Chapter 113: Oak
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Chapter 113: Oak
Oak
"For our first match tonight, our newest fighter Stallion faces up against Oak!"
The crowds responded with their usual noise. Already in the pit, Martel ignored them. All that mattered was him and his opponent. Oak had nearly the same height as Martel, but he was so lean, he looked all sinews and bone. A vicious scar ran along the right side of his jaw, leaving that part of his beard barren. His expression remained blank, giving Martel nothing to read or interpret.
They received their weapons. Martel raised his staff, taking a solid position with his feet.This chapter made its debut appearance via N0v3lB1n.
"Fight!"
Both of them made tentative strikes, trying to get a sense of their opponent. A few things became clear to Martel. Oak struck with more speed and accuracy than Butcher in his last fight. He might not have the same strength behind each blow, but if they landed, they would hurt well enough.
Distracted by his considerations, or perhaps just too slow, Martel took a hit to his left ear. As predicted, it made his head sing and left a stinging sensation where his ear had been curled together. Sneering, Martel tried to strike back, to no avail.
This repeated itself again; they would strike back and forth, and eventually, Oak would find an opening and make the most of it.
It was clear that the gaunt man was a better fighter; to be expected, given his experience. Martel's advantage lay in his magic, above all his shield, which let him take a hit without injury. But the novice's magical reservoir was not deep; sparring with Maximilian last night, he had only managed to raise his protection four times before it became too weak to matter. And if he summoned it, but did not have need of it, keeping it in place also drained his magic.
He could only use the shield when he knew it would be needed, and it would give him the chance to retaliate, but Oak was too fast; whenever Martel realised he could not defend in time, before he could raise his magical protection, his opponent's staff had already struck.
Martel had barely removed his mask in the small chamber before the servant boy brought him his ale.
"You're so strong," the boy said with admiration. "You took that blow like it was nothing!"
Martel grunted something, his mind distracted and disturbed.
Tibert arrived, nodding for the lad to leave them. He emptied a purse onto the table, and a score of shiny silver coins fell out. "I would not have bet against Oak," he admitted.
Martel, sitting down, raised his head to meet Tibert's unblinking eyes, too tired to give a response. He had spent all his magic to win the fights, and besides his physical exertion, it left him feeling hollow.
"I'll see you here next time." The tavernkeeper grinned and left.
Finally a moment to himself, Martel tried to understand why seeing Oak in fear left him so distraught. He had made men fear him before; those who attacked him and learned to regret it, or that young fellow who had preyed on Weasel and his gang.
But they had deserved it. Oak was just a fighter, competing for a prize. Having never met the man before, Martel did not care about him, but nor did he wish him ill. Yet Oak had looked at him as if Martel would beat an unarmed man who had already surrendered.
He wondered how many fights he had left before Kerra would be satisfied.
Once outside in the back alley, Maximilian appeared, his usual exuberant self. Martel did not pay him any attention, letting the mageknight talk in excited terms about whatever was on his mind. Patting the pocket with his money, Martel left it to his friend whether to follow or stay at the tavern, and departed.
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Chapter 113: Oak
Oak
"For our first match tonight, our newest fighter Stallion faces up against Oak!"
The crowds responded with their usual noise. Already in the pit, Martel ignored them. All that mattered was him and his opponent. Oak had nearly the same height as Martel, but he was so lean, he looked all sinews and bone. A vicious scar ran along the right side of his jaw, leaving that part of his beard barren. His expression remained blank, giving Martel nothing to read or interpret.
They received their weapons. Martel raised his staff, taking a solid position with his feet.This chapter made its debut appearance via N0v3lB1n.
"Fight!"
Both of them made tentative strikes, trying to get a sense of their opponent. A few things became clear to Martel. Oak struck with more speed and accuracy than Butcher in his last fight. He might not have the same strength behind each blow, but if they landed, they would hurt well enough.
Distracted by his considerations, or perhaps just too slow, Martel took a hit to his left ear. As predicted, it made his head sing and left a stinging sensation where his ear had been curled together. Sneering, Martel tried to strike back, to no avail.
This repeated itself again; they would strike back and forth, and eventually, Oak would find an opening and make the most of it.
It was clear that the gaunt man was a better fighter; to be expected, given his experience. Martel's advantage lay in his magic, above all his shield, which let him take a hit without injury. But the novice's magical reservoir was not deep; sparring with Maximilian last night, he had only managed to raise his protection four times before it became too weak to matter. And if he summoned it, but did not have need of it, keeping it in place also drained his magic.
He could only use the shield when he knew it would be needed, and it would give him the chance to retaliate, but Oak was too fast; whenever Martel realised he could not defend in time, before he could raise his magical protection, his opponent's staff had already struck.
Martel had barely removed his mask in the small chamber before the servant boy brought him his ale.
"You're so strong," the boy said with admiration. "You took that blow like it was nothing!"
Martel grunted something, his mind distracted and disturbed.
Tibert arrived, nodding for the lad to leave them. He emptied a purse onto the table, and a score of shiny silver coins fell out. "I would not have bet against Oak," he admitted.
Martel, sitting down, raised his head to meet Tibert's unblinking eyes, too tired to give a response. He had spent all his magic to win the fights, and besides his physical exertion, it left him feeling hollow.
"I'll see you here next time." The tavernkeeper grinned and left.
Finally a moment to himself, Martel tried to understand why seeing Oak in fear left him so distraught. He had made men fear him before; those who attacked him and learned to regret it, or that young fellow who had preyed on Weasel and his gang.
But they had deserved it. Oak was just a fighter, competing for a prize. Having never met the man before, Martel did not care about him, but nor did he wish him ill. Yet Oak had looked at him as if Martel would beat an unarmed man who had already surrendered.
He wondered how many fights he had left before Kerra would be satisfied.
Once outside in the back alley, Maximilian appeared, his usual exuberant self. Martel did not pay him any attention, letting the mageknight talk in excited terms about whatever was on his mind. Patting the pocket with his money, Martel left it to his friend whether to follow or stay at the tavern, and departed.
Chapter 113: OakOak"For our first match tonight, our newest fighter Stallion faces up against Oak!"The crowds responded with their usual noise. Already in the pit, Martel ignored them. All that mattered was him and his opponent. Oak had nearly the same height as Martel, but he was so lean, he looked all sinews and bone. A vicious scar ran along the right side of his jaw, leaving that part of his beard barren. His expression remained blank, giving Martel nothing to read or interpret.They received their weapons. Martel raised his staff, taking a solid position with his feet.This chapter made its debut appearance via N0v3lB1n."Fight!"Both of them made tentative strikes, trying to get a sense of their opponent. A few things became clear to Martel. Oak struck with more speed and accuracy than Butcher in his last fight. He might not have the same strength behind each blow, but if they landed, they would hurt well enough.Distracted by his considerations, or perhaps just too slow, Martel took a hit to his left ear. As predicted, it made his head sing and left a stinging sensation where his ear had been curled together. Sneering, Martel tried to strike back, to no avail.This repeated itself again; they would strike back and forth, and eventually, Oak would find an opening and make the most of it.It was clear that the gaunt man was a better fighter; to be expected, given his experience. Martel's advantage lay in his magic, above all his shield, which let him take a hit without injury. But the novice's magical reservoir was not deep; sparring with Maximilian last night, he had only managed to raise his protection four times before it became too weak to matter. And if he summoned it, but did not have need of it, keeping it in place also drained his magic.He could only use the shield when he knew it would be needed, and it would give him the chance to retaliate, but Oak was too fast; whenever Martel realised he could not defend in time, before he could raise his magical protection, his opponent's staff had already struck.Martel had barely removed his mask in the small chamber before the servant boy brought him his ale."You're so strong," the boy said with admiration. "You took that blow like it was nothing!"Martel grunted something, his mind distracted and disturbed.Tibert arrived, nodding for the lad to leave them. He emptied a purse onto the table, and a score of shiny silver coins fell out. "I would not have bet against Oak," he admitted.Martel, sitting down, raised his head to meet Tibert's unblinking eyes, too tired to give a response. He had spent all his magic to win the fights, and besides his physical exertion, it left him feeling hollow."I'll see you here next time." The tavernkeeper grinned and left.Finally a moment to himself, Martel tried to understand why seeing Oak in fear left him so distraught. He had made men fear him before; those who attacked him and learned to regret it, or that young fellow who had preyed on Weasel and his gang.But they had deserved it. Oak was just a fighter, competing for a prize. Having never met the man before, Martel did not care about him, but nor did he wish him ill. Yet Oak had looked at him as if Martel would beat an unarmed man who had already surrendered.He wondered how many fights he had left before Kerra would be satisfied.Once outside in the back alley, Maximilian appeared, his usual exuberant self. Martel did not pay him any attention, letting the mageknight talk in excited terms about whatever was on his mind. Patting the pocket with his money, Martel left it to his friend whether to follow or stay at the tavern, and departed.
