Chapter 16: Victory

The crowd erupted the moment the Lioness accepted defeat.

Not cheered.

Erupted.

The underground arena transformed into a Beastkin-filled kettle somebody had forgotten on the stove.

People jumped to their feet.

Coins flew into the air.

Drinks spilled.

One man climbed onto a bench, threw both fists upward, and screamed my ridiculous fighting name like he had personally trained me from childhood.

“LONE SPRIGGAN!”

Another section of the audience joined him.

“LONE SPRIGGAN!”

I stood over the Lioness while the noise rolled around us.

For a second, I just looked down at her.

She remained on the floor, golden hair spread across the stone, chest rising and falling from the fight.

Even after losing, she did not look defeated.

Annoyed, yes.

Breathing hard, definitely.

Her pride had probably suffered several internal fractures.

But broken?

No.

I liked that.

I held out my hand.

Honestly, I expected her to reject it.

Not because she seemed rude.

Because lions had a reputation.

Pride.

Dignity.

Territorial behavior.

Occasional willingness to eat tourists.

I imagined her looking at my offered hand and deciding she would rather crawl out of the cage using her teeth.

Instead, she stared at my palm for a moment.

Then at me.

Then she sighed.

A long, irritated breath.

And placed her hand in mine.

Well.

Look at that.

Emotional maturity inside an illegal fighting cage.

A miracle.

I pulled her to her feet.

She recovered her balance easily and brushed dust from one thigh.

I tried not to notice the thigh.

I failed with professionalism.

“That was fun,” I said.

Her blue eyes lifted toward me through the mask.

“Was it?”

“I enjoyed myself.”

“That’s because you barely did anything.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“I distinctly remember being attacked.”

“You spent most of the match avoiding me.”

“Survival instinct. Occasionally useful.”

She folded her arms.

“You were holding back.”

There was no accusation in her voice.

More like irritation at being denied the full experience.

Interesting woman.

I placed one hand over my chest.

“I’m naturally gentle with beautiful women.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“That sounded rehearsed.”

“It’s been tested extensively.”

“I’m sure.”

The edge of her mouth curved upward.

Only slightly.

But enough.

Behind the mask, I could tell she was beautiful.

Not simply because of the visible pieces of her face.

There was confidence in the way she carried herself.

A sharpness around her mouth that suggested she enjoyed arguments.

Her golden hair was damp around the temples from exertion.

And those eyes.

Blue.

Bright enough to stand out against the dim orange torchlight inside the arena.

They held mine without hesitation.

I found myself staring longer than necessary.

She noticed immediately.

Of course she did.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That was clearly not nothing.”

“I was admiring your eyes.”

Direct honesty.

Rare creature.

Should be protected.

Her expression changed for half a second.

Then she recovered.

“You flirt with women immediately after fighting them?”

“Only the attractive ones.”

“So often, then.”

“See? You already understand me.”

Before I could continue improving international relations, the announcer rushed into the cage.

He grabbed my wrist.

I looked at his hand.

Then at him.

“Are we celebrating or getting married?”

He ignored me and raised my arm high.

“WE HAVE A NEW CHAMPION!”

The crowd became louder.

Which I had not believed physically possible.

My ears briefly considered resigning.

The announcer pointed toward me with his free hand.

“THE UNDEFEATED REIGN OF THE MERCILESS LIONESS HAS ENDED!”

That earned a mixture of shocked cheers and excited yelling.

“MAKE SOME NOISE FOR YOUR NEW CHAMPION!”

He paused dramatically.

“THE LONE SPRIGGAN!”

The arena shook beneath the stomping.

I looked out across the spectators.

Many were cheering.

Several looked ecstatic.

Some were hugging complete strangers because apparently gambling profits created temporary family bonds.

Then there were the others.

The people who had bet against me.

Beautiful contrast.

One man stared at his empty hands with the expression of somebody who had just watched his retirement plan catch fire.

Another was arguing violently with a bookmaker.

A third pointed toward me and shouted something deeply insulting involving my mother, three different vegetables, and an activity that sounded medically irresponsible.

I gave him a friendly wave.

His insult became more creative.

Wonderful culture.

The announcer finally released my wrist.

A worker hurried toward us carrying the prize scroll.

He held it like a sacred object.

The rolled parchment was bound with a blue cord and stamped with a symbol resembling branching lightning.

The announcer took it and presented it to me.

“As promised. Thunder Assault.”

I accepted the scroll.

The parchment felt warm beneath my fingers.

“Fancy.”

“It’s rare.”

“Even fancier.”

“You understand this is single use?”

“Yes.”

“Once you activate it, the scroll disappears.”

“Good. I wasn’t planning to frame it.”

Another worker approached.

He carried a leather sack.

When he dropped it into my hand, the weight nearly pulled my arm down.

Coins.

A lot of them.

The announcer grinned.

“And the champion’s purse.”

I opened the bag.

Gold reflected the torchlight.

I nodded slowly.

“Violence pays disturbingly well.”

He laughed.

“You earned it.”

“That sentence would concern my mother.”

I stored the scroll and gold in my Dimensional Storage.

Then I looked toward the Lioness again.

Gone.

I blinked.

She had been standing beside me moments ago.

Now there was only empty space.

I glanced toward the cage exit.

Nothing.

Toward the tunnels.

Nothing.

Around the crowd.

No golden hair.

No blue eyes.

No mysterious masked woman capable of reducing Rockkin to landscaping material.

“Huh.”

Apparently disappearing without goodbye was another champion privilege.

I considered searching for her.

Then decided against it.

If she fought here often, I would probably see her again.

And if not?

Well.

Aphrodasia had already proven exceptionally talented at throwing interesting women into my path without requiring much effort from me.

I left the arena.

By the time I climbed back to street level, the capital had settled fully into night.

Lanterns glowed beneath awnings.

Taverns had become louder.

Shopkeepers pulled shutters closed.

The respectable citizens were retreating indoors while the city slowly handed itself over to drunks, gamblers, night workers, lovers, criminals, and people who probably belonged to several of those categories at once.

I stood near the marketplace and realized I had neglected one important detail.

Housing.

I had nowhere to sleep.

Excellent.

Caled Morningwood.

Twenty-four years old.

Supposedly descended from the heavens on a giant divine hand.

Capable of surviving monsters and defeating illegal cage champions.

Unable to remember to reserve a room.

Heroism came with administrative weaknesses.

I could have returned to the castle.

Zeria had given me permission to enter.

But arriving late at night and explaining where I had been seemed risky.

Especially if Nemris happened to be there.

I could already imagine the conversation.

Where were you?

Underground illegal fighting arena.

Why?

Bored.

Why are you covered in dust?

Champion-related circumstances.

No.

Better to postpone that experience.

I wandered until I found an inn in one of the wealthier districts.

Expensive.

Very expensive.

The kind of place where the woman behind the desk looked at my clothes first and my face second.

Then I paid.

Her opinion improved immediately.

Money.

The ancient universal language.

The room was worth it.

Large bed.

Clean blankets.

Private bath.

Wide window overlooking the street.

Actual soft pillows.

I sat on the mattress.

It sank beneath me.

I nearly cried.

Silverclaw had many beautiful qualities.

Comfortable beds were not among them.

Their mattresses had treated my spine like an enemy combatant.

This one welcomed me like family.

I retrieved the Thunder Assault scroll.

The instructions were written on the back.

Fortunately, my strange translation ability handled the language automatically.

Activate the seal.

Channel magic into the parchment.

Accept the skill imprint.

Simple.

Almost suspiciously simple.

I untied the cord.

Touched the marked section.

Focused.

The scroll glowed.

Blue-white electricity crawled across the parchment.

The symbol brightened.

Then the entire thing dissolved into tiny sparks.

Energy rushed through my arm.

Not painful.

Sharp.

Alive.

Like static electricity had recently discovered ambition.

The sensation lasted only a few seconds.

Then knowledge settled into place.

Thunder Assault.

Easy.

I flexed my fingers.

Tiny sparks danced briefly over my knuckles.

“Well.”

Convenient.

Very convenient.

I stored the rest of my belongings, removed my shirt, and dropped onto the bed.

Sleep arrived immediately.

No dreams.

No mysterious prophecies.

No attacking monsters.

No angry boyfriends.

No village horns.

Nothing.

Beautiful.

Then somebody knocked.

I opened one eye.

Sunlight leaked through the curtains.

Another knock.

Firm.

Controlled.

The kind of knock that belonged to someone who had never once arrived somewhere casually.

I stared toward the door.

“I swear, if destiny is outside again, I’m charging rent.”

Another knock.

I pushed myself out of bed.

My trousers were still on.

My shirt remained somewhere near the chair.

I did not bother finding it.

Whoever had arrived this early had voluntarily accepted the risk of seeing chest.

I crossed the room and opened the door.

My eyes widened.

Nemris Goldmane stood outside.

Well.

Destiny had upgraded its armor.

She wore the same immaculate golden armor, polished enough to reflect morning light.

Her long golden hair fell neatly behind her shoulders.

Lion ears stood alert.

Her expression was exactly what I had come to expect.

Stern.

Controlled.

Mildly disappointed in my existence.

Two knights waited behind her.

Nemris looked at my face.

Then her eyes dipped.

Briefly.

Chest.

Stomach.

Abs.

Back up.

Fast enough that an ordinary man might have missed it.

I was not an ordinary man when attractive women were involved.

I noticed things.

It was basically community service.

I said nothing.

No joke.

No comment.

I simply leaned against the doorframe and smiled.

Slowly.

Nemris’s eyes narrowed.

More.

Beautiful.

Silence had somehow embarrassed her worse than anything I could have said.

“May I come inside?”

I stepped aside.

“Of course.”

She entered.

The knights remained outside.

I closed the door, then turned away to find my shirt.

That exposed my back.

I felt Nemris’s attention immediately.

The wing-shaped Spriggan markings stretched across my shoulder blades.

Real enough to inspection.

I pulled my shirt from the chair.

“So.”

I glanced over my shoulder.

“How did you find me?”

Nemris answered without hesitation.

“More easily than expected.”

“I’m hurt.”

“You are memorable.”

My eyebrows rose.

“Nemris.”

“Do not misunderstand.”

“Too late.”

Her expression tightened.

“We asked around.”

“Asked who?”

“Several innkeepers. Merchants. Guards.”

She paused.

“And some women in the district remembered seeing you yesterday.”

I turned fully toward her.

“Seeing me?”

“Yes.”

Nemris looked increasingly irritated by the direction of this conversation.

“Yes.”

I smiled.

“Well.”

I pulled my shirt on.

“That is deeply flattering.”

“They remembered a lone Spriggan wandering through the area.”

“Of course.”

“And your appearance.”

“Continue.”

“No.”

“Nemris, this is valuable intelligence.”

“It is not.”

“I need to understand how powerful my face has become in this world.”

She stared at me.

I buttoned my shirt.

“Fine. Keep your secrets.”

She crossed her arms.

I immediately noticed something different.

Yesterday, when she had confronted me outside Zeria’s room, there had been suspicion beneath everything.

Now?

Still guarded.

Still strict.

But less hostile.

Progress.

Slow progress.

The difficult ones were always more entertaining.

“So what brings the Lord Commander of Inizio to my humble rented palace?”

Nemris ignored the description.

“His Majesty has summoned you.”

I stopped buttoning.

“The king?”

“Yes.”

“That was quick.”

“Lady Zeria requested the audience personally.”

Of course she did.

Zeria moved frighteningly fast for someone whose normal appearance suggested she should be chasing butterflies through a garden.

Yesterday, she had promised me an introduction.

By morning, the king had apparently rearranged whatever royal disaster had occupied him.

I nodded.

“I’d like to meet him.”

Nemris looked down at my clothes.

Her eyes moved slowly.

Shirt.

Trousers.

Shoes.

Then back up.

Her expression communicated tragedy.

“What?”

“You cannot appear before His Majesty dressed like that.”

I looked down.

“These clothes have served me faithfully.”

“They look terrible.”

“That was unnecessary.”

“They are worn.”

“Experienced.”

“Plain.”

“Minimalist.”

“Unsuitable.”

“Historical.”

Nemris stared.

I sighed.

“Fine. New clothes.”

“Yes.”

“Honestly, I was planning to buy some eventually.”

“Eventually has arrived.”

I pointed toward the bathroom.

“Let me bathe first.”

Nemris gave a short nod.

“I’ll wait.”

“You can relax, you know.”

“I am relaxed.”

I stared at her.

She stared back.

“That is terrifying.”

I went into the bathroom.

The inn provided heated water.

Bless them.

I washed quickly, cleaned the remaining dust from last night, and tried not to think too deeply about the fact that a Lord Commander was currently sitting inside my bedroom while I bathed.

That sentence would have sounded significantly more exciting back on Earth.

When I finished, I pulled on my trousers.

I draped a towel around my shoulders and stepped back into the room.

Nemris sat on the edge of the bed.

She looked up.

Stopped.

Her eyes moved across me.

Again.

Chest.

Stomach.

A fraction lower.

Then she abruptly looked toward the window.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

I walked toward my shirt.

“Do you know a good clothing shop?”

Nemris cleared her throat.

“Yes.”

Her voice sounded normal.

Almost.

“Somewhere appropriate?”

“Yes.”

“Reasonably priced?”

She looked at me.

“You were given a sack of gold yesterday.”

“Financial responsibility is how fortunes survive.”

“You entered the most expensive inn in this district.”

“That mattress was an investment in spinal health.”

Nemris stood.

She headed toward the door before I had finished dressing.

“Do not make me wait longer than necessary.”

I watched her leave.

A smile slowly appeared.

I was starting to understand something.

Nemris Goldmane was significantly more entertaining than she realized.

I dressed.

Then followed her downstairs.

A carriage waited outside.

Not ordinary transportation.

Royal transportation.

Dark polished wood.

Golden trim.

Large lion insignia on the doors.

The sort of carriage that announced wealth loudly enough for poor people to hear it from another district.

One of the knights opened the door.

Nemris climbed inside.

I followed.

The seats were ridiculously comfortable.

I leaned back.

“Okay.”

Nemris looked at me.

“What?”

“I understand monarchy now.”

She frowned.

“The seats.”

She looked away.

We traveled through the capital.

Morning filled the streets.

Merchants opened stalls.

Carriages moved through intersections.

Workers hauled crates.

Lionkin guards directed traffic.

People stepped aside when they recognized the royal crest.

We eventually stopped before a large clothing establishment occupying nearly an entire corner.

Tall windows.

Polished stone.

Decorative columns.

People inside wearing fabrics that probably required inheritance.

I stepped down.

“This looks affordable.”

Nemris ignored me.

Inside, attendants recognized her immediately.

Everyone straightened.

A woman approached so quickly I suspected professional teleportation.

“Lord Commander.”

Nemris gestured toward me.

“He requires formal clothing suitable for an audience with His Majesty.”

The attendant looked me over.

Her eyes lingered briefly.

She smiled.

“I see.”

Nemris noticed.

Of course she noticed.

“Today.”

The attendant’s smile disappeared.

“Of course.”

Then began the process.

I had expected Nemris to point at something expensive and say wear that.

No.

Apparently clothing was war.

And Nemris intended victory.

She inspected fabric.

Rejected colors.

Checked stitching.

Adjusted combinations.

Compared coats against my shoulders.

Examined collars.

Argued quietly with a clerk about sleeve length.

At one point she rejected an entire outfit because the gold trim was “too loud.”

This from a woman whose armor could signal ships.

I watched her.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“No.”

“You’ve inspected that coat three times.”

“It is poorly balanced.”

“It’s clothing.”

“That does not mean it should look careless.”

I smiled.

“Secret fashion expert.”

“Be quiet.”

Eventually she assembled an outfit.

Dark formal trousers.

Black boots.

A fitted dark coat with restrained gold embroidery.

A lighter shirt beneath it.

Simple belt.

Clean lines.

Elegant without looking like I had robbed a prince.

Nemris handed everything to me.

“Try these.”

I accepted the pile.

“You sound invested.”

“I want to avoid embarrassment at court.”

“Yours or mine?”

“Yes.”

I laughed and entered the fitting room.

The clothes fit extremely well.

Suspiciously well.

I adjusted the coat.

Looked at myself in the mirror.

Well.

Hello.

The outfit changed everything.

The darker colors made my build stand out without becoming ridiculous.

The coat narrowed at the waist.

The gold accents added enough status to suggest I belonged somewhere important, even if nobody had informed me where.

I stepped outside.

Several female clerks looked over.

One smiled.

Another whispered something to her coworker.

The coworker looked at me.

Then smiled too.

I looked toward Nemris.

“Well?”

For one small second, her expression changed.

Her eyes brightened.

Not dramatically.

Just a spark.

Approval.

Interest.

Maybe something else.

Then the door slammed shut.

Lord Commander restored.

She crossed her arms.

“Acceptable.”

I stared.

“Acceptable.”

“It will do.”

“The women behind you disagree.”

Nemris did not look toward them.

“I did not ask them.”

“Your face also disagreed.”

“My face did nothing.”

“Very expressive face.”

“Caled.”

I smiled.

Then I looked down at the clothes again.

“Seriously, though.”

She waited.

“You picked well.”

Her posture shifted slightly.

Barely noticeable.

“Thank you.”

A pause.

Then she cleared her throat.

“We should leave.”

There she was.

We paid.

Or, more accurately, I paid enough money to support several families and tried not to calculate how many meals one coat represented.

Then we returned to the royal carriage.

This time, we sat opposite each other.

Nemris rested one hand against her knee.

I looked through the window while the city rolled past outside.

For several minutes, neither of us spoke.

Then Nemris broke the silence.

“Lady Zeria trusts you.”

I glanced over.

“That sounded almost accusatory.”

“It is an observation.”

“She likes me.”

“Yes.”

“I’m charming.”

“That remains unproven.”

I smiled.

Nemris continued.

“She does not trust people quickly.”

Her tone had changed.

No sharpness.

No warning.

Just thoughtfulness.

“I have known her a long time. She is friendly with many people, but genuine trust is different.”

I leaned back.

“And you think she trusts me.”

“I know she does.”

Interesting.

Nemris looked directly at me.

“She gave you her personal insignia. Gold. Access. Freedom to move through the castle.”

“Very generous woman.”

“She recommended you directly to His Majesty after knowing you for less than one day.”

“Fast friendship.”

“That is what concerns me.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Still suspicious?”

Nemris paused.

Then shook her head slightly.

“No.”

That surprised me.

“Curious.”

Ah.

There it was.

Her eyes remained on mine.

“Whatever Lady Zeria saw in you, I intend to understand it.”

Not a threat.

Not anymore.

Nemris genuinely wanted to know.

Maybe Zeria’s trust had convinced her there was more to me.

Maybe my behavior had confused her.

Maybe she had simply reached the point where suspicion became academically inconvenient.

Either way, I preferred curiosity.

Curiosity was much easier to flirt with.

I smiled.

“Should I expect another interrogation?”

Nemris went silent.

The carriage rolled steadily beneath us.

Her lion tail moved once beside her.

She looked toward the window, then back at me.

Something almost amused softened her eyes.

“We are way past that.”