Grabbing his head between his hands, Rowan tried to gather his wits together. The good news was that Viscardi was going to lose on purpose. That was cool. The bad news was he didn’t feel ready to confront a Vampire Lord. What if he embarrassed himself? And how about leveling too much? He had forgotten to ask that.

  “Err… is there a Core AI around? How much XP do you gain from dueling in the Arena?”

  [Goblin Town Core Call Center]: Normal XP rules don’t apply in the Arena. For a high-stakes duel like yours, a level and a free AP are awarded to the winner, or one skill point, if you are at the maximum level. It is important to know that Arenas allows fighters to use every move in their repertoire, resetting daily cool-downs or ignoring diurnal cycle restrictions. There is also a resurrection pocket dimension to prevent accidental deaths.

  That was a pleasant surprise. Now, Rowan had to think of a way to make the fight look credible. But not before inspecting a notification dismissed while shouting at Viscardi.

  You have successfully applied Sonar, Gretchen’s Question, Insight, and Svartálfar Stare on target: Viscardi Blackswarm, Vampire Lord (Legendary), Level 100.

  Once the finest blade in the Cesti quadrant, Viscardi Blackswarm’s skills have rusted. His last fight was decades ago. He manifested apprehension at the thought of physical violence. His main weakness is Cold.

  I thought a Vampire’s weakness was light… So, Cold, huh? That's perfect. Now, what did that notification say about losing control because of my low INT? Let’s deal with that…

  He pushed twenty-three APs into INT and read the notification for the perks.

  Name: Rowan Allinder. Main Class: Indomitable. Tier: Legendary, Level 68 Secondary Class: Primeval Magus. Tier: Mythical

  48 APs available

  Str. 52 / Dex. 52 / Con. 52 / Int. 75 / Wil. 79 / Cha. 52

  Intelligence Perk, Threshold 3 (Main Class: Indomitable): Enhanced Strategy. Impossible odds? Yes, for the enemy. This perk works well together with your wife’s Tactical Planning.

  Intelligence Perk, Threshold 3 (Secondary Class: Primeval Magus): R?svelg (Origin of the Wind).

  R?svelg’s First Aspect: The Cold Wind (Mythical) super AoE is now unlocked due to your uncanny affinity to Elemental Magic and previous combined applications of Cold, Gravity, and Telekinesis. Discover The Cold Wind’s facets through experimentation.

  Just what I needed.

  His thoughts were interrupted by the noise of the door slamming on the wall. The one responsible was Isla. She darted into the room, followed by Grace.

  “There’s a ton of TV stations broadcasting your duel,” Isla said. “Don’t you dare use your hyperspace shit! We don’t want to warn everyone how strong you are. Do. You. Understand?” she yelled, grabbing his jacket’s lapels like he had done with Viscardi earlier.

  His first instinct had been to push her away, but his heart said otherwise, and Rowan pulled the woman closer, hugging her. “I love you too. I know you yell at me because you care.”

  She pushed him off, sneering. “First, I’m not yelling. That’s how I talk. Second, do you think some shitty reverse psychology works on me? Pah! I could give a ticket to a toddler driving his grandmother to the hospital without a second thought!"

  “Right. Toddlers should think twice before driving,” Rowan misused her words, trying to keep his face serious.

  “That’s not—"

  “You’re making my hair turn white,” Grace stated, muting Isla in the process.

  “What should I do to make the fight look convincing?” Rowan asked, looking at Isla.

  “C’mon! He wants to lose; let him think of something. Keep it clean, go into melee range, and throw in your left hook.”

  “True,” Rowan nodded. “My left hook is good.”

  Their conversation was interrupted by tremblings on the floor. A large person was approaching, its steps making the planks shake. Before entering the room, Fenrri knocked on the door frame. “The Arena is set.”

  A thick fog descended on Rowan’s mind. It was strange, considering the duel was fixed. Every fiber of his body told him it was an important fight.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  They exited the building and walked on cobblestones-covered streets until they reached the Arena. The sizable building reminded him of the Colosseum, and Isla also noticed and commented about the resemblance. The slightly oval fighting area was about a hundred yards long and eighty wide; they peeked at it on the way to the locker rooms.

  Once in his cabin, Rowan spent a few minutes dressing in the medium leather armor he now used to fight in, and then Fenrri came to escort him to the ring. The bright lights blinded him momentarily, and the cheers were deafening. The stalls were filled to the brim with people. Students from the neighboring College Town and visitors from Vegas.

  A presenter bellowed words. A celebrity. Maybe. Rowan was not usually watching TV, ignoring what he considered irrelevant noise. Then, Fenrri pushed Rowan into the battleground. The rapier in Viscardi's hand made him realize this was the sword-fighting round. Rowan hated swords; the range was small, and the moves were too complicated. Pikes, he loved. Nevertheless, he summoned a Scottish broadsword from his inventory.

  The gong gave three signals, and the Vampire was on him instantly, with his hair bristling, hissing, and showing his fangs. If the display was for the show, Rowan had no idea because he struggled to parry the assault, swinging his weapon wildly. In the heat of battle, it was hard to concentrate on what his HEMA instructor had taught him.

  Binding their swords together, Viscardi and Rowan entered a strength match. Which the younger man knew was faked. Sword binds were not a thing; a simple twist in the angle would have allowed the Vampire to skewer him.

  “What are you doing?” the Vampire hissed. “Next time, parry with the forte and counter. Can’t you see I’m wide open on my left?”

  At the next pass of arms, he tried to do what Viscardi had suggested, only to find his shoulder impaling itself on the Vampire’s sword and his own weapon finding only air. Rowan had lounged with the wrong foot forward.

  “The other left, you idiot! And don’t do crosses; this is not boxing!” the Vampire said with a desperate look in his eyes, almost like begging.

  Rowan’s Strategic Sixth Sense read the truth. Viscardi’s rusted skills were enhanced by muscle memory that was probably centuries old, and Rowan’s swordsmanship was lacking. This was pathetic, leaning toward pitiful.

  Rowan felt anger. At himself, for not training harder, and at Viscardi, for… just because. The Vampire was a decent chap, and hating him was hard. Nevertheless, the level of animosity reached a good threshold, and Rowan was ready to go all in.

  Fuck fighting nice!

  From that point on, Rowan tried all the dirty tricks he knew. He threw sand in the eyes of the Vampire with his boot, then tried to kick the man’s groin with, and… that was about it because Viscardi adopted a Spanish destreza stance that kept the younger man at bay. Rowan’s bar fights acumen was not working anymore. When the three-minute round ended and a goblin brought him a chair, the public was overwhelmingly silent. This was not what had been expected from Earth’s most notorious Classed.

  The pause felt short. Isla threw some cold water on his face, which helped achieve nothing. The commentator barked sarcasm about how Rowan wasn’t a fencer, and it showed, and the students in the crowd booed. Nerds, especially the cosplayer type, were merciless. The referee—none other than Snemc—shoved a flintlock pistol into Rowan’s hand.

  “Point and shoot,” the Shaman said.

  “I know how to shoot a gun, thank you very much,” Rowan sneered. “I’m an American.”

  Ignoring his bad mood, the Shaman proceeded with the explanations. The second round was simple. Viscardi and Rowan were supposed to start in the middle, back to back, take ten steps, turn, aim, and shoot at each other. If no one scored a hit, rinse and repeat.

  What are you doing, you dimwit?

  The Vampire Lord was obviously as inexperienced with guns as Rowan was with swords. What Viscardi intended to be a wild shot, aiming high and throwing the match—in his opinion—was sure to hit Rowan in his head. Shooting first, Rowan aimed at the Vampire’s pistol. Twenty yards were nothing for a good shot. His bullet blew the Vampire’s gun to smithereens, making the shrapnel blow in Viscardi’s face.

  The Shaman sprinted to offer healing, but the Vampire refused. Holding his throat and face in his hands, Viscardi returned to his corner, patching himself up on the way. The crowd was cheering now; its mood changed. Rowan returned to his corner, and Isla started to massage his shoulders.

  “Play defensive,” she suggested. “Wait until he’s open and left hook.”

  “This is magic time. He’s weak to Cold damage, so I’ll try a new AoE. If it doesn’t work, I’ll try something else.”

  The gong signal energized Rowan, and he stepped into the Arena determinedly, his spear in hand. Viscardi advanced slowly, and then he disappeared, letting in his place a cloud of bats that spread all around.

  “So you want me to work for my prize,” Rowan muttered. “OK, let’s see...” He slammed the butt of his weapon into the ground, thinking about a blizzard.

  Cold Wind, Snowstorm facet unlocked and activated. Cost: 50 Mana/second.

  The blizzard enveloped him as a friend, a fluffy coat made of a freezing hell and razor-sharp icicles, and he knew in that instant that he and the storm were fated to meet. People misunderstood what Cold was. Cold was warm, cuddly, perfect like a bourbon’s Kentucky hug. Everything was as it was supposed to be. A moment of bliss, a skill he felt he could use with his eyes closed. That was what he needed, a true weapon, not some shish-kebab stick with a basket hilt.

  In two seconds, the storm engulfed the Arena. It was dark and oppressive; it was death. Viscardi’s bats flew away, trying to escape, but there was a Gravity component in the AoE that slowed them down, and they disintegrated in the icy wind, popping like popcorn. Only one hid in a crevice between two stones in the Arena’s wall. A devil in Rowan’s head was whispering to go for it, to kill the Vampire for good. The drunkenness of overwhelming power.

  Warning! Impending collapse of the Arena’s protections. Evacuate! Evacuate!

  “That’s my Daddy!”

  There was only one soul who was not afraid of the blizzard, and its light and pride shone so bright that stopping the spell felt natural, a snap of the fingers.

  “I yield,” the surviving bat squealed, crawling out and becoming the Vampire again, albeit thin and shivering.

  The crowd remained silent for some time. Cheers started when Grace, Isla, Cora, and Lizzie rushed into the arena to hug the winner. After indulging himself in the warmth of love, Rowan extracted himself from the group embrace and went to the haggard Viscardi to offer a handshake.

  “Sorry, man. I overreacted.”

  “It’s OK,” Viscardi whispered. “I… underestimated you. My bad. For the record, I now consider Bourbon the best drink on Earth,” he shouted the last phrase, and now the crowd unleashed itself even more. They patted each other's backs and then returned to their dear ones, which, for Viscardi, meant Victoria.

  “What was that shit?” Isla asked. “I thought Warp was your best move.”

  “My new AoE. I didn’t know it was so strong. Fuck… Let’s scram!” A dozen of reporters were running toward him after jumping the fence. “No comment, no comment!” Rowan screamed and ran, taking Lizzie in his arms.