I felt the joy of a grand new day bursting in my chest as I hummed a cheerful tune, my voice echoing softly against the stone walls, while I entered the inn in the quiet early morning. I pushed open the heavy wooden door with a beaming smile that radiated confidence, as if daring anyone to guess the trials of the previous night. Despite the fresh appearance that belied my recent ordeal—having been savagely beaten by the earl’s elite guard—the lingering scent of spiced bacon, freshly baked bread, and rich herbs mingled with the crisp aroma of dawn, promising a sumptuous breakfast. After that arduous night, my stomach growled in anticipation; I was ravenous for any nourishment, yet every savory note in the air declared that something truly worth waiting for was on its way.

  Inside, the inn teemed with life, filled with the members of the traveling entertainment troupe and the stern, decorated earl’s men. I could hear the rhythmic scraping of spoons against ceramic dishes, a steady, almost hypnotic percussion that blended with the low murmur of conversations. The space, richly decorated with vibrant tapestries and flickering candles, was devoid of the local townsfolk this morning—clearly, the establishment had been reserved for the important guests who had arrived early. Although it stung to be dismissed by a noble’s entourage, perhaps this exclusion was simply the way of the world—a familiar echo of the society I had once known in my own homeland.

  Off in a dimly lit corner, the earl held court with his beautiful but imperious daughter, her striking features etched with haughty elegance. They were treated as royalty, dining from delicate ceramic glazed bowls that shimmered with artistry, in stark contrast to the plain, utilitarian wooden bowls that served the rest of us. At one moment, Jessika’s pretty face, framed by cascades of silken hair, softened into a curious expression as she looked up, a smile almost forming on her lips—until her eyes caught sight of my unblemished appearance. Her expected smile of triumph vanished, replaced by a flash of cool disapproval.

  Clearly, she had anticipated a scene of blood and bruises—a spectacle of defeat, with me stumbling over to her in a pitiful state, desperately seeking mercy. Instead, I merely returned her gaze with a confident smile. This subtle act of defiance drew an immediate frown from her, which deepened even further when the three tired, battle-worn warriors clattered through the door. The earl’s expression turned from guarded disdain to genuine surprise at my unscathed state, igniting a quiet suspicion: perhaps he knew that his own daughter had ordered the guards to attack me.

  The warriors, their faces flushed with embarrassment and exhaustion, shuffled to an empty table where a serving woman, her eyes kind yet discreet, poured steaming porridge into bowls. The clamor of suppressed laughter from fellow soldiers echoed around them, along with murmurs about being “unable to handle a weak magician.” Their fatigue was palpable, the kind that draped over them like a heavy, worn cloak, leaving them with only the option of silent resignation as they lowered their weary eyes to their meager meals.

  I, in contrast, settled beside Sharro and accepted my own bowl of steaming barley porridge, enriched with creamy milk and crowned with a delicate swirl of honey that glistened like liquid gold. The inviting aroma of the warm meal wrapped around me as I flashed a grateful smile at the serving woman, who blushed softly, the subtle scent of lavender and cinnamon on her skin mingling with the spices of breakfast.

  Sharro’s eyes widened in genuine surprise as she observed my seemingly untouched condition. “So, what happened to you last night? You seem as fresh as if you’ve just had a long night’s sleep—or perhaps a fine bath in an opulent inn,” she remarked wistfully, her tone laced with both curiosity and relief.

  Xaset joined in with a chuckle, his voice resonating with a hint of mischief. “While the soldiers look as if they’ve been dragged through thorn bushes backward. Oh, the wonders of magic,” he teased, winking in my direction, his eyes twinkling with ironic amusement.

  “Well, at least you’re okay,” Sharro added, her concern the first genuine sign of care she’d shown since the bitter incident in the garden on the earl's estate.

  “That I am,” I replied with a buoyant smile, “and ready for a day brimming with fun and excitement. If you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.”

  An extraordinary energy surged through me, a stark contrast to the pain of the previous night. It was as if the very air crackled with possibility, and the world seemed to open up before me, inviting daring exploits. Motivated by this surge, I resolved to implement a plan that had been simmering in my mind—a small yet crucial maneuver to turn the day in my favor.

  As I stepped away, Sharro leaned close to Xaset, her hushed voice tinged with urgency as she probed him for details about the night's events. I caught a glimpse of his knowing smile, an enigmatic curl of his lips that suggested he savored the mystery, much to Sharro’s evident frustration. I left their murmurings behind and made my way over to the orcs, who lounged near the entrance, their imposing forms softened by the familiar camaraderie that had grown since our clash at the fort. I plucked a meaty morsel from a bone dripping with rich, fatty juices, the scent of roasted meat and wild herbs mingling with the earthy musk of the orcs’ presence. As I approached, they lifted their massive, battle-scarred heads in acknowledgment, their nods as subtle as the crackle of dry leaves in the wind.

  “Are you up for a gamble?” I asked, my voice carrying the thrill of impending adventure. “It will be worth a lot of money if you win.”

  The question drew broad, toothy grins from the four hefty orcs, whose rugged features and scarred skin told stories of countless battles. Like most of their kind, they were ever eager to wager on any challenge, and I was banking on their competitive spirit for my own designs. My plan, as unconventional as it was, promised benefits for them too—if successful, it would fortify future alliances, ensuring that everyone reaped rewards from our collective endeavor.

  “What is the wager?” boomed the largest of the orcs in a deep, resonant growl, his eyes locking onto mine with a mix of challenge and curiosity. His tusks, slightly stained from the remnants of his recent meal, shifted subtly as if savoring the anticipation. One of the bones he gnawed on cracked with a sharp sound, punctuating the tense moment.

  “It’s straightforward,” I explained, taking a seat opposite them so that my words might mingle with the soft rustling of leaves in the morning breeze. “All you have to do is catch up with me as we travel to the next village.”

  A flicker of shock crossed their rugged faces, quickly replaced by broad smiles as they realized the challenge. Their powerful limbs, capable of relentless endurance, suggested they assumed the task would be a simple conquest against a seemingly feeble human.

  “What is the prize?” he asked, his tone lightening as his smile broadened into a gleeful challenge.

  “For today, one hundred copper coins to the first who catches up with me and makes contact,” I declared, the promise shimmering in the bright morning air like a beacon.

  Their enthusiasm swelled, and with a unanimous nod, they accepted the wager. “Good, good,” I affirmed. “We’ll start outside the village when we leave for the day.” With that, I shook their massive, calloused hands, and our pact was sealed with the gravity of mutual respect and competitive zeal.

  I returned to the table where Sharro stood, her eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and mild disapproval. “What are you doing with the orcs? You had better not be dragging them into your quarrel with that woman and her guards,” she cautioned, her voice soft but firm.

  “No, it’s just a little bet on the side to make the traveling day pass quickly,” I grinned, my tone teasing. “So, are we back on speaking terms then?”

  “I guess so,” she replied with a wry smile, “although you seem to attract trouble with overly attentive nobles. Be careful with that woman—she’s not one to give up easily.”

  “I certainly hope not—I need all the training I can get,” I said, my eyes drifting toward the woman whose persistent scowl had been both a vexation and an unexpected opportunity to refine my unarmed combat skills. She glowered at me, her eyes burning with silent intensity, tracking my every move.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Anyway,” I added, casting a concerned glance back at Sharro, “it might be best if you still act as if you’re angry at me, so the lady doesn’t target you as well.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can handle my own battles. It’s the male nobles where the trouble truly begins,” the pretty woman moaned, her tone laced with exasperation and a hint of resigned defiance.

  ––

  Soon, I found myself outside in the brilliant glow of the morning sun, preparing for my race with the orcs. In a brief moment of respite, I recalled receiving detailed directions to the next village from a bemused Eigosh—a man whose rough voice and bemused glance betrayed his amusement at my insistence on racing rather than riding in the back of a cart as I normally would.

  “Just don’t get yourself killed, will you?” he warned, his tone both gruff and affectionate. “We need you for the show.”

  “Thanks for your concern for my wellbeing,” I replied with a playful smile, my words carrying a note of sarcasm that only he could decipher.

  I advanced to the edge of a vibrant green field bordering the village, where the narrow, winding path into the endless forest began. The orcs, their hulking forms lined up in formation, stretched their muscular limbs with deliberate, almost ritualistic movements. Off in the distance, the rest of our eclectic party had already set off, their laughter and light-hearted banter carried on the gentle morning breeze. I caught sight of a column of riders far away, their figures blurred by a swirling cloud of dust that whispered secrets of a long journey ahead.

  One of the orcs, his voice rough yet playful, asked mid-stretch, “How much of a head start do you want? It’s only fair if we give you one.”

  “None,” I declared, launching into a burst of speed that sent my bare feet pounding the dusty path, the rhythmic thud echoing like a battle drum in my ears.

  As I took off, the excited howls of the orcs rang out behind me, mingling with the rustling of leaves and the distant call of wild animals. I surged forward with an effortless sprint, the sensation of wind rushing past my face as vivid as the colors of the forest blurred around me. The trees flashed by in a green and brown mosaic, and in a matter of minutes, I found myself overtaking the long armored column of the earl’s party. Amidst the passing soldiers, I spied three very tired-looking elite guards, their exhaustion written on their furrowed brows and slack postures as they struggled to maintain their balance atop their horses.

  Lady Jessika—though I was never formally permitted to address her by that title—fixed me with a look of pure fury, her eyes aflame with indignation as I offered her a smug, defiant smile while passing by. Then, with a final burst of energy, I surged ahead, leaving the column behind and the open, unbounded road stretching before me.

  Freed from the clamor of the crowd, I allowed myself to be enveloped by the serene symphony of the forest. The distant roars of large animals resonated through the woods, now audible without the constant clatter of horses. I glimpsed smaller wildlife scurrying between clusters of dense green-brown trees and clusters of wildflowers that carpeted the forest floor in a vibrant mosaic of nature’s palette.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I caught sight of the orcs—persistent and determined—chasing after me in the distance. Maintaining my blistering pace, I propelled myself toward my destination, feeling every muscle surge with vitality. It was as though my body pulsed with an almost supernatural energy, one that promised boundless endurance—a feeling that, if experienced on Earth, would make me a champion of every endurance race in the world.

  ––

  Eventually, I found respite beneath a tall, shady oak tree whose vast, gnarled branches arched overhead like an ancient cathedral of leaves, casting dappled shadows on the soft carpet of grass. This secluded sanctuary, with its mingling scents of damp earth and blossoming flora, was the perfect spot to read and gather my thoughts. The majestic oak, standing sentinel just before the village where the earl's party was to lodge for the night, offered a cool, serene embrace after my arduous journey—a journey I had completed in a mere three hours, while the others would have taken a full day by slow cart. Astonishingly, I had managed to maintain my top sprinting speed, a feat that left no sign of pursuit for the rest of the day. Perhaps the cycle of beating and subsequent healing from last night had somehow ignited an inner reservoir of energy within me.

  The bright, white-yellow sun reigned high in the sky as midafternoon unfolded, its warm radiance spilling over the landscape while I diligently studied my spells. This quiet moment of focused study had been a cornerstone of my plan for the day—a moment to harness the arcane before the evening’s ‘training’ began.

  Lost in the intricate incantations and diagrams of my book of life, I was drawn from my studies by a small cloud of dust drifting along the road. After several minutes of observant waiting, I discerned the shapes of four running orcs emerging from the haze. As they drew near, their heavy breaths and the sound of their pounding steps filled the air. Rising to my feet with a smile, I greeted them warmly. I could see that sweat glistened on their rugged bodies, caked in grime and dust from their strenuous run.

  “Not bad!” I shouted, my voice echoing over the open field. “I bet you’ll do better tomorrow!”

  The front orc, his brow furrowed in a mixture of annoyance and pride, puffed out his broad chest as he replied, “Of course we will. Is the bet still one hundred copper?”

  “Of course it is,” I confirmed, pointing toward a nearby stream that promised a cool respite where they could rest and recover while the others caught up. Their enthusiastic agreement was marked by the quick scurry of their massive feet toward the bubbling water, the splashing sounds mingling with their low, guttural grunts. I allowed them their moment of cooling down, leaving them to soothe their aching muscles.

  I then returned to my spell studies, immersed for several hours until the sun began its slow descent toward the horizon. As shadows stretched long across the village meadow, I looked up from my book to see the long column of the entertainment troupe and the earl's men arriving. Passing by, I couldn’t help but notice three soldiers teetering precariously on their saddles—a sight that, coupled with the wrath radiating from Jessika’s face and her father’s discontent, was almost comically satisfying.

  I quickly joined Sharro, who looked visibly dusty and tired from the journey. She murmured, “Don’t push them too far. They will break, and it could get serious very quickly. The lady has been scowling all day. I think she's not very happy, to say the least.”

  “Thanks for the warning,” I replied lightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, all bright and early.”

  Before Sharro could add another word, I merged into the column entering the village. On the way in, I was greeted by a friendly nuzzle from one of the guard’s cows, its soft, warm muzzle a comforting reminder that I was still held in regard by some. Finding a secluded patch of dirt, I carefully traced a circle and sat within it, waiting as the sun dipped slowly toward the stratified orange horizon. Soon enough, the three bedraggled warriors appeared at the edge of my makeshift arena, their disheveled appearances a stark contrast to their former imposing visages. I felt a fleeting pang of pity for them, knowing that their night of confrontation was unfolding far less favorably than they had hoped—yet fate was stern for those who dared to bully others.

  Standing, I addressed them with a calm authority, “Good to see that you came. Are you ready for another long night, then?”

  Their faces drained of color as the prospect of yet another sleepless, punishing night loomed before them. Then the one who seemed to be their ringleader spoke, his voice tinged with desperation, “We were hoping that you would forgo the challenge tonight.”

  “I don’t think so,” I replied firmly, a tone reminiscent of a strict schoolteacher addressing misbehaving students. “I’ve not begged for mercy. That was the deal, on your honor if you remember.”

  At the mere mention of honor, a spark ignited in them, their eyes brightening with the prospect of redeeming their pride. They all nodded solemnly, their expressions a mix of determination and apprehension. With a resigned sigh, the frontman stepped into the ring and launched a desperate swing at me. His blow struck my face with a heavy, resounding thud that sent me staggering backward. Yet I rose again, accepting another swift kick to my solar plexus with stoic resolve. The fury in his expression was unmistakable as he struck, and in that chaotic moment, I noticed the other two warriors already succumbed to sleep on the ground, their exhaustion utterly defeating them.

  Now fully on my feet, I observed the remaining warrior lurching slowly within the ring, his movements unsteady and slurred as if intoxicated. Seizing the moment, I landed several heavy blows on his body, each strike executed with precision—an echo of the refined technique I had honed during the previous night’s intense training. My fist collided with his armor in a dull, reverberating thud that knocked the wind from him. He staggered, and with a series of well-placed kicks, I sent him sprawling to the ground, his face plunging into the dust.

  “If you can't continue, you’ll need to send in another man,” I shouted, my voice resounding over the tense silence as I delivered additional strikes to his exposed side. He grunted in pain as my foot made contact, and with a defeated nod, he dragged himself toward the edge of the ring to rouse one of his sleeping comrades. After much shaking and desperate prodding, the reluctant guard finally stirred and staggered into the fray. The ensuing fight was brief; I dispatched him swiftly, leaving him lying in a defeated heap of dust.

  Before he could rise, I declared with a mix of triumph and disdain, “Here I was thinking that you were these elite warriors who couldn’t be beaten. This is categorically not good enough. I’ve not yet cried for mercy, and all you can do is lie around.” The only response I received was a collective groan—a pitiful sound that only reinforced my dominance.

  “If you three are so easily defeated,” I continued, “then it looks like you need some help. So, one of you had better run off and get some replacements, if you must.”

  My words must have struck a chord, for one of the guards, his face a picture of reluctant acknowledgment, rose and shuffled slowly toward the inn. Within minutes, three more guards emerged, their angry faces framed by the dwindling light as they strode over. As they approached, I braced myself for another bout of torment reminiscent of the previous night. Yet this time, I carried with me a honed arsenal of unarmed combat skills—my shield against the onslaught.