Chapter 123: Leatherfist
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Chapter 123: Leatherfist
Leatherfist
In this very moment, Martel's world consisted of a pit, about fifteen feet across. The ground below was sand, the walls were stone, and one other person existed within this place.
Leatherfist stood with his arms raised defensively, eyes focused on Martel. His face betrayed nothing, neither rage nor fear, malice or sympathy.
Despite his superior reach, Martel played it cautiously, fearing some manner of treachery. If Leatherfist had bought some kind of potion to increase speed, agility, or strength, he might catch Martel off-guard with a powerful punch to decide the fight.
Carefully, Martel made a few quick strikes with minimal strength behind them, just to understand how the brawler responded.
The bracers on Leatherfist's arms came up to deflect, protecting his body and head. Excellent defence, but it did not afford him any chance to retaliate as Martel remained outside of reach. If that was all he had, the novice did not fear him.
Growing in confidence, Martel kept ready to raise his shield and stepped up his attacks, seeking a path to knock his opponent on the head and take him down for good.
Swiftly, Leatherfist parried as before, avoiding any damage. This time, he even had the opportunity to hit Martel on his left hand.
The novice felt the leather glove strike against his knuckles, but it caused him no pain, nor did he lose his grip on his staff. Unafraid, he continued his assault, realising his opening. The brawler could protect his face and upper body with his bracers, but not his legs. Martel's staff came straight against the shin bone, making a mark even through the hardened leather trousers worn by his opponent.
Desperate to buy time, Martel lashed out wildly with his staff just to keep his opponent back. His last resort, rather than expending all his magic on shields, would be to use his remaining spellpower to simply knock Leatherfist into the ground. But that would leave the novice exhausted and trapped at the bottom of this pit, with hundreds of furious spectators recognising him to be a cheat. Not to mention what Tibert might do to him.
Through the blur, Martel saw the smirk on Leatherfist's face. He seemed fully aware that his tincture was doing its work, promising him victory. He flexed and clenched his fingers inside the glove, and his expression promised no mercy for Martel. Briefly, he recalled Oak with his wooden teeth, another victim of Leatherfist's brutality.
Praying to the Stars for deliverance, the novice glanced up for a brief moment. He saw the hazy faces of countless onlookers, shouting for his blood. And then – little sparks of light.
Martel thought it was the effect of the elixir as his field of vision became filled with bright flashes. Yet as he eyed his opponent, he saw a dumbfounded look upon Leatherfist's face.
Finally, Martel remembered and recognised what was happening. Sindhian powder, strewn generously to fall down on him and reveal the presence of magic by bursting into light. With the realisation came panic.
"He's got magic!" a voice cried out.
From another balcony came a second. "He's cheating!"
And a third. "The fight is rigged!"
All Nether broke loose as the fighting hall turned into a frenzy of people screaming for Martel's blood.
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Chapter 123: Leatherfist
Leatherfist
In this very moment, Martel's world consisted of a pit, about fifteen feet across. The ground below was sand, the walls were stone, and one other person existed within this place.
Leatherfist stood with his arms raised defensively, eyes focused on Martel. His face betrayed nothing, neither rage nor fear, malice or sympathy.
Despite his superior reach, Martel played it cautiously, fearing some manner of treachery. If Leatherfist had bought some kind of potion to increase speed, agility, or strength, he might catch Martel off-guard with a powerful punch to decide the fight.
Carefully, Martel made a few quick strikes with minimal strength behind them, just to understand how the brawler responded.
The bracers on Leatherfist's arms came up to deflect, protecting his body and head. Excellent defence, but it did not afford him any chance to retaliate as Martel remained outside of reach. If that was all he had, the novice did not fear him.
Growing in confidence, Martel kept ready to raise his shield and stepped up his attacks, seeking a path to knock his opponent on the head and take him down for good.
Swiftly, Leatherfist parried as before, avoiding any damage. This time, he even had the opportunity to hit Martel on his left hand.
The novice felt the leather glove strike against his knuckles, but it caused him no pain, nor did he lose his grip on his staff. Unafraid, he continued his assault, realising his opening. The brawler could protect his face and upper body with his bracers, but not his legs. Martel's staff came straight against the shin bone, making a mark even through the hardened leather trousers worn by his opponent.
Desperate to buy time, Martel lashed out wildly with his staff just to keep his opponent back. His last resort, rather than expending all his magic on shields, would be to use his remaining spellpower to simply knock Leatherfist into the ground. But that would leave the novice exhausted and trapped at the bottom of this pit, with hundreds of furious spectators recognising him to be a cheat. Not to mention what Tibert might do to him.
Through the blur, Martel saw the smirk on Leatherfist's face. He seemed fully aware that his tincture was doing its work, promising him victory. He flexed and clenched his fingers inside the glove, and his expression promised no mercy for Martel. Briefly, he recalled Oak with his wooden teeth, another victim of Leatherfist's brutality.
Praying to the Stars for deliverance, the novice glanced up for a brief moment. He saw the hazy faces of countless onlookers, shouting for his blood. And then – little sparks of light.
Martel thought it was the effect of the elixir as his field of vision became filled with bright flashes. Yet as he eyed his opponent, he saw a dumbfounded look upon Leatherfist's face.
Finally, Martel remembered and recognised what was happening. Sindhian powder, strewn generously to fall down on him and reveal the presence of magic by bursting into light. With the realisation came panic.
"He's got magic!" a voice cried out.
From another balcony came a second. "He's cheating!"
And a third. "The fight is rigged!"
All Nether broke loose as the fighting hall turned into a frenzy of people screaming for Martel's blood.
Chapter 123: LeatherfistLeatherfistIn this very moment, Martel's world consisted of a pit, about fifteen feet across. The ground below was sand, the walls were stone, and one other person existed within this place.Leatherfist stood with his arms raised defensively, eyes focused on Martel. His face betrayed nothing, neither rage nor fear, malice or sympathy.Despite his superior reach, Martel played it cautiously, fearing some manner of treachery. If Leatherfist had bought some kind of potion to increase speed, agility, or strength, he might catch Martel off-guard with a powerful punch to decide the fight.Carefully, Martel made a few quick strikes with minimal strength behind them, just to understand how the brawler responded.The bracers on Leatherfist's arms came up to deflect, protecting his body and head. Excellent defence, but it did not afford him any chance to retaliate as Martel remained outside of reach. If that was all he had, the novice did not fear him.Growing in confidence, Martel kept ready to raise his shield and stepped up his attacks, seeking a path to knock his opponent on the head and take him down for good.Swiftly, Leatherfist parried as before, avoiding any damage. This time, he even had the opportunity to hit Martel on his left hand.The novice felt the leather glove strike against his knuckles, but it caused him no pain, nor did he lose his grip on his staff. Unafraid, he continued his assault, realising his opening. The brawler could protect his face and upper body with his bracers, but not his legs. Martel's staff came straight against the shin bone, making a mark even through the hardened leather trousers worn by his opponent.Desperate to buy time, Martel lashed out wildly with his staff just to keep his opponent back. His last resort, rather than expending all his magic on shields, would be to use his remaining spellpower to simply knock Leatherfist into the ground. But that would leave the novice exhausted and trapped at the bottom of this pit, with hundreds of furious spectators recognising him to be a cheat. Not to mention what Tibert might do to him.Through the blur, Martel saw the smirk on Leatherfist's face. He seemed fully aware that his tincture was doing its work, promising him victory. He flexed and clenched his fingers inside the glove, and his expression promised no mercy for Martel. Briefly, he recalled Oak with his wooden teeth, another victim of Leatherfist's brutality.Praying to the Stars for deliverance, the novice glanced up for a brief moment. He saw the hazy faces of countless onlookers, shouting for his blood. And then little sparks of light.Martel thought it was the effect of the elixir as his field of vision became filled with bright flashes. Yet as he eyed his opponent, he saw a dumbfounded look upon Leatherfist's face.Finally, Martel remembered and recognised what was happening. Sindhian powder, strewn generously to fall down on him and reveal the presence of magic by bursting into light. With the realisation came panic."He's got magic!" a voice cried out.From another balcony came a second. "He's cheating!"And a third. "The fight is rigged!"All Nether broke loose as the fighting hall turned into a frenzy of people screaming for Martel's blood.
