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“Now I really have a mess,” she said, handing me the box of tissues she kept on her desk. “That was pretty impressive.”

“Well, I can’t judge. I’ve done far worse for far less. Still, I can’t imagine Lupin would approve, nor will Cyrilo or any other beastman in the country. Slavery is already a foundation of Uther, and add the vitriol Galvin has been spewing, and it’ll put an even bigger target on their backs, and they won’t like it. I imagine that’s what concerns you, when things inevitably go south and blood spills. And I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of my earlier warning.”“No, you don’t. I made your objections clear.”

Harnessing all of his strength and gambling his life, Roc slammed Ingram square in the face with the stump of his missing arm. It was far from a graceful punch, more like a clumsy jab, but Ingram, so focused on everything else and having never expected such an attack in a thousand years, was utterly discombobulated by the hit, and inadvertently released Roc. Roc pulled away and escaped to the sky, with Ingram having just enough time to slow his descent and avoid a fatal impact. He still hit the ground with bone-breaking force, but he was alive. Roc landed beside him, staring at his vanquished opponent, with the crowd still trying to process what had happened. Until now, Roc had never acknowledged them, but now, he raised his missing arm, as though holding up an invisible fist in triumph, and the spectators erupted into cheers.