It didn’t take me long to find the cause of the ruckus that shook the walls a little earlier. In the middle of the small town, where you’d expect the market place to be, there was a large circular arena, which was encircled by a battered fence made of metal, which was reminiscent of the cages, some of the more brutal professional fighters liked to use back home. In the middle of the arena, two young people were fighting under the continuous cheers. Looking at the setup, I wouldn’t have bet a single penny on the far side contestant, a really scrawny boy, who could have been a girl just the same. Their opponent, on the contrary could have starred as ‘Conan the Barbarian’ any day. And it was obvious that the crowd was of the same opinion. However I had to learn a very important lesson that day...you do well, to not underestimate someone, just because they don’t look the part.

As ‘Conan’ charged forward, his opponent dived through his legs with amazing speed and left a lasting impression on Conan’s crown jewels on the way back up, which caused the crowd to erupt into a fit of laughter. I, on the other hand, did not laugh. Instead, I observed. You see, in stories like these, when there’s an arena, the hero almost inevitably gets to fight in it. And if I was going to be put into the cage, I at least wanted to know what I was going up against.
While Conan was still reeling from the previous hit, Scrawny stopped in their tracks, did a backflip and sat on Conan’s shoulder in the blink of an eye, choking him out. Of course Conan tried to get Scrawny off, but it was useless. Completely caught off guard, his arms were little more than a flailing mess and before a minute, the big and burly Conan fell to the ground and Scrawny got off. With swift steps they walked to the entrance of the arena, without a doubt to collect their prize.
There was a lot of booing and some called foul play, but in the end nobody really did anything. They might be somewhat sore losers here, but at least they play by the rules.
To this day, I am not really sure about their gender and I never saw them again either.
But I did meet a number of other, rather unique, people in there. But more on that later.

As the crowd dispersed, today’s main event apparently was done and over with. It was then, when I realized that nobody ever told me, where I was supposed to stay or what I was supposed to do here. I considered stepping into the arena on my own volition, to see whether that would trigger anything, but reconsidered. I had only recently escaped captivity, I wasn’t keen on pissing off the next bunch of people already. Especially considering, that I somehow was supposed to work with them against the demon lord. No, I surmised, if I wanted any chance to prove myself, I had to be on my best behavior. Unfortunately, such resolutions never last very long. As they say: No plan ever survives the first contact with the enemy.

In this case, ‘the enemy’ was a bunch of intoxicated punks, who apparently didn’t get enough of a kick from the fight I had witnessed.
“Now would at that, Spike,” the largest of the three started, “Don’t think I’ve ever seen that ugly mug around. Did you?”
Spike, the smallest of the bunch, who had a distinctive similarity with a terrier in terms of appearance, replied, “No, can’t remember him. Jerry?”
Jerry merely shook his head. They had long since assumed a pincer formation to make sure they could catch me, if I tried to bolt past them.
“Hey, I know! He must be that otherworld champion! Man, they really got an old geezer this time around. Why don’t they ever get cute girls, I wonder? Hey, ol’ man, doesn’t your world have any cute girls?”
I recall wanting to politely inform them, that ‘a cute girl’ would be quite unfit to do battle against a demon lord of any description. I’ve seen occasions of the demon lord being a cute girl, but that was beside the point at the time. However after finally facing them, I quickly realized that any sort of discussion was a complete waste of time. Can’t blame me for not trying though.
“I don’t want any trouble,” I said, acknowledging their attempt to provoke me.
Now the tallest of the group, Tom, as I’d later learn, leaned into me, the alcohol evident on his breath and muttered, “Oh, that so ol’ man? Y’sure don’t look like a ‘champion’.”
“I don’t particularly feel like one either,” I responded, trying hard to not gag at the terrifyingly odor of whatever it was they had been drinking.
I wanted to walk past them, but they already had me surrounded and Tom shook his head as he held me back, “No, no, no. No leaving yet. Y’know, you’re new here.”
No shit, Sherlock. Honestly, I wonder why nobody ever awarded that kid the Fields medal.

Eh, probably only because a small detail like ‘Can’t count till twenty without using his fingers and toes’, but that’s just a hunch.

I reinforced my plea to just be let go, but they made it evidently clear, that I wasn’t going to get out just like that. What was even worse is, that a number of onlookers had noticed the ruckus as well and had now come to look at ‘the new guy’.

Tom proclaimed, “Y’see, every time us get a new guy here, h-he needs a...a…”
“Place, Tom,” Spike helped out his dangerously swaying buddy.
“Place, tha’s right. Y’need to learn yer place, while yer here.”
“And I take it, you would be willing to show it to me?” I asked, looking around at the bystanders, wondering that, if I tried calling for help, would they actually help me? Or just join in on the beating, because I apparently was a big wuss, who actually asks help from others?
“Yesh...just...just shtick with us and we’ll show yer ye plashe,” Tom slurred.
I wondered, whether he had somehow managed to keep drinking while I was talking to him, considering how his condition seemed to worsen by the minute, but as it were with poisons...some take their sweet time to do their destructive work.
Nevertheless I still tried to settle this like a grown man and not like a ruffian.
As such, I responded, “No thank you, that won’t be necessary. If you could just point me towards registrations, I’d be very grateful though.”
“Y-ye hear shat, Sherry? T’is guy doesn’t wanna our help!”
Jerry merely shrugged and I started to wonder, whether he could even talk at all. I shook my head and pushed myself through,when a bunch of others suddenly stood in my way.
So much for making a clean exit without any broken bones.
“Hey, who do you think you are?! Waltzin’ in here, acting all high and mighty and—“
“It is actually called ‘being civil’ and ‘politeness’,” I interrupt him, leaving him dumbfounded before continuing, “Now, if you’d please be so kind as to tell me where I’m supposed to go, I’d be very grateful.”
“‘Where you’re supposed to go’?! What do you think this is, a hotel or something?!”
“No, however aren’t we all here for the single purpose of defeating the demon lord? At least that’s what I was told.”
At first I get stupefied looks from all sides, until the lot of them bursts out into laughter.
Finally, one of them puts his arm around my shoulders and says with tears in his eyes, “That was a good one. C’mon buddy. I’ll show you around.”

My tour guide introduced himself as ‘Toby’, from the village of Gungnir and then proceeded to explain, that this compound was ‘the final destination’. It’s the place where the kingdom collects all the drop-outs, punks and otherwise ‘unproductive members of society’ they cannot lock up. We came across a small fight every second or third street and Toby explained, that ‘the war against the demon lord’ is mostly fought by regular soldiers these days. When I asked him, why the kingdom would even go to the trouble of rounding up champions then, Toby explained, that we’re ‘the reserve’, in case the war took a turn for the worse. Every now and then, a drill instructor would come and teach them a bunch of battle techniques, which were more often than not put to use in the arena instead of on the battlefield.

At the end of the tour, which really only lasted for about 20 minutes, I asked, “So, why are you here anyway? I mean, you seem like an intelligent and civil young man. Why’d they throw you in here?”
“Mostly political reasons, really. I was the only son of a farmer. A bunch of greedy merchants wanted my father’s land and when he refused to sell, they ‘arranged’ for me getting sent off as a champion. Without me to take over the farm, now all they need to do is wait for my father to either croak or give up his land. Either way, they win, we lose.”
“You seem rather...relaxed about this,” I noted.
“Oh, I’m seething and I’d love to rip each of these bastards a new one, but what good does it to get worked up about something I cannot do anything about anyway? I mean, I am here, far away from home. I can’t do anything.”
I remembered the ‘Serenity Prayer’, but shook my head. That just wasn’t right.
“There has to be something that can be done.”
“I assure you, there is not. I’ve tried fighting back, of course, but they were respectable and wealthy merchants, I was just a poor farmer’s son. There was nothing I could have done, there is nothing now and there never will be. And as for the exit clause—”
“Wait, wait, wait, ‘exit clause’? What’s that?”
“Oh, nobody told you? The champions will be lead into battle, once the drill instructor deems them ‘ready’. That’s the only way out here.”
“I don’t know, ‘going to war’ doesn’t sound all that good to me...”
“Yeah well, they may call it that for the general public, but one of the nicer guards explained, that nobody really checks, whether the champions ever arrive at the battlefields, if you get my drift. We even get proper papers that allow us entry into all major cities. Everything for the champions, I’m sure you know the drill. However most of the people here could care less about the war against the demon lord...or getting out of here. On the contrary, quite a few make an effort to make sure that never happens.”
“...they’d rather stay in prison?”
“You and I call it prison, they call it paradise. No rules to obey, no social etiquette to watch out for, free food and drink and all the fighting they want without consequence.”

In most stories, there is that one moment, where a regular person arrives at a crossroads. In fact, life is full of such crossroads and at some of these, the devil waits for you in order to try striking a deal. This was one of these crossroads and the devil in question was standing right in front of me. Not the boy, mind you, but much rather the injustice he just told me about and, of course, the idea of getting out of here. Maybe even get some papers to enter the capital. Find a magician. A way home.

“You know, I don’t think I ever asked your name,” Toby suddenly asked.
“...know what, for the time we’re here...I am Batman. And I have some cleaning up to do.”