Chapter 149 - 147: After Battle .

Chapter 149: Chapter 147: After Battle .

To him, Loac Trent has always exuded this powerful, indomitable kind of aura --kind of...larger than life, as it were --but right now, isolated amid a standing ovation that’s not for him, he looks uncharacteristically small.

Almost...lost.

He can’t be sure, and he can’t explain why it feels that way, but he thinks that they lock eyes.

It feels different, this time, and he really can’t explain that either.

And then the moment ends as quickly as it begun, and Khobi lets the delight of the crowd wash over him.

They hated him before, and might hate him again, but for today he’s made them feel something beautiful, and they love him for it.

And it feels good, to have a crowd look at him with wonder, and call his name so today he lets this feeling fill him, and carry him away.

He wonders if there’s a bard out there who will write a song for him, and that if, somehow, wherever he is in this world, Khnoji might hear it.

"Congratulations, Khobi" the princess greets him gently as he finally staggers up to meet them, and it could be Khobi’s imagination but her voice sounds full of tears.

She must realise, because she takes a moment to compose herself before adding, with a smile that feels entirely genuine, "That was really quite something."

"Yeah," Khobi has to agree; voice hoarse and exhausted, but brimming with unadulterated pride as he gazes out towards the crowd and the king rises to his feet to proclaim him their final champion. "...It really was."

It comes as no surprise that Khobi doesn’t make it to his own celebration feast that night. In fact, it’s a miracle he even makes it to the infirmary without passing out.

It’s a close call though; Montrel and Jaga have to fight to keep him upright most of the way, and as soon as he drops down onto a bed he’s out cold.

The soldiers who accompany him are permitted to stay just long enough to get themselves looked over, and not a moment longer.

​A couple of them try to argue --Montrel the longest, and the loudest --but the infirmary has been overflowing since the opening fight, and they are told quite plainly, by a no-nonsense, severe-looking matron, that they do not need healthy bodies cluttering up their workspace.

​The old lady is kind of terrifying, but Montrel is fully prepared to stand his ground --that is, until he catches sight of a familiar servant flitting amongst the beds, and relents.

​Khobi’s prickly all over, but from the way he talks, Montrel’s gathered that he’s got a bit of a soft spot for that Binny kid.

​He figures it goes both ways. And, as if to put his mind at ease, when he catches the servant’s eye the little shit winks at him, and salutes.

​Predictably, the infirmary is busy that night.

Medics and servants scurry around from bed to bed, arms laden with wrappings and needles and bowls of hot water as they stitch up wounds, set bones, and doing gods knows what else.

Torture, one might think, from the ungodly wails some of the men loose into the night when they’re treated.

​(For men who willingly put themselves into harm’s way, they sure cry like babies when they actually get hurt.)

​Despite the clamour and general chaos of the infirmary, Khobi sleeps straight through the night.

And then through the better part of the following day.

But when he wakes, it feels like not nearly long enough.

The instant he regains consciousness, the pain sets in; a universal throbbing ache that makes him feel like he’s fallen out of tree in his sleep and hit every branch on the way down.

​His body wants another week of sleep, at least. Maybe two, for good measure.

But unfortunately he doesn’t have that luxury, because as soon as he’s awake, there’s a familiar face at his side, poking and prodding at all the sorest spots on his body, and generally trying to hurry him out of bed.

​Binny clearly doesn’t understand .

He’s physically incapable of hurrying. Even sitting up in bed is agony; the stiffness that’s taken up residence in his body is hovering just shy of excruciating, and has worked its way deep into his bones and made itself quite at home.

​Honestly, the last thing he feels like doing is getting dressed up and attending a ball.

​And yet, there he is.

Getting dressed up to attend a ball. One that, he might add, he was never interested in going to in the first place. Unfortunately for him, the king has made it very clear that he has no say in the matter.

As such, all of Khobi’s complaints fall on deaf ears, and he finds himself being manhandled, limb by limb, into yet another of the colourful monstrosities Rogard’s gone and acquired for him.

Fashion, his ass.

​He’s sure he looks ridiculous. Binny assures him, hand over heart, that it looks better on, but Khobi doesn’t really believe him.

It takes an absurd amount of time since Khobi’s entire body is set on resisting even the slightest of movements, but Binny is undaunted.

​"You really went overboard didn’t you?" he remarks conversationally, as Khobi, finally dressed, takes a couple of experimental steps away from the bed and has to stop after two to rub some life back into his thighs. Which as it turns out, is pretty hard with brittle hands.

​"Maybe," he admits through a thick grimace, cursing as his stiff limbs cuss him out in turn, and glaring at Binny as the servant unsuccessfully tries to hide a snicker.

Considering the full body aches and the new stitches pulling tight over patches of his skin, maybe is an understatement. He’s definitely gone overboard.

​And he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

​"...Seriously though," Binny tells him with a shit-eating grin as Khobi straightens up and lets out an agonised groan.

"That was some crazy stuff you pulled out there. Been a long time since I’ve seen anything like that."

​"Yeah?" Khobi remarks vacantly, and finds himself adding, as snippets of recent memories --too many of them pulled from his final fight --play back in his mind without sound, "...Me too."

​"...He’s good, isn’t he?" Binny agrees sagely, like he can somehow see what Khobi can see, and politely raises his eyebrows when Khobi pretends he doesn’t know who he’s talking about.

A lot of them were pretty good, he adds, nattering away about the casualties of the first round, and recounting some of his favourite moments from some of the other fights.

Apparently a large number of servants had (unwisely) shirked some of their duties to witness the spectacle, and while they had had to work late into the night as a result, it was largely agreed to be entirely worth it.

​He doesn’t say it aloud, but there’s something about the animated way he talks, and the way his eyes mist over as they trade observations about some of the soldiers and their fighting styles, that gives Khobi the distinct feeling that deep down, Binny’s envious of him.

​Not because he won. But because he got to fight at all.