Wild cheering filled the stadium. A tiny fraction of the Cadoan populace, Ritz reminded herself. Blinding light shone on the official dueling platforms. She had to imagine her own announcer for the events, since such a well-designed venue had separate announcements for the engagement crowds.

Formidable competitors, all done in garish fashion costumes, lined the opposite end. Others prepared with their own rituals; Ritz practiced grips on her sheathed blade, imagining striking motions arranged into fluid patterns.

A big beautiful world, where Ritz could solver her problems by stabbing people well enough. She grinned, a rare sight; lost in thought.


"This guy, he's gotta be careful. One more item and he'll see the slammer!" The announcer continued.

The soldier held his sword deftly, blocking two simultaneous assaults from a skinny Bangaa and a distant Viera. An arrowhead stuck his calf muscle, laming him, but he held the only dry ground.

"If you're returning, Nutsy is down to just its leader, while Dip's still got two!"

Marche dodged a heavy swing and butchered the clumsy Bangaa for another shaft. The judge's shining presence was a menace, preventing him from magically healing his gore. Death wouldn't carry outside the engagement. Cards, though…


They sat primly. Mewt stared at the young woman beside him through the corner of his eye. If she looked over, he would look bored, but he was focusing intently on her reaction to his words. "Aren't these shows such a bore sometimes?"

She blinked, twice, owlishly, before agreeing. "Yes, back home sometimes we ask the judges to liven them up."

Mewt nodded, flashing his smallest grin sideways to her. Inside he despaired. Did none of these posh viewers, with their goosefeather couches and temperature-controlled tower boxes, truly understand the depravity of forcing people to fight to the death repeatedly?