CHAPTER 208: LOVING IT

The wager was agreed upon, and the innkeeper, though trembling, hurriedly cleared a sturdy oak table in the center of the room. Plates were swept aside, mugs stacked hastily onto counters, and benches were pulled back to make space. The firelight flickered brightly against the polished surface of the table, casting long shadows as every patron in the inn gathered around. It was no longer just a contest of pride; it had become entertainment for the night.

The merchant rolled up the sleeves of his embroidered tunic, revealing arms that were not merely padded with wealth but hardened with a lifetime of travel and bargaining in places where coin alone did not guarantee survival. His forearms were thick, veins prominent, the kind of arms that had gripped wagon reins for weeks at a time and wrestled stubborn mules into obedience. He flexed his fingers and smirked at Lucas. "You are sure you want this, boy? You look like a reed that the wind might break in half."

Lucas, who was still swaying slightly from the drink, grinned at him as though he had just been paid the finest compliment. "A reed bends but does not break. Remember that when your pride snaps tonight." He sat himself at the table with exaggerated care, pressing his elbow firmly on the wood and opening his palm to the merchant. "Come now, let us not keep the crowd waiting."

Selene hissed at him, crouching down at his side. "Xavier, this is reckless. You are drunk and he is sober. He will crush you in seconds."

Nyx folded her arms and leaned against a nearby post, her lips curving into a sly smile. "Do not worry, Selene. He is reckless, yes, but he always has a way of turning madness into spectacle. I am curious to see how he plays this game."

The merchant lowered himself opposite Lucas, placing his massive arm on the table with the confidence of a man who had never once been defeated in such contests. Their hands clasped, his grip firm and unyielding, his smirk widening as he squeezed harder, testing the strength of his opponent. Lucas winced theatrically, his mouth twisting as though in pain, which earned laughter from the crowd and a triumphant chuckle from the merchant.

"Already faltering?" the man taunted. "I expected at least a struggle."

Lucas let his head drop forward as if in defeat, his hair falling into his eyes. Then, just as the merchant began to press down with all his strength, Lucas lifted his gaze, eyes glinting with mischief. He let the man’s hand descend an inch or two, the crowd gasping as though the contest was already decided. But then Lucas laughed, loud and careless, and with the ease of a man raising a mug of ale, he straightened his arm again, forcing their hands back to the center.

The merchant’s jaw tightened. His smirk vanished. He bore down with renewed force, his muscles straining, veins standing out as sweat gathered along his temples. Lucas, however, leaned his cheek into his free hand and yawned as though bored, their clasped hands held steady at the middle of the table.

"You push well," Lucas said in a sing-song tone. "But I fear you are trying too hard. Careful, you will burst a vein."

The crowd erupted in laughter, some pounding their mugs against the tables, others calling out for the merchant to put more strength into it. The man growled under his breath, his teeth gritted as he forced their hands downward once more, the wood groaning faintly beneath the pressure. Lucas allowed it, tilting his head back dramatically as if he were about to lose, his hand hovering only a breath away from the table’s surface.

Selene clutched Lira’s arm, whispering, "This is the end. He cannot hold much longer."

But just as the merchant’s grin returned and he prepared to slam Lucas’s hand down in victory, Lucas laughed again, wild and carefree. With a sudden burst of strength that seemed almost effortless, he pushed their hands back upright, their wrists locked at the center once more.

The merchant’s face flushed red, his breath coming heavy. Lucas tilted his head and asked, almost gently, "Tired already? We have only just begun." He let the man struggle, inch by inch, sweat dripping from his brow, his arm trembling from the strain. Lucas’s own hand remained steady, his expression one of infuriating ease.

When the merchant’s strength reached its peak, when his muscles shook and his face darkened with effort, Lucas threw back his head and laughed. Not the laugh of mockery, but of sheer joy, as though he were savoring the game. Then, with deliberate slowness, he raised his hand higher, forcing the merchant’s wrist upward, making it seem as though he were lifting a child’s arm rather than fighting a hardened man.

The crowd howled with disbelief. Some shouted encouragement, others slapped the tables, the sound of their laughter echoing against the inn’s rafters. Selene was speechless, her lips parted in astonishment. Nyx’s smile deepened, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

Lucas held the man’s hand aloft for all to see, their arms trembling in a lopsided balance of power. He gave the merchant a wink and then laughed again, the sound ringing out like a victorious trumpet, before raising their joined hands even higher, as though parading his control for the entire room to witness.

The merchant’s face darkened until it was as red as the embers smoldering in the inn’s hearth. Veins bulged at his temples, his teeth clenched so tightly one could hear the faint grind of enamel, yet all his fury and all his strength availed him nothing. What made it worse, unbearably worse, was not merely that he was losing, but that he was losing to a boy who looked like the wind could knock him over, a boy who had been drinking heavily for hours, a boy who laughed in his face with the easy arrogance of one who had already claimed victory long before the contest had begun.

Lucas leaned forward across the table, his eyes glinting with mischief, and he let out another long laugh that carried over the roaring crowd. "Is this truly all you have? For a man who boasts of traveling lands and amassing riches, I expected more than a trembling wrist and a sweaty brow. Come now, do not make me yawn."

The words landed like daggers. The merchant grunted, summoning every last shred of his strength, but his arm shook violently now, quivering under the strain. Lucas, on the other hand, looked as though he were pushing against nothing at all. He tilted his head, smirking, and began to press downward inch by inch, slowly, deliberately, as if savoring the humiliation he was inflicting.

The crowd leaned in, their voices rising like waves, chants erupting from every corner of the inn. They pounded their mugs against the tables, the thudding rhythm filling the room with the sound of impending triumph.

"Do you hear them?" Lucas said mockingly as his opponent’s hand sank lower. "They already know the outcome. Why resist the inevitable? Yield with dignity, and I might even buy you a drink after."

The merchant snarled, his pride refusing to let him concede, but his arm buckled further, the knuckles of their clasped hands scraping against the wooden surface. Lucas slowed his pressure, almost stopping just to prolong the suffering, his laughter echoing each time the merchant gave another desperate push. He was not simply winning; he was playing, tormenting his opponent with the truth that he was utterly powerless.

Finally, with one last effortless shove, Lucas slammed the merchant’s hand flat against the table. The sound cracked through the room like thunder. For a heartbeat, silence reigned as every eye absorbed the impossible scene, then the inn exploded with cheers so loud they rattled the mugs on the shelves. Men leapt to their feet, women clapped their hands, and the chant of rose higher, drowning out everything else.

Lucas leaned back in his chair, his grin wide and unrepentant, and raised his arms as though he were a conquering hero returning from battle. The satisfaction on his face was unrestrained, his laughter spilling freely, his voice mingling with the roaring approval of the crowd. He sat there amidst the chaos, feeling a peculiar fullness swell in his chest. The thrill of victory was one thing, but this...this intoxicating pleasure of turning the proud into fools, of bending the mighty until they broke under the weight of their own arrogance...was something else entirely.

He realized, as he looked at the merchant’s humiliated face and the crowd’s joyous acclaim, that he was beginning to love this. He was beginning to love embarrassing people.

The merchant’s humiliation twisted into something darker, a storm of rage that crackled in his eyes. His breathing grew ragged, his lips curled into a snarl, and with a guttural growl he lurched forward. Before anyone could intervene, his hand shot out, snatching a heavy mug from the grasp of a startled patron at the next table. The poor fellow yelped in surprise, but the merchant paid him no mind.

With all the fury of a man whose pride had been shattered, he swung the mug in a wide arc, the motion wild and unrefined, but driven by raw spite. Gasps filled the room, women covered their mouths, and several men made to rise, but the strike was already descending toward Lucas’s head.

Lucas saw it all. He read the merchant’s movements long before they happened, the desperate twitch in his shoulder, the reckless tightening of his grip, the clumsy shift of his weight. Dodging would have been the simplest thing in the world. A mere tilt of the head, a subtle lean of the body, and the mug would have cleaved through empty air. Yet Lucas did not move. He sat there, relaxed, almost inviting the blow, his eyes gleaming with that same infuriating grin that had sparked the merchant’s fury in the first place.

The mug connected with a dull thud against his skull, shards of clay scattering across the table, ale spraying in every direction. The crowd gasped as one, some shrieking in alarm, others frozen in disbelief. The sound of the impact reverberated through the inn, hanging heavy in the air.

But Lucas did not flinch. His smile never faltered, his gaze never wavered. If anything, there was a cruel glimmer of amusement in his expression now, as though he had been waiting for this very moment.

He could have avoided it. He could have spared the man from sealing his own fate. But now, now that the merchant had crossed the line, Lucas had every reason, every right, to rise and teach him a lesson he would never forget.