“I want to show you something.”
Rock raised an eyebrow, already half-smiling. “Finally going to admit you’ve been smuggling a rodent around?”
James blinked. “How did you know?”
“When you first rocked up, you reeked of squirrel musk. Not just any squirrel: kit musk. Strong stuff. And it squeaked a few times while you were standing at the gate.”
James grimaced. “I didn’t hear anything.”
“You were too out of it to notice. Half-dead, bleeding, wide-eyed… frankly, it was impressive you were still upright.”
James sighed and unhooked the pouch from his belt. “Well. So much for subtlety.”
Rock shrugged. “Subtle’s overrated.”
James loosened the drawstring, and a tiny head poked out, bright-eyed and unbothered. Squire blinked at the morning light, then scampered up his arm like she owned it. She perched on his shoulder with practiced ease, tail flicking like a banner.
He was relieved when she didn’t bolt. This was the first time she’d seen the world outside the forest, yet she stayed. Maybe it was system-assisted bonding.
James slipped her a strip of jerky. She accepted it with casual entitlement.
“Squire,” James said softly, still smiling. “Squire, this is Rock. Rock, Squire.”
Squire gave a soft , then sniffed Rock’s hand. She did not bite.
Progress.
“Is she carded?” Rock asked, eyes narrowing slightly now.
“Nope. Uncarded familiar. Bond’s at ten percent. She puts up with me.”
Rock let out a long, low breath. “And you’re sure you’re not a beast tamer in disguise?”
“I’m sure she’s smarter than me.”
“She’s definitely cuter,” Rock said without missing a beat.
James chuckled, easing Squire back into the pouch. “Her dad saved my life. Took out a snake that had me wrapped up and suffocating. Even though he was Death-Marked, he stuck around long enough to lead me to her before he faded. I figured the least I could do was give her a better shot.”
Rock’s expression shifted, still guarded but not cold. “Most people wouldn’t bother.”
James nodded. “Yeah, but I think she’s safer with me than in a cage.”
“Just remember,” Rock said, giving his shoulder a firm clap, “uncarded means vulnerable. And people notice. Especially if you ever end up fighting in public.”
“I know.”
“Good.” Rock fell into step beside him again, pace easing. “Hold onto that. Just don’t let it blind you.”
They walked in silence for a few moments, the Guild Hall fading behind them.
Then Rock added, tone casual but loaded,
“You have my personal apologies for Garron, by the way. It was a test from Anne, and I don’t know if you passed or not. Do you still have him?”
James nodded, noncommittal.
“He’s yours, of course, but we’d appreciate it if you’d release him back to the guild. He does have a quest to hand in.”
James stopped mid-step. “He was given a quest to act the way he did, do who-knows-what under my contract, and when I’m finally done with him, I’m just supposed to free him?”
“Yep.” Rock didn’t blink. “Silver-rank quest, that one. Risky, but very good rewards.”
James threw up his hands, frustration and a bit of horror in the gesture, and kept his voice low. He pulled the contract card for Garron.
Card: Garron, Highway Footpad
Category: Rarity: Type: Slots Required: Abilities: Traits: Size: Weight: Level Requirement: Uses Remaining:
After about ten seconds an additional prompt appeared.
Do you want to release Garron from his contract?
.
The card dissolved, and Garron appeared, healthier than before but still battered. His leather armor was patched, his beard scruff uneven, and his arm hung limp. A strong, coppery smell of blood clung to him. Garron scanned the street for threats, spotted Rock, and let out a huge sigh.
“Hell YEAH! Level up!”
Heads turned, curious but not surprised by the outburst.
“Lucky bastard,” a Bronze guild member muttered.
“I saw that quest,” another called. “Too much uncertainty for me.”
“Thanks for releasing me,” Garron said to James, his voice carrying more relief than gratitude. “And for ordering my return before serious damage was done.”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
James glanced at the arm hanging limp at Garron’s side.
“I don’t blame you for calling me out either. That was a big pack of wolves,” Garron added, waving the matter aside. “Right, to the guild. My sword?”
“In your room,” Rock said.
Garron started to turn away, but James called after him. “Wait.”
Garron paused mid-step, shoulders tensing slightly. The street noise receded for a moment, footsteps and chatter softening under the weight of something unsaid.
James stepped closer. “You may be okay with it, but… I’m sorry for using you like that. At the time I told myself, , but I knew it was wrong.”
Garron blinked, then frowned in thought. His expression shifted into surprise. Like no one had ever bothered saying that before.
“Yeah, exactly. I reckon that was the idea.” He scratched at his beard with his good hand, flaking off a bit of dried blood. “I bet you got a ton of experience for it too. Anne really is a clever Guildmaster.”
He gave a casual wave and turned away, voice lighter than his limp.
“Have a good one.”
Patron boxes overlooked the arena from above, ornate but empty at this hour. Below, the crowd was half-full, relaxed but lingering. No fight now, but no one was leaving.
Rock ordered breakfast from a nearby vendor: egg and bacon muffins, handed over hot and greasy in folded parchment. The eggs were still runny, the bacon thick and salty, and the muffins had just enough crunch at the edge to make the whole thing glorious. They washed it down with ale, warm, flat, and stronger than expected.
It was amazing.
Squire kicked at James’s leg from inside the pouch. He tore off a chunk of greasy bread and slipped it in through the loosened drawstring. She took it without ceremony, then settled.
About ten minutes later, they watched a bout play out: shouts, groans, the clash of steel. A grunt, a blade skidding off armour, then a heavy blow sent one combatant sprawling out of the ring. The victor raised their hands, and the roar surged like a tide.
The atmosphere was marred by the lout behind them, though. He was loud, nasal, and dripping with smugness. The insults were personal, the “commentary” laced with lazy sexism, the kind that incited attention more than laughs.
When the match ended, the man sneered, “She’s weak. Figures.”
Nobody laughed.
Rock stood, turned to the man, and clapped a hand on James’ shoulder.
“Hey, Tristan, have you met James yet? He’s new. Do me a favour, give him his first arena challenge.”
The man, Tristan, had food stains on his tunic and the smugness of someone far too sure of themselves. He leaned back in his seat like the whole world existed to make him look good in it.
James frowned. It would be a waste to burn a Death-Marked card, but aside from those, he had little else.
Tristan picked up on the frown and smirked. “James, as a fellow Bronze ranker, I challenge you. What’s the ante?”
“As the challenged,” Rock explained, “you have to set the wage or ante of the duel.”
James pulled a Greyfang Wolf
Card: Greyfang Wolf
- Category:
- Rarity:
- Type:
- Slots Required:
- Abilities:
- Traits:
- Crafter
- Size:
- Weight:
- Level Requirement:
- Uses Remaining:
- Rarity:
Murmurs spread like fire.
James frowned slightly.
Rock’s smile widened.
Tristan’s eyes narrowed, flicking between the card and Rock.
But Rock just shook his head, all innocence.
“This is just a friendly initiation fight,” Tristan said. “Sure you want stakes that steep?”
Too late to back down. James handed the card to the bookie.
Tristan produced a Cure Wounds – Single Use
Card: Cure Wounds
System Notice – Utility Protocol Unlocked
Maximum Utility Cards Equipped:
“Ante accepted,” the bookie said, voice already echoing to nearby scribes tracking odds.
“Good,” Rock told James. “You pick the combat type first; he can refuse. Then he picks; you can refuse. Only two refusals each.”
“Cards only?” James asked.
“Refuse,” Tristan said immediately.
The crowd rumbled. Apparently, that was against tradition.
“Weapons only,” Tristan countered.
“Refuse,” James said. He had only a dagger.
“Anything goes, first blood, no killing blows,” James offered.
“Agreed.”
James slipped the pouch off his belt and handed it to Rock. “Look after her?”
Rock nodded once, seriously.
They headed down into the pit.
James paused beside him. “Give me a minute.”
He dropped into the Commander’s Space, working fast. Quarter-speed would have to do. He didn’t dare that pain again so soon.
The white noise wasn’t as bad this time. It seemed to scale with the time dilation.
.
He pulled his last common Greyfang WolfThornhideThorncatBalanced Boost.
He dropped back out again.
Rock had caught James by the shoulders as he fell, pretending to give quiet advice. There was a flicker of concern in his eyes, one that lifted the moment James looked up.
“Thanks,” James said, winking.
The arena floor was split by a shallow groove. Tristan crouched right on the line, like a sprinter. James stood a step from the far edge.
“Anything goes. First to blood wins. Out of bounds forfeits,” the ref called. “Fighters ready?”
Both nodded.
James’ plan was simple: open with the wolf. If a scratch was all it took, a Thornhide spike could finish it quickly. And he wanted to see in action.
“Fight!”
Play Card: Greyfang Wolf (Common)
- Enhancement Slot: Imprint (Thornhide)
- Commander Passive: +1 to All Stats.
Effect – Greyfang Wolf Summoned.
The card flew out. The usual diamond film flashed, streaked through with green this time. The wolf hit the dirt snarling, green spines bristling.
Meanwhile, Tristan’s hand flicked. Steel glinted.
Trait Activated – Commander’s Time
Effect: 1/20th speed reduction + access to Commander’s Space
James slipped into the slow clarity, ignored the white noise, calculated the unexpected dodge (), and dropped back. His head pounded, but a split-second later, a sharp wooden shard hissed past where he’d been.
“Blood rule! Control your beast, James!” the ref shouted.
James instinctively sent the mental command: It worked.
Tristan cocked his arm for another throw, but the ref caught his wrist mid-motion, batting airborne barbs from the wolf aside with his other hand in a blur.
Tristan’s gaze dropped to the thin red line on his forearm where a spike had nicked him.
The crowd roared.
Rock clapped, slow, loud, deliberate.
James could swear he heard jeers and mocking calls of “Figures. He’s Tristan,” from a number of women in the crowd.
Tristan’s scowl promised payback, and it was aimed squarely at James, not Rock.
By the time they left the pit, the Cure Woundsspike-scratch win was already being retold with extra flair and at least three added explosions.
Rock grinned on the walk back. “The crowd loved it. You just jumped a few rungs in the Bronze standings.”
“And earned an enemy,” James said.
“An arena without enemies is just exercise,” Rock replied. “Make sure you’re ready when he comes looking.”
Rock handed the pouch back, casual as anything.
Unfortunately, James missed the contemplative look Tristan gave it.
??? System Notice: Squire has declared ante to be “whatever’s not nailed down.”
She now owns three buttons, a dice cup, and someone’s left boot.