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I knew little about Tanko, the Hunting Master, but one thing was clear—his life in the empire had been far from easy. His rough speech, coarse features, and distinctly foreign appearance marked him as a member of the Grasslands' ethnic minorities.
His journey to fame had probably been a relentless struggle every step of the way.
"I'm sure you understand the importance of points," Tanko said. "Luan Badniker, your current score is eleven points. If you lose to me, it drops to nine."
"It doesn't matter," I replied.
"Really?" Tanko's tone was skeptical.
He glanced over his shoulder, and several knights behind him stepped forward to observe the other hero disciples sparring. Their presence seemed intended to prevent the matches from escalating into violence.
"I heard you fight with your fists," Tanko remarked.
It appeared the Great Masters had already caught wind of my earlier spar with Hector.
Though I carried the Seven Sins Sword, I had no intention of using it now. I lacked the confidence to wield it effectively.
"That's correct," I admitted.
"Good. Then I'll face you bare-handed," Tanko...
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