“I believe that is the end of the battle, the boy has won. Am I free to go and treat his wounds before he passes from his injuries?” The second the youth had pierced the leopard’s heart the tense atmosphere building around the Scholar had dissipated almost immediately.

“It appears that you have forgotten something important my friend. Look…” At first while the champion had turned the tables upon the beast, Xeander had appeared as if he had just swallowed a bowl of the most bitter medicine possible. Yet now his attention was focused on a single point within the ring, a wicked smile stretching across his face.

As he had pointed out, standing in the center of the arena was the last remaining challenger. His physical state was not the best as he stumbled along, his shield was dropped halfway, his arm unable to hold the weight. Instead focusing on maintaining a firm grip upon his sword, his destination obvious, the youth who was sprawled upon the sand, drifting between consciousness.

“Preposterous! That man had lost, if the boy hadn’t saved him, he would have died to the beast. The fight should be over! How much more do you intend to carry on this farce… this dishonorable show?” The Scholar’s words clearly fell upon deaf ears, in fact based on the smirk upon “the toad’s” lips, he was taking pleasure in the man’s reactions.

“A fight is a fight; it continues until one side is dead or has conceded. From what I can recall the challenger never conceded, and he is clearly not dead.” Turning away from his rival, the devious bastard turned his attention to the ring below, observing the challenger towering over the disabled champion. “Challenger! Strike down your opponent, claim his title and with it the rewards to which you are entitled! You have only to swing your blade. Go ahead and earn your victory.” Xeander yelled out, using a cone like device to amplify his voice, allowing it to echo outwards reaching all present within the arena. The challenger responded, his head turning towards the sound before returning to look over the wounded youth.

The man himself appeared upon the verge of collapse, blood still dripping from under his helm and where the leopard had raked its claws along his flesh. However, the wounds did not deter him, he remained where he was staring at the youth at his feet. Then ever so slowly he lifted his weapon into the air, aiming towards the sky while he looked towards the crowd above, same as a victorious champion might.

Unlike at the beginning of the battle the crowd was silent, none cheered or called for blood. The desperate battle and the nail-biting victory the young champion had etched out against overwhelming odds had swayed their hearts. It was only Xeander who could be seen giggling like a child, while the Scholar raged in silence, eyes burning with anger.

With sword still raised the challenger turned his attention towards the city lord’s viewing platform. Xeander in response raised his fist for all to see before pointing his thumb downwards, giving his approval to end the life of the other. Yet rather than swinging down his blade, the man maintained his stare before tossing his sword to the ground.

“I refuse, you do not own me, and I will not murder this boy. If anyone is deserving of the title champion, it is he! Your cowardly actions would have led to my death, and if you think that I will dirty my hands with such a dishonorable action then you are a fool. I concede, and with that the boy is free from your twisted grip. I TARIQ, COMMANDER OF THE CRIMSON BRANDS CONCEDE DEFEAT!” Xeander was at first frozen, the concession and insult catching him completely off guard. Slowly his face began to redden, then twist into a vicious grimace. Unable to stomach the insult “the toad” began to scream all manner of curses, directing his ire towards the one named Tariq, calling for his immediate execution.

“You have no authority to execute that man, after the way in which you have dishonored this event. Do not think that I will stand idly by, even if this city is within your purview “toad”!” The change was instantaneous, all the ire which was directed at the man below found a new target. To some extent the Scholar knew exactly what reaction could be expected by using that term towards the unstable and vindictive man. That ire would be directed towards him and his, yet the contract had already been signed and the wager agreed upon, there was little he could do to deter them from taking what they wanted.

“Maati, we are leaving. You go ahead and collect five of the best combat slaves you can find within the cells below, make sure to also retrieve the boy’s teacher and bring him to the medical room. I will go and deal with the two in the ring, their injuries need to be tended to immediately… have the other two escorts assist you in this task. Also, should you get the chance, grab two stretchers, we will need them to move the patients. Now hurry, time is of the essence!” Maatilani did not hesitate, after receiving the full orders she departed immediately, easily pressing past the servants who made a futile attempt to hamper her departure.

“Cadeyrn you half-blood bastard, how dare you ignore me! I didn’t say you could leave; do you still believe you have the authority over all the nobles? You are nothing! Just a backwater upstart, don’t think that luck of yours will hold out forever!” The Scholar continued to ignore the ever-increasing stream of insults, filtering out “the toad’s” pointless ravings. Empty threats and pointless posturing, he had yet to notice the glares of the audience, even the lower and visiting nobility had directed disgusted looks in his direction.

“You will abide by the written agreement, or does your master deign to dishonor even those sacred vows?” The Scholar directed his words towards the thin man standing beside the partially open door. Suspiciously calm, the steward Lysias appeared unperturbed even as his master continued to hurl insults in a blind rage. Going so far as to hurl nearby clay jugs of wine in the Scholar’s direction.

“Of course, Lord Amyntas. House Batrakhos will always honor its agreements. You are free to purchase the slaves at the agreed upon price, and I will inform the guards to allow you free passage into the holding pens as well as to fighting grounds. Do not worry, I will not keep you any longer, as I am sure you are in quite the rush.” Lysias’s perpetual smile left one feeling filthy, but the calm measured responses could be far more unnerving.

According to the wager, they had lost, the Scholar had reread the contract multiple times and the only point of contention was the price that would have to be paid should the champion die within the arena. Yet the way in which this man responded made it seem as if everything was expected, as if things were playing out according to expectations.

However, those thoughts were little more than unneeded distractions. The focus was the survival of the two fighters in the arena. Steeling his resolve, the Scholar removed the pouch of surgical string and tools that would be needed, alongside numerous alchemical concoctions of varying colors, all possessing some medicinal uses. Whether that would be enough was to be seen.