asconian's blog

Chapter 2: Dogfight

There are two worlds: that of counts, dukes, and lords, and that of the lower class and its ruffians. Of the first, we hear of their feats, their intrigues, and their pleasures. Of the second, few stories are told—except when fate makes them collide. Yet there, in the shadows of the palace, far from the glittering halls and refined conversations, disputes were settled the only way the men below knew how: with their fists.

Edgar had enjoyed a time of calm, a stability rarely achieved among the servants. But then he appeared.

Daniel.

A stable boy, newly hired into the count’s service. He wasn’t particularly different from others of his kind—young, strong, quiet. And yet, there was something about him that unsettled Edgar, something that sparked an inexplicable burn in his chest.

It didn’t take him long to understand why.

The count, who had always relied on Edgar as his trusted man—despite the harsh treatment—now seemed to favor the newcomer. He no longer looked for Edgar in the kitchens or called for him to help dress in the mornings. Instead, Daniel was there, taking a place that wasn’t his.

It was absurd, Edgar told himself. Jealousy? Of another servant?

But the more he watched, the stronger the sting of contempt grew. Daniel was an intruder, an upstart who hadn’t earned his position through the proper trials. Edgar would not allow it.

The Shed: The First Round

One night, a storm raged outside, shaking the palace to its foundations. Rain lashed the roof like a volley of gunfire. In the shed, surrounded by the smell of wet leather and damp hay, Edgar and Daniel faced each other in a silence thick with tension.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” growled Edgar, arms crossed, brow furrowed. “But there are hierarchies here. And if you don’t respect them, I’ll have to teach you another way.”

Daniel, leaning against a wooden post, gave a cold, crooked smile.

“Respect them?” he scoffed. “What I see is that you can’t handle competition.”

Edgar’s muscles tightened. He took a step forward.

„There’s no room for two attack dogs here.”

Daniel tilted his head slightly.

“Then let’s settle it like animals. No titles, no orders. Just us.”

Thunder split the sky as both tough lads stripped off their jackets, letting them fall onto the soaked straw. The two strongest boys from their rough neighborhoods—the kind who always won the pub fights—were about to collide. The air was thick with raw testosterone.

Without another word, Edgar threw the first punch.

His fist shot out like a whip, striking Daniel’s cheek and turning his head. But Daniel didn’t fall. He merely rolled his neck slowly back into place, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

And then he struck back.

A straight punch to Edgar’s gut, hard enough to make him grunt in pain.

From then on, there were no more words. Only blows.

Daniel grabbed Edgar by the collar and shoved him against a beam, but Edgar drove an elbow into his ribs, forcing him back. He followed with a punch that landed square on Daniel’s jaw. Daniel staggered, then returned the favor with a savage hook that sent Edgar crashing onto a pile of saddles.

Both men got back up instantly, eyes blazing with rage.

“That all you’ve got?” spat Daniel, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his hand.

Edgar didn’t answer. He lunged, blind with fury, and the two rolled across the muddy, straw-covered floor.

The Gardens: The Second Round

With a violent shove, Daniel sent him tumbling through the open door of the shed.

The storm greeted them with a lash of icy wind and torrential rain. But they didn’t stop.

They crashed into the gardens, slipping on the drenched grass, striking like wild beasts. Each punch was a wordless scream of rage; each throwdown, a claim to territory. Edgar drove a knee into Daniel’s side, but Daniel answered with a brutal headbutt that sent stars spinning before Edgar’s eyes.

Mud covered their faces, blood mixed with rain.

For a moment, Edgar thought he might win. But Daniel refused to yield. Every time he went down, he rose again. Every blow he took, he returned harder.

The fight dragged on until, exhausted, they both collapsed side by side on the ground, gasping for air.

They lay there in silence, chests heaving, while the storm raged above them. Then Daniel delivered the final blow. The newcomer had won—and few ever did.

No words were exchanged. None were needed.

When they finally stood, swaying on their feet, each grabbed his mud-stained jacket and walked away in opposite directions.

The Verdict

The next day, when Edgar crossed paths with Daniel in the palace corridors, neither man spoke. But in a silent gesture, Edgar stepped aside and let him pass.

The war was over.

From the tallest window of the palace, the Count of Hereford watched the scene with a crooked smile.

To be continued…