Chapter 91: Fighting Ring

  The absolute euphoria of Lyra’s permanent cure carried them completely through the rest of the day in Riverbend. They celebrated by purchasing the largest, crispest green apples they could find in the central market, completely ignoring the condescending stares of the passing academics as Zeno happily devoured three of them in under a minute, core and all.

  However, the following morning, the harsh, entirely unavoidable reality of their situation completely reasserted itself.

  Lyra sat cross-legged on the plush, embroidered rug of their rented room in The Gilded Lily inn. She had completely emptied her heavy leather pouch onto the floor. The sum total of their remaining wealth was exactly four silver coins and a handful of heavily tarnished copper pieces.

  "We are officially, catastrophically broke again, Zeno," Lyra announced, her voice entirely devoid of panic, but laced with a heavy, deeply pragmatic sigh. She stared at the meager pile of coins. "Riverbend is an incredibly expensive city. Just boarding Gravel the mule in a secure stable costs two silver a night. We have exactly enough to pay for today, and then we are completely destitute."

  Zeno, currently lying flat on his broad back on his comfortable feather bed, holding his green-leather-bound book high above his head, didn't look overly concerned.

  "That is okay, Lyra," Zeno replied cheerfully, tracing the letter 'U' perfectly in the air with his dark-wrapped finger. "We are Vanguards. We just go to the big wooden stump and ask the grumpy old man for a new parchment with a bug on it to punch."

  "Riverbend doesn't have a standard Adventurer's Guild like Verdant Reach or Oakhaven, Zeno," Lyra explained, gathering the few coins back into her pouch with a shake of her head. "This is an academic city. They absolutely do not post open bounties for monster subjugation on public boards. If they have a beast problem, the Alchemists' Guild simply hires massive, heavily vetted mercenary companies on incredibly lucrative, long-term retainers. Independent, un-credentialed contractors like us are considered entirely too chaotic and unreliable."

  Zeno frowned, sitting up heavily. He entirely failed to understand why a smart city wouldn't instantly want a perfectly good sledgehammer to fix its problems.

  "Then how exactly do we get more silver?" Zeno asked, his stomach letting out a small, highly preemptive rumble at the mere terrifying thought of missing lunch.

  Lyra’s emerald eyes narrowed slightly, a calculating, highly street-smart gleam completely returning to her gaze. "If we cannot hunt wild beasts in the woods, we absolutely have to fight something else. Riverbend is incredibly wealthy, Zeno. And incredibly wealthy people often get incredibly bored."

  She stood up, buckling her twin Elvarian daggers securely to her thighs. "Grab your gauntlets, sledgehammer. We are going down to the Lower Docks."

  The transition from the pristine, gleaming white marble walkways of the upper academic tiers to the Lower Docks was entirely jarring. Located completely beneath the primary floating platforms, permanently shadowed by the massive, opulent city above, the docks were a chaotic, damp, incredibly loud maze of heavy wooden scaffolding, deeply rusted chains, and aggressive merchant sailors.

  Lyra navigated the dimly lit, highly unsavory area flawlessly, entirely at home in the rougher elements of society. She led Zeno past several highly questionable taverns and illegal gambling dens until they reached a massive, entirely enclosed wooden warehouse built directly over the lapping, murky water of the lake.

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  A heavy, incredibly thick curtain of dirty canvas blocked the main entrance, guarded strictly by two massive, heavily scarred Elvarian bouncers wielding heavy iron cudgels.

  "Ten copper to enter," one of the bouncers grunted, holding out a massive, calloused hand.

  Lyra dropped the coins precisely into his palm, pulling Zeno completely through the heavy curtain before the guards could even comment on his massive, spiked Rock Serpent armor.

  The interior of the warehouse was absolutely deafening. Hundreds of rough-looking sailors, low-tier mercenaries, and surprisingly well-dressed, slumming academics were packed tightly around a massive, twenty-foot-wide circular fighting ring constructed entirely of hard, packed sand, safely enclosed by heavy iron chains.

  "An underground fighting pit," Lyra whispered loudly over the roaring crowd, pointing toward the center ring. "No weapons. No lethal magic. Just raw, unadulterated physical brawling. It's highly illegal, completely unregulated, and incredibly lucrative if you know exactly how to bet."

  Currently in the ring, two massive, heavily tattooed men were engaged in a brutal, bloody fistfight. The massive crowd was screaming wildly, waving handfuls of silver coins in the air as they placed frantic bets with the heavily armed bookmakers circling the perimeter.

  Zeno watched the fight with mild, deeply detached interest. "They are incredibly slow," he noted analytically, entirely unimpressed by the brawling combatants. "And they swing their arms incredibly wide. They are leaving their stomachs entirely open to a heavy punch."

  "Exactly," Lyra grinned, her highly tactical mind completely locked onto the financial opportunity. "This is absolute amateur hour compared to fighting a Crimson Ape, Zeno. We are going to enter you in the pit. I will act as your manager and securely place bets on your matches. We can easily multiply our remaining silver in a single afternoon."

  "I have to take off my gauntlets?" Zeno asked, looking down at his beloved, massive obsidian spikes. "But the pointy rocks are very fun."

  "Unarmed combat only, Zeno," Lyra reminded him firmly. "You still have your dark Mountain Bear wraps. And honestly, if you hit a normal human with those dense spiked gauntlets, you wouldn't simply win a fight; you would commit a highly public, extremely messy murder. We just want their silver, not their lives."

  Zeno nodded, completely accepting the logic. He began entirely unbuckling the heavy leather straps of his massive gauntlets, safely storing them deep within his heavy backpack next to his iron cauldron.

  As his bare, dark-wrapped hands emerged, Zeno frowned deeply, flexing his thick fingers. He looked down at his hands, entirely disturbed by the sudden lack of thirty pounds of dense earth-magic metal.

  "My hands feel incredibly light, Lyra," Zeno complained softly, his brow furrowing as he waved his arms slightly. "It feels exactly like they are going to float entirely away into the air. I feel entirely naked. It feels exactly like I forgot to wear my heavy boots. Are you absolutely sure punching things without the heavy pointy rocks will be fun?"

  "It will be very fun," Lyra promised, patting his arm. "Just treat it exactly like sparring."

  Lyra navigated flawlessly through the screaming crowd, entirely ignoring the lewd comments and heavy shoves, until she found the primary bookmaker—a slick-looking man wearing a tailored silk coat and casually smoking a long, thin cigar.

  "I want to officially register a new fighter for the next open bout," Lyra stated firmly, dropping her final four silver coins directly onto his small wooden table.

  The bookmaker looked down at the small, lean scout, a highly condescending smirk appearing entirely around his cigar. "Four silver is the absolute minimum entry fee, little girl. Who exactly is your fighter? Are you going to jump in there and violently bite someone's ankles?"

  Lyra didn't reply. She simply stepped entirely aside.

  Zeno stepped completely forward into the dim, flickering light of the lanterns. He had removed his heavy Crimson Spider-Silk tunic to protect it from the abrasive sand, standing entirely bare-chested. His massive, incredibly dense, heavily scarred musculature was on full, intimidating display. His dark Mountain Bear wraps completely covered his thick forearms and heavy fists.

  He absolutely didn't look angry; he offered the slick bookmaker his signature, entirely cheerful, profoundly unbothered grin.

  "Hello," Zeno announced politely, rolling his incredibly broad shoulders. "I am the sledgehammer. I am very ready to wrestle."

  The bookmaker’s arrogant smirk vanished entirely. He looked at the boy's massive, heavily scarred frame, completely rapidly re-evaluating the physical odds. He quickly swept the four silver coins directly off the table into his lockbox.

  "He's entirely in the next bout," the bookmaker confirmed rapidly, chewing on his cigar. "Against Iron-Jaw Brutus."