Azrael raced along the edges of a prairie, the sunny field of windswept grass disappointingly empty of meaningful shadows. Beside him, much to his disbelief and pleasure, James barrelled along, keeping up with him with pure explosive muscle strength. Though agility was the lowest of Azrael’s stats, James’ strength and endurance were nothing to scoff at.

After having escaped the inn last night, Azrael had resumed his journey for most of the night. Without true shadows, he’d been limited to just using [Wind] as a means of accelerating his passage. Still, after quickly resting for a few hours, he’d woken up to find James sitting against a tree across from him.

The small giant hadn’t even seemed angry that Azrael had run away from him, not that Azrael had stopped to check. As soon as he’d woken and registered James’ presence he’d taken off again, as fast as he could.

For a while Azrael had thought that he’d lost his stalker, but when he’d exited the forest a few hours later James had been right there, on his tail. Though obviously exhausted James had continued giving chase, not that Azrael was any better for wear. His stamina was almost gone and even with [Meditation] he was barely regenerating enough mana to use the occasional burst of [Wind] every now and then.

“When’s lunch?” James complained for the fourth or fifth time in the last hour.

Azrael just ignored the man that clung to him like a bad smell. Hopefully James would eventually decide to leave of his own volition.

“I’m bored” James complained, followed by what seemed to have become his catchphrase since Azrael had met him “Let’s fight!”

Again, Azrael ignored him, shifting his course slightly more north. He didn’t really have to glance at the sun to get his directions anymore, the bond between him and Alena growing stronger with every hour that he travelled.

The weak static of the bond had become a sort of white noise that he’d become used to. Having it grow stronger again was strange in its own way, like having one of his senses returned to him. With the bond he could clearly feel the direction that Alena was in, though simple feelings and emotion currently still alluded him. It would grow again with the ever-decreasing distance, of that he was sure.

“I’m hungry, when’s lunch?” James grumbled once more, sounding very much like a broken record.

Azrael looked up at the sun. It had been less than twenty minutes since he’d last asked. An unfortunately too short new high record. Azrael let out a sigh, making his next burst of [Wind] a slightly larger one than previously.

In the end the two of them travelled across the empty prairie, until they reached a small village. In order to follow the shortest possible route Azrael had forgone travelling along roads and tracks, making the emergence of the village a welcome change to the relatively monotone sea of grass that they’d spent the majority of the day travelling through.

The village itself was smaller than the one he’d attacked at the beginning of the game, with roughly six, seven houses. The buildings were built from the few sparse trees that dotted the plain and a mix of woven grass and mudbrick.

The most unusual thing about the village however was not the village itself, but the number of travellers camping around the village. Half a dozen wagons sat parked around cooking fires outside the village’s walls, almost tripling the village’s headcount.

People generally sat laughing around fires, their wagons parked for the night. One group in particular though caught Azrael’s eye. Two shirtless men were wrestling each other in a makeshift ring of onlookers. The crowd of travellers from both sexes cheering the two contestants on.

“Finally! Civilisation!” James exulted as they arrived.

“Let’s continue” Azrael proposed watching the fight, but James shot it down.

“Nonsense! Food, drink and good fight! What more can a man need?”

Taking a step towards the fighting circle James raised an arm in greeting and hailed the group, along with the entire village.

“GREETINGS GOOD GENTLEMEN! DO YOU HAVE A SPOT BY YOUR FIRE FOR TWO WEARY TRAVELLERS?”

The two fighters stopped their wrestling and indeed the entire village went slightly silent at James’ voice.

Taking their silence as consent James walked up to the group, dropping his blade into the ground. The point sunk into the turf without resistance.

“A gentlemanly round of sport before dinner sounds exactly like a good way to work up an appetite, don’t you agree?” he asked the silent onlookers.

Nobody moved, either because they were too intimidated by the casual display of strength, or because they were unsure what to make of the two newcomers that had just arrived. It was most probably a mix of both, Azrael mused.

“You, good sir!” James said, pointing to the largest man around “Fight me.”

The man, clad in full medieval plate mail, hesitated. Azrael applauded the man’s sense of preservation. Despite being completely protected in his plate mail James was at least a head taller than the poor challenger and also larger in almost every comparable way.

A few other people from different camps had begun drifting their way, coming to see who disturbed the evening’s peace. James didn’t mind. They were all extra competitors after all.

When still nobody moved, James took a moment to think, before realising the problem. He began nodding to himself. It was understandable after all.

Seeing the big man stop and think for a second, instead of charging in caused Azrael to breath out a sigh of relief. Now that James had noticed that the others were unwilling to fight he would hopefully accept the fact and pull back. Otherwise, as things were standing at the moment, James would beat everyone here up and Azrael, by extension as a travelling companion, would become a target for other people’s ire.

“I understand” James said, completely understanding. “You do not wish to get yourself muddy before the evening meal.”

Azrael could only look at James as the muscle brain reached a completely different conclusion.

Ever undeterred James walked over to the nearest wagon, and despite the owner’s protest dragged it out and plonked it in the center of the crowd. He handled the full barrel with the same ease he had when handling his sword.

“AN ARMWRESTLE THEN!” James proclaimed, raising a silver coin high into the air for all to see, before slamming it onto the barrel before him. “One copper per contestant! Winner takes all!”

A murmur ran through the crowd when people noticed money was involved. A copper wasn’t much and if you won you would increase your wager tenfold.

“IF ONE MIGHTY WARRIOR BESTS ME BEFORE THE HOUR IS OUT, HE SHALL TAKE THE COIN AND THE GLORY! IF I SURVIVE UNDEFEATED, THEN THE HONOR SHALL BE MINE!”

Suddenly the armoured opponent James had selected earlier looked a lot more confident, flexing his arm and giving it a few experimental swings. Another man, one of the wrestlers from earlier, beat him to the barrel. The confident challenger flicked his copper onto the barrel and held out his arm.

“For glory and the coin.”

“For glory and the coin.” James repeated with an easy grin.

Both men met on the wooden battlefield, their hands clasped in preparation of an age-old ritual for dominance. Both of them recognised the other’s claim and were ready to fight it out with all their might. Around them the crowd began cheering, several people beginning to stamp their feet against the ground.

A judge placed his hands on theirs, temporarily stilling the two competitive spirits. The crowd fell silent and the two men’s eyes sharpened like blades, piercing their opponents. Their affable smiles fell like a cover from their faces, revealing controlled features beneath. This was not a game, but a battle, a battle amongst men. This battle, they both understood, was for more than just the sport or the coin. It was for the honour which each man bears within him. It was his claim to the crownless crown, the unspoken title.

The judge eyed both men, his expression solemn.

“Ready?”

The two men’s grips readjusted and tightened, their eyes locking onto each other with intense focus.

“GO!”

In a moment both men’s muscles contracted with an audible snap, like a hundred lines of a ship snapping taut in a sudden wind. The wood beneath their elbows groaned as if having to bear the force of a hurricane, waves of power rippling through their muscles. Veins stood out from both men’s arms, highlighted like streaks of lightnings against their muscles.

James’ grunted as his hand was slowly forced away from the starting point. His opponent brought all of his strength to bear and it was like the weight of a mountain bearing down on a glacier below, suppressing it with its natural might.

James grunted again and much to the onlookers’ delight and horror he stopped the downward motion and reversed the flow, slowly inching his way back to victory. There was one thing that James’ competitor had forgotten. A glacier would constantly grind against the mountain until the mountain was naught but a small stone. Given enough time the glacier would always win.

James’ blue eyes locked onto his opponents one last time and with a final grunt and heave James forced his opponent’s hand to the table, asserting himself as the winner.

The people around them burst into a wild cheer as the game concluded, the previously silent crowd once again finding their voices.

James shook hands with his competitor, the man simply nodding before stepping aside to cheer on the next challenger with a newfound passion.

Another coin was placed on the barrel, another challenger tried to claim the glory and the prize. Another man fell to James’ hand.

Throughout the next hour over two dozen men and women challenged James, each believing themselves to be stronger, or simply to try their luck. James bore down on them all with the same intensity of the first match, narrowly squeezing out a victory and keeping the crowd entertained.

Azrael doubted that he actually struggled half as much as he seemed to be, but agreed that it was an effective tactic of keeping everyone interested. Sitting on the edge of the crowd Azrael simply watched as competitors tried various tactics to win, from trying to distract the reigning champion to casting buffs on challengers that glowed briefly as they were applied.

In the end James retired as undefeated champion with several offers to join different groups and a dragon’s horde of copper coins, most of which he traded for dinner for the two of them and copious amounts of alcohol. Little remained in the barrel when the night was out.

Azrael settled down at the edge of one of the sleeping rings, leaning up against a wagon wheel and listening to James teaching one of the defeated challengers a drinking song. He doubted a dragon could drink alcohol in half as many creative ways as the song suggested, but it made for an entertaining lullaby.

With a full stomach and a smile on his face Azrael greeted the calm oblivion of sleep.