Lone: The Wanderer Rewrite

Book 1: Chapter 91: Clicker and Ignorant Pride

"Number 382! Number 47! Number 754! Number 301! You're all up!" a well-built man wearing the uniform of the colosseum's workers yelled across the waiting room.

Lone slowly opened his eyes. '301... That's me. Okay, fingers crossed I get a half-decent opponent so I can put on a good show for the only fight I'm going to win today.'

He quickly peeked at his status to see how much of his SP he'd regenerated during his meditation.

Status Name:Lone ImmortusSex:Male Age:24Level:139 Species:FoxkinRank:E Race:Golden Foxkin HP:32,350/32,350SP:32,970/37,620 MP:

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'I was at 32,820 when I started relaxing so I gained... 150 SP? That can't be right... That's only 5 per minute! Fuckin' hell that's such a tiny amount... Is that possible? Did I miscount? I'm always full when I have a good night's sleep... Maybe the rate of SP regeneration is multiplied when the host is unconscious?' Lone wondered as he got up and headed for the exit which led to the arena.

He slowly shook his head. 'I'll need to research this more when I have a moment to breathe. At the dwarven stronghold sounds like a good idea. I'd ask Gilbert if I wasn't planning to leave Milindo the second I return to the guildhall and grab Breena.'

Regardless, he cleared his mind. 150 SP wasn't much but it was 150 more than 0. It would have to do and, hopefully, he was worrying over his SP for nothing.

If all went according to plan he wouldn't need to use any skills bar Soph's Teleportation when leaving the kingdom and he wouldn't be required to fight for his life.

With quick steps, Lone followed a man who had come to guide him specifically. Once they and the other called participants had entered the arena with their guides the man leading Lone pointed at one of 8 raised fighting rings.

"That's your stage there. Go stand on it and wait for your fight to be announced. Fail to do that and it'll be a swift visit to the executioner's office," the man said a bit threateningly but more so to get the point across rather than out of malice.

"Executioners have offices these days?" Lone asked.

"Hah, yeah, they call it the dungeon. Now enough with the smart-talk. We've got jobs to do, eh? Some less bloody than others," the man answered with a grin.

"Right you are," Lone responded with a nod then he did as he was told, leaving the man to step onto the raised circular platform.

Not long after Lone had reached the platform did an old man in his 60s or 70s wearing a long baggy robe also step onto the raised area.

"Ah, my competitor, hmm?" The man grinned as it spoke and it somehow unsettled Lone.

"So it seems," Lone answered cautiously. 'He's old. That means he's either very strong or incredibly weak but very, very experienced.'

"It's lovely to finally meet you, Lone. I've heard a lot about you these days," the old man said as he glanced around the colosseum with mirth. "Ah, I'm Clicker by the way. Weird name, I know."

'Clicker? Why does that sound familia- Ah! That frog woman with the rectangular boat. She said her name was Snapper, right? Weird. Well, this is a world with magic and monsters so names based on sounds isn't too absurd,' Lone thought.

Clicker took a deep breath and a satisfied expression crossed his wrinkled face. "Ahhh... It's been a while since I last stepped outside. I really should explore the world a bit more after this. I tell ya, Lone, if you ever find yourself running a place that is secluded from the outside world and has a lovely little library you built over the course of several years, don't let yourself get trapped in the joys of staying home doin' nothing. Ah, I guess the opposite of that advice applies if something catastrophic happens to the world."

"Okay..." Lone was now certain that the man in front of him was just senile. 'Hopefully, he can at least put up a decent fight. I need to show that I'm trying.'

Clicker kept rambling on and on about inane thing after inane thing or a strange piece of life advice before the announcer finally shut him up.

"Number 301, Lone Immortus the Ninetailed Foxkin and number 12, Clicker the Corrector! You may now begin your fight after showing respect to one another with a handshake or a bow. Fatal injuries on either side will be punished severely!" the announced said before quickly moving on to the next pair.

Clicker walked forward so Lone followed suit. The two locked hands and again, Lone got chills when a large smile surfaced on Clicker's face.

"So you already have one of the 9, the 9th one, even. What a shame that it's being restricted. Let's fix that, shall we?" Clicker asked seemingly to himself.

'What a creepy dude,' Lone thought as he quickly took his hand back and then returned to his side of the stage.

"Ah, Margrave Griffset! I thought that was you I saw! You managed to make the trip north this year for the tourney? How delightful," the large portly man who was the father of the young nobleman that had led the bullies against Soph all those weeks ago said.

The blonde-haired and even rounder man being addressed nodded happily. "Margrave Algor! What a lovely surprise. I was under the impression that you were busy cultivating those... Oh, what were they again? Blue Grapes? Up in the Frindon Range. Did your efforts... bear fruit?"

"Oh, you jester," Margrave Algor laughed. "Indeed. I've left some capable slaves and a few trusty servants to manage the business now that my magic is no longer necessary."

"That's grand news, old friend!" Margrave Griffset lifted his glass of wine and said, "A toast to your successful venture!"

The nearby lesser nobles who could hear this exchange raised their glasses too and cheered.

"Number 301, Lone Immortus the Ninetailed Foxkin and number 12, Clicker the Corrector! You may now begin your fight after showing respect to one another with a handshake or a bow. Fatal injuries on either side will be punished severely!"

"Ah, the Golden Foxkin. Margrave Algor, my friend, did you know that my son recently managed to acquire the legal possession of that demihuman for me?" Margrave Griffset boasted.

"Oh? Is that so?" his fellow margrave asked with a raised eyebrow. "I was under the impression that he was the property of that parasitic guild. Beyond that, my own son tells me the demi belongs to a fair-haired foreign noble child."

Margrave Griffset's plump cheeks contorted oddly as he creased his brows. "I would never say your son is dishonest but my boy has never told a lie in his life. He is my son, after all."

'Yes, he is. That's kind of the problem. You are much too open with your illicit deeds, Evan, you fool. It is people like you that lead to a country moving away from the nobility system. If you must incite hatred amongst the commonfolk and commit crimes, do so with at least some modicum of skill and tact,' Margrave Algor thought in great disdain.

"Well then, Margrave Griffset, since the demi is yours by law, I assume you intend for him to fight the prince, or, perhaps even the hero?" Margrave Algor asked.

Having collected himself the rotund lord of Ros nodded. "My son assures me of his skill. In fact, he's talking with the hero right now to give him pointers on the beast's strengths and weaknesses to ensure that the fight is as memorable as possible."

"I look forward to it then, as I assume we all do." That got a cheer and a toast from the nearby nobles.

"So you'll kill him?" Bastion Griffset asked for the 5th time as he recounted the coins on the table.

"Yeah, I already said I will. You're fucking pissing me off you little weasel," Daisuke responded as he ran his fingers through his pitch-black hair.

He was much thinner now and something in his eyes didn't quite seem right. Bastion had never met a hero before and honestly, if they were all as unhinged-looking as this one then he fully intended to never cross paths with an otherworlder ever again.

"R-Right. Well, as promised, here is exactly 5 white-gold coins' worth of gold," Bastion said as he gestured to the table simply packed to the brim with piles of various coin denominations.

"Good, now get lost. I need to focus," Daisuke demanded.

Bastion was used to being the arrogant one but a hero was an existence he could not afford to mess around with. He was lucky to have even been able to meet him and have him agree to his proposition, so pushing his luck was the last thing he wanted to do.

Daisuke snorted in disdain when he was finally alone in the room. "Idiot. I was going to kill that fucking fox no matter what anyway. This hardly scratches what I owe that bastard of a king but at least it's better than nothing."

Daisuke looked around his 'private room' and snickered in self-deprecation. "Did they really have to lock me up in here? I was going to fight in the tournament regardless. Even if that retarded fox wasn't here I still needed to vent after what I went through in the dungeon."

He recalled how after his 3-days of starvation that the king had ordered for him to only be let out of his cell for 2-hours a day simply to not degrade his pitiful combat skills any further than they had already degraded.

His meals only consisted of a mostly water-based soup. That was it. Nothing more.

Daisuke had considered killing himself but he had vowed to not be defeated by something so pitiful as depression and guilt, rather choosing to give in to his hatred and desire for revenge. "First the fox, second the king. You'll all get what's coming to you sooner or later."

Lone was shocked once more as the elderly man easily deflected the incoming blade of his swordspear with only his palm.

"Are you a master at martial arts or something?" Lone asked Clicker.

"Hmm?" Clicker shook his hand as if it were hot. "I consider myself to be a master of predicting. Knowing time is how one easily corrects. That's what my CV says at least."

'CV? The fuck? Is this guy a hero or something? He could have always heard that from another hero but still... What a weirdo,' Lone thought as he took an apt stance to perform yet another attack.

At that moment, however, Clicker's face contorted in pain. "Achachacha! My hip! Damn my old age... I forfeit!"

"Number 12, Clicker the Corrector, has conceded victory to number 301, Lone Immortus the Ninetailed Foxkin!"

"Damn these old bones of mine... Well, I'll be seeing you soon, Lone," Clicker said with a dismissive wave of his hand as he held his hip and hobbled off stage.

"What the hell was that..." Lone tilted his head back and rubbed his neck. "Can I call that a real fight? He didn't even use any skills on me. He just redirected all of my attacks with raw ability..."

He sighed as he walked off stage and returned to his joint-waiting room. 'Whatever. I've had my fight. It's time for me to make like Clicker and forfeit after a few exchanges. This should at least stall the anger of the king and Duke Malik. If all goes according to plan Soph and I will be able to teleport the fuck out of here unimpeded in an hour or so.'