She looked different compared to the last time he had seen her in the fighting pit in Bodylovo. Slimmer body shape, cheeks less full, and the medium-length red hair was now cropped short around the sides, layered on the front and came with a cooler red tone. Like watermelon-red. A curvy wave right above her forehead flickering up to the right gave her a sharp, rebellious look.

  He didn’t expect seeing her here, but thinking back, didn’t she leave the pit after the show? Considering Yebin was the biggest city nearby, perhaps it went without saying that she would end up in this place.

  Not like it mattered. She was in a party of three who just surfaced from the entrance, so obviously she was here to fight. Level 63. High. Already mid way though the early C-grade.

  “Long time no see.” He came to greet when her group was heading toward the encampment.

  And the worst thing happened. She didn’t appear to remember who he was. Clear confusion filled her eyes, dragging down her eyelids.

  “Your friend, Shinnya?” asked the girl in the center — a paladin in a full glowing yellow armor set from the top to bottom, with a helmet tugged between her arm and her right flank. Long black hair cascaded down and hid away by the broad shoulders.

  “No.” Shinnya frowned. “Do I know you?”

  “The anthill, sound bolts, fighting pit, Bodylovo … Djaxinz,” Zalanir let loose any words that he could think of to remind her. Her brother’s name seemed to click, as her face brightened up like the returning ray of sun after a shower.

  “Oh, you. I remember now. You got your freedom back? What brought you here?”

  “Long story, but yeah, I’m free now. Just got here an hour ago. Currently looking for a way to get inside.” Zalanir smiled. The first obstacle cleared.

  “We are full!” the man on the left interjected. Taller than him, good-looking, dense eyebrows that soared in the middle, touching the playful, choppy bangs. His back carried a white cube device that looked like a washing machine, down to even its size.

  Zalanir wanted to laugh at that ridiculousness, but he managed to suppress it since, for some unknown reason, the man appeared to be hostile toward him.

  “Hey, not like he is here for …” Shinnya didn’t say it out loud, but it was clear what she was insinuating.

  Though Zalanir was down to a direct approach anyway, so no need to beat around the bush. “I’m here to catch up with her, but also to ask to join your group. Hard to find one willing to take a newbie like me.” His eyes sized up the man.

  “Piss off! Weaklings like you should stick to your group. Don’t try to punch up.”

  “Yeah, sorry, we work best in three,” Shinnya added.

  “We can try to see who’s the weakling?” Zalanir provoked, ignoring Shinnya. The man was 17 levels higher than him, but he had a plan. A risky one, but could work wonders and gave him weight. First impressions counted. Besides, he was curious to see how he would fare against these adventurers.

  Lost? He could just leave. Wasn’t it expected for him to lose? So, not like he would risk anything here. But if he won? A ticket into the dungeon with a rather strong group. They had just left, so surely they had a way to navigate the darkness inside.

  “Now this is interesting. Let’s teach this man that overconfidence can be a curse.” The Carrier laughed — this would be his nickname for hauling a washing machine on the back all the time.

  “Both of you might want to stay far away. Can’t promise to not misfire,” Zalanir said, eyes on Shinnya and the paladin.

  Other adventurers quickly caught up to what was about to happen. Lots of murmurs and exchanges came into his ears, and when they realized that this was a fight, the volume of discussions tripled. It was like he was back to the fighting pit, except there was no psycho crowd, and he wasn’t a newcomer to this world.

  Three meters? Zalanir smirked. That man just made the first mistake.

  Without any delay, a brown staff appeared on his back, and the air started to hiss. At the same time, a black mark stamped on the Carrier, no real visual indication, but he knew that Mark of the Black Mist was already active.

  Wind hugged his legs, giving him an euphoric delight of being as soft as a feather. His feet kicked the ground, and his body shot ahead. Fast.

  The opponent looked baffled, but the washing machine soon started to rumble, sending vibrations through the air. Quick reaction, but Zalanir was already within an arm’s length. Three meters was nothing with Wind Rush empowering his speed. No need to pay any attention to the opposite’s attack, he just needed to carry his plan out perfectly.

  Sound bolts were ready, and with a forehand, he uncoiled his body, then flung a pack of six translucent, formless projectiles to the man’s flank. That should buy him enough time with the staggering effect for the real attack.

  Leaning on the swinging motion, he carried his body onward, passing by the still-standing-like-a-duck opponent and landing right on the edge of a violent vortex taking shape. Winds howled, blowing scattering stones and dirt up into the air, giving form to a mini raging dirtstorm.

  In the middle of a chorus of wind wailing and stone colliding, and a magnificent display of spiraling brown dust, Zalanir picked up a muffled scream, alongside some unknown whizzes and a confusing blurt of “Hurukele whirlwind?” further away that he resorted to ignoring. Couldn’t spare a thought on that now when he had to count milliseconds and line up the angle to fire off the shimmering orange lance above his shoulder.

  Two. Three. Fou—

  Two white swirling saw blades punched through the howling vortex and sliced his flanks. Pain flared up and his stomach rebelled, intending to make him bend forward. But he endured. Muscles tensed up. Brain screamed and exerted its authority to take control.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Then came a cough. Gruff and abrupt, but enough for Zalanir to map a location. Sonic Lance needed nothing more than that to find its target amidst the full-scaled, grating whirlwind and a series of ohs, inhaling and swallowing sounds from the bystanders.

  Three more saw blades came out, converging on his spot like homing missiles. With Wind Rush on cooldown, he used Energy Barrier and braced behind the glassy plane. The first blade bounced off, the second one shattered and got lost together with the feedback wave of energy, but the third one sliced through the air, bringing with it a streak of sizzling sounds, and ended up cutting open a rift on his left forearm. A red geyser spurt out, spraying his face with bloody darts.

  Air pumped up inside his lungs, forcing him to spit out a cluster of red, slimy liquid. Not falling yet. He took two steps back, the second one submerged his ankle under the soil floor, but he held once again. Despite his ligaments screaming and bulging, his legs remained his trustworthy pals. Countless hours of practicing, jumping, and sprinting on and off the court had forced them into stalwart pillars, and today wasn’t the day they would break.

  No more spinning disks, in or out. His eyes, together with hundreds from the observers, watched on until the last howl of the raging vortex gave in, and the wind returned to their normal state, softly caressing and calming his frantic wounds.

  Surrounded by a drizzle of splintered and pulverized rocks, a man with a tattered reddish-brown vest was on one knee, eyes weary and hands pressing on the lower abdomen. Blood slithering through the fingers, dripped into a waiting pool of similar substance below. Though the washing machine stayed intact through all of this. Zalanir had to give a mental thumbs-up for that stubbornness.

  At that moment, from nowhere, Zalanir felt a rush of energy into his body. Two clinks from the System notifications rang in his mind, but no, the effect was stronger than the two levels he just earned. It equaled at least three times that. He stayed confused for two breaths until his mind recalled the new skill he earned with the Prodigious Performer mastery. Entertaining, huh?

  It lingered on until a chain of running steps toward the Carrier from the paladin broke it down. Praises, huffing, recruitment discussions flared up from the ring of bystanders in the area.

  Then Shinnya came over. Without a word, she snuck into his hand a red potion and gestured him to drink.

  This was just the second time he had tasted a healing potion, but the feeling was just hard to describe, especially with the visual of flesh, sinews, and blood around the gulfs in his stomach and forearm reproduced, cloned themselves, and filled up the cavities down there. Just fascinating. And itchy. With a single gulp of the tasteless, a tad mucky and tepid liquid, what normally took days, even weeks on Earth to heal was completed in a matter of minutes. His health bar shot from around the 70% mark to full, as if the fight just now was nothing but an illusion.

  “Say, if you can just chuck these potions, aren’t you basically … invincible? Who could kill you?” Zalanir asked the red-haired girl sitting on a polished-and-cut-off tree trunk across his spot. He had to break that awkward stare somehow.

  “I still don’t know if you are serious or not. I remembered you knew nothing about the grades and evolutions, and here you also have no idea how potions work, but you displayed such a sharp awareness and fighting prowess that the idea of you being a dumbass makes no sense. Are you playing around with me?”

  “You know my background … but I will take that as a compliment then.” He giggled.

  “Yeah, yeah. I don’t know what they feed you in that village, or community? Whatever it is, I guess it just works? Or you are born a genius.” The way she waved her hand reminded Zalanir of the bobblehead tiger toy he had on his car. Silly gift he received from one of his students for teaching them tennis.

  “I think you have the answer already. But come on, tell me. How do potions work?” He wouldn’t let go of this opportunity for free knowledge. There was no Djaxinz here, and he had no money, so it wasn’t like he would be charged for asking questions.

  “It’s not possible. Potions have a 66% reduced effectiveness if consumed consecutively within an hour. So you can keep on chunking them to restore resources, but up to the third one, it only provides one-ninth of the restoration, so not worth it.”

  “I see. How much does one cost?”

  “Depending on their own effectiveness. Even within a rarity, the cost varies. The potion I gave you earlier? 60 coins. And don’t make any assumptions. I fully expect you to pay me back.” Her eyebrows wiggled, a hint of playfulness sparkling in her eyes.

  Zalanir sighed and cursed himself. Why did he ask that question? He could just find it out later through other means.

  “About that brown staff and the whirlwind skill earlier … where did you find it?” To his surprise, Shinnya asked about a completely unrelated topic. Wait! Didn’t he hear someone sputtering the name of his skill during the fight? So it was her?

  “You know something about it?” He summoned the staff again. He had thought that it was a lucky find in that alcove, but Shinnya’s current attention signaled something else. He rubbed the emerald crystal on the top for a bit before throwing it to the curious girl. “Catch!” Better let her examine it to see if there was anything. “Hmm, I just woke up after escaping the fighting pit and found it by my side. Not sure how.”

  She missed the toss and had to scramble to pick it up from the ground. “My bad. Figured! This is my brother’s old weapon: the Hurukele of the Storm. Did you meet my brother? Where is he?” Her voice trembled softly.

  Oh, so that’s what it is. Zalanir could make the connection now. No wonder he was in that area of the forest. “Yeah, I saw him and his master briefly, but then, eh … stuff happened. When I woke up, it was by my side. No idea where Djaxinz and his master went. Sorry.”

  “Oh …” Her mood burst, the little anticipation was gone. Then, she hurled the staff back to his spot, and stayed silent.

  “So, can I join?” He shifted the topic onto the elephant in the room. Talking and joking were nice and all, but still, he had to get this.

  “Not my decision alone. Let’s wait for the other two. They will be here soon, I think.”

  “They already are.” He swirled toward a gray, ramshackle tent about five meters away. “I’m sure you heard what I just said, but I will ask again. Can I join? I’m sure I can be of help.”

  From behind the tent, Shinnya’s teammates stepped out, disregarding the paladin who was smiling, his attention stayed firmly on the man whom he just had a quick bout with. No visible injuries, as far as he could tell, likely from the effect of another health potion, but the battered vest, unkempt hair, and a face still a bit pale acted as a reminder of what had happened.

  “You just won because of the surprise factor, you know that?” said the man who was still carrying the washing machine on his back. Did he just piggyback that all the time?

  “Does it matter? In a fight to the death, will you scream fairness when the blade of the enemy pressing your neck?” Zalanir didn’t deny the notion the Carrier was insinuating, but it came with a 17 levels difference. It was never a fair fight to begin with, so honor be damned.

  Scoring ugly wins when he wasn’t playing at his best was a lesson he had learned to embrace. Took a while to be happy with winning by forcing errors from the opponent rather than him hitting clean winners, but not like he could be at his best all the time. No one could. At the end of the day, only the winner could advance and have a shot for the cup. Other issues would need to wait for the training and reviewing sessions.

  “You are right. But I will remember this. Seseguri is my name. Get it?” An intense stare came from the man, but not with hostility. Just fighting spirit.

  Zalanir smiled. “I’m here whenever you want.”

  “Wanyi. Welcome to the team,” said the paladin in gold.

  We all have 24 hours a day. Thank you for spending some of that with me!