Micah collected a steady twenty-five bronze coins from Chris' corpse for a grand total of seventy-nine. If he continued at this pace, it wouldn't take long until he had the silver coin he needed to have Baldas awaken his ability. Though based on the strength and speed that Chris had displayed and the fact that Artholomew, the officially strongest person in their group, was a lot stronger than Chris, Micah wasn't so sure that he would get his silver coin.
However, Micah didn't have any intentions of retreating. He had come too far to do that. Besides, he didn't think he would fail.
Micah scoured through the crowd that had gathered. The fighting had apparently been going on long enough for other people, not just the thugs of Rego's crew, to gather and create an audience.
Micah didn't mind the spectators, especially since it meant a greater number of people willing to bet on the outcome. Hell, in general, was mostly quite boring, and an empty town with nothing except shit food and some repentance facilities like Vanitas was even worse. Even if it cost their precious pol that they needed to keep themselves intact, people were still willing to bet. If anything, the thrill of losing or winning made it even more exciting.
And for people who hadn't experienced anything exciting for what felt like an eternity, the thrill of gambling while watching guys fight was addictive.
As he saw Rego go around as the bookie, Micah felt that there were easier ways to gather pol than simply fighting and taking it from people. And when he thought about what had attracted them, Micah got an idea.
Unfortunately, it wouldn't be easy to implement it in Vanitapolis due to the town's limited size and number of residents. But if more people gathered in Vanitapolis, Micah was sure that his idea would shine and also bring in shiny coins.
But before any of that, he had to start making Pride regain his powers since Micah was sure that Vanitapolis, as part of Pride's domain, would flourish alongside Pride. And before he could even talk to Pride, Micah had to deal with the group of thugs in front of him.
Thankfully, he got some moments to breathe and catch his breath after defeating Chris before Artholomew showed up. But as the boss of the gang, Artholomew wouldn't just stay hidden while Micah ran amok among his underlings. He had stood behind the others and watched the two second-strongest people try and deal with Micah, and when they failed, he had to step forward.
"I'm guessing I'm next?"
The tall man who had stood at the back almost from the very beginning spoke up and began walking forward. The crowd split in his path, and he arrived three meters in front of Micah. He had a chilly smile on his scholarly, refined face as he spoke.
"Yep."
Micah's curt answer didn't cause a stir, and Artholomew maintained his slightly smiling poker face.
"Do you like chess…?"
"Micah Witherom, but just call me Micah. Everyone else seems to be using their first names, so I might just do it as well. And no, I never really enjoyed chess. Too dull? I think that's how I would describe it."
"Micah. I see. But you see, there are a lot of valuable lessons in chess that are applicable to life as well."
"I-"
Before Micah could answer, Artholomew's leg swept out and toward his head like a scythe. Artholomew's reach was impressive and greater than Micah had expected since he only needed to take one step forward before reaching out with an extended foot to try and swipe Micah's head off his shoulders.
Micah had just barely reacted quickly enough to pull his head back and out of Artholomew's range.
Micah reached up with a hand to touch his chin and looked at the blood on his fingers for a second.
"I didn't know you could learn how to kick like that from playing chess. I would have played it more if I knew."
Micah wiped the blood on his fingers on his pants as he hoped that Artholomew would take the bait and begin talking. Thankfully, Artholomew was confident enough to do just that.
"Don't be silly, Micah. Chess teaches you to do things your opponent doesn't expect and to think several moves ahead. Those two lessons are invaluable in a fight like this. Don't you agree?"
Micah shrugged and wiped the blood dripping down his chin with a thumb.
"I guess. But do you know what chess doesn't teach you?"
"No. What doesn't chess teach me, Micah?"
"To close your eyes!"
Artholomew only briefly had time to be surprised before Micah kicked up a pile of dirt from the ground. Since Artholomew had seen Micah use practically the same trick against Chris, he wasn't taken by surprise and simply shielded his eyes before the dirt reached. The fact that he had better reflexes than Chris also helped.
And after he felt the sprinkle of dirt hit his arm, Artholomew moved it out of the way. However, this time, he was actually a little surprised. Micah, who obviously wasn't as fast or strong as Artholomew was charging straight at him.
Micah obviously wasn't a match for Artholomew, so his decision to charge straight toward his opponent was what confused and surprised Artholomew. But it wasn't as surprising as the sudden burst in speed that Micah used to cross the gap between him and Artholomew.
Micah tackled Artholomew, who wasn't prepared for the surge in strength and speed, and lifted him off of the ground before throwing him to the ground.
Before Artholomew could get a chance to get up, Micah straddled him and began levying elbow strikes on his face while talking.
"Chess."
Strike.
"Also."
Strike.
"Doesn't."
Strike.
"Teach."
Strike.
"You."
Strike.
"How."
Strike.
"To."
Strike.
"End an opponent that's both stronger and has greater reach than you."
Micah sighed and stood up. Artholomew's face was a bloody and mangled mess. His nose was so broken that it was practically gone, and he had about as many teeth as a turtle. But he still wasn't dead yet.
Micah, who almost felt merciful, lifted Artholomew's head by his broken jaw and the back of the scalp and twisted. Artholomew's twitching arms fell to his sides, lifeless.