Butcher

"Butcher! Butcher!"

The chanting of the crowd did nothing to ease Martel's fear. His opponent attacked with glee, and the novice simply defended himself, lacking the confidence to strike back.

Butcher's attacks came with less speed but greater force than compared to Lothar's. Even though Martel blocked, his hand cramped trying to hold onto his staff reverberating from the power of Butcher's strike. But he could defend. He was not out of his depth.

So when he parried another attack, Martel finally went on the offensive and lashed out swiftly, landing a blow on his opponent's upper arm. It barely made impact. Butcher did not need armour, protected by his hefty stature.

With a predator's grin, the corpulent man struck back and punished Martel with a heavy blow on the shoulder, making impact even through his leather tunic.

The spectators cheered, and the combatants resumed testing each other's defences, trying to get past. But every time Martel did, he received one in return. He was fast enough to block any initial attack from Butcher, but he could not land his own blow and get ready swiftly enough to defend. The solution was to hit so hard, his opponent would be too debilitated to retaliate, but the man scorned any blow on his portly frame. Even trying to use his magic did not help; Martel could not command it to such a degree that it made a difference. He needed to land a strike on the head, and Butcher never left an opening for that.

Finally, the opportunity arose. Butcher took a step forward and missed his swing, leaving him well within range. Martel struck, his staff aimed straight at his opponent's temple. With a grin, the shorter man ducked below. A feint. He pushed his staff forward like a spear to smash against Martel's chin, sending him several steps backwards.

A secondary attack immediately followed, and Martel barely evaded a direct blow against his head.

But the fight had turned against him. He was pushed back with limited room to move. When he brought his staff back, it hit the wall behind him, disrupting both his defence and offence.

"Butcher's got him on the hook!"

Indeed, Martel felt like a pig strung up, ready for butchering. Magic was his only way out. He tried to remember the gymnasium, what had activated it. He needed this for protection. Not for himself, but if he lost this fight, he could not take care of Shadi. She would be homeless, destitute, or worse, leave and never return.

Raising his shield, Martel left himself open.

Butcher attacked, striking Martel on the side of his neck.

He felt the wood touched his skin, but the expected pain and incapacitation did not happen. His shield held. Before Butcher could retract his staff to defend, Martel made the exact same attack, only mirrored.

The corpulent man's eyes lost focus for a moment. Pressing his advantage, Martel struck again, straight at the temple.

Like a sack of potatoes, Butcher fell to the ground, face first.

Martel held his breath, ready to strike once he got up again.

The corpulent man rolled around onto his back and raised an empty hand. "I yield!"

The crowd erupted in cheers. Martel threw his staff onto the ground and raised both hands to receive their adoration. Remembering the end of his last fight, he offered one of them to Butcher.

As the other man grabbed his arm to pull himself up, Martel had to call on empowered strength just to keep from toppling over, but he managed to pull Butcher to his feet.

"Not bad, boy!" This time, as Butcher showed his teeth, he did so in the form of a jovial smile.

Martel returned the expression, as the crowds chanted his name.

~

Retreated to his room, Martel sat down on the bench to catch his breath, removing his mask. He was still elated, not just that he had earned the silver he needed, but from the mere fact that he had proven himself capable to win. The only crack in his joy came as he remembered why it was so crucial that he won; like an evil spectre, Kerra's threat still haunted him.

A serving boy entered with a mug full of ale, which he handed to Martel with a look of admiration.

The newly coronated victor barely noticed the boy, only three or four years his junior, in favour of swiping the tankard and emptying with in a single motion. The drink helped alleviate the utter dryness in his mouth and throat, which Martel had not even noticed until now.

Tibert appeared, dismissing the serving boy with a gesture. He counted out ten silver pieces on the bench next to Martel. "Not bad. Few who can take a victory on the second fight. Next time you win, you'll earn double."

"Tell me when." As exhilarating as this experience was, Martel saw no reason to prolong his exploits in the harbour district. The sooner he accomplished Kerra's task, the better.

"Peldays and Mandays, always. You show up, I'll find you a fight."

"I'll be there on Pelday."

Tibert gave Martel a nod before he disappeared back towards the fighting ring.

Once outside in the back alley, the young victor was intercepted by Maximilian. "Excellent fight, Nordmark! I knew you could do it!"

Martel sent him a consternated look, hoping to stop the mageknight before he blurted out anything else. "Not so loud! You'll attract attention."

Maximilian waved his hand around, dismissing Martel's concern. "Nobody's listening. What say you we stay a while? In half an hour, there is another fight. Ale is cheap, and you may learn about your future opponents."

The young fighter shook his head. "I don't want to draw attention to myself, or run around out there wearing my mask. I'm going home."

"Suit yourself. We shall talk tomorrow! We have more training to do, but tonight was an excellent step in the right direction." The mageknight patted his friend on the shoulder and disappeared back into the tavern.

On his own, Martel walked down the alleys, removing his eyepatch with a tired gesture. The excitement and energy had vanished from his body, now the fight had ended and he had left the tavern behind with its roaring crowds; all he wanted was to sleep. Walking the same path as last time after his fight, he suddenly remembered the warning sent by Kerra's messenger. With a sigh, he turned towards the copper lanes and the longer way home.