Harem Quest: From Trash to King

Arthur let Warren hit the floor and did not bother to gloat. He rolled his shoulders like a man warming up for the next job, slow and without fuss. His face stayed the same unreadable mask he always wore. It made him look like someone who did not waste energy on showing feelings. But his body told the truth: ready. Alert. Calm and waiting.

On the other side of the room Leon and Liam faced each other like two people who had been carrying a score for a long time.

The space between them felt smaller than the rest of the place. People moved back automatically, giving the fighters room. The air smelled like dust, sweat, and something metallic from earlier hits. Everyone's attention tightened like a drawn string.

Leon let a grin come out that was more hunger than humor. "Why not fight me, scaredy cat?" he said. His voice was low and carried a kind of sharp heat.

Liam snorted and dropped his shoulders into a fighting stance. "I'll take you down first, then Arthur," he said like a man stating a plan he had already imagined in his head.

Leon laughed, and it sounded almost wild. "You think I'll let you win? Last time I almost broke your bones but your friend saved your ass. This time I will butcher you myself." The words were rough, meant to shift things from talk to action.

Then Leon moved.

He did not sprint. He did not shout. He simply stepped forward with the kind of power that belongs to someone who has practiced the same motion until it became second nature. Liam met him.

The first exchange was textbook kickboxing: quick jabs, low leg kicks, checking balance, small steps. For a while it felt like equal ground. Each blocked what the other threw, each returned a counter, and neither had the clear advantage.

But the longer they fought, the more the differences showed. Liam tried to press with brute force and aggression. He used wide hooks and targeted legs to take the edge off Leon's mobility. He feinted hips and baited with eyes.

He tried to be loud and make Leon react. Leon matched the feints with small, deliberate shifts of weight, the tiny changes a fighter uses to stay alive. The fight was tight; it felt like a chess match that had become physical.

Then Leon changed. It was not sudden. It was a small, almost invisible shift in breath and focus, a narrowing of his gaze like a man putting on a shield.

His eyes lost some of their light and grew steady, blank in the way that means all jokes have been locked away and only the job remains. People who looked at him saw an edge that was calm and precise. The grin fell from his face and something colder moved in.

When that switch happened, his body seemed to move differently. His arms and legs flowed like water. The combos he had used before were still there, but they linked together now into longer, smoother sequences.

Each move led into the next so fast Liam could see the motion but not the intent. It was the kind of fighting that comes from muscle memory and a mind that has rehearsed too many bad nights.

Leon started to hit from angles Liam had not guarded. A calf kick aimed low would pull Liam's weight out of position and open a path for a hook to the ribs. A quick shift of the hips would leave Liam's shoulder bare to a spinning elbow.

Leon's feet moved him in small arcs, always keeping the vulnerable side away from the center. He used his weight like a lever, not a mace. His punches did not scream; they landed like measured answers.

Liam tried to keep up. He launched a heavy right hook that had wrecked other men before. Leon stepped back a fraction, and the hook hit nothing but air. He countered with a crisp left knee that hammered Liam's midsection.

The hit snapped through Liam's breath. He staggered for a second. Rage pushed through his face. He tried to keep his voice in the fight, shouting a taunt between swings. "Same as ever, huh? Same power level as me!"

Leon's mouth twisted into a smirk that was small and tight. "You think I haven't improved, you fool," he said, voice cold. "You merciless peasant, a small bug in this world. I'll show you the true mastery of kickboxing."

The words were half-sound, half-ritual. And from that moment the fight picked up speed. Leon's combos turned into a stream. He used low kicks to break balance, high cuts to punish the head, elbows to steal breath. He attacked from unexpected sides, striking the space behind a guard, finding seams in Liam's posture.

Liam scrambled to respond, but Leon had taken away his rhythm. When Liam tried a spinning back fist, Leon had already moved out of the arc and landed a hard straight into Liam's chest. Liam coughed, tasted blood, and kept moving because he had no other option. Pride and fear kept him on his feet.

The hits kept coming. Leon's legs worked like pistons. He threw a quick combination — jab, low kick, step-in uppercut — that staggered Liam. He followed with a tight hook from an angle that made Liam twist his head but could not fully avoid.

Leon's elbow dug into Liam's shoulder, making him wince. Pain was becoming a map for Liam; he could feel it in places he had not thought to protect. Leon's body moved with an ugly kind of grace. It was efficient, precise, and cold.

Liam tried to land something heavy. He spun a high kick meant to break the head, a move meant to be dramatic and final. Leon slid under the arc and planted his foot, pivoting into a perfectly timed 360-degree roundhouse aimed at Liam's jaw.

The kick was a thing of force and timing. It wasn't the fastest or the flashiest, but it carried everything behind it. It connected clean.

Liam's head snapped. For a breath his eyes went wide. Then his legs collapsed. He hit the floor like a tree losing its trunk. The room made a sound at the impact, a dull, surprised intake. Liam lay still, stunned and out. The fight stopped like someone had cut the power.

Noah and Oliver stood behind Liam and watched the fall. They shared a look that meant it was time to pack the plan up and leave. Fear and common sense took over. Noah pushed a hand against Oliver's arm.

"We should retreat," he said, voice low and fast.

Oliver nodded. "Guys, we surrender. We want to go."

Daniel, who had been watching with his usual reckless grin, could not help himself. He stepped forward and played the mocking part that was his instinct in tense moments. "Awww, is someone scared of us?" he said, his tone teasing and loud. He made a baby face with his hands to go with it, the ridiculousness easing the tightness in the room.