Chapter Eighteen

When Ven made it to the fighting ring in the basement of the pub, a bout was already well under way, and the crowd was even rowdier than usual. Once she got close enough, she could see why. One of the fighters was a Qamethean, cyan-skinned and shirtless in bright red short-pants, white leather boots, and padded fighter’s gloves that matched his blood-red hair. His moustache was long enough that it hung past his belly button, and each side of it bore a matching white bow. His opponent was a Kekusi man in black leathers, the feathers on his head trimmed square and short, the typical cloth mask replaced with a metal-studded faceplate. Side by side, the Qamethan might have come up to his opponent’s hip.

Despite the obvious size disadvantage, however, the Qamethean was so obviously the better fighter that the bout only looked remotely close to even because the little man spent far more time taunting and heckling in sing-song than fighting. Qametheans were strange like that. They had a tendency to turn everything into a game, spoke like children, and tried whenever possible to speak in rhyme. They were often viewed as mentally deficient. A fact, of course, that they exploited every single chance they got.

The Kekusi lashed out with one strike after another, but found little more than air and insults for his efforts. Finally, the Qamethean seemed to get bored of whatever game he was playing. He snatched what would have been a well-aimed kick out of the air, then with a follow-through step and an astonishing amount of power, he used the kick’s momentum to pick the Kekusi man off the ground and hurl him clear out of the fighting circle like a ragdoll. The crowd went crazy, and the promoter running the bouts stepped in to declare the little blue-skinned man the winner.

Money gambled on the fight changed hands, and Ven walked over to the promoter when he left the ring to ask about entry. The man was grey and gnarled, with skin the color and texture of tanned leather. He looked her up and down with a skeptical glance as he chewed at a wad of something in his cheek.

“Sword or sheath?” He asked.

Ven blinked.

“What?”

“You got a dangler between your legs?  You're a sword. If you ain’t, I aint got a fight for ya. House rules.” He said, before spitting a thick wad of brown saliva on the stone by her feet.

Ven crossed her arms.

“What house rule?”

“Swords fight swords. Sheaths fight sheaths. No exceptions. Bosses dont wan't a local bloke beating someone's daughter to death.” The man said, spitting again. “And ain’t no other sheaths signed up, so if you a sheath, you’re out of pissin’ luck.”

“Sword.” Ven said.

The man squinted at her critically, focusing a bit too long on her chest before meeting her gaze again. The expression there told her that he wasn’t sure he believed her.

“...Right. Well, it’s open ring right now. Anyone who wants to fight can enter if they wish. Two bodies to a fight. If you enter, you gotta fight whoever’s currently in there. Winner can stay as long as they wish. First bout is free, but for every following bout you win, you get a split of the bookings. Fight’s over if you give up, can’t keep fighting, or get… removed from the ring.” He said, casting a wry glance at the Kekusi man still laying in a crumpled heap on the stone floor.

“So all I have to do is step in.”

The man nodded, reaching into his mouth and pulling out a shredded wad of something that he threw over his shoulder without looking.

“If that’s what you want to do.” He said, fishing more of whatever he’d been chewing out of a leather pouch.

Ven looked over at the circle.

The Qamethean still stood inside, traveling around the edges and taunting anyone in range to come in and fight. A few larger toughs seemed to consider the idea, but apparently thought better of it and left for drinks. After a minute or two of jeering, the little man finally get frustrated, and was about to walk out.

“I’ll take you on.” Ven said, stepping up to the ring’s edge.

The little man looked at her like she had just told some sort of joke, before bursting into a bout of cackling laughter. He fell to the ground, kicking and howling like what she’d just said was the funniest thing in the world. Ven stripped her sword harness, belt gear, and thigh sheath, and nodded to the promoter, who seemed just as amused as the hysterical dwarf in the ring.

“You sure you wanna do this, kid? Once you step in, you can’t leave until you win or lose.” He said.

“I know what I’m doing.” Ven said, cracking her neck as she limbered up.

“If you say so. You got a name?”

“Ven.”

“Ven? You don’t have like a fighter’s nickname or something?” The man said.

“Don’t need one.” She said, cracking her knuckles.

“Oh-kaaay.” The man said with a shrug, raising his eyebrows.

The promoter stepped into the ring, holding his hand up for attention. Within moments, the crowd’s chatter fell quiet, and all eyes focused on the thin man as he spoke up.

“It appears we have a new contender! Another brave soul intends to try their skill, their luck, their determination against the current house champion! Will this fighter from parts unknown be the one to finally end the reign of King Korga the Terrible?!”

The crowd roared, and both the Qamethean and the announcer seemed to soak it in with appreciation. Ven, however, suddenly found herself on edge. Why was she feeling like this? She never had trouble keeping herself calm when she and Master Eujin sparred, even on their midnight bouts on the rooftops with unblunted weapons. But here she was, about to fight an unarmed man two feet shorter than her for fun, and she could feel her heart racing again like she was running for her life in Renning.

“Gentlemen, Ladies, and all others who claim otherwise! I present to you our newest challenger, Ven!”

He pointed over at her, and she suddenly felt a hundred pairs of eyes lock onto her all at the same time. There were some scattered cheers, but the general response was a mixture of sidelong glances and stares. The promoter waved her in, and she stepped into the ring, her hands clasped behind her back, partly because it was comfortable and looked poised, and partly because it helped hide the fact that her hands were shaking. Korga was standing now, and looking her up and down with an expression of amused disbelief. He looked like he could burst out laughing again at any moment.

“Having seen our two competitors, now is the time to place your wagers, folks! When I ring this bell, the bout will begin!”

Once the promoter left the two of them alone in the ring, Korga took a step closer.

“This gonna be big fun-sies. But you gonna big hurt before this is done-sies.” He said, his voice far higher than it seemed it should be, and a bit squeaky. “But if you play a good show-sie, I’ll make sure nothing is too ouchie when you go-sie.”

Venly gave him a sidelong glance, but kept her face flat and said nothing.

Seeing that she wasn’t going to give him any response, Korga’s face lost its humor. He took a few steps away, and set about working the crowd into a cheer on his behalf instead.

Having a few moments to herself, Ven closed her eyes and tried to drown out the sounds around her. She brought her breath into slow, consistent breaths, and through a bit of focus was able to bring her pulse down enough that she no longer felt like she was about to fly out of her skins.

You can do this. If you can keep up with Master Eujin even a little, you can easily take this guy.

Her focus was interrupted by the voice of the promoter as he stepped back into the ring.

“Bets are now closed, and the fight is about to begin! Before I ring this bell, let’s hear it again for our two fighters!”

The crowd roared again, mixed in with more than a few whistles and jeers that seemed to be aimed at her. She opened her eyes and continued to focus on her breath. What was outside of her didn’t matter. How she was handling her body mattered.

“Fighters, to your sides of the ring! At the sound of the bell, the fight will begin!”

Ven crossed to the right side, and Korga to the left. Ven took a final deep breath, then settled into Rain Stance. Korga didn’t even face her, choosing instead to hype the crowd around him some more, which was something he seemed particularly adept at.

The bell rang.

Korga turned around, bouncing back and forth in place on his toes a few times before casually making his way towards her. He didn’t even have his hands up. Once he was within a few paces, Ven struck out with a rapid series of kicks and hand strikes, trying to score an early edge. To her astonishment, however, nothing landed. Korga somehow managed to just not be where her hits were. She pressed the attack until she suddenly felt like she’d kicked a brick wall. The little man shifted out of the block, vaulted up the bent leg she was balancing with, and before she could even fully process what was happening, slammed his gloved fist in her face.

Ven’s vision exploded in a sea of stars, and she reeled backwards. Korga followed through with a sweep that took Ven clean off her feet, and comboed it with a spinning kick from his other leg that caught her in mid-air before she hit the ground. Ven slammed into the wood barrier marking the edge of the ring, her vision spinning. How in the frozen hells was he so swiving fast? She shook her head to clear it as she leaned off the barricade. Korga wasn’t even paying attention to her anymore, and had once again taken to riling the crowd up.

Pull yourself together. This is a 3 foot tall blue dwarf, not Eujin Vast. If you can keep up with him, you can beat this guy. Now get serious!

Ven took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Her head hurt bad, and she was going to be really sore tomorrow, but nothing was broken or seriously hurt. Good enough. The crowd began to motion and point towards her, and Korga turned. Ven cracked her neck, before settling into Storm Stance and giving the little man a wink. Seeing her standing, Korga scowled and spit into the dirt before rolling his shoulder and stalked towards her.

This time, she let him take the lead. He led with a jab, followed by a lightning-fast right hook that rushed just short of her face in a red blur. Letting herself slide into the same flow she had when sparring, she stepped deftly to the side as a hard uppercut swung through the space she’d just been standing in. Seizing the opportunity, she kicked up behind the little man’s knees, knocking him stumbling backwards before driving her elbow into his stomach with enough force to fold him in half. The Qamethean crumpled to the ground, wheezing as struggled to get his air back.

The crowd gasped, then exploded into a cacophony of confused cheering and shouts. Ven waited for Korga to crawl back to his feet, and then made a show of absent-mindedly polishing her fingernails. Korga growled and rushed at her, his previous bravado seeming to have disappeared to a seriousness that caught her a bit off guard. He flew into a flurry of punches of every single conceivable type, finally catching her across the cheek with a hard cross. Ven backstepped, anticipating the follow-up strike and countering with a hook that snapped the dwarf’s head clean around and drew more noise from the crowd.

The two of them traded back and forth, one getting a small edge, then the other, until finally Korga began to tire. His punches began to slow, and his slips and blocks grew less and less clean. Sensing her advantage growing, Ven pressed him hard on the defensive, making him give ground step by step until he found his back against the wooden wall of the ring. Now was the time to end this. With style.

Spotting a lull in his guard, Ven dove inside it, grabbing him by his moustache and waistband and pulling him into a hip throw that chucked him headlong several paces back towards the ring center. Then, using the tiniest bit of Thaumaturgy to boost her strength and speed, she ran up the barricade, flipped over backwards, and slammed her entire bodyweight, elbow-first, into the little man’s back. Korga flattened like he’d just been hit by a sledgehammer, and when Ven sprang back to her feet, he wasn’t moving.

The crowd stoop in slack-jawed shock for several long moments, the lot of them seemingly unable to comprehend what had just happened. Then, one man in the back cheered, and the entire rest of the spectators exploded in an uproar. The promoter stumbled back into the circle, his eyebrows almost vanishing into his hairline.

“Well, there you have it! It appears we have a new champion! Give it up for Ven ...the Kingslayer!”

He took her hand and held it up, and the crowd grew even louder. Ven smiled. That was too much fun. And good practice. What did she have to do for the rest of the day? Oh, right. Nothing.

The announcer turned towards her.

“You gonna stay in, kid?” He asked.

Ven grinned.

“You bet I am.”