“Hey girl, what’s your name? You seem like someone I want to get to know.” The voice bounced off cracked walls and broken pavement like it belonged here on the dockside. Confident, with a heavy swagger in the accent. It made her wince. Her tutors would’ve had an aneurysm if she’d ever spoken like that.

  The tone was only the first issue. The main problem was that Blessica Altharn, third of her name—a name one could practically curtsy to—detested being asked for it in public, let alone in places like this.

  Blessica. Honestly. What sort of monster saddled a child with a name like that?

  The tone was the first issue she had. The second was that Blessica Altharn, third of her name and who desperately wished she wasn’t, did not like being asked for her name at the best of times.

  The third, and frankly most annoying, thing was that she was clearly about to have a situation. Which felt unfair. Because it meant her grandparents were right. About the dockside. About “those people” not being safe. About cabs being a necessary expense.

  She kept walking. Calmly. Casually. Like someone absolutely used to being catcalled by dock thugs in crumbling alleys. She needed time to think. More importantly, time to let her defensive artefact warm up. The problem wasn’t survival. The problem was fallout.

  The guard tended to ask questions about impact craters in the pavement.

  “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

  Footsteps. Three of them. They were swaggering so hard they were struggling to gain ground. She sighed, scanning the street for a decent backdrop and escape route to whatever confrontation this was going to become. The boarded-up fence had gaps, good enough.

  She definitely should’ve paid the extra for the closer drop-off. Or just worn the armour. Valkyries in full plating weren’t exactly soft targets. Something about being wrapped in myth-metal tended to give even the densest thug pause.

  Sadly, she barely loomed over a dwarf.

  And she rather liked this dress. It twirled. You couldn’t twirl in full plate.

  “Hey shortstack, I’m talking to you.” The voice was close.

  She turned, quick and sharp, and the three men trailing her pulled up short under her glare. She studied them with the kind of cold appraisal she normally reserved for a lacklustre art gallery or a flat theatre performance. So much for her night out. She’d finally got to Noxarcer, out from under her grandparents’ thumb, had her first night of freedom, and this was how it began?

  Deeply aggravating.

  Her hand moved slowly into her purse, fingers brushing against the mana crystal nestled inside. She pushed power to the defensive enchantments in her necklace. She really hoped that didn’t get triggered as her grandparents would surely find out.

  Three. A challenge. If there had been just one fewer, she might’ve handled things discreetly enough to avoid splash damage.

  Her [Magesense], inherited from her gnomish father, shimmered to life, cool and analytical. An extra sense, not sight or sound but felt on the level of her soul, reported back its findings. It found her opponents wanting.

  The one in the middle, hawk-nosed and vaguely elven, barely scraped into F-Tier. The inconsistency in his mana suggested a recent classing. The other two? Nothing. Not even the flicker of awakening.

  Utterly unqualified for this line of work.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met, and I believe it best if it stays that way.”

  “No need to be like that. I’m asking you where you off to, girly?” Hawkface leered.

  “Yeah, we can guide you there for a small fee!” One of the other two leered at her. Charming. One of the unclassed carried a dusty pipe, the other clutched what looked suspiciously like a spindle from an old chair. Improvised weapons from the discount pile of a bad tavern brawl.

  “Don’t want you getting in trouble, some right bastards live round here.” Pipe grinned.

  “Like Jeremy, he’s a total shithead,” said Chair Leg.

  “Truly, your concern is noted, but I’ll be just fine, thank you.” She tried to push them to reconsider one last time. She really didn’t want to ruin her night out.

  “Oh, you’ll need some help soon enough,” the F-Tier man said. He shifted his hip slightly to show a dagger at his side.

  “Yeah, Jeremy’s shift ends… I’ll shut up now, boss.” Chair Leg’s threat collapsed under his leader’s stare.

  “You know what, I’m done being nice.” Bless narrowed her eyes and really looked at the trio. Her tone changed. “Leave now, or I’m carving you up.”

  “You going to regret saying that, drop your stuff and run and maybe we’ll let you go.” There was the clink of metal and wood, and she felt a shift in the magic within him as he prepared some skill.

  It was F-Tier, so it wasn’t anything to write home about. And while three on one with a contracted F-Tier would be a terrible match-up if she’d been just a fighter like her grandparents so desperately wished she would be, Bless had learned a thing or two from her father’s side. She still leaned heavily on her mother’s side for support, the valkyrie racial skill [Heroic Conduct] kept her mind calm, even as her pulse ratcheted up. She hid her hand in her purse, so the trio wouldn’t see the forming shape of magic circles or see the mana crystal she was gripping.

  She was confident she could survive this, but her spells and skill didn’t really have any options for subtlety.

  Seems she wasn’t going to see her Auntie tonight. She wondered briefly how much trouble she would get in for blowing a hole in the F-Tier.

  “Now don’t do anything stupid short stuff and we…”

  “Now I might not be caught up on city life, but this don’t seem too friendly.” A devil cab screeched away in the street, leaving behind the broadest man Bless had ever seen. He stood right behind the trio of thugs and Bless caught a glimpse of some kind of black shadow slipping behind him and through the ramshackle fence to the left. The sudden arrival had stolen the group’s attention and she could feel the street holding its breath, interested to see where this sudden twist would lead.

  Bless wondered if she’d just traded three small problems for a singular big one.

  The newcomer wore designer clothes on the cheap end that tried, with mixed results, to be stylish. A spiked black beard bristled beneath his grey hood, its shadow doing little to obscure a pair of disturbingly vivid orange eyes.

  He stuck close to the wood panelling of the fence that blocked off the empty lot they were facing beside. His walk was casual but he kept his stance low. One ring-covered hand rested on a knife that hummed with the unmistakable pulse of runes.

  “I don’t like bullies. And you lot seem like the type.” His voice practically wore a straw hat, thick with a frontier accent, with an odd sharpness on the tail of every sentence.

  Her [Magesense] told her he was in a different category to the rest. E-Tier, and with the effects of an armament enhancement coursing through his outfit, he was perfectly ready for a fight. As he moved, he adjusted the clan wraps on his arms to better cover his hands. Bless had seen one of her tutors do something similar when preparing for a spar.

  It seemed he knew what he was doing.

  “Who the fuck are you, country boy?” Hawkface turned, scowling, and Bless felt the flicker of a basic combat buff roll off him, some skill that inflated presence without offering much substance.

  “Language. Well not that it matters for a grit licker like you but I’m Oz and I’m late. Now there, Miss, do you want help? It looks like you got this, but I could be wrong.”

  “You think I’ve got this?” She arched an eyebrow, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips.

  Well. At least someone had the decency to notice.

  “Yeah, there’s three of us!” Pipe growled, trying to back up his boss.

  “Yeah but she’s the only one of you in a proper fighting stance, and she mostly looks annoyed, not scared.”

  “Oh, was it that obvious?” Bless looked down, she hadn’t even realised she’d squared her stance.

  “That and I’m pretty sure she’s got a knife or some kind of weapon in that purse…”

  “Boss?”

  “Oz, was it? If it’s not too much trouble, I’d welcome the assistance. My own options lean heavily toward either dismemberment or charcoal. I’d prefer to avoid a conversation with the city guard this evening.”

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  “Big talk for an unclassed.” The hawk-faced elf snarled.

  “Yeah! We’re armed too!” Chair Leg piped up, voice reedy and thin, the kind of sound one might expect from a cheap whistle.

  “I would hardly call you armed, is that a chair leg you’ve got there?” Oz pointed to the weapon.

  “It’s a club!” He pulled it back defensively, as one might shield a child from criticism.

  “It’s not more than a toothpick, at least get a table leg for the heft of it.” The dwarf groaned, he looked annoyed.

  “Pffft, I ain’t got table leg kinds of money.”

  “Shut it, corn bread, you’re picking a fight with the wrong people.” The elven man finally got himself back in control of the conversation. He yanked the knife from his belt, flicking out the blade with a snap. “Not like it matters what it is, you’ll still get cut.”

  The knife slashed the air. Oz frowned at it. It was difficult to see his full expression but Bless felt he looked vaguely disappointed. A look that didn’t change even as an armament enhancement flowed over the small blade as it pointed at the broad frontiersman. “Now why don’t you fuck off. Eames, grab her.”

  As Chair Leg started to move, a low growl emerged from the fence posts, and the idiot turned, brandishing his “weapon”. Only to have it yanked out of his hand by the jaws of a huge muscular hound. A second head emerged, both snapping and tugging on the stick like toddlers fighting over a toy.

  Oh good, Bless thought, blinking. A two headed dog. Because this evening wasn’t strange enough already. Everyone paused at the sound of wood crunching, as the two headed monster ripped the “club” in half, leaving both heads happy with half a stick each.

  Chair Leg jumped backwards. “Oh Nether, nice dog, doggies.”

  “If you can handle the other two, I’d be terribly grateful.” Bless called out, before the remaining two thugs could respond. The dwarf nodded, as if confirming what drink she’d ordered.

  He moved forward, arms lifted into a stance she recognised, tunnel fighting. Practical. Brutal.

  Professional, she thought, with relief.

  Almost certainly one of her aunt’s fighters. Who else around here walked into an alleyway brawl with that kind of relaxed posture.

  “Yeah lads, why don’t you piss off? I don’t mind a scrap but you’re a bit below my weight class.” He seemed to grin under the hood, and then started to move towards the trio.

  His fists were up. The thick rings on his fingers pulsed with subtle runic power. There was something else carved into them.

  Letters. Curious.

  Pipe swung at him only to be slapped away by a hand labelled ‘GRIM’. The F-Tier tried to lunge only to be sent stumbling back as a fist ‘BROW’ whistled towards him.

  “Oh fuck.” Pipe groaned, dodging back.

  “Get the big guy! The dog disappears if he goes down, he’s some kind of summoner!” Hawkface barked.

  Bless felt the surge of magic from the thug, clumsy but functional. A Cohort skill, by the feel of it, the sort of buff that looked flashier than it was. It empowered the three foes, giving them extra power.

  Chair Leg used that to turn and bolt away, finally showing some wisdom.

  Oz didn’t flinch.

  He moved forward, fluid, fast, absurdly light for someone shaped like a siege weapon.

  Bless didn’t dismiss the spell building on the living metal that decorated her hand, but stopped building up the power. Caution was a lesson drilled deep by her grandparents and tutors during endless training. They’d taught her to watch for the rhythm of battle.

  Hawkface and Pipe were a stuttering stream, whereas Oz flowed like a flash flood.

  She wondered, briefly, if Hawkface had a plan. Perhaps some clever combination manoeuvre. With the right timing, even second rate thugs could force an opening.

  Then they attacked.

  Bless was reminded bluntly of her tutors’ advice to never ascribe pride to competence.

  The fight, if one could call it that, ended almost before it began. The two attackers came at Oz at once, both attacking from the front. Oz’s fists forced back Hawkface, and he barely acknowledged Pipe’s existence, just flicked a glance his way, the sort of look one reserved for buzzing insects and bad wine.

  The man flinched back like he’d stepped before an open forge.

  She felt the racial skill roll over her. For a split second what stood before her was a giant, a huge insurmountable wall of muscle, bone and grit with eyes that glinted from a black hood. Bless felt her [Heroic Conduct] working double time to keep her from taking a step back.

  What the fuck was this guy?

  Hawkface stumbled back, blinking, while Pipe froze entirely.

  Oz didn’t hesitate.

  He closed the gap with brutal grace, Bless barely tracked the motion. A backhanded strike to Hawkface’s wrist sent his knife spinning. Another blow, open palmed, crashed into Pipe’s face with a slap that was all the more shocking for how casual it looked. Not just a brawler, she thought. A practised hand. Controlled. Efficient.

  And terrifyingly good at it.

  Pipe went down like a puppet with its strings cut.

  Hawkface cursed and tried to gather power for a follow up attack. Tried being the operative word.

  Spinning back from his attack on Pipe, Bless watched as the dwarf’s stance sank low and he rotated his hips, letting the full mass of his absurdly broad body flow into his accelerating fist.

  There was no mana to it, no skill to empower it, but it slammed into Hawkface’s gut with a sound like a shovel smacking wet cement, loud enough to silence the whole street.

  In the quiet that followed, Bless, the minions and the many who watched from the shadows were treated to the sight of Hawkface stumbling away doubled over. He wheezed and stumbled a step, hands wrapped round his stomach.

  Oz didn’t move. He didn’t need to. He just stood there, arms folded, exuding the calm of someone who knew exactly how this was going to end.

  Hawkface held up a lone finger, as if begging for a moment to catch his breath. He tottered two steps before teetering over to collapse through the fencing of the empty lot.

  “Well that was underwhelming.” The dwarf muttered. He went over and picked up the knife that Hawkface had dropped. She watched his enhancement wash over it, the power flowing strongly through it, as he gave it a confused look. Opening and closing the flick knife. “Of course Hoodlum loves this.”

  He stood, tucking away the knife into the folds of his clan wraps.

  She realised she was staring when he looked at her as he scratched the back of his neck, awkward as a scholar at a dynasty banquet.

  “What?” he said, half defensive. “It’s surprisingly good steel.”

  Bless blinked, then remembered her manners. “Yes of course. I wasn’t judging. I mean…”

  She trailed off, spluttering a little, then cleared her throat. “Perhaps we should relocate. Before the guard arrive and start asking awkward questions.”

  They both nodded and casually but briskly wandered away. Bless noticed that the summon was following them closely.

  “I wasn’t expecting such... efficiency,” she said as they walked, glancing sideways at him. “You’re heading to the Altharn Arena, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, you know it? If you wouldn’t mind, could you get me there? I don’t know the city much.” Oz’s voice was deep, but the accent took some of the bite out of it. Bless had no trouble believing that he wasn’t a local.

  She cast another look over him. It was possible that this was all some ruse to get close to her, it wouldn’t be the first time that someone had gone to great lengths to ingratiate themselves with the Altharns, but she didn’t get that sense off Oz. She made a decision then and there to trust the tall dwarf, she knew her grandparents and tutors would’ve counselled against it. Even if only based on their social class, but this was her life now, she got to make these decisions, not them.

  “Of course, least I could do. I think you’ll do pretty well in the fights if you did so well without using any true skills. Well apart from your summon.” She gestured to the dog, who was trotting beside them and easily came up above her ribs.

  “Oh Chops is my familiar!” Oz patted the dog who was still happily chewing on the chair leg. “Besides I didn’t need skills for trash like that. Also would’ve been legally dicey. Even if they used skills first, I’m pretty sure I’m a higher rank than the sharp nosed one. The other two didn’t seem to have any magic as far as I could tell, so definitely not using skills on them.”

  Bless nodded. The Republic’s laws around combat were, like most things in the Republic, complicated. Simple fistfights were usually ignored, considered a matter of pride or poor judgement. But introduce classed abilities, or worse, tier imbalances, and suddenly it became a legal labyrinth.

  Using class or general skills in a street fight? Unacceptable escalation.

  Heritage abilities? Sometimes allowed, depending on intent and outcome.

  She realised, uncomfortably, that she only knew the broad strokes. The assumption had always been that someone else, a family advocate, a bodyguard, a loyal clerk, would handle the messy parts.

  “Hypothetically,” she said, tilting her head, “if I had, say, cast a rather severe spell, something in the vicinity of vanquishing the leader entirely, how much trouble would that have landed me in?”

  “You’re unclassed, right?” Oz asked. “Then yeah, you’d probably be fine.”

  He scratched his chin, thinking. His tone shifted, like he was recalling some long memorised knowledge. “The law’s real protective of the unclassed. Especially in public. He had a weapon and was throwing skills around, which makes him the aggressor.”

  “Now,” he added, voice lowering slightly, “if you’d hit one of the other two by mistake, especially if they’d died? That’s where it gets messy. Still defensible, but you’d be tied up in hearings for months.”

  He glanced over at her. “Unclassed being murdered, or even a hint of foul play is a nightmare for the courts. It always gets an investigation from the central government no matter the situation and everything gets picked over like they’re looking for diamonds among glass.”

  “At that point it’d be down to the lawyers. Still, as my dad used to say, when in doubt better a court case than your funeral, right?” He exhaled and finally tugged down his hood.

  Bless studied him properly now.

  It was always hard to gauge with dwarves, the beard aged him a decade at least, but the lack of lines, the roundness still in his cheeks... He couldn’t be more than her age.

  Except for the scowl. That belonged to someone who’d buried friends and family, she recognised that look from some of her tutors.

  “Sorry, by the way,” Oz muttered as they continued through the cracked streets, speaking over the faded sounds of drumming music, an unmistakable signal that they were nearing Aunt Tessa’s arena.

  “For what?” she asked. “I was... quite relieved, actually.”

  Not having to explain a pulverised elf to the guard. That was absolutely a win.

  “I think my fear effect might’ve hit you too,” Oz said. “It got a boost a couple of weeks ago when I got a class.”

  “You’ve only been classed a fortnight?” Bless raised an eyebrow. That didn’t make a lot of sense, but her [Magesense] gave her enough feedback to say that his class still wasn’t settled.

  Her worries increased. Was it possibly a plant from another family, only the really well-connected tended to be able to bring someone straight up to E-Tier. The only other way for the average person to get to E-Tier was…

  “Wait, does that mean you’re at Noxarcer?”

  Oz looked at her, his scowl wiped away with a look of total disbelief. “I really need to stop talking. Yes I’m at Noxarcer.”

  She let a smile tug at the corner of her mouth. “I’m Bless, fellow Noxarcer student, nice to meet you Oz! I was already heading to the arena. Would you care to join me?”

  She watched as the man paused, pinching his thick brow, he seemed to be taking a deep breath.

  “Are you alright?” Bless asked.

  “I’m just imagining the chances we’d bump into each other.”

  “Lucky right!”