Kurt Kane stepped into the square at dusk, seven feet of half-ork muscle moving slow and certain. Bright banners hung from every post, painted with moons and flowers and curling birds. They marked this ground as the strongman's. Kurt wanted the women who served under those colors, but taking them outright would mean war. So he came with a different tool. A leather pouch at his belt held ten black collars, gifted by Tom Keep, their gold runes humming faint against his hip. He drew his blade and cut the first banner down. It fell across the stones like spilled paint. He cut the next, and the next, until the square was bare of color. Women came running to save the cloth. Kurt caught them one by one, gentle but firm, and snapped a dark collar around each throat. The runes flared, then settled. Their eyes softened. They stopped pulling against his hands. Ten collared women stood behind him when the last banner hit the ground. The strongman's mark was gone, and his servants were not his anymore. Somewhere in the hall beyond, a door slammed open. Kurt smiled. The challenge had been made.