The ranking bouts continued throughout the day. The circle buzzed with excitement, shouts, sneers and everything else as names were called out one after the another. Soldiers walked in with confident expressions, but only some left with glee of winning.

  The defeated were left with sneers and bloodied faces. One man even got his leg crushed and went back with a limp. The bouts ended when the victor drew blood three times. But it was easy to see that some soldiers were going far beyond that.

  Rayne watched it all, waiting for his turn. With so many soldiers participating in it, it took hours before his turn came. And he used the time to study each and every victor. He'd no idea which men he was going to fight as the lots were drawn for them.

  But knowing his falling luck, he knew it would be someone close to the rankers, if not one of them.

  It turned out his intuition was pretty spot on.

  “Up next in the bouts we have the ranked 24th Dean and forsaken Rayne Frayer who would be participating in his first match. Please come to the centre of the circle,” the man acting as the referee shouted, reading the two names he had pulled out of a box.

  The murmurs and whispering shifted in an instant. Dozens of eyes looked straight at Rayne and all the names he had gotten over the past month started to be called out.

  “The filthborn traitor is finally gonna get a beating.”

  “Dean should fucking crush him.”

  “He looks so frail. Is it true he killed a lot of trolls?”

  Even if anyone had anything positive to say about him, they got buried in the noise. He ignored the chatter, and simply took out his sword and checked his shield for one last time. Armour wasn't allowed in the bout, making it a much more fierce competition.

  Kesh and Nate patted his back.

  “Dean’s a good fighter, but I know you can beat him,” Kesh said.

  “Just think of him as a troll. He looks like a halfling either way. I am going to make a large bet on you,” Nate added in a whisper.

  Rayne gave them both a nod before moving towards the circle. The crowd parted around him as he reached the circle.

  His opponent already stood there.

  A broad-shouldered man with short-cropped hair and a scar dragging down his chin twirled a spear lazily in his hands. He had signs of beard growing, and looked old and young at the same time. His grin stretched wide, almost mocking.

  “Well, well, the bastard finally shows his ugly face,” Dean said, loud enough for the crowd to hear. Laughter rippled around the ring. “I was wondering when I’d get the chance to knock you flat. I was hoping the trolls would end your filthy bloodline.”

  Rayne didn't rise to the mockery. Half of it didn't even make sense. If anyone looked ugly, it was Dean himself. The laughter and shouts coming from the soldier affected him for seconds, before they became nothing more than background noises.

  They might be louder than the times he had sparring sessions, but in the end, they didn't matter. Only the man facing him did.

  Unfortunately, Dean didn't take his silence well. “Lost your words, gravewalker? I'm going to send you crawling back to the grave.”

  Rayne spoke this time. “You can try.”

  Dean opened his mouth to retort, but the referee stepped forward, raising his hands to stop the murmuring of the crowd. He gave them both a sharp look.

  “You two know the rules. No cheating. No killing. No crippling. The victor is the one who draws blood thrice. Remember, you two are the soldiers of the mighty Valerian army!”

  Rayne doubted Dean was listening to the referee. The man was one of the few who had done more than simply draw the blood of his opponents. Even now, he looked at him with a bloodthirsty grin.

  He twirled his spear in his hands, the ray of the sun catching on the top of it.

  The referee raised his hands again. “Begin!!”

  Dean lunged first, spear thrusting at him like a tiger's claw. Faster than he had expected. Rayne managed to side step, the tip whistling past his ribcage. He swung his sword downward to cut down on it, but his opponent yanked it back.

  His strike missed and Dean gave him a mocking grin.

  Another stab came for him and he ducked, the spear passing over his shoulders before charging at Dean, but the man swung it sideways like a staff, forcing him back and controlling the distance between them.

  The crowd erupted in cheers, mocking noises coming straight at him.

  Rayne kept his face neutral. He didn't have much practice with spears and Dean knew how to take control of the fight. If he had to win, he needed to be far more strategic.

  They circled each other for a few seconds before Dean charged again, thrusting at his ribs. Rayne didn't dodge, blocking with his shield and swept the tip aside for Dean to lose balance.

  He staggered back three steps and Rayne charged. His sword came down at his shoulders, but Dean twisted his spear just in time to block with the wooden shaft of the spear.

  They matched eyes and both of them gritted their teeth, pushing each other back.

  “Bloody traitor!” Dean muttered, shoving him. Rayne didn't keep clashing steel, jumping back just as another thrust came.

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  He twisted his body to escape, but the tip grazed his side. He winced, blood streaking down his flesh. Cheers erupted all around him.

  “First blood goes to Dean!”

  The man gave him a wide grin, raising his left hand as if soaking in the cheers before charging again. Rayne kept his distance this time, not rushing in mindlessly and blocking all the thrust and swings that came at him.

  To his credit, Dean was relentless. He followed one failed thrust with a large swing of his spear that Rayne had to dodge under and kept pushing him to the edge of the circle.

  Rayne didn't fall for the trap.

  As Dean thrusted again pushing him back into the crowd, Rayne ducked and rolled sideways before charging right at the man. In predictable fashion, his opponent brought his shaft closer to defend himself.

  Rayne didn't clash with his sword. He swept away the shaft with his shield, taking Dean by surprise before knocking him in his shoulders. He staggered backwards, losing balance and his blade cut through his thighs.

  The burly man fell on the ground and cried out as Rayne went for second blood. His boot came for his chest, making him dodge back to the edge of the circle.

  “Rayne has his first blood!”

  The referee's words fell on deaf ears as Dean stood up, but Rayne charged before he could angle his spear. He lunged at him, the spear coming just in time to block the attack.

  Dean pushed him back, gritting his teeth. The cheers erupted at the tense exchange and Rayne saw a flicker of movement in his legs and sidestepped just as a kick came for him.

  It only hit air and Rayne slammed his shield into Dean's head. His sword slashed downwards, just as the man jumped back. The tip managed a line across his arms, drawing a splash of blood.

  “Second blood goes to Rayne!”

  Shouts of his name filled his ears and for a brief moment, he recognised Nate's voice among them before focusing back on the battle.

  Unlike last time, Dean didn't take long to position himself. He thrust with his spear as soon as his feet landed on the ground. The tip of it hit the shield, and both of them circled each other once again.

  Dean kept thrusting and stabbing, and each missed attack only seemed to grow his anger. He even looked red. On the contrary, Rayne kept his focus down, eyes on both the spear and his legs.

  He moved with each little movement, correctly predicting the attack every time while looking for the moment to end it all. And Dean soon gave him that exact moment.

  After another one of his thrust only met air and no flesh, he swung his spear in a wide direction, pushing Rayne back and to everyone's surprise, Dean sacrificed the distance between them and charged at him.

  Rayne expected something of that sort and as the spear's tip came for his head, he ducked. Before Dean could follow up another strike, he threw his shield right at the man's chest.

  It hit his ribs and he grunted, air leaving his lungs and kneeled on the ground. Rayne rushed, his sword coming down to make a small strike at his shoulder, ending the bout.

  But just as the blood streaked out and Dean winced, the burly spearman suddenly leapt up at Rayne, dropping his spear. His fist came right at his chin.

  Rayne pushed himself back, fist grazing against his chin. Before he could even sense the pain, he launched a punch of his own, taking the man by surprise as he hit him point blank in the face.

  Dean flew back through the ground, hitting two men standing in the crowd. He let out a painful yelp, nose broken and blood streaming down.

  “Guess that's the fourth blood drawn,” he said just as the crowd erupted like a volcano in cheers.

  Some chanted his name, others clapped, even a few jeers came at him and he saw people spit on the ground in frustration, probably having lost coin.

  The referee moved towards him, grabbing his hand and pushing it in the air. “Rayne Frayer has drawn third blood first. He's the winner and takes Dean's rank in the bouts!!”

  A louder cheer came this time and he heard shouts of “Gravewalker” as the referee moved away. He basked in the cheers for a moment, sweat rolling down his temples, his shirt already soaked.

  Dean grunted and sneered from the side, but Rayne didn't focus on him. The man had lost terribly, and wouldn't dare to do anything else.

  He stepped out of the circle after a minute, soldiers patting him on the shoulder as he passed by them and thanking him for the coin they won. He walked until he was out of the crowd.

  “Rayne bloody gravewalker, my hero!” Nate's voice reached him first, and the man jumped at him, almost tackling him to the ground. “First bout and you are already on the main board. Do you even realise how much I won by trusting you? I'm gonna bribe the mess manager for some good ale tonight.”

  “Don't forget my share,” he replied. “I need it for my armour.”

  Nate smiled. “Of course not. A few more fights, and you would have the best armour for a recruit.”

  Kesh walked up to them just then, a grin etched on his face. “That was bloody brilliant. I should have bet on you.”

  Rayne raised an eyebrow. “You didn't?”

  “No, I didn't bet on anyone.” His smile faltered. “I don't want to lose the few coins I have.”

  Nate patted him on the shoulder. “You need to learn how to take risks. A good soldier knows that.”

  “A good soldier is also often broke.” Rayne grinned.

  Before Nate could reply, another wave of noise wafted out of the crowd. Rayne tilted his head to look at it, wondering if they had pulled another pair of names, but it felt different than before.

  “What's going on?” He asked.

  Both of his friends looked confused as well and they turned towards the crowd. They pushed aside a few people to get to the front of it, but only halfway through it, Rayne heard the voice of a man he'd almost forgotten.

  He winced, quickening his steps and as he reached the front, he saw him.

  Fredrick stood there in the centre of the circle. Two big, burly soldiers stood behind him, looking over everyone with a glare.

  “Where's the traitor? I heard he was fighting here. Bring him out as I have come here to put him on the noose for the crimes he had done against me and my house,” Fredrick shouted, each word making Rayne more confused.

  He always knew at the back of his mind that Fredrick was going to do something, especially after Bran's warning, but it had been a while since their last encounter.

  He'd almost forgotten the noble brat.

  “What crimes did you commit against him and his family?” Kesh asked, looking at him.

  “I don't know,” he replied. “But I guess it's time to find out.”

  Nate gave him a strange look, but Rayne was already moving towards the circle. If he simply hid, Fredrick was still going to find him and he didn't want to hide from whatever he was doing.

  Fredrick smiled seeing him walk up to him, arms spreading as if he was giving a theatre performance. “You have finally came out to face justice.”

  Rayne frowned. “What justice? I have done nothing to you or your house. Stop making things up for attention.”

  One of his guards took a step forward at the words. Rayne didn't stir. Even if they looked scary, none of them were past the first bottleneck. He was sure of it, and had confidence in handling them.

  “Attention?” Fredrick narrowed his eyes. “You dare disrespect me again when you are nothing more than a traitor, and now you are a thief acting all righteous.”

  “A thief? What are you talking about?”

  Fredrick looked as if he had been waiting for the same question. He glanced at the crowd, more people gathering to look at the commotion, then pointed a finger at him.

  “You have stolen a hundred gold coins from my room. I know that, and today I'm here to arrest you on those charges and bring your head to the noose, ending your filthy bloodline.”

  ***