The louder the crowd grew, the heavier Anthony's discomfort became.
Excitement filled the air, but in him it twisted into unease — a slow, gnawing dread that grew with every cheer and laugh.
As soon as he stepped through the door, he couldn't resist the urge to furrow his brow in disbelief at what he saw.
What…?
When he'd first heard the ruckus — and Ouden's teasing remark — he'd been curious. But this wasn't what he had imagined at all.
Under the flicker of torchlight stretched another tavern space, crowded with tables stacked high with coins, cards, dice, and all sorts of gambling games.
So this is… a betting hall? Like some kind of underground casino?
Anthony tried to steady himself as the people who had dragged him in began to spread out, forming a loose circle as if surrounding something. He wanted to look down, but from the position he was in, he couldn't.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" A grating, all-too-familiar voice echoed across the hall. "We've got ourselves a freeloader who didn't pay his tab!"
The crowd's attention shifted instantly.
"So I say we teach him a lesson… in the pit! What do you think? Didn't you all come here for a little excitement?"
"EHHHH!"
"Yeahhh!!!"
Cheers erupted — a chorus of drunken thrill.
"Malivor, you son of a… You planned this the moment you saw me, didn't you? And what the hell is this 'pit' everyone's so hyped about?"
The people below him cleared space, and Anthony was carried toward the center — until he finally saw it.
A hole in the stone floor, roughly circular, its walls made of packed dirt. Barely two meters deep… and somehow, it radiated menace.
He wanted to run, of course he did — but after Malivor's little betrayal, he knew no one here would lift a finger to help. So he simply accepted his powerlessness.
Without a shred of pity, they tossed him down. His body slammed against the reddish earth, his clothes instantly stained with dirt.
Groaning, Anthony sat up and pressed a hand to his shoulder, testing the damage. It hurt, but less than he'd expected for that kind of fall.
When he looked up, Malivor was already grinning down at him.
"Alright then, shall we begin?" Malivor clapped his hands.
A table was dragged closer to the pit's edge.
"I bet five Zenns he doesn't last thirty seconds!" someone shouted.
"Two Zenns he begs for mercy after the first hit!"
"Six Zenns he tries to run!"
More and more bets were being placed. Those closest to the table put down coins and other items, while those further away shouted out the value of their bets.
For a moment, Anthony almost relaxed — until the logic hit him.
If everyone was betting on him… something was about to happen.
He rose to his feet, gaze lowering.
Oh…
About three meters ahead, something moved.
A man — enormous, built like a fortress — stood up slowly, his muscles shifting beneath scarred skin. The only thing covering him was a thick, dirt-stained cloth wrapped around his waist and between his legs.
Near the center of the pit, two rough lines were drawn in the dirt. The man stepped behind one.
Anthony lifted his chin to look at the man's chubby face. At about 5'10" tall, the man in front of him must have been around 6'5" or even taller.
"Ehhh, Banjur!" someone cried.
"Banjur! Banjur!" the crowd chanted, the air thick with bloodlust and booze.
Banjur flexed his legs, crouched slightly, and pressed his fists to the ground, staring straight into Anthony's eyes.
It's like a sumo match? Seriously?
Anthony shook out his arms and legs, then stepped behind the opposite line.
At some point, Malivor, who was sitting at the betting table, brandished a pocket watch while exclaiming.
"A vagabond against the monster of the pit — Banjur!" He grinned and stared at the ticking watch. "Count with me!"
"Five!" He began.
"Four!" The audience joined in the count.
"Three!"
"Two!"
"One!"
"Begin!"
Anthony charged first, dirt flying beneath his boots. Banjur took two heavy steps forward, arms wide, ready to absorb the impact.
Anthony's hands slammed against the man's chest, muscles straining as he tried to push the giant backward.
But Banjur grabbed his forearms, took a step back, and—
Oh no.
—used his momentum against him.
Banjur released his grip.
Thud.
Anthony hit the ground face-first.
"I told you! Not even thirty seconds!" someone shouted, laughter rippling through the crowd.
Groaning, Anthony pushed himself up, spinning around just in time to avoid being stomped — but his opponent had stepped back calmly, expression still blank.
Banjur gestured three times vertically, then tapped his chest.
Violet Maiden…?
Anthony brushed the dirt from his clothes, walking back to the center.
"And he's going for another round!" Malivor bellowed. "Come on, people, place your bets!"
Wait— what? I could leave now? His jaw dropped.
The crowd roared even louder, new wagers flying.
Banjur puffed out his chest again, taking his stance behind the line.
If I was too quick the first time and he pulled me and made me fall, I just need to not be so hasty the second time. He's big, but not as rough as I imagined. I think it's possible to win.
"Second round! Begin!"
Anthony advanced steadily, not rushing, and aimed for Banjur's arms this time.
That's it. That's it.
He pushed with all his might, forcing the giant back one step, then another.
If I can throw off his balance—
But the moment he looked into Banjur's face, his heart skipped.
The man's cheeks puffed out — and with a sudden shift of his feet, he reversed their positions, driving Anthony backward.
"Damn. He is strong."
Anthony's boots scraped the dirt as he fought for traction.
Then, with a grunt, he slammed his chest forward, stopping the push. Sweat poured down his face.
"Wow, thirty seconds!" Malivor announced. "House rules say if he lasts one minute, he wins!"
Thirty more seconds. That's all I need.
Copying Banjur's earlier trick, Anthony took a quick step back, released his grip, and sidestepped.
Banjur's momentum carried him straight into the wall, his face and hands smacking against the packed earth.
"And the tavern vagabond strikes back!" Malivor laughed, joined by hoots and cheers.
"Twenty seconds!"
Anthony wiped the sweat from his forehead.
Banjur turned slowly, his skin now streaked red with dirt, his eyes calm once more.
He's coming hard this time.
The massive fighter advanced with wide strides and outstretched arms, determined not to give his opponent a chance to slip away.
With little choice, Anthony braced his shoulder and wrapped his arms around the man's torso. The larger fighter pushed hard, but the smaller one held his ground — barely, and with great effort.
"And he stops the monster again! Ten seconds left!"
"Ten!"
"Nine!"
Anthony's muscles screamed in protest, his breath ragged. He used the cloth around his waist for leverage, holding firm.
Eight.
Seven.
Then Banjur shifted. He stopped pushing — and instead pulled.
Anthony's feet left the ground.
Six.
Click. He could've sworn he heard something strange.
Five.
Time itself seemed to stretch. The crowd's voices slowed, warped, then snapped back to normal.
Anthony clenched his jaw just before his back slammed into the wall.
Pain exploded through him.
"Ahhh…"
The crowd groaned.
"And the monster wins again!" Malivor called, trying to rouse the audience — but few responded.
That… hurt.
Anthony pressed one hand to his back, the other to the dirt, and rose.
This time, I'm not losing.
"I want another round," he said, licking his lips.
"What?! Another one?" Malivor blurted, disbelief spreading through the crowd.
A few drunken laughs answered.
"Crazy bastard," someone muttered.
Banjur, expression unreadable, pounded his chest once and nodded.
Anthony stripped off his shirt, sweat glistening on his tanned skin. He stepped behind the line and frowned deeply. "This time, I win."
They faced each other.
"Go."
They clashed again — slower, heavier, more deliberate.
Body against body. Force against force. Neither willing to yield.
I just need one opening.
Numbness crept into his limbs, but he pushed on. One step. Another.
"Holy hell! He's pushing the monster back!"
"Go, man, go!"
The crowd turned from spectators to fans, chanting wildly.
With the side of his face pressed against Banjur's shoulder, Anthony visualized a specific face.
Malivor.
It kept its eyes closed while its mouth moved. Anthony couldn't hear it, but he was almost certain it swore.
In the pit, Banjur stiffened his legs and locked the movement.
Yes. The opening.
Releasing his opponent's body, Anthony took a step to create distance.
Anthony broke contact, taking a quick step back. Banjur reached to grab him, but without the shirt for grip, his fingers slid off.
Speed over strength. That's the key.
Anthony sprinted to the edge, spun around, and waited.
Banjur charged.
Anthony met him halfway — arms locking around the giant's torso — and jumped, planting both feet on the wall.
If the walls didn't count as defeat, then he'd use them.
"Never!"
"What—?"
"No damn way!"
All eyes widened.
Using the momentum, Anthony twisted and threw himself backward.
The world flipped. For an instant, Banjur saw the ceiling — then the ground.
They crashed.
But when the dust settled…
Banjur was flat on his back, and Anthony was on top of him.
"Ow…" the larger man groaned.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then—
"He won! He actually won!"
"Madman! Madman! Madman!"
Chants rose, echoing off the stone walls.
Anthony climbed off his opponent, hands trembling as he looked at them.
That feeling…
He couldn't stop smiling.
Could it be connected to that glowing point? My body's burning up…
Hands reached down from the rim of the pit, pulling him up. Just as he reached for one, a large hand rested on his shoulder.
"You fought well… for someone who doesn't fight," Banjur said, making a final gesture before bowing his head slightly.
In the army, I— …Never mind.
"Thanks."
Banjur sat down against the wall, and Anthony grasped two waiting hands, letting the crowd pull him up.
"You beat the monster! What's your name, man?"
"Tom. Call me Tom."
Cheers erupted again.
"Hey! Someone grab my shirt!" he tried, but no one listened.
They carried him back to the tavern floor, planting him before the counter.
"Ouden! A round of drinks and a plate of Khella for the crazy Tom!" Someone's voice in the fans rang out. "Put it on my tab!"
Ouden stroked his brownish beard, chuckled, and obliged.
Anthony ate, drank, and laughed with the others for what felt like hours.
The warmth of victory and ale blurred everything else — until…
"Hey, wait. Where's Malivor?" Anthony asked, blinking through the haze.
Some looked at each other, others ignored him entirely. No one answered.
He was the one who set me up. Now that I've won… where is he?
"He left," Ouden finally said. "Right when you beat Banjur."
"And he looked… pissed," he added.
"Pissed?" Anthony frowned, tapping his forehead.
…
In another corner, a plate was slowly being emptied one bite at a time.
The weight of recent words still echoed, dulling the taste of food.
Finally, she sighed, stretched her fingers, and brushed a strand of hair from her face.
"Captain!"
The call came from downstairs.
What did he do this time…? She pushed back her chair and waved at the cook before heading down.
"What is it, Malivor?" Laylla shoved her hands into her pockets.
"It's the new guy." He cleared his throat.
Laylla, previously distracted, now fixed her dark eyes on Malivor's green ones.
"He's an Ascendant."