Rashmi panted softly, stalking away from the arena as the blood dripped from his body. Left and right, blood trailed out of him, but he only knew one way to go from where he was headed. With his single arm swinging back and forth beside him, he ignored the newly appointed healer insisting for him to sit and let himself be taken care of, and trekked through the halls and even went so far as to make his way to the palace—which, luckily, was not very far away, lest he would have died from bleeding out—until he came upon the halls that his own room rested in.

Being titled the kings mad dog was no small feat. Killing anyone for the king, doing anything he could to stay near King Lodna; he had a reputation to uphold, and he played that of a heartless beast very well. Better than what was supposed to be a beast so long ago did in the forest, sparing him only for Rashmi’s team to be found by another, much worse monster, who took everything from him. His wife and the only friends he made when he was too busy to think of anything but his career.

But to be completely honest, he wasn’t so desperate for King Lodna’s attention. His family, so esteemed and respected—and the only way he managed to be in the royal guard in the first place—were frauds, and to the monarch, that included him just by association. And his lost arm? Oh that was just the icing on the cake, he was a freak to be paraded as a gladiator, especially after he showed that he still had a strong fighting ability.

Collapsing onto his bed, Rashmi breathed out as he crawled over to the only other survivor of that attack. He rubbed his head, exhausted and tired, before resting it on that ever-so-soft lap. Of course, there was already the fretting over him bleeding—he demolished the competitor in battle despite them having a weapon, obviously—but Rashmi couldn’t bring himself to care.

It made him feel soft, to be around the one person put through the same as him. “The fight was exhausting,” he murmured, “I missed my bed.” Which was code for his friend.