It had been seven days since Jeb arrived in the city where he had killed the previous owner of his sword. The idea that Kendoson had been here on Azibo was strange. What had he done to end up here? Finally, after days of thinking about it, Jeb let it go.


    The day after the fight, he had gone to the Hall to request to see the maps. He’d gotten a quick reply: No.


    Now, he found himself wandering the cobblestone roads with Raul. For some reason, Raul had decided to stick around. They’d made fast friends.


    “Raul, why are you here?” Jeb asked. He''d been meaning to ask him this for some time, but didn''t know how to ask without sounding off. Guess a straight question is better than an obtuse one.


    Raul thought for a while, as though going over something in his mind. “When I was a boy, I knew a monk. Everyone knew this monk to be able to see the future, though he would deny that he could.” He smiled at the recollection. “He would give people advice and tell them that if they didn''t change their ways, something bad would happen. After a while, people learned to take his advice...”


    Rounding a corner, he continued. “He told me once, after I had been in one of my many fights with the village boys, that if I ever wanted to be free, I should follow the man who kills the deadliest man you ever saw with ease.” Raul looked at Jeb as though seeing him for the first time. “I have never seen anyone kill a man as easily as you did. And I have not seen as deadly an enemy in my life.”


    Jeb nodded in acknowledgment, his mind latching on to pieces of what Raul had said. He was surprised to find out that Azibo had a Seer. Seers were not usually criminals. They were usually used for the purpose of the Core. They were invaluable. And they had one here.


    There are no records of a Seer put on Azibo, Jeebz chimed in. Then again, there are hardly any records.


    Jeb smiled at Raul. “Where is this monk?”


    They found themselves on a road filled with carts full of food.


    “Probably still in my village, where I come from.” Raul nodded off to the east. “Maybe one hundred days that way.”


    “Maybe we should go there. I would like to meet this monk.”


    “Maybe so. It has been many years since I have gone there. He was old then. Perhaps he is still with us,” Raul ended as they entered the small town.


    “We’ll need supplies to make it one hundred days. A cart would be good, and some horses to pull it. We’ll need two barrels of water and supplies for catching food.” Raul looked at Jeb. “We don’t have the coin for that.”


    Just then, they passed a post. Nailed to it was an announcement about swordsman competitions. Raul looked at Jeb reading the announcement. “How is it that you pull what you need to you?”


    “I don’t know. But here it says one hundred silver to the winner.” Jeb looked back at Raul. “You think that would be enough for a long journey?”


    “Yeah, and then some. I could even get that woman I was fancying at the Inn.” Raul laughed.


    Prostitution in Systems was not only common but encouraged. Jeb didn’t partake. Something about hooking the wires up between the two Dolls was strange to him. But he’d never thought about it in a Sac.


    “Well, you can do what you want. But I’d rather not spend coin on that,” Jeb said. He tore the paper off the pole and finished the food he’d just purchased.


    “It says the competition is in a few days. I guess I should go register.”


    The town buzzed with activity, the cobblestone streets alive with the sounds of merchants shouting their wares and children laughing as they darted between the stalls. Jeb moved through the crowd with Raul at his side, heading toward the large building at the center of the square. The competition hall loomed ahead, its banners depicting crossed swords flapping in the morning breeze.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Inside, the hall was dimly lit, the air thick with anticipation. A line of contestants wound its way through the room, each man eager for his chance at glory. Jeb approached the registration desk, where a bored-looking clerk sat hunched over a ledger.


    "Name?" the clerk asked without looking up.


    "Jeb," he replied, keeping his voice even.


    "Weapon of choice?"


    "Sword."


    The clerk glanced up, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face as he sized up Jeb. He scribbled Jeb''s name onto the parchment. "The competition starts in three days at dawn. Be prepared," he said, his tone dismissive.


    Jeb nodded and stepped away from the desk. Raul joined him, and together they left the hall. The days leading up to the competition were spent in quiet preparation. Jeb practiced with the wooden swords provided, getting accustomed to their weight and balance, though they were far from the quality of his own blade.


    The morning of the competition arrived, and the square had been transformed into an arena. Wooden stands surrounded a large, sandy circle where the battles would take place. Spectators filled the seats, the air buzzing with anticipation.


    Jeb stood among the contestants, calmly assessing the competition. The men around him were of varying sizes and builds, some lean and wiry, others muscular and imposing. Raul stood nearby, offering a silent nod of encouragement. Jeb knew he was more than capable, but he felt a twinge of discomfort from the wound he’d sustained in a previous altercation. He pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand.


    The first match was called, and two men entered the arena, their wooden swords raised. The clash of wood against wood echoed through the square, punctuated by grunts and cheers from the crowd. One man fell, and the other raised his arms in victory.


    Match after match proceeded, and soon it was Jeb’s turn. He stepped into the arena, his eyes meeting those of his opponent—a burly man with a scar down his cheek. They circled each other, the crowd falling silent in anticipation.


    The signal was given, and Jeb moved with precision. Time seemed to slow, his senses heightened to an almost supernatural degree. He could hear the rustle of the man''s clothing, the quickening of his breath. Every detail stood out in stark clarity.


    His opponent swung with brute force, but Jeb moved with a fluid grace, dodging and parrying each blow. The world narrowed to the circle of the arena and the rhythm of the fight. Jeb''s mind was a blank slate, focused only on the immediate, the present. He saw an opening and struck, his wooden sword connecting with the man’s side. The opponent stumbled, and with a final calculated blow to the chest, he fell to the ground.


    The crowd erupted in cheers, but Jeb barely acknowledged it. He offered his fallen opponent a hand, helping him to his feet before leaving the ring. Raul met him with a nod, a silent acknowledgment of a job well done.


    The day wore on, and Jeb faced opponent after opponent. Each man fell quickly, barely able to keep up with his speed and skill. The matches were almost effortless, save for the occasional twinge of pain that reminded Jeb of his previous wound. He masked it well, showing no signs of discomfort to the onlookers.


    As the final match approached, Jeb found himself facing a lean, wiry man known for his quick reflexes. The crowd was restless, sensing the tension in the air. Jeb stepped into the arena, his eyes fixed on his opponent.


    This time, he decided to play a different game. As the signal was given, Jeb allowed himself to appear strained, extending the battle rather than dispatching his opponent with the first move. He feigned exertion, letting the match unfold in a more dramatic fashion.


    The two combatants circled each other, exchanging blows that seemed to test both skill and endurance. Jeb felt the eyes of the crowd on him, their fascination growing with each passing moment. His opponent fought fiercely, but Jeb controlled the pace, allowing the man to think he had the upper hand.


    Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jeb saw an opening. He moved swiftly, disarming his opponent with a calculated strike and knocking him to the ground. The crowd''s roar was deafening as Jeb was declared the champion.


    As his opponent lay on the ground, gasping for breath, Jeb reached out his hand once more, offering assistance. The man looked up, a mixture of defeat and respect in his eyes, before grasping Jeb’s hand and pulling himself up.


    "Well fought," Jeb said quietly, giving the man a nod of respect.


    "Likewise," the man replied, shaking his head as if still processing the swift end of the duel.


    Jeb left the ring, the weight of the victory heavy on his mind. He felt the intensity of the crowd’s gaze, aware that his prowess had not gone unnoticed. It was both a boon and a potential risk, one he would have to navigate carefully.


    The pouch of one hundred silver was placed in his hand, and he accepted it with a nod, already thinking ahead. Raul joined him as they exited the arena, his demeanor as steady as ever.


    "That should do," Raul said, glancing at the pouch.


    Jeb nodded, already thinking about their next steps. "Let''s gather the supplies and head out. We''ve got a long journey ahead of us."


    They spent the rest of the day preparing—acquiring food, water, a sturdy cart, and two strong horses to pull it. As the sun set, they left the town behind, heading east toward Raul’s village and the mysterious monk who might hold the answers Jeb sought. The path ahead was long and uncertain, but with Raul by his side and the resources they had won, Jeb felt ready to face whatever lay ahead.