Maybe Gregorvich would have had better odds if he hadn’t been cocky enough to face the Arena alone, but by himself… Bart was without hope. Sweat beaded on his forehead and fear mounted in his chest as he thought through every possible option available to him. Unable to find an out, he began berating himself for his own stupidity. Of course the System would make the Arena contestant fight Mike for the championship. If he had only thought of this sooner. He had thought himself so clever when he tricked Gregorvich into signing the wrong line, the musclebound fool hadn’t even bothered to read the document Bart had put in front of him. But now he realized he himself was the fool. This whole time he had been planning on Gregorvich becoming Arena champion, which based on their contract, would cause him to owe Bart 30,000 silver in addition to being split into pieces. After such a demise, Bart’s own position in the Noob Zone would be strengthened, and Gregorvich would be sent to the next Zone all the weaker.

His internal rumblings were interrupted by the loud laughter and jeers of the Arena spectators, causing Bart to look up. Mike’s usually domineering form was overshadowed by a tremendously precarious metal tower that seemed to be attached to him. The metal seeed alive as it slowly melted and pooled around his feet.

It only took a few moments for all of the metal to dissolve, and Mike’s body was revealed. He was clearly wounded, blood and grime covered his body, and several gashes were visible across his hulking shoulders and chest, some still bleeding and adding to his ghastly visage.

Maybe Gregorvich still stands a chance? The thought came unbidden to his mind, his subconscious grabbing at any possibility of him not being drawn and quartered.

Hope bloomed in his chest, as the stocky figure crouched to the ground.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Even before the light faded, Mike’s senses were already on overdrive. The mass of metal that had been his constant companion for the last several hours suddenly felt oppressive, and he allowed it to pool to his feet. As the metal left his body. His Aeromancy Skill seemed to appreciate the air more than a drowning man and began feeding him information in a flood. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed the extra sense since he had been in the dungeon, but now, every small current around him seemed to be almost visible.

After the few moments it took for him to once again become accustomed to the additional stimulus, the noise of the crowd hit him in a wave. It had been many months since he had heard this many people in one place, and though the hobgoblins were more numerous, somehow the humans’ catcalls seemed much more boisterous than the thousands of small chirps produced by his fledgling nation.

His opponent stood before him, head and shoulders taller than Mike’s stature. His face made his heritage easy to guess, even as the man’s balanced stance and comfortable grip on his weapon eluded to his profession before the System

“Russian Special Forces?” he guessed aloud, squatting down and hoping to draw out a bit of conversation so he could catch his breath.

A nod was the only confirmation he received.

“Back in my day, you lot were always the enemy. This one time, my team and I had just sat down at a diner in Kosice when a whole group of you interrupted us. We were having Bryndzove Halusky, which I am sure you have had before?”

This time a shake of the head.

“It’s actually best if you make it by hand, and it isn’t hard to do.” Mike’s goal of delaying the conflict was forgotten in his eagerness to talk about one of his favorite dishes.

Just as Mike was detailing the proper technique for shaping the dough into the small potato dumplings, his opponent exploded forward, and Mike’s brain automatically processed the speed and balanced stats of his adversary, even as his recipe continued unabated.

“I highly recommend you get a strhadlo, which is a tool designed specifically for creating the dumplings. It looks like unsharpened cheese grater.” His feet and body easily kept up with Damage Premonition as he nimbly stepped outside the range of a powerful swing.

“Otherwise, you are going to have to cut each ball by hand, which is very time intensive, and less authentic.” Another swing went wide and he stepped into the man’s guard and delivered a sharp elbow to the gut, causing the man to fly backwards.

The crowd's ire was invoked as they saw their champion fall, and their volume increased exponentially. Mike sighed as he realized he would have to wait to continue his discussion, there was no way the man would be able to hear him over this noise. While he waited, his eyes tracked a thrown dagger from the crowd as it made its way towards him, only to be obliterated in a shower of sparks as it hit an invisible forcefield.

Then the pause was over. His opponent had regained his feet and was already upon him again, executing a dazzling series of attacks that would have been very difficult to avoid if Mike wasn’t nearly double his speed and Damage Premonition wasn’t telling Mike exactly where every strike was headed.

“It really is best to have two people when using a strhadlo though… '' The close proximity required for fighting meant that a conversation was once again viable.

Exhaustion slowly set in for his opponent as Mike continued to explain how to load a strhadlo, the proper rhythm for each stroke, how to achieve a balanced water ratio to prevent the whole meal from becoming a soggy mess, and how to tell when the food was done cooking.

Between swings and while his opponent regained his balance, he idly sent large swaths of the Quicksilver at the Arena barrier, causing the pool of metal to slowly shrink into nonexistence beneath him.

When it became apparent that Mike would never be hit in close combat, the behemoth began unloading a veritable mountain of throwing weapons from the pouch at his belt, until he collapsed to the ground in front of him.

As the crowd realized how one sided the entire fight was, their jeers quieted from a throbbing cacophony, to a low hum, until finally they were silent, and Mike realized with relish that the entire stadium would be able to hear the perfect way to mix in the Bryndza and bacon if he spoke just a little bit louder.

“Bryndza comes in blocks, so it is best to dice it before you add it to the strained halusky. You can just toss it on top. Since we have already discussed how to best cook the bacon, let me just say that you really want to make sure you spoon in at least two scoops of the bacon grease with the meat itself. It adds a flavor that salt by itself will never achieve.” He said as he emptied all but 10 axes worth of Quicksilver from his storage bag into the barrier.

“After that, you just want to add some finely cut green onions and it is ready to serve.” He said with relish.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Bart watched the entire fight in mute horror, inwardly despising whatever dish Mike was describing as he picked Gregorvich apart. Mike continued to ruin his life at every interaction, and Bart cursed himself for ever acting remotely friendly towards the man before the System.

Then it was over, Mike’s final words to the crowd were something about green onions, before he walked over to pick up the discarded fire club from Gregorvich’s pouch. That acquired, he then turned and took the entire pouch from the prone form before he ended the fight with his first aggressive movement of the last 30 minutes.

Excruciatingly-blinding, mind-numbing pain exploded from his center and he saw Mike disappear in a flash of light.

…………………………………………………………………………………………

Mike activated Footsteps of the Wind as soon as he appeared back in the dungeon, charging the humongous Sliver in front of him. A Quicksilver ax obediently formed in his hand as the distance closed between him and his foe. The Sliver barely seemed to register his presence before he severed the creatures base from the ground beneath it. He had been eyeing this weak point before the tournament, but had been too exhausted to capitalize on it.

Moving to match the metallic creature's flight path, His ax hand whipped back and forth as it separated the airborne creature into small chunks. His other hand was a blur of movement as well as it followed behind, catching the majority of the small bits and throwing the pieces into his pouch.

Then his unbalanced Dexterity caught up with him and he was sent sliding across the smooth surface. His high speed increased the frictional force with the surface beneath him, causing his skin to peel off in what he estimated was the world’s worst rug burn.

Pushing past the pain, he hurriedly climbed to his feet, barely glancing at the notification in front of him:

[Congratulations! Branching skill unlocked, Magic Torch Throwing!

+1 Intelligence

Would you like to replace your current Knife Throwing skill? y/n]

Mike pushed the notification aside as he continued his charge further into the chamber. Before anything else formed or Footsteps of the Wind went on cooldown, he needed to find an exit.