The crowd is silent. Completely and utterly silent. They watch, mesmerized as Garvey reaches at his throat using his left hand. The man feels the metal shard and the warm blood rapidly dripping down his arm.

  He then looks down at his opponent, lying injured at his feet. Garvey gets a single chuckle. His sword falls out of his right hand. He slowly shifts his gaze at the crowds, then up above the [Announcer]. The [Governors] mouth lies open in utter surprise.

  Then Garvey's legs give way and the man falls back, dead.

  Silence continues for another long moment right up until Boriss forces himself to stand. The man has a large gash across his shoulder and chest- one most would find difficult to move with. But the man moves. With his good arm, he picks up the hilt of his destroyed Greatsword screams at the top of his lungs.

  And like that, the trance breaks. The crowd roars and chants his name, louder than ever before. So loud as to annoy a sleepy kitten's delicate hearing.

  A very sleepy kitten that would love nothing better to do than go to sleep.

  Instead, said kitten watches as Garvey’s body is lifted and retrieved while a [Healer] is brought to tend to Boriss’s wounds.

  With a flex of his mana and the cast of a spell, a bird flies out of the stands and descends out of sight into the Colosseum proper.

  ___________________________________________________

  With the final match concluded, Boriss is allowed to leave the Colosseum if he wishes. Which, injured as the man is, obliges happily. He still has to return tomorrow for his congratulations ceremony and his prize.

  Once the [Healers] patched him up the best they could, he left the Colosseum to find a big group of people waiting for him, with the only exception being Quasi. The [Captain] disappeared shortly after his win.

  Once the immediate congratulations are done, the group makes their way not to the tavern, but to the Timbergrove. It is here where the party and surgery takes place. In the middle of the Messhall, on the table lies Boriss. The Russian is grinning and talking about the match to all those present- which includes not only the Timbergroves crew, but also Gond, Agris, Micheal, Baldric, Gino, and even Ginos’ sister Julia.

  At the same time, Nepenthes reopens Boriss’s wound- constantly commenting about nerve damage and improper muscle-fiber repair. Not that Boriss feels anything. One of the many temporary side-effects of the drug he took is a complete numbness of the body.

  It is only now that a cat returns to the ship. Quasi rushes to his room first and then returns to the lively Messhall. He jumps upon the table and sleepily grins at Boriss. “Good win there, Boriss.”

  “Is easy.”

  Quasi snorts. “No it wasn’t and you know it. You’d have lost if you didn’t get that new skill- uhhh, what was it called?”

  “[Momentum],” Boriss says with a grin. “Is good skill.”

  “Right. Well, you’d have really lost if Garvey used his skill immediately instead of when he started losing.”

  “Is little luck,” Boriss says with a grin while Quasi rolls his eyes.

  “Sureee. Anyway, congrats on the victory anyways. You deserve it. As for me, i’m going to go take a nice long nap. But first,” Quasi shifts his gaze to Cillian. The man is drunk. Like, so drunk he should have blacked out ten bottles earlier. Somehow, he’s still conscious, though barely. “Cillian, what's our winnings from the whole tournament?”

  Cillian looks at Quasi like one would a stray cat. He blinks, smiles, and then passes out.

  The cat sighs. “I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.”

  Quasi hops off the table and walks to his room. Not a moment later does Gino get off his seat and rush after him.

  “Quasi, can I talk to you before you sleep? In private,” Gino adds.

  Quasi yawns. “Yea, sure. Come on.”

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  The young man follows the cat to a pretty small and cramped [Captains] cabin. Well, small for him. For a cat, it’s probably plenty of space. Looking around, one of the first things he notices is a Runed-jeweled armband laying on the bed. It looks expensive, and the [Rogue] in him would love to get a hold of it if he could. Not that he ever would. Instead, he watches Quasi hop up atop a bookshelf where a cat-bed is located.

  “You have until I pass out to ask your questions. Now ask.”

  “Can I join your crew?” Gino asks.

  “Yes. Next question.” Quasi answers.

  Ginos’ mind seems to stop for a moment.

  “Just like that?”

  Quasi nods. “Yup.”

  Gino frowns. “Do you even know why I ask?”

  Quasi stretches and pats his bed. “I’m sure you're about to tell me some stupid reason like getting away from your sister to avoid causing her problems in the future. You know, stupid teenage reasons.”

  “It’s not stupid.”

  The cat snorts. “It’s stupid. You’re just too young to realize it yet. But it’s alright, what's the point of being young if you can't make dumb decisions.”

  “I’m not… that's. Look, I know I made a mistake and I made it right with my sis. I’m going to take my winnings, leave it with her and I just want to disappear from her life. She deserves better than me. Is that really so dump?”

  When Gino looks up, he finds no answer. Instead, he is met with the soft snoring sounds of a puffy cat.

  ____________________________________________________________

  After the tournament, an emergency meeting is called. One where the most powerful and influential people come together to deal with an emergency.

  At the head of the meeting is [Governor of Games] Flamentine. The man has a prevalent grimace on his face as he stares at his great grandfather, Miltiadis. His grandfather, though, is relaxed, seemingly unbothered by the current situation. He’s even smiling at him.

  Before a word can be spoken, Loukia trudges in with a bundle of documents.

  “How is it?” Flamentine asks, not even deigning to wait for Stavros to show up.

  “Bad.” She says after taking a seat. “Though we recouped some of the losses through taxes, we unfortunately have gone in the negative. Future expansions will need to be on a tighter budget.”

  “Damn it. How did this all go so wrong?”

  Miltiadis sighs. “That’s the problem with the younger generation. You’re so focussed on the now and never the future.”

  Flamentine shakes his head. “This was your idea, so don’t start spewing your nonsense now. I see no benefit to this whole cherage. We bet half our yearly profits and lost nearly all of it.”

  The old man leans back into his chair. “If you’ve lived as long as I have, watched the crowds, the matches, and listened. You’d know that that final round is something you see only once in a decade. A long, arduous fight where the expectation of who will be victorious have shifted clearly for the masses to watch.”

  “Yes,” Flamentine rolls his eyes. “I’m sure the masses enjoyed watching our coffers run dry.”

  “You misunderstand,” Militiadis growls. “That fight will be on the minds and words of all those who’ve seen it for the rest of the year. They will speak of it positively, both about the feelings of the battle and the coin they’d gained.”

  “From our largesse.” Flamentine adds.

  “I understand,” Loukia interrupts, eyes widening. “I’ve seen it before. After a major tournament, depending on how interesting people found it, the quantity of bets increases exponentially for a time.”

  “Word of mouth is a powerful force. Where once you have [Nobles] being frugal, you can very much have [Kings] with open coffers in the markets.” The old man explains.

  Flamentine sighs. He understands where Militiadis is getting at- and if Loukia has seen it before, then Gladius should recover over the long term. Even so, the fact that they lost so much with a single bet puts a difficult taste in his mouth.

  While the [Governor] Laments, the door to the meeting room opens. Stavros trudges in with a grimace that would scare weaker men.

  “Stavr-” Flamentine begins, only to be interrupted.

  “We’ve a problem,” Stavros growls. “The artifact is missing. I believe it’s stolen.”

  “NO!” Miltiadis screams. “How? Where? What happened?” The old man, usually a font of relaxed wisdom, is now in a state of panic.

  “We’re not sure, but someone took it off Garvey’s Corpse. I have all the contracted [Gladiators] searching for it and the Colosseum's lower levels are fully on lockdown.”

  “And you’ve found nothing?”

  “Nothing yet. I’ve sent for a [Bounty Hunter] that specializes in items. We’ll find it one way or another.”

  “I’ll scour the undercrust,” Loukia says. “An artifact of such quality can’t stay hidden forever.”

  “Unless it leaves Gladius,” The [Governor] counter. “Should I put the whole city in lockdown?”

  “Absolutely not!” Miltiadis yells. “The [Nobles] and wealthy [Merchants] wouldn’t stand for such a thing. We’d lose far too many clients and the city would be in significant panic. Especially considering what happened at Memphis.”

  “What does Valentine attacking Memphis have to do with our current situation?” Flamentine asks. “I’m only proposing a lockdown for a few days.”

  “That’s the problem! Memphis locked itself down right before Valentine demolished their ports a day later. People will see the two situations and act violently. The situation will get worse.”

  “Valentine wouldn’t attack Gladius. We’re far more armed and higher leveled than a trade city.” Stavros counters.

  “That doesn’t matter.” Miltiadis grumbles. “The sheep will panic at the thought of a wolf regardless if the shepherd is near. There will be violence, and violence is not something we can afford now after significant financial losses.”

  “If only it wasn’t an artifact of such a price. I could have mobilized the entire undercrust to find it.” Loukia comments. “Still, I think we’ve got more time than you think. “She points at the window and the approaching thunderclouds. “Few ships are willing to leave during a storm.”

  “We’ve got a day, maybe two,” Flamentine stares at the clouds for a long moment. “We need to get that artifact before the storm passes. Otherwise, it will probably be lost forever.”