Zig looked at Alan. Alan looked down at the table, where bits of dwarf stuck out from underneath. He wore the puzzled expression of someone who had never dealt with girl-hiding-under-the-table before.

  "First time?" Hepp asked.

  "Huh? No, I mean yes, I mean, ahem." Alan cleared his throat. "Zig, would you like to take me up on that sparring offer? Your companions are welcome too, of course. Nothing serious, just a friendly little warm up before we set off to hunt down monsters together."

  "Last time I had a sparring invitation," Gutters said slowly, "I killed a lot of people. Like, I lost count how many. I think I'm not very good at understanding these invitations. Is this one where we kill each other?"

  Alan looked at the small blue boy with big eyes.

  "You've killed in a duel? How old are you?"

  "Twelve. But probably seventeen."

  Alan scratched his head, trying to process that.

  "Well, this isn't the sort of sparring where people die, young lad. You're welcome to join us. We're just out back, there's an open field there."

  "Ok," Zig said, "sure, we can be there. Just give us a a few minutes."

  "Not a problem, see you soon." Alan waved goodbye to the Red Daggers, then gave an awkward wave to the table. "Bye Gretta." A hand poked out from under the table and waved back. Alan left to invite others to the sparring.

  "Is he gone?" The table asked.

  "He's gone," Zig confirmed. Gretta slid out and back up onto her seat again. She looked around, sighed in relief, and began eating breadsticks. Jints and Jane were minding their own business, but the rest of the Daggers were staring at Gretta. Hepp was the first to speak up.

  "Gretta, what was—"

  Gretta gave him a look so fierce the words simply died in his throat. It was almost unnatural. Zig leaned over and whispered to Jints.

  "Was that a skill?"

  Jints gave the barest shake of his head and continued to study the breadstick in his hand with an intense focus.

  "Well," Jane said, cutting into the tension in the air, "perhaps we could all go to the sparring outside? I wouldn't mind seeing a fight that doesn't end in death."

  Everyone looked at Gretta. Gretta frowned, drained her mug, and gave a single nod.

  "I could do with a fight. I'm..." She looked up at her friends with a few different emotions battling across her face. "I'm confused. I don't want to talk about it. I just... let's go punch something."

  The Red Daggers went outside.

  "I'm not sure if I can stay here, Terrence."

  Derek threw the ball, which was a bunch of leaves wrapped in leather and crudely stitched together. It sailed wobbly through the air, and hit Terrence the ghoul in the chest, falling to the ground.

  "Merrgh."

  Terrence picked the ball up. His name wasn't really Terrence, but Derek couldn't just call him "ghoul". So he'd picked a name. It was another thing he couldn't let his dad know about. Derek sighed. It wasn't so strange for children and parents to have different outlooks on life. But Valdir was just obsessed with... being a vampire. Terrorizing the neighborhood. All that stuff. Terrence threw the ball back to Derek. It was a neat throw, considering the oddly shaped, oddly weighted ball. Derek caught it with one hand.

  "Like this, see? You gotta catch it. Your throw is pretty good, but the game only works when you're catching, too. Try again."

  Derek threw the ball. This time, Terrence moved his hand. He flexed his claws and swiped at the ball, as if it were a head that needed severing. He slapped it out of the air, and It hit the ground with a thunk. There were scratch marks in the leather where the claws had scraped along it. Derek nodded thoughtfully.

  "Well, better than before I guess. But you want it to stay in your hand, not just hit it."

  Derek threw the ball up and caught it again, demonstrating with exaggerated movements.

  "I don't want to be a vampire," he confessed to the ghoul. "I just didn't know where to go after ma died. She told me all about dad, with a twinkle in her eye as if he was the greatest thing ever. He's powerful, I suppose. But not very kind. Sorry again, for your village."

  Terrence looked at him with a vacant stare. He was one of the villagers that Valdir had killed recently, just to show Derek that humans would never accept him.

  "Merrrgh."

  The thing was, humans had already accepted him. Derek had grown up just fine in his own village. He'd played with the other children. They'd asked him why his skin was pale, and why his teeth were long, because that's what children did. He in turn had asked Doola why her ears were so big, and Dale why he was so short and covered in freckles. If he stole apples from old man Deeves, he would get a good beating for it. But Deeves was also the one to give him stew to bring home when his ma got sick.

  "So I have to conclude," Derek thought aloud, "that humans don't hate what vampires are, they just hate what vampires do."

  He threw the ball, it made another wobbly flight over the grass clearing, and Terrance lifted his arm and caught it mid-air.

  "Terrance! You did it!"

  The light behind the ghoul's eyes sharpened just a little bit, like there was some real intelligence there. The ghoul looked down at the ball in its hand.

  New skill acquired! Train Undead (Basic)

  "Huh. Terrence, how are you feeling?"

  Terrence threw the ball back to Derek. Derek caught it, threw it back, and Terrence caught it once again. Easily, this time. A smile spread across Derek's face as they began to play a proper game of catch.

  "Now that's something."

  "Merrrgh."

  The sensible way for a large group of people to spar would be to set up multiple arenas where pairs could square off and practice their moves on each other, safely and somewhat privately. That would be the sensible way to do it.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  The Red Daggers approached the large crowd surrounding the single arena. It was a pigsty with a low wooden fence outlining a patch of mud. People were chanting for their favorites and swapping bets as two very muddy men wrestled each other in the arena. What started as practice was quickly becoming something much more entertaining.

  A large cheer went up as one of the current fighters managed to flip his opponent onto his back in the mud. The fallen man went limp in defeat, his head squelching into the muck. The victor helped him get up and patted him on his very muddy back. The two walked out of the arena together, to cheers and offers of drinks from the spectators.

  "This looks a lot better than last time," Gutters commented. Zig agreed. It really did seem like a friendly competition here.

  "Ok, who should go first? Is there a queue or something?" Zig was still asking when Gretta simply jumped the fence and stomped into the middle of the mud pit. The were cheers and whoops and general excitement. Gretta looked around at the crowd.

  "Well? Who wants a fight?"

  Hepp immediately sprinted toward those taking bets. There was a table to the side where someone seemed to be organizing it. As Gretta was looking around, a man jumped the fence and landed in the mud, almost losing his balance. A new contender. The crowd cheered.

  "Don't make it look too easy," Zig called out to Gretta. He snuck after Hepp, heading toward the betting station.

  Gretta's opponent was of average height, average build, and average appearance. There was absolutely nothing interesting about him at all. It was hard to even keep looking at him. Gretta's eyes started wandering, eyeing up other potential fighters in the crowd. The man smiled a bland, apologetic smile.

  "I beg your pardon, miss, but I need to show the lads I'm not terrible in a fight."

  "So you chose to fight me?"

  "Aye, best to start somewhere I'm thinking."

  Gretta snorted.

  "If you win, you'll be able to say that you can beat up a little girl. If you lose, you might get kicked out of this army."

  The man chuckled nervously.

  "Good thing I'll win then, and I don't think a dwarf shield maiden counts as a "little girl". Arms or bare?"

  Gretta smiled and threw her shield to Gutters.

  "Bare."

  The man stepped forward and swung his fist at the dwarf. Gretta ducked, stepped in closer, and stomped on his foot. He involuntarily bent down in pain, and Gretta met his chin with a fist coming the other way. The man's eyes barely had time to widen before he collapsed in a heap.

  "Cover me in oil and light me like a candle," Alan swore softly in the silence that followed. "She took out old whatshisname in three seconds flat."

  Gretta put her hand out and helped the very dizzy man back to his feet. She lifted his hand into the air and the crowd roared. The man, still confused and disconcerted from the blow, gave a merry little wave with his free hand. Gretta ushered him off the arena.

  "Anyone else?" She shouted at the crowd. "I wouldn't mind a proper fight."

  "Gretta! Gretta!" Someone must have known her name, and the crowd picked up on it quick. The chanting rose with excitement.

  Another man jumped into the ring. He was tan, muscular and carried a shield and sword, but no armor.

  "Arthad, of the white sea. How are you at arms?"

  "Gretta, of your mother. Gutters, pass the shield."

  Gutters threw the shield into the arena and Gretta caught it. Jints and Knob went to join Zig and Hepp at the betting station.

  "Aren't you supposed to use a wooden sword?" Gutters called out. Bad memories were surfacing. The man shrugged and looked at Gretta.

  "We have a pretty good healer with us, but I can switch to wood if you'd like."

  "And lose the danger?" Gretta retorted. "Where's the fun in that?"

  The man smiled, and gave Gretta a single nod. She nodded back, and the fight began. Arthad stepped forward smoothly and gave a few testing swings with his sword. Gretta blocked each one with her shield, and the man's smile faltered a bit as he felt the impact jarring his arm. He stopped and looked down at his blade. The edge was destroyed, thoroughly blunted against Gretta's shield. Arthad frowned.

  "That was a good sword."

  "You should have gone with the wood then."

  Arthad grinned and rolled his shoulders. The sword in his hand started to glow a soft white.

  "Hey now, Arthad," Alan called out. "That's going a bit—"

  Arthad slashed forward with his blade. A faint trace of white light followed after it. Gretta set her feet, surprisingly stable in the thick mud, and lifted her shield. There was a loud bang, causing half the crowd to put their hands to their ears. When the people looked up again, they saw both Gretta and Arthad still standing. Gretta's shield had a crack in it, and Arthad's sword was bent like a bow. They each looked at their own equipment, and then the other's.

  "Tie?" Gretta suggested.

  Arthad nodded wistfully.

  "That's some solid defense you've got there. I've still got one more trick though. Ready?"

  Gretta nodded with a grin and Arthad's skin lost some of its color. It looked a bit like stone. He threw away his broken sword and lifted his shield. He took a few steps, broke into a run. His footsteps thudded into the ground, sending out slight tremors as he charged Gretta. Gretta simply crouched a bit, bracing for impact. When they hit, she shoved upwards with her shield. There was another loud bang at the impact, and Arthad went flying. He cleared the fence and the crowd, and landed in a heap on the other side. The people swiveled from Gretta to Arthad, then erupted into cheering. The healer rushed up to the man, but he waved her off. He stood up slowly, brushing dirt and the remaining splinters of his shield off him, and saluted Gretta.

  Gretta herself looked down at her shield that had now cracked completely in half. They were supposed to ride out tomorrow to search for the undead in the forest. She gave the shield an experimental wiggle, and one side flopped about, dangling by a few bits of metal that were still holding it together.

  "Probably went a little too far," she admitted to herself.

  Gutters went next. He jumped high, flipping at the peak, and landed lightly on top of the mud. Not in the mud, but somehow on top of it, his feet finding purchase as if it were firm ground.

  The reactions from the crowd were mixed. Gretta had quickly become a favorite to them, but Gutters wasn't just a short human. He was a short human with blue skin and large eyes. Sometimes the eyes moved independent of each other. That didn't help. There were some grumblings, murmurings, and muted laughter among the cheers. The mood was not all bad, some people were just excited for another fight. Gutters looked around.

  "Would anyone be able to lend me a wooden rapier?"

  Someone threw a broom handle into the arena, and Gutters snatched it out of the air before it hit the mud. It wasn't a rapier by any stretch of the imagination. It was a long wooden stick. Gutters stared at it, then smiled. He gave it a few experimental swishes. There was a heavy tearing sound as the broom stick whipped through the air. That settled the crowd. He wasn't just a frog boy, he was a frog boy that could swing a sword.

  "That is a nice cape," one onlooker murmured to another.

  A man with a stick of his own jumped into the ring. He wobbled a bit in the mud, stabilizing himself as the crowd cheered.

  "I've killed a few frogs," the man said cheerfully, "but never one that could wield a sword. They never taught you the spear?"

  "They never taught me anything," Gutters replied. "Is this one of those duels where I kill you? Selwyn's Orders for progress?"

  The man looked a bit unsettled by the small boy talking calmly like this.

  "Ha!" He chuckled nervously. "Just pride today, boy. We're only having a bit of fun."

  He sprang forward, stick pointed forward as if to jab at Gutters. Gutters swung his stick to parry, and it worked far too well. With a loud snap, the man's stick broke in half, the top half spinning off over the crowd as they ducked. Gutters reversed the motion of his sweep, stepping forward and smacking the man in the ribs. There was another loud snap.

  Gutters stood there, feeling awkward, as a few men rushed the man off to the side where the healer could patch up his ribs. He hadn't even learned the man's name. The healing took no time, and he was perfectly fine afterwards. Still, it was a bit weird to snap a rib so... easily.

  Gutters had been training hard ever since he joined up with the Red Daggers. He'd learned to duel, to fight with a sword, and he'd gained several skills to help him along the way. Strength, Endurance, Grip, Rapier Proficiency, First Strike, Chop, even Dancing helped him. But he had learned to use all these skills at the Basic level. Since that night, when he was forced to fight a whole crowd of noblemen in Liston, Gutters had shifted his class up to Advanced, and all his skills had shifted with it. He wasn't used to being so... strong. The boy scratched his head.

  "Sorry about that, I recently shifted up. Would anyone else like to spar?"

  Before he finished, a woman landed lightly in the pigsty. She had red hair cut short, wore simple tight clothing, and held a wooden dagger in each hand. She had a twinkle in her eye.

  "I like the way you move, boy. Let's have a dance."

  She moved around the muddy arena with elegant grace. Every footstep firm. She darted in, swiping with her dagger, then danced back out as soon as Gutters moved his stick toward her.

  "If I hit you," Gutters said, "will you snap like the other guy? I'm not sure how hard to swing."

  "If you hit can me," she replied with a laugh, "then we can find out together."

  They both jumped high into the air, the knocking of wood on wood echoing over the crowd as they traded blows, then they pushed apart mid-air, each doing their own flips before landing gracefully on the ground. Watching from the side, holding several money pouches after betting on Gretta, Zig smiled to see it. It looked like Gutters had met his match.