Fists in cloth wraps collided against flesh. The sound of the impact was drowned under the clamor of those that watched on the side. Spectators climbed upon the low wooden fences and sloshed cups overfull with wine and ale towards the two fighters inside. However, none dared travel further than the tops of the fences. Within the thirty step by thirty step enclosure, a war was being waged between two individuals. But more than that, these fighters represented the villages and towns of this region and the success of the winner in turn became the success of their home.
A large board sat behind the ring and displayed the bracket. The best fighter from each village around the region would meet inside of the ring for a large prize and the ability to try to become the most famous brawler in d’Gauval, and then, all of Strettia.
People clamored beneath the board to bet coin on who would come out victorious. The current fight had the odds constantly called out by those that collected the money. Those that already made their bets screamed out words of encouragement to their chosen fighter, else their performance bring them towards financial ruin. While the men’s odds seemed to be up in the air, there was one fighter that dominated the odds for the women’s side.
Valentin knew that the village of Orsulie had immense pride towards their local champion, Isabel, the reigning women’s champion of d’Gauval. The village would speak as if they had all won the fight. As a result Isabel enjoyed many of the same privileges that the Duvin clan enjoyed, such as priority over the wheat mill.
There were two enclosures at the Roucotte Killicia between the East and South Gate; one for the men’s tournament and one for the women’s. Valentin, Jeanne, and Euna settled at the men’s enclosure as there was a fight currently raging on while the women were in between bouts. More importantly, their champion, Arnauld of Orsulie, would soon be locked in combat with Louis of Sarve.
Valentin had been fortunate to find a spot right next to the ring. A fairly wide berth had formed around a tremendous man who pressed up against the fence, watching the combat with a stern, intense expression. Valentin moved into the open spot, seeing it as an opportunity to watch Arnauld fight from a front row spot. He climbed up next to the man who briefly regarded him before turning back towards the fight.
A wide grin spread across Valentin’s face as he found footing on the fence. He was never permitted to watch the events up close. Sometimes, he would able to sneak away long enough to watch a local fight from a distance. However, he made sure not to be caught near the competition out of worry that he’d be spotted and reported to his father. From far away, the shouts and excitement always drew Valentin towards it. It represented a hope for him to venture from his home without the need for favor.
The battle currently playing out was nearing the end. One of the fighters was unleashing a heavy assault upon the other. A flurry of fists that slowly dropped the unfortunate recipient down upon one knee. The assailant was relentless and tried to end the encounter with this attack. The brawler maintained his guard but it was clear that he was exhausted.
Welts covered both fighter’s bodies. Their skin already turned dark shades of purple from the impacts unleashed upon them. A cut upon the losing fighter’s eyebrow leaked blood into his eye, making him weak on his left side.
Through gritted teeth and ragged breaths, the bleeding fighter threw a few punches to create some space between him and his opponent. The opponent blocked one of the strikes with his elbow and took a step away from the bleeding brawler. He then stepped to the side and delivered a vicious blow into the bleeding fighter’s right side. A look of devastation crossed the man’s face from the pain.
Townsfolk that knew the brawler on the back foot screamed his name and the man attempted one desperate effort to gain control of the fight. A powerful hook connected with ribs and the despairing villagers and gamblers made a cheer of joy with the potential change of fortunes. Valentin watched in enraptured interest at the potential of the comeback.
“He should have stayed down when he had the chance.” The man next to Valentin spoke to himself, surprising the boy. He had a voice that rumbled like an incoming storm even when speaking quietly.
A cruel overhand counter was unleashed upon the rallying fighter and a sick sound echoed through the crowd that fell into silence. The man collapsed into the dirt and his fellow villagers rushed the enclosure to retrieve him. The victor walked towards the corner full of his supporters and preened in front of the adulating fans who slapped their hands upon his shoulder and chanted his name.
The villagers lifted the loser’s dazed body from the dirt and helped to carry him over to the side of the ring. Outside of a few drunken screams from the big losers of the bets, most gave him a consolatory applause and looks of pity.
His name was struck from the board while the victor was placed into the next round. It appeared that if he won the next two fights, he would be the Roucotte champion. New betting odds for the upcoming bout rang through the crowd and the bettors rushed to get their money in quickly. If Valentin had money on him, he would have offered a small gamble on behalf of Arnauld.
“That injury would have been prevented if he had accepted the loss earlier,” commented the frustrated large man to no one in particular.
“But how would he have known if he didn’t try?” Valentin asked the man.
“I suppose it takes this kind of experience to learn,” the man admitted, now addressing Valentin with his full attention. “You missed most of this fight but if you had you would have seen clearly that Hébèrt was a cut above. In these battles it’s better to just back out.”
“My uncle says that you should always fight to your last as you never know when you will find the opening that can change everything.” Valentin puffed out his chest at the bravery he had learned from Gilles.
“Those are the words of a man fighting to the death,” remarked the man. “There is no choice but to fight. But do you believe that this is the same?”
“What do you mean?”
From Valentin’s understanding, all fights were exactly the same. Whether it was for pride or money or to the death, either it ended in victory or defeat. Gilles told him that tenacity was one of the most important parts of fighting; that the most romantic thing about a fight was pulling victory from overwhelming odds. He was certain that the loser of the previous fight felt a similar way, otherwise he would have given up when the large man advised.
“In these small time circuits there is little difference between winning and losing,” answered the man “They advertise a large prize, but it is not enough at this level for what you are sacrificing. Only the top three get paid anything at all and first is the only amount that means anything. Alan allowed himself to get carried away by his fans and now he is being carried out. And who will tend to his fields if he is too wounded to sow his seeds next five-day?”
“The village will help him,” asserted Valentin as though it was an obvious truth.
When someone was infirm or injured, it was the responsibility of the village to support them. Last cycle, when Bram injured his leg, others managed his fields until he was able to do so himself. That Faur, he was the first person to go out and repair a fence that was damaged in a storm and helped bring the escaped sheep back to Orsulie. It was common knowledge that one supports others in the event that they one day need supporting.
“Sometimes they do, sometimes they don’t. It’s the risk you take when you put your body on the line for fame.” A somber look sat on the man’s face to match his bitter answer.
“It sounds like a terrible sport,” commented Euna. At some point, she had moved to stand behind Valentin. Jeanne stood closely to her, watching Euna suspiciously “Why do it at all?”
“The reason for the popularity of these fights and why so many care deeply about the winner is that the only people allowed to participate are unfavored fighters,” the man explained. “It is one of the few chances for someone that did not wake the Bloodstone to achieve fame all across Strettia. That chance is not something that can be easily ignored. Once you are able to break free from this smaller tournaments, the riches truly start to flow.”
“Forgive my brother’s rudeness, sir,” Jeanne spoke and shot a dirty look at Valentin who looked away with embarrassment. “We have asked you so many questions without an introduction. I am Jeanne Duvin of Orsulie and this is my brother, Valentin. You can ignore the other woman.”
“Ah,” the man turned, removed his hat, and bowed his head towards Jeanne. “I am very familiar with your drink, Miss Duvin. It helped me sleep during some of my more difficult nights. Though, nowadays, I no longer partake in it.”
“Have we offended you as a customer?” Jeanne asked apologetically. “If there is something we can do to gain your patronage back, I’d love to hear it.”
“It has nothing to do with you. I have decided to no longer get drunk.” The man returned his hat to his head and adjusted it back to a comfortable position. “My name is Leonard Fortus.”
Valentin’s eyes widened at the name. It was no wonder that no one had dared stand beside this man. Valentin now himself felt uncertain next to the giant. The province that Roucotte governs is famous for a scant few things. In recent years there has been one person that has stood above all others in terms of notoriety. Last cycle Leonard Fortus entered the Arena of Mulliti as the champion of the Roucotte circuit and left as the Baggare champion of Strettia for his fourth time through a dominating tournament run never seen before.
And, if the rumors were true, Leonard Fortus recently killed three men.
“I’ve heard of Leonard Fortus. You’re the greatest brawler of all time?” Euna said with excitement. “Lucky me to meet such a famous man.”
“You exaggerate,” Leonard replied plainly. “I am simply gifted with a good physique for this horrendous sport.”
“Mr. Fortus,” Jeanne spoke with a similar nervousness to her brother. “We have heard some unsavory rumors about you-”
“And you’d like to know if they are true,” Leonard interrupted, grunting with a hint of annoyance. His response made Jeanne take a step back. “I’m sure you’ll just ask the Tiarna later, knowing your clan, so I'll tell you. It’s true.”
Valentin wasn’t sure if he should step away from the man or not. Would retreating now earn Leonard’s ire? That was definitely something that the boy couldn’t afford to have. So instead he stayed in place. It would be easier to pretend that he never heard that confession. However one of his companions was not so discreet.
“Rumors? What rumors?” Euna asked obliviously, but with great curiosity over a potential story. “What, were you caught drinking blood to be more powerful or power masking?” The troubadour continued to tease. “Is he perhaps a fake?”
“Euna,” Jeanne warned and the woman shrugged, leaving the topic alone.
Leonard’s expression soured over Euna’s teasing. His eyes darkened as he reminisced upon the event. While Valentin reflexively shied away, he saw just how isolated Leonard was. Just last cycle, he would have been swarmed with adoring fans clamoring for a chance for him to talk to them.
“So what happened?” Valentin asked the man.
Leonard sighed and regarded the boy. Memories flooded past his eyes and his large fingers clung to the wooden fence.
“I will make a long story short. No matter how strong I was said to be, when I earned those winnings from the Arena, some upstart favored kids got after me to try to take everything I worked to earn. They tried to remind me that even though I was crowned champion, I was still below them in the eyes of the world,” Leonard explained and scratched his face. “We all learned that night a trained fist to the skull is lethal no matter how favored you may be and a man that feels that he has nothing to lose will fight to the death.”
“You killed favored warriors?” Euna asked with shock.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“I killed three brats that turned out to only be favored enough to be glorified gate sentries. They barely even seen the world for sixteen cycles,” Leonard disputed. “I overestimated their powers just like they did. I guess that’s what happens when you go your whole life being told that the gulf between yourself and the favored is too wide to cross. Reality hits all that harder for all four of us.”
"Ah," Euna commented, trying her best not to sound overly disappointed. "People gain enough power to do a few party tricks and suddenly you are no longer of the same class."
Valentin felt awe for the man, missing the point of Leonard’s sadness entirely in favor of a glimmer of hope for himself. He was able to fell three favored warriors without any powers. Maybe he could train under the man so he would be allowed to travel. This was a new route for him to potentially take. Even if unfavored, he could still be strong enough to hold his own and ensure his mother wouldn’t worry too much.
However, the harsh atmosphere that surrounded him dampened his enthusiasm ever so much. Euna seemed to have a similar sparkle in her eye, but to Valentin, it seemed that she was more interested in finding another topic for her performances.
“What do you even do in such a situation?” Jeanne asked Leonard.
“I did not have time to consider what to do next,” Leonard replied. “They attacked me publically, so they died publically. All those people gathered around to gawk, and when it was over, they called me a murderer and soldiers took me into custody. I was to stand trial the following day to defend myself.”
“An unnaturally quick turnaround,” commented the far worldlier Euna. “I have heard of people sitting in a cell for an entire season in await for their trial.”
“It was too public and high profile to hold off,” Leonard answered. “Yesterday’s champion against a favored son of a prominent clan and his two friends. Such a situation could not be allowed to wait overly long. By the following morning, I stood inside the audience chamber of High Tiarna Orso to place my case and earn my freedom. All I could do was hope that the ruler of Mulliti was a just one.”
“Since you stand here with us with your head still on your shoulders, it sounds like the High Tiarna is as wise as the rumors say,” Jeanne replied with a joke to strike a little levity to the heavy story.
“It was determined that I was a victim, however, I was told that I took my right to self-defense too far,” Leonard informed. “I did not disagree. To prevent a blood feud, I had to pay their clan for the killings and was forbidden from entering another competition. Not that I want to anymore.”
“How much did you have to pay?” Euna inquired.
“Half of my winnings from the Arena.”
“Half?!?!” Euna exclaimed just slightly too loudly. “That’s ridiculous. Were they cousins to the High Tiarna?”
“It was to prevent retaliation,” Leonard asserted. “We swore before the High Tiarna and the Justicar of Orso that the matter was settled. Now if any associated with the deceased act against me or mine, all three clans will be hunted down and killed to the last by the warriors of d’Gauval and Orso. The price was fair to not live my life with one eye over my shoulder. I would have gladly paid all of it if I had to, so I consider myself fortunate in a way.”
“So, what did you do with the rest?” Euna asked.
“I spent it on a nice home in Roucotte and purchased a clan name from Tiarna Lunoult,” Leonard answered, looking towards the walls of Roucotte and the presumed direction of his home. “The Fortus name became recognized as legitimate. Now, my children will be apprentices to craftsmen. They will never have to step foot in that square if I have anything to say about it.”
As Leonard’s story wound down, excitement for the following fight spooled up. Opening calls for gambles ended and all those that wished to participate early had made their bets and held small wooden sticks marked with a painted dot as proof of their wager. Those with red dots bet Arnauld and blue dots bet Louis.
It appeared that Louis possessed a slight majority of bets. In the instance of an established fighter against a physically superior debutant, the veteran earned more trust from bettors.
A woman wearing a white blouse with golden trims waded into the center of the baggare square, caking her boots in mud. Cheers erupted at the woman’s arrival as she cupped her hands to her mouth and heralded the beginning of the next fight.
“Good people of d’Gauval, it is time for our second quarterfinal match of the Roucotte Killicia men’s baggare tournament!” The woman announced and received much adulation from the fans who had started to cool off between bouts. “Let us all hope that this match will give us a proper challenger to Hébèrt of Evonbourg for our semifinals! Introducing our fighters!”
First up lumbered a familiar figure. Arnauld’s face was constantly swapping between excitement and terror. Small razor burns covered the fighter’s freshly shaven face. A gathering of red dotted Orsulie villagers began to drum up some cheering for their home-grown brawler.
“Our first fighter is a surprise entry!” The woman announced, waving her arm in the direction of Arnauld. “In his first match, he struck fan favorite Gerold of Aberrie with a devastating shot to the chin! Was it luck or are we witnessing the birth of a new champion in the making? Representing the village of Orsulie, Arnauld!”
Cheers from both sides erupted for the young man. Calls to win or, at the very least, make the fight interesting cascaded upon him in equal measure. He gave the crowd a slight bow and stood by the fences at the edge of the square. While he did that, his opponent made his entrance.
“Our second fighter is a well-seasoned entry!” The woman introduced to louder cheers. “This is his eleventh straight Killicia tournament and he has made the semifinals five of those times! Will he put an end to Arnauld’s run and claim his sixth appearance? Representing the village of Sarve, Louis!”
Valentin checked the two fighters and realized instantly that there was a large difference in physique between them. Though Arnauld was young and it was his debut, he dwarfed his opponent from Sarve to a surprising degree.
Arnauld was a boy Jeanne’s age and tried his best cycles ago to court her. When Valentin was much younger, Arnauld was around often and they spent time together to the point Valentin once considered him an older brother. Though they speak very little now, Valentin was rooting for the farmer to make a deep run. Standing on the fencing behind him, Valentin could recognize members of Arnauld’s clan as well as many villagers from Orsulie.
“Don’t you think this will be a bit lopsided?” Euna asked Leonard. “That boy is at least four hands taller than his opponent.”
“There are no weight classes in this sport,” answered Leonard. “Everyone that enters must be one of, if not the best fighters in their village. Louis has been in the circuit as long as I have.”
“So does that mean he has some special move to counter the size difference? Is Arnauld in trouble?” Valentin gulped nervously. He noticed Jeanne looked equally intrigued at his inquiry.
Images of Louis performing ludicrous and biologically impossible maneuvers crossed Valentin’s mind. In his wild kicks and invisible punches, there was nothing that poor Arnauld could do. Valentin shuddered over how to dispatch such an opponent.
At the same time, he felt great deals of respect towards Louis. Fighting this deep into the tournament with his smaller stature was inspiring to the small framed boy. He gently swung a wiry arm forwards, pretending that the strike felled the massive Arnauld. He looked at his outstretched fist and wondered if he could replicate Louis’ success.
“I wouldn’t worry too much about your man. If he loses to Louis I’m going to tell him to quit fighting. He wouldn’t have the talent for it,” Leonard reassured and stared at Arnauld as if he were sizing him up. “Consider Louis more of a test for talent. His size prevents him from ever being truly great, but his experience and tactics always make him competitive. Someone as big as that Orsulie boy with any natural ability or intelligence will end Louis easily.”
The two fighters approached each other and shook hands before walking to opposite sides of the enclosure. They nodded at each other and then began the slow approach towards the center. Arnauld lowered his stance and tensed his shoulders.
Cheers rained down in anticipation of the first blow. Who would swing first? Would it connect? Valentin felt his palms get sweaty with the excitement of the fight, the sentiments of the champion fighter mostly lost on him.
Arnauld moved first. Two quick jabs shot towards Louis to test his defenses and the smaller fighter stepped to the side and took a step to close in on Arnauld’s side. His big frame pivoted quite gracefully and more jabs whipped out to recreate the distance between the two. This testing of boundaries continued for what felt like several minutes. Arnauld would land hits at range and Louis would run inside and land a body shot or two.
People called out random advice and orders towards the fighters in the rings. Whether they heard or not, it did not change much in how the fighters went about their strategy.
As things progressed it appeared to Valentin that Louis had picked up speed. The jabs and hooks that came careening from Arnauld’s center felt sluggish compared to the beginning of the fight. Louis’ attacks did not appear to be bothering Arnauld much but Valentin could see frustration on Arnauld’s face.
The neutral crowd and Louis supporters began to jeer at Arnauld. Some splashed their drinks over the side towards the fighters. All fell hopelessly short of the intended target, soaking the ground. One particularly angry viewer threw a mostly eaten meat pie towards the fighters. Flecks of lamb and onion landed on Arnauld’s forearm, much to the delight of the viewers.
“What’s the matter, big guy? Swat the fly already! You better not be trying to throw this fight for a nice payout!”
“Throwing a fight?” Valentin asked to no one in particular. He had yet to hear such a term before.
“It is a form of cheating,” Leonard answered. “Sometimes people wish to manipulate the betting so that they can profit immensely. The losing fighter will earn tons of bets for them and then lose for more winnings.”
Rigging a fight was something that Valentin had never considered. He felt deeply upset by the idea that the fights were not the best people winning. It casted doubts over the results of any fight that ever existed. An exaggeration, of course, but the feelings were no less bothersome.
“In this case, it’s just the bitterness of drunken losers,” Leonard continued. “You’d make little money throwing a fight as an underdog.”
Many laughed to try to get a reaction out of him but to no avail. The big fighter gritted his teeth and tried to take control of the fight that was getting out of hand.
Another strong punch missed and a short jab to the kidney answered. The fight was surely not going to Arnauld’s expectations and a creeping sense of dread filled Valentin’s heart. This was not going to end in a knockout, it would be death by one thousand punches.
Red splotches formed on Arnauld’s skin from the repeated impacts that he took. He spat a mixture of saliva and blood out of his mouth and readied himself to keep going. Louis of Sarve seemed to be in far better condition than his opponent. His guard remained high and he bounced from foot to foot without tiring. It would take a long and sustained effort before the man would show any signs of slowing down.
Leonard tsked in disappointment and the big man took a long drink from his mug. Jeanne was covering her eyes with worry. Euna appeared disinterested with the entire affair and seemed to be looking elsewhere. The pacing was much slower than the preceding fight and the energy of the crowd was much lower to match.
What was the proper way to win this fight? Valentin did not know enough about combat to come up with a respectable answer. Surely, hitting him once as hard as Arnauld could would send the thinner man tumbling out of the square. Could he use his long arms to shepherd his opponent into the corner and remove his speed? It seemed anything was better than Arnauld’s current strategy of taking blows endlessly without offering any sort of responses. It would not surprise anyone if he collapsed at any moment.
More minutes passed and things hadn’t changed much from the beginning. Both seemed slower now that their stamina had been drained. The Orsulie side still cheered and offered advice to the struggling boy whose guard had started to slip slightly. Louis saw the opportunity and charged at Arnauld. Louis wound up for another body shot. Valentin braced for the impact but it was not meant to be.
Arnauld reached out with his massive hands and grabbed onto Louis. He slammed the smaller man to the ground and then mounted his stomach. A flurry of hammer-fisted blows rained mercilessly on top of Louis of Sarve. Blood flew in streams from Louis’ face. His nose was broken and blood streamed from the nostrils. Arnauld was taking his rage and humiliation out on the man, his face contorted into a bloodthirsty scowl. The crowd roared at the change of fortune and now encouraged the boy to further the violence.
“Oh, well that’s more interesting,” Euna remarked detachedly, her attention finally returning to the fight.
Louis screamed that he gave up and the siege stopped. Arnauld got up and walked towards his fellow villagers. There was no celebration from the fighter, none of the preening that the victor of the previous fight had done with his fans. Arnauld climbed over the enclosure with the posture of a defeated brawler.
Now it was Louis’ turn to receive the ire of the spectators. A significant amount of money was lost in the midst of that fight and they were more than willing to give Louis every piece of their drunken indignation. The prone fighter was an easier target for the dissatisfied spectator who released another volley of drink towards him.
To Louis’ credit, he did not seem overly bother by the outburst. He gave the crowd a bow, blood still spilling from his face, before moving towards his supporters. A nice cheer greeted him, but his disappointment was clear in his slouched posture.
“It was about time he figured it out,” growled Leonard, still unimpressed by the whole ordeal. “At least he understands how foolish he looked out there. Maybe he’ll realize that winning the entire thing is outside of his ability. If not, I might try to have a chat with him, if he’d even talk to me.”
“Could he beat Hébèrt in the semifinals?” Valentin asked with interest.
“He has a chance against Hébèrt, yes. But he has no hope of beating Rogier on the other side of the bracket. Even I had difficulties facing him late in my career,” Leonard remarked and rubbed at his forearm with the phantom pains of previous bouts. “It’d be a bloodbath.”
“We need to go anyway, Valentin. We cannot be late for the feast,” Jeanne said anxiously, seeing that Ortus had long gone past its zenith. “Thank you, for entertaining us for the duration. I hope that we didn't cause you any discomfort.”
“There is nothing to forgive,” Leonard rejected, holding up his massive hand. “I am grateful that my time here was not alone. My wife still has wine from time to time. Perhaps I will buy a bottle of yours to gift to her.”
“I wanted to see Isabel fight too,” pouted Valentin. He couldn’t truly complain, he got to see some fights when he had not expected to. The experience had made the previous portion of the festival much more worthwhile.
“Isabel will win the title no contest,” stated Leonard. “All her opponents will forfeit.”
“Why would they forfeit?” Valentin asked.
“Because,” Leonard said with a serious expression. “Isabel is an evil and sadistic bitch. She derives joy from destroying the weak. That’s why she never bothers to compete in the Mulliti tournament despite her decent odds of winning the entire thing. It’s a blessing that she’s unfavored.”
Uncertain how to respond, Jeanne instead addressed Euna. “We are leaving now, what will you do?”
“I wasn’t invited to the feast so I will not be joining you. I will stick around here for a few days before traveling to a new city. Besides, I think I found a fascinating story that needs to be told right here.” Euna fluttered her eyes towards Leonard who had returned his attention back towards the fighters.
“Goodbye Euna,” Valentin waved farewell to the woman.
While Euna returned the wave with a sweet smile, Valentin was dragged away by his sister. Soon, Valentin would share that sense of urgency.