“Everyone stop!” A new voice yelled.

A man in half plate trundled through the crowd toward the conflict. He was clearly a guard, but just like everyone else here, he was a pretty low tier. Tristan remembered seeing Kieth at the Stone Fort, so not even the guards were spared from the draft. The guard had no weapons, except a club with a metal cap.

Tristan, who was still sitting, did not move. The four acolytes gritted their teeth, but they were the ones who had started everything. There were enough witnesses to prove that, and they would be left with the defense, he said mean things. Tristan was glad for the guard, he helped de-escalate the situation instantly.

The man in half plate sidled up and glared at all the young people. It made sense that only young people would disturb his peace. His two subordinates stepped up behind him. They already had their clubs drawn. His eyes then landed on a hero. Well, not a literal hero, but an example to the people.

Saluting Shadow Fist, the guard said, “Lord Shadow Fist, what is the issue here.”

Shadow Fist was a celebrity, a hero to the people of the Forest Caldera. He was born as a commoner and was raised to his current position through hard work and results. Despite him being second in line to the seat of Elder Forrest, he still treated the common man with respect.

“Captain Jon,” Shadow Fist nodded, “It's good to see you.”

Jon grinned inside. Shadow Fist remembered his name, even the other guards straightened a little. Jon refocused on what Shadow Fist said. He did take note of the young man with golden eyes slowly getting to his feet.

“This here is Sage, at least according to any records that we have, he antagonized these acolytes, and stole their property after riling them up,” Shadow Fist gestured to the marble in Tristan’s hand.

Tristan, well he guessed it was Sage now, glared at his father. Everything that Shadow Fist had claimed was technically true. Even some of the people in the crowd were nodding their heads in agreement. The acolytes grinned in victory until Shadow Fist continued speaking.

“Fine the acolytes for the time they wasted and property damage,” Shadow Fist turned his dark gaze to Tristan, “Apprehend Sage, he has a tier two metal kern, justice will not be served if the temple is left to handle it.”

Tristan was not sure if he should be surprised or not. He had actually mentioned this as a possibility before he had set foot in the temple. He had called his father a coward, and thus should not be surprised when he acted like one.

Jon raised his club and said, “Come on young man, don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Tristan was not sure what kind of kern the guards had, though, at tier one, a kern was only good for artifacts and limited visual effects. They had no metal artifacts, so he was not entirely sure what they were planning to do if he resisted. A fifty percent greater physique was a massive advantage. It was hard to overstate how big of a jump that was, it would normally require specialized training like Shadow Fist’s to jump a tier or specialized weaponry. Tristan had both, putting these poor men solidly below Tristan’s capabilities.

Throwing a look at his father, “You, really want to do this?”

Shadow Fist folded his arms behind his back, “Your actions are your own, take responsibility for them.”

Shaking his head, Tristan turned back to the guards. He could not believe that his father of all people was lecturing him on responsibility. Tristan inspected the three men and the four acolytes that were slowly surrounding him. There was nothing for him in this fight. He pocketed the essence reservoirs he filched from the staves and took a deep breath.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Well, looks like we're going to make this as hard as possible,” Tristan said. The guard prepared to defend himself, only to be shocked when Tristan ran away.

“What,” Jon spluttered, “No, get back here!”

Tristan charged at the observers who scrambled to get out of his way. This cleared the way for his pursuers, but he was not held back by heavy armor or ceremonial robes. Jumping onto the back of a wagon he followed up by jumping onto the roof of a smithy. It had tiles instead of thatch for obvious reasons, allowing Tristan to run over the roof and jump. He reinforced his ankles hips and knees to absorb the landing.

Then he started running. While he was sure his endurance was greater than his pursuers, he would not bet on it with only one good lung. He crossed the opposite street and turned down an alley. There was an inset door where the craftsman here threw out his scraps. He ducked in just in time. Jon realized that Tristan would be unlikely to simply camp on the smith’s roof and simply ran around.

Tristan struggled to repress a grin as he watched the guards ask if they had seen a young man with black hair. As black, blond, and brunette were the most common hair colors, the man’s description covered a full third of the young men in the Caldera.

Tristan’s mirth was ruined when Shadow Fist stepped out of the shadows, and pointed straight at Tristan, “Right there.”

Raising his eyebrows at the move Tristan turned his attention to the alley. It had an exit, but he was no longer sure if he could escape. Shadow Fist had shown some very advanced stealth skills and was faster than he was. It was not the full-on invisibility that dark elementals had, more like he was simply not noteworthy, a piece of the background that one’s mind would naturally ignore.

The guards warily inspected the alley. Jon turned to one of his subordinates, “I don’t like it. This is a choke point, go get back up.”

Tristan decided to speed up their decision making process. Drawing his knives he stabbed them through the wall. He was slightly surprised that the stone held. Dagger over dagger he pulled himself up to the second floor of the building. It was a flat roofed structure that was clearly the domain of a gardener. Potted plants sat on every edge, most were vegetable pants, but there were a few flowers and some vines. Clothing lines made neat rows. Pants, shirts, and undergarments were hung from them and an extra spool of wire sat beside the post.

While this would be an excellent spot to make a final stand, Tristan had no desire to make a final stand. He looked over the edge of the building and saw several more guards forming a cordon around the building. For a moment he considered jumping down, the guards could not really stop him from doing as he pleased. But then he made eye contact with Shadow Fist, who simply shook his head in disappointment.

A thin man with almost white gold hair was led up to Shadow Fist by one of the guards. Tristan instantly knew he was someone important by how he was obviously mocking Shadow Fist. There were only so many people here who could do that. Elder Forest and the civil protector were the only ones he could think of. This man looked like how Tristan would expect the Golden Heart patriarch would. The standard hair and almost white eyes were a dead giveaway.

At tier four, Tristan was certain that the man had enough control to stop his eyes from glowing like there was a lantern in his head. Tristan decided that the top of this crafter’s home would be a great spot to fight a tier four. Light kerns were commonly thought of as weak, more of a commercial essence type that would naturally be good with plants. However, when it was scaled up to tier four, Tristan would not be surprised if the man would heal in real time, and have almost limitless stamina. He would also be almost twice as fast and strong as Tristan.

Tristan knew that he would need an environmental advantage to win. He knew that his death was not the goal, so he could take some risks. Tristan could simply refuse to help if they took too much from him. That was something he could take advantage of. His knives could be damaged by what was most likely a tier three artifact weapon, but they would still make short work of the patriarch if he made contact.

The thought of fighting the Golden Heart patriarch gave him a sick feeling. He paused while winding the excess clothing lines around objects at ankle level. That was odd, he had not felt this way when fighting Regis or Kerri. It took him a moment to realize where the discomfort was coming from. Somewhere along the line, he had started to consider Bruce a friend, and now he was contemplating killing his father.

What was going on? He had gotten so used to fighting to the death that he was considering killing a friend’s father. It had been a slow degradation, first it was elementals, then crabs, then people. There had always been a justified reason, and every time he had been the weaker party. Tristan gritted his teeth at the unfairness of it all, if it came down to his life or the patriarch’s he would choose his own. Silently, he apologized to Bruce.