Luke patiently waits in the middle of a cleared circle, surrounded by fifty mercenaries who whisper among themselves. He had been ordered to remove his shirt and leather armor patches before being handed a pair of wooden sabers. Conrad happily led him to the area that looked suspiciously like a sparring circle, but he had left as quickly as he had arrived. An hour had passed with Luke feeling the chilly air burrow into his bones. Gradually, the edge of circle became filled with curious spectators. Luke sneezes and wipes his nose with the back of his hand, gaining the attention of a heavily scarred spearman who tosses him a flask. With a nod of thanks, Luke takes a quick shot of the milky liquid that sends a wave of warmth throughout his body.

“Thanks,” Luke says as he throws the flask back to the mercenary. “Can anybody tell me what this is about? I’m getting bored.”

A murmur of laughter ripples through the crowd as the mercenaries to Luke’s right divide to allow Tzefira and Conrad through. The calico looks slightly depressed, his tail dropping to the ground, while he sets a chair for Tzefira to sit on. She has her war staff across her lap with her ankles delicately crossed. The elf is not wearing her bandana, so everyone can see the scars that cover her scalp. With an expressionless face, she raises her fist and the mercenaries stop talking, their excitement nothing more than a palpable sensation in the air.

“This is an initiation,” Tzefira declares, her stern voice traveling throughout the entire camp. “Anyone who wishes to serve under my command must prove their worth. You are going to be one of my warriors, Luke Callindor, so you must show me your skills. I have chosen several opponents of varying skills and techniques for you to fight. This test will end when you give up, are defeated, or run out of opponents. Do you have any questions?”

“Are we talking one-on-one combat or all of your chosen fighters against me at the same time?” Luke asks. Again, he notices the mopey expression on Conrad’s face. “I’m guessing Conrad was told to sit this out.”

Conrad glares at Luke, a predatory grin on his face. “I made the request, but we felt that my inclusion would be unfair. We want to give you a chance to succeed after all.”

“Prepare yourself, Callindor!” Tzefira suddenly shouts, making sure to emphasize Luke’s famous surname. “First of the opponents will encounter the circle and a new opponent will enter immediately after his or her predecessor falls.”

Luke spins the wooden sabers while a bare-chested dwarf pushes through the crowd. He hefts his wooden hammer off his shoulder and runs a dirty hand through his blonde beard. The dwarf charges at Luke who rolls his eyes as he leaps over the attack. He is almost caught off-guard when the dwarf suddenly stops and spins on his toes, the wooden warhammer swinging around at Luke. The half-elf gets his sabers up and cross them over his chest in time to block the attack. He swiftly backs away until he is on the other side of the circle from the dwarf where he tries to catch his breath.

“Not looking good for you,” Tzefira mentions from her chair.

The dwarf charges at Luke again, his warhammer spinning in the air over his head, so Luke can’t jump over him. The burly warrior is within a few feet of striking when the forest tracker suddenly punches forward with the basket hilt of his saber. A loud and cringe-inducing crack echoes in everyone’s ears as Luke’s attack hits the dwarf in the forehead. Already passing out, the dwarf leans backwards while his momentum carries him stumbling into the crowd where he collapses.

“I read the scroll that Selenia sent,” Tzefira casually states, gently rolling the scroll between her hands. “It was an interesting read. I can’t tell if she respects you or considers you a foolish child.”

Luke is about to respond when someone pounces on him from behind, knocking him to the ground. He rolls away and handsprings back to his feet, so he can face the female calico that has entered the circle. She has twin cutlasses in her hands and a wooden weight that has been strapped to her black tail. The two fighters circle each other, experimentally jabbing at each other to get a sense of the other’s reflexes. Luke suddenly stops and turns to walk away from the confused calico. He crouches on the edge of the circle and stares at her, making her increasingly nervous.

“Is there a problem?” Conrad politely asks.

“She’s not in any rush to attack me, so I’m going to wait,” Luke replies to the laughter of the mercenaries. “I have a lot of fights today and I don’t plan on wasting my energy on a cautious kitten. Though, I have to admit that I’m intrigued by the tail weapon. I never realized your people had strong muscles in your tails.”

“We don’t,” the female calico admits.

“I see,” Luke whispers. He begins to stand, but breaks into a sprint as soon as he feels that he has the right balance and leverage for a strong push off the ground. The calico meets his charge with a flashy cartwheel that sends her cutlasses slashing for Luke’s head. He steps to the side, so that the swords miss and he only has the weighted tail to worry about. Leaning with the attack, he lets himself get hit on shoulder and turns his motion into a savage sweep with his sabers. Since she is upside down, his wooden weapons catch her arms at the elbows and cause her to crash on her head. Luke is about to check on her when he catches motion from his left and spins around to press his sabers against the throat of a spear-carrying half-orc.

“Can somebody take her to the healer?” Luke loudly requests. He can hear a mercenary walking behind him as the unconscious calico is picked up and carried away. “We’re all going to be on the same side after all of this, so I don’t want to make any enemies.”

“I’m sure they appreciate it,” Tzefira says in a voice filled with boredom. She continues talking when the spearman jabs at Luke, hitting him in the ribs and forcing him to back quickly away. “Now, Selenia has asked that I not give you any special treatment because you require a lot of supervision. You become defiant and mouthy with ease. You ignore rules if you feel that they are in the way of doing what is right. You have a childish obsession with proving yourself, which can lead to reckless behavior and stupidity. Are you listening, Luke?”

The half-elf risks a glance of irritation at the mercenary as he continues dancing around the attacks of the spearman. Every jab is expertly turned into a stunning swing that keeps Luke on the defensive. Whenever he tries to attack, the half-orc spins his spear to create a barrier that deflects the attacks. After the first two mercenaries, Luke had expected someone only slightly stronger, but this warrior is a master with his weapon. He possesses a flawless defense to make up for his basic offense, which means the fight will go on until one of them makes a mistake or gives up.

Luke attempts to stand his ground and swiftly parries the rapid jabs and swings of the spear. It is a difficult contest of reflexes that Luke can feel himself losing because of his shorter reach. A reckless idea forms in his mind when he notices the half-orc’s eyes are following his wrists and the tips of his sabers. Gradually, the forest tracker inches forward, closing the gap between him and the larger warrior. It is such a slow movement that the half-orc doesn’t realize how close Luke is until his parries are striking near the bottom half of the spear. As Luke had hoped, the spearman spins his weapon to block any attacks that the smaller warrior can make now that he is within slashing range. Readying his sabers to stab, Luke abruptly kicks out and slams the heel of his foot onto the toes of the spearman. Stunned by the sudden pain, the half-orc is unable to stop the strike to his other leg and a strong jab to his stomach.

“Was there a point to what you were saying, Tzefira?” Luke asks as he walks around the collapsing half-orc. “I have a few seconds before this guy either passes out or stands up.”

“I’m just making conversation,” she claims with a snap of her fingers.

A loud crack fills that air as the half-orc crawls out of the circle. Luke turns and freezes when he sees a bald halfling with a bullwhip standing several yards away from him. He can see the mercenaries grinning and laughing, but he isn’t sure if they find the halfling funny or know something that Luke is about to discover the painful way. With a sigh of resignation, Luke starts advancing on the halfling. He easily avoids the strikes of the halfling’s whip as he closes in on the small warrior. Luke is about to grab the halfling when a second whip wraps around his wrist and a third whip catches his ankle. He is yanked off his feet, twisting in the air and landing with a painful thud.

“We’re triplets,” says the first halfling who is joined by another bald halfling and a brown-haired female halfling. “Not identical.”

“It’s going to be one of those fights,” Luke mutters as he gets to his feet. He feels two of the whips catch his ankles again before he is facedown on the ground. One of the halflings rushes by him, snatching his sabers out of his hands.

Luke pulls himself to his hands and knees, feeling a barrage of whips strike his back and arms. He looks around to see that his sabers have been placed on the far side of the circle. A stinging whip to his back meets his attempt to crawl to the sabers and falls back to the muddy ground. After a few minutes of random whipping, Luke starts to feel a familiar voice whispering in the back of his mind. The voice is not saying any coherent words, but Luke clearly senses that the griffin wants to come out and settle this problem. For a brief moment, he is tempted to let her out, but realizes that using his transformation would be overdoing it. It would also reveal a potential trick that he might need later.

“Thanks for the offer, but I got this,” Luke whispers to the internal disappointment of the griffin. “You have given me an idea though.”

“Who is he whispering to?” asks the female halfling.

One of the male halflings shrugs an instant before Luke suddenly pounces on him, knocking him to the ground. Staying on all fours, the half-elf bounds and leaps around the confused halflings. Many of their attacks go over Luke’s head when he drops lower to the ground. A few times they come dangerously close to hitting each other, so they fan out to avoid an accident. Eventually, Luke jumps on the shoulders of the female halfling and uses her as a flailing springboard to launch himself at his sabers. Tucking in mid-air, Luke rolls onto the ground and hops up to his feet with the wooden weapons in his hands.

“Impressive, but you still have to defeat them,” Tzefira points out with a barely noticeable grin. “I believe this is the ingenuity and adaptability that Selenia mentioned in her scroll. You must drive your allies insane with your combat style. I’m surprised Nyx hasn’t accidentally blasted you into the next world.”

“Nyx is surprisingly careful and precise with her magic,” Luke mentions as he cautiously eyes the halflings. “I would like to point out that using real whips when I have practice swords is a little unfair.”

“Stop whining,” the female halfling snaps.

She wraps her whip around Luke’s right wrist and tries to pull him off balance by running toward his back. Luke gently spins with her and coils the whip around his sabers. Twisting his upper body, he yanks the halfling into the air and slams her into the nearest of her brothers. Luke turns to face the third halfling who looks at Tzefira with a pleading pout on his lips. She nods her head and the halfling drops his whip. He rushes to help his siblings to their feet and they limp off into the crowd.

“I’m getting bored,” Luke declares, lazily spinning his sabers. “Can we bring this to an end?”

“All you have left is a rematch,” Conrad assures him.

Luke stares at the calico with a worried look on his face. “Rematch?”

The sound of someone clearing his throat forces Luke to slowly turn around. He is confused to see a towering man with strawberry blonde hair down to his shoulders. The point of his wooden two-handed broadsword is pressing into the ground as he leans on the hilt. A chorus of chuckles catches his attention and he notices a trio of mercenaries standing outside of the circle. One of the three men is dressed entirely in black while the other two are a weasel-faced man with a cutlass and a black-haired man with twin broadswords. The memory of these four clicks in his mind as his opponent hefts his sword into the air.

“Hi, Tavris,” Luke says with a friendly smile. “I guess you guys and Delvin parted ways.”

“It is a delicate subject,” Tavris calmly mentions. “I had asked to fight you first, but Tzefira wants to see how you do when tired and injured. Still, I wanted to make sure you were ready for me.”

“I appreciate it,” the half-elf replies.

Tavris cautiously approaches Luke until the half-elf rushes at him, side-stepping as the large man’s sword swings down at him. At the last second, Tavris releases the sword with his right hand and backhands Luke across face. Luke stumbles away, shaking his head to clear his senses. He rushes forward again, but stops as Tavris starts to stab at his chest. Luke begins running backwards only for Tavris to follow him with an expertly controlled running stab that Luke rolls to the side of.

“You’ve improved,” Luke claims, remaining in a crouch. “If I didn’t know any better, I would say you were training specifically to fight people like me.”

“You revealed a lot of our flaws in our fight,” Tavris admits as he slowly advances on the half-elf. “So, we have been learning how to handle a variety of fighters. Agile fighters like you just happened to be at the top of our list.”

“What happens if I give up, Tzefira?” Luke asks out of curiosity.

“I have a tent full of used chamber pots for you to clean,” she answers. The mercenaries cheer and laugh at the idea.

Luke lets a slow, steady breath before charging Tavris again. The large man immediately moves his broadsword to block Luke’s sabers as the come at him from the right side. Tavris pushes the smaller warrior away and swings at his shoulders. Instead of dodging, Luke gets his sabers up to block the heavy sword and runs them along the edge to get closer. Luke makes a quick kick to Tavris’s thigh, which is returned by Tavris kicking him in the side. Grunting in pain, Luke makes another kick at the large man’s knees and braces himself for a second kick to his side. They go kick for kick for several minutes with Luke obviously getting the worst of the exchange. His legs are buckling and his arms strain as Tavris’s kicks push him further away, lessening his leverage.

“I’m getting tired and sore,” Luke whispers through his gritted teeth. “Mind if I end this, old friend?”

“Be my guest,” Tavris replies with a cruel grin. “I’ll make sure to wake you up in time for dinner.”

Luke lets his feet slide back even further before he slips his sabers off Tavris’s broadsword and falls to the side. Without Luke holding him up, Tavris falls forward and tries to move his numb left leg to steady himself. He is forced to use his broadsword to stop his fall, the wooden point sinking into the ground. The large man pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek out of amused frustration when he feels the points of Luke’s sabers against his throat and groin. The half-elf is on his back in the mud, but Tavris knows that he has been defeated. If this was a real battle with real swords, he would have no chance of hitting Luke before the sabers finished him off.

“I admit defeat,” Tavris declares to a chorus of boos and groans. “Quit your childish groaning! He beat me fairly and you all know it.”

“You would have had me at the beginning if we used real swords,” Luke claims as he drops his sabers and gets to his feet. “You are a dangerous man who I am glad to have on my side.”

“We’ll see about that. Always remember that we mercenaries are a fickle lot,” the big man says. He sinks to his knees and reaches out to pat Luke on the shoulder. “Although, I do not think I will ever take an assignment pits me against you. There is not enough gold in the world to make me want to deal with you in a real fight.”

Luke grins with pride and turns his head toward Tzefira and Conrad. “Can I put my shirt back on now?”

“Welcome to the Salamander Army, Luke Callindor,” Tzefira answers. She tosses him a white towel before getting off her chair and walking back to her tent. Her voice suddenly echoes throughout the camp yelling, “Your first mission will be tomorrow morning, so get some rest, fresh meat!”