The general stepped forward first, shoulders squared, boots light on the canvas of the ring. Gloves up. Form tight.
A soldier through and through.
The general opened with a testing jab. Vell tilted his head just enough for it to pass harmlessly by.
The second came faster, a little tighter, and with more force.
The mage ducked, his hair brushing the general's wrist, and stepped back with a soft pad of footwork that felt more like dance than boxing.
Vell's form wasn't traditional. No one had ever trained him to box. He moved more like smoke on a breeze.
"You're treating this like theater," the general growled.
"It kind of is," Vell replied. "The only difference is, no one rehearses the pain."
There was laughter from the crowd outside the ring.
One man muttered, "Mage's got a mouth on him."
The general came forward again, this time with a short combination. Vell slipped the first two strikes, then blocked the third with his forearm.
The general still had strength. It was a good thing that Vell was his opponent because any other man's arm might have been fractured.
Vell circled away, not countering.
"Afraid to hit me?" the general asked.
"I'm afraid you'll fall over and they'll say it was my fault," Vell said.
Just to make a point, Vell stepped in and tapped him clean on the ribs. Quick. Precise. Not hard.
"All right," the general said. "No more playing."
What followed was a flurry. The general pressed forward with weight and purpose. He didn't just punch. He advanced. He boxed like a man who had fought wars: steady and ruthless.
Vell took the hits he had to. Dodged what he could. He didn't strike often, but when he did, the shots made the general pause, reset, and adjust.
The crowd had gone quiet. Watching intensely now.
One of them leaned in. "That mage's quicker than he looks."
"Quicker than most of us," came the reply.
A jab grazed Vell's temple.
A full hit would've dropped someone three times his size.
Vell blinked and gave the general a quick nod. "That was solid."
"Then block it next time."
"I'll consider it."
And he did.
The next punch came fast. Not fast enough.
Vell slipped aside and landed a clean jab to the ribs.
Not enough to stagger. Enough to make a point.
"You're not trying to win," the general said, breathing harder now.
"I'm trying not to embarrass you."
"I should've brought my cane."
"You should've brought a second wind."
They kept going.
Jabs. Counters. A few solid hits. But nothing that put either man on the ground.
Finally, the general let his guard drop. "Call it?"
"Before one of us falls and the other has to pretend it was on purpose."
They touched gloves once, then stepped apart.