I clenched my fists even harder preparing to strike once more at the bartender in my fit of rage. One punch, one punch was all I needed. Only then did I realize my opponent had not even broken a sweat, and he even seemed to be quite calm, as if this fight was something he had participated in many times before. In contrast both of my fists were messed up and bleeding profusely, and my own rage was clouding my actions. I quickly remembered the words of my master. "The calmest person is always the victor." I was a disgrace. After all that hard work and training I had made a stupid mistake. I had lost this fight. The grip on my hands loosened as I calmed down, turned away from the barkeeper and walked outside the tavern as the crowd inside all started to laugh at how stupid and weak I was. Or at least that's what I imagined was happening.

I would have to make it up to my group at some point for making a mess of things, if they even still wanted to be a part of my group. I hanged my head in shame. I really messed everything up.