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Chapter 55: The Brutal Art
Asher didn't answer. He just looked at him, slow and steady.
Valtor pointed. "You've got that look. That 'I've seen some shit' stare. But I don't see calluses on your knuckles."
Asher raised an eyebrow.
"I'm not a brawler," he replied calmly. "I don't fight with fists unless I have to."
Valtor stepped closer, his feet crunching the dry grass beneath him. "And what do you fight with? Magic? Weapons? Or words?"
Asher leaned back slightly, still resting on the bench. "I fight with what kills fastest."
Some nobles chuckled.
Valtor grinned. "Good answer. But let's make it better." He spread his arms wide. "Fight me. No magic. No weapons. Just fists. I've already knocked out four nobles today. Think you'll be the first to land a hit?"
Asher said nothing. The firelight danced in his eyes.
Then the demon whispered again.
"DO IT. FEEL THEIR BONES UNDER YOUR FISTS. LET ME WATCH."
Asher didn't flinch. He exhaled slowly and set his cup down.
"I'm not here to entertain."
The grin on Valtor's face twitched.
"I'm not here to be entertained," he replied. "I'm here to see who has a spine."
Then louder, for everyone to hear:
"ARE YOU JUST ANOTHER NOBLE WHO LETS HIS MAGIC DO THE TALKING?"
Gasps. Murmurs. A few nobles leaned forward, eyes gleaming. Someone muttered, "He just challenged Asher…"
The fire crackled.
Asher sat up slowly, leaning forward ,tall and still as a shadow. His presence quieted even the most reckless nobles.
"You want to know who I am?" he said softly. "You'll find out when the mission begins. Until then—"
His eyes locked with Valtor's.
"—go find someone else to punch."
The unshaken tone made Valtor's expression falter. But only briefly.
Then he chuckled, nodding once. "Alright, alright. No hard feelings. You've got an edge to you. I'll give you that."
Valtor turned to the crowd. "Looks like I'll have to find a real challenge later."
Some nobles booed jokingly, others clapped. But no one else dared rise to the circle.
Asher sat back down.
The demon grinned inside his mind.
"YOU COULD HAVE TAKEN HIM. CRUSHED HIS SPINE. DRAGGED HIM TO HIS KNEES."
"I don't need to," Asher replied mentally. "He fights for pride. I fight for my goals."
"THEN WHEN WILL YOU LET GO OF YOUR LIMITATIONS? WHEN WILL YOU LET ME IN—FULLY?"
Asher didn't answer.
---
Some time later, Gwen returned, adjusting her black dress as she approached.
"You didn't fight him," she said, sitting beside him.
"No need."
"He called you a coward."
"He's not the first. Won't be the last."
Gwen with a straight face . "Still. It would've been fun to watch you break a few ribs."
Asher looked toward the fire, then at the stars.
"I'll break ribs when it matters only when it's time to eat."
They sat in silence for a while.
In the distance, Valtor stood on a barrel, flexing for a group of young nobles who cheered him on. His bruised fists raised proudly. But his eyes occasionally drifted back to Asher.
The challenge wasn't over.
Just… postponed.
---
"WHO WANTS TO FIGHT NEXT?!"
Valtor's voice echoed into the starry night, his breath steaming in the cold air. His body gleamed with sweat, muscles rippling beneath bruises and shallow cuts. He was a beast of pride and power, basking in the cheers of those around the fire.
The crowd parted as another noble stepped forward.
"HAIL RAGNOS!" a man bellowed.
"HAIL!" the others echoed, lifting mugs and roaring in rhythm.
Ragnos walked with the calm confidence of a panther. Broad-shouldered, golden-haired, and silent. He dropped his outer coat and tunic in one motion, revealing a heavily scarred but chiseled physique. As he stepped into the ring, he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, unbothered by the heat of the fire or the eyes watching him.
Valtor grinned.
"You sure, Ragnos? Didn't you lose to me last time?"
Ragnos didn't answer. Instead, he took a stance—one foot slightly back, arms lowered, palms open.
Asher leaned forward on the bench, eyes narrowing.
"INTERESTING," Stee'zz hissed in his mind. "THIS STYLE… IT'S THE 'SNAKE'S WIND.' A DEFENSIVE-COUNTER COMBAT STYLE THAT USES OPEN PALMS TO GUIDE STRIKES AND DRAIN MOMENTUM."
Asher blinked.
"You can recognize all of this?"
"I HAVE FOUGHT FOR THOUSANDS OF YEARS. I HAVE KILLED MONKS, MASTERS, WARRIORS… TECHNIQUE IS KNOWLEDGE, AND KNOWLEDGE IS SURVIVAL."
Valtor rushed forward with a heavy jab to test the waters.
Ragnos tilted his body to the side, letting the punch graze past. With a twist of his hips and a palm strike to the shoulder, he sent Valtor stumbling slightly off balance.
The crowd gasped.
"SEE?" Stee'zz whispered gleefully. "DEFLECTION AND PRECISION. NOT BRUTE FORCE. HE'S WAITING FOR AN OPENING—TO COIL AND STRIKE LIKE A VIPER."
They circled. Valtor tried to close the distance with fast jabs and hooks, but Ragnos danced around him. At times, his feet barely made a sound. He ducked under a sweeping hook and struck with a flat-handed jab to Valtor's ribs.
Thud!
Valtor grunted, stepping back.
The crowd was on edge.
Ragnos' face remained still—calm, focused.
"You've improved," Valtor said through clenched teeth.
Ragnos didn't respond. He just moved.
---
Meanwhile, Asher's eyes darted briefly toward the edge of the woods. The fire's warmth didn't stretch far. Shadows beyond flickered like watching eyes.
He leaned toward the demon mentally.
"Why are they making so much noise? We're in vampire territory."
"DO YOU THINK I DIDN'T NOTICE, BOY?" Stee'zz hissed. "LOOK CLOSER. BENEATH THE GROUND. SEE THOSE GLOWING RUNES AROUND THE FIRE'S EDGE?"
Asher focused. His eyes adjusted. Hidden under the flickering light, ancient sigils were embedded in the earth like scars, forming a perfect perimeter.
"Enchantment glyphs?"
"CORRECT. ENCHANTMENTS OF DAMPENING—MAGICALLY SILENCING THE VIBRATIONS, HEAT SIGNATURES, AND SOUND. INVISIBLE TO NORMAL VISION. THESE NOBLES MAY BE ARROGANT, BUT THEY'RE NOT FOOLS."
Asher relaxed a little.
"Still… if something goes wrong…"
"THEN WE KILL OUR WAY OUT," Stee'zz said with glee.
---
Back in the ring, Valtor roared and charged again.
Ragnos didn't move.
Crack!
Valtor's punch was caught mid-air. Ragnos twisted his entire torso, redirecting the momentum, and delivered a crushing elbow to Valtor's sternum.
Valtor stumbled back, coughing.
"NOW THAT," Stee'zz said, "IS 'COILING BONE.' A HIGH-LEVEL JOINT-BASED REDIRECTION STYLE COMBINED WITH INTERNAL BREATHING TECHNIQUES. HE'S LEARNED FROM MONASTAR—A TEMPLE TRAINED IN FIGHTING WITHOUT EVER THROWING A PUNCH FIRST."
Asher nodded slowly. "He's not just countering. He's anticipating. Reading."
"EXACTLY. YOUR MAGIC IS POWERFUL, BUT POWER MEANS LITTLE IF YOUR ENEMY KNOWS WHERE IT WILL LAND."
Valtor's pride was bruised now more than his body. He bared his teeth and swung wide with a sudden spin kick.
Ragnos ducked.
He didn't strike.
Instead, he stepped behind Valtor and tapped his lower back.
A warning.
Valtor froze.
The crowd gasped.
He'd just been outmaneuvered—and spared.
Valtor turned, slowly. He looked Ragnos in the eyes… then grinned and nodded.
"Well fought."
Ragnos bowed once and walked away, picking up his shirt.
The nobles erupted in cheers. Some shouted Valtor's name, others praised Ragnos. The fire flared as a few tossed extra logs into it, and the night turned almost celebratory.
Valtor raised both hands.
"Alright, I've had enough for the night. Let the rest of you fools fight for my amusement!"
Laughter rippled through the camp.
A few other nobles stepped into the ring, ready to test each other's strength.
And Asher watched them all, drinking it in.
Not just the moves… but the meaning behind them.
"EVERY TECHNIQUE IS A LANGUAGE," Stee'zz whispered. "SOME SCREAM. SOME WHISPER. SOME LIE UNTIL THEY STRIKE."
A tall noble with a red tattoo on his back took a wide stance and lowered his hips.
"THAT'S THE 'IRON RAM STYLE,'" the demon said. "BUILT FOR CRASHING THROUGH BLOCKS. BRUTE FORCE REFINED TO A SCIENCE."
His opponent used smaller, faster steps.
"THAT ONE'S USING 'DANCER'S EDGE.' FOCUSED ON TIMING, VELOCITY, AND ATTACKING WEAK JOINTS. A TECHNIQUE TAUGHT TO ASSASSINS IN THE EASTERN CONTINENTS."
They clashed.
Blood spilled.
Cheers rose.
And Asher… sat still.
Learning.
Listening.
Letting his demon teach him the ways of battle without a single spell cast.
---
By the time midnight passed, more than six duels had taken place. Valtor had gone to rest in his tent, his pride satisfied. The nobles had set up small food stands, and even a band of musicians began to play a quiet instrumental rhythm. It was bizarre—this moment of celebration in a land on the edge of vampire territory.
But it was their tradition.
To fight without magic.
To test the body alone.
To remember what it meant to bleed, bruise, and struggle without spells to cushion the pain.
---
Back in the shadows, Asher looked at his palm.
He clenched it.
Loosened it.
Then looked up at the stars.
Stee'zz whispered, almost like a lullaby:
"YOU'LL HAVE TO FIGHT LIKE THIS ONE DAY… WHEN YOUR MAGIC IS TAKEN… WHEN YOU FACE ONE OF THEM… THE OTHERS LIKE ME…"
Asher didn't reply.
But deep inside, he knew the truth:
Strength was more than magic.
And soon… he would need both.
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