The Storm King

Chapter 634: Talal

The doughy-man’s champion was a man that was, somehow, even more muscular than Alcander. The latter was practically a giant, standing a head over Leon and built like a mountain; but his opponent was even larger, standing a head over him, and looked like he weighed half again as much as Alcander from muscle alone.

“Mmm,” the man grunted with derision as Alcander climbed into the ring. “I was craving some beef, and you look just fat enough to satisfy…”

“If you want some meat, I’ve got all you need right here,” Alcander replied as he lightly squeezed his crotch. “And I can guarantee you satisfaction…” Leon’s retainer then let his eyes drift up and down the doughy-man’s champion as a soft, appreciative smile spread across his lips.

The champion did not look pleased at the hungry look Alcander gave him, and even less so by the words he’d spoken. The champion’s face fell into a deep scowl, and he didn’t say another word.

“A thousand on my man!” the doughy-man shouted to the bookie by the chalkboard, his declaration sending a wave of excited murmuring resounding through the spectators.

The bookie halted a moment, and Leon could understand why: the listed cap for an individual bet was only five hundred silvers, and even then, the odds given to the doughy-man’s champion were so in his favor that even if the man won, he wasn’t guaranteed anything more than the return of his wager plus a handful of extra coins. If anyone wanted to actually make any money of substance on this fight, then they’d have to bet on Alcander, instead.

The bookie sent a furtive, questioning look to the fifth-tier mage running the fight, and when he made an almost imperceptible nod, the bookie marked down the doughy-man’s wager—and it was only then that Leon learned his name: Talal.

He briefly wondered just who this guy was; everyone seemed to know him, and he certainly had a high opinion of himself, but he was only a fifth-tier mage. To Leon, that wasn’t much, but he also had to remember that in the Bull Kingdom, a fifth-tier mage was at the level of a Legion Tribune and could have quite a bit of power depending on their position. Talal could be a local bureaucrat or something with a lot of power in the city.

But Leon’s caution vanished under the proud, provocative glare that Talal sent his way after so loudly declaring his wager.

Leon glanced at the board and saw that Alcander had only one-in-three odds, so if Leon matched Talal’s bet, he’d get three thousand silver when his retainer won.

“A thousand on mine!” Leon shouted, unwilling to back down from such provocation, and once more a roar was kicked up from the hundreds of spectators whispering amongst themselves at the battle happening before them, before the fight had even begun.

Again, the bookie looked to his boss, who clearly hesitated to accept the bet.

Talal jumped on this, shouting for everyone to hear, “The poor little calves have so little credit that they can’t even place a bet! Does their beggary know no bounds? Of course, I don’t blame anyone, Bullish silver is hardly pure…”

The crowd roared with laughter, but if there was joke in there, Leon didn’t catch it. But he did feel the weight of all that laughter, and his killing intent began to rise. Accordingly, even though it was outside and still beneath the setting sun, the temperature around the ring began to plummet. For the first time, Talal went quiet and paled slightly, while Leon’s golden eyes bored holes into him, and then the boss of the fighting pit.

Slowly, with shaking knees and trembling lips, the fifth-tier mage running the fights, who would otherwise be like a god among the rabble who were in attendance, whimpered, “T-The bet w-will be allowed!”

Leon smiled, and reined in his killing intent, allowing everyone else to breathe a little easier. However, he was in for one last rude surprise.

“We need your bet up front!” the bookie shouted at Leon, which Leon noted wasn’t required of Talal. Despite what had just happened, the bookie seemed largely unaffected—possibly because he was completely mortal, without even the power of a first-tier mage, but Leon say for sure.

But, eager to show off a bit, Leon stood up, and in full view of everyone else, sauntered over to the bookie’s table and, with a snap of his fingers, caused a thousand silver coins, neatly stacked, to appear from his soul realm. Then, instead of returning to the stands, Leon waltzed over to Alcander’s corner of the fighting ring, and there waited for the fight to begin.

Alcander nodded to him, and Leon gave him a confident clap on the shoulder while everyone else stared at the small mountain of glittering silver, practically shining a molten red in the light of the setting sun.

The crowd had gone completely silent, and only started talking amongst themselves again when the fight’s fourth-tier referee finally stepped into the ring. Leon noted that more bets were cast, and nearly all of them were in favor of Talal’s champion rather than Alcander, despite the odds—though a few were cast for Alcander, as well.

“No killing!” the ref shouted to the two combatants. “No permanent maiming, either! Both are illegal, and will not be tolerated! Any rule breaking will result in legal ramifications, as well as a lifetime ban here and in all other arenas within the Sultanate! Am I understood?!”

Alcander nodded, his eyes locked upon his massive opponent, who likewise nodded and remained quiet.

That seemed to be enough for the ref, though, who responded, “Good! Now begin!”

‘No other rules?’ Leon wondered, but those thoughts were scattered when Alcander’s opponent surged forward, his speed belied by his massive bulk. Alcander was no stranger to battle, though, and he lunged forward to meet Talal’s champion, ducking low under his opponent’s opening right hook and hitting him in the abdomen with a solid jab.

Leon thought Alcander was aiming for the man’s stomach, but his aim was off and landed square in his abs, doing little damage with the champion flexing in defense.

The two were now deep in each other’s range, and any attempts to back up and gain a little bit of space would only put them permanently on defense. So, neither backed off in the slightest, flinging punches at each other like a pair of well-trained brawlers. Their feet remained firm, and neither tried to dodge, letting their defenses consist entirely of blocking and countering when overwhelming aggression wasn’t enough to keep the other at bay.

Despite getting in a good opening blow, Leon frowned as he watched the match devolve, with neither man giving any ground nor gaining any, simply exchanging blows with all the subtlety and grace of headless chickens. But their strikes, if they connected, were deadly and damaging, and Leon could see that Alcander wasn’t faring too well without a weapon in hand. Still, though, his retainer was doing quite a bit of damage, himself, and soon enough, both men were bloody and bruised.

After about two minutes, a bell rang, and the ref forced himself between the two, driving them apart with surprising strength.

“You have one minute to rest!” he shouted, his tone brokering no argument with the break.

Talal’s champion went back to his corner, where one of the men and the only woman who didn’t seem to be there to fight began to attend to him, getting him water and rubbing his arms and shoulders.

Leon took this to mean that healing spells were against the rules, and so didn’t break any out. Instead, as Alcander came back to lean into his corner, Leon inquired quietly enough so that only Alcander could hear, “What do you think of him?”

“A good striker,” Alcander succinctly summarized just as quietly as Leon had asked, his breathing heavy though still spirited. “I don’t think I can win. Might be a hard one.”

“I think you’ll do fine,” Leon whispered with confidence, his eyes narrowing as they flitted between his retainer and Talal’s champion.

“What makes you say that?”

“He’s clearly right-handed,” Leon explained, “but he favors his left leg. Maybe he’s just left-footed, but I thought I saw something… I think he may have some kind of old injury that wasn’t healed correctly or something. Try giving him a few kicks in the right knee and see where that gets you.”

“Kicks, huh?” Alcander murmured somewhat reluctantly. “I don’t want to bring feet into a fist fight…”

“Don’t think of honoring rules that haven’t been made,” Leon growled in mild annoyance. “Just win. Kick his teeth in if you have to, kick his fucking balls up into his throat. We will not lose to these arrogant shits.”

The whole time he and Alcander were speaking, Leon had kept his attention fixed on Talal’s champion, who was staring daggers at him and Alcander while Talal himself muttered into his ear and occasionally glared at them. Leon didn’t think that Alcander’s initial courteous intent was going to be reciprocated in the next round. Alcander, after glancing at his opponent over his shoulder, seemed to pick up on that, and after taking a deep breath, he softly said, “Very well.”

The bell rang again, and Leon straightened up and stated, “You’ve got this. No doubt in my mind. You’re going to win.”

“Thanks,” Alcander said as he pushed himself back to his feet. “I won’t let you down.”

“You couldn’t if you tried,” Leon replied.

The ref announced the resumption of the fight, and the two fighters went at each other again.

As Leon had suspected, Talal’s champion opened with a feinting jab, and then pivoted onto his left leg to aim a roundhouse kick at Alcander’s midsection. Alcander had approached swiftly, but hadn’t abandoned caution, and so had more than enough time to halt and take a quick step back, letting the champion’s foot taste nothing but air.

But then, once the champion’s foot hit the wood of the ring again, Alcander surged forward, slamming his foot into the champion’s right knee.

With that one strike, Leon knew without a shadow of a doubt that Alcander was going to win—the champion, for just a moment, wore a face of pain and exertion as he threw a few punches at Alcander to get him to back off, and then stood up straight. But Leon could see the tiny limp in his right leg had grown worse, and the champion didn’t try to kick again.

But Alcander wasn’t so accommodating. With Leon and the others behind him, with Alix screaming for their comrade to take the champion’s head and Marcus shouting his encouragements, he didn’t hesitate to kick at the champion’s knee several more times.

In the end, the fight went as Leon had predicted: Talal’s champion, after five kicks to the knee, collapsed in pain, and the ref called the fight. He did give the champion a few more seconds than anyone in the earlier fights had gotten, Leon noticed, but it didn’t change the outcome, so he was hardly upset.

Talal, however, was furious, and he seemed to make little effort in concealing that fact; his face contorting with rage, his oily cheeks flushing red in anger.

All while Leon stood in his corner, not saying a word, but smiling with pride and triumph as Alcander roared in victory and held up his arms for applause that didn’t come. None of the crowd seemed particularly thrilled that Alcander had won—not that that stopped him from celebrating with his arms held aloft.

‘Maybe it’s because most of them just lost their bets?’ Leon quietly mused.

Eventually, Talal’s champion was helped out of the ring, Alcander stepped out, and Leon hopped down from the corner to collect his winnings. The bookie seemed unwilling to part with so much silver, but Leon laid a hand upon his shoulder and squeezed ever so slightly, letting the mortal man feel with his body what he might not have been able to feel before: Leon’s comparatively titanic strength.

And he made no more arguments, letting Leon take his silver back and hurriedly pulling box after box of loose coins out from under his table to pay Leon the remainder of his winnings. Talal coming forward to practically throw his thousand silver at the table helped, but the bookie still took some time counting out what Leon was owed, and Leon could practically feel the fight ring’s manager dying on the other side of the room as every coin was handed over.

When he walked back to his people, Leon said to Alcander, “Far as I’m concerned, most of that coin is yours, but I can hold onto it until we get back.”

Alcander, not wanting to burden himself with the weight of thousands of coins, agreed. Leon then pressed enough healing spells into the man’s hand to fix all of the cuts and bruises he’d sustained during his fight.

Then, it was time for the next match. Leon had pointedly ignored Talal as much as he could throughout all of this, but he knew the man to be incensed. However, after Alcander’s win, he seemed a little more circumspect—still glaring hatefully at Leon, but not arrogantly bragging or shouting insults for all the bar to hear. Instead, he spoke with the manager for a minute or so, and then sent out his next fighter, a pale-skinned man of a much lither build, but tall and handsome.

“I’ll take this one,” Marcus said as he stood up and entered the ring.

Talal didn’t bet on his fighter this time, so neither did Leon bet. Instead, the two just stood in their respective corners, with Talal glaring furiously at Leon while Leon grinned back with muted smugness; the eager shouting and betting of the crowd might as well have not existed for all the attention either man paid it.

Finally, when the ref started the fight, Leon turned his gaze to Talal’s fighter. Marcus was a much more tactical fighter than Alcander was, and his opponent matched well against him. The two didn’t immediately come to blows, but slowly approached each other, their guards raised, their eyes evaluating the other for any potential weaknesses they might be able to exploit.

Talal’s man broke the stalemate first, sending a few weak but quick probing strikes to test Marcus’ defenses. Marcus expertly deflected and directed a couple of kicks his opponent’s way to counter, none of which did any appreciable damage.

The two slowly built up more power, but the pace of the fight didn’t change that much for the first round. They slowly circled each other, staring the other down as they slowly and methodically probed for any opportunity, occasionally punctuating their probing strikes with bursts of intense violence, exchanging half a dozen or more blows in a matter of seconds, only to separate and go back to their slow circling, neither much worse for wear.

When the round ended, Marcus came back to Leon’s corner to quietly talk, while his opponent did likewise, with Talal bending down to hurriedly whisper in his fighter’s ear while his support staff did their best to help their fighter relax with water and massages.

“How do you feel?” Leon asked Marcus as the latter crouched down on the other side of the posts.

Marcus understood that Leon meant that question in several ways, so he said, “I’m doing fine, no damage to report. But I think I can take this guy; he’s too cautious, and if I go for a more aggressive approach, then I should be able to overwhelm him. I’m stronger than him, anyway, and quicker, too.”

“True,” Leon agreed, “but I’d guess that he’s getting similar orders right now.” Indeed, both men could feel the killing intent start to radiate off Talal’s fighter as his doughy manager whispered in his ear, his eyes locked upon Marcus. “I think the pace of the fight is going to change whether or not you intend for it to…”

“Any advice?” Marcus inquired.

“He’s not a good kicker—it throws him slightly off balance. If he starts to kick, lean into it and bring him to the ground. Use your greater strength to make him submit.”

Marcus nodded, and a moment later, the second round began.

As Leon predicted, as soon as the ref announced the resumption of the fight, Marcus’ opponent began a blitz of strong punches and elbow strikes that put Marcus on the defensive right from the get-go. Marcus’ defense was superb, and he dodged, deflected, and blocked every strike sent his way. After about fifteen seconds, though, things changed: Talal’s fighter tried to kick at Marcus’ back knee as Marcus dodged backward, but Marcus did as Leon suggested and leaned into the hit, crouching down slightly to take it in a meatier part of his thigh, and then using his forward momentum to grab his opponent’s leg and roll him to the ground. Marcus fell atop him, driving all the air from his opponent’s lungs, and pulled him into a tight headlock.

The fight was essentially over at that point, but Marcus had to choke his opponent almost into unconsciousness before he gave up. As he struggled, he managed to get in a few hits on Marcus, finally drawing a bit of blood, but it didn’t change the result, and he eventually had to tap out. Leon almost thought he wasn’t going to, but he was glad to be surprised.

Only once it was over did Leon start tuning back into the state of the crowd. Marcus shot to his feet once his opponent gave up, and the crowd responded with polite, if decidedly unenthusiastic applause. If anything, Leon thought he heard more grumbling than celebration.

He put it out of his mind, though, and he clapped Marcus on the shoulder in congratulations as he stepped out of the ring, and then slapped a healing spell to fix up the superficial damage that his opponent had given him.

As he did, he felt Talal’s eyes boring into him from behind, and more than a hint of killing intent, as well.

Leon started to play with the idea of just calling it quits here. He had a bad feeling that since Talal might only think him a sixth-tier mage, then he might try something more violent and drastic if he were made to lose too much. The man had certainly entered the bar like he believed himself untouchable, and for all Leon knew, he was—at least, for most people in the city, his personal fifth-tier power notwithstanding. For a man like that, Leon figured that his pride was worth more to him than any amount of silver.

Leon didn’t want enemies, even if they were relatively inconsequential. He enjoyed the feeling of kicking someone as arrogant as Talal down a few pegs, but it was a different matter entirely if things escalated from there. He was quite distinctly reminded of the matter with Gaius, and how their rivalry within the Knight Academy only cooled down once Gaius himself had decided not to continue escalating matters—Leon honestly wasn’t sure if he were capable of making the same decision in the moment. If Talal were to take his antipathy outside of the ring, then Leon would feel obligated to destroy him entirely. And that would likely only make him even more enemies than he might already have within the Sultanate.

For much the same reasons as his decision not to directly assault the Sultan’s palace when Asiya had been arrested, and for his personal desire to enjoy his peace for a little while longer, he felt that ending this little show early might be for the best.

However, before he could say anything, Talal’s only female fighter jumped into the ring and shouted in the common tongue, though heavily-accented, “All right, cow-whore! You’re up!”

She pointed directly at Alix, and all Leon could do was sigh when Alix leaped to her feet and nimbly climbed into the ring with a deadly smirk on her face. Leon didn’t once try to stop her. After such a blatant callout, his pride refused to allow him to back down—or, as it was, to order Alix to back down.

When he saw Talal’s irate expression, he just hoped that allowing this to continue wasn’t a mistake.