Three of the men were just what he expected, average-sized, albeit small compared to him, but lithe and muscular. Clearly, they were aware of what was going on around them but were biding their time.
The sixth was also not completely human, judging from his long purple hair, pointed ears, and a face that was too pretty for a man. He alone of the others was fully dressed. Although truthfully, Kyle realized that he himself, was bare chested, and only in his trousers and boots. The elf, for that was what Kyle assumed he was, stood there in a loose one-piece garment that covered him from neck to ankle and all the way down his arms. It almost looked like silken pajamas.
A loud voice interrupted his thoughts as a man strode into the room and called for everyone’s attention. He was maybe slightly over six feet tall, muscular but not stocky, and moved with a certain deadly grace. His voice was that of a man used to barking orders and having them obeyed. Kyle had seen more than one coach who liked to make an entrance like this into the locker room.
“Okay, you mutts. My name is Saber. And yes, that was my arena name, and yes, it is what you are going to call me. I am the head instructor here at the arena. I work for the arena and because of that, Lord Soren, but my mission here—nay, my very reason for living—is to train great fighters. If, someday, one of you wins glory and fame, I want it to be known that you were a student of Saber, a protege even. At least, that is how I will spin the tale.
“Whether you choose to learn from me is up to you. I will not force it. Oh, you will still work if you don’t want to train, but as I like to say, if you don’t want to be smart you will at least get strong. If, on the other hand, you want to take my tutelage seriously, then you will pay close attention to all that I say. I will turn you into a fighter who at least won’t stab his own foot and, for those of you with any real knack for this, I am your best chance to not end your days bleeding out onto the sand of the arena.”
Kyle was now well and truly paying attention. If this man’s confidence was deserved, then he was exactly what Kyle needed.
“First, Selma, our head flesh mage, will perform racial testing on you. You may or may not know that the rules of the arena require that to be a fighter and not a beast in the arena, you must be at least fifty percent human or elf. Since the cataclysm three years ago broke open the earth, and the dwarves have made peace with Thena and the other city states as well as the elven tribes, it has been decreed that fifty percent dwarf is also sufficient.
“Just stand still and she will cast her spell to confirm that House Sorengaard hasn’t bought defective merchandise. And pay her respect. She and her staff are the only reason that many a good fighter has been able to walk again.”
Kyle wanted to ask Hilde about the idea of a flesh mage. That didn’t seem to mesh with any of the essence types she had explained to him, but he also wanted to learn about these other fighters. These were likely to either be his competition or teammates, and Kyle never passed up the opportunity to learn more about those he trained with.
The first to be tested was the wolf-girl. Hilde’s voice in his head said, “The proper name, or at least their preferred name, is Lycan. Never call them werewolves. They are descended from northern barbarian tribes and a fiend who runs the tundra shaped like a giant wolf.”
Selma held out a two-foot rod with a crystal sphere on the end. Light whirled in it and then she pronounced the results, but they were also displayed by a translucent screen in the air, not that Kyle could read the text on it.
Kierra, lycan. Human base: 61%.
Strength: 5, Agility: 11, Constitution: 9.
Kyle couldn’t help but be impressed. She might be a woman standing only a little more than five and half feet tall but if that was accurate, she could bench press five hundred pounds and had superhuman agility along with an impressive constitution.
It was a good reminder to him that he didn’t know the rules here and so shouldn’t underestimate anyone. The woman, Kierra, simply grunted and nodded, so Selma moved on to the mountain of flesh standing next to her.
Once again, she used the rod and announced the results.
Skrug, mountain troll. Human base: 50%.
Strength: 13, Agility: 1, Constitution: 14.
After just two fighters, Kyle was not feeling so special anymore. Both of them had a stat that was into the second tier. He did note that mental stats were either not tested by the rod or else they simply didn’t care about those results.
“Did you literally just pout because some numbers on a screen say those mortals are special?” Hilde asked.
“Suddenly my fifteen strength doesn’t seem like enough to get me through the arena, but don’t worry. I will figure this out. Nobody can keep me down,” Kyle replied.
“I told you this wasn’t about strength. It never was. This is about essence, and more than just power, it is about how you use that power. Krig was likely the strongest of the gods, but that wasn’t what allowed him to stand up to five other gods in battle and almost win. It was his tactical mind and ability to react to the
