Cort was stuck.
On the one hand, he was being personally invited to participate in a brutal blood sport. And on an empty stomach no less. With a man whose body appeared to be carved out of stone into a human weapon.
On the other hand, the stone weapon human person was the one inviting him. The man, Rakshan, who with a stronger blow could have killed his opponent with a single strike.
"I wonder how he knows your name," Lond stated.
"It's the host at the door most likely," Cort replied absentmindedly. "He can probably see names just by looking at someone. I've heard of a spell like that before." Cort was still watching Rakshan as he left the arena through a side door outside his range of view.
"I need to hurry back with a response, please," Haley interjected. Cort saw she was trembling. Something about the order she was given frightened her.
"I'll go," Cort answered before standing up. He had just met her, but it was bad manners to let someone else get in trouble for you.
"With me then, please." Haley escorted Cort back up the side of The Pit's crater. They had walked past the final row of tables and hung a left to go through a pair of double doors.
The hallway was illuminated by harsh light from cheap magical light tubes above. It hurt Cort's head a bit, but Haley's experience was showing as she continued down the hall unimpeded.
"Who will I be fighting?" Cort asked. He figured he could be at least a little prepared.
"I'm not sure, sir," Haley replied. "Oh. It's not Rakshan himself if you're worried about that."
Cort let out a sigh of relief. Still, it concerned him how specifically he had been called out. By his last name, no less. None of his new comrades knew Cort was just his surname. Granted that was what he had gone by for years by that point.
"Here," Haley said, bringing them both to a halt. Before them was a black wooden door, featureless except from the small signage reading Combatant #1.
"Cheer me on, then," Cort told Haley, steeling himself for what was beyond the door. "And don't let my friends eat off my plate."
"Yes sir," Haley replied, giving a quick bow. "Good luck." With that, she hurried back down the hall toward the restaurant's main floor and Cort went into the next room.
A single overhead light dangled from a metal chain above, keeping the room navigable but dim. It was small enough for Cort to cover half of it in a few steps. Off to one side was a table there was a pile of clothing and a piece of paper. Cort snatched up the page first and read carefully.
To my guest Yan Cort,
I welcome you to the main attraction of our eatery. I apologize for the suddenness of my invitation to participate. I was only informed shortly before my bout. I will keep things simple. I knew and admired your grandfather, Fei Yuanjun. As a fellow Godhand, I was graced with the knowledge of his original surname, Cort.
I would like for you to compete in a festive spar with one of my newest students. He preaches widely the good name of Moctal but he is lax in his practice. I believe he needs practical education. Please keep in mind the rules of The Pit:
Only weaponless martial arts are permitted. If you possess a weapon, please leave it in this room. I shall personally guarantee its safety. The crowd expects blood, but we will not tolerate murder. If the fight begins escalating, staff will interfere and stop it. Similar to no weapons allowed, please remove any magical equipment at this time and wear the outfit we have provided. Similar to your weapons, I shall guard them.
While this is not a steadfast rule, I would be personally gratified if you were to show me some techniques from the Gracious Lily style. The clothes on the table should allow your body to make the necessary movements.
Good luck on your bout.
Rakshan Baksh.
Cort took a moment to absorb everything in Rakshan's letter. He knew the names mentioned, but he had not heard mention of them since he left Vim. He tended to make it a point to avoid practitioners of Gracious Lily, the weaponless martial art of the Imperial Army. Other practitioners anyway.
He did as the letter instructed anyway. The promise of personal gratification from Rakshan could only insinuate he was earning a favor from the man. A favor from that man could be very worthwhile.
More funds.
More gear.
More magic stones.
Cort changed his clothes and left his sword and Core behind on the table. The new clothes were a pair of shorts that covered only half of his thighs. There was a thin bandana to keep his hair out his eyes, tying it tightly so no matter the movements he made his vision would stay clear.
Lastly were the tight, wooden armguards. Not necessary for a hand to hand bout necessarily, but a traditional trait of the school. With a last deep breath, Cort walked through the opposite door he came in through.
He was greeted by sudden spotlights that nearly blinded him. The ground went from cold cement to dry, hot sand. When his eyes adjusted, Cort got a good look of the world around him. In the arena, Cort was once more standing in the only light in the sea of darkness. He could not see much past the cage of the arena.
However, the noise was incredible. Cheering from all directions as the next contestants entered. People were cheering for them back and forth. Not by name. Neither of them were so famous. For Cort, they shouted cheers for the Empire on account of Cort's dark skin and white hair. An easy guess.
Cort's opponent received praise for the Jicotti. Much like Rakshan, the young man across the arena from him was Jicotti with ash colored skin. He was dressed similar to his master. Shorts. No shirt. Wrappings around his arms.
The drums began just as they had before the match Cort watched. The opponent started strutting his way across the arena. His confident smile never left his lips even as he got within striking distance of Cort's arms. Cort was too busy sizing up the Jicotti boy. He was taller than Cort, and with bigger muscles too.
It would mean nothing if his technique was shoddy.
"I hear that you are someone important," the boy said. He was still smirking, holding his hand out to Cort. "I shall be one day as well, the way Rakshan speaks of my ability."
Cort shook the boy's hand and smiled back. The drums were growing more intense, and the Jicotti's grip tightened. As Cort's smile grew, the Jicotti's lips began converting to a scowl. "From what I heard, you're a snobby upstart who needs a lesson."
The Jicotti released Cort's hand and spat some curse in his native tongue at Cort. He stepped back slowly, each step easing him into his condensed Moctal stance. "I am Rabi Zaki. You will remember my name as the one who crushed this lilypad school of yours."
"I am Yan Cort," he replied. Cort took the starting stance of Gracious Lily, torso and legs turned neatly sideways as he faced Rabi. The school was one that combined the use of the body itself and a sword or spear, but Cort knew a few tricks that would suffice without a weapon. "I shall teach you humility."
The drums came to a halt, and the match began.
Just as Cort suspected, Rabi charged in. Moctal appeared to be a school that relied on aggression. An experienced martial artist such as Rakshan tempered that aggression, using his wit and knowledge to decipher openings and deal the maximum damage within them.
Rabi had no such ability. He had speed and, if the wind whipping by Cort as he narrowly dodged the blows, power behind every punch. Cort was ready for it though. His stance was made to keep the least amount of his body vulnerable to attack. From there, it was easy to anticipate Rabi's attacks.
It was one thing to understand the opponent. It would be another for Cort to actually win. Rabi could probably take him down with one clean blow. Cort could narrowly dodge to preserve energy, but he could not guess how long until Rabi became tired.
Another blow whipped right past Cort's brow. He nearly got caught by Rabi's follow up, a rising knee much like his master's. He dodged to the side, hoping to catch Rabi during the recovery. There was none, and Rabi lashed out with a kick before he hit the ground. Cort blocked it with the armguard, and Rabi retained his footing as he landed.
"Will you continue to flee, then?" Rabi asked. Cort's arm ached from the force of that kick, not broken but bruised. Whatever a Jicotti's body is made of, it could not be the same as regular human flesh. Cort's body was abnormal as well, though.
"Is the might of the Empire truly this?" Rabi continued. "Weaving between my fists and never striking? How ironic."
"Didn't know you were so deep in thought," Cort replied. The talking was the opening. Like a viper he struck out at Rabi. His arm was fully extended, palm open with fingers curling forward at the second knuckle like tiny, fleshy spears. The speed from kicking off the ground was what gave it force.
As the tips of his fingers hit Rabi on the chest. Cort paid no attention to his opponent's face. He was too focused on restraining the attack. The technique had too silly of a name for a skill used to pierce a person's heart.
Frog Princess's Leap for The Heavens.