He didn't need anyone to knock on his door the next day. Worthy woke himself up to have extra time to go over the things he'd learned.
Sadly, he was in the same place he'd been in yesterday.
Without time to apply what he'd been taught into action, there was nothing he could do with that knowledge.
All he could do was pray it came to fruition during his fight against Walkyr. Still, with the time he had, he went over all the information.
He went over it once.
Twice.
Thrice.
There weren't many other words to use. A thorough analysis of his foundation was made.
One thing the child could work on, in a situation that felt hopeless, was work on his stance. It did not require any strenuous activities. All he needed to do was practice his stance.
Dagger held firm; knees bent, so that his body was squatting; leading foot bent, prepared to break into a dash in any direction.
Dashing now would waste valuable stamina, so he didn't do it. He practiced alternating his stance. He leaned and twisted his body into positions he didn't think of doing.
If he'd seen someone doing this in Malas Town, he might've thought that had a bit of training, or was just a lunatic trying to fight unpredictably. Maybe he fit into that category much better than the former.
'This is harder than I thought. Still, I can get used to it…'
Nothing in his backpack of tools could help him out here. Freight prepared him with a versatile array of equipment, but none of them could boost his personal skill. Unlike Rewards and tools, skill is built through hard work.
Worthy hadn't lived long enough to inherit enough skill worth mentioning. He did not consider himself a prodigy, but maybe he'll reach that status if he can fully absorb the information Cross gave him.
Hours of time were spent yesterday being told how to fight. Some more were spent this morning reinforcing that information.
Nobody came knocking on his door. Esme was busy in the sanctuary's hospital. Cross had nothing more to tell the child. War was in a deep sleep, showing no sign of waking up until he decided to himself.
In the end, the time came for the fight.
Worthy ceased his practice and went to the door, stopping just short of it.
'Deadman Walkyr… I'd be lying if I said I wasn't scared shitless right now. He's an intimidating guy, with the skill to back it up…'
Even though his opponent was unarmed, he remembered the light-speed quickdraw the man had. His weapon was unholstered faster than the noise could follow, not even a blur left behind. This probably translated to the movement of his hands as well.
…Deep breaths. The child inhales and holds it for several seconds.
"...Ha…" Letting the breath free, the weight in his chest felt less overbearing. Worthy was used to being in unfavorable situations. He rummaged for scraps in a city that'd leave him battered or worse if caught in the act. Violence wasn't a new thing, but his father worked hard to keep him and his little sister away from it.
How ironic that he was now about to walk into the maws of a beast his father would've fought tooth and nail to keep him away from.
"Pfft." Stifling a laugh, the boy couldn't help but find the irony hilarious.
'Hope, wish me some luck here. I'm about to get my ass kicked.'
The walk to the battlefield is uneventful.
After several minutes, the sound of chattering became louder than ever. Worthy approached a large stone alcove. On the opposite end of the opening, a large room is revealed.
It resembled an amphitheater, dozens of rows of seats wrapped around a single, stone platform at the bottom of the room. Far too many seats were present for the entire venue to be fully occupied.
Perhaps the architect created this place in hopes that several armies would fill it. There was really no telling. All Worthy could do was assume it was meant to occupy a plethora of humans, instead of an abundance of monsters.
The onlookers who were here already heard the news of the fight happening.
As Worthy learned, through the help of no one but himself, fights between humans are not common in these parts.
Climbers skilled enough to put on an entertaining match leave before they get the chance to put on a show. Few are insane enough to fight another living, breathing person in a place where there is a scarcity in every corner.
'In short, a lot of these guys are coming to see a renowned mercenary beat up a twelve-year-old. That'll be the first time it happened here. I'm willing to wager on it…'
There was no one to wager, unfortunately. The only person he'd be speaking to… Deadman Walkyr.
His tall frame was already coming into view. He'd discarded his leather jacket, instead wearing a simple button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled. He is still in the middle of fixing the rolled cuffs when Worthy arrives at the stairs of the stage.
It was much taller now than he expected coming into the cavernous theater.
In front of Walkyr, who hadn't noticed the child yet — or didn't care that he'd arrived — the bartender from yesterday stood.
The loud man had a simple job. He'd announce the fight's beginning, and then he'd announce its end. Only his voice was loud enough to draw the attention of every person in the spacious room, so it made sense that he was there instead of Haul.
The bartender nods at the boy's arrival. Worthy knew the emotions on his face. Worry, pity, and subtle approbation.
He didn't want to see a child this young in such a grim situation, but also respected the boy for having the courage to even arrive.
Once the rest of the spectators noticed the small boy's arrival, a flurry of cheers resounded through the amphitheater.
Worthy heard different voices of encouragement.
"Woo-hoo! Hey kid, give 'em hell for me!"
"Don't back down, shortstack! He's not all that tough!"
"Protect your head, boy! You don't want to end up like Crazy Viper!"
'...Hm? I thought I was the only guy from Malas Town. Good to see there's a few locals.'
Shockingly, both Cross and Esme were in the crowd.
Even more shockingly, Robert was also in the audience. The nobleman sat with a small group of like-minded fellows. If Worthy had a good intuition — which he believed he did — his guess was on the nobleman coming to see him get battered.
Something about this theory was comforting. At least his hatred for the noble now had more justification besides bias and the man's cowardice.
Any malice that Worthy intended to send towards the nobleman was drowned by fear.
'H—Holy… Jeez, this bastard is scary.'
Worthy already knew Walkyr was frightening. He'd come to terms with his fear. However, just from the man's sharp gaze piercing him in acknowledgement, he felt he was under the threat of death.
An unbearable pressure was weighing him down, his instincts telling him to leave before it's too late. 'I've got shitty instincts, huh? It's already too late for me to run.'
He wasn't planning to.
The indigo eyes shining and striking his core receded after a while. "Hm. 'Yer stubborn. I see that much, Half-Pint."
With his killing intent alone, Walkyr nearly incapacitated the boy. His will was stronger than expected, in part due to his harsh upbringing.
Steadying himself, Worthy approaches the center of the stage, where a shortsword is awaiting him. "Worry about yourself, Outrider."
An arrangement for a weapon fitting for him must've been made. A single shortsword would suffice in this fight. Not because Worthy was skilled, but because whoever crafted the weapon didn't want to make another one. Not when the fight had such an obvious outcome.
It wouldn't have mattered if they equipped the child with a massive, seven-ton hammer.
The odds were in Walkyr's favor, no matter how one looked at it.
"Y'know, if y'were a tad smarter, you'd have stayed in your room 'n waited 'fer War."
Worthy rolled his eyes, "I think I'm already too much for you to handle, gunslinger. Don't bite off more than you can swallow."
The cowboy raised a brow.
"Huh…? That ain't how that sayin' goes, Boy."
Worthy looked confused.
"What?"
"The sayin'. That ain't how it goes, jackass. It's 'don' bite off more than 'ya can chew', an old 'n important sayin', in fact."
Worthy squints and scratches the back of his head. "...Y'sure?"
Walkyr doesn't answer, huffing and shaking his head in disapproval. At least Worthy got into his head…
If only it was intentional.
'If it works, it's intentional. Don't sell yourself short. … But, I'm pretty sure he's lying to me. There's no way I got that saying wrong.'
Collecting the shortsword with a firm grip, Worthy took his stance.
The tall cowboy didn't shift his relaxed posture. The shadow cast over his eyes did little to conceal his eyes, so Worthy knew he was being watched. Not intently, but watched.
The spectators were cheering loudly, continuing to spout their insincere words of encouragement.
Finally, the booming voice of the bartender announces the start of their fight.
"Begin!"
Walkyr doesn't move. Instead, he idles and waits to see what the child will do.
Worthy, meanwhile, had come up with a strategy on his way to the ring.
Using the shortsword was new to him. He'd been training with daggers. The shortsword wasn't too different, but had a different core to wield than a dagger, going all the way to the grip.
"Holdin' tha' sword mighty tight, ain't 'ya, Boy!?" The cowboy taunted, a grin plastered on his face.
The boy was pathetic. He wasn't even holding the weapon properly. Hell, it looked like he barely had the strength to wield the weapon.
Walkyr entered this tower to get Rewards, fight strong enemies, and improve himself.
He was accomplishing none of these goals by fighting the child. Pride was the devil, so even he'd been tempted to defend his honor after being disrespected. Even if he was the one who initiated the disrespect in the exchange.
"Tsk. Whatever. I'll put y—?!"
The boy didn't know how to wield the shortsword.
That's what Walkyr assumed based on the child's posture and slender frame, one fit for a malnourished child from the slums.
His understanding of the child's capabilities are why he'd undermined the level of cowardice survivors of such a hellish place used to survive.
Just as he was moving to take a step forward, a pattern of wood obscured his vision.
The child threw the shortsword at Cross's face.
"C'mon…" With a casual swipe, his hand knocks the wooden weapon to the side, the other remaining at his side, idle.
It was a thoughtful attempt, but… Sighing, the man looked at the wooden sword before turning back to the child.
"Y'didn't think that was goin' to w—?"
When he looked up, the child was no longer there.
From underneath the man, whose attention was focused on the shortsword for only a moment, the scrawny boy emerged from just outside of his peripheral vision.
Walkyr was tall, much taller than the boy. It was something Worthy noted since their initial confrontation.
So, he also knew that hanging low was his best chance at being unseen. All he needed was an opening.
'Make him see my potential, right?!' Cross had given him the recipe. He only needed to pray the dish came out well-done.
With as much force as the child had, having successfully caught the cowboy off guard, he leaps up and sends his knuckle flying into the man's cheek. Just like that, taking advantage of his small stature and weakness, the child landed the first hit of the match.
A sickening crush resounded through the area, followed by a noise that bellowed straight from the fighter's chest.