Galiead watched him with hawkish eyes. Blood was smeared down the side of his face in great streaks — as much from Kaius’s bloodied knuckles as it was from quickly healing gashes. No one escaped a bareknuckle fight clean.

With ten strides between them, they stayed in constant motion, faking advances to test reactions and bait over-commitment.

“You’re strong, almost too strong,” Galiead said, his eyes lingering on the stark black lines of Kaius’s exposed Drakthar and Eirnith glyphs. “Body formations? They must have been expensive. Few can do appropriate work for a second tier, and fewer still find it worth the cost. Where’d you get them done? Mystral?”

Kaius just smiled, saying nothing.

“Not Mystral then. Further afield perhaps — dwarven work?”

He knew what the man was doing. Even if he didn’t answer, throwing questions was a good way to split his focus and create an opening. That went doubly so in a fight between physically specialised classers. While most who made it to the second tier would have the class rarities to support some investment in their mental stats, the disparity was often unavoidable. Keeping track of lightning fast movements and split second openings was demanding.

It took less than a heartbeat of distraction to slide a sword into someone's chest.

Kaius twitched a smile — Galiead lunged, crossing the distance between them so quickly the stone beneath his feet crunched.

Unfortunately for the retainer, he’d made another assumption. Kaius was not a physical specialist — and his mind moved faster than the man could punch. It was the perfect time to start ramping up the pressure.

Transferring his weight onto his back foot, Kaius threw out a light jab to force his opponent to dip low. The second Galiead rolled under the strike, he lashed out with a high kick that could have snapped an oak.

Reacting swiftly enough to save his head, Galiead blocked with an arm. A thunderclap echoed through the alley as Kaius’s shin met the bones of his forearm. Offcentre and taken by surprise, the retainer sailed across the alley and slammed into the stone wall.

“Tear him to pieces!” Porkchop urged with an enthusiastic grumble — drawing a soft chuckle from Kenva.

Kaius ignored the commentary, lunging forward as Galiead hauled himself to his feet. He slammed the man back into the wall with a push kick to the chest — only to pull back as he spotted the retainer watching from the mouth of the alley inch towards his blade.

Raising his eyebrow at the man, he allowed Galiead to get to his feet.

“So much for the word of a highborn, eh?” he said. He knew his team was ready to act — he could hear the squeak of Kenva’s boots, feel the rising prickle of solar mana against the back of his neck, and feel Porkchop’s need to barrel forwards.

Galiead scowled at him, before he snapped to his man. “Do not interfere!”

The retainer straightened, clenching his fist before he released his hilt. “Sir!”

Taking advantage of their unspoken armistice, Galiead shook his arm that had taken the brunt of Kaius’s kick. Neither of them dropped their guards.

“You kick like a mule, guildhound,” he said, inclining his head ever so slightly. “What’s your name?”

He’d earned a little of the man’s respect, thank the gods for that. It meant that his plan was working — a warrior’s disagreement, rather than a lesser’s insolence.

“Kaius,” he replied.

Galiead tilted his head, a whisper of curiosity furrowing his brow. “Kaius. Sounds vaguely familiar — perhaps I have heard of you.”

Had word of what had happened in Deadacre already reached the Dukedoms? He knew information would have flowed through the Guild, and the city had begun calling on tradesmen to help with rebuilding, but Guild leadership knew of their avoidance of fame. It was possible. The common people knew him and his team, and the gods knew that plenty of curious eyes would have descended on this city. The first known clash with a Tyrant would do that.

“No matter, I’ll figure it out eventually,” Galiead said when he realised Kaius wasn’t going to elaborate. “That kick was smart, I'll give you that. You’ve been well trained — no one self taught fights like that, and few seem to appreciate the value of unarmed combat as much as they should.”

Gods, the man loved to talk.

Galiead smiled confidently. “Unfortunately for you, that trick won't work twice.”

He didn’t need it to. When the lord’s retainer shot forward, Kaius snapped off a low kick at the man’s thigh. His opponent spun into the blow. Shin met knee with a thunderclap. It was a savage block, one that made Kaius’s bones rattle.

Ignoring the pain, Kaius flew back into the fight. This time around, he didn’t hold back on the kicks. Punches rained on his chest, guarding hands, ribs, and his leg — each feeling like he’d been struck with a brick. Galiead didn’t escape unscathed, Kaius leaning on the agile style he’d learned from his father to punish every opening. Snap kicks smashed Galiead's ribs and legs, viperous overhand punches slipped past his guard to hammer his jaw, and his punches were parried to shatter his nose with lightning fast jabs.

No longer holding back, Kaius picked up the pace — abusing his speed and reach to hammer Galiead three times for every two blows the retainer landed.

All Kaius could taste, all he could smell, was iron. Blood coated him and his opponent in equal measure. They leaked from a dozen shallow wounds, every traded blow and hard block splitting skin and rupturing flesh. The stone floor of their narrow arena was slick with their spent vitality, slowing their footwork as traction disappeared.

The bastard had a healing skill for certain, and definitely one making him tougher as well. With their reserves of health, they could go for hours. A war of attrition that would end in his victory. His wounds healed faster and more efficiently, and he struck more often. He knew it.

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Galiead knew it.

Neither of them had the patience for that. This would end in a yield, the fire in his heart demanded it.

Galiead was committing to more attempts to grapple, and the man had started throwing savage punches at Kaius’s knee every time he went for a low roundhouse. Those bloody hurt, but Kaius was damn sure they were hurting his opponent just as much.

A sign the man had grown weary of his kicks — reinforced by the heavy overhands he was throwing every time Kaius switched up his stance.

Between Moment of Flow and Sergeant’s Insight, he had the man mapped out. He’d fallen into a fatal rhythm. As much as he was enjoying the ringing chimes of his general Skills increasing every now and then, this had gone on long enough. The focused gleam he could see in the retainer’s eyes said enough — this would end here.

Kaius switched up his stance, faking a high kick from the left.

Galiead rushed in immediately, throwing the overhand Kaius knew was coming.

Baring his red teeth, Kaius exploded forward with the cracking retort of an arbalest. Galiead’s fist fell upon his jaw, a grinding snap joined by a spike of agony as two of his teeth cracked open. It didn’t stop him throwing his weight through his hips, and driving his elbow into the man’s head with everything he had.

Galiead slumped, dazed. The sight of the man’s weakness made Kaius’s blood sing. He grabbed the man by his skull, and drove his knee into Galiead’s jaw with a sickening pop.

Someone gasped at the mouth of the alley. He heard motion behind him as well. Ignoring both, Kaius danced back as his opponent let out a savage roar of fury, one hand grabbing towards Kaius as the other wrenched his loose jaw back into position.

Kaius kicked low — then snapped high when Galiead went for his knee again. He connected directly with the side of the man’s head.

Another thunderclap sounded as the lord’s retainer slammed into the alley wall for a second time.

Kaius was on him in moments. He rolled under a wild haymaker to rock Galiead’s half-healed jaw. It snapped. So did something in Kaius’s hand.

“Yield.”

Galiead lunged towards him. Kaius leapt high, slamming his knee into the man’s nose. It popped, smashed flat.

“Yield,” he demanded again, dipping left to wind up a bone-breaking rip to the man’s side. The blow drove every scrap of air from Galiead’s chest.

The steel in the man’s eyes hadn’t faded — Kaius didn’t wait for him to catch his breath. Throwing a quick jab, he rolled into a downwards elbow when the man turtled. He felt a little give in the retainer’s skull. As much as the burn within him urged him to finish the fight with a second blow, he didn’t. No more elbows to the top of the head. The bloodsong was a tool, not a yoke on his neck.

He was trying to avoid a feud.

Slipping to the right, Kaius unleashed an uppercut with his full weight behind it. He felt the man’s ribs splinter, a snap that rang louder than the pop of pain joined by a subtler snap as something in his hand broke for a second time.

“Yield.”

Galiead spat blood in his face. The man had a warrior’s will, Kaius would give him that.

Kaius danced back as the man threw a rising uppercut — only to blink in surprise as the man lunged into a headbutt. Moment of Flow screamed a warning, but they were practically chest to chest, and the retainer moved like lightning.

The blow slammed into his jaw, rocking his head back as he bit straight through his lip. Before Kaius could even blink, the man moved — strong hands wrenched Kaius’s right arm, trapping it in place against the man’s chest.

The back of Galiead's hip dug deep into the front of his own, forcing him to bend over and get a good look at the man’s bloodied boots. Every movement strained his elbow and the bones of his upper arm, sending little sparks of pain shooting every time Galiead took a heaving breath.

“A damn good fight, guildhound,” Galiead gasped. “But I believe this is the point where you yield.”

So the tough bastard could do more than feint his grabs. Kaius grinned; he could admit he hadn’t expected this. He risked a glance to the side, and saw his team torn between watching him with utter focus, and squaring off against the rest of the retainers — no doubt they’d found they had an irresistible itch in the hilts of their swords again.

Porkchop shot him a look. One that warned he might wake up with his freshly recovered leg missing the next time he went to sleep if he lost this fight.

“Well, Kaius?” Galiead questioned, tensing slightly to send a bolt of pain shooting up his arm. “You might be some rune-scribed monstrosity, but that won’t save you if you’re down an arm at the start of our second bout.”

The retainer paused when Kaius laughed, a hint of his rising tide of bloodlust leaking through the noise. When he’d seen the man liked to grapple, he’d known something like this might happen.

It was exactly like he’d hoped. A perfect chance for a statement.

“There’s a funny thing about locks, they only work under threat of injury.”

Before he even finished speaking, Kaius threw himself into a turn — his free elbow racing towards the back of Galiead’s head. It wasn’t the top; it would be fine.

Kaius felt a cracking rip as his arm bone burst from his flesh. Skill-thickened blood splattered the ground, a deluge incomparable to the light coating of their earlier battle. The pain of the wound paled in comparison to the heat.

His elbow slammed home with a slight crunch, but the man’s skull held. Just. Galiead stumbled, giving Kaius enough time to dive and tackle him from behind. Ignoring his arm flapping beside him, he mantled his struggling foe. Pressing his weight down, Kaius grabbed the back of the man’s head — and lined the pink sharpened stake that jutted from his bicep up with the back of Galiead’s neck.

The man stilled as he felt it prick against his skin.

“You said no steel!” he hissed, furious.

“That’s the broken end of my humerus," Kaius said with glib satisfaction.

Galiead paused, before he shifted his head to lock eyes with the pale faced retainer at the mouth of the alley. The man gave him a single, shaky nod.

“Fucking hells,” Galiead whispered, shuddering slightly as a glob of blood ran down Kaius’s broken bone to coat the back of his neck. “You’re a monster.”

“I like to think I’m worse,” Kaius replied, driving the spike of bone down just a hair harder. Every motion tore at the healing edges of the wound. It was an exorbitant cost to his health — but oh so worth it. “So, do you yield?”

Galiead slumped and let loose a sigh of frustration.

“I yield.”

Kaius stood with a beaming smile as he pressed his shattered arm back together. Reaching into the ragged wound, he held the break stable — all the while torn muscle enveloped his fingers as it slowly sealed.

Victory tasted like salt and iron. Gods, was it sweet.