“Well, that is not a way how to greet a fellow customer, is it?” Ethan asked cheerfully, observing the group. There were six of them, including the leader, who had called him out first. They all dressed in similar pompous clothes as the man he laid eyes on first and had the same expressions of disdain after Ethan addressed them.
Looking them up and down, Ethan noted that they were all relatively young, most of them in their teens unless there was some cosmetic magic he was unaware of. Either way, Ethan had barged in on something unsavory as the elf on the floor began to wriggle and scream in a muffled voice, clearly asking to help him instead of antagonizing the group a kick away from him.
One of the sneering man’s companions interrupted his screams with a kick to his stomach. “Hey,” Ethan called out to the perpetrator. “What the hell are you doing?”
“What do you care?” the boy in the front asked, putting his nose up. Ethan was immediately reminded that he had seen such a reaction somewhere before. “We have some unresolved issues with Mr.Jerome here, and you would be kind not to interfere. Or are we going to have a problem?”
As the boy finished his little speech, Ethan felt a strange pressure engulf him, pressing on his very being. It was as if he was showered by a stream of cold water from all sides as if his very soul was touched. Ethan shook his head and steeled his resolve, mentally flexing his mind as if before doing a difficult task or lifting a heavy dumbbell. The feeling disappeared as he did so, and he looked the boy in the eye.
The boy’s eyes widened as he stepped back, feeling the anger Ethan emanated. The boy reflexively pulled a knife from a pouch tied to his belt and swung it at Ethan. However, before he could even reach him, Ethan stepped forward and slapped the boy across his face, launching him to his left and knocking him out cold.
The room went silent when the man hit his head against the inevitable wall and slid down to the floor in a helpless heap. Ethan looked at the small crowd, minus their leader. They all wore expressions of shock and stared back at him with wide eyes. Even the gagged man on the floor paused in his futile attempt to break free of his bondages and looked at Ethan in surprise.
Finally, one of the lackeys screamed in outrage, “You brute! What did you do to Boleyn?” Then all hell broke loose as the small crowd of nobles started shuffling in search of weapons to assault the brute that had interrupted their lovely evening.
Seeing that the confrontation had moved in an unsavory direction, Ethan called out loudly before any of them could move, “Hey!”
The boys paused and regarded him. Why they did so was lost on Ethan, but seeing that he got their attention, he continued, “Let's not be hasty. I do not know you, and you do not know me. What I do know is that I have business with the gentleman you have got tied up there.”
Ethan motioned to the man lying on the floor. “Now, this can go in two ways. Option one, you scoop up your friend there and get out of here,” Ethan said calmly, motioning to the knocked-out Boleyn.
“And what is option two?” one of the impatient onlookers asked.
“Option two is where I do what I did with your friend there to all of you and then hand you over to whoever is willing to scoop you up,” Ethan said seriously.
“Pff,” another of the boys laughed. “It is us five against one of you. Vargas would have mopped the floor with you if he had been here! Do not think my father will not learn of this and your threats.”
Ethan sighed, “Listen, I just need to buy some simpler clothes. Maybe a cloak. And get some directions to a shop that sells pillows. I do not care who you, your father, or your aunt is. For all I know, you could still be sucking on your momma's milk, and it would not make a difference to me. So just get out of here, or I will show you what being skewered as a shish kebab looks like.”
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
To emphasize his point, Ethan summoned his sword and raised it toward the boys drawing out a gasp from the lot of them. Ethan did not know that contrary to most of the guild members, the small crowd before him did not have well enough developed magical senses to pick up someone with aspect powers. But, as Ethan expected, the appearance of a magical and sharp-looking weapon in close quarters did wonders for his prospects. So, although he was trying his hardest not to have useless fights, they always found him instead.
Recognizing that the boys most likely were some noble brats whose parents did a terrible job educating them about the broader dangers of the world, Ethan tried to avoid getting triggered by their lack of respect. Not just because it was common sense first to evaluate a man before you jumped at his throat but also to show some respect to the various workers of their profession, even if they had some unsavory dealings that did not concern Ethan.
Ethan could not help but feel contempt for the boys, seeing the fear on the shop owner's face and whatever beef they had going on with the man. Then, seeing that the small crowd was not moving, Ethan shifted his sword and asked again, “Well? What is it going to be?”
The bravest of them all motioned for his fellows to follow him around Ethan in a wide ark as they scooped up their still knocked-out friend. Then they exited the shop, not looking back, save for the bravest, who said, “We will not forget this, you brute. I challenge you to a formal duel in Hunter's arena.”
As he said this, he threw a coin, glowing bright yellow gold, toward Ethan. Ethan promptly caught it, not sensing any danger from the small token. The coin glowed for a second in his open palm and then vanished, leaving a mark on the surface of the skin it had been on. And with that, the door closed behind the last of the noble brats, leaving Ethan alone with the shocked shop owner, who did not dare to move a muscle through the whole spectacle.
Ethan turned to the man and knelt, getting a small knife out of his storage. The man yelped at the sudden appearance of a small blade in Ethan’s hand and froze. Ethan shrugged, grabbed him, noting that he was sweating buckets, and turned him over, cutting the thick rope around his ankles and palms.
Seeing that the man was in distress, Ethan slowly stood up, took a step back, storing the knife, and said, “Look, I am not going to hurt you. I really meant what I said about needing some clothes.” Then he shook his head, remembering the time of the day, and said, “And yes, in the middle of the night, as unlikely as it may sound.”
The man stared at Ethan briefly, slowly removing his gag and wiping his brow. Then, seeing that the large man was easily towering over most of the guilders he knew of, Jerome took a calming breath and tried to gather his thoughts.
The first thing that came to his attention was that the man, clearly an apprentice rank by the presence he was exuding, had knocked out the Boleyn boy with a simple slap across the face. While not the strongest of aspect users in Veer, Thomas Boleyn was no pushover either, as his father had bought him the might aspect after spending much of his influence and money.
Jerome knew that Vargas Latimer, who usually hung out with the group, was far stronger than Thomas, given his size, but it did not change the power of the aspect they wielded and for it to be so easily disregarded. Jerome shook his head and sighed, relieved that a more reasonable person had come to his rescue and stood up to the little scoundrels.
“This has been a long night, sir,” Jerome stated, “however, thank you for stepping in. If not for you, it would have been far longer they had tied me up than I would like.” Jerome went around the small counter behind him and took out two glasses and a glass bottle with a dark brown liquid in it. He proceeded to pour a couple of drinks with a shaking hand.
Ethan observed the man from the same spot he had stood on before and noted that his anxiety slightly lifted as the man gulped the first, then second glass of what looked like whisky. Finally, done easing his nerves, Jerome motioned to the untouched glass on the counter and said, “Please, have a drink with me.”
Ethan smiled and said, “Sure, thank you for offering, Mr.Jerome.” He walked up to the counter and tried not to loom over the man, quickly finding a chair behind him and sitting down. Ethan sipped on the drink and noted its strong flavor almost burning through the back of his throat as he coughed.
“Firewater,” Jerome obliged, raising his glass. “Helps to take the mind off things by burning a hole in your throat and soul. Do not worry, though; from your presence, I feel that you are an aspect user and apprentice rank one. So this drink here should not harm you more than the normies.”
“Normies?” Ethan asked, sipping again and noting that, indeed, as advertised, the drink helped to calm his agitated mind. Drinking with an elf. What else will this day bring? Ethan thought.