Erland was standing in a sandy arena, ringed by a single row of raised viewing booths towering over the field. His fellow members of the Wild Hunt occupied those rooms, spaced evenly around the stadium.

He had been absolutely ecstatic at the start of the round. It was formatted as a classic single elimination tournament. He had been nearly beside himself, knowing that he would finally get to fight Halina again.

Then the bracket had been revealed and his mood had darkened considerably.

He was currently taking that frustration out on his round one opponent.

He was a big man, clad heavily in steel armor. Currently, it was the only reason he wasn’t in several bloody pieces. That, and Erland’s lack of experience with an axe.

[Remorse] rattled out a symphony of clangs from the man’s armor regardless. Erland had seen his type all too many times before. He was the type who’d run dungeons his whole life.

Fighting another Player was an entirely different world.

While there were intelligent monsters, they typically didn’t start to really show up until the higher Tiers. Sure, there was the occasional rare instance in the lower tiers, but they were generally dungeon bosses.

Most dungeon runners also typically had a team to work with in those situations.

Erland spent three of his five minute match systematically breaking the other man apart before he finally killed him. In the end, he mostly did it because he got bored.

Leonel had suggested over dinner that Erland try to learn [Sunder] with the axe. He’d said that heavily armored foes could be a nuisance, especially as their equipment improved. Erland supposed that might have been true against a more skilled opponent. Or if he’d needed to take his opponent out quickly.

Almost superfluously, Erland was declared the winner, and he was teleported back to the audience.

“Next up!” yelled a deep, rumbling basso. The announcer for the arena was little more than a collection of shining motes of light, but its voice carried to the entire arena from its booth. “Lei Yi, chosen of Fjorgyn, versus M’bira Waita, chosen of Idunn! Let’s get into it. Begin!”

A woman with tanned khaki skin stood facing a dark, almost coal-skinned man. She was lightly armored and carried a crystalline, cobalt blue bow. It’s string was wispy and slightly unnatural. He wore a vibrant, almost garish magenta set of martial artist robes, cinched at the waist with an equally loud green belt. Otherwise, he was unarmed and unarmored.

Erland thought idly. The winner of this match was his next opponent, but neither of them piqued his interest.

A gong sounded and the fighting began.

Lei Yi drew back on her bowstring. The wisps coming from the string rapidly condensed and swirled as she did so, forming a pale, ghostly arrow. She fired without hesitation. M’bira was gone before the missile left the bow.

A blur of magenta appeared behind Lei Yi, punch already mid-flight. She whispered something and a hazy blue shield appeared at her back, rebuffing the blow. Without even turning around she launched another ghostly arrow. It curved.

M’bira flinched back just in time, stumbling in his haste. Then the first arrow arrived. It hadn’t gone astray and hit the earth like a mundane arrow would have. It was still chasing him. He twisted aside at the last second, his stance deteriorating further.

When Lei Yi fired off a third arrow, it seemed like the end. And it was. For her.

The tenuous connection to the ground turned into an airborne, spiraling lunge. His robes were cut at the edges, but none of the arrows touched him. Both of his fists crashed into the shield around Lei Yi, shattering it under the force and sending her staggering backwards.

He gave her no time to recover.

Punches and kicks overwhelmed her in quantity and power. Within moments she was down. M’bira finished her without a thought, and was announced the winner.

Erland sighed internally.

The next match began, and Erland stopped paying attention. Neither opponent gave off even a whiff of strength.

Three more matches passed. Six more possible opponents. None of them were worth fighting.

The eleventh and final match of the first round began, and it felt like more of the same. The two competitors faced off in the center of the ring. A deep brown-skinned, dark-haired man stood against a pale red-haired woman.

“Last match of round one!” called the voice of the announcer. “Masood al-Abdullah, chosen of Heimdall versus Deirdre MacIlle, chosen of Vidar! Begin!”

The man wore a traditional warrior getup: heavy armor, sword, and shield. He opened the battle by charging straight towards the woman. For her part, she was heavily cloaked and what did peak through seemed to be tightly fitted leather armor, painted black. She remained motionless, waiting until the last second to respond.

When she did, she vanished.

And Erland’s nose virtually shouted in his ear at the same time.

He froze in his seat, every muscle suddenly tense with surprise. His eyes darted first to the air, then to the rest of the arena. He couldn’t see or sense her anywhere, but he didn’t have long to wait before she revealed herself.

Masood was hunched up, trying to keep as much of himself covered by his armor and shield as possible. He slowly turned in circles in the center of the arena, straining each of his senses as he searched for his opponent.

“No armor is perfect,” Deirdre whispered in his ear, causing him to spin around.

As he did so, blood erupted from his neck in a gory tide. He collapsed less than a second later. Deirdre was standing over his corpse, an alfstal knife gleaming blue through the red rivulets of blood running down its length.

Even the announcer seemed shocked, as it took an extra second or two for it to declare her the victor.

Before she’d even left the sands, Erland’s mind raced with the possibilities and goosebumps ran down his arms.

that,> he thought in awe and admiration.

Dozens of strategies bloomed in his mind and he poured over the possibilities. He thought about it for so long that when his nose lit him up again, he came back to himself in almost a haze. It took him a second to realize that it was alerting him to the presence of another strong fighter on the sands of the coliseum.

By the time he did, the match was over.

“Winner: Anu, chosen of Forseti,” said the announcer.

Anu stood tall over the body of his fallen victim, and he was staring straight into Erland’s booth. He had pale brown skin and the lean, wiry build of an athletic fighter. He was shirtless, with loose off-white pants and reed sandals. His pale green eyes locked with Erland’s blue.

Erland felt something when their eyes locked, but he couldn’t quite place the feeling. It was familiar, yet strange, and felt almost like kinship.

Less than a second later, the man was teleported back to his booth and the strange feeling ended.

Erland quickly checked the brackets. Anu had been the top seed for the tournament. Erland would only meet him in the finals. He had no doubt that they would both be there.

Though he did need to make it past Deirdre first. As expected, she easily made it through this round as well. Erland would see her in the semifinals.

He fidgeted in his chair waiting for his next match. His excitement and anticipation were almost palpable in the air.

When he next found himself on the sands, he rushed his opponent immediately, unleashing a completely telegraphed attack. His axe crashed down onto his opponent’s shield, but Erland twisted aside from the blind counterattack. This had been what he was aiming for. With a whirling flourish and the golden flash of a crit, his second foe was split in half at the waist.

Erland grinned up at Anu. His gaze was met with a solemn glare.

Soon enough, the semifinals began. As Erland had predicted, Anu easily made his way to the finals. Now, he just needed to beat Deirdre to join him.

“Semifinal match two!” the announcer’s voice boomed from its booth. “Deirdre MacIlle, chosen of Vidar versus Erland Grim, chosen of Baldr! Give it your all! Begin!”

Neither of them moved.

Tension mounted in the air as they stared each other down. Time seemed to stretch, each second feeling like a minute. Erland’s perception stretched along with it. He was aware of even the grains of sand at his feet.

When the moment ended, it did so explosively.

Both of them vanished from their positions. Erland physically, Deirdre magically. The tableau was broken, and it would never return.

Erland’s fist passed through the air where Deirdre’s head had been just a moment prior. A grin lit his face, and he did not stumble. He hadn’t expected victory to come so easily in this fight.

He was gone in less than a second, and a knife flashed through what would have been his kidneys. Deirdre wasn’t toying with him in this match. And so the game of cat and mouse began.

Erland tried his first theory. He began dragging his feet and kicking with force all through the arena, stirring up dust.

His senses flashed in warning and he dove forward, kicking behind him. Both attacks went wide, her knife meeting air, his foot doing the same. The dust was unmoved.

Theory one was bunk. Onto the next.

Erland strained his ears. He closed his eyes, focusing all perception on the sounds of the sands around him. He could hear even the dust settling from his first attempt to find her.

Soundlessly, she attacked him again.

He activated [Charge] the moment her knife stabbed him, barely avoiding a fatal wound. He was back up against it now. The wound bled profusely, making matters worse. He had a timer now too.

Still, his eyes were closed.

Theory three required it as well.

Erland had relied on his nose before the Player system had ever been a concern. It had led him his entire life. He could smell the difference between a coin flip’s results. He relied on it now as never before.

he thought, twisting to the side. Deirdre’s knife caught only the edge of his clothes.

His hand flashed out, not in a direct attack, but in a grapple. He caught thick fabric and pulled down hard. Deirdre’s cloak fell to the floor, and she was visible again. She staggered forward from the force of his pull, and [Remorse] appeared in his hands.

The match ended.

Exultation filled Erland briefly, before he felt all sensation being slowly replaced by fire in his veins.

The competitors were not healed between matches. It had led to the premature end of several higher level fighters. If you couldn’t win cleanly, you couldn’t advance.

Until this round, Erland had been untouched.

He glanced up at Anu’s booth, shrugging apologetically before collapsing to the ground.

Their gazes met, and Erland saw only scorn.

The world was washed out in a swirl of black and white.