036 Duelist

The already quiet tavern grew deathly still. No one so much as twitched.

“A discernment skill?” one of the Red Wyrm casters said, breath misting from the chill. “Those are exclusive to the caster class.” He smirked at the woman, thoroughly enjoying the scene. “How did someone like you manage to miss the culprit?”

“I wasn’t looking,” Beelith hissed. “All I know is that the discernment triggered my skill.” She glared again at the patrons of the tavern. “Is no one coming forward to admit to the deed?”

Everyone turned their gazes away, unwilling to make eye contact. Even the barmaids had disappeared—when did that happen?—leaving the barkeep alone at his post. He too seemed one second away from bolting.

“Hey!” Beelith said. “Did you not hear me? I need all the casters here to rise to their feet!”

“No need for that,” a new voice said, breaking the silence. It belonged to the long-haired man from earlier, the blond that had arrived in the company of three.

He flicked his long hair over his shoulder and flashed the younger rankers a winning smile.  “Why make so much fuss over a harmless skill? I doubt the caster seriously intended to threaten your life.”

“Glamring,” Beelith said and spat on the ground. “I knew a distasteful substance fouled the air. Good to finally put a face to the miasma.”

The other members of Glamring stirred.

Mathideus shook his head at them, unperturbed. “Disagreeable as always, eh, Beelith? I dare say your current actions do not paint you in a good light.” He spoke to Beelith but kept his eyes focused squarely on Byron. “It would be wise to do away with the aura.”

Byron smirked.

The chill in the tavern intensified.

“Byron—”

“Mathideus,” Byron said, without missing a beat. “do you suggest that I turn a blind eye to the incident?”

“I suggest an increase in wisdom.”

“And, I would accept it were your mentorship not known to me. As things are, I take you for a fool. There is nothing meaningful you can convey.” Byron strode forward, somehow managing to look like a simple pedestrian than the source of the deadly frost aura.

“It’s no crime,” Byron continued, “to discern one’s enemies on a battlefield. But, this is guild grounds. Neutral grounds. Using a skill on a ranker here without prior consent—no matter how harmless—amounts to a declaration of intent.”

He stopped beside my table. My heart skipped a beat.

He didn’t suspect me, did he?

No. He had no reason to. [Identify] apparently belonged to the caster classes, but I’d managed to circumvent that because of my trait.

Besides, regardless of how reasonable he sounded, his words didn’t excuse their overreaction. This was a party used to bullying people to get what they wanted, and my skin crawled at the thought.

Byron stopped beside the hooded men from earlier, who had since hidden their coin pouch. They kept their eyes firmly on the table, unwilling to look up to face him.

Byron smirked and glanced at me. At that moment, I became the little boy at the funeral again. The boy who could only cry helplessly as everyone spoke crap around him.

Shame slammed like a wrecking ball into my gut at how quickly I’d averted my gaze. At how quickly I’d folded to him.

Another stack of [Fear] joined the first.

Dad’s controlling hand had steered me into a lonely and awkward adulthood, destroying whatever confidence I had in myself and my abilities.

In a sense, reincarnating in Vizhima was a chance to start over. A chance to become the best version of myself that I could. And, this version didn’t flinch.

Not to Dread Tigers.

Not to goblins.

And, certainly not to arrogant teenagers.

Byron frowned as my eyes rose to meet his, but he let it slide in order to glare at his target: a frightened Nicola who withered on the spot as if her soul had vacated her body.

“You’re the only caster here,” he said in a soft tone.

Nicola’s eyes widened as she got his meaning. “I didn’t do it!”

“The chances that it could be anyone else are slim.”

“No . . .”

“I do not condone bloodletting,” Byron said, “over matters that can be resolved amicably. But, you should be honorable enough to offer apologies and recompense.”

Beelith smirked. “That works for me.”

“I don’t have any money,” Nicola stuttered. “And, even if I do, I’m telling the truth! I don’t even have a discernment skill.”

“Then, blood it is,” Beelith said, cracking her knuckles. “A soiled wench like you probably doesn’t understand the meaning of honor”—and her sharpened grin shone in the lamplight—“but this route works for me too. One way or another, you will pay for the slight. Money or blood, your choice.”

“Pathetic.”

That last bit came from me.

The patrons of the tavern turned my way so fast they suffered whiplash. A second layer of silence descended over the room.

Byron regarded me with icy blue eyes. “What did you—?”

“I called you pathetic,” I said, heart hammering in my chest. “That has to be the saddest shakedown I’ve ever seen. And, I’m not willing to sit still and watch it.”

Beelith chuckled. Her barstool clattered to the floor, shoved by a strong push. “Do my eyes deceive me or is that an elf? Did it just speak? What did it say?”

Byron leaned forward to lock eyes with me. His fist tightened—

Loud clapping resounded across the tavern.

Everyone turned to stare at the red-haired man, who had erstwhile been passed out on his table. He joined his palms above his head and slammed the table for emphasis.

“Oh, gods, that was good. That was so fucking good. I haven’t been this entertained in a long while.” He wiped a tear from his eye and offered a middle finger to Byron. “Oi. Wanker. I did it. I cast the fucking skill. Why don’t you come here and tell me what you’re going to do about it?”

Byron didn’t move. His party members stormed forward on his behalf, but a quick look from him stopped them in their tracks.

The redhead for his part leaned against the wall and inclined his legs on the table. “This is why you eat kids before they learn to bite you. If any of these brats had been spanked properly in childhood, none of us would have had to deal with their shit.”

Beelith licked her lips. “May I kill him, Byron? Please? I’m pretty sure Ezin will approve.”

“This has gone too far,” Mathideus warned, finally finding his voice.

“I challenge you to a duel,” Byron said, tossing a knife onto the redhead’s table. “To the death.”

Mathideus jumped to his feet. “You know I can’t let that happen. The rules say both duelists must be of equal rank. This man isn’t a silver ranker. You can’t duel him.”

“But, I can on Bryon’s behalf,” Beelith said, stepping closer to the redhead. “I’m still Iron-ranked. That shouldn’t be a problem, yes?”

“Fine by me,” the redhead said. “I don’t care who it is. I’ll take on all four of you if I have to.”

Mathideus balked. “You’re new around here, so you don’t know what you’re getting into. Byron and his friends may look young but they have earned every bit of their reputation—”

The chill wind emanating from Byron stopped. “You’re free to come along as a guild representative. Not that I care.” He swept toward the exit. “Let’s take this outside.”

The redhead smirked. Without a word, he followed after Byron, hands tucked into his pockets. All six vacated the tavern, Mathideus included, leaving the disgruntled members of Glamring behind.

I rose to join them.

“What are you doing?” Nicola said, grabbing my arm. “We got lucky just now. We need to flee before they return for us.”

“I can’t leave without seeing this to the end,” I said. “I’m curious about that redhead.”

“And, your curiosity is worth your life?! You have no idea what these guys can do. They aren’t to be messed with!”

I didn’t say anything else. I left the table instead, chasing after the adventurers. Red Wyrm’s exit had lifted the veil over the tavern, allowing chatter to resume in fits and starts.

I stepped out into the night and activated both [Stealth] and [Dark Stalker]. The darkness engulfed me in a way that felt instinctive. Skeelie’s teeming alleys and streetways sat illuminated beneath the core lamps that seemed to be a common feature in Vizhima. But, the darkness was oppressive enough that [Dark Stalker] remained intact even though I walked beneath them.

Across the tavern, a sturdy, stone building that signified the Adventurer’s guild towered over the rest of the street. The six rankers crossed the cobblestones that made up the main roadway and disappeared into an alley.

I followed them as they meandered into an empty avenue, some distance behind the guild building.

Mathideus raised his hand. “This seems like a good spot.” His expression turned grim, directed at the redhead. “I’m begging you one more time. This is your last chance to do away with your folly.”

“There’s no turning back,” Byron said. “Not after a duel has been accepted.”

“Why would I want to turn back?” the redhead said, sticking a finger into his ear. “Poop’s meant to go out, not in. And, as far as I am concerned, this shit is concluded.”

Mathideus sighed. “Can the duelists step forward and introduce themselves?”

“None of that is necessary,” Beelith said, shrugging off her jacket. “I won’t remember a corpse.”

“The dueling rules—”

“Screw the rules,” she snapped. “You’re here to officiate, not serve as a nanny. I can’t wait to lick his blood off my fingers.”

The redhead laughed. “Oh, it’s a good thing you’re ugly. I won’t regret breaking your nose for the hundredth time.”

Beelith’s glare threatened to pierce through iron.

“Since this match wasn’t endorsed by Ezin,” Mathideus began reluctantly, “I refuse to condone a fight to the death. Victory will be decided by submission or incapacitation or the dropping of any of the participants’ health below five percent.

“Should either party try to pursue victory in a manner contrary to the rules or receive interference from non-participants, I would be honor bound to intervene.”

Byron scoffed. “The last time we did this, your companions didn’t care about honor before intervening to save your life.”

Mathideus didn’t appreciate the barb if the sudden tightening of his shoulders was to be understood.

“You will play by the rules,” he spat, “or not at all. The past has no bearing on this moment.”

A terse silence passed between the two silver rankers.

“Have it your way,” Byron said.

The redhead discarded his shirt and dropped low to the ground to perform some stretches. The well-defined muscles of his torso, visible without a covering, bulged in the lamplight. “Can we start already? I need to finish this and go back to sleep.”

“Agreed,” Beelith said, settling into a stance.

Mathideus gestured with his hands. “All non-participants, please withdraw from the area.” He glanced at the redhead who had begun rolling his shoulders. “You’re going to fight barehanded? Are you, perhaps, a Shifter like her?”

“Nope,” The redhead said, “unless you have a quill on your person. That’s the most dangerous weapon I can bring myself to wield against this broad.”

Mathideus raked a hand through his hair. “Is this still a joke to you?! You think just because they are young, they don’t know how to fight?”

“Just stand back and watch,” the redhead said, stretching his arms. “I wouldn’t have accepted this duel if I was sure I’d lose.”

Mathideus looked at the redhead, really looked at him, and then he nodded and retreated. Something in the man’s eyes must have convinced him because he didn’t voice further objections.

I crept as close to the fight as I dared, curious about how the enigmatic man would fare against the visibly hostile Beelith.

“I’m so going to enjoy this,” she said, and her eyes looked feral in the light.

“Begin,” Mathideus said.

Beelith surged forward, changing from a beast-like woman to a woman-like beast in the blink of an eye. Drool splattered out of her maw which lengthened as I watched and sprouted long teeth.

The redhead reacted coolly. He stepped in to intercept her with fluid grace, unfazed by her transformation. His bare fist blurred toward her chest—a textbook-perfect strike.

That same fist slammed into the wall beside me, accompanied by a severed arm.

Eh?

Two more limbs went flying as Beelith butchered her opponent. His head was the last to go, and she clasped it between her palms until it exploded from his shoulders.

She spat on his corpse and faced a stunned Mathideus whose face had gone pallid.

“I believe this is my win,” she said.