The anthropomorphic bear who just stepped into the arena, dressed in the style of the barbarous north, is much, much bigger.
You grin. Taking down big guys like this is what you live for.
Holding your arms stretched out above your head, you shout out, "Ursus lanigerus Sarmatian erat. Lanigeras Sarmatian non habebat capillon!"
Other than the word 'Sarmatian,' you can tell the bear doesn't understand a single word of Latin. He can tell by the laughter of the crowd that you're mocking him. With a roar, he charges you, swinging his iron capped club.
You make sure you aren't where the club lands.
The bear is strong. Possibly the strongest opponent you've ever faced. So you go with a tried-and-tried strategy of letting the bear wear himself out. Making sure none of his blows land, of course.
Eventually, you have the bear face down on the ground, the point of your sword on the back of his neck. You both are looking toward the Emperor. The Emperor holds his closed right fist straight out, before he gives you a thumbs
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