“Alright, don’t worry Sister, you’ve got this!” Giacomo coached, rubbing Michael’s shoulders as the angel rested against one corner of the Wrangling Kraken’s wrestling ring. "Just remember, you gotta put on a show, not just win. So don't knock him out right away."
"Hm,” responded Michael, unsure of what to say. Partly because they were focusing on Argus, who was sitting in the opposite corner, smirking back at them, but mostly because they were feeling embarrassed. Michael had never been in the middle of a fighting ring before, but they didn't expect it to mean they were only allowed to wear a top and some shorts. Thankfully they were still able to bandage up their limbs to cover them up. Even so, their entire midriff was exposed and Michael was not happy with that. “...Don’t I need to just win the match?”
“Of course! But a match isn’t the same as a fight! There are rules to a match and spectators to please! It does you no good to beat his face in if the queen decides your win wasn’t entertaining enough to count and refuses to leave.”
Right, that’s part of this. Brascul wants Queen Circe back at the palace. Is that just to keep an eye on her for her protection, or does she suspect something? Michael shook their head, focusing on the important parts here. Getting the queen to leave the Kraken would be for the best since it meant Michael could actually check if she was a leviathan, and even if she wasn’t, keeping her from causing problems could only be a good thing.
“And if worst comes to worst, you can always cheat!” advised Crab from Michael’s left side. Because he was still here and also–
“I’m not cheating. This will be a fair and even fight."
"...Oh you're going to get slaughtered out there."
"Ignore him! Just keep your guard up, maybe even let him take the lead at the start so you can have a surprise victory?" Giacomo suggested.
"I'm not doing that either. I'll just deal with him, and then we can talk with Queen Circe," Michael said, standing up as the announcer from before came into the ring, getting the crowd to cheer as the match was about to begin.
"I HOPE ALL OF YOU ARE READY FOR ANOTHER MATCH! CAUSE WE DEFINITELY HAVE A SPECIAL ONE FOR YOU TONIGHT!" the blonde woman shouted out to the crowd, before gesturing to Argus, "WE HAVE OUR CURRENT REIGNING CHAMP, THE QUEEN'S GUARD, ARGUS PANOPTES!!"
As he was announced, Argus smirked, basking in the jeers and cheers as he walked towards the center of the ring. Now that they were on an even level, Michael could see just how bigger he was in comparison, his broken horn adding to the impression as the dark-skinned and heavily tattooed minotaur loomed over them. In terms of both height and muscles, it definitely wasn't a competition, but Michael wasn't going to back down.
"AND OUR CHALLENGER IS A SPECIAL ONE, FOR SHE COMES RECOMMENDED FROM OUR VERY OWN ARCHDUCHESS!" That definitely got a fair amount more jeers for Michael than they would have expected, but they kept steady. "SHE'S A PALADIN FROM ZEMAVA, WHO SUPPOSEDLY ONCE FOUGHT BRASCUL’S LITTLE BROTHER! GIVE A WARM WELCOME TO MISHA REDWING!"
The welcome they received couldn’t really be called warm. Indeed, Michael noticed one onlooker outright threw a bottle at them, one that the announcer caught and pitched straight back into the idiot’s face. Good reflexes.
“NONE OF THAT! NOW, OUR CHAMP ALREADY KNOWS HOW THIS GOES, BUT WE DO HAVE A NEWCOMER TO THE RING, SO LET’S GO OVER THINGS REAL QUICK! IT’S THE BEST OF THREE ROUNDS, FIGHT ENDS AT A KNOCKOUT OR IF THE BELL RINGS! SAME AS IF YOU GO OUT OF THE RING! ONCE YOU’RE OUT, YOU’RE OUT! WE DON’T GIVE A SHIT HOW YOU FIGHT, JUST NO BRINGING IN WEAPONS! EVEN MAGIC’S ALLOWED, SO LONG AS YOU KNOW THE OTHER GUY’S ALLOWED TO BEAT YOUR ASS EVEN HARDER IF YOU USE IT! OTHER THAN THAT, KEEP IT CLEAN AND NO KILLING! THIS IS A SPORT, NOT A BLOODBATH!”
That earned some boos from the crowd, prompting the announcer to flip them off. “SHOVE IT UP YOUR ASS, YOU WHINY BASTARDS! NOW LET’S GET TO IT! WE’VE GOT IMPORTANT PEOPLE HERE TODAY, SO MAKE IT GOOD!”
And with that, the announcer hopped over the ropes, hanging onto them with a sharp grin as she watched Michael and Argus face off against one another. The angel took a slow breath, then raised their fists, ready–
Argus held a hand up, showing another eye tattooed on his palm. “Hold on there, Redwing. I have to ask. Do you really want to do this?”
Michael blinked. “...I do. I need to if I want to get the queen out of here.”
“Really? Her majesty’s enjoyin’ herself here. She’s perfectly safe, especially with these fine people around. I don’t see a reason why she would need to leave, and I don’t see a reason why we should have to fight here. We both fight in service of another, paladin, so why do we have to clash?”
“...Because, ultimately, you are in the way of what I want.” Even if it might be meaningless and petty… “I apologize, but I will not back down on this matter.”
“Hm…can’t argue with that then. I get it. Let’s begin then,” he said, before extending his hand towards them.
“...You want to shake hands?”
“It’s a sign of good sportsmanship. A show that there are no hard feelings between us, no matter the outcome.”
Michael…relaxed slightly. Despite his odd appearance, there was a sincerity in his tone. It was good to meet a man of honor in a place like this. So Michael took his hand, firmly grasping it–
Which let him yank them forward so he could drive his left hand straight into their solar plexus, bending the angel over his fist as they wheezed in pain before he followed through, sending them crashing back against the ropes on the other end of the ring.
“HA! HOLY SHIT, I CAN’T BELIEVE Y’FELL FOR THAT!! BWAHAHAHAHAHA! WHAT KINDA IDIOT ARE YOU!?” Argus cackled as the crowd booed, some echoing his laughter while Michael blinked the spots from their vision, “Aw, c’mon now, that can’t be it! Here I was, gettin’ hyped up for a gen-u-ine Zeman paladin, and I get a golden lightweight who buckles to one punch?!”
"Th-That was unfair." Michael said, trying to steady themself against the ropes.
"Unfair?! Where do you think you are?!" Bringing his hands up, Argus gestured to the entire tavern. "I don't know if you noticed, but this isn't some cozy spar back in Zemava! The only rule here is I gotta be the one standing in the end! But if it really bothers you so much, come on, I'll let you take a swing at me, free of charge." Leaning forward with a grin, Argus patted himself on the chin, indicating where he wanted Michael to strike.
Michael scowled, pushed themself off the ropes and rushed in, throwing the full force of their fist towards Argus’s chin when the massive taur jerked back, a grin on his face as they missed–Then his fist smashed into their nose and the spots turned to stars that burst into light when his knuckles collided with their temple–
They brought their arms up, trying to ward off the heavy blows, then gagged as a fist slammed into their side. An attempt to cover that received another punch to the head instead and suddenly there were two palms gripping their skull and a forehead smashed against theirs, rattling things that shouldn’t be rattled before a knee broke their nose.
Dimly, Michael remembered some odd tidbit they’d learned sometime on their trip, probably in Sollamava, though they weren’t quite sure at the moment. It was something about minotaurs having shockingly strong legs due to their hooves, or something to the effect. They would never be as effective in forms of martial arts that used kicking, but if they did happen to land a kick on a human, that human would die. Nine times out of ten, or something like that.
“–four, five–” Why am I on my back?
The roar of the crowd came back into focus with a blur of light. Michael tasted metal–The fight!
And they were back on their feet, breathing, blinking, and glaring at the grinning face of Argus Panoptes across the ring.
“AND REDWING IS UP!” the announcer called out, the noise making Michael’s head throb, “Hey!”
They blinked, then looked her way. So many humans in this city had sharp teeth, and her smile looked almost predatory because of it. “Are you good to fight?”
“Of course I am.” Their response was immediate, no hesitation. Not when that smug bastard still grinned at them.
“Heh. Never met a high elf that actually bled gold before, but hey, you see something new everyday. Alright, LET’S GET BACK TO IT!”
That was the only warning they had before Argus nearly smashed their skull by bringing his fist down straight on top of it. They had no idea how he hit that hard–a mortal shouldn’t be able to make an angel bleed! Not with just their fists!–but they could feel something in their arm bruising as he slammed his fist against it, their block just barely keeping the hit from landing–And their second arm was definitely bruised from his follow up punch towards their side. Really, it felt like he might break their arms from all the heavy blows he rained down on them. Not least because they had to keep moving to keep him from hitting anywhere unprotected–
Then the bell rang and he suddenly backed off. “Lasted one round, huh? More than I expected.”
And with that, he turned around, not even bothering to register them as a threat as he moved back to his stool and accepted a bottle of water passed to him by an attendant.
“Hey, Sister, you’re supposed to come back to the corner!” Giacomo called out, stirring Michael from…whatever was keeping them standing there, almost aghast at the sheer disregard Argus had for them.
“...Right.” They sat back, then paused at the towel being offered to them from Crab. “Ah, thank you.”
They patted the blood from their face, still not sure how that could have happened–How was it that one-sided? No mortal has…even the fight with Goldforge was more even than that.–before passing it back–
“No, no, you’re supposed to throw it in. You know, give up.”
They blinked, then frowned at Crab. “Are you serious?”
“Lady, I just saw you get beaten for a straight minute. I’m shocked you even got up!”
“Course she got up, Sister Isha’s a paladin,” Giacomo said, offering Michael some water too, “She can handle herself!”
“Yeah, sure, against whatever monster of the week her order sends her up against, not a six foot nine, four hundred pound behemoth of a taur!”
“I think it might be four hundred and sixty, actually, they had statistics on the–”
“My point is, cabin boy, that guy’s going to crush her if she keeps this up!”
“I mean at least part of that weight is going to be because taurs have denser–”
“Is that disproving my point?!? At all???”
Michael, meanwhile, had drained the bottle and passed it back to Giacomo, before wiping their mouth and standing back up. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going to beat him now.”
“Wha–Hey, lady, seriously, this is a bad idea!” Crab said, pushing under the ropes to look up at them, “I put money down on you and I’m telling you now, bow out! This guy’s not playing around!”
“Announcer,” Michael said, glancing at the woman in question, “Is healing magic allowed?”
“Sorry Scarlet, but nope. No healing up until the match ends. You can forfeit to heal up if you want though.”
“No.”
That earned a grin. “If you insist~ Oh, and the term’s referee, not announcer. Ref for short.”
“Fine, Ref. Start the match again.”
“Word to the wise, you oughta take the time to rest–”
“I don’t need it.”
Ref shrugged at that, a smirk still playing about her lips, a hint of fang showing through. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Hey Argus, you up to start again?”
“Nah, I’ll use my time,” the massive minotaur denied, his infuriating grin looking distinctly lazy.
So Michael fumed on their feet, each breath feeling hotter as their anger built, before Argus finally deigned to stand, still with that stupid, smug smirk.
The chatter around the ring wasn’t especially loud; more casual than anything, since the winner was clear to the onlookers. Some people who bet on the longshot were disappointed, though none of them were outright worried like the halfling clutching one corner of the ring in a near death grip. He’d seen people kill themselves on impossible odds before and the sight in front of him was distinctly unpleasant.
Even though the half-dwarf beside him, standing taller than he had any right to be, affected a calm smile, confident in the paladin’s abilities and the knowledge of what, exactly, it meant that she managed to fight a man named Goldforge and live, his hands still gripped the sleeves of his shirt tighter than they should have, were he as confident as he pretended.
And above them, the ruler of the city watched with a small frown.
“Your champion is going to die down there,” the queen beside her commented, amusement clear in her voice.
Margrave considered if that amusement would still be there if Circe knew who exactly Michael was. But who knew with royals? She remembered an old saying, one claiming that if a king and a god were to meet, the king would hate the god on sight. For a king was above men, and a god was above kings. So where would an angel fit in all that?
Philosophy aside, the bell rang again. And the casual chatter stopped as a flaming fist crashed into Argus’s face faster than any mortal eye could follow.
If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
The taur’s own eyes were wide as he stumbled back, hand going to his smoking jaw.
“Thank you for allowing me my shot,” Michael said, letting their burning fist drop to their side, “I appreciate your good sportsmanship.”
“...Hahaha.” Argus straightened, flicking a thumb across the burnt eye on his chin, the ink distorted from the sudden flame. “You little bitch. You held back on me.”
More than he knew. None of their wings had come out. They wouldn’t need to.
“That’s alright. Because I was holdin’ back too. And since you used magic first, I’m allowed to hit harder now.”
And instantly, Michael felt their legs nearly buckle under the sheer pressure that suddenly filled the ring. Crab yelped outright as he was nearly smashed through the floor, yanked back at the last minute by Giacomo, while the referee whistled, impressed.
Then Argus was moving, none of the weight affecting him at all as Michael tried to block–And definitely felt something break that time. The pain was sudden, vivid, worse than the normal ache from their scar, and they fell to a knee, arms dropping as Argus smirked–Right before they drove their unbroken arm straight into his gut, flames erupting around their fist as they drove him back, using more flames to give them lift without bringing their wings out. They weren’t going to show they were an angel, not for this cheating bastard, and it wasn’t like their arm was broken enough to keep them from using it. Probably.
They weren’t a healer, they were a fighter, and even with the pressure weighing them down, they were strong enough to start exchanging blows with the minotaur as he regained his footing. It was sloppy though, the mystic weight dragging them down as though they were fighting underwater against a merrow. Or maybe a leviathan? They didn’t actually check this one–
A strike that snapped their head to the side reminded them to focus on the fight. They didn’t normally go fist against fist–they could, they had–but they were used to using their wings, using a polearm, fighting against people that couldn’t actually make them bleed. They weren’t sure how bad their arm was, since they were still using it fine enough, though some gold was starting to stain the bandages. Concerning.
Then the bell rang and a hand on their chest pushed them back. It took them a moment to notice Ref was between them and Argus, a moment that could have resulted in the human getting punched in the face, though she looked entirely unworried by that prospect. “Back to your corners.”
“...” Argus just nodded, prompting a raised eyebrow from Michael.
“Ah, so you’ve stopped talking. Is that evidence you’re taking things seriously now?”
“I always take my matches as serious as I need to.” He spat to the side, though he didn’t keep his eyes off them this time as he moved back to his corner.
“Sister, you need to stop blocking.” Were Giacomo’s first words the instant Michael sat back down to far more cheers than last time.
“...Pardon?”
“He hits harder than you, much harder, and anyone can see your arm is bleeding,” he explained, his eyes serious, “You use fire, don’t you?”
“The hell kind of question is that?” Crab asked, handing Michael another towel and bottle of water, “I’m pretty sure the burns on the big man over there are evidence of that, genius.”
“It’s mostly a rhetorical one, I’m trying to–Look, the point I want to make is that fire isn’t something that stays steady against blows, right? Water, wind, frost, even sand, they can kill a flame that stays steady and takes it. Fire is made to attack, yes, to keep up the pressure, sure, but it’s also moving constantly! You can’t stand there and take blows that will break you, you need to dodge. You’re, what, six foot?
At their shrug, he continued. “That still makes you smaller than he is. I’m sure you’re used to being taller than most foes–” They could actually count a fair few that were far taller than them; they were allowed to use their wings against those foes though, so hm. “–but he’s bigger, heavier, he has a longer reach, those are all advantages you don’t have on him, so you need to negate them. Those eyes on him aren’t real, if you get under his guard, you can hit him hard, keep him off balance, maybe even break his concentration so he can’t use that judgment magic of his–”
“That what?”
He blinked. “What?”
“What magic did you say he was using?”
Giacomo raised an eyebrow at their serious tone before answering. “Judgment magic, Sister? Ah, it involves weight and pressure–”
“He’s using my Father’s magic against me?” Their voice was deadly quiet there, the furious flames inside building again, faster this time, fueled by an unexpected outrage.
When the bell rang, they were up again, moving into the center of the ring to face the many-eyed minotaur one final time.
“Were you a paladin?” Michael asked before Ref could speak, their eyes locked on Argus’s.
“Pieced that together, huh? But nah, not a full one. I bowed out for somethin’ that paid better.” He smirked. “I’d say it was worth it. Going around the rings, beatin’ the shit out of weaklings, even travelin’ down south and beatin’ in the skulls of those pathetic ‘martial artists’ down round Yayuero was the life. But hey, a man’s gotta find somethin’ more steady for himself, don’t he? And entertainin’ a queen’s not the worst use of my god-given talents, right~?”
“I can think of better.”
“You would. You Zems always were arrogant shits. So how bout you crawl back to your own kind and we’ll call this a wash.”
Their eyes narrowed. “...why? Scared to lose?”
The flare of his nostrils showed they’d touched a nerve. That was fine. They weren’t planning on quitting either.
Ref clapped her hands. “LAST ROUND! MAKE IT A GOOD ONE!”
It was a miracle Micahel didn’t break through the ring. The weight that crashed down on them felt like safe dropping on their skull, forcing them down flat, barely able to move as the pressure threatened to break every piece of their body at once.
“You know, if you focus the weight onto one point, it’s a hell of a lot heavier than spreading it out. If I wanted, I could’ve splattered your head on the spot,” Argus threatened, a vein in his head pulsing as he kept his hands half-clenched, holding onto nothing yet everything at the same time. Gripping a fundamental force of the world required effort, after all, and it was rare someone pissed him off enough to warrant this treatment. “The only reason I don’t is because it’d get me disqualified. But all I gotta do to win is keep you down, right? So fuck it.”
That was a lie. Not his anger, but his ability to kill them. Judgment wasn’t meant for quick crushing; it was meant to pressure, to restrain, to empower its wielder in bringing the force of their will into the world. It took a lot of will to crush someone else under it, and even then, a spirit would more likely break under that weight than actual bones. It still hurt though, a crushing pressure that was keeping the angel from even moving a single finger.
“Ha. Talked big, but look at you now…hey! Marlowe! Start the count!” Argus snapped, glaring at the referee, who chuckled back over the boos from the crowd.
“You got it, champ. One–Oh?”
“What?! I said count already–” Argus stiffened, his eyes snapping down at the hand clutching his shin. Then he couldn’t help but flinch at the sight of crimson eyes glaring straight up at him. “...The fuck are you looking at?! You look half dead already, so stay down!”
He yanked his hoof out of his grip and lifted it to slam it down on his down opponent, driving their head into the floor of the ring. “Not so fuckin’ defiant now, are–”
He stumbled that time, thrown off as Michael shoved themself upward, golden blood creating a near curtain in front of their crimson eyes. And for the briefest moment, he saw pure fire in that burning gaze.
“...what…?” Argus breathed, eyes wide. “...No. No no NO! STAY DOWN!”
He demanded it, driving his hand down again, doubling the pressure, but Michael was already on their feet and they were standing, bent, but unbroken. And even then, they raised their head, straightening until it was clear the weight couldn’t even make them bend.
“BULLSHIT!” Argus snarled, lunging–But that time, Michael didn’t take the blow. That time, the blow didn’t even connect, and Argus wasn’t even sure how it missed until he felt a fist burn away the tattoo on his cheek.
His head snapped to the side, spit bursting into the air as he felt something in his jaw shift, before he whirled, steam billowing from his nose as he swung again and again and again–
And nothing connected. Not from him. But each time he missed, he felt another eye get hit. Every tattoo acted as a target as strike after strike hit at his chest and face. And it hurt!
Each blow was a burn, each miss was more wasted energy, and he wasn’t even sure how Redwing was even moving when she should’ve been out in Round 1!
Argus’s breath came heavier, sweat dripping down his bruised and burned chest, his hands still lunging for any hint of red and gold he could spot–Then he gagged when a kick snapped into his abdomen, bending him around Michael’s foot.
He stumbled, panting, eyes wide as he clutched his purpling stomach, trying to–He was a minotaur, she was an elf, he should be able to handle some holier-than-thou northern bitch!–And she was right in front of him, glaring with those same burning eyes.
So he spat in her face.
Michael flinched back on reflex as the mix of blood and spittle got in their eyes–Then there were a pair of hands gripping their head again and Argus reared back, bringing his head down–And Michael gripped both his wrists, clenched, and burned.
Argus screamed out, momentum lost, then they yanked him down while launching straight up, their knee slamming into his jaw. Teeth smashed against each other as he reeled back, spots bursting in his eyes with each stumbling step, before he shook his head, clearing his vision just in time to see the moment Michael slammed their fist straight into his chest.
Argus didn’t go out through the door. No, when he flew, it was straight through one of the walls of the Kraken.
“...Well shit. Hey medical! Go check on that!” Ref called out with actual concern on her face, “We’re gonna get fined to shit if that prick hit a civ…”
“...The priorities of Orindaco’s citizens continue to astound me,” Michael commented, before stiffening at the sudden cheers that erupted around them.
“Oh that’s right–WE HAVE A WINNER!” Ref declared as she hopped into the ring and hoisted one of Michael’s arms above their head, “WINNER BY RING OUT, MISHA REDWING!”
There were some cheers, more boos, and another bottle was thrown at them. This time, Michael caught it instead and simply glared at the bottle-thrower until the drake in question sheepishly sat back down with a muttered apology. Then they were being hugged. Huh.
“HA HA! YOU DID IT!” Giacomo exclaimed, his grip surprisingly strong as he smiled wide, “I knew you could, Sister! You’re fucking amazing!”
Michael blinked, then shrugged. “I’ve fought worse.”
“Ha! Could’ve fooled me!” Ref said, amusement clear in her voice before she suddenly ruffled Michael’s hair, “Nice show out there! Hey, you ever want a job–”
“No. I am satisfied with my current occupation.”
“Heh, can’t blame a woman for trying. Still, drinks are on the house for our new champ!”
“I don’t drink.”
“Then they’re free for life. Have a nice one, alright?” She gave their forehead a poke for some reason, a smile on her face. “Also get that checked out, it looks bad if a champ wins the match only to die in the corner.”
“Ah, right, Sister, let’s get you to a healer–”
Michael held up a hand, interrupting Giacomo, then looked up towards the second floor, meeting Brascul’s eyes. The archduchess stared back, then nodded.
Moments later, Michael sat on a chair near the queen’s couch as Giacomo bandaged up their head and a White Fur healer checked out their arm. Their attention wasn’t on either of them though, instead focused solely on Brascul and Queen Circe, the latter of whom let out an annoyed sigh.
“Guess that’s it then. And here I was, just trying to have fun on a vacation,” Queen Circe said, letting out another exaggerated sigh.
"One would think that fight was enough entertainment. Not many fights get as exciting as the one we just watched," responded Brascul, sounding quite satisfied as she had a glass of wine.
"Fun fight or not, now I'm down a bodyguard and I gotta deal with Richard again." Frowning, she looked over at Michael. "Gotta admit, didn't expect to see someone beat Argus. Even if it wasn't in a real fight."
"I would have won regardless," Michael said, not withering under her stare.
"Hmph. About as arrogant as you, Brascul," muttered Circe as she stood up, "Fine, I'll go back, but I better see Nash back soon, or I'm gonna think you're playing favorites."
"You have nothing to worry about," shot back Brascul, getting a frown from Circe as she left. It was still too full in the tavern to try to Look at her properly, much to Michael’s annoyance. "Now then, I suppose I must thank you for being my champion, Redwing."
"Just give me the information you promised."
“Patience is a virtue,” she chided, a smirk forming on her face as Michael scowled, “Your wayward wood elf is at the Sapphire Sea’s Treasury.”
“...She’s at a treasury?”
“Oh, I know that one!” Giacomo chimed in, “They have excellent cocktails there. You ever try a margarita, Sister?”
“I–What?”
“Hm? Oh, it’s a cabaret. You know, music, drinks, getting to hang out with pretty ladies in very little clothing. Or tasteful dresses, it does depend on how classy it is.”
…It does sound like somewhere Anaya would go. Hm. That reminds me… “Giacomo, pass me my clothes.”
“Hm? Alright, Sister.” It didn’t take long for him to return with the outfit Michael had started the day in, and the angel dug through the pockets–mainly using their unbroken arm because the broken one was starting to hurt–to pull out a familiar card. “Ah, there it is…This is the same establishment, isn’t it?”
“That does look like one of their cards,” Brascul commented, audibly amused, “So did you just miss her on your first visit or…?”
“I didn’t go, this was–I don’t need to explain myself to you.”
“You don’t. But you should hurry. You don’t know if your elf might wander off.”
Michael scowled and stood, pulling away from the healer and moving back downstairs while Giacomo gave a slight bow to Brascul before hurrying after them. “Right, we need to get back to the fifth dock. Where’s Noriko–?”
“REDWING! Over here!” Crab called out, drawing their attention towards the halfling across the room, standing by the door with a rather large coinbag on the floor next to him. Really, the thing looked about half his height, and he didn’t have a lot of height to work with to begin with. Though Carp was with him, she'd probably be able to help–Oh, Noriko’s with them. Well that was easy. “You wouldn’t believe how much I won off of your comeback victory! Glad I specified you’d win the third round because damn would it have been bad if you lost in the first. Shame I didn’t add in ‘wins by ring out’ though, that could have scored me even more.”
“...Sure. Noriko–Where did you get that drink?”
Noriko glanced at Michael, a mug currently up at her mouth, her mask raised so she could drink, before she lowered it. “Bought it. So you got into a fight?”
“I…Yes. Did you not notice?”
“Eh, this gal was kinda busy. Probably shouldn’t mention with what right here and now, but hey, congrats on winning! Why’d you let it last until the third round though?”
Somehow, the human’s lack of concern was oddly refreshing. She just seemed…utterly confident in their victory. “He was…tougher than expected.”
“Ah, that reminds me, we really should get you to an actual healer because I think your left arm is broken,” Giacomo spoke up.
“...what.”
Hm. The confidence did not last long. “...As I said, he was tougher than–”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN HER ARM’S BROKEN?!”
Explaining the events of the fight to Noriko was…not exactly fun, particularly since Michael had to do so at a clinic Carp had brought them to. Specifically, it was apparently a “Back-Alley Doctor’s Office”, as evidenced by the sign on the establishment. Crab was quite confident he'd do a better job than the White Fur healer, with Giacomo actually backing up the idea that a “ringside doctor” would be worse than a “back-alley” one. Michael didn’t know the difference, so they just went with it.
“Mishi…why did you get in a fight with a minotaur just to learn where Anaya is?” Noriko asked, waiting on a stool in said office as Michael had their arm bound up. With actual bandaging and a sling this time, not just the bandages for fighting they’d been using earlier.
“Well…that…it was more to get the queen out of the building–Ah, blast it, I still haven’t checked if she’s a leviathan…”
"Mishi, this gal’s pretty sure there are better ways to find someone than getting into a fight with someone strong enough to break your arm! Especially since we're here doing important business!"
“Important business that involves investigating the queens, which I was facilitating. And what were you doing anyway?”
“Stealing the White Fur’s ledgers.”
Michael blinked, then glanced at Noriko. “...What?”
“Well this gal wasn’t going to give up the opportunity, was she? Especially since she was practicing her thieving to begin with.”
“I…why?”
“Why not? Helps us know what’s up with them and lets me repay Carp and friends,” she explained very matter-of-factly, “Don’t worry, it’s not like this gal stole the originals, she and Carp just copied over all the information while everyone was distracted–Oh, that was probably because of your fight…hm.”
“...So the fight was indeed useful to our cause. You may thank me now.”
From the very flat look Noriko gave them, Michael had a feeling they weren’t going to get that thank you.