Taking out the training dummies was light work for Fabrian. Hail whistled a sharp-pitched tune when Fabrian destroyed the four as a warm up. She wanted to test out what the baseline expectation was for knight recruits. The rocks in the socket on her stave had increased in weight between leaving Lucaraville and Rotia, and Fabrian was quite proud at how easily she was able to rupture the fake heads of the wooden training dummies. She completed the round within a minute in a half. The knight in the black tunic scrunched his nose before writing something scrupulously down on the clipboard Fabrian had provided him with earlier. 

“You've given complete consent to fighting with Effia then?” He asked. 

Fabrian slung the stave across her shoulders, resting her wrists on the pole like a yoke. “Say I beat Effia—”

“Very low chances.”

“Use your imagination for the sake of this conversation.” Fabrian rolled her eyes. “What rank would I get and how much would I be paid?”

Exasperated and done with the conversation, the knight flapped his arms uselessly against his sides. “Depends on if you last the full time and manage any blows. If you can hit Effia, then you might be tagged in as a third-rank knight. Pay is seven kroka and twenty ro a week.”

“And if I were to hurt or knock Effia unconscious?” Fabrian asked.

The knight burst out laughing. “You know, I hope you make it in because what a jokester. Go over to the ring and hop in, I'll send Effia your way.”

“Hey, wait about her weapon? Are you going to give her a training prop?” Hail demanded, her brow furrowed with frustration. 

“In a real life scenario, there won't be props,” the knight tilted his chin haughtily, staring at both of them down his nose. “And if she wants to be a higher ranked knight, she needs to understand the dangers that come with the responsibility.”

Hail blanched and stepped forward, her hands tightening into fists. “You're going to get her kil—”

“It's nothing to worry about, Hail.” Fabrain held her arm out to stop her friend. “Nothing I haven't faced before. Just watch.”

Hail's jaw clenched but she nodded slowly. 

Fabrian patted her shoulder and turned to the knight with a sharp look. “Alright, what's your name?”

“I don't see why that matters.”

“I asked for your name and I expect you to answer,” Fabrian said, deadpan.

The knight's gaze widened for a second, as if recognizing the commanding intonation before a sneer stretched across his lips. “Kaliz.”

“Well, Kaliz,” Fabrian said, “The fight will be over in less than the allotted ten minutes. I plan to make sure Effia doesn't wake up for the next day.”

His laughter broke so loudly through the ring that the other contenders stopped to look at the ruckus. Even the first knight paused his instructing a wiry looking farmer so he could instead analyze the situation. His glance was calculating. Hail looked like she wanted to punch the ever living daylights out of Kaliz.

Fabrian ignored his mockery and strode over to the ring she had noted when they first arrived. Ducking under the chains that served as a guard rail, Fabrian took a deep breath and began to cycle through her stretches. The familiarity of the movements helped soothe the nerves she'd done her best to keep under wraps since earlier. As she loosened out the tension in her shoulders, and shook out her hands, Fabrian tried to imagine what would happen if she didn't actually beat Effia. The best case scenario would be just managing the full ten minutes, her pride would be bruised, but at least she wouldn't be disqualified. The worst case scenario was that Effia actually killed her. She had already used her luck with this second chance at life, and she wasn't all too sure about being granted a third one.

“Are you the contestant?” A gruff voice asked.

Fabrian looked over to who she presumed was Effia entering the ring. They were a mix of masculine and feminine features. Their wiry black hair was pulled back in a bun, with frizz curling along their temples. Effia stood an unsettling and easy two or three heads taller than Fabrian. Fabrian swallowed slowly, immediately regretting any wager she'd made.

“Yeah, I'm the contestant,” she said faintly. 

Effia hoisted a single-handed shortsword in one hand, perhaps a gladius or a falchion, and a round shield strapped to their arm. “Are you ready?”

Would it matter if I said no? Fabrian wondered to herself, feeling light-headed. “You don't need to warm up?”

“Why would I warm up? It's already hot enough out.” Effia frowned.

Fabrian smiled a little, “You know what, you're so right.”

“Kaliz explained the rules?” Effia asked, slowly stalking along the outer edge of the ring.

“Last for ten minutes or wound you within that time frame,” Fabrian said and hefted her stave. 

Effia chuckled. “The former is probably the most likely, but I'm eager to see your attempt…Ah sorry, what's your name?”

“Fabrian, thanks for asking, Effia.” Fabrian found that her potential murderer was the only person with a decent personality here at the tryouts. 

“No hard feelings then, Fabrian.” Effia gave a test swing of their sword and banged the flat of the blade against the front of the shield. 

“No hard feelings,” Fabrian echoed. 

“Time starts now. Fight!” Kaliz shouted.

And Effia was off.

Fabrian yelped and dove out of the way, as Effia struck their sword down—the blow landing in the hard rock floor and cracking through the stone. Roaring out angrily, Fabrian swung around her stave, aiming for Effia's jaw. They raised their shield in defense, shoving Fabrian back harshly as they tore the sword from the ground. A shower of gravel fell in the arc of the weapon. Effia's eyes were small and birdlike, the black pupils watching her with calculated observation. Clenching the wooden staff, Fabrian set her feet widely, taking a defensive stance. 

Right now, Effia had the advantage of both strength and experience. Given that Kaliz was so confident in their success, Fabrian assumed the rate of failure in a vanguard duel was high. She racked her brain. Vanguard, vanguard…they lead the onward attacks; either pressing the advantage forward or heading the flanks of a platoon. That means Effia is used to people attacking them from the front. Fabrian lunged out of the way, narrowly avoiding the round shield swung directly to her forehead. She watched as Effia reset their fighting stance. Their movement was heavy, and their center of gravity followed their shoulders. With each offensive movement, they braced the entirety of their momentum forward, using that force to power their attacks.

Fabrian made another dodge. Someone from the growing crowd booed, maybe it was Kaliz. Even Effia's brow was smushed in confusion, as if they hadn't expected Fabrian to avoid every single attack. Fabrian watched them tuck their shoulder forward and bring their sword across their chest as if about to backhand slash. Then, she realized. Frontal attacks. Vanguard specializes in frontal attacks! They are usually protected by the rearguard or range support. She waited for the backhanded slash before ducking beneath the blade, tucking and rolling. As soon as she was behind Effia, she popped back up and smashed her stave’s socket of rocks into the back of Effia's right knee. 

Effia tumbled forward with a roar, their body forced forward by the imbalance. They braced their weight as they slammed their shield onto the ground to catch themself. Fabrian launched herself onto Effia's back and planted her stave firmly against their throat, hooking her arm around the pole into a deadlock. Effia rose to their feet after letting out a garbled choke. 

They thrashed violently, even going so far as to slam their back into the one of the iron poles holding the chains of the ring in place. 

Lightning and stars exploded behind Fabrian's eyes as her skull clattered loudly against the pole. But she refused to let the dizziness stop her. Fabrian wrapped her legs around Effias's waist for stability, drawing herself closer. She tightened her hold on the stave and watched Effia's face as it turned red, then an ugly shade of purple. Effia's elbow smashed into the ridge of Fabrian's brow. For a brief moment, she forgot where she was, midnight shooting across her vision as she came-to as quickly as she blacked out.

“Don't let go, Fabrian!” Hail screamed from…the sky? 

How ethereal, Fabrian thought.

Effia’s sword fell to the ground with a clang, and they threw themself again at the pole. This time, Fabrian almost lost grip on her stave, and red flashed across her vision like a pillar of fire. Nausea swept through her chest and she swallowed back the acidic taste of bile. Effia cried out and sank to their knees. Sucking in her breath, Fabrian drew the last of her conscientious strength, and yanked back with her full weight as she drove her heels into the ground. 

They fell back with a yell as Fabrian twisted out of the way, subsequently knocking the stave into Effia's chin and slamming their crown into the pole. After that, Effia collapsed limply on top of Fabrian. Then and only then, did Fabrian let go of the stave. Her chest heaved. Her vision swam. She couldn't feel the tips of her fingers.

It was eerily quiet in the arena until Hail tore apart the chain guard rails and hopped into the ring, pulling Effia off of Fabrian. Fabrian frowned. Had there always been thirty-two Hails? Surely at least five of them were imposters. It took her a moment, but she soon realized that the multiple Hails were moving their mouths with words. Blinking away the swarm of her friend, Fabrian began to process things quicker until there was just one Hail.

“You idiot, are you okay?” She demanded, gently daubing the corner of her sleeve against Fabrian's brow.

A metallic substance dribbled over Fabrian's lips and she realized it tasted like blood. She frowned, thinking that something still didn't add up. “Dude, you're still in the sky, get down already?”

Hail blinked once and then twice, before barking out orders for directions to the nearest healer.