Wednesday night. The Silver Wave Guild’s private dock.
That night, the dock felt silent, a contrast to the bustle of the city center. The light of the full moon reflected on the dark, calm surface of the sea. The only light source on the dock was a few magical lanterns mounted on wooden posts, their dim light creating long, swaying shadows. The air was filled with the scent of saltwater and wet wood.
Lord Emeric stood at the edge of the dock, his hands clasped behind his back. He was watching his first cargo ship, "The Hope," as it was being unloaded under the dark of night. The dockworkers moved under the lantern light, lifting crates from the ship’s hold. This ship carried an order of expensive silk, a crucial first victory for their alliance.
On the ship, an alchemical steam-powered crane began to lift the last and largest wooden crate. The crane creaked as it lifted the heavy load into the air, swinging it slowly from the ship toward the dimly lit dock.
Suddenly, one of the workers controlling the crane’s lever jolted. His hand "accidentally" pushed the lever too hard.
"Ah, oops, my hand!" he said.
The steel crane cable strained with a high-pitched screech, then snapped with a loud crack. The giant wooden crate broke free from its hook. The object fell freely in a moment of silence, then slammed into the stone floor of the dock.
CRASH!
The sound of splintering wood resounded across the quiet dock. The crate shattered into pieces. Brightly colored rolls of silk spilled out, several of which fell directly into the dark seawater between the ship and the dock.
All activity stopped. The workers stared in horror at the ruined cargo. Lord Emeric’s face turned pale under the lantern light.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU IDIOT?!" he shouted, his voice trembling with rage.
Before anyone could answer, another chaotic event occurred. In another part of the dock, a group of workers moving a stack of barrels suddenly stumbled in the darkness. One of them fell, crashing into his colleagues. Three large barrels of foul-smelling fish oil rolled over, and their lids came off. The thick, dark liquid flowed out rapidly, immediately flooding a stack of clean, white cotton bales that were waiting to be transported. The white color instantly turned into a dark, wet stain. A pungent, fishy stench immediately filled the night air.
"NO!" Lord Emeric roared. "Who are these people?! DAMN IT DAMM IT!"
Just then, the sound of synchronized footsteps was heard approaching from the direction of the dock gate. A group of city guards, carrying blazing torches, marched into the dock area. They were led by a captain with a cynical face.
"We received a report about ’suspicious activity’ and ’violation of nighttime safety standards’ at this dock," the captain said in a loud voice, his torch illuminating the broken crate and the soiled cloth.
"Violation?!" Lord Emeric retorted. "CAN’T YOU SEE WHAT HAPPENED?!"
The captain took a step forward, his face now just centimeters from Lord Emeric’s. "Watch your tone, old man!" he snapped. Lord Emeric flinched back slightly. "WE HAVE THE RIGHT TO USE FORCE IF YOU DO NOT COMPLY!" the captain shouted.
He signaled to his men. "All activity on this dock is halted. This ship is to be detained until sunrise for an investigation."
His men moved immediately, placing seals on the ship’s ropes and blocking the entrance to the warehouse. The "Silver Wave" workers could only back away in fear.
Lord Emeric stood frozen in the middle of his now-paralyzed dock. His eyes stared blankly at his water-soaked silk, his stained cotton, and his now-sealed ship. He understood now. This was no accident. This was an attack.
At the VIP balcony of the "Rusty Rat" Arena...
Fyar sat in his chair, ignoring Kail’s coarse laughter beside him. His sharp eyes behind the white mask stared straight at the arena below. The bonfire in the center was still burning brightly, its heat faintly reaching the stone balcony.
"THIRD QUALIFYING ROUND MATCH!" The announcer’s voice resounded. "IN THE RED CORNER, FROM THE SILVER CITY... JAX ’THE FLASH’! "
"GO, JAX!"
"JAX! JAX! JAX!"
"JAX, I’VE ALREADY LOST TWICE, JAX, YOU’RE MY ONLY HOPE, JAX!"
"JAX, I SOLD MY WEAPON TO BET ON YOUR NAME, JAX!"
"JAX, YOU BASTARD, DON’T FUCKING LOSE!"
A few shouts of support were heard from the stands. A young man with a blond buzz cut leaped into the arena. He wore light leather armor, and small sparks of electricity danced around his steel gauntlets.
Sparks of lightning. Is he a Hunter with a lightning sub-class? This is the first time I’ve seen one. Fyar then turned to Kail. "What’s his level, Kail?"
"Ah, him... he’s level eighteen, Hunter class," Kail answered, taking an occasional sip of his wine. "I’m not that interested in him, because I’m betting on his opponent. Why, kid? You want to bet too?"
I knew it.
Kail grinned widely. "A level nineteen Witch! Ahahaha!"
"AND HIS OPPONENT, FROM THE MAGES’ CIRCLE... ELARA! "
A young woman with long brown hair entered calmly from the other side. She wore a simple blue robe and held a short wooden staff. She looked calm, a contrast to her opponent’s wild energy.
Kail turned to his associate, Mikail. "Oi, you fool! Who are you betting on this time?!"
Mikail chuckled, rubbing his rough chin with his hand. "Heh, Elara, of course!"
A Lightning Hunter versus a Witch. Speed versus control. This will be interesting. Fyar leaned forward, observing intently.
"LET THE FIGHT... BEGIN!"
Jax immediately dashed forward. His body was enveloped in a thin electric aura, his movements so fast they left a blurry trail. He aimed to end the fight before the witch could cast a spell.
Elara remained still. Just as Jax was a few meters in front of her, she slammed her staff on the ground.
GRRRK!
A thick wall of earth suddenly erupted from the arena floor, right in front of Jax. he was forced to a sudden stop to avoid a collision.
Jax clicked his tongue. He jumped to the side, looking for an opening. But Elara had already slammed her staff again. New earth walls continued to appear, creating a small labyrinth in the arena, forcing him to constantly change direction.
"OI, OI! IS THAT ALL YOU CAN DO, WITCH?!" Jax shouted. He raised his hands, and balls of electricity began to form in his palms, then he shot them at the earth walls.
BOOM! BOOM!
The electric explosions destroyed the walls, turning them to dust. Jax once again had a straight path to Elara. But as he dashed forward through the remains of the destroyed walls, his feet suddenly felt incredibly heavy. The ground he was stepping on had now turned into thick, sticky mud.
A second trap. Those walls were just a distraction. Witches really are this scary?
Jax struggled to lift his feet from the mud. His speed was now completely gone. Elara, from a safe distance, raised her staff.
"I’m sorry," she said softly.
From the ground all around Jax, dozens of sharp stone spikes erupted upward. A scream of pain was heard for a moment before the referee finally jumped into the middle and stopped the fight.
Huh, was there a referee earlier? Fyar thought to himself.
The referee raised Elara’s hand. "THE FIGHT IS OVER! THE WINNER... FROM THE MAGES’ CIRCLE... ELARA! WHAT A NIGHTT WHAT A NIGHTTT!!!!"
The majority of the audience groaned in disappointment. Rough curses and the sound of coins being thrown angrily onto the stone floor could be heard. However, on the other side, a small group of spectators cheered happily.
"I TOLD YOU! NEVER UNDERESTIMATE A MAGE!"
"FUCKK FUCCCK FUCCCK"
"WHA THE FUCKKK"
"WHA THE FUCK JAX?"
" 3 WIN IN A ROWWWWWWWW"
one of them shouted while collecting his winnings from a sullen bookie.
On the VIP balcony, Mikail laughed out loud. "HAHAHA! I’M NOT GOING BROKE, KAIL, HAHAHAHA!" He slapped the table hard.
Kail laughed along and put his arm around Mikail’s shoulder. They danced together. "AHAHAHA, THANK GOODNESS YOU DIDN’T MAKE ANOTHER STUPID DECISION, HAHAHAHA!"
In the midst of the commotion, Fyar heard nothing. His mind was focused on what he had just witnessed.
A Witch. She’s level 19, which means she’s on par with Illya. I knew it, the Witch class is the most absurd class in this world. Unlike a Hunter whose elements are limited, a Witch seems to be able to do anything as long as she knows the spell. He remembered the few books he’d read in the library, but the information was very limited. From what I’ve seen of Illya and this woman, the way to defeat a Witch is to force them to use their spells until their energy is depleted. And that’s if I can even survive that long.
Fyar then leaned back in his chair. He watched Elara walk out of the arena without a look back.
A Hunter relies on speed. Their weakness is area control. A witch is a strategist. Never let them dictate the battlefield. A small, enclosed area is very advantageous for them...
He picked up his wine glass and drank its contents in a single gulp.
Fyar let out a long sigh and murmured, "I wonder what Illya is doing right now..."