The alley behind the Owl Tavern was bustling with activity every night.
The nearby workers and idlers liked to come here after work. In this era, there was no TikTok or Weibo to browse, and there was no way to become a keyboard warrior. Entertainment was limited, especially for these people at the bottom of society. They couldn't play golf or attend dances like the gentlemen and ladies, and they couldn't understand the elegant things in the theater.
In contrast, they preferred a sport like boxing, which was purely masculine, to them.
The collision of muscle against muscle, the splatter of blood and sweat — this was the romance of men. It would be even more exciting if they could bet a little more money on it.
In fact, it wasn't just these workers. Even the rich loved this sport. There were also some well-dressed guys with canes and hats in the crowd, waving the pounds in their hands.
The onlookers formed a circle, automatically leaving the center for the two protagonists of the night.
One of them was a burly man who worked in a shipyard. The muscles on both his arms bulged, and the body hair on his chest looked like he was wearing a sweater. Anchor Quinn, the name came from the tattoo on his right arm. He was a regular in the underground boxing ring, and in the past three months, he had a good record of 13 wins and 6 losses, with a few losses being narrowly missed.
His opponent this evening, however, was a strange fellow. Easterners were not often seen in London, especially one who spoke fluent English. He claimed to be a famous traveller, born of a good family, probably the equivalent of an English squire, and his hands did not seem to belong to a fellow who had done any heavy work. Moreover, he had a healthy, but far from strong, body, so few people thought he would win.
"What the hell is this? Can't the boss find a decent boxer?"
"I bet he won't last ten rounds against Anchor before the poor guy is sent to the hospital."
"Ten rounds? I don't think he'll last five rounds. If this guy knows what's good for him, he'll kneel and beg for mercy from the beginning. "
"If that's the case, I remember that boxers don't get paid …"
"Compared to making money, it's more realistic to think of a way to save his life first."
The crowd was in a heated discussion, and the odds between the two sides were also very realistic.
On one side, Zhang Heng's odds had jumped to 1: 7, while Anchor's was only 1: 109. In other words, a pound on Anchor would earn less than two shillings. Even so, most people still placed their bets on Anchor. After all, it was free money that they didn't want.
It was a pity that the strength of the bookmaker for such a small-scale street fight was limited. Everyone's wager was capped at five pounds, which also prevented people from bribing the fighters to secretly manipulate the match. Otherwise, winning by quantity could be considered a good way to make money.
However, for the vast majority of workers, five pounds was already a large sum. It was rare to encounter such a risk-free opportunity to make money. Before the boxing match started, there were people everywhere borrowing money.
What happened next seemed to prove everyone's judgment.
Anchor was still the same old Anchor. Despite his clumsy footwork and slow punching speed, every punch he threw was powerful, almost as if he could defeat ten men with brute force. Under his violent offensive, the poor Easterner could only keep dodging. Even so, he still took a few punches and was like a broken sack.
So far, he hadn't even had the chance to make a move. He was completely suppressed.
"Kill him!!! Anchor, tear him apart! We don't need this kind of sissy in a man's sport! "
"Show him what it means to be a man in England!"
The crowd's cheers seemed to inject new strength into Anchor's body. Even his clumsy movements became light and agile. Zhang Heng took another two punches, and it didn't look like he was in a good condition.
The crowd burst into another round of cheers. Holmes, who was watching from the side, wanted to laugh. So far, Zhang Heng had been taking a beating, and it didn't look like he could win no matter how he looked at it. But only those who knew the ropes could see that Zhang Heng wasn't really injured from the punches.
Anchor's speed was indeed very slow. Before his fist landed, Zhang Heng had already readied his arm to protect his vitals. So, while he was at a disadvantage, it was only a disadvantage in terms of numbers.
From start to finish, Zhang Heng's breathing hadn't changed much, and his footwork was steady. On the other hand, Anchor, who had the upper hand, was already panting heavily. Lack of stamina was a common problem for all strength-type boxers.
Especially when he had launched another wave of attacks amidst the crowd's cheers. The price he had to pay was that after the adrenaline rush wore off, his speed became even slower.
'It's about time to fight back,' Holmes thought.
As expected, Zhang Heng made his move. This time, Zhang Heng chose not to parry Anchor's punch. Instead, he took half a step forward, tilted his head slightly, and dodged the punch. Panic flashed in Anchor's eyes. As a boxer, he certainly knew how bad his situation was. He had thrown that punch with all his might, and it was impossible to pull it back halfway.
At the same time, his chest was wide open. It wasn't a good sign for someone to get close to him.
But he quickly calmed down. So what if he got close? From their previous exchange, it seemed that Zhang Heng's strength was limited. Anchor regained his confidence with the idea of taking a punch first, but who knows, he might be able to grab hold of Zhang Heng and end this match that he should have won long ago.
"It's not a good habit to underestimate your opponent." Holmes rubbed his chin and clicked his tongue.
Then, Zhang Heng's punch landed on Anchor's cheek.
The punch hurt more than expected. One of Anchor's teeth was knocked out, blood dripping from it as it flew into the air. Fortunately, Anchor managed to withstand the blow with his strong physique and did not fall to the ground. So, the plot shouldn't be too different from before.
Now, it was his turn to fight back.
Anchor's other hand was already clenched into a fist. If he could land this punch on Zhang Heng's head, he was confident he could knock the Easterner to the ground.
But before he could swing his hand, another punch landed on the right side of his cheek.
'So fast?!' Anchor was stunned by the punch. He staggered, and the strength he had painstakingly gathered was sent flying.
But that wasn't the end. Zhang Heng then slammed his palms on both of Anchor's ears. The otoliths in his semicircular canals, which controlled the body's balance, were stimulated, and Anchor began to sway like a drunkard.
Right now, he couldn't even walk properly, let alone fight back. His brain was a mess.
Zhang Heng, of course, wouldn't let this opportunity slip by. With an uppercut, he ended the long, but not dangerous, fight.
Anchor's huge body fell to the ground.
At this moment, all the cheers and shouts disappeared. The surrounding audience seemed to be strangely strangled, and the alley fell into a strange silence. Those gaping mouths and waving handkerchiefs were all frozen in the air. People's eyes were wide open, as if they still could not accept the sudden turn of events in front of them.
They couldn't understand how Anchor, who had the upper hand all this time, could be knocked down so cleanly.
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