The crowd turned to him, some laughing at the sight of a "newbie" daring to step into the ring. He didn't look like much to them—lean, clean, and too well-dressed for someone who belonged here.
"You sure, pretty boy?" the burly champion sneered, cracking his knuckles. "This ain't no dance floor."
Alex's smirk deepened. "I'm sure."
The fight began quickly, and the mercenaries soon realised they'd underestimated him. Alex moved like a predator, his body fast and precise. He only made lethal strikes. The burly champion, despite his size and experience, didn't last long.
His sword struck with power and precision. No one could be his match, not now, not ever.
The crowd erupted in stunned silence, then a mix of cheers and muttered disbelief.
"That all you've got?" Alex asked, his tone cool as he threw the sword aside. It was not his, it was a sword given to them to make the fight fair.
More challengers stepped forward, spurred on by the allure of the prize: a hefty bag of gold coins. But one by one, they fell like flies. Alex dispatched them with brutal efficiency, his movements as graceful as they were deadly.
A wiry man with twin daggers tried to take him by surprise, but Alex disarmed him with a single twist of his wrist. A towering brute with a hammer swung with all his might, only to miss as Alex sidestepped and delivered a punishing blow to his knee.
As the matches went on, the crowd grew quieter. The mercenaries weren't just impressed—they were terrified. This wasn't normal. This "newbie" fought like he'd been born on the battlefield, his strikes calculated and unrelenting.
"Who is this guy?" someone muttered.
"I don't know, but he's scary as hell," another replied.
Even the previous champions, men and women who usually dominated the ring, hesitated to step forward. None wanted to face Alex's cold, unyielding gaze.
By the end of the night, Alex stood alone in the ring, his chest heaving from exertion but his expression unchanged. The only injury he bore was a small scratch on his arm, barely noticeable amidst the chaos of the arena.
If his servants or attendants had seen him now, they would have fainted. His "precious" body, the one they treated like fragile glass, had been marred. It did feel good to away from them.
Alex wiped the sweat from his brow and glanced at the crowd. "Anyone else?" he asked, his voice calm but carrying an edge that silenced any remaining murmurs.
No one moved.
Anyone else would have been satisfied but not him.
Alex stepped out of the ring and collected his prize. The bag of gold coins felt heavy in his hand, but he did not care for the money. It wasn't about the reward, it was about the release.
His anger hadn't entirely subsided, but it was manageable now—a simmer instead of a raging inferno.
Without a word, Alex left the den, the crowd parting to let him pass. As he walked through the dimly lit streets, his mind wandered to the orphanage he had passed earlier that week.
He did need money, his father left him with zero resources but they needed it more than him. He was a capable person, he could earn money if he had to all over again.
When he arrived at the orphanage, the caretaker—a weary-looking woman with kind eyes—opened the door.
"Can I help you?" She asked, eyeing him warily.
Alex held out the bag of coins. "For the children," he said simply.
The woman's eyes widened in surprise, but she quickly accepted the bag with a grateful nod. "Thank you, sir. This will make a world of difference."
Alex said nothing, merely nodding before turning to leave.
By the time he returned to the manor, the anger in his chest had dulled to a quiet ache. He sat down in his room, wiping the last traces of sweat from his brow.
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Selena sat on her velvet armchair, staring at the letter in her hands with a mix of frustration and resignation. It was an invitation to a soirée hosted by Lady Evelyn—one of Clara's closest friends.
The ornate handwriting practically screamed mockery. It was as though the woman were baiting her, waiting to see if Selena would crumble under the weight of her "shame" and retreat into obscurity.
Selena's fingers crumpled the edge of the invitation. She sighed heavily, tossing it onto the side table.
"Why?" She muttered to herself. "Just leave me alone. Haven't they had enough fun dragging my name through the mud?"
But the thoughts would not leave her. If she did not attend, wouldn't that mean she was letting them win? They would think she was too humiliated to show her face, that she had admitted defeat after calling off her engagement to Nicholas.
The idea made her stomach twist with indignation. Her pride prickled like needles against her skin, urging her not to give them the satisfaction of thinking she was weak.
"Ughhh," Selena groaned, burying her face in her hands. "Why is my brain like this? Stupid ego problem."
A soft meow broke her spiralling thoughts. She looked down to see Heihei, her ever-curious black cat, lounging lazily on her lap, as though the invitation and her inner turmoil were of no consequence. She smiled despite herself and began stroking the cat's silky fur.
"What should I do, Heihei?" she murmured. "Do I go and face them? Or should I just stay here and save myself the headache?"
Heihei tilted its head, golden eyes gleaming with an intelligence that always unnerved her. The cat's voice, low and purring, echoed in her mind.
"I can gather information for you~" it said in a singsong tone, hopping off her lap with a surprising amount of grace for something so small.
Selena blinked at the empty space where Heihei had been. She was not entirely sure how their connection worked, but Heihei always seemed to know what she needed without her having to explain much.