Chapter 194: Hello, Marlon

The room was empty.

Noah stepped inside, his eyes sweeping the cramped space.

The bed was unmade and the table bare. There was not a single trace of Marlon anywhere.

He’d gotten a physical description of the man and was sure he’d be able to spot him, but there was not even a sign that anyone had used this room in the last 24 hours.

Noah moved around slowly, checking corners, peering under the cot, and even running a hand along the walls as if something might reveal itself.

But there was nothing. Not so much as a water jug or a discarded rag.

He looked around one last time, but nothing changed.

Turning on his heel, he slipped back into the hall.

The guards straightened as he approached, their eyes wary after his earlier display.

“Where’s Marlon?” Noah asked, voice flat.

The bigger of the two blinked. “Not here.”

“I can see that,” Noah said coldly. “When did he leave?”

The guards exchanged glances, shaking their heads. “We haven’t seen him at all today.”

Noah narrowed his eyes. “You mean he hasn’t been to his room at all?”

Another nervous shrug. “Not that we noticed.”

“Is that normal?” Noah asked, his voice carrying a note of suspicion that made both men stiffen.

For a moment, neither answered. Then the smaller guard cleared his throat.

“Sometimes, yeah. Fighters don’t always use their rooms before a match. Some hang around in the halls or in the stands. Depends on the man.”

The bigger one nodded. “It’s not unusual. They just turn up when it’s time to fight.”

Noah studied their faces for a moment, his shadows coiling faintly at his feet, before exhaling softly.

So Marlon wasn’t here, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t close.

With that, he turned, making his way back out to the main ring.

The noise struck him before he even entered just like before.

Cheers, drunken jeers, and the heavy stamp of boots as the crowd clamored for blood.

He slipped into the shadows of the stands, his eyes narrowing in concentration, sweeping across the mass of faces.

Rough men with scars that told their stories, merchants dressed down to blend in, and even what looked like nobles with their hoods drawn low.

He was looking for Marlon, but so far, there was nothing.

He exhaled quietly and joined the crowd, sliding into a seat midway up the stands.

He leaned back, cloak wrapped around him, one elbow resting lazily on the railing in front.

But his eyes never truly rested. They roved, methodically scanning aisles, corners, stairways, and waiting rooms across the pit.

If Marlon was here, he was well hidden.

Down in the pit, the ring had been cleared.

The announcer, a rotund man with a booming voice, stepped into the center. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!”

His voice carried easily, magnified with a spell of minor amplification.

“Your next bout of the evening! In the left corner, you all know him! You all love him! He’s split more jaws than any other man on our roster!”

“The Brawler from the Docks, the Bone-Crusher himself… THRESHER!”

The crowd roared as a hulking man stomped into the ring, bare-chested, fists wrapped, and scars crisscrossing his thick arms.

He raised his hands and bellowed, the sound like a ship horn.

“And in the right corner,” the announcer continued, “a newcomer to our bloody stage!”

“A man with no record here, no reputation… but sometimes that’s all it takes to make a name. Put your hands together for… BLAKE!”

A wiry figure stepped into the ring, visibly less imposing.

His stance was alert though, his eyes bright with something more dangerous than Thresher’s brute strength. Calculation.

Around Noah, bookies were already working. One stopped beside him, holding up a leather-bound ledger.

“Odds on Thresher are two-to-one. Easy money if you want to stack on the favorite. Interested?”

Noah’s gaze flicked to the man, then away. “Not interested.”

The bookie shrugged and moved on.

A gong rang. The fight began.

Thresher charged like a bull, throwing wild, devastating hooks that rattled the ring.

Blake ducked, slipped, and countered with jabs that sometimes found their mark across Thresher’s jaw.

For a moment, it looked like the smaller man might actually dance his way to victory.

But brute strength had its own logic.

By the second round, Blake’s movements slowed.

Thresher pinned him in a corner, fists like hammers slamming against his guard.

The crowd roared with every impact, bloodlust rising higher.

Noah’s attention stayed split. Half watching the bout, half watching the shifting faces in the audience.

He traced paths, pinpointed the exits, and noted which groups looked like gangs, which looked like loners, and which kept glancing toward the side doors.

And still no Marlon.

Then it happened.

Blake staggered, guard lowered for a fraction of a second.

Thresher’s fist connected with a brutal uppercut that sent him sprawling onto his back, head bouncing off the packed sand.

The crowd exploded, some screaming in triumph, others groaning at their lost wagers.

The gong rang again. The match was over.

Thresher raised both arms, chest heaving, blood dripping from a cut on his brow but his grin wide.

The announcer stepped back into the ring, clapping his hands, voice booming above the chaos.

“WHAT A FIGHT! WHAT. A. FIGHT! Thresher proves once again why he’s the terror of this pit!”

The crowd erupted again, stamping feet and slapping palms against wooden rails as the announcer paced, playing them up, riding the tide of victory.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, the fight you’ve all been waiting for!”

“In this corner, we have the returning champion, king of the ring, and the pride of the arena! Give it up for… TOBOGGAN!”

The crowd roared as a broad, tall man strode into the ring, chest bare and oiled.

He raised his fists, soaking in the noise, his dark grin on his face as he turned in a circle to acknowledge the audience.

Noah’s eyes narrowed, instantly alert.

This was the same man who’d broken Marlon’s body and stolen everything from him.

It was time!

His eyes roved over the crowds, searching for Marlon.

“And his opponent,” the announcer yelled, “a man you all remember!”

“Once a fighter, left broken, but now returned for one last chance at glory! Make some noise for… MARLON!”

A murmur ran through the crowd, followed by cheers and a few mocking laughs.

Noah’s eyes found the man as he entered the ring, shoulders hunched but eyes burning, his fists clenched and wrists wrapped in the familiar red cloth.

The moment Noah laid eyes on him, his body moved before his mind caught up.

He stood from his seat, shadows curling under his cloak.

His body blurred, and he was gone from the stands.

He appeared in the ring, standing squarely before Marlon, cloak rustling as the crowd gasped.

Noah’s lips curved into a cold grin.

“Hello, Marlon.”

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