[Jehona]
Apprehension crept into the anger of Quinn’s gaze, making for a perfect illustration of failed expectations.
The condescendence he initially regarded them with was nowhere to be found, looking at Stella’s harmless visage with incredible dread.
“I’m proposing a game of endurance,” said Stella, her frosty tone most probably proving Quinn’s wariness right. She raised her hand, putting a small bottle containing a clear liquid on full display. “Allow me to demonstrate.”
Taking a goblet of water, Stella poured a splash of the liquid to fill it to the brim.
Whatever substance the water turned into with the addition of that liquid, Jehona saw it bubbling.
Striding through the crowd, Stella’s steps halted in front of a frightened Bozo. “Drink it.”
Bozo shook his head fiercely. Astute of him.
“Bozo,” Quinn called, impatient and uncaring about the fate awaiting his subordinate. “Do as she says.”
Jehona thought back to the ploys she read about in her household’s library, ones played by leaders to paint a false picture for their people. All for the sake of keeping control and maintaining their standing.
This situation bore a striking resemblance to many of them.
In front of the townspeople who suffered the results of their games and rules, Quinn and his lot couldn’t risk tarnishing their image further.
Bozo did as ordered of him, taking a gulp from the goblet. He started gagging immediately after swallowing, running for the nearest exit only to stop midway to vomit.
With Bozo’s heaving as background noise, Stella elaborated for the horrified bandits, “This is a formula used to purge ingested poisons. Due to the excessive episodes of vomiting it could induce, its use became prohibited.”
Jehona winced. Already, she predicted this wager to be terrible.
Stella made her preparations on an empty table.
Six goblets, halfway full of water. She poured the formula over them, alternating in the amount. In one, she put a drop, and in another, she poured until the goblet spilled.
Done with her work, Stella raised her sights to Quinn, detailing further, “The rules are simple: each of us has to finish three goblets, and whoever purges their insides first loses.” She took a seat, leaned against it. “If I win my wager, you’ll leave this town.”
“And if you lose?” Quinn asked, almost in protest.
“Feel free to enact whatever terms you wish.” Stella smiled at him, amused. She pointed to a bandit by Quinn’s side, and from his attire, he seemed to be someone of high standing among the bandits. “Come here.”
The bandit backed a step away.
Quinn gave him a pointed, admonishing look. “Hans.”
And so the unfortunate Hans became Stella’s opponent.
Stella played the bandits’ game against them. The elaborate steps, the high risks and higher rewards, and the dawning dread of loss. It definitely served to show the bandits the other side of the deal, and in the most unsettling way.
“I don’t think I'd want to watch this,” Jehona heard Suspicious One mutter, unnerved.
For once, she completely agreed with him.
Sitting opposite of Stella, Hans reached for the goblet that contained the least amount of the formula. It was a predictable yet reasonable choice, but it proved to have no use.
Hans’s features twisted in agony upon finishing the goblet.
In contrast, Stella took a goblet without giving it much thought, leisurely drinking from it until it ran empty. “Ready to give in?” she asked, not the slightest bit affected.
Hans didn’t answer, looking at the remaining goblets with horror.
“If he’s like this from the first one, then it’s already settled,” William mused.
Hans seemed to will himself otherwise, reaching for the second goblet as Stella took on her own.
It took a few gulps for Hans to put the goblet away, sealing his mouth with both hands. Muffled, anguished sounds broke out of his hands’ confines, his eyes teary, and his face drenched with sweat. He twisted and turned in his seat, fruitlessly seeking to fight off the nausea.
“You still have a long way to go,” Stella told the bandit, settling her second goblet and reaching for her third.
Hans shook his head in dazed agony. Finally, unable to bear with the torture, he bent down to join Bozo’s symphony of suffering, easily handing Stella victory.
Stella looked up at Quinn.
“You must’ve manipulated the contents of the goblets,” Quinn rushed to suggest.
Stella offered him the goblet she had. “You’re free to try it.”
Immediately, Quinn retreated a step and averted his gaze, accusations of cheating seemingly forgotten.
“Are you cheating, though?” Suspicious One asked Stella on the sly.
“Don’t need to. I’ve long since gained tolerance to such side-effects.”
This answer from Stella concerned Jehona.
To get the sort of tolerance Stella implied meant exposure to a variety of toxic substances. How many? For how long?
“The final wager,” Quinn’s voice rose, cutting into Jehona’s musings. Curiously enough, he seemed to be at ease. What kind of epiphany struck him? “A game of endurance as well. If I win, we'll get the rewards we asked for in the previous wagers. If you win, you'll get yours.”
“State your terms,” William said, tone mild.
Quinn’s eyes gained a vicious gleam.
The Inn’s dining area was cleared of its furnishing. Jehona stood with Stella and Suspicious One alongside the crowds at the margins. William stood unarmed at the center, circled by heavily armed bandits.
This was the final wager, issued by Quinn himself.
This was also a last attempt, its tilted scale conveying the desperation he must’ve felt.
The so-called game of endurance Quinn designed was to have William take on an onslaught of bandits, until the filled half of the hourglass Quinn placed on the floor emptied. And if the mismatch in numbers wasn’t enough, Quinn stressed upon the fact that William was to do it unarmed.
Jehona leaned close to Suspicious One and whispered, “Make the hourglass empty faster.”
“He can handle it,” Suspicious One returned. He looked rather assured of his statement, so much so that it made Jehona wonder if there was something she missed out on.
Perhaps there was. For one, William’s reaction to being a subject of such a trial was simply… lackluster. “You may start at any time you like.”
That courtesy William offered his opponents appeared to bewilder them, standing at loss for a moment too long. It wasn’t until Quinn commanded them with a loud, “Start!” that they began moving, making a human wall concealing William from their view.
Jehona could follow some movement between the gaps, but it wasn’t enough to discern what was happening. However, her ears picked up the distinct sound of blades clashing.
But if William was barred from using weapons, then what could the source of that sound be?
“I beg of you, please let me go!”
At a significant retreat from the bandits, Jehona’s inner musings were granted an answer.
William had a bandit in his hold. He used the bandit's hand to wield a slender sword, pushing back against the siege waged on him. Even with a frightened human acting as his blade, William’s pace was vicious, merciless, forcing the bandits to take a step back for a space to breathe.
With every clash, the bandit in William’s hold became paler, his pleas more colorful—nonsensical, even: “I swear I'll pursue a life of picking flowers from now on. Just please let me go!”
William finally obliged him after eliminating four bandits with a single slash, sending the bandit off with a kick. The bandit crashed into three of his comrades, taking them off the count.
Two brass-knuckled bandits jumped at William from opposite sides. William dove down just before they could land a hit, causing them to collide into each other, fist first.
With that, only one bandit remained standing.
“I believe there is something William isn’t telling us,” Stella said, marvel in her voice.
Jehona recalled the scene she arrived to in Dokka, of many bandits lying uselessly at William and Suspicious One’s feet—of many others surrounding the two, enraged at the fall of their comrades. Most of all, she remembered the calm in William’s gaze, his complete preparation to take on that onslaught.
Indeed, there was something William didn’t volunteer revealing… but the same could be applied to them all.
“Told you.” Suspicious One grinned at her, looking entertained beyond belief.
The subject of their thoughts cast a look at the hourglass then, returning his gaze to the bandit afterwards, kindly reminding him, “There’s still time left.”
The bandit only let out a whimper in response.
With the bandits’ forces reduced to such a pathetic state, hope seemed to blossom in Aslan townspeople’s hearts. A single voice rose up to cheer for William, joined by many in the following breath.
That hope had Quinn seething, the look in his eyes dripping with malice. He pushed the remaining bandit out of his way, unsheathing his rapier and wasting no time in charging for a fatal blow.
The change of opponent didn’t appear to phase William, maneuvering around Quinn’s frantic strikes with ease. In a moment where Quinn had his arm stretched forwards, William used a knifehand strike to render it momentarily paralyzed, hand unable to hold on to the rapier. Before Quinn could recover or retrieve his weapon, William grabbed him by the collar and plunged his knee into Quinn’s abdomen.
When William let go, Quinn, just like his rapier, dropped on the floor.
It was that drop that had the townspeople exploding, some even gathering the courage to beat the bandits while they were down.
But that cheer didn’t last for long.
“My, what a show! What a show!” rose a voice from the inn’s entrance, its mild tone accompanied by slow clapping.
The townspeople froze, the hope that started to burn in their eyes turning to embers.
It was a lone man who stood at the inn’s entrance, casting looks of interest at William. He was well-dressed, too, just like Hans and Quinn—better, even. From the family crest drawn on his cape, Jehona discerned him to belong to one of the noble households of Capital City.
The air he exuded hinted at his identity, but the bandits’ reaction to his arrival cemented it: “Chief!”
So this was the West Gate.
