Between the two scorpion owners in the competition, there was a large hemispherical iron cage with a wide opening at the top for easy viewing and sand spread on the bottom. This was the scorpion fighting arena. Bossia recalled her experiences in Gadgetzan. Enduring the scorching heat and thirst in an iron cage didn't mean she was willing to suffer through the heatwave created by the crowd in the current hall. The discomfort caused by natural environments was very different from that caused by humans. She lifted her collar slightly and fanned herself.
There were small iron doors at each end of the scorpion fighting arena. The owners opened the doors, aligned the openings with their iron cages, and drove the scorpions in. "It's started," said the referee, using an iron rod to provoke the two scorpions and make them approach each other. The opponent of the champion's deep black scorpion was larger and golden-yellow. Both scorpions vigilantly raised their tails high but did not immediately show a willingness to fight until the referee threw a small piece of raw meat between them.
Silithus had the fiercest and swiftest scorpions in Azeroth: mutated due to the insect nests and having to deal with large Qiraji that could easily kill them. The golden scorpion made a tentative attack to seize the meat, but the champion's black scorpion quickly forced it back. Although they had strong claws, they couldn't directly tear each other's bodies. The clash of claws and careful movements were all aimed at getting a chance to stab the opponent with their tails and inject venom. Until then, the tails remained extremely stable, forming a fearsome arc, like a hook that could even subdue a shark. In these matches, once the tail struck, it rarely missed, often ending the fight. If judged by human moral logic, the fighting style of these scorpions had a strange sense of etiquette and dignity: they used their bodies as shields, guarding their only lethal weapon, and did not use it recklessly, seeking a decisive strike. Despite this dignity, they were reluctantly reduced to tools for human gambling and excitement.
In her first decade and a half, Bossia was very accustomed to these romanticized explanations. Scorpions, like the Qiraji, were her enemies, and she could think this way at a safe distance, but in the desert, it was a different story. The scorpions' singular attack method was not etiquette but determined by their physical characteristics. They indeed became tools for gambling, but not "reluctantly" and without being truly exploited, for humans had taken nothing of true value from them. Scorpions killed purely out of instinct, and spectators, seeing them as humans, cheered them on, which might actually be respect.
The piece of meat that triggered the fight was now torn into several small pieces and no longer the focus of the two scorpions. Bossia had watched four or five scorpion fights and noticed that the scorpions' behavior lacked much strategy and was as predictable as the actions of Qiraji. This was particularly evident when one retreated to the edge of the cage, with its tail caught in the bars, and did not immediately move but defended in this awkward position for a while. The outcome was decided by their physical conditions and ferocity.
Enjoying watching the strong suppress the weak, and deriving pleasure from it, conflicted with the faith in the Light. Bossia unexpectedly recalled Benedictus's words. As a child, she would cover her eyes at the sight of a cat biting a mouse, fearing that the cheer in her heart for the death of a mouse was the pleasure derived from watching the strong oppress the weak. She did not know if the feeling she got from watching the scorpions fight was pleasure. Not having placed bets and having no interest in raising scorpions, she would not cheer for any side. In Gadgetzan, when she fought in the cage with the female orc, the audience was crowded around. Some supported her, others urged the orc to hit harder, both sides shouting constantly. There were also some eyes that showed no excitement. She thought that now she might have such eyes. Not indifferent, but just passing time in an entertainment she did not truly wish to participate in.
As the fight progressed, the audience became more boisterous. Two tall men who had just placed bets pushed in front of Bossia. Unable to see, she felt a bit displeased but did not intend to push back. Just as she turned around, she heard a shout announcing the victory: the black scorpion had won. Cheers, curses, and the chaotic distribution of winnings ensued, a part she did not need to be involved in. Someone entered the hall, announcing that the sandstorm had passed. Bossia decided to check outside and headed for the door.
With the end of the scorpion fight, the crowd dispersed, pushing past her. She moved to the right, passing by the scorpion owner "Champion." Moments later, she felt something on her right arm; before fully turning her head, she recognized the black scorpion, perched near her elbow. The cold, clammy sensation penetrated her clothing and invaded her skin. The scorpion's claw twitched, and Bossia suddenly felt an aversion and momentary terror far greater than facing the Qiraji. She forcefully shook her arm, throwing the scorpion to the ground. It assumed a combat stance, its tail stiffly arched again, prompting Bossia to draw her sword and stab it. This series of actions happened too quickly, a direct reaction to a sudden attack; by the time she realized it, the blade had pierced the scorpion, oozing greenish-yellow fluid as its tail dropped.
Bossia's heartbeat had not yet calmed as she withdrew her sword, but the surroundings fell silent. She glanced around, seeing a mix of surprise and awkward smiles, except for Champion, who was visibly angry. "What did you do?" he said, stepping toward Bossia. She raised her sword to stop him, making the situation more tense. Some faces that were initially just surprised began to show concern over the situation between Bossia and Champion. This was not a simple conflict—severely damaging another mercenary's property was a dangerous act. Bossia recalled the details: before the scorpion crawled on her arm, she had indeed seen Champion turn in her direction from the corner of her eye. According to the rules, the scorpion should have been immediately returned to its owner's cage after the fight, but the cage in Champion's left hand was open.
"You asked for it," Bossia said. "You threw it on me."
"Nonsense." Champion said, looking to the others for support. "Threw it on you? Why would I do that? You bumped into my cage, and it fell out. Do you know how valuable that thing you killed was? It helped me win six fights, unbeatable. You've caused me a lot of trouble, but I'm reasonable and not in the mood to argue. You owe me compensation. It won six times, earning me five gold coins in total, plus the effort of catching and raising it. You owe me ten gold coins." He added to the others, "Women shouldn't be in this place."
"There's nothing to compensate. You didn't watch your scorpion. I was just defending myself."
"Defending yourself? You've been here long enough not to be scared of a scorpion. If you were a prostitute, I bet you wouldn't scream at a pat on the butt."
Bossia did not respond, merely lowering her sword, showing no sign of backing down. The situation was at a stalemate. Champion clearly did not get the support he imagined. Having just won a match, neither his opponent nor those who lost money were eager to side with him. From his seemingly prepared demeanor, it appeared many suspected this was no mere accident. People nearly forgot about the scorpion's corpse on the ground, waiting in awkward silence for the situation to resolve. They had to see how this drama ended.
"Speak up, girl," Champion said. "Not enough money? I might consider letting you pay in other ways. But first, I need to see what you're worth."
Rather than a true intention, this seemed more like an attempt to provoke. Bossia still did not respond. Her eyes showed no fear, no excitement, only a calm indifference to the spectacle. In contrast, Champion's continuous provocations seemed forced. Some felt the scene was unlikely to escalate and began to disperse. For mercenaries, a dispute that couldn't quickly turn into a conflict was dull.
Champion felt disrespected. The key issue now was not whether he could take advantage of Bossia but whether he could maintain his dignity as a mercenary and a scorpion fighting expert. This so-called dignity meant making others realize they had to side with him.
"Have all your brains been eaten by bugs?" he said to the surrounding people. "This girl hasn't been here long, and you let her break the rules? Here, if you steal someone else's property, you at least lose a finger. You, and you guys over there, you all made money off my scorpion. Now she's killed the thing that made you money just like that. If you're in this line of work, show some proper anger."
"Well said," came Bassario's voice. He stepped in front of Bossia. The crowd found a new focal point.
"Native," Champion said. "I thought you'd come out sooner. The woman who hangs around with you all day has caused trouble…"
"Don't be so quick to say that," Bassario interrupted. "Who caused the trouble is still unclear. Putting a dangerous thing on someone else is a much heavier crime than stealing. Don't rush to claim someone bumped into your cage; we all know that's unlikely."
"What do you want? You're planning to back this girl, right? Listen, if you really want to get involved, there's only one way: pay ten gold coins. Just for playing the hero in front of a woman and crossing me, you're going to break everyone's rules. That sounds like something a native would do. If you really plan to stand firm this time, be careful out there. I know a lot of brothers who don't want trouble here but are more than willing to uphold the rules outside."
"Don't be so quick to decide for others. I think most people here know Agnes doesn't need to pay you ten gold coins, but this can't be truly settled this way. How about I gamble with you? If you lose, we'll act as if this never happened, and you don't have to admit you intentionally threw the scorpion on her. If you win, I'll give you fifteen gold coins."
"She killed my scorpion, that's obvious. Why should I gamble on this?"
"If you insist," Bassario paused and raised his voice. "Listen up, everyone. There are two ways to solve this. One is he keeps demanding an impossible compensation, which actually solves nothing. The other is to let our bet decide the facts…using the 'Ten' gamble. Actually, I'd like to raise it to 'Twenty' because, as he said, we should show some proper anger."
What? Bossia stared at Bassario. 'Ten' was a highly dangerous gamble, and Bassario wanted to double its risk.
The crowd began to buzz. "Go for it, Champion, don't forget how you got your name," someone said. At this moment, Champion realized his earlier aggressive tactics had failed. Threatening to kill his opponent on the battlefield was far less appealing than Bassario's proposal of a public showdown, even if he was a native.
"Bassario," Bossia tugged hard on his arm. "Who asked you to meddle? I didn't need to compensate from the start, and now you're butting in, making it seem…"
"Whether you should pay or not is no longer the issue. He's set his sights on you. If this isn't settled publicly, it'll be more troublesome later. Don't worry."
Trying to persuade Bassario was futile; Bossia looked at Champion. He also understood that he had no way out.