“Why do they apply on the last day? Why!” A tall muscular woman in a white Stola whispers under her breath. Her muscles flex with each swish of her quill, as though she wants to use it to stab the young man in front of her. A young, somewhat fit man that avoids her gaze. The man is a well-leveled [Rogue], but his job as a [Dockworker] reveals a limited experience in actual combat. Levels in a combat class can only get you so far.
She sighs. “Kid, joining the competition isn’t a game. A lot of people get hurt, some never even get the ability to walk away.”
“I don’t have a choice. I need the money,” the young man explains nervously.
“The money? Do you even have the five hundred trist to join?”
“I heard you can join for a big discount or even for free.”
The woman shakes her head. “The discount is if Florence acknowledges your skill and it’s free if you can beat him in unarmed combat.”
“Then I’ll fight him and win.”
“Fine. Just know we don’t cover any injuries you may get from Florence.”
“I won’t lose! I can’t lose!”
“Right, right. What's your name again?”
“Gino.”
She scribbles his name on a paper and then stamps it. Then she hands it to him. “Take this to Florence and he’ll stamp it if he approves of the discount.”
“And if I beat him?”
She snorts. “I’ll know if you do. Now go.”
She watches the young man run off. As he disappears, she shakes her head one more time before returning to her job. “Next person in lin- Gond! What are you doing here?”
Gond laughs. “It’s good to see you too, Lynette. Seems your retirement is more interesting than my own.”
She grins and rolls her eyes. “Jealous, Gond? Are you getting bored of directing those wealthy pricks where they can feast upon the city's most scrumptious lacaranea meat? Because that sounds a lot more interesting than sitting behind a desk and dealing with limp-dick wannabe [Gladiators] who don’t know what end of the sword to shove up their asses!”
“Is not limp. Is strong and thick like vodka bottle.”
Gond, Lynette, and a cat turn towards a grinning man with a beard.
He blinks, confused. Then he raises his hands a good twelve inches apart. “Bottle is dis long and,” he then makes a fist. “dis thick.”
The three continue staring at the man as he looks more and more confused.
Eventually the most unlikely person breaks the silence.
“Boriss,” the cat pats his shoulder, “I pray for your future wife's survival.”
Lynette's attention quickly swerves towards the talking cat. She quickly blinks as though looking at something else. “A [Captain] and an [Armament Shifter]. That’s unique.”
“A [Shifter], not [Druid]?” Gond asks, surprised. “I guess that explains the long transformation.”
Quasi leans forward. “Gond, are you familiar with the [Shifter] class?”
The man nods slowly. “To an extent. There was a [Gladiator] that fought as monsters for the crowd.”
“Really? I need to talk with him!”
Gond shakes his head “He’s dead. Died a decade ago to Maksim.”
Lynette leans forward on her desk. “Gladius has been searching for a [Shifter] since then. You can make a crazy amount of coins if you’re willing to become a [Gladiator].”
The cat taps his mount again. “No time for me, but monster dick over here is looking to join the competition.”
“Right, Lynette. Quasi here is the [Captain] I’m in charge of guiding. He wants to enter Boriss into the competition,” Gond explains.
Lynette's spine quickly straightens as she realizes that Gond’s guests are far more important than she thought. With a now more professional posture, she nervously grins at the rather fluffy kitten. “Of course. I’m more than happy to get that underway.”
She then stares at Boriss for a moment. “Level Eighteen [Skirmisher].” She frowns as though the level does not make sense. The muscled man in front of her has an aura of extreme competency. He should be level twenty-four at the lowest.
“Is there a problem?” Quasi asks after a long bit of silence on her part.
She shakes her head. “No. It checks out. Did you want to pay the entry fee or fight Florence for a possible discount?”
“Fight, Fight,” Both cat and human answer in unison.
Lynette retrieves a paper, writes something down and then hands it to Boriss. She then points down the hall. “Take this paper to Florence. He’ll test you in unarmed combat, and if he finds you skilled, you’ll be allowed the discount. Just know it might take a bit of time. Florence is currently fighting someone and I just sent another.”
“Ahh, yes. We met Florence on our way here.” Gond remembers. “He wanted me to tell you that the last guy you sent doesn’t get the discount.”
Lynette shakes her head. “He needs to stop knocking these people out.”
Then she smiles. “Well, thank you. Now go and return to me after the fight.”
Gond, Quasi, and Boriss make their way back to Florence. When they arrive, the young man named Gino is already in the ring and ready to fight. Florence notices their approach. “Alright kid, looks like we have a small audience. Try not to get beaten too easily.”
“You’re the one who's going to get beaten.” The kid taunts.
Florence chuckles before beginning to bounce on his feet with fists at chest level. “Start whenever.”
____________________________________________________
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Florence: Level 39 [Caestus Gladiator]
From the man's form alone, I can honestly say Florence would easily compete in professional boxing. He has the footwork down perfectly, and he uses that now to keep a respectable distance from his younger opponent.
Gin: Level 24 [Dockworker]
His opponent though isn’t very experienced using his fists. Instead, the kid lowers his posture and places his fist at odd angles. It looks very odd, but also reminiscent of a style.
“Boriss, do you recognize his stance?” I ask my mount.
“He fight with knife.”
OHHHH! Now I see it.
“He’s got good form.”
Gond crosses his arms and releases a sigh. “That kid doesn’t have the levels to be a threat to Florence. Knife fighters win against slower opponents, and [Pugilists] are far from slow.”
Boriss shrugs. “Is true. But, man is old and- how you say? Arrogant? Vhen Boriss vhas little lad, he use head to win. Is good strategy.”
“Outsmarting your opponent can always work,” Gond acknowledges, “but Florence is too experienced for that.”
Boriss glances at the retired [Gladiator] for a moment, and then shakes his head.
“Fights starting,” I warn
The first to engage is the kid. He rushes in for a punch to
Florence's liver, but the man blocks and diverts with his arm while using his other to return a punch. Gino, having thrown a probing punch, easily maneuvers out of range.
Only for Florence, who’d seen the probe, to react by weaving towards Gino. Gino dodges two more punches and then gets clipped by the third in the face. Gino rolls away and prepares to block, only to find Florence back in his stance and a respectable distance away. The man has a smug grin on his face.
“Come on Gino. Don’t give up yet. The beating has only just begun.” Florence taunts.
The kid spits a bit of blood on the side and takes his stance. Arrogant, sure, but not stupid.
Like before, Gino circles Florence like a shark in water. He hold his fists like one hold a knife, ready to stab and slice should the opportunity present itself.
And the opportunity does as Florence stops his footwork.
Gino rushes forward, only for Florence to grin as he releases a punch with extreme speed and force. To Florence's surprise, Gino expected this, for the kid immediately enters a slide that narrowly avoids the fist. As he slides past, Gino punches for the man's crowning jewels. A perfectly executed plan that would have worked if not for Florence's knee slamming into the kids face.
You could hear the whiplash and crack as the young man's head was thrown back into near unconsciousness.
The kid's body continues to slide a short distance before he rolls into a stance with blood trickling down his nose.
Florence glances at the kids' pissed off expression, then chuckles. He raises his hands up and the gloves covering them. “I wear these gloves because my fists can kill easily if I’m not careful.”
The kid wipes the blood and takes a stance. “I’m not going to lose.”
Florence chuckles. “Prove it.”
For the next half hour, I watch a young man get beat down and countered with every engagement. Granted, each engagement against Florence is an improvement from the last, but only slightly. Florence has yet to take a solid hit while Gino looks like he’s bruised all over.
“I-I I’ll win.” Gino forces out while laying with his back to the ground. “I just need a breather.”
Florence shakes his head. “You're tenacious, I’ll give you that. I’ll even say you improve quickly, but nowhere fast enough to beat me. Still, you’ve got guts and potential. So.”
Florence walks to a paper on a nearby table. Reaches into a pocket and then stamps it. “I’ll give you the discount.”
“I-I can't afford it. I need to win.” The kid whines. He tries to get up, but the injuries make it difficult.
“Hey Gino, why are you so hellbent on joining this tournament? Actually, why do you need the money?”
“To buy my sister's freedom.”
“Freedom? What do you mean freedom? Is she in a cage or something?” I ask.
“Probably a servants contract,” Gond says. “Your average contract goes from thousands of trist to tens if not hundreds of thousands. A [Dockworker] makes maybe a thousand or two trist’s a year on average. His sister, if she shares his age, is going to take several decades to afford.”
“Vhe should help.” Boriss announces. He retrieves a pouch of coins by his side. “Is only fifty, yes?”
“Boriss! Don’t just give Cillians hard-earned money away.” I complain. “Gino needs to earn it himself.”
“Boriss pouts. Comrade, I vhant to help. Russian heartstring is in pain. Little man suffers for sister.”
I sigh. “Your arguments are shit and I bet you know it too. But fine, how about a deal. You’re only allowed to spend fifty trist. So long as you join the tournament, I don’t care what you use the coin for.”
“Ha. Is good deal.” Boriss reaches picks me up off his shoulder and places me on Gond’s. Then he retrieves fifty trist from the bag, walks up to Gino and drops the coins on the young mans supine position.
“W-what?” Gino asks.
“Relax and vatch. I vill show you how to fight.”
Boriss walks in front of Florence and then starts stretching. “You’re quite the cocky one.”
“No. Is you who is cocky. You do not know yet.”
“Ha! Big talk from a big man. I won’t be going easy on you like the kid. You look like you’re made of sterner stuff.”
“Russian stuff.” Boriss grins. He stops stretching and then starts bouncing in the same way a boxer would. Though unlike a boxer, his hands are resting wider near his chest.
The first to engage is Boriss with a step and punch. Florence diverts the punch with an arm and punches back. Boriss sidesteps and attacks again. For the next moment, you can see two professional boxers going at it with impressive speed. Eventually, lucky punches from both begin to land, though it’s clear that more and more of them are getting landed on Boriss. Florence is faster, higher leveled, and generally more skilled in unarmed combat. Boriss attempts to incorporate his legs, knees, and elbows into the fight, only for Florence to counter with the same.
“Boriss is losing,” Gond states. “He’s getting tired and slowing down.”
I sigh aloud. “I’d normally agree with you that Boriss is losing, but not tired. Boriss has a hell of a lot of stamina. There's no reason Boriss should already be slowing down.”
Gong frowns when he looks at the Russian. In all seriousness, the man perfectly looks like someone whose body is giving up.
And then it happens. A perfect punch at Boriss’s liver that would normally elicit a stunned reaction. Something Florence had seen Boriss show every time he’d landed.
This time, there was no reaction. From sluggish defense to a burst of speed, Boriss constricts his hand around Florence’s neck. Then he pulls Florence and leans forward at the same time.
The room cracks as skull meets face with such deafening force.
Florence loses consciousness for just a moment, giving Boriss the moment to wrap both hands around the [Pugilists] head.
“CRACK.”
Another violent and bloody meeting of heads.
“CRACK.”
Florence desperately tries to push the man away.
“CRACK.”
He kicks and knees Boriss in the stomach
“CRACK.”
He loses consciousness for a moment, only to regain it as the head comes forward.
“CRACK.”
His coughs up blood.
“CRACK.”
His body goes limp.
“CRACK.”
“CRACK.”
“CRACK.”
Then Boriss stops. A hand feels the side of the man's neck. Boriss nods and drops the still living body. He then turns not towards me, but towards Gond. Then he points at his blood smeared face.
“Is good strategy.”