't permanently damage anything. “Your technique is impressive.”  

“Are you saying the fight’s over?”  

“Hmm? I don’t think I ever said that. Are you trying to weasel out of it?”  

“Now, I don’t think I ever said that. Just know that I can literally do this all night. I doubt I’ll ever get tired.”  

“Hahaha! Even when you look as worse than me? Proud of your stamina, are you?”  

“That’s right.”  

“And you’re talking so normally. Tell me, do you not feel pain? I’m sure your jaw must’ve been dislocated.”  

“It was, and I popped it into place,” I said, partially lying. “But no. I feel pain. But why bother with it if I’m not about to die?”  

“Why…bother?”  

“That’s right. This isn’t a life-or-death situation, so the pain I feel can be safely ignored because my friend is a healer. She has magic and potions ready for after the fight. I’m sure we have some for you if you want one.”  

“Interesting… Are you human?” she suddenly asked out of nowhere   

“I think so.”  

“You aren’t sure?”  

“Are you sure you’re a Cowkin? Can you trace your lineage to your first ancestor?”  

“Haha! I’ve never met someone like you before! How do you feel about making this an endurance match?” The woman explained that we could agree to fight until thirty minutes had passed—now 27—or until you couldn’t stand up anymore. Giving up was also a loss condition.    

Obviously, we wouldn’t have any breaks or rests.    

“I thought Edgar said—”  

“This isn’t an official, Servi.” The woman grinned and cracked her knuckles. “It’s merely practice. Or training. It doesn’t matter which label you use. Besides... It’s what you said. This isn’t a life-or-death situation. Our lives aren’t on the line.”   

“Okay. Yeah. I’m good for it.”  

“Oi! Edgar! We’re going all the way!” shouted the Cowkin.   

“Eh? Another one?” came a murmur from the crowd. “Didn’t she just get done with one last night?”  

It appears this woman often does this. She’s proud of her stamina, but I think you have her beat, Servi.  

“Yeah. I do.”  

The hairy dwarf groaned and facepalmed. “Again?! Didn’t I say—H—Hey, don’t ring the goddamn—"  

Bong!  

She didn’t waste any time... 

Neither did I.  

She swung two heavy haymakers, but I ducked and jumped back, predicting a forward kick. I grabbed it, but she immediately pulled me close.  

Her fist was pulled back, but I used all my strength in my legs to jump, knocking her to the ground again.  

“What?!” The crowd didn’t expect me to land with a hearty punch. The noise was clean—like a sharp crackle of thunder loudly echoing as gasps radiated from the audience. Such a strike would’ve knocked out someone lesser, but the Cowkin took it in stride. She swiftly grabbed my arms and calculatedly tossed me away to create distance.    

It didn’t keep me apart.  

My opponent was already standing when I ran back. She remained steadfast and launched a volley.   

Her speed had increased, but it was manageable. The urge to win sooner than later inflamed my heart. She went for a low sweep, which I stopped with a stomp, then used my elbows to defend a sudden jab before aiming for her shoulder.   

The fight proceeded for twenty minutes, with us exchanging blows and grapples, fighting for ground control while trying to stay one step ahead.   

But I held the advantage. My opponent was tremendous, but she was still just a mortal who couldn’t sustain this high level of effort for so long.    

Likewise, I had to act like that, purposely heaving to not draw any suspicion.    

But in the twentieth minute, my opponent wasn’t steady. Her left arm dangled limply. Blood oozed from her eyes. Sickening crimson diluted her attire, changing it from a deep blue to something murky and red. She struggled to raise her right hand, but another instinct activated deep within me. I approached, swatting her strike like it was as fearsome as a moth—yelling to feign the supposed lethargy that was supposed to be slowing my body.   

I slipped behind the cow lady and wrapped my arms around her stomach.    

“NO WAY?! IS SHE GOING TO SLAM—”  

“RRAAAHHHH!!!” I roared and picked her up, turning around as I fell, landing on her back, and she became intimate with the ring’s floor.    

Thump!  

Immediately, I acted, putting her in another chokehold. My legs wrapped around her thighs, pinning them apart from each other. She wouldn’t have broken the restraint even if she had the stamina.    

Crimson spit sputtered from her bloody mouth. She didn’t have the strength, and I had all the leverage. I somehow knew how to transition to   

“That’s enough, baby.” The Bullkin approached and waved a white towel. I let go as he entered the ring and offered a hand. “Oh, you still look so beautiful,” he whispered, helping her stand. He wiped the blood as she smiled like a virgin lover. “You’re strong. That was impressive,” he said, turning my way. His voice was lower than I thought.”  

“O—Oh, thank you,” I replied.   

“I want a rematch,” said the Cowkin, her voice raspy. Her left eye couldn’t open, but she looked happy. “You’ve given me much to ponder about.”  

“Then you’ll have it.”  

She winced after smiling. Her husband told her to take it easy. They slowly walked to the canopy, and I realized the crowd was cheering.   

They loved it.   

Momo and Sissy jumped up and down together. Suusa caught me staring at his approving expression, but he didn’t try to hide it. Gerld looked like he was bragging about knowing me to anyone who’d listen to him. Cue jumped off Saline and ran to me.   

“Is that enough?” I asked, picking him up as Edgar approached.  

“Aye. It is. You’re no ordinary summoner. You can bite as hard as the rest of these vicious mutts.” He looked at my body. Luckily, my overalls covered most of it. But he analyzed my grievously injured face. My nose was supposed to be broken. Blood leaked from my ears and nose almost nonstop. It felt so surreal to look like I had come from a gang initiation or something while feeling totally fine.  

Hell, I was even giddy. But I had to play my part. That was why I groaned and sat Cue down—because my arms were supposed to be sore. No, my hand was meant to be dislocated.    

“The sword is yours.”  

“How much?” I winced.    

“Nothing. It’s yours.” I asked if he was sure, and he nodded. He turned to the crowd and said it was time to leave, explaining that they met once a week for a few hours. Time had run out, and they needed to return to their shops. The other warriors under the canopy gathered their stuff since most had other commitments or responsibilities. I didn’t see the singi, and Edgar mentioned he had left shortly before my fight with the Cowkin to reflect on his mistakes.   

“He took it hard,” said the dwarf. Momo and the others approached. My friend held two potions in her outstretched hand. “Fighting is all that some people have. It’s all that some need to get by in life. And of those? A majority can’t find any other meaning. Hmm? Nothing to say?”  

“Not really.” Cue rubbed his fluffy head against my leg. “It isn’t my place to judge or praise if someone wants to live like that. Especially if it’s not hurting anyone. Or if it’s something they chose for themselves. They can reap the benefits and struggle through the cons.”  

“Aye, that’s a good answer, lass. It’s a damn good one. But you’ve passed with flying colors. A summoner willing to throw hands like that is someone that I don’t need to worry about.”