After the proclamation came a flurry of activity including announcing the first two competitors, which was—of course—why Det was now standing in front of what looked like a small, iron portcullis. One which led directly out and onto the arena floor. Only, there was a man standing next to the lever that would open it, the words he’d just spoken not making sense in Det’s ears.

  “Pardon?” Det said. “I must’ve misheard that.”

  “Give me all your equipment,” the man said again.

  “You shaking me down?” Det said, as that could be the only possible explanation, despite being ridiculous. Any other reasons for the request were even dumber.

  “The rules for the magic mini-tournament have been laid out,” the man said, like that answered everything.

  “Rules that still haven’t been explained to me,” Det pointed out.

  “It’s a magic tournament,” the man drawled. “No weapons or equipment. Give me that eyepatch and your glove. Jacket too. You can keep your shirt, pants, and boots. Nothing else.”

  “My brushes and ink?” Det said, already annoyed at being thrust into the tournament as the first damn competitor.

  “No equipment,” the man said. “Are you slow?”

  “Are you just an asshole?” Det sniped back without moving.

  The man’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t activate the lever. “Hand over your equipment, or you’re not fighting.”

  “Then I’m not fighting,” Det said, turning on his heel to find Beast standing in the doorway, hands clasped behind her back.

  “Consider it an order, Mr. pain-in-my-ass,” Beast said. “Rules change every cycle.” She shrugged like this somehow all made sense. Or maybe she just didn’t care enough to question it more than that.

  “I need my brushes and ink,” Det said to both of them. If he had to go out into the arena like this, he would. He just needed…

  “No equipment,” the man predictably said in the same tone of voice that kind of made Det want to punch him in the nose. He reminded Det exactly of one of the regulars who would come into his shop. The man constantly ground his gearshift, and once a year—like clockwork—he’d come into the shop with transmission problems. Every time, he’d refuse to listen to what was causing the issue, and throw money around to fix the problem instead of five minutes of attention to solve the issue.

  “I need my ink and brushes for my magic,” Det spelled it out, since the man didn’t seem to catch that part.

  “Doesn’t matter,” the man replied. “No equipment means no equipment. This isn’t a debate or a discussion. That is what the rules say, and it’s not my place—or yours—to attempt to interpret them as anything different than how they’re written.”

  “To be clear,” Det said. “You want me to go out into a magic fight with no magic?”

  “You’re ReSouled,” the man said. “You have magic. Use it.”

  “I just told you I need my ink and brushes for my magic.”

  “No equipment.” The annoying man even reached into a pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper, then poked it repeatedly with his free hand while speaking very slowly. “No. Equip. Ment.”

  Det’s hands up came up, his fingers tensing like claws until he squeezed them into fists in frustration. Could he strangle this man? Would he get away with it? Beast was a witness, but maybe she’d agree he’d been patient? Looking over at the woman, nope, that option was out the window. If anything, she was contemplating strangling Det for taking so long.

  “What are the rules of this fight?” Det said.

  “Duel,” the man replied. “No equipment…”

  “I got that part!” Det practically shouted.

  The man glared at Det for interrupting.

  “No equipment,” he said again, slowly like he was savoring every word, while Det daydreamed about seeing if he could fit the man’s head in the narrow space between the portcullis bars. “The duel will be decided by the stronger magic, though any form of combat or skills are allowed, assuming they adhere to the no-equipment rules.”

  “What’s the win condition?” Det said.

  “The winner is decided when one—or both—competitor is rendered unable to continue the duel, or one side yields,” the man said.

  “What about injuries?”

  “Not a concern. Medics are standing by to address any injuries that linger, though the magic of the amphitheatre will prevent any fatal damage.” The man stopped and looked Det square in the eye. “Unfortunately.”

  “I don’t like you,” Det said simply.

  “I am unbothered,” the man replied. “No equipment.”

  “Fine,” Det said. “But this better be here when I get back.”

  “I am exceptional at my job.”

  “You haven’t even said what your job is,” Det said. “It could be to steal my shit.”

  “Hand over your boring-ass equipment and get your ass in the arena,” Beast finally snapped. “It’ll be here when your ass crawls back in here.”

  As frustrated as the whole situation made him, he pushed the feelings aside. He couldn’t take his equipment in with him. Not his brushes, his ink, his scrolls, or his new Wordless equipment. They basically wanted him to fight with his bare hands.

  Det blinked. His… bare hands? He looked down at the white gauntlet he’d just taken off, the one with the stencil in it. He’d painted flames on his hands before, and that had worked out pretty well. If he could use the glove now to put the flames on his palm, and maybe a minute to paint something else on his arm, he could use his magic. The fire hadn’t burned things he didn’t consider enemies before, but maybe an opponent in a duel would count?

  “How long do I have to get ready?” he asked, already moving the glove to slide it back on to his hand.

  Beast was faster, swiping the Wordless gear out of his grip so fast, one second in his hands, and the next she was passing it to the infuriating gatekeeper.

  “Nothing,” she said. “You pissed me off with all your complaining. Hand over the gear and get in the arena before I strip you down myself and toss your ass out in your tighty-blackies.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “If you give me one minute,” he started, grabbing a brush and ink at the same time. A few seconds of stalling could…

  Nope, Beast once again proved how fast she was, and Det’s hands were empty again.

  “Gear. Now,” the woman said, the tone of her voice making it very clear she would happily do as she threatened.

  Det stared at her for a second longer, then forced himself to let it go. It was his own damn fault. He’d wasted his time arguing about the rules instead of looking for a way around them like he should’ve done. Like he had back on Ironsalt.

  Stupid, Det. This isn’t Radiant. I need to be ready for a fight at any time, even if that fight doesn’t have a point like this stupid duel. That’s what it was, isn’t it? I didn’t think this mattered—it’s not going to help me get home, and I’m not here for somebody else’s entertainment—and it made me argue instead of think.

  I talk about how much I need to prepare for my magic to work, and here I was ignoring the chance I was given to do just that. Won’t happen again.

  Det grumbled at both Beast and the gatekeeper as he scolded himself internally and handed over the requested gear. All of it, Including his brushes, ink, scrolls, and Wordless gear. Even the few smeared and crumpled pieces of paper he’d prepared before going down to Ironsalt. If the headmaster wanted this to be a spectacular battle of magic, he was going to be sorely disappointed.

  Whatever, not my problem now. Not like the duel matters. Let them play their games. I’ll end this before it can even start, then move on with the lesson learned.

  Once Det was stripped down to his nearly skin-tight top, baggy pants, and boots, the infuriating gatekeeper looked at him one more time. “No more equipment? Not hiding anything?”

  “What, you want to do a cavity search now?” Det shot back.

  Horrifyingly, the man seemed to consider it, looking Det up once and down in a slow, drawn-out fashion like he was considering every inch of where Det could hide contraband.

  “Just let his ass out of here, come on,” Beast said. “I’m bored, and you don’t want that.”

  That threat—more than anything Det had said—finally got through the other man’s thick skull, and he finally raised the lever.

  “Try not to embarrass yourself too much,” the man said, gesturing for Det to head out.

  “Just don’t lose my shit,” Det said, then stalked out of the waiting room. He wouldn’t be gone long.

  Coming out at the base of the wall beneath where most of the cadets sat to watch the duel, Det noticed the podium had been removed at some point. As for the instructors, instead of standing in a line behind where the headmaster had been, they’d spread out to cut off most of the arena.

  Now reduced to about a fifth of the total floor space, the positioning told Det the instructors weren’t expecting the duels to get too out of hand.

  They may want to stand back when it’s Calisco’s turn.

  A brief moment of daydreaming about what the fiery woman would do to that gatekeeper occupied Det’s thoughts until he reached where the headmaster stood with another woman in a cadet’s uniform. His opponent, apparently. One who looked annoyed at having to wait.

  He just shrugged at her. There would be time to explain things after the fight.

  “Excellent,” the headmaster said, his voice no louder than it had been when Det was sitting in the stands, but clearly reaching all corners of the stadium. “Good of you to make it.”

  The comment got a few chuckles from the seated cadets, and a knowing wink from Captain Simmons through his perfect curl in Det’s direction. Coins to bars, that man had something to do with the gatekeeper or Det being the first fighter. Knowing Simmons, probably both!

  He even went to take a step in the captain’s direction, but his boots wouldn’t move. It was like they were superglued to the ground.

  “Your opponent is here,” the headmaster said quietly, a playful smile hiding behind his white beard. “Don’t let the captain get a rise out of you. It’ll just make it more fun for him.”

  “Sir, about this duel,” Det started.

  “Just do your best,” the headmaster said, then turned his attention back to the crowd that had quieted back down. “As this is our first duel, and everybody is present, I shall quickly go over the rules. As you can see, our competitors have been stripped of their equipment, and this shall be a battle of wit, magic, and physical strength. With no outside assistance, it will come down to wily tactics or brute force to overcome the other.

  “Individual duels will continue until one side can no longer fight, or yields. Since I am sure you all have something to prove—both to your instructor and fellow cadets—these will be grueling battles to bring you to the edge of your seats. Displays of might and magic that are only the tip of the iceberg for what you will accomplish over the coming three years.

  “And, make the most of it. This tournament, as nothing more than an appetizer for all involved, has no real final winner. Each of you will fight only one match. Will only have one chance to strut your stuff, as you will.

  “Use today as setting the bar. As your personal starting point to grow from. Just know that the instructors arrayed around me will also be judging you. Impress them and you will undoubtedly reap the benefits and rewards. Extra lessons. Additional resources. Opportunities.”

  That annoyed Det, but maybe he should’ve expected it. Still, it didn’t change what he had to do. He’d screwed up by not thinking about what he could do with his ink before entering. Learning that lesson would do more for his future than just about anything else, and it was the best reward he was going to get for the day.

  “I will tell you right now,” the headmaster continued, unaware of Det’s inner monologue. “Mount Avalon is not fair. The hard working, the strong, and the smart, will rise to the top, and we will unabashedly support them. Prove you’re worth investing it, and we will do just that.

  “Show us you’re just here for a free ride…”

  Myrddin didn’t need to finish his sentence, with the threat—the promise—clear as day. The academy would happily funnel resources into the people who will benefit most from them. Mount Avalon did not care about equality, just about making the strongest ReSouled they could.

  Det sighed. Not a great speech for him right before this match. The woman standing twenty feet across from him, though? Yeah, she looked fired up. The sunlight glistened off her dark skin—as if she’d spent her entire life in the sun, just like right now—while her body had a much more muscled look than Calisco did. Her hair was tied back in a tight braid, and it exposed her impressive shoulders that easily shamed anything Det had in his old body on Earth. Hell, it shamed a lot of body builders, while not making her look any less feminine.

  “Sir, I…” Det started.

  “Don’t you dare think you can go easy on me because I’m a girl,” the woman across from Det said, those same fiery eyes practically glaring holes into him.

  “Why would I do that?” Det said. “You’re a ReSouled. Besides, it doesn’t matter, I…”

  “That’s what you have to say?” she interrupted him, voice even but dangerous. “You think I’m only worth your time because I’m ReSouled?”

  “Not what I said at all,” Det said. “Doesn’t matter if you’re a man or woman, being a ReSouled makes you more. Again, it doesn’t matter, I…”

  “You are going to get crushed, is what you are,” she said. “I’m going to prove to you and all those other cadets watching that I am the one to beat this year. I’m going to be number one. Those rewards the headmaster talked about? Mine.”

  A small oh ho ho escaped the headmaster’s lips at the decree, but he didn’t seem in any rush to cut off her villainous monologue.

  “So, try to at least put up a bit of a fight,” she said. “Try, and fail, because that’s exactly what’s going to happen to anybody else who gets in my way.”

  “We’re not enemies here,” Det said.

  “That’s why you’re going to lose. Because you’re treating this like some kind of game”

  “No, I’m not going to lose because…”

  “You are!”

  “… because I yield,” he finally shouted, tired of being interrupted over and over and over again. Screw being the polite one. The rules and his own mistake earlier had made it so he couldn’t fight on his terms, so he’d at least end the duel on them.

  From the look on the woman’s face, that wasn’t something she had at all expected. Nor had the other cadets.

  “You… what?” more than one voice shouted down from the seating, and Det turned to look at the same time a quiet chuckle came from the headmaster’s direction.

  “You heard me,” Det said. “I…”

  “Won’t let you!” the woman shouted, a strange sensation of building, condensing, and releasing rippling outward from where she shouted.

  Curious about what she could be doing, Det turned back from facing the cadets in the stadium at the same time a single, familiar voice—Calisco—said, “That’s going to hurt.”

  What’s going to…?

  Det got his answer as some kind of crystal javelin slammed into the side of his chin like a runaway train. The weapon hit him so hard and fast, his torso was still turning in one direction, while his jaw both dislocated and shattered, before his head snapped in the other direction. His neck twisted so hard and fast, he felt the arena’s protective magic slide into the place—in slow motion—to prevent his spine from outright breaking

  Even though it saved his life, the magic didn’t prevent his body from spinning like a top in the air, horizontal, for at least a dozen rotations, then hit the ground. One cough, spewing a spatter of blood across the sand in front of his face, was the last thing he saw before everything went dark, his last thought more annoyed that Calisco had been right—it hurt, a lot—than the fact he’d been sucker punched.