Tahar and Cali were not hard pressed to find the ‘ranch’ in question. The farm was lit up like a beacon which could be seen from miles around – a skilled tracker like Tahar spotted it just by the light pollution it was producing. As they walked closer they heard the sounds of a crowd jeering and yelling, presumably at one of the fights. They had become emboldened by the city’s lack of response. The war was pulling away most of their attention, so the task of squashing local gangs had been left neglected for some time.

“Tahar. Let me do the talking, and try to look scary.”

“…Okay.”

Tahar didn’t get what Cali was planning. Cali herself knew that asking Tahar to act like a hardened fighter instead of an excitable canine was a bridge too far. Tahar was honest, but she didn’t have the benefit of a face that betrayed no emotion. She could only hope that Tahar’s tall, muscular body would be all they needed to stamp a ticket through the front gate. Cali found a good spot to hide her halberd and Tahar’s bow under a nearby tree (thanks to Ren’s sage advice) and stashed them away so that the guards wouldn’t be suspicious of their attendance.

The ‘front gate’ was manned by four gang members, all wearing yellow arm-bands made from torn cloth. They didn’t look so tough, but Cali was only looking for information. As they noticed the pair approaching from down the dirt road, they fanned out to block them from entering. She could see the fear in their eyes when they finally noticed the towering harpy that was accompanying her.

“I heard this is the place to fight,” Cali said, “Let us in.”

The bald-headed man at the head of the security detail shook his head, “Sorry love, nobody gets in without an invitation.”

Cali considered her next words carefully and motioned to Tahar, “I do not believe she will take no for an answer.” Tahar squared her jaw and furrowed her brow in an attempt to look more intimidating. To the shock of both, the men seemed genuinely frightened of her. The men huddled up and spoke between themselves, just loud enough for Cali to hear.

“…Adam will flip his shit if we let them in.”

“Have you seen the size of her? Think of all the money she’d bring in.”

The dividing line of the issue was between Adam’s desire for security and his desire for infamy. He was trying to keep people he couldn’t trust out of the circle – but Tahar was so unusual that she could easily make him a lot of money just by attending as a special attraction. Cali wasn’t anticipating being let through; she’d already planned for that eventuality. Failing this they’d simply find somewhere to hop the fence and head in without permission.

The team huddle broke apart and the balding thug sighed, “We don’t want no trouble. And if anybody asks, you were invited. Alright?”

“That is agreeable.”

“If you want to sign your girlie up for a fight, you might have to wait a few days. The list is jam packed at the moment.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

She let loose a sigh of relief as they passed under the wooden arch of the ranch. That would make the job easier. Cali knew that this task wasn’t as dangerous as the things that Ren got tangled up in, so she wanted it to be over with as soon as possible. As they approached the large farmhouse that rested on top of the hill, they finally bore witness to the fighting competition that had enraptured so many in the city.

Hundreds of men crowded around a circular pen that was supposed to be used for keeping cattle. It had been repurposed and turned into a makeshift fighting arena. The ground was dirty but dry, with the movement of their bodies kicking up clouds of dust into the air. A pair of townsmen were already scrapping away. On a small wooden stage stood a referee and three book keepers, who tallied the bets and distributed the winnings when the match was over. They were already surrounded by people wanting to put money on the next fight.

A majority of the crowd leaning and clambering on the fences were men, and Cali would soon find out why. The very moment that she stepped into the lion’s den, no less than twenty pairs of eyes locked onto her. Cali was no fool. She knew that she was considered very attractive thanks to her ‘large chest’ and ‘picturesque face.’ There was even a brand of human who found the Ashmorn exotic, an affinity that Cali didn’t understand. She had dark skin and long ears, but was she really so different to a human in the end?

She needed to focus on what she came for. She needed to find out whether the poster was accurate, and assess Adam’s defences for herself. A small-time gang leader would usually be easy pickings for an experienced bounty hunter. Despite her love of danger, Cali always did her due diligence and followed the process down to the letter; the contradictions of being straight-laced and adrenaline addicted at the same time.

So where would the king clown of this circus choose to rest?

Aside from the ring where the fights were happening, several other amenities had been placed in the front yard of the farmstead. Barrels and tables had been set up for people to drink and party at, a makeshift bar serving alcohol to whoever wanted it. It was extremely rowdy, and just as many fights were bound to happen outside the ring as inside it.

The yellow armbands were worn by the members of the Wall’s Street Boys, Cali reasoned. Following them could lead her to the mark. As she was formulating her plan, Tahar placed a hand on her shoulder and pointed to a figure pushing through the crowd. “It’s Ren,” Cali stated. Tahar opened her mouth to shout out to him, but Cali put an end to that by slapping her hand over her mouth.

“Mph!”

“Don’t let him know we’re here. He thinks we’re still at the hotel.”

Cali dragged Tahar out of the way so that neither of them were seen. Tahar objected, “Why? Ren is friend.”

“He has his business, we have ours,” Cali said. She wasn’t really sure why. She just wanted to handle the bounty herself without his assistance. Ren wasn’t wearing his armour or using Stigma, and he looked even dirtier than he did after weeks on the road. For such a hygiene conscious man it was an unusual sight. Ren didn’t do things without reason – so it must have been for a job.

Now closer to the crowd surrounding the arena, Cali peered through the cheering onlookers to the fight beyond. Both men were battered and bloodied, each trying to land one last knockout blow against the other. There was no grace to be found here. A lack of fundamental skills and the fatigue that both felt had transformed it into nothing more than a prearranged bar fight.

No matter the volume of expletive filled outrage that was dispensed by the spectators, neither man could close in for the kill and finish things off. The fight came to a sudden and anti-climatic end as one of the men fell back onto the floor without being touched, too exhausted to carry on. The crowd wasn’t pleased, jeering and booing. The other was declared the winner, and a flurry of activity kicked off at the betting area as they hurried to claim their winnings and bet on the next bout.

“Warrior training?” Tahar whispered.

“No. These are no warriors.”

As the crowd cleared the fenced area, Cali and Tahar moved closer to claim a spot for themselves. The next fighters were already being prepared. Cali didn’t like the atmosphere here. It was too noisy for her taste. Her eyes drifted to one of the entrances, where Ren was speaking with a stranger and wrapping up his knuckles in bandages. He was going to fight?

Those suspicions proved to be correct. Ren stripped his shirt away, revealing a lithe but muscular upper body. Tahar was beside herself, swooning at the sight. “Why are you so excited?” she asked, only to receive no response.

“The next match! Ren Kageyama versus Frank Miller! The odds on this one are really good so you money makers better get your bets in, the booth closes in a minute!”

A spectator snorted to her left, “Pft. Fresh meat – easy money.”

He was in for a rude awakening, Cali thought. Ren had something in mind. He wouldn’t jump into this without a good reason. His opponent, Frank Miller, looked like your average manual labourer. He had a heavyset body that had been forged over years of heavy lifting. No doubt he was a tough guy. Unfortunately for Mister Miller – he was fighting Ren, who had an utterly obscene stat modifier that made him incredibly strong.

As the betting window closed and the two men squared up in the middle of the ring, it seemed that the audience was betting everything on Miller. He was a regular, and regulars always had the benefit of the doubt versus the new guy. Cali and Tahar hid behind the wooden planks that separated them from the ring to hide their presence, peering through the gaps to observe.

“Bets are closed, the fighters are ready, let’s get to it! Are you both ready?”

“Yes.”

“Aye!”

The official raised his arm into the air between them and let it drop, “Fight!”

The difference in skill was evident immediately. Cali studied the movement of their feet carefully. Ren had never been much of a pugilist but it was clear that someone had coached him on the basics since they last spoke. On the contrary Mister Miller’s feet moved as if he was out for a pleasant evening stroll, lacking in stability and potential power.

Despite that gulf in skill and strength, Ren made no moves to blow him away as quickly as possible. If anything, Ren was allowing Frank Miller to swing freely without retaliation. A drunken party-goer wouldn’t notice but Ren was letting him fight. He was putting on a show for the audience. He let loose some speculative punches to make it look like he was doing the bare minimum, but he could do better. That was the angle, Cali concluded. Ren was trying to fix the match and make the odds more favourable for his opponent the next.

Judging by the way that Miller’s chest was heaving, Ren would have to do a lot of work to make it convincing. The man was already out of steam, too used to charging in and throwing fists until one person fell over. Ren danced around him without reducing the stability of his legs. He even stepped in and allowed him to deliver a clobbering blow around the back side of his ear. Ren wasn’t even phased, but the crowd loved it.

Cali nodded to herself, “He’s playing with him.”

But Tahar wasn’t happy.

“What’s wrong?” Cali asked.

“Nothing.”

It didn’t look like nothing, even to Cali who struggled to read most people’s emotions. She had an unusually sour look on her face. Cali’s head snapped back to the fight as a roar burst from the crowd. Ren had finally stopped screwing around and was showing the amateur boxer how it was done. He pummelled him with half-hearted strikes that were still enough to force him to the ground. Ren would back off just long enough for him to get back up, and repeat the process all over again. Just to sell the fiction even more, Ren subtly wiped his forehead down with his bloodied left hand to make himself seem more injured than he really was.

Ren couldn’t put on a play fight forever. His opponent could barely stand on his own two feet, so he closed in and finished it off with an overhead haymaker and sent his body limp. A cloud of dust escaped from under his back as he flopped down. The crowd went even crazier – an honest to goodness knockout in the first few rounds of the night.

Tahar’s mood had not improved from his victory.

“What’s wrong?” Cali asked again.

“I said nothing.”

“It does not look like nothing.”

“Why do you ask?”

Cali looked away and shook her head – she wasn’t going to get any answers like this; “Let’s just find Adam and leave before Ren sees us.”