"Telling a story starts with a decision. Where in the events will you begin? I've chosen three points for this one. You’ve already heard one of these starting points. Now, I would like to move on to another.

The fire in front of me crackled. The sound wasn't loud, but in my mind, it was deafening. The crackling sounds of the burning flames were still the only things I could hear. Voices turned to garbled nonsense when they entered my ears, but it didn't matter. All would be well in time.

“Sometimes, I am a foolish man. More often than not, that is the case. My plans fail, and my goals slip from my fingers. But, sometimes, an opportunity appears that is so perfectly aligned with my goal, I must take it.”

Chapter two: Mask, Age of Heros, the capital city of the kingdom of Alteron.

I awoke in the arena infirmary. I had won my last match, but I'd chosen to take this opportunity to sleep. I never knew when I'd get another chance with this many people around. The infirmary wasn't full, but it had many of the other contestants recovering from their respective fights. While here, I hadn't seen anything debilitating, a deep cut and a few broken limbs being the worst of what I’d witnessed. I didn’t know about this particular establishment, but others like it tended towards more significant acts of violence from the contestants. So, these wounds were far from what I would assume these healers usually treated. Though, I wasn't surprised by this.

The people around me didn't appear as the type to fight for prizes in the arena; a lot less skin showing for the audience and a lot more gold embroidery. Considering today's event,

I didn't think twice about the extravagant nature of those around me. They’d all paid a hefty sum to be here, after all.

While walking from the infirmary to the main stage, I recalled what series of events led to me fighting in this tournament. If only to clear any lingering vestiges of my dreams.

I knew it was coming time to summon the hero of this generation, so when I felt the aftershocks of the summoning, I thought nothing of it. Then it happened again within the same year. So I started poking around. And while I found nothing useful about the first, I did find that the second was the official one, so I’d come here to the host nation of this generation's hero.

If I could speak here, I might have chuckled at some of the details I’d found. It was staggering how much The King spent convincing the other members of the restoration council to pass this honor onto his nation. That a smaller country like this one had dedicated a comparable amount of money and resources as the empire, which was nearly ten times the size, was astounding.

The King claimed his people and government would be the best for the job, and he proved it with his actions. But that didn’t prevent the rest from enacting a price for allowing him this honor.

The King had to make some concessions to get them to agree, even with how much he had already done. Or maybe he offered those concessions himself; I didn’t know.

From what I could gather, these concessions had to do with who would start the journey with The Hero. In the past, I’d seen everything from small group chosen by the host nation to The Hero themself picking random people off the street. This time, various other council members voted on what institutions would put forward a candidate. The Church would put forth one of them. Two of the candidates would come from establishments under the control of the host nation. One would come from the empire. The last one they’d voted to choose on merit.

So, they’d arranged this tournament and allowed anyone to enter. Or at least, that was the claim. As all things with so much bureaucracy do, that idea didn’t go as planned. Maybe someone's greed won them over, or someone threatened the right people. My light poking hadn’t revealed any ugly secrets. So, If it was purposeful, they hid it well enough; if it was just a series of coincidences, then I could blame no particular individual. Whatever happened, it turned the entire event into a sham within a sham.

Instead of being a free-to-enter event that anyone could participate in, the tournament had an entree fee.

The charge ended up being so staggeringly high that no one but the wealthy even got a chance to compete. If that had been the end of it, it was still possible that a few wealthy explorers and hunters would pay the fee and keep the event somewhat fair.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

Some such people had entered. But throughout the three-day-long event, they’d all taken a dive. Though, I didn’t resent any of them for this. I imagine a few of them made off with quite the profit in exchange. And if that was what they wanted, then I wish them well. I had no desire for money, so I ignored any attempts to buy me off.

I have to imagine that wasn’t the most fantastic idea. Sometime after I ignored the last attempt to buy me off, my matches started to feel a little rigged.

The judges grew more resistant to declaring my victory with each passing match. At first, I thought it was just my imagination. Perhaps they understood my opponent better than I and wished to grant them a chance to prove themselves. But that was base naivete. Each time I knocked an opponent down or outmatched them entirely, the goal moved further away. It was so bad that at one point, they’d allowed my opponent to re-enter the arena after I knocked him from the stage.

Adapting to those conditions, I focused on forcing my opponents to surrender or knocking them unconscious and leaving them immobile on the stage. That had often required I break their bones. In fact, many of the worst injuries in this tournament were at my hand.

My short journey from the infirmary to the contestant's entrance ended as I finished clearing my mind.

The entrance wasn’t anything special. It was just a hallway with a bench for those who wanted to wait off to one side. At the end of the hall was a large door that led out to where the fight would be held.

With the position of the door, set slightly back from the walls of the pits surrounding the main stage, I couldn’t see much more than a set of stairs. And I hadn’t seen the other half of the fights, so I wasn’t aware of my opponent’s identity. Regardless of who they were, I had to imagine that this match would go no better than the rest had. Despite this feeling, I dared not plan for that occurrence.

While I waited, I checked over my equipment one last time. The white plastered wood of my mask was a little yellowed from age. Several belts and clasps fastened it tightly to the inside of my hood, binding them as a single piece. I felt confident it would stay in place through this match. My gloves and boots had seen better days; both had frayed stitches and scuff marks on the leather. If I got my way, they would serve me well for a while longer. My pants faired better, and I'd hope they continued to. The combination of leather and fabric needed to replace them was nearly as costly as replacing the coat and its inner markings. The thick fabric of my coat was primarily intact. The material was frayed down by my knees, and the color had faded from a deep black to a dull grey, but it technically only needed to survive today. I would be obtaining a replacement soon regardless. Checking under my coat, I verified the integrity of the leather armour I wore for light protection. While it wasn’t suffering from age like my other equipment, this would need replacing soon. It had been cheap, and the elements had not been kind. The last thing I checked was my spear. In every way, it was a glorified stick—a sharpened ironwood shaft with a few leather straps wrapped around the grip. This wasn’t something I bought, but a weapon I made myself. It had served me well, but I would feel nothing if I lost it. Still, I checked it over like everything else. And Just as I was satisfied it was free of cracks or warping, the announcer's voice entered my ears.

"Alright, folks, the time has come for our final event of the day. Betting is closed, so I'm sorry if you missed your chance, but we can delay no longer. The fighters are ready, and the stage is set. SO LET'S CALL THEM IN" He peppered the crowd with showmanship, rousing them into a dull hum of expectation.

"On this side, our favorite to win, we know him, we love him, the son of Duke Valches, RICHARD VALCHES!” The Announcer called my opponent n first, to a mixed response from the crowd. I’d heard louder cheers throughout the day, so maybe the betting numbers told a different story than the crowds' enthusiasm. I hadn’t looked, contestants couldn’t bet, not that I would have even if I could.

Hearing my opponent's name, I felt exasperated. While it wasn’t like I was facing the crown prince, I might as well have for all the difference it would make. If fate were kinder, I'd have fought a lesser noble who'd gotten here on skill.Unfortuantely for me, luck was not on my side, and fate had placed a rather interesting hurdle in my path.

"And on this side, the stranger of unknown origin, the underdog of the fight, CURSED MASK." The announcer called for me with the same energy as my opponent. I liked the man He had plenty of energy considering he’d spent the entire day, and every one of the tournament, yelling out commentary about the fights. To me it felt like he enjoyed his job.

It wasn't my first choice of titles. But I hadn't chosen it. Like all other’s that made it past my curse, it was given to me by another. The smug man at registration who decided it was probably laughing at my misfortune right this second. Or perhaps he genuinely thought the name was intriguing. It didn't matter. I'd take a portion of it for my use later if it stuck.

Exciting through the door, I felt a familiar pang of sorrow that I could not feel the warmth of the summer sun above. That pang faded with every step, returning to no more than a memory as I reached the stairs up to the platform where the fights took place.

Climbing the stairs, I took in the now somewhat familiar sight of the circular space, and the comforting presence of the crowd beyond. Making up the regular audience seating were four sections of layered seats, each a slightly smaller than a quarter of the circular space. Occupying them was a somewhat rowdy but not packed crowd. Splitting the four seating areas from eachother were four structures in the cardinal positions of a compass. Two of them, the ones directly above the contestant entranceways, were short towers with private seating for more affluent individuals. The third the structure in the circle, one to my left at the moment was a stage for the announcer. Across from the announcer, the last of the objects in teh circular space, was a table where the judges sat.

Looking at the private seating, I wondered if The Hero was within, obscured from view, but watching this sham nonetheless. I couldn't decide if I hoped this was the case or if I would prefer they weren't here at all. Only time would tell.

AS I crested the top of the stairs to the stage, a stone square raised above the sandy ground below, I caught sight of my first glimpse of my opponent. He was a young man between eighteen and twenty years of age. His sun-kissed skin was clear and clean. Any blemish or mark dealt with by a mix of proper grooming and money. Atop his head sat dark brown hair combed cleanly into a side part. His facial features were consistent with the Alteron upper class, a thin well-cut nose and a chin chiseled from stone. He had thin lips with upturned corners, smiling but lacking any smile lines around the edges. I had to admit he wasn't bad-looking, but he wasn't the most attractive either. Looking into his eyes was the first time his features deviated from the norm of his evident lineage. Where most nobles in this country had grey eyes, his were ocean blue. They were deep-set prideful eyes, fitting for a young man of his rank. I had hoeps his pride wasn’t misplaced.

I took my position, only a short distance from The Nobleman. My weapon was still on my back. My opponent was a different story. He held his weapon in hand, the blade pointed donwards at his side. I felt that his action implied a message, I was permitted no formalities in this match, nor would he show restraint.

Inspecting his equipment, I found it lacking. Far from the practical sheets of reinforced metal or monster leather, it was more ornament than anything else. Gold lines traced artistic paths across his chest, linking into a similar pattern on his gauntlets and greeves. To my eye, it was pointless artistry. But it protected specific vitals and wouldn't hinder his motion. So it wasn't entirely worthless.

At a glance, I assumed him to be a one-handed swordsman. His stance, the way he held his sword, and the lack of a shield of any kind led me down that path. It's a common choice, straightforward class, and has good growth potential. He almost had me fooled. However, I caught a glimpse of the dagger on his waist.

In contrast to the flashy designs of his armour, this was relatively boring. It was a simple leather sheath containing a blade that was just shorter than his forearm. The handle was wooden and slightly curved with a simple metal pommel. The guard wasn't ornate, barely more than a metal bar to protect his hand.

This was the only piece of his equipment that wasn't drawing any attention. Out of everything, only this dagger was so plain that one's eyes might pass over it without noticing it was present. I could only think that it was perhaps the most function-oriented piece of his equipment.

Under that assumption, I adjusted my guess of his class from one-handed swordsmen to a duelist of some kind. That would fit his position better than any more straightforward class. But I couldn't know any of this for sure. I could only guess.

"Alright, you two." The announcer called down to us. "The rules are the same as before. The fight has to stay within the arena; touching the sand outside is ground for an immediate defeat." He wasn't explaining to us but to the audience. Not every match held here followed the same rules, and not everyone had seen the previous arms of this tournament. "The victor is whoever managed to either incapacitate their opponent or force them to surrender. And, while I needn't remind the two of you, I am obligated to do so. Under no circumstances will any attempts to permanently maim, cripple, or kill your opponent be tolerated." While saying that last part, his tone lost all of its upbeat showmanship, but he trained his eyes on me the entire time.

I imagine it was a form of warning directed at me more than my opponent. They'd enact justice swiftly and with prejudice, if I went too far. But that same treatment would likely not apply to my opponent. What a boon it would be for the judges to turn a blind eye to an infraction on his part. But it was only expected from one of his position.

"Now, if you're both ready, LET'S GET STARTED." The announcer began riling the crowd up. "WHO IS READY FOR A SHOW?" He yelled out and got a near-deafening cheer from the audience in response. "ALRIGHT THEN, FIGHTERS, TAKE YOUR STANCES." He called, the crowd's noise fading to the background as I readied for the fight. "LET THE FIGHT," He paused, holding the moment, raising the crowds' tension. Then he let that tension release. " BEGIN!" With his call, the fight started.

I stepped back, more space between us, favoring my longer weapon over my opponent. At that same moment, he stepped forward, his blade passing into the area I'd previously occupied. Missing his strike, The Noble continued to push toward me, his sword returning to a more guarded position. Playing the defensive, I stepped back and to the side, putting him closer to my right side. Again he advanced, his blade cutting through the air towards my chest. Again I retreated, putting myself one step closer to the edge.

"Are you going to dodge the entire time, or will you entertain me before you lose?" The Noble spouted in a somewhat arrogant tone.

I could still retreat, force him to push further and further forward. But my opponent was correct; there was no benefit in doing that, not for me.

Stepping toward The Noble, I unleashed a series of rapid light thrusts in his direction. Many of these barely managed to scratch his armour, the golden designs weathering the blows for him. But, a few found flesh and left scratches and light cuts where they did. Enduring my assault, my opponent stepped into my attacks with a confident smile.

"You'll have to do better than that." The Noble goaded me. "Weak blows like this mean nothing to me." He boasted, his confidence shining on his face. I felt his pride In all his action, but not his skill.

Matching his words, my opponent ignored my blows and slashed down towards my leg, forcing me to defend myself. With the shaft of my spear, I pushed the trajectory of his weapon further down, past my leg. Stepping into him, I took one of my hands off my spear and pushed against his chest, sending him stumbling backward.

I thrust at an exposed section of his leg. With only one hand on my spear, my range was longer, but I lost some control of the point. Missing my target, the end of my spear impacted his stomach, leaving a shallow dent in the metal.

"That's still too weak." The Noble harried me with more insults. I ignored him, allowing his comments to pass without retort. I didn’t feel it was worth my time, to banter with him.

Lunging forward, he attempted to gut me. His blade was straight, but he was slow. Stepping to my right, I let my pass me by on the left. As he did, I struck out with my left hand, the back of my fist impacting the middle of his back. The force of my blow once more sent him stumbling; this time, his back turned to me. Taking advantage of the opening, I quickly stabbed forwards, hitting the man's rear end. My spear found soft exposed flesh, drawing the slightest bit of blood, eliciting a small yelp from my opponent. The sound of the crowd rose again, a burst of roaring laughter, so loud it could be painful to some.

After turning around to face me, I saw that my opponent's face had lost its smug grin. Now, he'd set his face with a glare, and his cheeks tinted the slightest bit red. His emotions were written across his face, a mix of embarrassment and anger for all to see. Or more, only me. I doubted anyone in the crowd could make out the red in his face, so all they would see was the anger. Now silent, he righted his stance and began his assault anew.

He assailed me with a series of quick slashes, each easier to evade than the last. Each swipe of his sword creates a new opening, each attack oddly lagging behind the previous. It wasn't that he was unskilled, but his movements were unsuited to his equipment. Spirit-filled each movement, but it went nowhere like he was simply flooding his limbs and weapon out of habit. None of his attacks held that edge that I'd expect. Even my previous opponent had proven more dangerous than this. Something was missing, and if I was right, it was the dagger on his waist.

I had no idea why my opponent was holding back. Maybe he was overconfident that he could win with only his sword. Or, perhaps he had another reason to avoid drawing his other weapon. Regardless of his cause, his current commitment to a combat style he had little practice with was hindering him. And the reality of such things is that they lead one down a path of defeat no matter how much confidence they have. So I dodged and danced among his strikes, letting him exhaust himself. And whenever the opportunity presented itself, I planted further dents, cuts, and scratches across him and his armour.

But, this wasn't something I needed to let go on. I had other things to do. So when the next opportunity arose, I would move to change the status quo of our altercation. And I didn't need to wait for long.

The Nobleman's sword cut down in front of my face, missing me by a hair, with the blade ending its journey pointed at my stomach. His left hand, clenched into a fist, was up by his chin. Without anything in that hand, all he had to protect his face was his arm, and I was confident it could break despite his armour. Exerting far more force than any of my other strikes, I whipped the butt of my spear up, aiming at my opponent's head. He saw my strike, a spark of panic in his eyes showing he could see the danger, but his arm didn't move to guard; instead, The fool moved to parry my attack with a blade he wasn't holding. My strike slammed into the side of the young man's head, a sharp crack echoing out as it did.

Unfortunately, despite my goal of breaking something of his, his jaw proved just more robust than my spear. The broken section of my spear clattered to the ground, a sizeable reddish-purple welt on the side of The Nobleman's jaw the only evidence of my assault.

To the young man's credit, he didn't take the blow without trying to wound me in turn. His sword danced up from my gut, inside my guard, and across the cheek of my mask. The face of my mask parted as his blade passed across. As his weapon continued up, it caught the hood of my coat, cutting through it before bouncing off the metal frame beneath.

Both of us leaped away from each other, taking a short moment to assess our incurred damages. I checked to ensure my mask wasn't at risk of coming off or showing what lay beneath. And while I was safe for now, I could feel it wasn't as sound as before. I dared not think of the outcome if my opponent had successfully cut it off of me.

Across from me, The Nobleman massaged the side of his jaw, the welt growing larger by the second. From appearances, it didn't look like he was skilled enough to heal it himself. Even if it hadn't broken, the look of pain in his eyes said I'd likely still cracked his jaw bone—a pity it hadn't rendered him unconscious.

He charged toward me with a fire of rage in his eyes, his sword poised to run me through.

"Are you trying to make a fool of me?" The Nobleman yelled, the bruise on his face splitting from the action. Blood dripped down his face, giving him a ghastly appearance. Compared to the start of our fight, it was like staring at a different man.

I knocked his sword aside, hoping that would deter his actions. But my opponent continued his charge, slamming his shoulder into me and pushing me to the arena's edge. Following through, The Nobleman brought his sword up and swung it down toward my body. With no way to dodge or parry, I was forced to block his strike with the shaft of my spear. His blade cut into my spear, its edge stalling at the heartwood within, locking our weapons together.

While attempting to overpower my stance and push me from the stage, the man spoke just loud enough for me to hear. "You know they won't let you win," The young man said, motioning towards the judges. "Please, just surrender before you get hurt" He seemed to plead with me genuinely. "We don't have to-" I cut off his continued pleas with a headbutt.

It didn't matter if my opponent genuinely believed himself better. I didn't care if he was trying to get me to end this because he thought it was the best course of action. I needed to win, and if it meant going through him, then so be it.

My mask cracked along the cut he'd landed prior. Tiny shards of it fell to the arena floor. A headbutt had been a dumb move, but it was worth it.

Stumbling backward, The Nobleman's guard was down. So I rushed into his chest and slammed my shoulder against his core. Falling backwards, he landed on his rear, his hands behind him to cushion his fall. Taking the opening, I lifted my leg and kicked the same side of his head I'd struck before. My foot impacted his head, and I saw his eyes roll into the back of his head. Then the force of my kick carried him away, sending him tumbling along the stone floor.

I watched him for any movement and waited several moments to confirm he was out. Whatever reason he'd had for holding back, it hadn't worked out for him. His confidence was misplaced, or his pride too strong. Whatever it was, it didn't matter now, he was no more than a crumpled heap on the stone floor of the arena. When I was satisfied he wouldn't be getting up, and I wouldn't have to break his body any more than I had, I turned to the judges to end this farce. I was hopeful that they'd recognize he wasn't getting up from that blow any time soon, not on his own.

Watching the judges, I caught the faintest glimmer of a bit of white magic leaving the hands of one of them. They hid it well, no magic circle, barely more than the light of the energy reacting to its given goal. But if not for this slight hint, I wouldn't have returned my gaze to The Noblean in time to evade his attack.

Looking at his face, I saw the bruise from before was gone. The blood dripping from his chin was now no more than a stain on his armour. That slight bit of magic had proven enough to heal him and wake him from his unconscious state.