Chapter 8: Baptism by Fire

The roar of the crowd echoed in Les's ears as he stood in the center of the arena once more, his heart pounding like a war drum. The smell of dust and sweat filled the air, blending with the palpable excitement that surged through the audience. The adrenaline from his first victory still coursed through his veins, but there was no time to dwell on it now. His next fight was about to begin, and the stakes were higher.

He gripped his sword, feeling its weight settle comfortably in his hand. The blade was not special—just a basic weapon he had picked up during his exploration of the game's early quests. But in his hands, it felt like more. Each battle was an extension of his will to survive, to fight, to rise above the crushing defeat of his past.

Across the arena, his new opponent emerged from the opposite gate—a hulking warrior, easily a head taller than Les, clad in thick iron armor that gleamed under the arena's bright lights. His weapon of choice was a massive two-handed warhammer, and with every step, the ground seemed to tremble beneath his feet.

The announcer's voice rang out, "Ladies and gentlemen, feast your eyes on tonight's match! A fierce newcomer against Gorrak the Unyielding, a veteran with ten victories under his belt! Will our underdog survive this clash of titans?"

The crowd roared in response, and Les swallowed the lump forming in his throat. This wasn't just any fight—this was a proving ground. Every step, every swing, every decision he made would be scrutinized by the spectators. More than that, he could feel the eyes of the betting crowd on him, eager to see if the newcomer had what it took to stand toe-to-toe with a battle-hardened warrior like Gorrak.

The burly warrior from earlier gave him a nod from the stands. He had placed a bet on Les, and there was no turning back now.

The announcer's voice dropped, and the tension rose with it. "Combatants, prepare for battle!"

Gorrak hefted his warhammer with ease, swinging it in a wide arc, the heavy head whooshing through the air with a menacing sound. Les could see the confidence radiating from the man—the kind of confidence that came from experience and a string of victories. But Les had something else: a hunger to win. He needed this victory, not just for the money or the glory, but to prove to himself that he could fight his way back from the abyss.

The bell rang, signaling the start of the match.

Gorrak wasted no time, charging forward with surprising speed for someone his size. The warhammer was already swinging down toward Les's head, promising a swift and brutal end if it connected. Les's instincts kicked in, and he dove to the side, rolling across the sandy arena floor. The warhammer crashed into the ground with a thunderous impact, sending a plume of dust into the air.

Les scrambled to his feet, his heart racing. He couldn't afford to let Gorrak dictate the pace of the fight. The warrior was strong—too strong to match head-on—but Les had agility and speed on his side.

Gorrak turned, his face twisted into a grin. "You'll have to do better than that, kid."

Les tightened his grip on his sword, circling around his opponent, keeping his distance. He needed to find an opening. Gorrak's armor was heavy, and though it provided excellent protection, it also slowed him down. If Les could keep dodging and wear him out, there might be a chance.

Gorrak lunged again, this time with a horizontal swing. Les ducked under it, feeling the air rush above him as the warhammer whooshed past. He slashed upward, aiming for the gap in Gorrak's armor at his side. The blade struck true, but the cut was shallow, barely enough to draw blood.

The crowd cheered, a mix of encouragement and excitement, but Gorrak barely flinched. With a roar, he swung his hammer back around, forcing Les to leap out of range. The force of Gorrak's swings was incredible—one wrong move, and Les knew he would be crushed.

The duel continued, Gorrak pressing the attack with relentless fury. Les dodged, ducked, and countered whenever he saw an opening, but none of his hits were enough to slow the warrior down. Sweat dripped down Les's face, and his muscles burned with the effort of staying one step ahead.

Gorrak laughed, clearly enjoying the game of cat and mouse. "Is this all you've got? Come on! Stand and fight like a real warrior!"

Les gritted his teeth. He needed to change tactics, and fast. Gorrak's taunts were wearing on him, but they also revealed something important—Gorrak was getting impatient. He wanted a direct fight, one where his strength would guarantee victory. But Les wasn't going to give him that satisfaction.

He kept moving, biding his time, waiting for the right moment. Gorrak's swings were powerful, but they were also predictable. Every time he missed, there was a slight delay before he could recover—an opening Les could exploit.

The next time Gorrak lunged, Les sidestepped and thrust his sword forward, aiming for the back of the knee where the armor was weakest. The blade found its mark, and Gorrak grunted in pain, stumbling slightly.

The crowd gasped, the sound of surprise rippling through the stands. It wasn't a crippling blow, but it was enough to slow Gorrak down.

Les pressed the advantage. He darted in, slashing at Gorrak's exposed joints, each strike chipping away at the warrior's defenses. Gorrak's movements became sluggish, his heavy armor now working against him. Les could see the frustration growing on his opponent's face as the crowd's cheers turned in Les's favor.

"Come on, you bastard!" Gorrak roared, swinging wildly in an attempt to land a hit.

Les ducked under the swing and delivered a final, powerful slash across Gorrak's side. The warrior roared in pain, dropping to one knee, his warhammer falling from his grip.

The crowd erupted into deafening cheers, and the announcer's voice rang out. "Victory to the newcomer, Les!"

Les stood there for a moment, breathing hard, his heart still pounding in his chest. He had done it. He had defeated Gorrak, the Unyielding. The crowd's cheers washed over him, a heady mix of disbelief and exhilaration.

As he sheathed his sword and stepped out of the arena, the burly warrior from the betting crowd approached him, grinning. "Well, I'll be damned. You really pulled it off. Drinks are on me tonight."

Les chuckled, though his body was still buzzing with adrenaline. "I'll take you up on that," he said, his mind already spinning with the possibilities ahead.

This was just the beginning. He had tasted victory, but more than that, he had found a path—one that could lead him not only to wealth and glory but to reclaiming the power and control he had lost in the real world.

As Les left the arena, the cheers of the crowd still ringing in his ears, he couldn't help but smile. He was on his way to something greater, and for the first time in a long while, he believed he could make it happen.