Veran gestured to the arena just as the current match ended. "Look."
Ezra's gaze shifted to see the winner, a burly, scarred man who was now basking in the crowd's adulation.
He had been brutal and efficient, clearly a crowd favorite. The crowd was chanting what had to be his alias. "Brute! Brute! Brute!"
The man roared into the sky before raising a fist into the air, still panting from the fight.
Ezra turned back to Veran. "I won't lower myself to fight with an ant. When one squashes a bug, we don't call it a fight."
Veran laughed loudly, the sound mixing with the roars and cheers of the crowd.
"Why would I ever want you to that?" Veran chuckled. "That's a nice way of setting myself up for failure, don't you think?"
Ezra sat calmly, not saying a word.
Veran turned to him, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Do you know the quality I value the most in my partners?" He didn't wait and answered the question himself. "Luck."
Ezra raised an eyebrow. "Luck?"
