Bob, you better handle this one, I suggested.

  “Daimmen sent us,” Bob answered smoothly. “He said you’d be able to provide us with ‘the good stuff.’ We can pay.”

  Whittle’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “That’d be illegal. I run a clean operation here, making only sanctioned ale.”

  I activated Sense Emotions. It was one of my Dark Mana skill functions that allowed me to gauge an NPC’s mindset based on the shape of his mana. The sense I got from the fat hob was a heavy blue color of deceit. “Look, we’re not with the city guards, and Daimmen did send us,” I said at last. “Just take our money and give us what we want.”

  His mana coalesced into a vermilion swirl of anger. “It spoke to me,” Whittle spat. “This is a brash one, restrain it, quickly!”

  Vic piped.

  “Hurry,” Whittle urged. “It will jump into my ale barrels any second now. No one wants to drink goblin-infused ale; I’ll have to throw away the entire batch!”

  Vic said.

  I sighed and made my way over to a nearby open barrel which smelled strongly of ale.

  “What are you doing?” Whittle screeched, taking a step toward me, but on my mental command, Yulli stepped in to block his way.

  “I’m about to go for a swim in your ale barrel,” I said, mimicking his tone.

  “No!” His eyes bulged and he tried to shoulder Yulli away. The hob boss easily caught both of Whittle’s wrists and pinned his arms behind his back, holding him in place.

  “How about you sell us the alcohol we want, then we can all part as friends?” I suggested mildly, eyeing the amber liquid curiously. It did smell good.

  “Fine, fine!” he yelled. “Just step away from my ale!”

  I did and ordered Yulli to release the cranky plump hob.

  Whittle grunted and approached one of the sealed barrels. He glanced around, then bent down and pressed on the barrel’s side. A hidden compartment sprang open, revealing rows of glass bottles.

  Bob whistled. “That’s some hiding spot.”

  Whittle chuckled nervously. “Yeah, the guards never think of looking for illegal alcohol inside legal alcohol.” He drew out a bottle of clear liquid and offered it to us. “That’ll be 10 gold.”

  I raised an eyebrow. Daimmen had given us five. I didn’t particularly care for such a pittance, but I refused to be swindled. “That bottle is worth five,” I declared.

  He grumbled for a moment. “Eight.”

  I drew out five coins. “How about you take the five, and we’ll keep quiet about your secret stash of illegal bottles?”

  His eyes opened wide at my words. Then he gritted his teeth and said, “Alright, five.”

  I handed him the coins and took the bottle.

  “You sure are a strange slave,” he said.

  “So I’ve been told.”

  We left the brewery.

  “What now, Chief?” Yulli asked.

  “Let’s go find The Pit,” I said.

  “That’s easy, everyone knows where the arena is, Dread Totem,” Bob said. “It’s in the next district, inside their barracks.”

  “So there aren’t three arenas?” I asked with a grin.

  “Actually, there are,” my lieutenant answered. “Each district has its own arena built inside its barracks, much like our own at Goblin’s Gorge. District One is the biggest, so it serves as Akzar’s main arena. The other barracks use their arenas mainly for training.”

  I nodded. “I see.”

  We moved into the main boulevard that crossed the inner streets and along its circular shape, passing residences and shops.

  “Yulli, what’s wrong?” I asked. The scout boss had stopped dead in her tracks, eyes glued to one of the shop’s windows.

  She didn’t answer at first, so I backtracked toward her and followed her gaze. A magnificent composite bow was on display. It was made of white material and had feathers on one end. I looked at Yulli’s own bow strapped across her back. She was carrying one of the Willow longbows my clan’s bowyer had made. It was one of his finest, but it didn’t hold a candle to the one on display.

  Yulli was a vital part of our mission’s success, and I wanted to keep her happy. Having her wield such a bow would significantly increase our group’s combat effectiveness.

  I smiled at her. “Let’s go buy you a bow.”

  She looked down at me in surprise, then smiled back. We went inside the store.

  “Ah, welcome to my shop, friends,” an orc greeted us from behind a counter. He wore a fabric wrapped around the top of his head. “I’m Bodnik. How may I help my new customers?”

  An orc shopkeeper? I projected my bewilderment.

  “Hello,” Bob greeted the orc. “We are looking for a weapon for my companion.” He pointed his chin at Yulli.

  “You’re in the right place!” the orc declared. “You will find no better anywhere in Akzar, you have my word on that!”

  Bob glanced at me before saying, “I assume, that as a non-hobgoblin, your sponsor isn’t influential enough to get you into the inner ring, and that’s why you set up shop here in the outer ring?”

  I see. Thanks, Bob. My lieutenant had managed to answer my question covertly.

  Bodnik’s face fell for a second, then picked right back up. “You are correct, my friend, but this is a good thing for you! How else would you be able to access my shop if it was housed up there, available only to the rich and influential citizens?”

  Vic said.

  “True,” Bob said. “How much for that bow?” He pointed at the white bow on display.

  “Ah, your friend has excellent taste. That is Deathstrike, a rare and recent acquisition. For you, my friend, only 2,000 gold!” He placed the bow in Yulli’s hand for inspection.

  I analyzed it.

  Deathstrike [Composite Longbow]

  Description: This bow is carved from the flexible bones of a griffon. The bones can withstand enormous pressure, effectively increasing the damage based on the user’s strength. Once the bow’s string is drawn and held taut, the two griffon feathers at the top of the bow will start to separate, slowly forming a circle. If the wielder can hold the bow drawn until the feathers reach a full circle, the power of the griffon will imbue the arrow.

  Prerequisite: Wielder Physical score of 30 or higher.

  Type: Weapon [2 hands]

  Rank: Magical

  Runecraft Viability: 3 runes

  Durability: 90/90

  Damage: Base 45-60

  Effect: Add wielder’s Physical attribute score to the damage (minus 30), imbue arrow: griffon

  Base Price: 1,500

  I whistled softly. That was some bow. The limitation was a hindrance, though. As a tier 1, level 24 boss, Yulli’s own Physical score was only at 27. She’d need to level up three times before she could even use the bow.

  I glanced at her face. Yulli gazed in wonder at the bow in her arms, her hands clutching at it possessively.

  I sighed in resignation. I had to buy the bow, or Yulli might try to shoot her way out of here. Then we’d all be in trouble.

  Bob, since he’s not a hob, do you think the shopkeeper will agree to barter with me? I asked.

  Bob gestured at me and said, “Please discuss the terms with my slave.”

  The orc seemed bewildered but shrugged it off. “As I said, the bow costs 2,000 gold.”

  “It’s worth 1,300,” I countered. “And seeing as most residents of this ring are common soldiers with little money, you’d be hard-pressed to find a suitable buyer.”

  Bodnik arched an eyebrow at my words and gave me an appraising look. “You are right, little one; most hobgoblin soldiers cannot afford my wares, but there are a lot of nobles who would love to add this piece to their collection. I’ll agree to lower the price to 1,800.”

  That was some progress, at least.

  I shook my head. “And how exactly will you reach those ‘rich nobles’ when you’re stuck here, in the outer ring? Tell you what, I’ll give you 1,400 gold for the bow right now.”

  The orc looked at Bob. “I see why you have me haggling with your slave; he is a crafty one.” He looked back at me. “Very well, 1,600 gold, final price.”

  “Fifteen hundred,” I countered. “And we’ll spread the word about your shop in the inner ring. We’re actually staying at The Dancing Shade inn. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

  Bodnik’s face broke into a smile. “Deal! For 1,500 and a poster of my shop hanging on the inn’s wall, I’ll trade you Deathstrike.”

  That amount of money was almost my entire fortune. “Would you agree to barter in items for some of the cost?” I asked.

  “I might,” he answered carefully. “What do you have to offer?”

  In response, I produced two spatial satchels I had brought with me from the clan. I’d filled them with our surplus armor and weapons; 20 average-quality willow bows priced at 20 gold each and 10 leather mesh armor, each worth 40.

  “Interesting,” the orc remarked as he examined the bows and armor. “Nothing special, but decent quality. How about we knock 700 gold off the bow’s price for everything?”

  I snorted. “It’s worth at least 800, and you’ll be able to sell it quickly to the grunts in this ring. How about 1,000 instead?”

  He grinned. “I like you, goblin. You drive a hard bargain.”

  I smirked at him. I sort of liked him too. He was refreshingly honest about his attempts to swindle me.

  “Make sure that poster will hold for a week, and we have a deal,” he finally said. “I’ll treat it as an investment.”

  “Deal.” I stuck out my hand, and we shook on it.

  The shopkeeper glanced at Yulli and chuckled as she affectionately caressed the bow. “So that will be 500 gold.”

  “Yes, here it is.” I handed him 500 coins from my inventory. I had a little over a thousand left.

  The shopkeeper drew out a piece of paper and quickly sketched a few words on it. “Here’s the poster.”

  I took it and placed it in my inventory.

  “Aren’t you worried I’ll just throw the poster away?” I asked curiously. “I mean, I got what I wanted. It seems careless to trust your customers to pay after they have what they want.”

  Bodnik looked at Bob with a raised brow.

  “We have come to an agreement,” my lieutenant explained. “In Akzar, a verbal contract is binding. If we don’t hold our part of the bargain, he can file a complaint with the city’s authorities. Those who break contracts are dealt with harshly.”

  Vic chimed in,

  “We will hang your poster, don’t worry,” I promised the orc. “It was nice doing business with you.”

  He nodded. “Likewise, little one.”

  We exited the shop, and Yulli immediately tried to draw her new bow. “No!” she growled as she failed to pull back the string.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “I think I can fix it for you, later tonight.”

  She gave the string one more try then said defeatedly, “Thank you, Chief.”

  We continued walking the main road toward the other district and came into view of a large cathedral. It was a three-story building with a big courtyard filled with statues of warriors in battle. There were blades on the windows instead of bars.

  “What is this charming place?” Yulli asked.

  “I’m guessing … the Church of Dargrot, god of battle?” I said.

  Bob nodded. “You are correct, Dread Totem.”

  “Cool, let’s go have a look inside.”

  We crossed the courtyard toward a set of double doors leading into the cathedral. A host of hobgoblins were passing through it.

  A hob clad in red robes stood on a small dais at the side of the entrance, preaching loudly the tenets of his god. “You there!” The priest pointed at us. “You stand proud! Worthy warriors, your place is with Dargrot! Come, join us, and be uplifted above the rest!”

  “Great, a hob televangelist. Now I've seen everything,” I grumbled.

  Unfortunately, the sharp-eared priest caught my words. “Dispatch this blasphemous slave and join the Church of Dargrot,” he boomed.

  “Actually, we’re just looking to get the church’s blessing so we can make it into the upper ring.” Bob passed the line I fed him, word for word.

  The priest grinned. “We would be honored to bless our valorous champions. All you have to do is pledge your neverending soul to the god of battle.”

  “Shit,” I muttered, ignoring the hateful glare of the priest.

 

  Just tell that asshole thanks, but no thanks, I instructed.

  “I apologize, priest of Dargrot, but we must leave,” Bob said carefully.

  Suddenly, the priest disappeared in a flash of red light and reappeared behind us, blocking our way.

  “Hey, you can teleport!” I exclaimed, approaching him. For a moment, I’d forgotten my position as a ‘lowly slave.’ “How come you’re not blocked by the city’s wards?”

  The hobgoblin priest sneered. He raised his hand, and a flash of red light came out of it. I felt like I was hit by a truck and was thrown backward to land several meters away on the hard stone ground of the courtyard.

  I got to my feet, snarling, but Vic tightened himself around my neck, forcing me down.

  I forced myself to calm down. Now that I really looked at the priest, I could see the dense red aura surrounding his body. His proximity to the center of his faith had empowered his body and spellcasting significantly, similar to how the Dark Temple filled me with strength.

  “You two should control your slave more fully,” the priest declared imperiously, pointing at Bob and Yulli.

  “Yes, that seems to be the general opinion,” Bob said.

  I frowned. Did my lieutenant just make fun of me?

  Vic replied, sounding choked up.

  Bob grabbed my shoulder. “Let’s go, slave.”

  I let myself be dragged away, throwing hateful stares at the annoying priest.

  God, I needed to kill something.

  ***

  “So this it? This is The Pit?” I asked. I was not impressed.

  The district’s barracks itself was an impressive three-story building at least twice the size of the barracks back at the clan. Their training pit alone was larger than our entire mess hall. It was a deep hole about 50 meters in diameter with metal portcullises on its ground level, reminding me of the old Roman Colosseum.

  The Pit inn, on the other hand, was a rickety two-story building just across the street from the barracks. Its front door was open, and I could see straight inside where there was a bar, tables, and flimsy-looking wooden stairs leading to the second floor.

  Despite its appearance, the inn was full of patrons, all looking tough and battle-tested. A couple of Ogres stood at the entrance, both wearing spiked steel gauntlets.

  “How should we proceed, Dread Totem?” Bob asked.

  “Hmmm …” I pursed my lips. “The place is pretty full right now. We want it to be less crowded.”

  “Yes,” my lieutenant said. “The arena tournament has just started. It’s still the preliminaries. Once the big fights start, most of the inn’s patrons will leave to watch. The inn should be less crowded around sunset, before the curfew.”

  “Okay, that’s still a few hours away. We can go check out the other temple in the meantime.”

  A tortured wail erupted from the direction of the arena.

  “What was that?” I demanded. It sounded like goblins.

  Bob’s face darkened. “It’s the preliminaries.”

  We moved closer to the arena. About a dozen hob spectators sat on the benches around the pit, some of them cheering, the others looking bored. I glanced inside the pit and felt a hot pang of rage well up inside my stomach.

  A dozen goblins were battling each other. The small creatures had been pitted against one another, and they awkwardly swung weapons that were much too large for them. As I watched, one of the two gates opened, and a gigantic serpent slithered out of it. The goblins squeaked in fear, forgetting about each other, and scrambled to run away. The snake easily caught them and gobbled them up one by one to the mild cheers of the crowd.

  I felt a steady hand on my shoulder and looked up to see Bob’s serious face. “They have not fought hard enough to entertain the crowd,” he explained quietly. “So the arena master unleashed the snake to liven things up.”

  “They killed a dozen goblins just to entertain a few bored spectators?” I spat, my eyes shooting daggers at the crowd of indifferent hobgoblins.

  Bob nodded. “I’m afraid these are the ways of my people. I have warned you that goblins are nothing more than slaves and a source of amusement to my people.”

  “It almost sounds like you try to justify it,” I said accusingly. “Are you telling me you enjoyed watching that?”

  “No, Drea– No!” Bob said a bit too loudly, drawing some curious gazes, then added more quietly, “I abandoned those ways when you defeated my previous chief. Your word is now my law, and I will follow you into death. But most of my people don’t share my views. We have to be careful not to draw unwanted attention to ourselves or we risk the future of the GreenPiece Clan.”

  His explanation cooled me down a bit. I still didn’t like the idea of goblins being so carelessly and cold-heartedly butchered, but once I’d regained my composure, I realized things weren’t so different in my own clan. We had no slaves, but I did have the habit of occasionally sacrificing my own soldiers.

  I sighed heavily as I reconciled with the situation. My goblin persona was manifesting itself more and more in times of stress. It was getting harder to remember my real goals. Even now, a part of me just wanted to butcher all the hobs, sack their city, and take their females. But I resisted that urge.