"Who is that?" Zan wondered aloud.

"I dunno..." Whiskey said, taking out her seeing lens. Zan did the same.

Seeing the figure with more detail, Zan felt shivers course through his body. The figure wore a strange mask and saw itself cloaked oddly.

The figure approached Jiehong. A flash and Jiehong flew through the air, not stopping until he slammed into a tree.

"We have to go!" Zan shouted, already moving to assemble his bike. "Whiskey. Ride on my back seat?"

Whiskey looked at Zan's so-called 'back seat.' It was hardly anything. "I will approach with my scouts. But I should check on Jiehong, first. Once I tend to Jiehong's wounds, and any other effects which might be lingering from the battle lust state. I doubt it will be much, but I will do what I can. Meanwhile, lead the way! If this new figure is an enemy of ours, I will help you confront them."

Zan didn't argue. He kicked his stand and peddled hard, practically running in place on the bike. Using another amount of magical energy, he arrived before the cloaked and masked figure.

"Stop!" Zan shouted. "Who are you and why did you attack me friend, Jiehong? Are you an agent or mercenary employed by the New Woodland Expanse?!"

The figure regarded Zan.

What is he doing? Zan thought. He is just staring at me. Like I was a book in a library...

Having enough of the non-encounter, Zan reiterated, "Why did you attack my friend just now?"

This time, the figure took a step toward Zan. Though only a step.

"And who are you?" the figure spoke suddenly. The newcomer's voice sounded strange, like some weird machine might be in use to mask his real tone. Zan thought his enunciation was vitaminic, however.

"I am Zan of... here, I guess. Or, not here, but the next province over," Zan stated.

"You are a peasant?" the figure asked.

"A free one, yes."

"A free peasant? What does that even mean?!" the voice stressed the final word. Whoever this guy was, he really did not know about the dynamics of the country he was helping to invade.

Although Zan wanted to tell all about what it meant, how the history of the land when combined with the forward-looking philosophy of the King, united to create a historical rupture in theory the likes of which had never before been seen. Unfortunately, Zan couldn't say any such thing, because he did not understand any about his country's history or the philosophy of its monarch. He was un-educated in the way of the world. So, he would only shrug his shoulders in response.

"Interesting..." the figure said. Then, changing tone to a sterner sounding accent, the figure said, "I will be taking the noble now, if you don't mind."

Zan did not have the time to even defend himself, let alone muster a verbal response, when the figure held his hand up and shot at Zan the same 'flash' attack which incapacitated a raging Jiehong.

Flying back, whether by luck or misfortune, Zan smashed into the ground at a safer angle than Jiehong's rushed acquaintanceship with the tree.

Though in pain, Zan managed to stand. He knew his body armors, his shirt and pants, took most of the hurt, with his headset wires, encasing his head, acting like the helmet Zan desperately needed. If it wasn't for this headset, I might be dead, Zan reflected as he forced himself to stand. Zan drew his sword and charged the enemy.

Charging at the figure, Zan got lucky. The enemy apparently was not accustomed to his victims getting up after being blasted with that offensive light, so Zan's charge caught him off-guard. Though Zan's rushed blade attacks were evaded, the figure tripped himself on his fancy footing and fell over on his back. Maybe he isn't the most experienced field wise? Zan wondered. Surprised at the new enemy's lack of coordination.

Back the figure proved himself a capable fighter.

He pulled himself up as if by magic and was on his feet before Zan could manage a non-lethal but still wholly incapacitating blow, such as to a shoulder or hand or foot. Those were the vitals in mano-a-mano encounters between two sentient, gods-fearing warriors.

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Cursing himself, Zan chided his awkwardness at these one-on-one duals, not that he had ever done one before, but still. Had he been slightly more coordinated himself; then, he might have been able to score the finishing blow and knick-away the figure's foot or arm. Alas, it was not to be. Zan now had to face down this foe with his some of his limited resources already squandered. And he only had himself to blame.

Facing the figure, Zan had another out. Speech: "We don't have to fight. What's your name?"

When Zan finished speaking his adversary had already removed his sword and risen his blade to strike Zan. Hearing Zan speak of an alternative, though, filled the figure with an unknown quality he hadn't expected to meet on the battlefield. "My name?" the figure asked. "What is it to you?"

"Nothing, I suppose. Thought it might be nice to know the name of the man I will be fighting."

The figure regarded Zan again, this time more actively sizing Zan up as a threat. Zan could tell that was what the figure was doing as his body language spoke to him careening his neck to better see all of Zan's limits. Finally, he said, "It won't change anything. It won't change your fate. Your country's fate. My name, however? Call me Mentality."

"What?" Zan said before he had time to censor himself. "Is that like a codename or something?"

Then came the awkward silence.

"Yeah... something like that," the figure who wanted to be called 'Mentality' said to Zan.

"Okay. Fine, I guess. Weird name though..."

Opting to try and blast Zan with more of his violent light, Zan dived his way to safety upon realizing Mentality's outstretched hand was readying an attack. "What gives, Bruh?!" Zan shouted. "I thought we were getting somewhere!"

As suddenly as the light blasts started, they ended. Mentality seemed again disoriented. Barely hearing him from across their divide, Zan thought he heard the Figure Known as Mentality say, "How did he know...?" But wasn't certain.

"I'm not letting you take the viceroy!" Zan said, charging again at Mentality.

Holding his sword with both his hands, Zan intended to run his blade through the man's spirit. Such a move wasn't lethal. Though it would wholly render Mentality incapable of moving, thinking, or doing anything more than drooling and soiling himself. The trick was stopping the right distance before the blade would strike flesh; the idea was that since the attack channeled all of a person's magical energy into the tip of a physical sword, one would be able to use spiritual energy roughly as an extension of the sword. Therefore, if the attacker stopped his charge at just the right distance, wielded his weapon in the manner which the warrior needed it to be wielded, then came to a stop just before the weapon would connect, then the spirit took over and detached from the sword, irradiating the target in a hue of pure magic.

Pure magic was a rare phenomenon. Also toxic to any gods-fearing Life Forms. It would never kill, but exposure remained highly unpleasant.

Skidding to a halt and jabbing his sword forward, the moment his feet skid, Zan thrust his sword fully ahead. The blade's tip did not flare.

'Crap!' Zan cursed. 'Did I not have enough magic?' Of course, it was him being low on magic. What else could have prevent the attack from connecting? 'Inexperience in martial techniques?' Zan answered his own question. 'In short, there is a lot holding me back, so anything could have been why that attack didn't connect...'

"That it?" Mentality said. Outstretching his hand, Mentality shot at Zan several more blasts of energy. Staying ahead of the curve by tracking Mentality's hand, Zan managed to dodge every blast, though barely.

Cursing while he dodged, Zan wondered how he was going to handle this -- until Whiskey came his way.

Whiskey entered the battle with a bang. She shot at Mentality her own offensive attacks -- ice instead of flame, another common offensive magic -- forcing Mentality to either dodge or become frozen. Zan thought, perhaps, Whiskey was trying to literally freeze Mentality?

Not wanting Whiskey to fight the newcomer all by herself, Zan rejoined the fight.

Charging in for a melee attack, Zan hoped to find his blade purchase in the usual places on Mentality's body. Yet he proved fleet-footed and dodged every blade. Deciding his sword would get him nowhere, Zan sheathed his weapon and resumed his encounter with his muscle.

Right away, Zan's fist made contact with Mentality.

'Should've known,' Zan cussed to himself. 'Newcomer is adept in short-range combat but not the physical artes. I can use this to me advantage.'

And Zan did use it to his advantage. Once his fist connected, Mentality lost his footing and again fell over backward. As he fell, Mentality spat venom at Zan -- not literal venom, but verbal curses. Zan was accustomed to curses by now, though, so swearing did not take him aback.

"Whiskey! Freeze him, now!" Zan shouted as Mentality attempted to return to his feet.

Whiskey appeared to act on instinct. "What, freeze?" she said, but still incanted a brief freezing spell. Nothing fancy. Even Zan recognized the spell as an elementary 'frost bite.' Not uncommon to see used in villages the world over by low class to keep their foodstuff cold.

Mentality returned to his feet. By then, Whiskey's spell had taken effect. Aiming the spell at his legs, the magical frost threatened to root Mentality in place if he did not generate enough counter-heat to thaw himself. Would he be able to thaw himself? Zan knew that would be up to the many variables which might, or might not, be in play; how much this 'Mentality' knew about matters, Zan and Whiskey could only wait and see.

As expected, Mentality broke himself free of the icy embrace. He touched his hands to his legs and channeled some heated energy from his magic.

Before Mentality freed himself, Zan made a bold move. Realizing Mentality would be free in mere moments, Zan threw himself -- literally -- at Mentality. Whoever this guy was, Zan was sure he wasn't so overpowered as to be a mortal threat. He would take the risk and pummel him in the meantime, if the Gods were willing.