The winner's blade still dripped red as he shoved the corpse back inside the tavern, leaving a long smear of blood across the stone. The people nearby barely reacted. Dice kept rolling, voices kept murmuring, boots kept shuffling along the street, as if nothing had happened at all.
Asher's gaze stayed on the tavern door for a few extra moments, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly. He wasn't surprised by the violence—he had seen far worse—but he was judging. Fights in places like this weren't about pride or honor. They were reminders, sharp and simple, of who was strong enough to walk safely and who would be left to rot before the night ended.
