《Unarmed & Dangerous [MMA + LitRPG Isekai]》 CHAPTER 1: Old Man The crowd roared. It was a tidal wave of sound that pressed against the walls of the small MMA gym. ¡°The best in the state,¡± if you were to believe the ads. But Jude knew better. It wasn¡¯t a glamorous venue, just a cramped octagon surrounded by folding chairs and dim fluorescent lights. But tonight, it felt like an arena. Jude stood in the corner, his hands gripping the towel that hung around his neck. His knuckles were white, his jaw tight. Across the ring, his fighter¡ªhis son¡ªwas struggling. Tyler¡¯s movements were sluggish now, his feet heavy and uneven. He was barely keeping his hands up. His defenses were showing a lot of cracks. ¡°Come on, Ty!¡± Jude shouted. ¡°Stick and move! Don¡¯t let him corner you!¡± Tyler stumbled, his opponent¡ªa wiry southpaw with a killer hook¡ªclosing in with a predatory gleam in his eye. Another punch slammed into Tyler¡¯s ribs, the sound like a hammer on wet wood. He grunted, doubling over, but somehow managed to stay upright. ¡°Throw it!¡± someone yelled from the audience. ¡°End it, coach!¡± Jude¡¯s hand hovered over the towel. His gut screamed at him to stop the fight, but¡­ something else rooted him in place. His pride? His stubbornness? Jude couldn¡¯t tell what it was. Tyler straightened. His eyes met Jude¡¯s across the ring. ¡°I¡¯ve got this,¡± Tyler mouthed, barely audible. He wobbled forward, throwing a weak jab that grazed his opponent¡¯s shoulder. Jude swallowed hard. Throwing the towel meant admitting defeat¡ªnot just for Tyler, but for himself. And Jude Mason never quit. Tyler threw another sluggish right hook. The counter came immediately¡ªan explosive overhand left that slammed into Tyler¡¯s temple. Like a hammer hitting a watermelon. Tyler fell down with a terrible sound. The crowd roared, sensing the end. His opponent pounced, grabbing Tyler¡¯s head and locking him in a tight guillotine choke. Jude¡¯s jaw tightened, his nails digging into his palms. He¡¯d taught Tyler that move. He¡¯d drilled him on how to escape it a thousand times. But Tyler wasn¡¯t moving. His arms flailed weakly, his legs kicking out in slow, desperate motions. ¡°Fight it, Ty!¡± Jude shouted, his voice hoarse. ¡°Don¡¯t let him have it! Hand on the wrist! Fight the hands!¡± The ref knelt closer, watching Tyler¡¯s struggle with sharp, practiced eyes. Jude¡¯s hand hovered over the towel again. ¡°Come on, kid!¡± he screamed. ¡°You can do this!¡± But Tyler¡¯s movements slowed. His hands went limp, his legs stilled. His opponent held the choke a second too long before releasing it, and Tyler crumpled to the canvas like a broken doll. He wasn¡¯t moving. The referee dove in, waving his arms to stop the fight. The crowd erupted, some in cheers, others in groans of disappointment. Jude barely heard them. He was already moving, shoving the gate open and rushing into the cage as the medics swarmed his son. Blood pooled beneath Tyler¡¯s head where it had struck the canvas on the way down. Jude dropped the towel, already too late. ¡°You¡¯re okay, Ty,¡± he lied. ¡°You¡¯re okay. You¡¯re okay.¡± The sounds of the crowd faded into a dull hum, and the world blurred around Jude. All he could see was his broken son, lying still, too far gone to hear the words Jude had waited too long to say. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡± * * * * * ¡°Hey, newbie! Don¡¯t sleep on the job. Wake up!¡± Jude jolted upright. The world around him came into focus. A grinning man in a tattered coat leaned over him, his voice cutting through the roar of a crowd. ¡°You¡¯re up next! Don¡¯t keep ¡®em waiting.¡± The haze of sleep cleared, and Jude remembered where he was. Not Earth. Not the gym. This was a different world, and he was a different Jude. He clenched his blue-skinned hands into fists with an empty look on his face. A different world. It¡¯s only been a month. Surely it should take longer than that to get accustomed to new rules? And this world had rules a plenty. When he first found himself here, he was forced to start anew. Jude stuck to what little he knew, so when it came to choosing a class, he picked something called a [Pugilist]. Unarmed fighting. ¡°You sure you know what you¡¯re getting yourself into?¡± the man asked him again. ¡°Sure I¡¯m sure.¡± ¡°How should we present you?¡± ¡°Huh?¡± Jude was still drowsy. ¡°A nickname. Every fighter needs a nickname. A Big Belly Ben, or a Brick Fist Sam, or a¡ª¡± ¡°Old Man.¡± That was his nickname back in his old life. Back in the old world. ¡°Oh, because of your white hair? I get it.¡± The announcer didn¡¯t sound too impressed. ¡°By the way, where¡¯s your gear? Sword? Axe? Dagger? We¡¯re not lending anything, you know that, right?¡± Jude stretched, rolling his neck until it popped. ¡°Don¡¯t need any.¡± ¡°We don¡¯t allow magic, either.¡±Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. ¡°Okay,¡± Jude said plainly. He didn¡¯t know any magic, anyway. ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡± The announcer laughed nervously. ¡°Well, it¡¯s your funeral. Good luck, bare knuckle. You¡¯ll need it.¡± Jude didn¡¯t reply. He stood, his bare feet scraping the dirt floor, and stepped out into the arena. The crowd erupted, their cheers washing over him like a tide as they sized him up. Above his head, glowing letters displayed his stats:
Jude ¡®Old Man¡¯ Mason Level 5 Pugilist HP: 500/500
Only level 5¡­ Levelling up proved to be a much harder task than Jude first anticipated. He wasn¡¯t much for video games back in the old world, but he was slowly learning the ropes. Tyler would have known what to do. His son always liked playing in his free time. The memory stung. Jude shook his head. Across the arena, a much larger figure awaited. His opponent¡¯s name hovered in bold script:
Silas ¡®Boom ¡®n Doom¡¯ Redgrave Level 12 Fighter HP: 950/950
Silas towered over Jude, his broad shoulders and scarred torso a testament to years of battle. His skin was the color of fresh mud. The man grinned, showing two rows of razor teeth, and cracked his knuckles. ¡°Seems like you forgot your weapon, champ.¡± Silas had a two-handed mace at his side. Jude ignored his opponent, his focus narrowing to a razor¡¯s edge. He crouched low, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He was reborn into a younger, much more resilient body. He only prayed that his instincts hadn¡¯t dulled over the years. The announcer¡¯s voice boomed overhead: ¡°Ladies and gentlemen! A classic mismatch for your viewing displeasure! In one corner, the undefeated fighting wonder, Silas ¡®Boom ¡®n Doom¡¯ Redgrave!¡± When Silas waved to the crowd, some woman fainted. ¡°And in the other,¡± the announcer continued, ¡°A weaponless nobody! Place your bets, and let the carnage begin!¡± Why ask me for a name if you don¡¯t have the decency to announce me? Jude thought angrily. The crowd barely acknowledged him, too. But it was best not to think about unimportant things right now. A glowing countdown appeared in the air: 3... 2... 1... FIGHT! Silas charged, his two-handed war mace raised high. The weapon gleamed in the arena lights, its heavy head bristling with spikes. Now that''s a first. I''ve never fought against a mace-wielder before. Jude¡¯s eyes locked on the incoming blow, his muscles tensing as his mind processed the trajectory. The crowd roared in anticipation. Jude sidestepped at the last second. The mace crashed into the ground with a deafening thud. Splinters of wood flew from the arena floor as Silas overcommitted, his momentum carrying him forward. Jude capitalized immediately, darting in to land a sharp jab to Silas¡¯s ribs. The impact reverberated up his arm, but Silas barely flinched. I guess he didn¡¯t skip on his conditioning. The crowd¡¯s cheers rose as Silas spun, swinging the mace in a wide arc. Jude ducked just in time, feeling the rush of air as the weapon whistled over his head. The follow-up strike was quicker than expected, a horizontal slash aimed at his legs. Jude leapt backward, narrowly avoiding the mace¡¯s brutal head. Each movement felt natural, like slipping back into an old rhythm¡ªbut there was no denying the reality of the level gap. Silas adjusted his stance, moving faster than a man his size had any right to. He closed the distance with two quick hops, the mace coming down in a crushing overhead swing. Jude rolled to the side as the weapon smashed into the ground again, sending vibrations through the floor. Before he could regain his footing, Silas¡¯s backhand strike caught him on the shoulder. Pain flared like a live wire. HP: 380/500 Jude staggered, gritting his teeth against the pain. This isn¡¯t sparring, old man. One wrong move, and you¡¯ll be flattened. ¡°All right, big guy,¡± he muttered under his breath, his lips quirking into a wry grin. ¡°Two mistakes: mine for getting hit, yours for leaving yourself open.¡± Jude had a habit of talking too much inside the octagon. Despite what his critics believed, it wasn¡¯t a way to get on his enemies¡¯ nerves. It was a way to calm his. Even with over 40 professional MMA bouts under his belt, Jude couldn¡¯t help but feel shivers whenever he stepped into a ring. He let Silas charge again, this time allowing the blows to land. The mace struck his side, the impact radiating through his body, followed by a sharp hit to his ribs. Jude¡¯s vision blurred, his HP draining rapidly: HP: 250/500¡­ 150/500¡­ 90/500 The crowd gasped at the beating he was taking, but Jude¡¯s mind remained razor-sharp. He could feel the fire in his chest stoking hotter with every hit. Then, as his HP dipped below 20%, a notification flashed in his vision:
Passive Ability Activated: Last Stand Strength and Agility +50% when HP is below 20%
Jude straightened. His muscles were tightening, his senses sharper than ever. The pain dulled to a manageable hum. This may be the only chance I get. He took a steadying breath, then darted forward, closing the distance before Silas could wind up another swing. The mace came down in a desperate arc, but Jude was already inside its range. He ducked under the strike and delivered a devastating uppercut to Silas¡¯s chin. The crowd gasped as Silas staggered, his health dipping sharply. Silas HP: 950 ¡ú 850 Jude didn¡¯t let up. He slipped around Silas, grabbing the haft of the mace with both hands and yanking it downward. The move forced Silas off-balance, his grip faltering for just a moment. Jude capitalized immediately, slamming his knee into Silas¡¯s midsection. The larger man grunted, stumbling back as the crowd erupted in cheers. ¡°Stay on him, Jude!¡± someone shouted. Oh, I have fans now? Jude advanced with relentless precision. His fists became a blur¡ªa jab-cross-hook combination that hammered Silas¡¯s torso. Blood sprayed from Silas¡¯s mouth as his HP bar plummeted: Silas HP: 850 ¡ú 500 ¡ú 300 The war mace clattered to the ground as Silas raised his arms defensively, his footing unsteady. Jude circled him, his breath coming hard and fast but his movements deliberate. His body screamed for rest, but he ignored the pain. Years of experience had taught him how to push through. ¡°You¡¯re in my territory now,¡± Jude said. ¡°Show me what you¡¯ve got left.¡± Silas roared, lunging forward with a desperate haymaker. Jude stepped inside the arc of the punch, grabbing Silas¡¯s wrist and twisting it downward. Using the momentum, he pivoted, slamming his shoulder into Silas¡¯s chest and driving the larger man into the ground. The impact shook the arena floor. Silas groaned, trying to push himself up, but Jude was already on him. He mounted Silas, trapping his arms beneath his knees, and began raining down punches. Each strike landed with bone-jarring force, whittling away what remained of Silas¡¯s HP: Silas HP: 200 ¡ú 100 ¡ú 50 ¡°Enough!¡± Silas gasped, his voice ragged. His arms flailed weakly, his massive frame pinned and defenseless. Jude paused for a fraction of a second, his chest heaving. ¡°You done?¡± Silas glared at him but nodded. The fire in his eyes dimmed. Jude stood, rolling his shoulders as the announcer¡¯s voice boomed through the arena. ¡°Unbelievable! The rookie takes down Silas Redgrave!¡± The crowd erupted into chaos¡ªa mix of cheers, boos, and the sound of coins exchanging hands. Jude raised his fists briefly, but the adrenaline was already fading, replaced by the familiar ache of exhaustion. As the announcer grabbed his wrist and held it high, Jude glanced at Silas, who was sitting up, his expression unreadable. Jude¡¯s vision swam, and his body felt like it might collapse at any moment. But a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. I won. ¡°Ladies and gentlemen, we¡¯ve got a new contender to watch! Let¡¯s hear it for Jude ¡®the Old Man¡¯ Mason!¡± The crowd roared again. CHAPTER 2: A Friend in Need The arena had quieted, cheers and curses replaced by the hum of workers cleaning up the debris of the fight. Jude leaned against a splintered table in the corner. I haven¡¯t eaten all day, he realized. The manager came by without fanfare or congratulations. His face was tight and his fingers twitchy. He didn¡¯t even bother looking up as he shoved a small pouch of coins toward Jude. ¡°Your cut,¡± the manager said curtly. Jude raised an eyebrow, picking up the pouch and weighing it in his hand. It felt¡­ light. Too light. ¡°This can¡¯t be right,¡± he said, his tone flat but sharp. ¡°I just took down your top fighter. The place was packed. I should¡¯ve made more.¡± The manager¡¯s lip curled into a sneer, his fingers rapping against the desk. ¡°You know how much I lost because of you? I put a giant bet on Silas.¡± Jude¡¯s fingers tightened around the pouch. He wasn¡¯t the type to lash out¡ªyears of discipline in and out of the cage had taught him restraint¡ªbut moments like this made it difficult. He took a deep breath. ¡°I don¡¯t fight to make you money,¡± Jude said evenly. ¡°I fight to win. You don¡¯t like that? Find someone else to run your circus.¡± The manager snorted. ¡°You¡¯re lucky you¡¯re still getting anything. Now take your coin and move along, kid.¡± Kid. It was so surreal to be the one everybody called a kid. Jude stared at him for a moment longer, then pocketed the pouch without a word. No use arguing with someone like this. He turned and walked back toward the fighter¡¯s area, his footsteps echoing in the narrow corridor. As Jude entered the cramped locker room, he caught the tail end of a conversation. Silas¡¯s voice was low and gravelly¡ªhe recognized him immediately. ¡°¡ªby the end of the week, all right? Just give me a few more days.¡± Another voice, sharper and more insistent, replied. ¡°You¡¯ve been saying that for weeks, Silas. Three days, or you¡¯re out.¡± The conversation ended with the click of boots on stone as someone left through the side door. Jude stepped further in, spotting Silas sitting on the edge of a bench, his shoulders slumped and his hands buried in his hair. He looked up as Jude approached, his face flushing slightly. ¡°What? You here to gloat?¡± Silas muttered. Jude reached into his pocket and pulled out the coin pouch, tossing it lightly in the air before catching it. ¡°You eaten yet?¡± Silas frowned. ¡°What?¡± ¡°You know, if we put our money together, we could buy a nice beef stew for two. I know a place.¡± In all fairness, that was the only place Jude knew, but Silas didn¡¯t need to know that. Silas squinted at him, clearly not used to this kind of offer. ¡°You¡¯re serious?¡± ¡°Dead serious,¡± Jude said. ¡°Can¡¯t fight on an empty stomach. Plus, you earned it. You gave me one hell of a fight out there.¡± For a moment, Silas just stared at him, as if trying to figure out what angle Jude was playing. But Jude¡¯s expression was open and calm, without a trace of mockery or pity. Finally, Silas sighed and pushed himself to his feet. ¡°Fine,¡± he said, brushing off his pants. ¡°But if they¡¯ve got bread on the side, we¡¯re getting extra. And I swear to gods, if you run away and leave me to pay the tab¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯ll pay in advance,¡± Jude said, grinning. They shook hands on that. * * * * * The tavern was a modest hole-in-the-wall nestled in a quieter corner of the Warrens. Its wooden beams sagged under years of neglect, and the air carried the faint smell of spilled ale and smoke. But the food was warm, the drinks were strong, and the clientele wasn¡¯t trying to kill them¡ªusually. That made it as good a spot as any. Jude and Silas sat at a rough-hewn table near the back, two steaming plates of roasted meat and vegetables in front of them. The clink of mugs filled the air. ¡°I¡¯ll admit, this doesn¡¯t smell half bad,¡± Silas said, tearing into a hunk of bread. ¡°Beats eating street vendor slop.¡± Jude grinned, cutting into his portion with a knife that looked older than the tavern itself. ¡°My coach once said there¡¯s nothing sweeter than a decent meal after a day¡¯s work.¡± Silas raised his cup. ¡°To your coach, then! A wise man indeed.¡± They clinked mugs, and Jude took a long swig, savoring the bitter taste. Silas gestured at Jude with the bread. ¡°I still say you owe me for carrying your sorry hide through that last fight.¡± ¡°Oh, yeah,¡± Jude replied, smirking. ¡°You carried me so hard I had to win to make sure we walked out with cash.¡± ¡°Details.¡± Silas shrugged. They ate in companionable silence for a while. Jude leaned back in his chair, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. When was the last time I ate like this? ¡°Y¡¯know,¡± he said, glancing at Silas, ¡°fighting¡¯s not just about brute force. It¡¯s about rhythm. Timing.¡±The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Silas raised an eyebrow, chewing thoughtfully. ¡°Is that what you call getting your ribs cracked?¡± Jude laughed. ¡°Not exactly. You caught me good, but I¡¯m talking about controlling the fight.¡± ¡°Oh no,¡± Silas groaned. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me you¡¯re one of those assholes who always talk about the ¡®art¡¯ of fighting.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t think it is art?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not art if you only paint in red.¡± ¡°Then how come I beat you?¡± Silas shrugged. ¡°No offense, but you got lucky. Everybody does at some point.¡± ¡°There¡¯s no luck involved in true fighting. Only skills.¡± The beer was getting to Jude, he could already feel it. ¡°Alright, I¡¯ll humor you. What makes your style of fighting so different?¡± ¡°It¡¯s all about the diversity of attacks.¡± Jude leaned forward, his elbows on the table. He entered his coach mode. ¡°You¡¯ve got your bread-and-butter punches. The jab, that¡¯s your fastest punch. Keeps your opponent at bay, lets you control the range.¡± Jude launched a few playful jabs and smirked when Silas flinched. ¡°Then there¡¯s the cross. Comes straight from your back hand. There¡¯s real power behind it. You set it up with the jab, so when they¡¯re too busy guarding against one...¡± ¡°They get hit with the other,¡± Silas finished, nodding. ¡°I get that.¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± Jude said. ¡°But it¡¯s not just the hands. That¡¯s what people get wrong. Your legs, your hips, they¡¯re the real engine. Without them, you¡¯re just slapping air.¡± He stood suddenly, his chair scraping across the floor. ¡°Footwork makes the difference. You can¡¯t just stand there like a statue, trading blows.¡± He hopped lightly from one leg to the other, his movements fluid despite the beer in his system. ¡°You¡¯ve got to move. Circle your opponent, look for angles, force them into bad positions.¡± ¡°Angles?¡± Silas groaned, leaning back dramatically. ¡°Ugh. I hate geometry.¡± Jude laughed, shifting his weight and demonstrating quick sidesteps. ¡°It¡¯s simple. If you stand right in front of me, I know exactly where to hit you. But if you¡¯re moving¡ªchanging angles¡ªI¡¯ve got to adjust. That split second? That¡¯s your chance to strike or escape.¡± Silas raised a skeptical eyebrow. ¡°And what¡¯s stopping me from biting you?¡± ¡°That would be against the rules.¡± Silas sat back, his expression skeptical but intrigued. ¡°Rules, huh? What¡¯s the point of rules in a fight?¡± ¡°To keep it fair,¡± Jude said. ¡°And to make it about skill, not just who¡¯s bigger or meaner.¡± Silas snorted. ¡°Never heard of a fair fight in the Warrens. But all right. So, jab, cross, the silly dancing you do with your feet. That it?¡± ¡°There¡¯s way more than just punching,¡± Jude said, his tone shifting into full coach mode. ¡°Striking¡¯s important, but what happens when someone closes the gap? You¡¯ve got to know how to clinch. Grab their neck or their arms, control their movement. Knees to the body, elbows to the head. You make every second count.¡± He stepped closer, lightly mimicking a clinch by grabbing Silas¡¯s shoulders. ¡°And if it hits the ground? That¡¯s where grappling comes in. You take them down, pin them, or go for a submission.¡± ¡°Submission?¡± Silas tilted his head. ¡°Like what, a choke?¡± ¡°Exactly. Like a rear-naked choke. Lock their neck with your arms, cut off their air until they tap out or pass out.¡± Jude demonstrated by shadowing the move, locking his arms in an invisible choke. ¡°I¡¯d die before getting submitted like that,¡± Silas muttered, but he was leaning in now, clearly intrigued. ¡°So, punches, grappling, fancy footwork. That it?¡± ¡°Not quite.¡± Jude smirked. ¡°Defense wins fights too. It¡¯s not about brute strength. It¡¯s about positioning, timing, parrying.¡± He mimicked pushing a strike aside with his forearm, turning the motion into a counter punch. Silas tapped the table thoughtfully. ¡°Sounds like dancing. Didn¡¯t think I¡¯d need to be graceful in a fight.¡± ¡°Fly like a butterfly, sting like a bee.¡± ¡°Is that a common saying where you come from?¡± Jude hesitated for a fraction of a second, realizing his words had slipped out unbidden. He covered it with a casual nod. ¡°More or less.¡± ¡°Where do you come from? I know you¡¯re not local. I can smell it on you.¡± Jude stiffened slightly but masked it with a sip of his drink. That obvious, huh? ¡°Look, I¡¯m not trading my secrets for free.¡± ¡°Why not? You gave away all the best moves you knew.¡± ¡°Oh, that? That¡¯s barely the tip of the iceberg. No training in the world would have saved you from the kinds of guys like Sugar Ray Robinson or Muhammad Ali.¡± ¡°Moo-ha-who?¡± ¡°The one who came up with the ¡®sting like a bee¡¯ saying.¡± Silas nodded slowly, still chewing on the strange names. ¡°I¡¯m betting three coins that if I ever meet this Ali guy, I¡¯m knocking him out cold.¡± ¡°You¡¯d waste your coins.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t have any, anyway.¡± He gestured at the half-empty plate. ¡°But this? This was money well spent.¡± For a moment, Jude allowed himself to relax. The food and the company dulled the edges of his exhaustion. Silas wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned back with a satisfied sigh. ¡°That hit the spot,¡± Silas said, smirking. ¡°Might be the first time in a while I¡¯ve eaten like that without someone trying to take it off me.¡± ¡°You¡¯d think a guy swinging around a mace wouldn¡¯t have that problem,¡± Jude said. Silas chuckled, swirling the dregs of his own beer. ¡°You¡¯d be surprised. Desperation makes people stupid. And mean.¡± Jude didn¡¯t respond, letting the quiet hang between them. Silas tapped his fingers on the table, his gaze shifting to Jude. ¡°You ever think about training someone?¡± Silas asked, breaking the silence. Jude stiffened, his fingers tightening around his mug. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°I mean me,¡± Silas said, leaning forward. ¡°You clearly know what you¡¯re doing. I thought I had you tonight, but you picked me apart like it was nothing. You¡¯re not just some upstart brawler, Jude. You¡¯ve got real skill.¡± Jude shook his head, his voice cold. ¡°I fight to get by. That¡¯s it.¡± ¡°But you could teach,¡± Silas pressed. ¡°Help me get better. I mean, I¡¯ve got raw power, yeah, but you saw what happened. I swing big, I miss, I get punished. You could help me fix that.¡± Jude¡¯s chest tightened. He saw Ty¡¯s bloodied face before him. He pushed the image away, his jaw tightening. ¡°No. Sorry. I¡¯m not a coach.¡± Silas frowned, clearly caught off guard by the sharpness of Jude¡¯s tone. ¡°Why not?¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter,¡± Jude said, standing up. ¡°You¡¯ve got your instincts. You¡¯ll figure it out.¡± Silas looked like he wanted to argue, but Jude¡¯s expression stopped him. Instead, he slumped back in his chair. The night dragged on, and Silas drank more than he probably should have. By the time the tavern was nearly empty, he was leaning heavily on the table, his words slurring together as he rambled about everything from his first fight to his favorite type of bread. Jude listened quietly, only half paying attention. His mind kept circling back to Silas¡¯s earlier question. Training him. The idea sat uneasily in his chest, dredging up memories he¡¯d worked hard to bury. But something about Silas¡¯s determination¡ªhis raw, reckless energy¡ªnagged at him. The kid reminded him of Tyler, in some ways. The same fire, the same willingness to push past limits. And maybe that was why it scared him. ¡°I¡¯m serious, Jude,¡± Silas mumbled, his head lolling to the side. ¡°You could teach me. Show me how to... to move like you do. Not just fight. Like... think.¡± Jude sighed, running a hand through his perfectly white hair. ¡°I already said no, Silas.¡± ¡°I¡¯m not g-gonna stop (hic) asking,¡± Silas said, grinning despite his drunken state. ¡°Y-you¡¯ll cave eventually.¡± Jude stared at him and then closed his eyes with a deep sigh. ¡°All right,¡± he said finally. ¡°We¡¯ll train together. Once. I¡¯ll see what you¡¯ve got, and then we¡¯ll go from there.¡± Silas blinked, his grin widening into something boyish and triumphant. ¡°Ha! Knew you¡¯d come around.¡± He waved for the bartender to come closer. ¡°Hey, give me your (hic) best ale! I¡¯ve got a toast (hic) t-to make!¡± * * * * * The night air was cool as Jude half-dragged, half-carried Silas through the quiet streets of the Warrens. The younger fighter mumbled incoherently, his head bobbing against Jude¡¯s shoulder. It wasn¡¯t an unfamiliar scenario. Jude had carried plenty of drunken teammates out of bars back in his old life. Still, something about it felt different this time. Maybe it was the fact that, for the first time since waking up in this strange world, he didn¡¯t feel completely alone. He shifted Silas¡¯s weight, glancing down at the younger man¡¯s slack face. ¡°You¡¯re a pain in the ass, you know that?¡± Silas snorted in his sleep, muttering something about stew and uppercuts. I¡¯ve been here for well over a month and only just made my first friend, Jude thought. Is there an achievement for that? CHAPTER 3: How It All Began When Jude fell asleep, the worst possible thing happened¡ªhe saw the day of his rebirth again. The memory was still raw, lingering at the edges of his mind like the ache of an old injury. He had awoken in darkness¡ªcomplete and suffocating. At first, he¡¯d thought he was awake. But he was still dreaming.

FIVE WEEKS AGO When Jude first opened his eyes, there was nothing but an endless void. He felt like he was floating in the water, except there was no sensation of wetness, no resistance to his movements. Just the eerie, weightless nothing. [WELCOME, TRAVELER] a voice said, smooth and calm, yet somehow devoid of warmth. It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Jude spun around, trying to locate the source, but there was no figure, no speaker to address. "Who¡¯s there?" he asked, his voice echoing strangely. [YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN] the voice continued, ignoring his question. "Chosen for what?" Jude snapped. His old instincts kicked in¡ªkeep your guard up, stay in control. But there was no body to guard, no ground to stand on. "Where am I?" [YOU ARE IN TRANSITION] the voice replied. [BETWEEN YOUR FORMER EXISTENCE AND A NEW ONE] Transition? Jude¡¯s stomach turned, though he wasn¡¯t sure he even had a stomach at the moment. The last thing he remembered was the cold of his gym, the sweat-soaked air after a grueling training session, and¡­ pain. Sharp, blinding pain in his chest. "Am I dead?" he asked finally and immediately felt stupid. [YES AND NO] the voice said. [YOUR BODY IN THE PREVIOUS WORLD IS NO MORE, BUT YOUR SPIRIT HAS BEEN GRANTED THE OPPORTUNITY TO BEGIN AGAIN] Jude wasn¡¯t sure whether to feel relief or rage. Begin again? What kind of cryptic nonsense was this? "Why me?" he demanded. "Why not someone else?" [WE ARE NOT AT LIBERTY TO DISCUSS THIS] the voice answered plainly. "Figures," Jude muttered. He was getting sick of talking to no one. "So what happens now? Do I just... float here forever?" The voice ignored his sarcasm. [FIRST, YOU MUST CHOOSE YOUR FORM] "My what?" He thought he had misheard the voice. Suddenly, the void began to shift. Lights flickered in the distance, coalescing into shapes. Human silhouettes, animals, strange creatures with horns, wings, tails, and more. Each one hovered before him, spinning slowly as if on display. Jude stared at the figures. This looks almost¡­ familiar. It was like a menu from some RPG he¡¯d seen his son play years ago, back when they still had weekends together. "Is this... a game?" he muttered under his breath. [NOTHING IS A GAME] the voice replied, and Jude could swear he was hearing notes of metal. [CHOOSE WISELY. EACH FORM HAS STRENGTHS AND WEAKNESSES] Exactly like a game, Jude almost added but decided not to. Something told him that arguing with the voice was unwise. One particular form caught his eye¡ªa towering beast with thick, scaled skin and claws like daggers. Beside it, a translucent figure with glowing eyes and flowing hair. Another seemed to be a massive tree-like entity. "Uh, maybe something normal?" Jude said, glancing at the humanoid options. Several human-like figures hovered closer in response, each slightly different. One had a tall, thin build and an even thinner neck. Another was something like a dwarf he saw once in some fantasy movie. But one form stood out: a lithe, blue-skinned figure with sharp features and striking white hair. "What¡¯s that one?" Jude asked. [A DUSKWALKER] the voice replied. Jude read some text that appeared right in front of him: "A rare and solitary race, known for their resilience and adaptability. Their connection to shadow grants them enhanced physical prowess and resistance to certain magics, though their presence often provokes mistrust." Jude studied the figure. It looked strong enough without being over the top. Something about its quiet intensity resonated with him. "Duskwalker, huh? Sounds fitting." [YOU HAVE CHOSEN YOUR RACE. NOW, CHOOSE YOUR CLASS] The scene shifted again. This time, the options were less fantastical but no less overwhelming. Weapons and tools hovered alongside their corresponding archetypes: a knight with gleaming armor, a robed mage surrounded by swirling orbs of light, and a thief cloaked in shadow. "Let me guess," Jude said. "Each of these decides what I can do in this new life?" He scanned the options, but none of the flashy ones appealed to him. He wasn¡¯t a wizard or some sneaky backstabber. He was a fighter, plain and simple. That¡¯s what he¡¯d always been. His eyes landed on a figure with wrapped hands, bare-knuckled and bruised, its body honed for combat. "That one," he said immediately. "The unarmed one."Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. [A PUGILIST] the voice confirmed. As the name implied, a [Pugilist] was a specialist in hand-to-hand combat, relying on agility, endurance, and raw physical strength. It was one step above having no class, but it was the closest thing to MMA that Jude could find here. [BE WARNED] the voice added. [PUGILISTS EXCEL IN PHYSICAL CONFRONTATIONS BUT ARE VULNERABLE TO MAGICAL ATTACKS] There was another catch, too: a pugilist was forbidden from ever using any weapons.
Bareknuckle Purity Effect: Strength and Agility are reduced by 30% when armed with any weapon. Bonus: Unarmed attacks gain an additional 15% base damage, and stamina drain for unarmed combat is reduced by 10%.
"I¡¯ve made a career out of fighting with no weapons," Jude reasoned, "I¡¯ll manage." A line appeared right in front of his eyes, that said: [HAVE YOU MADE YOUR CHOICE? Y/N] ¡°Yes,¡± Jude replied immediately. There was no point in wasting time. The choices were locked in, and the lights dimmed. For the first time in a long time, Jude felt the weight of his own form again. He flexed his hands, noting the blue hue of his skin and the strength in his fingers. His body felt different, but not foreign. And also, he felt younger. So much younger. [YOU ARE READY] the voice said. [PREPARE FOR A NEW LIFE] But Jude hesitated. His mind raced with doubts. What kind of world was he about to step into? Was it worth the fight? Would it even matter? "What happens if I fail?" he asked, his voice quieter now. [FAILURE IS NOT THE END] the voice replied. Jude exhaled slowly, steeling himself. He¡¯d faced impossible odds before. This wasn¡¯t any different¡ªor so he told himself. "All right," he said. "Let¡¯s get this over with." The void shifted one final time, and Jude felt himself being pulled forward, the darkness giving way to a blinding light. He clenched his fists, ready for whatever came next. * * * * * A sudden jolt brought Jude to his senses. He wasn¡¯t floating anymore. Instead, he found himself standing on a featureless platform of shifting stone. Above him hovered glowing lines of text, suspended like celestial graffiti.
Race Selected: Duskwalker Class Selected: Pugilist Base Attributes:
  • Strength: 10
  • Dexterity: 8
  • Endurance: 8
  • Intelligence: 6
  • Willpower: 7
You have 10 unallocated points.
Jude blinked at the words. ¡°Unallocated points? Like a character sheet?¡± Jude rubbed his temples. He wasn¡¯t a stranger to strategy. Hell, he¡¯d spent half his life drilling young fighters on how to exploit their strengths and cover their weaknesses. But this wasn¡¯t some fighter in his gym. This was him. His new life. ¡°All right,¡± he muttered. ¡°Let¡¯s not screw this up.¡± He studied the stats again, mentally breaking them down like a game plan. Strength: He was already built for power, but more strength would mean harder strikes and better grappling. Useful for a brawler. Dexterity: His footwork and reaction time had always been his edge. Increasing dexterity could make him faster, more precise. Endurance: He¡¯d need to take hits and keep going. Endurance was survival, plain and simple. Intelligence and Willpower: These were trickier. He wasn¡¯t a scholar, but he couldn¡¯t afford to be a fool, either. And willpower? That sounded like the kind of thing that kept you standing when your body wanted to quit. ¡°Okay,¡± he said aloud. ¡°Strength, endurance, and dexterity get the bulk. Gotta stay in the fight long enough to win it.¡± With a swipe of his hand, he allocated the points:
Final Attributes:
  • Strength: 14 (+4)
  • Dexterity: 10 (+2)
  • Endurance: 11 (+3)
  • Intelligence: 7 (+1)
  • Willpower: 7
The text shimmered for a moment before solidifying. A faint warmth spread through Jude¡¯s body. He felt himself reshaped by something from the inside out.
Choose One Starting Perk:
  • Iron Fists: Increases unarmed strike damage by 15%.
  • Last Stand: Temporarily boosts Strength and Dexterity by 20% when HP drops below 30%.
  • Steady Resolve: Reduces stamina drain by 10% during prolonged combat.
Jude whistled softly, rubbing his chin. ¡°All right. This is where it gets interesting.¡± Iron Fists was tempting. He was a brawler, after all. Hitting harder was never a bad thing. But something about Last Stand caught his attention. It felt... right. He¡¯d spent his life teaching fighters how to push through exhaustion, pain, and fear. That final burst of strength when the chips were down¡ªthat was where the real battles were won. ¡°Last Stand,¡± he said, swiping toward it. Without warning, the ground beneath him shifted. The stone platform dissolved into a jagged expanse of rocky terrain. A faint breeze carried the scent of damp earth and something metallic¡ªblood, maybe? ¡°Wait, what¡¯s going on?¡± Jude said, his fists raised instinctively. [A TEST] the voice replied, dispassionate as ever. [PROVE YOUR WORTH] In the distance, a shadowy figure emerged. Its form was humanoid but wrong¡ªtoo tall, too thin, with elongated arms and a jagged, featureless face. It moved with a predatory grace, circling Jude like a wolf sizing up its prey. Enemy encountered: Wraithling Stalker Level: 2 HP: 150 A red bar appeared above the creature¡¯s head, pulsing faintly. At the same time, another bar appeared in Jude¡¯s vision¡ªhis own HP, a stark reminder of just how real this fight was. Jude Mason HP: 240 Stamina: 100 The Wraithling lunged first, its claws raking through the air. Jude dodged to the side, the movement fluid and instinctive. He countered with a quick jab to its torso, the impact sending a faint ripple through the creature¡¯s smoky form. Enemy HP: 135/150 ¡°Not bad,¡± Jude muttered, shifting his stance. The creature didn¡¯t react, its featureless face tilting slightly before attacking again. This time, its claws connected, slashing across Jude¡¯s forearm. Pain flared, hot, and immediate. HP: 185/200 Jude hissed through his teeth, his mind racing. ¡°All right, you want to play rough? Let¡¯s play.¡± He closed the distance, slipping under the creature¡¯s next swipe and landing a solid hook to its midsection. The Wraithling staggered, and Jude pressed the advantage. A jab-cross combo followed by a vicious uppercut sent the creature reeling, its HP bar dropping with every strike. Enemy HP: 70/150 But the Wraithling wasn¡¯t done. It surged forward, its movements more erratic now, and raked its claws across Jude¡¯s ribs. The pain was sharper this time, knocking the wind out of him. Jude stumbled back, his vision blurring slightly. But then it happened¡ªa surge of energy coursing through his veins, stronger and sharper than anything he¡¯d felt before. Last Stand activated: Strength +20%, Dexterity +20% Now we¡¯re in business! The creature lunged again, but this time Jude was faster. He sidestepped smoothly, grabbing its arm mid-swing and twisting sharply. The Wraithling let out a distorted hiss as Jude drove his knee into its torso, shattering what little cohesion its form had left. With one final strike¡ªa brutal elbow to where its head should¡¯ve been¡ªthe creature dissolved into wisps of smoke. Victory! Jude exhaled, rolling his shoulders as the world around him began to fade. [WELL DONE] the voice said. [YOUR NEW LIFE BEGINS NOW] The ground disappeared beneath him, and Jude felt himself falling¡ªfaster and faster, until the light engulfed him once more. This time, when he landed, it was on solid earth. He felt the hum of life buzz around him: the rustling of leaves, the chirp of insects. Jude looked up, the sun warm on his blue-tinted skin. The real fight was about to begin. This all took place five weeks ago, but Jude could still not figure out the reason he was left alive. Surely, there must be one? Surely... CHAPTER 4: First Training The abandoned yard was a wreck. A crooked wooden post stood in the center, with chunks of rope dangling like limp vines. Scattered around the dirt lot were makeshift training tools¡ªa fraying punching bag, rusted barrels weighted with sand, and a series of stone slabs piled unevenly. A warped fence circled the area, half of it broken down, exposing the cracked walls of nearby shacks. Jude kicked at a loose stone, his arms crossed as he surveyed the sorry excuse for a gym. ¡°This is it?¡± Silas shrugged, leaning his mace against one of the barrels. ¡°Hey, it¡¯s free. You want a fancy place to train, talk to someone with gold to burn.¡± ¡°How did you find this place?¡± ¡°I dunno,¡± Silas shrugged again. ¡°It just wasn¡¯t taken, is all.¡± Jude grunted, shaking his head. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. Better fighters than us have trained in worse.¡± ¡°Thanks for the vote of confidence, coach,¡± Silas said, smirking as he stretched his arms. ¡°Don¡¯t call me that,¡± Jude snapped. ¡°We¡¯re training together. That¡¯s all.¡± ¡°If you say so.¡± Silas¡¯ mace gleamed in the sunlight, its head spiked and clearly not made for sparring. ¡°So, what¡¯s first? You gonna teach me how to do that fancy little dance of yours?¡± ¡°It¡¯s called footwork,¡± Jude said, stepping into the center of the yard. He raised his hands in a loose fighting stance, his movements deliberate but fluid. ¡°And yeah, we¡¯re starting there. Without it, everything else falls apart.¡± Silas groaned. ¡°You¡¯re killing me already.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll thank me when you¡¯re not eating dirt in your next fight,¡± Jude shot back. ¡°Now, let me see your stance.¡± Silas hefted the mace back into his hands, planting his feet wide and lowering into a defensive crouch. Jude circled him, his eyes narrowing as he took in the younger man¡¯s posture. Silas had raw power, sure¡ªbut power without balance was like a cannon without a base. One wrong move, and it¡¯d tip over on itself. ¡°Too wide,¡± Jude said, tapping the inside of Silas¡¯s knee with his foot. ¡°You¡¯ll lock yourself up if you plant like that. Bring your feet closer.¡± Silas adjusted, grumbling under his breath. ¡°Feels like I¡¯ll topple over if I move.¡± ¡°That¡¯s the point. Balance isn¡¯t about standing still¡ªit¡¯s about being ready to move,¡± Jude said. He demonstrated, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, shifting his weight effortlessly from one leg to the other. ¡°You¡¯ve got to be able to change direction in an instant. Stay heavy, and you¡¯re a sitting duck.¡± Silas tried to mimic the motion, his steps awkward and uneven. He stumbled after a few shuffles, cursing under his breath. Jude folded his arms, unimpressed. ¡°Again,¡± Jude said, his tone leaving no room for argument. He tried not to be too strict. We were all beginners at some point, he reminded himself. Dozens of fighters have gone through Jude¡¯s classes. Some terrible, some slightly better, some even became champions in this or that fighting league. The one thing they had in common was how awkward they moved on their first day. Silas was no different. Talent is nothing. It¡¯s all about determination. The next hour passed in a blur of repetitive drills. Silas practiced stepping, pivoting, and circling while Jude barked instructions like a drill sergeant. Sweat poured down Silas¡¯s face, and his movements grew sloppier with every pass. ¡°Why is this so hard?¡± Silas finally snapped, throwing his mace down in frustration. ¡°It¡¯s just walking! I can swing this thing fine without all the dancing.¡±This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version. Jude walked over, picking up the mace and holding it out to Silas. ¡°Swing it at me.¡± ¡°What?¡± ¡°You heard me,¡± Jude said, standing casually a few paces away. ¡°Swing it as hard as you can.¡± Silas hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the mace. He lunged forward, bringing the weapon down in a powerful arc. Jude ducked under the swing and stepped into Silas¡¯s guard. Before Silas could react, Jude swept his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. ¡°You wanted lessons? Here¡¯s lesson number one,¡± Jude said, looking down at him. ¡°Don¡¯t overcommit. Big swings look impressive, but they leave you wide open.¡± Silas groaned, lying flat on his back. ¡°I hate you.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll get over it,¡± Jude said, offering a hand to help him up. ¡°Now get back to work.¡± Silas slowly rose up. ¡°You didn¡¯t even try!¡± ¡°Exactly,¡± Jude said, his voice calm but firm. ¡°You¡¯ve got all that strength, but you couldn¡¯t touch me. Why? Because you¡¯re predictable. You plant your feet and swing like a blacksmith. I don¡¯t even need to block¡ªI can see it coming from a mile away.¡± Silas scowled, his grip tightening on the mace. ¡°So what? I¡¯m not you. I don¡¯t have your reflexes.¡± ¡°No, but you¡¯ve got potential,¡± Jude had to admit. Always couple your criticisms with compliments, his wife once taught him. It was good advice¡ªboth in marriage and in coaching. ¡°You just need to stop relying on brute force and start thinking like a fighter. Every step you take should be part of a plan. If you can master that, you¡¯ll be twice as dangerous.¡± Silas stared at him, his frustration slowly giving way to reluctant understanding. ¡°All right, fine. Show me again.¡± As the drills continued, Silas began to improve, his movements becoming smoother and more deliberate. The kid¡¯s smarter than he looks. Jude even managed a faint smile when Silas executed a clean pivot, dodging an imaginary attack and setting himself up for a counterstrike. ¡°You¡¯re getting there,¡± Jude said. ¡°But your weapon¡¯s working against you.¡± Silas glanced at the mace in his hands. ¡°What¡¯s wrong with it?¡± ¡°It¡¯s too heavy for what you¡¯re trying to do,¡± Jude said. ¡°You¡¯re forcing your body to compensate for every swing. If you want to fight like this, you need something faster. A short sword, maybe. Or a spear.¡± Silas frowned, his attachment to the mace evident. ¡°I¡¯ve been using this thing for years. Feels wrong to change now.¡± ¡°Suit yourself,¡± Jude said, turning back to the makeshift punching bag. ¡°But don¡¯t come crying to me when someone faster than you breaks your ribs because you couldn¡¯t keep up.¡± Silas muttered something under his breath, but he didn¡¯t argue further. He knows I¡¯m right. He just doesn¡¯t want to admit it. The next few hours were filled with the rhythmic sound of Silas¡¯s mace striking against a wooden dummy. The makeshift training post rattled with every swing, its base digging deeper into the dirt. Silas¡¯s movements were more measured now, his strikes deliberate rather than wild. He still wasn¡¯t fast, but there was a noticeable improvement in his control. Jude watched from the edge of the yard, leaning against a broken fence post with his arms crossed. He had to admit Silas was picking things up quicker than expected. ¡°Better,¡± Jude called out. ¡°Keep your shoulders loose, though. You¡¯re still telegraphing those swings.¡± Silas stopped, panting as he rested the mace against the ground. ¡°Easy for you to say,¡± he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. ¡°You¡¯re not the one swinging this thing.¡± ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter what you¡¯re swinging,¡± Jude said, pushing off the fence and walking toward him. ¡°Sword, mace, fist¡ªit¡¯s all about fundamentals. You¡¯re stiff because you¡¯re fighting the weapon. Let it flow with your movements.¡± I sound like a badly-translated master from one of those old kung fu movies. ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Silas grumbled, lifting the mace again. He stepped back into position, this time focusing on keeping his movements smooth. The mace whistled through the air, the strikes landing with more precision than before. Jude nodded, satisfied. ¡°Good. Now mix it up. Don¡¯t just stand there wailing on the dummy. Imagine it¡¯s moving. Keep your feet moving too.¡± Silas groaned but obeyed, shuffling his feet as he swung. It was clumsy at first, but as he adjusted, his strikes became more fluid, each one leading into the next. Jude watched for a while longer before speaking again. ¡°You¡¯re starting to get it,¡± he said. ¡°But don¡¯t forget your defense. A good offense doesn¡¯t mean shit if you can¡¯t stay on your feet.¡± Silas paused, resting the mace across his shoulders. ¡°What do you suggest? I can¡¯t exactly block with this thing.¡± ¡°You don¡¯t block,¡± Jude said, stepping closer. ¡°You dodge. You parry. You use your opponent¡¯s momentum against them.¡± He held up his hands in a mock fighting stance. ¡°Here. Try to hit me.¡± Silas raised an eyebrow. ¡°With the mace?¡± Jude smirked. ¡°No, genius. Use your hands. I¡¯m not looking to get my skull caved in.¡± Silas shrugged, setting the mace aside. He raised his fists and lunged forward with a clumsy jab. Jude stepped to the side effortlessly, tapping Silas on the shoulder as he passed. ¡°Too slow,¡± Jude said. ¡°Again.¡± Silas tried again, this time throwing a combination of punches. Jude weaved through them, his movements smooth and efficient, never wasting energy. By the third attempt, Silas was breathing hard, his frustration mounting. ¡°Come on, old man!¡± Silas growled, throwing a wide hook. Jude moved with almost casual grace, sidestepping the strike and slipping into Silas¡¯s blind spot. Before Silas could react, Jude tapped him on the back with two fingers. ¡°Dead,¡± Jude said simply. Silas whirled around, his face red. He opened his mouth to fire back, but whatever he wanted to say was lost to the sound of footsteps crunching on dirt. Four figures emerged from a nearby alley, each one armed and clearly looking for trouble. They were all broad-shouldered and rough-looking, their clothes well-worn but their boots clean¡ªa detail Jude didn¡¯t miss. ¡°Oi, Silas,¡± the tallest of them said, his grin wide and toothy. He was lean and wiry, with a scar running down the side of his face. ¡°Didn¡¯t think we¡¯d find you here.¡± Who¡¯s that? Jude was about to say. But Silas answered his question before he even had the chance to ask it. ¡°Debt collectors.¡± CHAPTER 5: Blood Fury ¡°Well, well,¡± a scar-faced man said, his voice dripping with mockery. ¡°If it isn¡¯t our good friend Silas. Fancy meeting you here.¡± Silas¡¯s body went rigid. ¡°Karven,¡± he said tightly. ¡°What do you want?¡± ¡°You know what I want,¡± Karven replied, stepping closer. His grin widened, exposing sharp yellowed teeth. ¡°It¡¯s collection day, Silas. And you¡¯re a little behind.¡± Jude¡¯s eyes flicked toward Silas with an unreadable expression. ¡°Not a friend of yours, huh?¡± Silas didn¡¯t look at him. ¡°Not exactly.¡± Karven¡¯s gaze shifted to Jude, his grin fading slightly. ¡°And who¡¯s this? Your new bedfellow? Didn¡¯t know you swung that way, Silas.¡± He made some obscene gesture. ¡°Just passing through,¡± Jude said evenly, his tone giving nothing away. ¡°But it sounds like this is your business. I¡¯ll stay out of it.¡± ¡°Smart man,¡± Karven said, nodding appreciatively. ¡°You might want to pass along some of that wisdom to your friend here. He¡¯s got a bad habit of dodging payments.¡± Silas clenched his jaw. ¡°I told you, I just need a little more time.¡± ¡°Time?¡± Karven repeated, laughing. ¡°You¡¯ve been singing that tune for weeks, Silas. My boss is getting impatient.¡± ¡°Your boss can wait,¡± Silas snapped. ¡°I¡¯ll get the money.¡± Karven¡¯s grin vanished. He stepped forward, close enough that Silas could feel the heat of his breath. ¡°Not how this works, kid. You don¡¯t pay, we take something else. Your weapon, your gear... your teeth, if it comes to that.¡± ¡°Try it.¡± Silas¡¯ throat was raw, but the words still sounded threatening. Karven¡¯s men shifted, their hands moving to the weapons strapped to their belts. Jude pushed himself off the wall, but Silas threw up a hand. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± Silas said, glancing back at Jude. ¡°I¡¯ve got this.¡± Jude raised an eyebrow, but he didn¡¯t argue. He crossed his arms, stepping back to give them space. ¡°All right. But then no mace, either.¡± ¡°Seriously?¡± Silas hissed, his eyes wide. ¡°Otherwise, it¡¯d be too easy,¡± Jude said calmly. ¡°You¡¯ll figure it out.¡± ¡°There¡¯s four of them!¡± Silas¡¯s voice rose an octave ¡°You told me not to interfere,¡± Jude said. ¡°So I¡¯m not gonna.¡± Karven and his crew laughed, stepping closer. ¡°What¡¯s this, Silas? Your babysitter too scared to fight for you?¡± I¡¯ll step in if it gets too hairy, Jude told himself. They sound meaner than they look. Silas has a pretty good chance. Jude was usually a good judge of fighting odds. Usually. Silas¡¯s jaw clenched, his eyes darting between Karven and the other fighters. They were a rough-looking bunch¡ªscavenged weapons, scarred faces, and the kind of cocky confidence that came from picking on weaker prey. Silas was no easy prey, though. Karven raised his fists, mockingly mirroring Silas¡¯s stance. Only he had trench knives with brass knuckles in both hands. ¡°Come on, buddy. Let¡¯s see what you¡¯ve got.¡± Silas took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He squared his shoulders, remembering Jude¡¯s advice from earlier: Stay balanced. Stay in control. Karven struck first, his movements quick but undisciplined. He threw a sharp jab aimed at Silas¡¯s face. Silas slipped the punch, pivoting to the side and countering with a straight shot to Karven¡¯s ribs. The blow landed with a dull thud, making Karven grunt and stumble back. ¡°That all you got?¡± Karven snarled, recovering quickly. The other fighters moved in, circling Silas like a pack of wolves. One of them, a burly half-orc with a chipped axe, swung wildly. Silas ducked, the blade whistling past his head, and delivered a hard uppercut to the half-orc¡¯s jaw. He staggered but didn¡¯t fall. Another lanky fighter lunged from the side, brandishing a rusted dagger. Silas barely avoided the swipe, twisting awkwardly as he threw an elbow into the attacker¡¯s face. Pain flared in his ribs as Karven capitalized on the opening, landing a glancing blow with his trench knife. HP: 870/950 ¡°And you were doing sooo good, Silas!¡± Karven taunted. ¡°Thought you were tougher than this!¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Silas gritted his teeth, his breath coming in short gasps. He glanced at Jude, who was still standing off to the side, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. ¡°Anytime you wanna step in, feel free!¡± ¡°No need,¡± Jude called back, his tone flat. ¡°You¡¯re doing great.¡± ¡°Thanks, coach,¡± Silas muttered, barely dodging another swing. I¡¯m not a coach, Jude thought. His fingers were pressed into his arms. The pack pressed in, their movements tightening as they sensed Silas¡¯s fatigue. But Silas refused to give in. His mind replayed Jude¡¯s earlier instructions: Tighten your stance. Control the fight. Look for the openings. When the burly half-orc with the axe swung again, Silas ducked low, stepping inside the arc of the swing. He drove his knee into the half-orc¡¯s stomach, following with a brutal hammerfist to the back of his head. He crumpled to the ground. Karven cursed. Jude could see his confidence wavering. I guess it¡¯s the same in any world. A cowardly thug is a universal archetype. ¡°Don¡¯t just stand there, Mook!¡± Karven barked at the remaining fighter. ¡°Take him down!¡± The fighter¡ªor, rather, Mook¡ªlunged again, aiming for Silas¡¯s side. This time, Silas was ready. He sidestepped the attack, grabbed the man¡¯s wrist, and twisted sharply. The dagger clattered to the ground, and Silas finished the move with a headbutt that sent the attacker sprawling. Karven hesitated, his eyes darting between Silas and Jude. ¡°You¡¯re dead for this,¡± he snarled, but his tone lacked the bravado from before. ¡°Come and try,¡± Silas said, his voice low and steady. Karven roared and charged, swinging with reckless abandon. Silas ducked the first strike, then another. He did so almost effortlessly, but Karven was even harder to hit. None of Silas¡¯s punches could find their target. Another swing from Karven, but this time Silas was too slow to react. ¡°WATCH OUT!¡± Jude yelled. What is this kid doing? The blade of the trench knife caught Silas directly in the palm of his right hand. Karven let out a sickly laugh¡­ but it quickly fade away once he realized that the blade was stuck. Silas clenched his right hand into a fist around the blade. ¡°My turn.¡± Special Ability Activated: Blood Fury Gain +5% to Strength for every 10% of HP lost There was a terrible crunching sound as he drove his mace-like fist into Karven¡¯s gut. Karven¡¯s red face went almost pale. He doubled over, and Silas brought his knee up into the man¡¯s jaw, sending him sprawling into the dirt. He wrenched his hand free from the blade. He waved at Jude, and the latter could see right through the wound in Silas¡¯s hand. ¡°Guess I¡¯ll need a new glove,¡± Silas said as he flexed his bloodied hand. The wound was nasty, the edges ragged where the trench knife had torn through skin and muscle. Still, Silas grinned as if it were nothing more than a paper cut. Jude stepped forward. His eyes flicked from Silas¡¯s hand to Karven¡¯s crumpled form. ¡°What was that ability you just used?¡± Silas shrugged. The collectors had already fled, dragging their groaning leader away like wounded dogs. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you use it when fighting me?¡± Jude demanded. ¡°I was about to,¡± Silas replied. He sounded almost apologetic. ¡°But I only use it as a finishing blow, and you didn¡¯t give me enough space.¡± ¡°You¡¯re an idiot,¡± Jude said flatly. ¡°An idiot?¡± Silas repeated, incredulous. ¡°I just took on four guys and won!¡± ¡°And now every thug in the Warrens knows it,¡± Jude said with slight annoyance in his voice. ¡°Which means they¡¯ll be coming for round two.¡± He raised two of his fingers. ¡°And next time, they¡¯ll bring more than just knives.¡± For just a moment, Silas¡¯s grin faltered. ¡°So what do we do?¡± Jude sighed, glancing at the empty alley where Karven¡¯s gang had disappeared. ¡°First, we patch that hand up before you bleed out. Then, you¡¯re going to tell me exactly how much trouble we¡¯re in.¡± * * * * * The two found themselves in a small, dimly lit shop that smelled faintly of herbs and alcohol. The healer, a wiry old man with ink-stained fingers and only one good eye, worked quickly, wrapping Silas¡¯s hand in clean linen. He didn¡¯t ask questions, but his knowing looks spoke volumes. ¡°This oughta hold,¡± the healer said gruffly, tying off the bandage. ¡°But you¡¯ll need to rest it if you want it to heal properly.¡± ¡°Rest isn¡¯t really an option,¡± Jude said. ¡°How long until he can swing a mace again?¡± The healer¡¯s sharp eyes narrowed. ¡°Couple of weeks if you don¡¯t want it to tear open again. But something tells me you¡¯re not the type to wait.¡± Silas winced as he flexed his fingers. ¡°I¡¯ll manage.¡± The healer shook his head and waved them off with a scowl. Back on the streets, Jude led Silas to a quiet corner away from prying eyes. This time, Jude wasn¡¯t about to let the man off the hook. ¡°All right,¡± Jude said, leaning against the wall. ¡°Start talking. How much do you owe?¡± Silas hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck with his good hand. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ not a small number.¡± ¡°How not small?¡± Jude pressed. Silas exhaled sharply. ¡°About a thousand gold.¡± All Jude could do was stare at him incredulously. ¡°A thousand? What in the hell were you thinking?¡± I¡¯ve been in this world for maybe a month and even I know that a thousand is a giant sum. ¡°I didn¡¯t have a choice!¡± Silas snapped, his voice defensive. ¡°My sister, she loaned me the gold to keep them off my back. But I couldn¡¯t pay her back fast enough, and things just¡­ uh, spiraled.¡± ¡°Your sister¡¯s involved in this?¡± Jude asked. Silas nodded, his gaze dropping to the ground. Like a schoolboy, Jude thought with amusement. Ty had the exact same expression the few times he was caught skipping school. ¡°She runs a side business, loaning out gold to people like me,¡± Silas explained. ¡°Thought I could use her help to get out of a bad spot. Instead, I dragged her into it.¡± Jude¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°And now the mob¡¯s breathing down both your necks.¡± ¡°Pretty much,¡± Silas admitted, his voice quieter now. Jude took a deep breath, rubbing his temples. ¡°We¡¯re in deeper than I thought. You know they¡¯re not going to stop until they get their money. Or make an example out of you.¡± Something tells me the mafia operates the same in every world. Silas straightened stubbornly and shoved Jude¡¯s hand away. ¡°You think I don¡¯t know that? I already have a plan.¡± ¡°Please don¡¯t tell me it involves fighting the mob.¡± Jude had seen where it leads. Silas was not the first student of his with ties to shady people. ¡°No, we pay them back,¡± Silas answered. ¡°There¡¯s good money in tournaments. Not, like, the kinds where we participate. I mean the real deal.¡± Silas expected some reaction, but when Jude didn¡¯t say anything, he sighed and made a face like he was explaining something to a five-year old. ¡°The Emberclash Tournament. Ever heard of it?¡± No. ¡°Sure.¡± ¡°It pays much better than any sorry excuse for a fighting venue we¡¯ll find otherwise.¡± Jude didn¡¯t respond immediately. Instead, he studied Silas, weighing his friend¡¯s resolve against the odds stacked against them. Finally, he nodded. ¡°All right. But if we¡¯re doing this, we¡¯re doing it my way.¡± ¡°Your way, huh?¡± Silas smirked. ¡°That means you¡¯ll finally become my coach?¡± Jude rolled his eyes. ¡°You may like me as your friend. You will hate me as your coach.¡±