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Now that there were some stakes on the outcome of the arm wrestling match, it became many times more interesting to watch. Perhaps it was the booze that had already settled into their stomachs, but both of the men found themselves beginning to cheer for their chosen competitor.

"C'mon!"

"Get him!"

It was almost a comical stalemate; both of the men that clasped hands hardly budged one way or the other, even when completely straining themselves. This prolonged battle led more booze to be drunk and the two to cheer more from their seats, along with the crowd of spectators.

"Go! Go! Go!"

"Finish him! You're close!"

"Keep fighting!"

–THUD.

"Raaaaah!"

Finally, one of the competing arms was slammed against the table: the burly arm belonging to the bald, tall competitor, leaving the bearded, stocky man victorious.

"What–?! Arghh…" Emilio groaned in disappointment.

"Ha-ha," Sirius laughed with his small victory, scooping up the wagered coins with a smile, "My win."

After losing the bet, Emilio slumped his body against the circular, wooden table, sighing out before finding one of the barmaids arriving beside the table, holding a tray occupied by filled mugs of booze.

"Here's your next batch, adventurers! Enjoy!" The silver-haired barmaid smiled, setting down the dozen mugs between the two.

"Thanks, cutie," Sirius said, lifting his mug with a wink straight at the barmaid.

The youthful, silver-haired barmaid blushed at the obvious flirtation from Sirius, with her pale cheeks tinting with a cherry complexion before nodding, "O-of course!"

As the green-and-white uniformed barmaid moved on, Emilio let out a sigh as he looked across the table at his friend.

"Really, man?" Emilio raised an eyebrow.

"What? Oh, that? Hey–we're in Party City, my friend–anything goes," Sirius chuckled, taking a sip from his cup of booze.

"Like hitting on waitresses? Ehh…I'll pass on that," Emilio remarked, looking over as a new set of competitors were arm wrestling again.

"You seem pretty invested in the contest going on over there," Sirius noted with a smirk.

Taking a sip from his mug, Emilio raised an eyebrow before swallowing the amber liquid, "I mean, yeah…What about it?"

Sirius leaned across the table, speaking hush-hush to him, "How about you enter? With your strength, it'd be easy money for you~."

Another sip was taken from the stomach-warming beer as he let out a quiet sigh, "You're just trying to get me to join in so you can bet on me, aren't you?"

"I don't have the faintest clue of what you mean, my friend!" Sirius laughed, clearly posing.

Thinking about it for a moment, the beer seemed to stir up his own judgment as he found himself standing up from his seat with his sights set on the area of the tavern where the arm wrestling was taking place.

"Oh?" Sirius looked at him.

Emilio untied his cloak, tossing it back to Sirius as he stretched his arms to warm up, "I'll do it."

"Oh!" Sirius clapped his hands, "Go get 'em! I'll split my winnings with you~."

Walking past tables of drunkards, he approached the back of the first floor of the tavern, where dozens of patrons spectated and bet on those who sat at the table in a contest of strength.

"Haah!"

THUD

The hand of the ginger-bearded competitor was slammed against the table by a blonde-haired, heavy-armored man, causing a ruckus from the spectators–a mix of cheers and boos between winners and losers.

"Woohoo! Who's next?!" The golden-haired man asked, flexing as he curled both of his biceps.

Slipping into the seat across from the reigning defender of the arm wrestling table, Emilio didn't hesitate as he set his mechanical arm on the table, holding his arm up.

"Who's this guy?"

"He doesn't look all that strong."

"Well, I've got five crowns on Everstein!"

"Count me in! Ten on Everstein!"

As he sat there with his arm held up, he definitely felt the atmosphere around him–that was, he was being severely underestimated by all of the spectators as the bets became incredibly lopsided: ten-to-one, against him.

"I'm Emilio, by the way," Emilio introduced himself.

"Everstein," his opponent responded.

'Sorry, guy, but now I won't be taking it easy on you–I'm feeling pretty petty now!' Emilio thought.

"I've got one hundred crowns on the blonde-and-black haired one!"

–Of course, the huge wager came from none other than the magenta-eyed companion of his, who stepped through the bulk of the spectators with his hand up, holding the coins in his hand.

"One hundred?!"

"On the purple-eyed guy?"

"Your loss!"

And of course, the majority of the spectators heckled such a bet, but the small look and gesture that Sirius gave told Emilio one thing: "Win!"

Feeling doubted by everybody around him, Emilio didn't need to be told that as he looked across the table at the man with short, golden hair and bulky, silver armor.

"Are we doing this or what?" He challenged.

A vein pressed against the man's forehead as he slammed his elbow down on the table, bringing his hand near his challenger's, "'Course we are!"

He could tell by the way the large, burly man was glancing at his arm continuously: the mechanical limb definitely kept the figure wary.

"Want me to use my other arm? I'm fine with either one, you know," Emilio offered.

The gesture of pity seemed to invoke frustration from the man as he slapped the table a few times before raising his hand again, "I don't care which hand you use! Let's just do this!"

"Alright," Emilio accepted, meeting his hand with the reigning defender–"Everstein"--as they clasped hands.

There was no denying that the man across from him was strong; he could feel it as their hands met–Everstein wasn't a simple mass of brawn, but also possessed an additional strength within him.

'He's capable of reinforcement–well, it's beginner-level at best, but that's enough to smash through normal people easily. Alright then, it's fair game then,' Emilio decided.

Acting as the unofficial referee for the contest of strength between those who already had one too many mugs in them, a green-haired, elven woman who looked more like a girl by her petite build stood by the table.

"Alright…Begin!" The elven woman said, raising her hand.

Immediately, the square-jawed competitor flexed his left arm, gritting his teeth as he pushed against Emilio's hand without any mercy. On the other end, Emilio opted not to immediately go on the offense, instead keeping his hand perfectly positioned in the same place as he watched his opponent.

"Grhh–?!" Everstein grunted, already sweating bullets.

'His arm…isn't moving?!' Everstein thought.

Emilio smiled, "Oh, did you start already?"

Try as he might, the heavily-armored man couldn't budge the Dragonheart's hand, putting all of his weight down as his complexion turned red like a tomato, sweating bullets, yet still remained fruitless.

'Guess I won't embarrass him too long,' Emilio decided.

With a swift movement, he brought his opponent's hand down against the wooden table, holding back enough as not to smash straight through it.

Gasps of awe and bickering came from the spectators, though mainly from those who fortunately bet on the Dragonheart himself:

"C'mon! Are ya gonna get slammed like that, Everstein?!"

"The weird-haired guy has some power!"

"It's that metal arm!"

"What was his name again?"

"Emilio!"

"Death Arm Emilio!"

"Go, Death Arm Emilio!"

The amethyst-eyed man didn't know how to feel about all of the sudden commotion surrounding him, only taking it with a smile and small laugh.

'That nickname is kind of…' He thought.

It seemed the crowd was now favoring him, as he was the underdog; there was an even larger gathering of spectators now, as everybody in the large tavern seemed excited at the new, young prospect.

"Heh, 'Death Arm Emilio'--keep it up," Sirius said with a smile, bouncing a sack of coins in his hand that held the sublime amount of winnings he snagged.

As Emilio sat there, a thud suddenly slammed against the table as his frustrated opponent took his anger out on the wooden furniture.

"Dammit…!" Everstein exclaimed, "You cheated-th-that arm! Something's up with it!"

Emilio raised an eyebrow, "Hey, I asked if you wanted me to use my other arm. If you want a rematch, we can do it. But we'll just be repeating what happened."

The offer he gave was unsurprisingly met with further frustration from the brawny man, who growled like a rabid dog at his loss. By the reddened complexion and strain of veins on the man's face, it seemed it would take nothing more than one word to set him over the edge.

"You didn't do too bad, so don't—" Emilio began to say.

Just as he spoke, the entire table was flipped up, launching straight towards him.

'Oh boy, did I go too far?' He thought.

Standing up, he swiftly kicked the table before it collided with him, causing it to flip straight back down onto the ground.

Everstein was breathing like a raging bull, exhaling through flared nostrils as he stood across from the younger challenger.

The spectators didn't step in, only seeming more excited by the angry turn of events. Of course, Sirius stayed to the side, only watching the encounter with an entertained smile.

"Get 'im, Death Arm!"

"Smash that sore loser!"

"Ten crowns on Death Arm!"

It wasn't hard to guess that events like these weren't uncommon in a tavern, especially one so popular and rowdy—even the barmaids didn't try to stop it.

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