Chapter 9: The Story of Two Adventurers - Part Two.

  The village of Saikono lay cloaked in the chill of night, the air crisp and heavy with silence. Though dozens of villagers had gathered to witness the duel, not a single voice broke the stillness. The only sound was the mournful howl of the wind as it wove through the crowd, tugging at the hair of Fulan and the blond swordsman who sat side by side on the long wooden bench. They waited, their eyes fixed on the path leading into the village, where the bearded adventurer would soon appear.

  The village itself was a quiet, humble place, its wooden homes huddled close together as if seeking warmth. The flickering glow of lanterns cast shifting shadows over the dirt roads, illuminating the faces of those gathered. Some villagers clutched their coats tighter against the creeping cold, while others leaned forward, eager to witness the outcome of the night's tension.

  Minutes passed in silence before the sound of footsteps finally echoed through the night. All eyes turned to see the bearded man approaching, his broad silhouette outlined against the faint village lights. His heavy boots crushed the brittle grass beneath him, and with every step, his presence grew more imposing. There was an unmistakable weight to his movements—a simmering fury barely contained beneath his skin. Yet beside him, Fayrouz walked with unshaken grace, her expression unreadable, her violet cloak fluttering slightly in the breeze.

  The moment Fulan and the blond swordsman caught sight of them, the swordsman inhaled sharply and placed a hand on his knee, preparing to rise. But before he could stand, Fulan extended an arm, blocking him without a word. His gaze never wavered from the approaching figures, his dark eyes steady, unyielding.

  The villagers began to murmur among themselves, their voices a low, uncertain hum.

  "What's this?" one muttered.

  "Isn't that the young man who stopped the fight earlier?"

  "What does he think he's doing now?"

  "He's still young. He probably doesn't understand what a duel between warriors means."

  "If he doesn't, he'll die here."

  "Should someone tell him?"

  "Impossible. I'm just a simple merchant with no talent or strength. We'll leave it to fate."

  The words swirled through the crowd like dry leaves in the wind—whispers of doubt, of curiosity, of quiet resignation. Yet Fulan paid them no mind. He stepped forward, his movements slow and deliberate, his breath steady against the cold night air.

  The bearded man's gaze darkened as he watched Fulan approach. His fingers curled around the hilt of his axe, its head still embedded in the earth. His voice was low, firm. "Are you telling me you're going to hide behind this boy now?"

  A dangerous heat pulsed in the air as the axe began to glow, its silver surface shifting to a molten orange. The warmth spread outward, turning the crisp night air thick with the scent of burning iron.

  "What a disgrace!" The bearded man roared.

  Crash!!!

  With a thunderous strike, the axe came down, sending a vertical wave of scorching energy hurtling toward Fulan. The very air trembled as the force of the attack tore into the ground, searing a blackened scar into the earth. Dirt and embers shot into the sky, casting a fleeting glow over Fulan's unmoving form. His cloak rippled violently, his hair lifted by the heatwave. And yet, his expression did not change.

  'His attack didn’t hit me. Did he miss?'

  A faint white aura shimmered around Fulan’s frame as he turned his head slightly, his thoughts racing.

  'No… It’s impossible for a seasoned adventurer to miss a stationary target. He wasn’t aiming for me from the start!'

  Fulan's realization struck just as the blond swordsman began to draw his massive blade, preparing to intercept the incoming energy wave. But Fulan was faster.

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  Whoosh!

  In a burst of speed, he darted in front of the swordsman, positioning himself as a shield. Gasps rippled through the gathered villagers as Fulan clenched his fists, his body tensing against the oncoming attack. Then, with blinding speed, he began punching the energy wave, his strikes landing like a relentless storm.

  [25 Sonic Punches!]

  His fists moved in a blur, each impact chipping away at the searing wave of orange energy. Sparks flew, illuminating his determined expression as the force of his blows shattered the attack into countless glowing fragments. The fiery remnants scattered like falling stars, fading into the cold night air. The entire exchange lasted no more than three seconds—but in its wake, only stunned silence remained.

  The bearded man lowered his axe, resting it against his shoulder, his gaze locked onto Fulan. There was irritation in his eyes, but also something else—a flicker of grudging respect. "That's a reckless way to stop an attack like that," he said, his voice calm but carrying an edge of tension. "Are you so eager to interfere that you'd risk losing your hands?"

  At his words, the villagers turned their attention to Fulan's hands. The skin was red and blistered, raw from the sheer force of his strikes. The pain throbbed like a living thing beneath his flesh, yet he merely exhaled, his expression unwavering. The faint white aura around him pulsed as he flexed his fingers, the corners of his lips twitching into the ghost of a smile.

  "You've been the obstacle all along," he said, his voice steady.

  Before anyone could react, he moved.

  Whoosh!

  Fulan closed the distance in an instant, his body a blur of motion. His foot struck the bearded man's stomach, the impact reverberating through the night like a drumbeat. The force sent the man staggering back, his breath leaving him in a harsh grunt.

  "She loved him, and he loved her," Fulan said, his voice rising, his frustration spilling into his words. "But he kept his distance because he knew his best friend loved her too. Even I could see that. How could you not understand it after nine years?!"

  The bearded man's teeth clenched as he steadied himself. His grip tightened around his axe, and with a roar, he swung it down like a hammer. The air hissed as the weapon sliced through the space where Fulan had stood—but Fulan was already gone, effortlessly dodging and retreating to stand beside the blond swordsman.

  Then, without missing a beat, he turned to the swordsman, his gaze sharp. "It's your fault too," he said firmly. "It's good to consider your friend's feelings, but you shouldn’t have let her chase after you all those years. You can't please everyone."

  The air between them felt heavier now, thick with unspoken emotions. Fulan braced himself for another attack, muscles coiled in preparation. But when he looked back at the bearded man, he was met with an unexpected sight.

  The man had dropped to his knees. His head was bowed, his fingers curled into fists against the ground. His lips moved, whispering words too faint for anyone to catch.

  The fight—or rather, the brief but intense confrontation—was over.

  Fulan exhaled, his adrenaline fading, leaving behind only the burning pain in his hands. He could no longer summon a smile. The cold night air pressed against his skin, a stark contrast to the lingering heat of battle.

  Then, Fayrouz stepped forward.

  Her movement was smooth, unhurried, carrying an air of quiet purpose. As she approached, the flickering lantern light cast soft shadows across her face, but something else caught Fulan’s eye—the delicate, thin ring encircling her finger. It was simple yet refined, its surface catching the dim light like a whisper of silver-blue.

  Without a word, Fayrouz reached for the ring and touched it lightly with her fingertips. The instant she did, her blue eyes shimmered, their depths glowing with an almost otherworldly light. Then, as she slid the ring off her finger, something remarkable happened.

  A faint, intricate seal appeared in the air, floating just above her palm, its lines weaving and shifting with a gentle radiance. The moment the ring left her skin, the seal pulsed—once, twice—before unraveling into thin, ethereal threads of blue light.

  The glowing strands spiraled downward, twisting and curling in the air before taking shape, transforming into long, delicate bandages. They hovered between them for a moment, casting a soft glow over Fulan’s blistered hands. Then, with slow, graceful movements, Fayrouz began to wrap the bandages around his injuries.

  The fabric was smooth and cool against his skin, a stark contrast to the burning sensation beneath. As she secured the final wrap, the glow faded, the energy within dissipating completely. The bandages remained—no longer radiant, no longer pulsing with light—just simple, deep-blue cloth resting against his skin.

  "So you're foolish enough to injure yourself like this before the entrance exam," she said quietly, her tone even, yet firm. "Use these bandages for now. While we were coming here, the bearded man helped me find a merchant heading to the Kingdom of Saita tonight. We can get you some medicine when we arrive…"

  Fulan glanced down at his wrapped hands, then back up at her. His voice was quiet but firm. "You didn't have to use your mother’s gift like this."

  Fayrouz met his gaze without hesitation. "I have the right to use it however I wish," she replied, her tone steady, unwavering.

  The past could not be rewritten. But perhaps, tonight, something had finally begun to heal.

  For a moment, the night around them seemed to still. The air carried the lingering scent of embers and damp earth, but between them, there was only silence—soft, unspoken, yet filled with understanding.