Chapter 237: Kiss or Bullseye

He stood across from a Bastion soldier, right in the middle of a tavern at the heart of enemy territory, surrounded by people who’d probably kill him on sight if they knew who he was. And yet, that was exactly the point. As insane as it sounded, his reckless plan to take out the Warden Captain depended on him being in this very situation.

The woman extended her hand. “Eleanor,” she said, her mouth curving into a half-smile. “And you are…?”

He clasped her hand, meeting her gaze without a flicker. “Bond. James Bond.”

That was the disguise: a blond man with an eyepatch.

“All right, James. You know how to play knife-throwing?”

“More or less,” he replied.

Eleanor grabbed a blade and motioned toward the wall. “There’s your target. Think of it like dice. Closer to the center, more points. Near the edge, fewer. Miss completely, you get nothing.”

“Got it. And if I hit dead center every time?” he asked.

“James, that’s not going to happen.”

The soldiers burst out laughing.

His throat was dry, but he forced himself to look relaxed. “And if… if I do nail every throw dead center… I get a kiss?”

It came out with more confidence than he expected. That alone felt like a win.

‘Luke, what the hell’s wrong with you? You sure you purified that drink?’ Artemis cut in.

Quiet. I’m 007 right now, he shot back in thought.

Eleanor gave him a sly smile. “There’s only one problem, James. I’ll also hit every throw dead center. So no kiss for you.”

The table roared with laughter.

“Now that I’ve got to see up close,” one soldier said, standing. Another joined him.

Luke glanced around. Half the tavern had turned to watch.

“You still have time to back out, James,” Eleanor said. “Better that than getting humiliated in front of everyone.”

He paused, pretending to think. “Then let’s raise the stakes. If I lose, you keep the necklace, and I buy a round for everyone here.”

The room erupted in cheers.

“But if I win… I’d like a date with you.”

Another explosion of noise.

“So, Eleanor, are you backing out?”

She tossed him a knife without hesitation. “Not a chance. I don’t lose.”

A coin flipped through the air to decide who’d go first.

“Looks like I’m up,” Luke said.

“Just remember,” Eleanor added, “the kiss only counts if you hit every single throw dead center. That was your condition.”

“Fair enough.” He raised the knife. “Oh, right… forgot I can’t see out of this eye,” he said loudly, earning a few chuckles.

He weighed the blade in his hand. “Seven rounds, right? Then I only need seven bullseyes.”

The tavern quieted. Dozens of eyes fixed on him. Some wanted him to fail. Some just wanted a show. Either way, the tension was thick. Luke activated refined perception. The air sharpened around him, every detail falling into place. The spin of the blade, the weight in his grip, even the drag of air molecules. He studied the distance. This wasn’t some kid throwing darts at his bedroom door. This was the real thing.

“The idiot’s going to miss on the first try,” someone muttered.

“He’s half-blind. What, you expect him to be a marksman?” Laughter rippled through the crowd.

But Eleanor wasn’t laughing. She was watching him with the same focus he was using. And so he matched her seriousness. The knife left his hand spinning, slicing the air as the room leaned forward in unison. Mugs froze halfway to lips, conversations cut off mid-word.

The blade hit dead center. A soldier cursed in disbelief. The laughter this time was mixed with surprise.

Eleanor walked up to the target, pulled the knife free, and returned to her spot beside him. Her face was cool, unreadable. She studied the blade for a moment before glancing back at him. “I’ll be taking that necklace, James.”

She threw. The knife spun through the air, fast and precise. It landed square in the bullseye. Cheers erupted.

“Looks like this is going to be a tough match…” Luke murmured.

His opponent was taking this far more seriously than he expected, her voice carrying the kind of conviction only a true competitor had.

“I’ve never lost this game,” she said with a faint, confident smile.

He picked up the knife and drew a steady breath, letting the silence stretch as he pretended to study every angle. The tavern grew so quiet that even the scrape of boots on wood seemed loud. Every eye was on him, waiting.

“There’s a first time for everything, Eleanor,” he murmured.

His arm snapped forward. The knife spun through the air and buried itself dead center.

Cheers erupted, mugs raised high. Some voices sounded genuinely thrilled, others groaned in disappointment. He couldn’t tell which group outnumbered the other. Eleanor strolled up to the target, plucked the knife free, and walked back without breaking eye contact. Without even glancing at the wall, she flicked her wrist, the blade slicing across the room and slamming into the bullseye as if drawn there by instinct.

“James, I don’t play to lose.”

This time the roar belonged to her side. And as he scanned the faces around him, Luke realized one thing: the crowd’s loyalty shifted faster than the throw of a knife.

***

The match had stretched into the fifth round, neither of them missing the bullseye a single time.

“You’re awfully focused,” Luke remarked. “Can’t tell if it’s because you don’t want the kiss, or because you’re dying for the necklace.”

“It’s because I don’t like losing.” The answer came sharp and immediate.

That was when it clicked. She wasn’t just skilled. She lived for competition.

“But what if it ends in a tie?” he asked.

“Then neither of us wins, and we walk away the same as we came in.”

He turned the knife over in his hand, testing the balance. For some reason, the pressure was heavier now, the air thicker. The crowd pressing in, the weight of their bets, the sharp edge of expectation. It was all coiling around him.

He exhaled slowly, set his focus on the target, and pictured himself as the blade, cutting through the air along a perfect line. Then he threw. The knife snapped forward, fast and clean, embedding itself in the center.

“Damn,” someone groaned, disappointed he hadn’t cracked.

Eleanor plucked the blade free and stepped to her mark. Her grip was firm, her arm taut, movements practiced. She drew in a breath and, without breaking eye contact with him, let it fly. The knife spun once, twice, and sank dead center. Gasps and shouts rippled through the tavern. It felt like twice as many people were watching now than the place could possibly hold.

“Final round!” someone called, and a low buzz spread across the room.

The next knife was offered to Luke. He handed it straight to her. “Ladies first.”

“You sure? Because once I nail this, the pressure’s going to crush you.” Her smile was playful, but her eyes promised no mercy.

“I’m sure.”

For the first time, he saw the tension in her shoulders as she took the knife.

“She’s about to throw. Quiet!” a soldier barked.

Eleanor raised the blade to her eyes, inhaled, and narrowed her focus. This time, she hesitated. Adjusting her grip, shifting her stance, biting down on her lip. Calculating. Then, finally, she released.

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The knife cut the air and drove straight into the bullseye.

She turned to him, smiling. “Good luck, James.”

The blade was pressed into his hand.

“Eleanor! Eleanor! Eleanor!” the chant thundered, fists pounding on tables in rhythm until the wood shook.

“Pretty clear the crowd’s not on my side,” he muttered.

“Silence!” Eleanor’s voice snapped, and the room obeyed. She smirked. “Silence makes the tension worse.”

Her gaze slid back to him. “Your turn, James.”

Luke stepped forward, the knife slick in his grip. His heart hammered, each beat like a drum echoing in his chest. Something so ordinary, a simple blade, felt suddenly monumental, impossibly heavy. His palm was slick with sweat as he raised it to eye level.

God… this is brutal.

Luke felt every eye on him. The tavern, the noise, the walls, everything faded until it was only him and the target. He locked onto the bullseye, imagining it as the jugular of an enemy. Instinctively, his body tried to draw on Force Infusion, and he had to consciously shut it down. A deep breath steadied him.

Fingers tightened around the hilt. In a single exhale, he threw. The knife spun through the air at blistering speed. All eyes followed its arc until it struck the board, just below the center.

A roar erupted. “Yeeeaaah!” The tavern exploded in cheers.