The silence of the underground cell was disturbed only by dripping water and the low hum of distant mechanical machines.
Asterix tossed the handwraps across the room. They landed with a slap in Valen's palm.
"Remove your robe," he said.
Valen looked up. He shook his head. Slowly, he untied the sash and let the fine silk slide from his shoulders.
Beneath, a long-sleeved silk shirt covered wiry—lean muscle, with mass only where it needed to be. A boy sculpted by years of Rhyla's expectations.
He untied the wraps. "Uncle," he said. "Why am I even here?"
"To train you."
Valen began wrapping his knuckles. His fingers moved quickly, tightly. "I'm more than capable of training myself."
Asterix didn't reply. Not to that. Not after what happened with Jorvik.
"Just put on the wraps," was all he said.
Valen shook his head. "You're insulting me."
Asterix turned to his nephew in silence.
"I'm heir to the baronship," Valen continued. "If I can't beat someone like Liam on my own, you know what that means."
Asterix did. He knew what it meant. But he said nothing.
But despite that, he could not take any chances.
Liam was extremely unpredictable nowadays.
And if news leaked that Valen had outside help to train, then so be it.
Nothing would hurt Valen as much as Liam beating him.
Valen understood the silence as an answer. He finished the wraps, stood straight.
Behind them, Club Hog emerged from his cell, water still dripping from his hair. The captain threw him a thick towel. Club Hog wiped his face, muttering under his breath. His new prison garb clung awkwardly to his fat bulk.
When the guards unlocked the cell and motioned him forward, his eyes darted. He started breathing faster. His instincts screamed to escape.
His feet hesitated. Then twitched.
"Don't," Asterix said, drawing his blade in a single breath. The tip of the sword brushed just under Club Hog's chin.
Club Hog froze.
The blade vanished just as quickly as it appeared.
They marched through the lower corridors, the air growing thicker.
The rot of years-old sweat and ancient dust lingered in the walls.
Eventually, they reached the Pit—an open clearing surrounded by jagged stone. The floor was carved with old chalk lines, half-erased by time and blood.
The guards unlocked Club Hog's chains.
"You don't need to hold back," Asterix said to Valen. "Even if you kill him… it's fine."
Valen's eyes widened. He looked to Asterix, seeking something—any hint of irony.
There was none.
The captain approached Club Hog. "Put on a good show, pig. I might speak a word on your behalf."
Club Hog cracked his knuckles. "You better." He stretched his neck as he stared at Valen.
Valen stepped forward, hands up. He made sure his stance was precise. Club Hog grinned with yellow and cracked teeth.
The fat man raised both his arms in the air, with his palms open.
They must have been big enough to hold Valen's head like an apple.
Valen didn't wait for Hog to strike first, delivering the first punch and striking Club Hog in the ribs. Nothing.
Another. Another.
Fat absorbed the impact like sandbags.
He aimed higher—toward the face—but Club Hog shielded it with his massive forearm, swatting away Valen's fists like flies.
Valen pivoted, tried a low kick.
Club Hog caught his leg.
As Valen tried pulling his leg back, Club Hog smiled, shaking his head, before throwing him away.
Valen flew through the air and slammed into the ground. Dust rose as he rolled back at least a few meters. His breath escaped him in a gasp.
Asterix watched, arms crossed.
He's skilled. Fast.
But Club Hog… he's a creature of real violence. Real pain. The kind of opponent he's never even seen.
This was the test.
Valen climbed to his feet, lip bleeding. He reset his stance. More cautious now. He circled.
Asterix called out, voice calm. "Imagine it's Liam. Imagine if you lose, he keeps laying his hands on Sera."
Valen blinked. The words sank in—but nothing changed.
His fists tightened.
He charged again.
This time, a feint—he lifted a leg as if to kick, then planted it and drove a fist into Club Hog's nose.
Crack.
The fat man staggered. Blood ran.
Valen struck again. And again. Now the punches became rhythm.
Forcing his opponent to cover his nose, but when he did, Valen struck his ribs.
Frustrated, Club Hog roared and charged.
The full weight of him slammed into Valen. He hit the ground hard again. But he scrambled upright faster this time.
A sharp elbow.
Club Hog howled. Blood spilled down his face.
Something snapped inside him.
He reached down, grabbed a wooden shaft from the edge of the pit—a broken mop handle left behind by some janitor.
The captain's eyes went wide.
Club Hog didn't need a club to be dangerous. The last time he had a stick in his hand, he killed a guard just by swatting him down.
"DROP IT," he bellowed. "HOG, DROP IT—NOW!"
Club Hog froze, trembling. The stick in his hand looked like salvation.
"NOW."
Club Hog dropped it.
Biting on his teeth before wiping off the blood from his face with his shirt, revealing the folding fat beneath.
Asterix exhaled slowly, knowing that if Club Hog had ignored the captain, Valen could have been hurt—or worse, died.
But it was clear: if Club Hog was the best version of Liam, then Valen had more than enough in him to beat Liam.
"Valen," he said. "You can stop. Get dressed."
Valen stepped back, chest rising and falling.
'At least I don't have to do this no more.' He left the pit, leaving Asterix behind.
Asterix walked past Club Hog, heading toward the corner where his robe had been folded.
And then…
He stopped.
Then turned.
For a single moment, Club Hog's face flickered in his mind. The brutish features warped and stretched.
Into Liam.
Into that sneer.
His hand moved before he realized it.
The sword hissed from its sheath.
The blade sliced across Club Hog's throat, right through the fat.
A spray of blood misted into the air. Club Hog staggered back, eyes wide, clutching the wound. The blood bubbled between his fingers, pouring down his chest.
"Gahh…" Club Hog continued to cover the wound as best he could.
Asterix didn't flinch. He turned, approached the captain.
"What happened here?" he asked.
The captain swallowed. "He… tried to attack you. So you defended yourself."
"Good," Asterix said.
He turned and left.
Behind him, Club Hog gurgled, hand twitching toward the sky. "Help…"
The captain knelt. "Shit—get the medic! Move!" he shouted at a guard nearby.