Calisco, unsurprisingly, came out of her gate like she owned the place. Just in the tight top and baggy pants of the ReSouled cadets’ uniform, she had her hands in her pockets and a strut in her step. No Wordless gear. Like Det, she wanted to prove she could win on her own, without the help of magic equipment. Twenty feet out, and she finally took one hand out to lift a closed fist above her, already predicting her triumph.

  The crowd loved it. Cheers multiplied across the arena stands, while feet stomped and people stood. Even if they didn’t know who she was, they liked her attitude. If she felt any pressure from the tens of thousands of eyes on her, she didn’t show an ounce of hesitation. Her every pace and swing of her hips told the crowd she was meant to be there. And they were meant to watch her.

  Within seconds of her entrance, all the attention had been stolen to her side of the arena. Across from her, cadet Pessins stomped out, anger on his face, the pressure of the audience’s anticipations bearing down on his shoulders, and just about zero interest on him. He might as well have been wearing a red shirt for all the importance he seemed to have in the coming episode.

  He got that, too, from the way his hand tightened around his crossbow. The weapon was big and bulky, and very basic compared to what he’d seen Eriba using in practice and against the birokks. That was something Det would label as a heavy crossbow without hesitation, and it had none of the bells and whistles Eriba’s had. Nothing to speed up loading. No pulleys to ratchet up the force of the shot. It even had a spot for a crank to be attached to draw the string back.

  Not that there was a bolt loaded in it, or anywhere on Pessins’ person. The man wasn’t carrying a single quarrel with him, meaning Sage had been correct in guessing the man would be magically creating his own ammunition. That also meant things like loading speed and mundane firing power had very little meaning to the fight.

  In the time Det inspected the man on the far side of the arena, the two cadets reached Projection in the center. Calisco still had one hand in her pocket, her whole posture radiating confidence. Her eyes scanned across the arena, and her closed fist turned into a friendly wave. The spectators ate it up, cheering even more.

  The match hadn’t even started, and it was almost as loud as the finish to Det’s bout. He had to give it to her—as much as he didn’t really want to—she knew how to work a crowd. The only question was whether or not she would live up to the astronomical expectations she’d set up.

  “Well, well, well,” Projection said a few seconds after the two fighters reached him. “Seems like one of our fighters enjoys the attention.”

  “Only what I deserve,” Calisco said, Projection’s magic allowing her voice to reach every ear. “Get used to seeing me here. Then, get used to me winning.”

  The crowd somehow managed to erupt even louder at that, a new round of hoots and hollers echoing out of the stands. The comment—and the response from the audience—pressed Pessins’ lips to a hard line on his face. He certainly didn’t appreciate how little respect he was getting at the moment.

  Yeah, Det could relate to that. Dealing with Calisco was like that.

  “And what does our other fighter have to say in response to that statement?” Projection looked at Pessins.

  “What?” the man asked after a second, a little slow on the uptake to the question, thanks to all the glaring he was doing.

  “Do you have anything to say about what she just said?” Projection said, more slowly.

  “No,” Pessins said. “She’s the one who challenged me, even though she knows she can’t beat me. I’m…”

  “That can’t be right,” Calisco interrupted, Projection’s magic allowing it. “If I didn’t think I could beat you, why would I challenge you?”

  “Because you’re a stupid bitch who’s too caught up in some dream where you’re awesome?” He said the last word with a patronizing lilt in his voice.

  Det wasn’t the only one in the crowd who winced at the direct insult. It wasn’t a bad description of Calisco in a lot of ways… if one didn’t actually know her. She wasn’t as stupid as she let on, or more accurately, she didn’t spend time caring about things that didn’t interest her. And, she was totally caught up in her opinion of herself.

  Awesome was how she liked to describe herself, and most times, Det wouldn’t agree. The one time he might—though he’d never say it to her face—was in a fight. Her magic was offensively very powerful. Especially if she was serious.

  Or angry.

  Both things that could happen very easily by insulting her so directly like that.

  Except, she was still smiling.

  “How about we let the audience judge just how awesome I am?” Calisco said. “And to make it more fun. I’ll even let you take the first shot.”

  The crowd practically went silent at that, as if they’d thought they misheard her words despite the perfect clarity provided by Projection’s magic.

  “Did I hear you correctly, cadet?” Projection said. “You will officially allow your opponent to take the first shot?”

  “Yup,” Calisco said. “Is that a problem? Or…” she looked at Pessins. “Not enough for you? Do you need a bigger advantage to give little old you a chance?”

  “She’s going full Calisco,” Tena said. “I kind of feel bad for him.”

  “Should I…?” Calisco started, as if considering other handicaps she could give herself.

  “I don’t need any help from you to win,” Pessins shouted. “I can beat you without any of this… whatever you’re doing.”

  “The offer was made,” Projection said. “Assuming it is not being withdrawn?” The announcer looked at Calisco.

  “Offer stands,” Calisco said. “Make it official, Mr. Referee Man.”

  Projection nodded at her, then looked at Pessins. “Do you accept?”

  The man scowled at Calisco, sensing some kind of trap, but having no idea what it could be. How bad would it look for him if he took the offer, then lost? Or, would it look worse to not take the advantage, and then lose? Would he be seen as stupid for giving up the win over pride?

  Det could see all the thoughts going threw the man’s head in fast forward. No matter what he did, Calisco had driven the narrative forward, and he was nothing more than an unwilling side-character right now. His best bet was probably to not take the offer, and make it a fair fight. Then, win or lose, it was just up to skill.

  The way his face changed, however, showed he didn’t agree with Det’s assessment of the situation.

  “Fine,” Pessins said. “I accept her offer. She can complain after she has a bolt in her eye all she wants later.”

  “There we have it, folks,” Projection said to the crowd. “A minor modification to the rules, allowing first shot to the fighter on my left, Cadet Pessins. As for his opponent, the gracious young lady offering this advantage, I think we’ll all remember her name after today. One way or another. Cadet Calisco.”

  Calisco’s closed fist went into the air again, the crowd roaring along with the gesture. Win or lose, she’d made an impression.

  “Then, fighters,” Projection said. “Take your marks.”

  Calisco lowered her arm so her fist was pointed right at Pessins, one figure slowly unfurling until she pointed at him.

  “Hope you’re ready to get your ass kicked,” she said. Whether she expected that to get conveyed by Projection’s magic or not, none of the previous playfulness had been in her voice. She’d locked in, and her words uncoiled like a dread crawling across the arena in her opponent’s direction.

  There was a split second of worry on Pessins’ face at the change in demeanor from Calisco, then his anger at the whole situation steeled his resolve. Without a word in reply, he turned on his heel and stalked back to his mark.

  “Can she do it?” Eriba asked while Calisco strutted back to her own mark, one hand still in her pocket.

  “Don’t know how much you were watching in the practice,” Tena said. “But we, no, she worked hard for this. She really did pick Pessins because he was a tough match up for her. She’s trying to prove a point. To the audience. To us. To herself.”

  “She’s going to be number one,” Det said, remembering the woman’s drive.

  “Then let’s watch her pull it off,” Sage said, leaning forward so he’s elbows were on his knees. “One way or the other, I’m sure it’s going to be entertaining.”

  At the same time the man finished speaking, Calisco and Pessins both reached their marks and turned around to face each other.

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  “Remember,” Projection said. “You—officially—granted him a free shot, any…”

  “First shot,” Calisco corrected.

  Projection considered the difference in the wording, but couldn’t find one that was important. “Fine, you granted him the first shot. Doing anything to break that promise will result in an immediate forfeiture of the match.”

  “That’s fine,” Calisco said. “I’m good for it. Hell, I won’t even try to dodge it.”

  That got an ooooooh from the crowd, and narrowed eyes from Pessins.

  “All right,” Projection said, taking a few steps back, and putting one arm up in the air. “Begin!” he shouted, the hand knifing down in front of him.

  Nothing happened immediately, as if Pessins was waiting for Calisco to pull something underhanded.

  She looked at the nails on the hand she didn’t have in her pocket. Not in the least bit worried about what Pessins would do.

  A vein pulsed in Pessins’ forehead, threatening to burst.

  Didn’t know a ReSouled body could do that…

  Finally, the man seemed to have enough of the waiting, lifting the crossbow slowly in front of him, and took aim. His second hand braced the weight of the weapon, though it likely weighed next to nothing, thanks to his ReSouled strength.

  Still no explosion. Calisco had even fanned her fingers out in front of her, like she was trying to get the best angle of light on her fingernails.

  Did she get them done somewhere?

  It was a random thought from Det, but nothing was really happening.

  Not until a bolt magically appeared in the crossbow. Like it was made from a jagged line of crimson light, the ammunition took shape between blinks, and radiated magical energy. Not enough to be D-Rank or anything like that, but more than enough to put an E-Rank cadet on her back.

  “You asked for this, you stupid bitch,” Pessins said, pulling the trigger on his crossbow.

  The red bolt of jagged energy slid down the groove, before springing free from the weapon, a horrible keening just starting to ramp up as the magical feathering cleared the end of the weapon.

  An explosion a foot in front of the weapon—and directly in the line of the shot—obliterated the bolt and hurled Pessins flying back, smoke trailing from his weapon and body both. He hit the ground at the same time a stunned silence rolled across the arena.

  Calisco hadn’t even changed her pose, like nothing special had happened. “I never said I would let the first shot reach me,” she clarified, though it was hard to tell if her opponent could hear the words through the shock of what’d just happened.

  Pessins, clearly shocked by the unexpected explosion, rolled from his back to his side, shaking his head, then forced himself back to his feet. The blast had caught him totally unprepared, but it hadn’t been enough to do more than singe his eyebrows. Another shake of his head cleared the cobwebs, and he turned to Projection.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked the referee. “Disqualify her!”

  “For what?” Projection asked, an innocent smile on his face. He knew he’d been played by the wording, and he enjoyed it.

  That made Pessins nervous, but the man pressed on anyway. “She said I got a free… the first shot.”

  “Your bolt left your weapon, completely,” Projection said. “Your first shot was fired. As she said, there was no caveat about letting it reach her. She fooled us both. I might also add, she’s under no obligation to continue standing around and doing nothing. Perhaps it is not me you should be paying attention to?”

  At the words, Pessins’ weapon snapped back up like he expected to see a tidal wave of explosions or a rushing Calisco charging at him. Neither of those things were happening. She hadn’t moved from her mark.

  She wasn’t looking at her nails anymore, though. No, her attention was entirely on Pessins.

  And he did not like the predatory way she was looking at him, another bolt forming on his crossbow before launching in her direction. This one only got halfway out of the weapon before another explosion sent him hurtling back.

  “He’s not going to win like that,” Det said. “He’s giving her time to set up her explosions.”

  “Is that what she trained for?” Sage asked Tena.

  “Not at all,” Tena said. “She could’ve done this before. But, I think that’s why she hasn’t finished him off yet. She doesn’t have to wait for him to shoot to explode him.”

  “She’s playing with her food,” Eriba said quietly, but far too happily.

  “She really is,” Det muttered, but Pessins was already back on his feet, this time dashing out to the side with his crossbow up and aimed. Moving like that—even if his dexterity wasn’t enough to make him speedy—would make it impossible for Calisco to put an explosion right in front of his crossbow. Since they were both in the same Artillery class, he probably knew the same thing. It was a good plan.

  Pessins pulled the trigger on the move, the keening bolt shrieking its way across the arena, only to be intercepted halfway by another explosion. Another three sprinting steps by Pessins and he launched a second bolt. Explosion. Three more steps. Bolt. Explosion. The process repeated five times in quick succession.

  “She’s playing the angles,” Det said. “Still being defensive, though. This isn’t anything she couldn’t do before?”

  “This is still easy mode for her,” Tena confirmed.

  Something Pessins seemed to agree with, and be annoyed about. The next time he formed a bolt in his weapon, it glowed orange instead of red. With the next pull of his trigger, the bolt didn’t shriek as it launched, but it did split.

  One orange bolt became three in a heartbeat.

  Not that it mattered when they all traveled at the same speed and hardly spread out, one explosion negating them all. Calisco still hadn’t even taken a single step from where she’d started the match. Nor had she gone on the offensive.

  A growl from Pessins’ mouth travelled across the arena, thanks to Projection’s magic, and the next bolt emerged green. Again, the man was on the move before he pulled the trigger, and this time when he did, a stream of bolts spewed forth. This wasn’t just three bolts, or ten. No, it was dozens, coming in a constant barrage.

  He really is machine-gunning it.

  “Here we go…” Tena said, leaning forward to match Sage’s pose.

  There was no way a single explosion could stop that many shots…

  So Calisco didn’t use a single explosion. Instead, a chain reaction of small explosions went off in a line in front of her. Popping like fireworks, each one absorbed two or three bolts with the concussive force produced, and it seemed like it might be a stalemate.

  Calisco turned with Pessins sprinting around her, the explosions doing a good job of intercepting the onslaught. Except, there it was, she was losing ground. Just barely, but an inch or so with every few degrees she rotated. If nothing changed, his green bolts would reach her.

  Why in the hells would she let that happen?

  One hand still in her pocket, she used the other like a sight to track the flow of bolts spewing in her direction. From all appearances, she needed her hands to aim those explosions.

  She didn’t.

  Pessins, focused entirely on the steady progress his shots were making, didn’t feel the sudden buildup of magical energy directly in front of him. Or, maybe he didn’t know to look for it. Not like Det and the others, who’d been fighting in Wordless dungeons. Either way, it caught him completely unprepared.

  The blast hit him when he was mid-step, bending his body around it briefly, before ricochetting him off at a seventy-degree angle. Far more powerful than anything Calisco had used before, it hurled the ReSouled right into the hard wall of the arena.

  The crowd—who’d somehow stayed silent since the initial exchange—suddenly erupted just as loud as the explosion had. Those who had the front-row seats above where Pessins collided with the wall recoiled at the impact, then leaned over to get a good look at the man directly below them.

  The right side of his shirt had been shredded, while nasty burns still sizzled on his arm. Blood leaked from an injury the side of his head—likely where he’d collided with the wall—and it took him a solid two seconds to steady himself after he managed to get back to his feet.

  “C’mon, Pissant,” Calisco said, voice carrying. “You can do better than that. I know you can.”

  “She probably really thinks that’s his name,” Weiss said.

  “Shut up!’ Pessins shouted, bolt forming purple on his crossbow before he aimed the weapon… up? With a whump, whump, whump, he launched three bolts into the air like mortars, a magical weight to each of them already arching them in Calisco’s direction.

  At the same time they lobbed at his opponent, the bolt in his crossbow turned green again, and he ran straight for her.

  “Better,” Calisco said, a dome of explosions above her intercepting the lobbed bolts—with themselves exploding with an impressive amount of force—while she simultaneously intercepted the stream of green shots. Even with the man running at her, it didn’t change the range she kept her explosions at in front of her, and Pessins was quickly forced to dart to the side.

  Since her explosions weren’t moving, though, it gave him a different kind of freedom. A quick change of colors launched more purple bolts into the air, before a new color entered the mix. This bolt was pink, and he instead fired it down and ahead.

  Striking the arena floor only twenty feet in front of him, the magical bolt bent, bounced, and shot in Calisco’s direction.

  Running around the woman, Pessins kept up the combination, purple bolts raining from above, pink from below, then throwing in green to batter her down. With him changing where he was aiming at on the floor, it made the angle and distance more difficult for Calisco to judge, but she was still holding them all off.

  Only, Pessins was getting closer. He’d already covered half the distance to her, like he wanted to get right in her face so he could see the whites of her eyes when he pulled the trigger that final time. Another quick combination of those three colors, one of the pink arrows actually getting through Calisco’s defenses—though it missed her—and Pessins finally committed.

  Green bolts pounded on her weak explosions, until Pessins did something Det had back in their training. He bodied himself right through the barrier. He didn’t come through unscathed at all, more burns across his arms and torse, but he charged in from fifteen feet away.

  A black bolt forming on his crossbow—a terrible magical weight to it—his ReSouled speed covered the remaining distance in a flash.

  Det leaned forward along with the rest of the audience, his own hands curling into fists on his knees.

  A gleaming grin of victory spread on Pessins’ face as he aimed the weapon at her point blank. The black bolt solidified—it had taken precious heartbeats to fully form—and he aimed it straight for her heart.

  At that range, what was she going to do?

  In retrospect, the obvious thing.

  Explosions.

  Like a bomb went off at Calisco’s mark, the eruption absolutely dwarfed anything that had come before. Force and flame stretched fifty feet in every direction, while a sudden black line of smoke was the only way to track Pessins’ exit from the blast.

  He hit the ground and skidded through the sand, smoke wafting off every part of him. Well past the point of singed eyebrows, the man barely had any clothes on his body. There was even less undamaged skin. And that was only the visible wounds. The concussive force of that blast had to have made a slurry of his insides.

  But, if he was that bad off… how was Calisco?

  Every spectator must’ve had the exact same thought at the same time, all their heads turning back to the center of the arena where the remnants of the blast were just now clearing.

  Clearing to reveal Calisco standing there—untouched—with one fist up in the air.

  “How?” Weiss asked.

  “During training,” Tena said. “We found out—purely by accident—that her explosions don’t hurt her.”

  “How?” Weiss asked again.

  Det almost sighed as he spit out the same answer Calisco herself would. “Magic.”

  Impressively, back down in the arena, Pessins was still moving. Trying to get back up, though he couldn’t seem to get further than hands and knees.

  “Oh, just stay down,” Calisco said, lowering her hand and making a finger-flick gesture in the man’s direction. The explosion took him in the side, the shaped blast bending him around it before shooting him into the wall like he’d been kicked by a giant.

  The casual and effortless violence of it once again stunned the audience to silence. As one, they realized she could’ve done just that any time during the match. Then, when Pessins didn’t get up again, the cheering started.