At the Same Time, in the Dark Town District
THUD!
A dull, wet sound was heard as Fyar, who was wearing a simple white mask with a flat facial expression, landed a solid left hook into the stomach of the muscular man in front of him.
The man staggered back slightly, wincing in pain and clutching his stomach. "YOU LILTE SHITTT!!...," he muttered, his breath ragged.
The fight was taking place on a narrow street outside a rundown bar called "The Cracked Skull." The dim yellow light from the lantern above the bar door was the only source of illumination. The buildings around them were made of old, rotting wood and cracked stone, some windows boarded up. The ground beneath their feet was dirty and muddy with puddles of filthy water, with trash scattered everywhere.
The air was stuffy, filled with the foul smell of the sewer, sour spilled beer, and sweat. A rowdy circle of spectators had formed around them laborers, thieves, and adventurers.
The second muscular man, wearing worn-out leather armor and tattered pants, came from behind. He swung his rusty iron bar toward Fyar’s head, the muscles in his arm tensing.
"DIE PIGGG!" he shouted, his eyes wide, spit flying from his mouth.
Fyar quickly lowered his body. The iron bar whistled sharply over his head. Fyar could feel the rush of air from the missed swing.
THUG!
Fyar, from his low stance, launched a straight kick to the man’s face. The tip of his shoe hit his jaw hard, making him stumble backward with a bloody nose.
"I’m raising my bet on the new kid!" a Goblin said to the middle-aged man beside him, his voice shrill.
"Idiot."
"I’m betting on the masked man!"
"I’m putting my money on the two muscular guys!"
Shouts of bets and coarse laughter were heard from the increasingly excited crowd.
Fyar moved nimbly in the middle of the makeshift arena, his feet stepping lightly on the uneven ground. He avoided every punch and swing from his two opponents with minimal movement. Occasionally, he would launch a quick counterattack at their weak points.
They’re pretty weak. Are they low-level? Or not real fighters? Fyar thought to himself.
"DON’T GET COCKY, KID!" The first muscular man charged again with his iron bar, this time swinging it horizontally.
"Neutralize," Fyar muttered softly.
Instantly, both his hands were enveloped in a dense purple energy that pulsed with a dim light.
Fyar moved forward and caught the swinging bar with his palm. A soft hiss was heard as the purple energy dampened the impact.
Fyar easily snatched the iron bar from his surprised opponent’s grasp. He then kicked the man in the stomach, sending him sprawling to the ground.
As the other man was about to punch him, Fyar quickly struck him on the head with the iron bar, which was now coated in the power of Neutralize.
THUD! THUD!
Fyar struck the man’s body repeatedly with heavy, dull sounds. The man finally fell to the ground with a face full of bruises and covered in blood.
The first man, seeing this, froze, his body shivering violently. Seeing Fyar walk slowly toward him with the iron bar in his hand, the man immediately prostrated himself, his face pressed to the dirty ground.
"I’M SORRY! I GIVE UP, I GIVE UP!" he shouted, his voice trembling.
Fyar stopped his advance and sighed. The purple energy in his hands disappeared. He glanced around.
The Goblin who had bet on him was grinning widely, showing off his sharp teeth. "Who’s the idiot now, old man?" he said to the middle-aged man beside him. The man’s face was sour as he handed over a few coins to the goblin.
Fyar walked toward the Goblin. "Give me a cut of your bet."
The Goblin hesitated, his hand protecting his coin pouch.
"HURRY UP, YOU GREDYY GREEN PIECE OF SHIT!" Fyar barked, his cold voice making some of the nearby spectators back away.
"Y-yes, sir!" The Goblin tremblingly reached into his pouch and gave three gold coins to Fyar. "H-here, here."
Fyar took the coins, then looked at the now-silent crowd. "You guys too! Everyone who bet on my name!"
Private Balcony at the Coastal Villa.
The sound of harp music and chatter from the main banquet faded for a moment as Illya stepped onto the private balcony with Rasie and Zaefal.
Zaefal and Rasie stood near the entrance to the balcony, their eyes observing the blue-haired elf girl dressed all in white and a tall, bald man, also dressed in white with red eyes, who stood at the far end of the balcony.
Under the light of the full moon hanging high above the sea, a small dining table with two chairs and a lit candle was prepared.
Martis stood there, his back to the railing, gazing at the sea. He wore an elegant, clean white suit. His brown hair was combed neatly back.
Hearing approaching footsteps, Martis turned around. A thin smile formed on his lips.
"Lady Illya Veyra," Martis greeted. His hand moved, gesturing for Illya to sit. "It is an honor that you were willing to spare some time for a private conversation. You look very beautiful in that dress."
Illya nodded, then sat in the chair Martis indicated. Her pink gown rustled slightly. "I should be the one thanking you, Lord Martis. That you would spare your time for someone like me..."
Illya looked at the sea view before her and said with a smile, "This is a magnificent view is it?."
Martis sat across from her, behind the table. He picked up his fork and cut a small piece of roasted meat on his plate. "I heard from Baroness Evangeline that you are very interested in the stability of this city. You are very wise for your age."
Illya picked up her fork, spearing a piece of meat, but didn’t eat it right away. She looked at Martis. "You are too kind, Lord Martis. Our family simply believes that good business starts from a secure foundation. Especially in a new place... moreover, with a city as fine and beautiful as this."
Martis chewed his meat slowly, then took a small sip of red wine from his glass. He placed the glass back on the table. "Precisely. Stability and beauty are everything. Although Tyelven does have a few ’minor problems’ in the lower districts, they are all under control. The people here live prosperously."
He paused. His gaze was now focused on Illya. "If your family’s investment is ever disturbed by such ’problems,’ do not hesitate to let me know. I have a few friends who can ensure everything runs smoothly."
Illya tilted her head slightly. She lifted her fork again, this time moving the piece of meat around her plate. "You are very generous, Lord Martis. However, our family has a principle to always operate through official channels." She put down her fork, her gaze now straight at Martis. "We have full faith in the law enforced by the Archduke and the Royal Guardians."
Martis’s smile remained the same, unchanged. He picked up a napkin, dabbing the corner of his lips with a precise motion. "The law... yes, the law is a very interesting thing in Tyelven." He paused for a moment. "There is the law that is written on paper, Lady Illya, and there is the law that applies on the streets."
"What is law, Lady Illya? To me, law is just a set of rules written for the interests of a select few humans. The concepts of right and wrong are also sometimes ambiguous in this world..."
"In fact... many of the kingdom’s laws actually harm its own people. In addition, perhaps some laws are made to protect certain people."
Martis leaned forward slightly. His voice was low. "I have always been curious what brings a young noblewoman from Elfier all the way here. Your father is a very established merchant and investor. Tyelven... is not the easiest place to plant new capital, Lady Illya."
Illya took a slow breath. She could feel the cool sea air blowing. "My father sees great potential in Tyelven’s logistics sector. As the kingdom’s main port, this city has vital trade routes. We wish to participate in that growth."
Martis nodded slowly. "The potential is indeed great. But there are also many ’unforeseen factors.’ For example, like the incident a few weeks ago, when a merchant ship from the south was attacked by pirates near our waters. The losses were significant. Things like that can make a novice investor think twice."
Illya picked up her wine glass, swirling it between her fingers. "I heard about that. A very unfortunate event. But I am sure the Archduke will strengthen the sea patrols after an incident like that."
"Perhaps," Martis said, giving a slight shrug. "Or perhaps they will realize that maintaining security in these waters requires... a more ’flexible cooperation.’ With parties who already understand the ins and outs. Wouldn’t you agree, Lady Illya?"
Illya sipped her wine. "Our family has always held the opinion that the best cooperation is that which is transparent and abides by the prevailing rules."
Martis gave a small laugh. "Transparent... Of course. However, sometimes, official rules do not cover all the things that need to be done to keep everything running." He placed his hand on the table, next to his plate. "Lady Illya, I hope your business trip in Tyelven is a success..."
Illya stared at him without blinking. She nodded slowly. "Thank you for the ’advice,’ Lord Martis. I will keep it in mind."