Pierce had always traveled around and struggled to make profits on his own. It became a struggle since jobs were quite scarce in the city. The only chance for him to be making any money to set everyone up for a long time was to constantly put his life on the line. Most in the entire city were surprisingly in a good enough state to participate in what many considered a death match. It was suicide and something that had very little chance for anyone to anyone to make it out alive. The chances these fighters came out alive, they were never in one piece or traumatized. These tournaments were taken seriously at Naxos. These people wanted blood, so the holders delivered. Each tournament seemed to always get better than the other. That's what it was presumed to be at first, but it wasn't. Pierce had a thing about being competitive, but he also didn't want to risk his well-being in all or nothing, just for money. He and his family are against it. Well, they used to be against it. He often wondered if that would change if they were here with him now. If they knew his financial situation and living situation. It was a question that would never be answered since his family died in a building under siege. His friends, however, didn't share his belief. Fighting became like a sport to them, and they would do anything for the grand prize. Certain events were team sports and had a grand prize involved.

Pierce had grown into a good fighter compared to the previous year when he could barely kill an ant. The purpose was only to defend himself if the occasion ever called upon it. It gave him a good build and found a unique fighter in himself. That's the only reason he gets pestered by his friends weekly about the supposed "tournament of the century" they kept bugging him about.

"What else do we have to do? Do we have to beg on our knees for you?" Arnold pleaded.

"It'll be fun! Me, Jack, Bernard, and Bernardo will stroll through this team event together. You're the perfect man for this type of thing. We'll need four good people in each team this time around," Arnold explained.

"This tournament is getting bigger every year and the rewards will be mouth-watering," Arnold tempted.

"I hear you. But I'm just not too keen about getting my face bashed up," Pierce said, hesitantly.

"I prefer the other ways of making my bread." "More safe ways."

"Baby," Arnold taunted.

"I'm not a baby. I just like playing it safe," Pierce shot back, crossing his arms.

"Yeah. You're a chicken who's too much of a baby to take some risks," Arnold clapped back, making chicken noises.

"Ok. Okay. Fine! I'll do it. Count me in," Pierce said, putting his hands up.

"Now go away and stop annoying me. I need to know what I'm getting into." Pierce shoved him off.

"No. Not yet anyway. We have to register you. You have to be present in front of the judge. They won't believe anything I say. They will only take your word for it because they act like you got the blood of the gods and everyone's after you," Arnold said, pulling him along.

"Really?" Pierce teased, smirking.

"Oh, just shut it and come along now." Arnold practically pulled him past the crowd and into the tent. He could barely stand on his two feet after trying to catch up.

"Relax on your grip. I'm not going anywhere. Geez," he muttered, rubbing his wrists.

The old man scrolling through his papers didn't seem interested. He continued his work and pretended the two weren't there as they duked it out.

"Oh, grow up," Arnold said, slapping his back. "You got a future champion here!" Arnold said to the organizer.

"This is a onetime thing! Remember that!" Pierce hissed.

"That's what they all say." Arnold shrugged off.

"Street fighting and other rugged, reckless sports like that don't go down well with my family. You know this as well as I do?"

His pleas went unheard though.

"We got a very excited competitor. He is going to be the greatest thing to ever touch those grounds." Arnold praised, shaking him.

"He's too kind sir. I would just like to humbly participate for his team," Pierce requested.

"Alright. I know who you are. Just needed to see you say it yourself. Welcome," the old man said, handing him a red flag and attached a tight red band around his wrist.

"Make sure to never lose it now. It's your only ticket in this tournament," he warned. "Of course. I won't mess around." Pierce replied.

"This tournament is quite long due to the many recurring issues. To compensate, you have a tent for all your needs during this time. No charge," the organizer said, ripping a slip of paper containing the tent number and location.

"You've been most helpful. We can take it from it here," Arnold said

. The two left the tent. They walked towards the whole camp filled with tents. "How are you feeling?" Arnold asked. "Where's the other two?" Pierce asked.

"In a secluded island, training." Arnold said. "That's a first. What are they really doing?" Pierce pressed. Arnold had a pained expression.