Galiead might have taken steps to veil himself in the trappings of a working man, but it was impossible to hide what he was. Muscle that had been evenly built by hard training, rather than the toils of labour, a ramrod spine that seemed to have forgotten how to bend, and a shine to his eyes that spoke of an unyielding surety of his place in the world.

Those stood out far more against his ratty woolen cloak than the crisp newness of his roughspun cream tunic, or his perfectly combed black quiff.

Four of the man’s team left, rather conspicuously lining the front of the alley, while one remained. Both Galiead and his men were a little more restrained than they’d been only a minute before.

The self assurance was still there, but the arrogance had been tempered. The man’s gaze was cautious — as if he was running through the options that would explain Kaius’s irreverent confidence.

Given the familiarity with which Galiead directed Lord Kel’s retainers, Kaius was now certain he was the leader of the troop. It would be impossible for someone like that to be stupid. Assumptions had been made about their status, and now the man was reevaluating them.

Kaius stood calmly, meeting the man’s eyes without flinching. If he showed even the barest hint of weakness, there was no doubt the man would assume a ruse or ploy.

In a sense, there wasn’t one. While he wasn’t exactly used to it, what they’d done with Honours and their legacy skills had secured their position within the guild. To say nothing of the goodwill they had built with the Spires by sharing the details of his and Ianmus’s new magic.

Even beyond that, few would be willing to risk the ire of a Hiwiann clan and the economic fallout that could come with it. The less that was said about the wyrdfire that would rain if the elves ever found out that Porkchop was being held against his will, the better.

They had backing. Now he just needed to keep acting like it didn’t feel like a stolen crown. He had the iron. It was just down to another fight. Simple and easy.

Galiead reached up and unclasped his cloak. With smooth decorum, he folded the grey wool, before feeding it a pouch on his belt. It warped, swallowing the cloak through an impossibly small opening.

“How can three guildhounds be so confident, I wonder. You may be Silver, but I do not recognise you — I know everyone of note in this city, and I would have been informed if you came announced from further afield,” the retainer said, rolling his shoulders almost ritualistically. As if they were surrounded by arena sands, and not damp stone and the faint hint of rotting mulch.

Kaius kept his arms light and free, ready to pop into his stance. He was confident — even if he’d lost the enhancements of Warforged, he hadn’t forgotten the years of hand to hand sparring he’d done against a grandmaster of the art.

“You assume too much — not everyone worthy of attention likes to travel to the sound of trumpets and cheers. And there are four of us, by the way, though your attention to detail is clearly already spoken for,” he said.

When the retainer's eyes flicked to the shadowed reaches of the buildings above them Kaius allowed himself a small smile.

“Even undeclared, few would wait with the common rabble. No common guard would halt the passage of the powerful. You have a rogue skulking somewhere? A contact within the city? One might take their hiding as an implicit threat,” Galiead said, frowning as he and the remaining retainer continued to search their surroundings.

Kaius just grinned, and sent his brother a mental nudge.

“Once again you make an assumption, man-thing,” Porkchop said, a low growl rumbling softly through the alley. “Perhaps it would benefit you to stop doing so.”

Galiead’s eyes widened just a hair, unable to fully mask his surprise as he snapped towards Porkchop. Clearly the man knew enough to recognise him as a greater beast — and realise the danger they presented. Still, the retainer was experienced. He snapped back to Kaius after a bare moment.

“Why wait?” the retainer asked again, watching him cautiously.

Kaius shrugged, deciding he may as well answer honestly.

“None of us are particularly…status motivated. Plus, three of us had never visited the city before. The wyrdwall is quite a sight to behold, and the line gave us plenty of time to appreciate it.”

To his surprise, his words seemed to melt some of Galiead’s tension. He still looked ready to fight, but some of his suspicion faded. The retainer smiled, a proud gleam entering his eye.

“That it is,” Galiead said, before he went icy — a hard edge appearing in his voice that sent a spike of heat tingling through Kaius’s blood. “You should have taken the time to sightsee before you approached the gate. It is bad enough that the guild has decided to spread unearned power to the unprepared rabble, we don’t need men of status forgetting the order of things. It sends the wrong impression, to peers and lessers both. Now what little influence you have gathered will be squandered on a public debasement.”

Galiead turned and nodded to his man waiting near the mouth of the vine-shrouded alley.

“Ready yourself,” he said, raising his fists.

Kaius grinned hungrily, raising his guard as he kept his weight low and evenly spread through his stance.

His opponent's form was a tight thing: a lower crouch with a hand guarding his jaw, though he made no fists. The stance was all wrong for any reliance on kicks, but it was clearly a trained one. Strikes, grappling too — something for disabling an armed and armoured opponent, perhaps. It fit the mould of what Kaius expected from one in a lord's retinue.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

That was something he could deal with, though only time would tell if Galiead’s abilities were backed by Skills or simple training. Regardless, he would have to go hard. If the man thought he’d lost by underhanded means, this entire circus was pointless.

“Three count?” Kaius asked.

Galiead nodded.

“One,” the watching retainer said.

Deep in his chest, the slumbering coals of his anticipation burst into roaring life. Kaius skewered Galiead with his gaze, watching for any sign of motion; any twitch or quiver that would give his approach away.

He felt the eyes of his team, and felt Porkchop’s entertained amusement seep through the link in their souls. It made him grin, a mad thing of teeth and hunger.

It had been too bloody long since he’d had a good punch up. Hopefully a lord’s man wouldn’t crumble like plaster, that would be more than a little disappointing.

“Two.”

Gilead breathed, betraying nothing except his utter focus. He was a man of iron, resolute in his aggression, and the primed movement that he held coiled tight in his stance.

He was confident; of that Kaius had no doubt. A noble would have their advantages. Legacy skills, good classes, and a lifetime of training. Galiead even had a level advantage, to say nothing of the Skills he had no doubt honed over years. Kaius might have still held a stat advantage, thanks to his Class rarity and his Honours, but he was a generalist. His opponent had the bearing of a physical specialist. In a brawl, the gap might be closer than Kaius liked.

Letting the retainer pull out all the stops would be dangerous.

Good. It wouldn’t be a brawl if it was safe.

Kaius couldn’t wait, razer focus making the damp tang of stone hang like a beacon to his senses.

“Three.”

Galiead charged, closing the distance between them in a single explosive step. He ducked low, throwing his entire weight into an overhead cross — one poised to slip over Kaius’s guard.

The sudden violence shattered the coil of tension within him. Snapping out with his off hand, Kaius batted the retainers fist down, Tempered by Dissonance accelerating his movements. He threw a darting jab right over the top of his opponent's punch.

The light blow cracked against the man's cheek with a sharp retort, loud enough it would have been audible from the street. Galiead’s own blow slammed home into Kaius’s chest, a dull ache resonating. It felt like being hit by a warhammer. Rotten roots, the man was strong.

Galiead didn’t flinch at the jab he’d taken. As Kaius swept through his front foot to throw a heavy hook, the retainer dipped low — sliding under the punch to slam out with three lightning fast rips to Kaius’s ribs.

They creaked audibly, shuddering from the assault as splashes of pain rippled from each blow.

Strong, fast, and trained — but this was nowhere near enough. Kaius danced back. He had to feel the man out, get a handle on his rhythm before he cut him off at the knees.

Leaning away from a hook that sailed past his jaw, Kaius threw an uppercut. It missed, Galiead jerking away as he tried to grab the punch and lock up Kaius’s wrist. Tricksy bastard, he definitely knew how to grapple. That was something he could use to make a statement, but not yet.

Transferring his weight forward, Kaius slipped under another cross and lunged forward, stepping past his opponent. Turning on his lead foot, he threw his entire weight into a ripping shot into the man’s lower back — a clean hit to the kidney.

Galiead gasped, taking a staggering step forward as he warded off further strikes with a wild haymaker.

It was a bare moments break, before they flew into violence once more. Going blow for blow, Kaius felt the roaring heat of his health surging through his chest, arms and jaw. Iron hung heavy on his tongue, and his fists ached from the weight of the punches he threw. High Constitution and Skills had made Galiead into a thing of stone.

Despite the frenetic pace of the duel, Kaius didn’t once stop watching his opponent.

Galiead hit like a warhorse. Without the recent reinforcement his bond Skill had given him, Kaius was damn sure the man would have been cracking bone. Some sort of general Skill, he was sure of it — but not a mastery one. Whatever style Galiead used was one the retainer was an expert in, but it lacked that fluid economy of motion and constant variation that was so common to high level mastery Skills.

He favoured heavy crosses and full bodied hooks, and—

Galiead lunged forwards, an open hand snaking for Kaius’s wrist. When Kaius pulled back, the man suddenly twisted through his hips. A crushing overhead descended like a meteor — and slipped right past Kaius’s guard.

His head rocked back, lip splitting open against his teeth in a sudden pop of blood. Dancing away from the retainer, he grinned. The air stung against the exposed edges of his torn lip.

A perfect example of what he’d been thinking. The man could grapple, but he had a tendency to use the threat of them to create openings.

With a little distance between them, they circled — waiting for one of them to commit to the fight once more.

“Stop letting him punch you in the damn mouth!” Porkchop complained, his own bloodlust barely concealed as a rumbling growl drew the wary eye of the retainer watching from the mouth of the alley.

“What can I say, he’s good.”

“Good enough to press you if you stopped pulling your punches?”

“No,” Kaius admitted.

Galiead might have been tough as nails and strong as oxen, but he wasn’t bloody fast enough. Didn’t have enough reach, either. The advantage he held in levels was too small, and whatever Skills the man had gained as a retainer and minor noble couldn’t compare to his Heroic abilities, even when he’d likely trained them to a higher degree.

His master, Lord Kel, might have proved a challenge, but Gilead did not.

It felt good to simply fight without lives on the line, but it was time to end this charade. He’d give the man a taste of the victory he hungered for, and then rip it away.