When Osric entered the underground arena that evening, the place was still half empty.
Only a few scattered spectators sat around the pit, most of them gamblers with little coin to spare. Their voices were low and impatient as they argued over small bets.
The real crowds wouldn't arrive until later.
The early fights rarely attracted anyone important.
Osric expected that.
The first bracket was where the arena placed its weakest fighters. Men with little reputation, little skill, and usually very little to lose.
Desperate people.
Near the edge of the pit, a small group of fighters waited for the first matches to begin.
There weren't many of them tonight.
Some leaned against the stone wall, arms crossed. Others stretched or quietly spoke to the gamblers who had come to watch them.
A few simply stared at the ground.
Osric calmly took a seat a few rows above the pit.
From there, he could observe everyone clearly.
Most of the fighters looked exactly like he expected.
Rough men from the slums. Drunk brawlers hoping to earn a few coins. Young fools trying to prove something.
Their movements alone told him enough.
Unbalanced stances.
Slow reactions.
Nervous glances toward the crowd.
Osric dismissed them one after another.
'Not worth my time.'
Then his eyes stopped on one of the younger fighters.
The young man stood quietly near the edge of the pit, slightly apart from the others.
Compared to the rest of the group, he looked almost out of place.
Calmer.
Steadier.
Osric studied him carefully.
His posture was relaxed, but there was a firmness to it that most inexperienced fighters lacked.
'That should be him.'
Jayson.
Osric continued watching him.
Jayson looked young. Around eighteen, just as the book had said.
His dark brown hair was cut short and curled slightly around his head. His face was clean and sharper than most of the men in the arena. Blue eyes focused quietly on the pit in front of him.
He wasn't particularly large.
His build was average, maybe even slightly lean for a fighter. Nothing about his physique suggested unusual strength.
But his posture told a different story.
Although he stood still and calm on the outside, his body was tense.
Osric could see it in the stiffness of his shoulders and the way his fingers flexed slightly at his sides.
'Nervous.'
'Or desperate.'
Most likely both.
The referee soon stepped forward and shouted the announcement for the next match.
Jayson's name was called.
The young man stepped into the pit.
His opponent was a thick man from the slums with crooked teeth and a swollen nose that had probably been broken several times before.
The crowd barely reacted.
Only a few gamblers leaned forward to watch.
Osric's attention sharpened.
The fight began.
Jayson attacked first.
It was a reckless move.
His fist shot forward in a wide, desperate swing that lacked any real technique.
His opponent easily avoided it and countered with a heavy punch aimed at Jayson's jaw.
Jayson barely slipped past it.
His body twisted in a strangely flexible motion, bending just enough for the punch to miss.
Osric's eyes narrowed slightly.
'That movement…'
Jayson stumbled a step as he tried to recover his balance.
The fight quickly turned messy.
Both fighters began throwing rough punches with little control or rhythm.
Jayson's attacks were clumsy and desperate.
His footwork lacked structure and his guard opened repeatedly.
But strangely enough, none of the counterattacks from his opponent ever landed cleanly.
Every time a punch came toward him, Jayson's body shifted just enough to avoid it.
Sometimes he ducked.
Sometimes he leaned back.
Sometimes he twisted away at the last moment.
None of the movements were elegant.
But they were fast.
Unnaturally fast.
Osric leaned slightly forward in his seat.
Jayson suddenly threw another desperate punch.
This time it landed.
The impact echoed loudly as his fist crashed into the other fighter's face.
The man staggered backward in surprise.
Jayson followed up instinctively.
Another rough strike.
Then another.
The third punch knocked the man down onto the stone floor of the pit.
The small crowd reacted with scattered shouts and laughter.
But Osric didn't pay attention to them.
His gaze remained fixed on Jayson.
The young fighter stood there breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling quickly.
His expression was still tense.
Still serious.
But there was something else as well.
Osric studied him carefully.
'His movements are too flexible.'
'His reactions are too fast.'
Jayson's body didn't look particularly strong.
Yet the force behind his punches had been greater than expected.
And even after the frantic exchange, his breathing steadied quickly.
'Strength… stamina… endurance.'
Osric leaned back slowly.
'All above what they should be for that body.'
His eyes sharpened slightly.
'So the information was probably correct.'
A faint thought crossed his mind.
'A mana seed.'