*Date: 33,480 Third Quarter — Kingdom of Satar, Capital City Parthanon*
Small rocks wreathed in flame rained down on Demir, and the crowd was cheering for blood.
Number 012 was a crafty female mage with excellent distance control. For the third match, Demir had thought he would be winning like before. Easily. But his opponent was fierce and cunning. She stood at the far end of the arena, her hands weaving patterns that left trails of orange light in the air. Whenever Demir tried to close the gap, she sent explosions blooming at his feet, halting his advance and forcing him back while she took another position even farther away.
*This cannot go like this*, Demir thought.
His shield and armor were taking the damage he couldn't dodge, but it was tiring him out. Sweat ran down his face, stinging his eyes. His breath came in ragged gasps. Each explosion forced him to brace, to recover, to start again.
Then one of the fiery rocks bounced right off his shield and flew back toward 012. She barely dodged it, her composure cracking for just a moment.
*My shield has a reflection passive.*
Hope flared in Demir's chest. He made his plan. Rather than keeping distance to dodge, he rushed toward the center of the arena where dodging would be almost impossible. But he was going to tank everything with his shield anyway.
His opponent was puzzled by the bouncing fiery rock, but she kept her composure and switched to concentrated fire bursts instead of the scattered rocks.
*Did she understand my plan?* Demir thought. *It doesn't matter. Even if I deflect a fire burst at this distance, her reaction won't be enough to dodge both my reflected spell and my attack.*
Demir tanked the fire burst, feeling the heat even through his armor. But it didn't reflect back to her this time.
*I can just tank her every hit*, Demir thought. He advanced slowly, inexorably, closing the distance step by painful step. But she sent another explosion to his feet, the concussive force staggering him.
The crowd was in a murmur over the stalemate.
"Burn him to the ground!" one spectator yelled.
"Trample her, 080! We believe in you!" another screamed back.
*If I'm hearing these cheers, then I'm not concentrating*, Demir thought, forcing himself to focus.
He pressed on. He dashed to her side, but she once again sent an explosion to his feet and created a cloud of smoke and ash to mask her retreat. Through the haze, Demir could barely make out a silhouette.
He was in a pinch, but he let out a roar and rushed toward the first shape he could see. When he reached its position, he swung his charged sword in a giant arc. But he instantly regretted it because the silhouette was a fake, just disturbed smoke and heat shimmer, and he had already committed to his giant swing. He was a target now.
*I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have done that.*
All the training he took from Turbo and his newly found friends was going up in smoke. He had acted hastily and made a giant mistake. When he saw the flaming rock hurtling toward him, other than wincing, he couldn't make any other reaction.
The fiery rock hit him square in the chest. It exploded on impact, dyeing his armor black with char and pushing him into an unbalanced fall. The exploding rock divided into many pebbles that hit and burned his open crevices, the gaps between armor plates. Pain flared everywhere at once.
He was on the ground. But the real danger came after, because now his opponent pressed her advantage to take Demir out. She advanced, hands already weaving another spell.
*I need to get up.*
Demir pulled his shield to his face. But attack after attack broke his balance. He couldn't make attempts to stand because another unexpected fall meant loss. The rules were clear. If you can't rise, you've lost.
Just then, he saw one of the fiery rocks bounce back toward her.
Demir couldn't miss this chance. He immediately jumped up and lunged at his opponent. When she dodged her own reflected fiery rock, Demir was already on her.
With sheer force, he hit her with a shield bash.
The impact of four hundred pounds of running armored player took her feet off the ground and sent her flying across the arena. She tumbled twice before sliding to a stop near the edge.
But Demir didn't want to take his chances assuming his opponent was knocked out. He rushed to her and pointed his sword at her neck, the tip hovering an inch from her skin.
"Resign, please?" Demir asked, panting. His breathing was irregular as he looked down at his opponent.
"Fine," she muttered. She raised her hand while lying on the ground and shouted, "I GIVE UP!"
Half the crowd was booing. Half was cheering. Some drunk viewers started fighting among themselves in the stands. Turbo and his crew rushed to break up the brawls. Demir couldn't process the sight at first, then remembered they had taken security jobs.
He reached down to his opponent and helped her stand.
"What the hell is wrong with that shield?" she asked while cleaning the dust from her robes. "Is it reflecting, or was it just luck that it bounced back to me?"
"It has a chance of reflecting..." Then Demir remembered. You weren't supposed to reveal stats or skills of your items. It was old game world etiquette. He added, "...I made it."
He smiled.
"Yuck." She spat to the side. "I could have won if it wasn't for this stupid shield. I'm level 48. Whatever. Bye."
She walked toward the exit gate without looking back.
---
After he celebrated his third win with his friends, Demir immediately went to check his advancement on the tournament table. The bracket showed his path clearly. If he won his next four matches, he would be in the final.
*At least second place prize*, Demir thought. *But I want that witness stone. Whatever it is, I need it.*
His next match was in two hours. An organization officer came to check if he needed medical treatment, but Demir sent her back. His shield and armor had taken most of the blows. Other than dust and black charcoal smeared across his gear, he was fine.
---
His next opponent of the day was a sword and shield knight type like himself. But the man was no match for Demir. His technique was good, his form practiced, but his speed was nearly half of Demir's enhanced stats. He couldn't fight back against Demir's quick jabs.
When he finally fell, Demir put his knee to the man's body to make sure he didn't get up.
"Dude, just stay down. I don't want to cut you. You can tank hits, but you're too slow."
"Fuck you!" The man tried to spit but forgot his helmet was closed. His spit stayed inside, running down his own face.
Demir pressed with all his weight, and his opponent couldn't rise. But when he realized the man wasn't going to give up, Demir considered his options. His first thought was stabbing through an opening in the armor. But he brushed the idea away quickly.
*That would be cold-blooded murder.*
Instead, Demir struck the man's sword arm, forcing him to drop his weapon. Then he pulled back his knee and kicked the sword outside the arena ring. His opponent was furious, shouting and swearing, trying to rise.
Demir let him get up, then immediately pushed him with a shield bash. And again. And again.
Finally, his opponent was pushed outside of the arena, and Demir won his fourth match.
*Three matches left*, Demir thought.
The crowd's cheers felt distant. His mind was already racing ahead to what came next.