The audience was shocked. Those mendacious encouragement hushed, jaws trapped in place where they'd been.
Despite all the odds and assumptions of how one-sided the fight would be, a miracle happened. The boy from the slums, Worthy, took the initiative and landed the first punch of the match.
The maneuver was unexpected. Not because it was advanced, no it was not an impressive strategy. Throwing a distraction and attacking from a blindspot is something any warrior with a keen mind would do against a fighter like Walkyr.
Worthy wasn't a warrior.
Very few people expected a child to discard the only item he had to defend himself against an imposing foe. It would be a death sentence in most circumstances, but the child knew he wouldn't die here.
If anything, he'd only be beaten close to death based on the cowboy's mood.
As the first connected with Walkyr's cheek, the man's head moved a nudge, then stopped. In an instant, he adjusted to the weight on his face and steadied himself.
He was just surprised. That was all.
Expectedly, he heard a crunch. Bones broke, the child's knuckles cracking against his face. "Well, now…" Walkyr studied the form of the young man whose eyes widened at the sudden realization of his mistake.
He took a step away from the child as he landed on the ground, holding his fist.
A scream bellowed from his throat. Of course it was going to hurt, the child had just punched the equivalent of a stone wall.
Although his tattoos didn't come to his face, they offered overall fortitude to Walkyr's entire body. The punch of a toddler wasn't going to be enough to stagger him in the slightest.
It was a hopeful fantasy to think that a punch was enough to even make him feel discomfort. He felt nothing.
But somehow… he also felt… something.
"Ha… I didn't expect that. Ha-ha…" Walkyr looked down at the child, his indigo eyes studying him. Not with the lethal gaze they had moments ago. Instead, they studied him with intrigue.
"Ha-ha… Ha-ha-ha!" Laughter escaped Walkyr's lips, an arm clenching his gut.
On the ground in front of him, the child was clenching his broken hand with a pained expression, but that isn't what amused him. Not the most. It was the situation itself.
"You… Boy, 'yer a brave sonuva bitch! Ah-ha! I was thinkin' you'd rush in 'n get clobbered. Whole time, ya' had a brain in there someplace!"
Walkyr didn't expect anything from the child, truthfully. He figured it'd be a waste of his time, just a quick bout to satiate his frustration and give a show to the folks who had grown as bored as him.
Somehow, the boy mustered enough strength through his suffering to meet the man's gaze.
An expression of genuine surprise came across the child's face at what he saw.
The cowboy gripped the top of his cattleman hat and lifted it from his head. Underneath, the man wasn't bald at all. He had short, blonde hair. He'd simply shaved his hair down to the scalp, as if not wanting to have his sight obscured more than it already was by the lengthy brim of his hat.
Pressing the hat against his chest, Walkyr continued studying the child.
It was an impressive thing for a boy his age. Few could stand in front of him after feeling the intensity of his killing intent, even if it were not genuine.
Not only had the child withstood his killing intent, the slum-dweller came here despite knowing he was outclassed. This could've been confused for ignorance or ill-placed tenacity.
Walkyr would be lying if he said he didn't expect stubbornness from a child from the slums. He'd also be lying if he said he expected to take a hit today.
Despite all his expectations and the child's sloppy stance, Walkyr was completely blindsided.
The child had assumed such a maladroit stance because he needed the man's guard down. His expectations were low, so he needed them to be lower. He knew that he couldn't do too much with the sword, even if he didn't pretend to be too weak to carry it.
Throwing the weapon gave the impression that the boy wanted to blind him in an eye.
It was a reasonable strategy. Walkyr would've done the same if he were in the boy's shoes. He also would've darted into his opponent's blindspot the moment their attention was fixed on the projectile.
That was just the issue.
This child wasn't him. So, he didn't expect anything of the sort.
For the first time in a while, the man felt his heart race, if only for a second. When he spotted the boy at the corner of his eye and knew he was too late to act, he felt an echt of thrill.
"I've got to give it to 'ya. I've been had. The win's yours."
Walkyr could still fight. No, the man wasn't even harmed. Nothing the child could do would harm him in the slightest.
He'd battled Knights and mighty beasts, facing scarce defeats. Victory was more of a friend than the former. His might was regarded as no less than among the country's greatest combatants.
That is why it was so quiet in the room.
Such an impressive man had just admitted defeat to a child who'd hit him once.
At first, people thought it was the result of the kid's Reward. It wasn't beyond the realm of possibilities. But there were clearly doubts. There wasn't much refutation.
"I… You forfeit…? Why?" Through his clenched teeth, Worthy managed to muster words.
Walkyr thought for a while. He knew why he'd forfeited, the words just didn't come to him immediately.
Soon, they did.
"'Cause of my pride. There's no way I could'a taken a win after what just happened, Kid. Embarrassin' as it is… I've been outdone."
He'd accepted the fight because he was upset at the child's words. Provocation didn't matter to him, since he'd protect his dignity no matter what. However, in pursuit of his dignity, he underestimated a child and ended up on the receiving end of a punch.
Men died trying to hit his face, yet this child managed to do it on his first try.
"Don't think anything silly. Once that hand is finished healin', we'll be back in 'ere for a second round."
It was entertaining. The exchange happened in seconds, but it gave Walkyr a sensation he'd abandoned. Only a handful of people in this tower could make him feel that way. None of them were willing to battle with him, for obvious reasons.
Yet, a boy with the potential to stand among them had just arrived in front of him.
His hunger returned and now he seeks to have another go at the boy.
The punch didn't do physical damage, but it woke something in his spirit wide awake. War Reaver had come with a handful of Climbers, from what Walkyr heard.
A medic who immediately began treating the wounded.
A nobleman who had neither confidence nor dignity.
A mysterious Climber who no doubt was a mercenary.
And of course, there was also the child with the backpack accompanying them like a porter.
Walkyr thought about how many of them could truly be compared to the last member of that list. He did not know the mysterious mercenary, but the healer confined themself to the hospital immediately. He'd met the noble and shared a few words with him, but… he didn't quite know how to describe the feeling that the nobleman gave him.
He certainly wasn't intimidated but there was a danger looming around him.
Yes, if there was anyone the man could immediately compare to having the same potential as the child, it had to be that frightened nobleman.
"War's decided t'keep climbin'. To tell ya'll the truth, I ain't planning on staying behind to see how things end up without 'em."
People lived lives on this floor. Most were forced to because of the scarcity of gateways. Groups that went out and battled dangerous monsters did so with the intention of ascending to the next floor, just to have their hopes crushed.
This helpless situation could be alleviated by the presence of one man. War Reaver.
If anyone could find a gateway out of this place, it'd be the man who single-handedly opened dozens of them in the past during his many year expedition through this Hell.
"Until that man wakes up, this is your lifeline, Kid. 'Yer gon' keep me entertained."
Walkyr couldn't be satisfied by one fight. It simply wasn't the kind of man he was. It felt like he'd been resurrected, an addictive feeling. There was no telling how much the newcomer could keep him entertained…
…And there was just one way to find out.
"Tomorrow, and the day afta' that. We'll keep this puppy moving. Keep up or you'll drown, Shortstack."
Negotiations were not in order. It was the negotiations of Haul that landed Worthy in this circumstance to begin with.
The boy had only prepared for one fight, so he had no way of telling how he'd prepare for a second or third.
"You talk too much and speak funnily. I hope you take the time to train your speech." His intolerance is also what landed him in this situation.
>>><<<
This encounter was the root cause of the present bout.
Worthy's equipment had been changed. No longer did he have a single shortsword. He'd traded them for two wooden daggers.
Walkyr had taken up a normal wooden sword. Apparently, it was to limit himself to enjoy the fight.
As a gunslinger, melee fighting wasn't his strongest point. Using swords was much more difficult for him than battering a foe with his knuckles. Given that his runic tattoos only applied their effects to his body, it was not a shock.
After a brief exchange and a share of words, the child ended up meters away from the tall gunslinger.
Just like before, Walkyr was pleasantly surprised by the child's speed. He was as light as a feather, so the wooden daggers he'd traded his shortsword for were better for him. If they were sharper, they'd pose a threat to unarmored men.
More than that, the boy — Worthy — was trying to comprehend Walkyr's fighting style. Sadly for the boy, there was not much to analyze.
Worthy had his knuckle healed by the woman with the healing ability that'd come with him to the Devil's Den.
"Fasta', now!" In their exchanges, Walkyr was always on the defensive. This time, he went on the offensive for the first time.
With several strides he closed the distance between them and swung his weapon up, the tip going from the ground to the air. It'd have cut the boy through the chest if he idled.
Worthy had the survival instincts of a wild animal, pushing himself away with all the strength he could muster into his leg. The sword missed its swing, but another followed after when Walkyr closed the distance the child made with a hop.
This time the weapon swung to hit the boy in the side of his head.
Sharply inhaling, Worthy dropped lower to the ground and let the weapon pass over his head. An opening presented itself. After swinging his weapon in such a wide arc, there was sure to be a delay between Walkyr's actions.
Dashing ahead with careful steps, Worthy stuck low and went to hit the man in his torso.
Before he could get close enough, he groaned. Walkyr used his leg to deliver a kick to the child's stomach, grinning wide. "Not enough! Y'think I'm a wild dog?! Use that head 'o yours!"
It was a good idea, spotting a vulnerability and quickly going in to hit it.
The benefit humans had over mindless beasts was that they could create bait to lure in their opponent mid-battle. Faking a vulnerability to make the opponent go head-first into their own undoing.
Still, Walkyr hit the child harder than expected. "Ah… shit."
His body flew straight up, rocketing towards the ceiling of the room. It was high, so high that you could fit a tall building without reaching it. So, a fall from that height would be lethal to a boy without any enhancements.
Scratching his head, the cowboy raises his free hand.
With two snaps of his finger, he disappeared and then reappeared in the same spot. Only, now, he was accompanied by the boy hanging in his grasp.
He might not have been a medical expert, but he was certain he'd broken a few of the child's ribs.
Whistling, the most insane part of it all was that the boy was still conscious. "Well I'll be… 'Yer still awake, huh? Tough nut." Yesterday, the child shattered his hand. Today, he had a broken rib.
They say the more punishment you endure, the stronger you get. Hell, he may grow an extra arm at this rate.
"Guess s'nough for today. Unless ya' can keep fightin' like that, there's no fun in this."
It was entertaining while it lasted, though. The boy managed to clash with him a few times, even if he was holding back a lot of his strength — it was impressive.
The healer, Esme, quickly came onto the stage to apply her healing to the boy once Walkyr put him on the ground.
"...Sorry 'bout the damage." It wasn't intentional. He'd just become excited by the boy's attempt to exploit a supposed vulnerability. Few children could pray to avoid a strike so precisely, let alone be hungry enough to brave into the unknown.
Walkyr set a trap only those who knew how to fight would take. Meaning… the child knew how to fight.
He wasn't sure what to feel, except his obvious exhilaration. There was something behind that excitement. Concern? Fear? Dread?
The ceiling of growth for most people was visible based on a few factors. Their occupation was one of them. Young soldiers that were not already skilled had a lower ceiling because their expectancy for life was shorter. Meanwhile, those who showed promise were expected to grow into mighty beacons. They could fight for years and develop their experience and power, much further than their untalented counterparts.
Children were brimming with potential. Their youth was the prime time to plant seeds of growth in their bodies. Yet, this child from the slums had many seeds planted in his soul.
He was forced to learn how to scavenge and survive in hopeless situations.
His body had endured punishment and thus he learned to endure pain and unsavory circumstances.
Children being forced to adapt to harsh conditions, as he knew fell, created even harsher products of that environment. The boy was a survivor who was learning to become a fighter, and he was doing it well. Within only a few days of entering the tower, he was becoming
As he walks, the man can't help but mutter through his grinning teeth:
"That kid's gon' be a fuckin' monster."