NOVEL NEXT Chapter 53: The Stroll That Changed Everything
The morning air was cool and refreshing, carrying a crisp chill as the golden rays of dawn painted the world in warm hues. Nyxander stepped out of his modest residence, the creaky wooden door softly grating shut behind him. He stretched his arms wide, unfolding like wings, and let out a yawn that echoed faintly in the quiet stillness. His misty breath hung in the air for a moment before dissipating.
"I have nothing until my evening shift," he mused to himself, his voice calm and reflective. "Might as well take the chance to explore and familiarize myself with the area."
With that thought, he clasped his hands behind him, the casual posture of a man at peace, and began his leisurely stroll. His boots scuffed against the cobblestones as he wandered beyond the familiar walkways.
With every turn, a new nook of this lively area came into his sight. Lofty buildings with variable architecture stood over his head-carved and intricately patterned, or firm and plainly designed. People were already in the middle of their morning activities, some laying out their goods with fastidious care, while others pulled laden carts toward their stalls.
The air hummed in a low symphony of murmured conversations and the occasional bark of a vendor calling out his sale. Nyxander's gaze darted from side to side, drinking in the colorful spectacle of life unfolding before him. Hours passed; the sun climbed higher, its warmth slowly chasing away the early morning chill.
Just as he thought he had enough, a jolly chattering noise and bursts of laughter came from one of those small, wooden structures. Undeniably a simple structure, but as inviting as it was novel-a polished, wooden frame that glimmered under the sun. Curious, he opened the door and walked in.
He was slightly surprised to find the inside as noisy as Miss Bertha's place, every table filled with people, which gave the whole room a pulse. Cups were clinking away in some happy rhythm, accompanied now and then by a burst of loud laughter.
Nyxander took a moment to scan the room before his ears caught the distinct voices of five men seated at a nearby table. They were middle-aged, their weathered faces hinting at years of experience and camaraderie.
"Congratulations!" one of the men exclaimed, his voice filled with warmth as he raised his cup toward a man in deep blue. "I heard your son was picked up by the Temple of the God of Wind!"
"Congratulations that your son was being paid attention and blessed by the God of Wind," echoed the others as a chorus as they lifted their cups high in unity.
"Thank you, thank you," replied the man in blue modestly, but the hint of pride was already hanging in his voice. Cups clinked and rang like a bell that signaled something to start and promptly emptied themselves.
"Actually," continued the man in blue, "my son just got lucky. It's not like he was more talented compared to the rest.
"Come on, you do not have to be so modest," put in another voice, teasingly, smacking his lips and wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "We all know how capable your son is."
The topic changed, and Nyxander's interest went further. "Speaking of gods," one of them started, his voice low as if he was telling some secret, "there's a rumor floating that another god has won and refined a Universal Pill."
"Yeah, I heard it too!" another burst forward, leaning closer to the others. "It was the Goddess of Weather and Climate. She took it from the other gods and demons in the divine lotus game.
"What a blessing for the heavens," said the man in blue, his voice full of wonder as they raised their cups once more for a toast to the news.
Nyxander couldn't help being drawn to the appeal of curiosity. Almost unconsciously, he drew closer toward their table. "Excuse me," he started, his tone polite but firm. "Could you tell me more about this Universal Pill you were talking about?
The men turned to him, their faces showing traces of surprise and mild curiosity. One of them waved his hand dismissively. "This is common knowledge, even if the details are scarce."
"Don't be like that," the man in blue cut in, his tone warm. "You look to be about my son's age," he said before launching into a detailed explanation. The Universal Pill is said to be related to a cosmic game played by gods and demons, namely the Dark and Light Chess Game. When light wins, victory goes to the celestial gods; if the dark prevails, it is the demon gods that triumph. The champion whose actions lead their side to victory is granted the honor of refining the Universal Pill. Beyond this, little is known to those of us below the Fifth Heaven."
"Thank you," Nyxander said with sincerity, bowing his head slightly, both hands clutched in front of him.
The man in blue waved him off with a smile. "It's no trouble. I hope this bit of knowledge serves you well."
With a courteous nod, Nyxander turned and left the rowdy establishment, stepping back into the now sun-drenched streets.
The world outside seemed just as alive, yet his mind was abuzz with thoughts of celestial games and the mysteries of the heavens. It was a fleeting reverie, though, for his instincts abruptly flared when primal signal of danger snapping him to alertness.
A chill coursed through him as he sensed a piercing gaze boring into him from the shadows to his left. Slowly, his head turned, his sharp eyes scanning the dim corners of the street. Nothing. The air felt heavy with an intangible presence, but no figure revealed itself.
"Am I just being overly cautious?" he muttered under his breath, his brow furrowed in thought. Resolving to shake off the unease, he began to stride further from the restaurant.
Yet, like a shadow that refuses to be shaken, the sensation returned. A persistent gaze tracked him, unyielding. His sharp instincts twitched again, and his steps faltered. He turned abruptly, his eyes narrowing at the shadows once more, but still, there was nothing tangible to confront.
"Could it be those bandits from yesterday?" The memory of the thug's ominous warning surfaced. "I hope you can keep that confidence when he comes." Nyxander frowned. "If it's them, or if it's something else, I'll face it regardless," he muttered, his voice resolute as he folded his arms behind him and continued walking.
The watchful gaze followed him relentlessly, its presence gnawing at his senses like a predator circling its prey. Finally, Nyxander's patience wore thin. Turning into a quieter, sparsely populated alley, he stopped and waited, the silence stretching taut around him.
Minutes ticked by. The world seemed to hold its breath. Nyxander's gaze flicked to the shadows, searching for movement. As he prepared to leave, the ground beneath him began to darken unnaturally. His shadow stretched and warped, an eerie sign of something descending from above.
Nyxander's head snapped upward. In the sky hung a figure, slender and wiry, no taller than 4.2 feet. The stranger wore a dark gray long-sleeve shirt and trousers, his face partially obscured by a gray scarf wrapped tightly around his head. Only his golden eyes shone through, glinting like molten suns.
The figure descended headfirst, his right fist drawn back and glowing with golden energy that pulsed in violent waves. The air around him crackled with suppressed force, heralding his arrival.
"Who is it?" Nyxander whispered to himself, his mind racing. The thug's cryptic warning echoed again. "Is this the one they spoke of? What an entrance." A sharp smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "It wouldn't be polite not to greet him properly."
"Bring it on," he declared, his voice calm yet edged with excitement.
The figure's fist collided with Nyxander's in an explosion of raw power, unleashing a shockwave that rippled outward in violent gusts. Dust spiraled into the air as startled bystanders scrambled for cover, ducking behind carriages or fleeing into nearby shops.
The ground beneath Nyxander splintered from the impact, cracks spider-webbing outward as his feet sank slightly into the earth. Yet his stance remained unyielding, his strength a fortress against the opposing force.
The figure landed lightly, leaping back with precision to create distance. A tense silence settled over the scene, broken only by a voice that resonated telepathically in Nyxander's mind.
"Master," Nullpoint's voice whispered, calm yet calculated, "even though you threw an unprepared fist, he absorbed half of your physical strength."
Nyxander's lips curled into a faint smirk. "So, behind this insulated wall, there's someone capable. Then I should engage him properly, with half my physical strength." His reply, sent through the telepathic link, brimmed with quiet confidence.
As he refocused on his adversary, his sharp gaze caught the intricate golden gauntlets encasing the figure's fists. The gauntlets pulsed with a radiant energy, glowing with arcane symbols etched into their surface. The symbols radiated an otherworldly hum, their meaning veiled in an ancient language beyond Nyxander's understanding.
The atmosphere around them grew heavy, the tension suffocating as if the very air held its breath. Hidden behind carts and walls, the onlookers dared not make a sound, their wide eyes fixed on the two combatants. The street had become an impromptu arena, charged with an electric anticipation for the battle that was about to unfold.