The sobbah came to a stop, reaching a platform at the Netzach station. Seconds later, its doors slid open, allowing its numerous passengers to disembark in an orderly fashion. Among them were Mavros and his fellow travelers: the Ayarian merchants Jabir, Ayman, and his son Sheida. They all walked without stopping towards the exit, propelled by the relentless flow of people.

"...and after single-handedly dispatching those soldiers and Ashaim demons, we went to thank him. The Abiyr was very courteous and helped us find a safe haven. Just as we did, and he was about to leave us, my father asked for his name. After telling us, he bid farewell and quickly departed. We never heard from him again." Ayman finished narrating the story of their savior.

"He told you his name..." Mavros said, lowering his gaze thoughtfully before raising it again. "Do you happen to remember what it was?"

Ayman nodded gently.

"Shehor," he replied. "His name was Shehor."

“Shehor...” Mavros murmured, delving deep into his thoughts. It's the first time I've heard it... Nevertheless, it feels familiar. He touched the pendant on the chain that the merchant had just given him. He had decided to wear it around his neck from that moment on. From the way it sounds, it's most likely Tarburian... just like apparently all the Abiyrs were. That Abiyr might be my “master.”

The facilities of the Netzach station, the capital city of Najta, caught his attention. Its vast spaces were teeming with people coming and going through different gates and corridors. Its high, vaulted, and transparent glass ceilings were remarkable, and the walls and floors were made of a hard, perfectly smooth material.

If the architecture of this station is this spectacular, the rest of the city must be even more so, he thought, quite pleased with his first impression of the metropolis. But then, the knight realized something that made him forget his enthusiasm.

Wait... I haven't seen Luciara since we disembarked.

Slightly alarmed, he scanned the surroundings with his eyes and glanced over his left shoulder.

There you are.

He spotted her just a few meters away in the crowd, quickening her pace to catch up with him and stand by his side. With nothing to worry about, he heaved a relieved sigh.

"Why are you following me?" Mavros asked, observing how she kept pace with him. "From here on, we're parting ways for good. We'll both finally be free to 'do as we please'."

The young woman turned toward the knight, her gaze sharp and keen as an eagle's. She didn't find the sarcasm in his last comment amusing at all.

"Are you an idiot?" she scolded. "If we encounter a guard post at the exit, you could get into trouble if I don't vouch for you and present you as my 'escort.' Have you forgotten that I had to do the same thing in Hezaran to get you into the station?"

It's true. Mavros fell silent, lowering his head as he averted his gaze.

As Luciara said, it was necessary for her to continue accompanying him for a little while longer to deal with that inconvenience. Being armed and clad in full body armor aroused justified suspicion among the guards. Except for them and other special cases like Holy Warriors, mercenaries, and accredited bodyguards, carrying such conspicuous weaponry was strictly prohibited in most public spaces.

"This will be the last time I help you," Luciara warned the knight. "Once we're out of here, you'll have to fend for yourself."

"I'm well aware of that," the knight replied, showing no sign of distress about the impending future she foretold. "It wouldn't be the first time I've had to make my own way."

After this nonchalant response, the young woman turned away from him with a sharp twist of her lips, her irritation evident.

While they walked, Sheida had been following their brief conversation with curiosity.

Mavros is as annoyed as she is, the young man observed. What on Senshan happened between them that they can't stand each other? Why wouldn't he tell me? He must have had a failed romance. It can't be anything else.

As he turned his head back to the front, he saw the large exit doors guarded by several soldiers, wearing open face helmets resembling wide-brimmed hats.

His smile vanished instantly.

Grianzan soldiers…

They were dressed in bulky, blue cotton jackets with black lines in square patterns. Their limbs were protected by small metal pieces connected by chains. Black pants covered their legs, and brown boots adorned their feet. Some carried halberds, while others wielded hand axes. Small shields, red with a blue diagonal stripe in the center, were fastened to their backs. The shields were rectangular at the top but curvilinear and pointed at the bottom.

Like Sheida, Ayman and Jabir became alert, scanning their surroundings repeatedly. They noticed how several people began to quietly grow uneasy due to their presence, which was expected in this city. The distrust toward Ayarians there far exceeded that of any other region in the land.

They'll stop us any moment now, Ayman sensed, remaining vigilant as they approached the exit, where they could see the guards.

Three helmetless guards, who stood out from the rest, spotted them. They exchanged a few words and then separated from the wall against which they were leaning to approach Ayman and block his path. With raised hand gestures, the three guards compelled the merchants to stop. Among them was a young and good-looking woman with loose black hair that reached her neck and a pair of tall, well-built men, slightly older than her, with short, tousled blonde hair. The identical appearance of the twins reinforced their siblinghood. These three warriors wore more elaborate and light pieces of protection compared to the other soldiers.

“Halt,” the woman commanded imperatively, speaking with a distinct foreign accent. She was at the forefront of the group, with the twins covering her back.

Hm? Mavros and Luciara were drawn to her voice and proceeded to observe the scene from a prudent distance.

Those armors...

Are they Holy Warriors?

Both of them wondered. The detailed reliefs on their light armor suggested so. Prominent among them were the rooster holding a double-edged axe with its right leg, emblazoned on their breastplates, and the fleur-de-lis on their pauldrons. Familiar with them, Luciara recognized them as the symbols of the Holy House of Lis, the Order of Holy Warriors originating from the Elvirean kingdom of Grianz.

The guard and her two "bodyguards" stopped a few meters in front of Ayman and his companions.

"What are you doing here? Why are you in Netzach?" she interrogated, making no effort to hide her antipathy. She and the twins gripped the handles of their sheathed axes with their strong hands, ready to wield them if necessary.

"We are artisans," Ayman responded calmly, not letting her attitude intimidate him. "We have permits from the League of Viceroyalties to trade our art in the Maskirian Week markets."

"Artisans?... With permits from ze League for ze Maskirian Week?" the young woman repeated in a low voice, rubbing her chin in a skeptical posture, which she soon abandoned. "Ha! You'll regret it eef you're trying to fool us." She extended her left hand, making a demanding gesture. "Come on. Show nous your papiers."

The Ayarians unslung their backpacks and placed them on the ground. Each of them reached into one of the pockets to retrieve small books with leather covers. Sheida and Jabir handed theirs to Ayman, who then approached the guards.

"Here you go, they're all in order."

The guard and her companions proceeded to open and examine the books carefully. For a few brief moments, they cast furtive glances at their owners. To their surprise, despite their efforts to scrutinize, they found nothing wrong with them.

"Step aside," one of the twins ordered.

"We weel inspect your luggage," added his brother.

Reluctantly, all three obeyed the instruction.

The three guards advanced and bent down slightly to open the backpacks and rummage through them. After extracting clothing and other items of little value, their pupils gleamed, stimulated by the beauty of the jewelry and crafts they had just discovered at the bottom. Most of them were wheels, figurines, and emblems with three pentagons together—the symbols of Maskirio, "The Closest to the Heavens."

If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

"It's…"

"Beautiful."

The twins were captivated by what they saw.

"Where did you get zis? It's of excellent quality," the woman asked, still marveling at a ring in the palm of her hand.

"All our merchandise is crafted in our workshops... I'm glad you like it," Ayman said.

Cold sweat poured from his forehead and the foreheads of his companions. The fact that these guards wouldn't stop touching and admiring the fruits of their labor made them extremely uncomfortable.

The woman signaled to the twins. They joined her and spoke quietly in a language the Ayarians didn't understand. While Luciara had a decent command of the language, the distance prevented her from hearing clearly what they were saying.

Only Mavros, with his keen hearing, could capture and perfectly decipher the words they uttered.

I hope they're just joking with each other… he thought, frowning in displeasure.

The three guards nodded, concluding their brief discussion. They fixed serious and grim stares on the merchant.

"You're lying!" the woman exclaimed loudly, pointing at Ayman accusingly.

He and all his companions were startled.

Curious about the commotion, several soldiers and passersby turned toward their position. The bolder ones ventured closer to get a better view of what was happening.

"Do you take us for fools?" the woman spat at the Ayarians. "It's clear zat zese jewels are stolen!"

They raised their eyebrows, dismayed by such a grave accusation.

"Could it be true?" Luciara murmured, perplexed by what she was hearing.

"Of course not," Mavros denied firmly, trying to suppress his anger as he kept a close eye on the guards' maneuver. He knew well what the three of them had plotted in secret.

One of the twins held up a necklace at head height. "Zese jewels are from ze bank those pirates looted in Cirencre."

"Ui," his brother supported. "Not only do zey murder our soldiers and citizens, but zey also 'ave ze audacity to steal and come to resell what belongs to us in our territories."

Increasingly infuriated by their false claims, the merchants curled their lips, overwhelmed by indignation and shame. They could feel the murmurs and contemptuous glances from the onlookers, most of whom sided with the guards.

"We are not criminals!" Ayman protested, vehemently rejecting the slander against them. "Did you not read the permits? All our merchandise is duly certified!"

"Your permits..." the woman said, with a sardonic smile. She gathered and held the papers of the three men with her left hand. "And what guarantees do we 'ave that zey're not a fraud? Your deceptions 'ave become très sophisticated. You can say all you want, but it's absurd zat ze League authorities 'ave granted zese privileges to ze likes of you."

“The ‘likes of you’?!"

“You bitch!”

That derogatory term infuriated Jabir and Sheida, who advanced with tense muscles toward her. Ayman anticipated what they intended to do and stopped them just in time, blocking their way with his arms.

"Calm down!" he ordered.

Reluctantly, the two regained their composure. As tempting as it was, they became aware that giving in to their impulses would be a mistake.

Meanwhile, the guards smiled, savoring the discord they had sown.

"We should detain and lock you in a dungeon, ze only place you should be; but we're in a good mood today, so we'll be 'compassionate,'" the woman said. "We'll only confiscate zese jewels. You can return to zee wretched hovel from whence you came."

The Ayarian clenched their fists, struggling not to explode with frustration.

This is not a legal seizure. It's nothing more than a blatant extortion, Luciara judged, observing the guards' behavior with great repulsion.

Even part of the audience that had initially supported the Holy Warriors silenced their praises, beginning to feel uncomfortable with the questionable turn of events.

Mavros remained quiet, calm as water. His armor concealed the fierce storm brewing within him. He watched as the guard closed the fingers of her right hand, except for her index finger. From its tip, a small blue flame emerged, no larger than a candle's, which she brought within inches of their companions' documents.

"What's ze matter? Won't you accept our 'deal'?" she asked, as they refused to relinquish their belongings. She smiled maliciously, bringing the flame even closer to their vulnerable paperwork. "Do you want your freedom to turn to ashes?"

"Zat’s ze way to go, Docemin!"

"Show them who's in charge!"

The twins backed her with laughter, proud of the escalation of their performance.

That blue flame... This lunatic knows advanced pyromancy! Luciara realized when she discerned the nature of her fire, leaving her stunned.

For Mavros, that had been the final straw.

Enough.

After those unbearable minutes, he finally decided to take action.

Huh?

Ma…

Mavros?

Astonished, the Ayarians watched as he stepped between them and the Holy Warriors who were harassing them.

Docemin, the guard, raised her left eyebrow, confused by his intervention. Mavros stared at her, less than two meters away, in a still and imposing posture. With his left hand, he partially lifted the lower part of his helmet, revealing his mouth.

"What do you want? Can't you see we're busy?" Docemin scolded, but the knight remained silent, not moving from his spot. His lips stretched into a straight and forced smile, characteristic of someone experiencing vicarious embarrassment.

Suddenly, his lips parted, emitting a dry, brief sound.

The audience gasped in amazement. The knight had just spit a fast shot at the woman's right eye.

"AAH!" She screamed, touching her eye in disgust as she felt an unpleasant irritation. Mavros closed his helmet again.

"Espés de miserabla!" The twins brandished their axes and rushed to the defense of their accomplice. They tried to strike the knight, but he moved to the side, drawing his staff. The guards turned and attacked him again, but the knight defended himself and successfully blocked their axes. After a brief struggle, he pushed them, making them step back a few paces.

Taken by surprise by his strength and skill, the two guards paused their offensive.

"What's your problem, bastard?"

"Do you want us to kill you?"

They yelled at him.

The knight was not affected in the least by their aggression.

"Votre pagrtenaigr jat de la chans de etren femme," Mavros told them, speaking in Grianzan, their language. "Sinon, yogré cassé son visach au sol."

What?!

The Holy Warriors were left stunned, not only because he revealed that he knew their native language but also because of what he had just said.

Your friend is lucky to be a woman… Otherwise, I would have shattered her face on the ground! It was the closest translation Luciara could extract, a translation that left her as stunned as the other Grianzan speakers in the audience. It was the first time she had heard Mavros express himself with such violence.

"I shall speaketh it in the Common Tongue, for I wisht it to be crystal clear," Mavros continued, assuming his knightly persona, wishing his words to reach all witnesses. "These merchants art completely innocent. The three of thee art the sole ones here who have proven to be malefactors; thou art unworthy of the attire thou dost bear. I shall not allow thee to continueth abusing these folk with thy cynicism."

"Oh..." Docemin murmured, turning back after wiping off the spit she had received. "I understand now," she said, gazing at the golden necklace around the knight's neck, identical to several she had taken from the Ayarian backpacks. "You're friends wiz zese wretches... How can a knight from our realms like you sympathize wiz Ayarian scum? Aren't you ashamed?"

"Who are you?!" demanded the twins.

Mavros remained silent for a brief moment.

"I'm but a wandering sword," he finally replied. "And I beg thy pardon, but I shall not squander my moments elucidating notions to filthy creatures unable to grasp them. Hearing thee attempting to mimic the tongue of man is embarrassing enough to bring a blush to my cheeks. "

Everyone was left dumbfounded by these verbal jabs, especially Docemin, who felt momentarily cut by their sharpness. When she came to her senses, she became agitated and threw the documents on the ground.

“FIST DE PUIT!”, she yelled at Mavros in Grianzan. Her two hands covered in angry blue flames, ready to incinerate him instead of the paper.

"Attends, Docemin."

Before she could attack him, her two companions asked her to stop and intervened.

"Permete nou de gegé cet idiot."

They unhooked their shields from their backs to use them as secondary weapons. They raised their guards, ready to resume the fight.

"Thou both shalt engage me in combat, aye, a wondrous turn of fate," Mavros said. "As deserving of stern retribution as she may be, my Code discourages violence against women."

Confused, everyone watched as the knight sheathed his staff. Then, he unslung it from his back and let it drop to the ground. Soon, the sword followed. He had disarmed himself completely.

"Furthermore, mine Code demandeth that I always partake in a duel under the most fair of circumstances. In this instance, even mine staff is an extravagance against adversaries of such meager value. Mine arms and legs shall suffice abundantly." He looked at both of them from the ground up. He adopted an unusual combat stance with open hands and fingers held together firmly. "Should ye, by any chance, possess full suits of armor at thy disposal, thou would be wise to retrieve them forthwith. For thou shalt require them to endure, and I harbor no objection to a brief delay."

"Is he challenging both of them to a barehanded fight?"

"What's with that ridiculous pose?"

"Where did this buffoon come from?"

Such comments and similar ones began to spread among the astonished crowd. Allowing the effect of temporary bewilderment to dissipate, the arrogance returned to the expressions of Docemin and the blond twins.

"Are you really going to challenge us unarmed?" one of the twins asked, smiling with mocking disbelief.

"Yes," Mavros nodded firmly. "Thou canst both assail me at the same time, wielding thy battle-axes. The distinction between executing it or abstaining from it shall prove but trifling."

This new entry into the long list of provocations launched at them turned their upward, self-assured smirks into impatient downward ones. Both brothers looked at each other and nodded. They didn't need to exchange words to convey their verdict.

"Whatever you wish, insolent cretin. My brother and I weel grant you your 'fair beating'," one of the twins acting as the spokesperson said. "Consider yourself lucky if all your bones aren't broken when we're done wiz you. Let's see if you'll be just as cocky when you rot in ze darkness of prison."

"Verily, a grandiloquent display of words. It overflows with musings," Mavros replied with irony. As he had mentioned earlier, the pretentiousness of their speech and attitude embarrassed him to the point of making him blush. “Yet, I'd counsel thee to cease thy prattle and procure worthy arms. I am eager to witness if thou shalt translate thy 'poetry' into combat."

"Poetry in combat... Zat’s our specialty. Very soon, you'll feel it coursing through your body. Maybe even reaching your heart, but in a way beyond mere imagination," the other twin affirmed, smiling wickedly. He turned to a couple of soldiers nearby. "Écoute! Allez à l’arsenal et apportez des armures de plats!"

"Ui, Ser!" The soldiers nodded fearfully and hurried to carry out his command.

Not so far from them, another soldier had been following the incident.

This... This is not good... This is madness. He thought, horrified at the scene that was about to unfold.

Taking advantage of the distraction caused by the twins and the daring wandering knight who challenged them, he turned his back and left the station with quick but stealthy steps. Once he had distanced himself enough, he started running urgently.

I have to inform “Man at Axes” about this! He's the most suitable to put an end to this disorder!