The fire on the edge of the torches flickered, its light being one of the sources of perceptibility, except for the moonlight leaking into the room from a window. The crowds of slaves parted.
Forming a circle, creating a makeshift, boundless arena for Ron and the bagman. Bystanders watched with their asses on the floor, and those farther away stood tiptoeing to watch the show.
Brad sat on his wooden throne, guarded by some of his most trusted underlings. His eyes gleamed with excitement, and his raised hand with an open palm like a flag that signaled when it was going to start.
The room filled with intensity, as Ron and the bagman stood against each other, between them, just 3 steps away. The bag-man chains were opened, revealing bruising on his wrists. His muscles pumped with blood, and his veins popped out.
Ron stared at him stoically.
"Start!" Brad shouted, his raised arm dropped like a chopping axe.
The bagman's calf bulged out, revealing muscles that rival even the best of soldiers and runners. Then he rushed forward, with his fist clenched. A powerful left punch was thrown forward toward Ron.
Hubert, standing between the bystanders, his face that painted fear, visible by the sweat trickling down his forehead and trembling of his muscles. He closed his eyelids, praying for Ron's safety.
Ron stepped to the right a little.
The bagman threw a right hook while returning his left arm to guard his wide, open cheek.
Ron rolled under the punch, effortlessly avoiding it.
He rushed inward, his body like a charging bull, while his arms resembled its horns.
Ron jumped up, placing himself right behind the bagman.
"Ant," the bag-man muttered as he turned around, his voice coarse and heavy.
Ron looked at him lazily, waiting for the next move of his opponent.
"Take this…" the bagman said, with a slow tone.
Then he rushed forward again, this time with his clenched hands ready to be thrown.
"Fist flurry!" the bagman shouted.
As the technique suggested, flurries of fists were thrown, aimed at Ron. Each of the punches sent a small shockwave to the air around them and lifted the hair and beard of the bystanders aligned with the punches.
Yet Ron moved his body like a slippery eel, avoiding the bagman punches by moving ever so slightly with his feet and body. The flurry continued.
"Hagh hagh hagh," the bagman exhaled air and gas from his lungs.
"Boring! Finish this fast, bagman!" Brad commanded, his authoritative voice cutting through the room slaves.
"Ho-how can Ron manage to survive for this long?" Hubert's voice filled with astonishment, once nervous face change into one full of questions and hope.
Ron was tireless, not even breaking a single sweat from his face. His stare still the same since the start of the small battle, a stare to the abyss.
The bag-man's body covered with sweat, his clothing wet and his muscles let out steam. His legs trembled lightly, signaling his exhaustion. But he followed through with his command.
He rushed forward once again, now trying to charge at Ron with that bull-like charge again.
Ron raised his knifehand like a swordman pointing at the moon with his sword, then dropped it down, akin to cleaving the moon in two.
A sickening thud resonated in the room as Ron's hand connected with the hard skull of the bag-man. Like a sound of ripe watermelon hit by a wooden stick.
Thud
The bag-man fell to the ground, his body twitching, before slowly dying out of consciousness.
The bystanders looked with eyes widened and gaps in the mouth present. Their sight alike, filled with the sight of a huge gorilla being knocked by a skinny human.
"Ro-ron won!" the judge of the competition, the brown harried man, mentioned out loud, his voice filled with doubt yet the truth was for everyone to see.
Like a bunch of firecracker exploding, the room erupted into shouts and murmurs of excitement. None expected, the sight of Ron beat by the punches and kicks of the bag-man were already present in the start, but the fact was not disappointing.
"Damn it!" some bystander murmured.
"I shouldn't have bet on the bag-man," another responded.
Hubert smiled with pride, his heart beat peaked, and adrenaline rushed in his blood. He bit his lips and clenched his fist, his pupils widened for the victory of Ron.
Clap clap clap
"Good! Good fight indeed!" Brad laughed out loud, his obnoxious voice for everyone to hear. The room suddenly quieted down after he talked.
Ron turned and stared at him.
"You! You be my man!" Brad said enthusiastically, pointing his index finger to Ron.
"No," Ron answered. Then he walked toward the crowd, placing himself behind Hubert.
Hubert's eyes widened from the sudden proposal, and widened even more when Ron walked to him. In an instant, the attention was placed to him and stares and glances were directed to him.
"Uhh…"
Brad looked at Hubert, his eyes now full of rage.
"Hubert, huh? You dare steal my man from me right in front of my nose?" Brad asked, like a king questioning his property.
"N-no…" Hubert murmured.
"Then what? What useless excuses can you give me for your doings!?" Brad roared.
"…" He stood silent, his voice dared not to come.
Brad looked at Hubert for a few seconds, before he clicked his tongue. His mind felt disturbed, his body felt rage, his fist clenched at the sight of a man recovering from the pitiful months of tortures in the duke's estate.
"Grab him," Brad's underling rushed to Hubert. A total of eight people grabbed him by his weak arms and body. They dragged him in front of Bard, where then he was pushed to the floor.
Thud
"Do it," Brad commanded.
Brad's underlings grabbed their tools of wooden staffs and handles that they ripped out of pickaxes. Then they swung it hard at Hubert, similar to a motion of a miner attempting to break rocks and stones.
Hubert cowered, his measly hands covered his head and his legs curled close to his body. Like a baby in fetal position or like a dog being beaten to death by swarm of humans.
Slaves surrounded Hubert and the masters at work, all looked at him. Some had eyes that trembled in fear or worry and some had mouth that grinned ear-to-ear from the entertainment they were provided.
The room was filled by the sound of bluntness hitting flesh and bones and the sound of Hubert's lungs gasping for air.
"Coward!" one of them shouted. The others laughed as they continued to beat him.
Hubert's ear rang, hearing that word he had been fed to, again and again and again.
"Coward!"
"Coward!"
"Coward! Coward! Coward! Coward!"
The same word nested in his head.
He covered his ear with his hands but the voice kept piercing through his hands and into his ear.
Ron and Robert looked from afar, amidst the crowd of slaves watching the spectacle unfold. None had cared for the previous fight and the winner of it. Now, their cold disdainful and dreadful eyes watched Hubert.
"…" Ron too watched.
Hubert eye's opened, tears began dropping by from it. He glanced at Ron and Robert's direction, his eyes full of hope. Robert directed his sight away, preferring to place it at the floor.
Ron looked, then turned around.
"He… Hehe…. He-hehehe" Hubert's laughter came out of nowhere, a burst of tired and weary chuckle. With a mind that had become close to a crazy person. His squeals became the source of confusion for many.
Brad raised one of his eyebrows, questioning what he saw in front of him. His underlings stopped their motions and stood there puzzled. Many of the slaves were perplexed on the show they were given.
Hubert's maniacal laughter echoed through the hall.
"Yes! I'm a coward! I'm a coward!" Hubert exclaimed repeatedly.
"Haa…" Brad sighed, his hand covered his face.
"Stop beating him, drag him away," Brad commanded, ruth filled his voice.
"Yo-you sure boss?" one of the underling asked.
"Yes. Just do it fast and don't ask more!" Brad confirmed, slightly irritated.
His underlings dragged Hubert away.
"I'm a coward! I'm a coward! I'm a coward! I'm a coward! I'm a coward!" Hubert continued.
His voice the only sound present in the room, repeating the same sorrowing sentence time and time again. His dreadful poems began to weaken out, along with the torches in the hall that provided visibility.
"I'm a co…ward, I'm… a coward, I'm a… coward,"
His muscles ached and his flesh screamed, his bones numb and his eyes stayed open, turning red, while other around him closed theirs. His nerves ridiculed by the amount of pain he received His blood leaked out of his body yet he paid no heed to it. His fingers curled up occasionally
"I'm… a… coward," Exhaustion began to take a toll on him, his sentences became slower and his gasp for air became arduous. The moon that once only peeked up from the horizon now straight on top of them.
"Not… coward," Ron said.