Herald of death

The humans' seething gazes snap to Ethan, their hands twitching toward absent sheaths by reflex. They sit back down, perplexing the Orcs as to the reason for the sudden spike of hostility.

Razak lowers his tankard to stare at the lot of them. He lets out a low, growling laugh.

"I know you aren't from my country," Cedric begins as he approaches. He grabs the air and summons a chair in his grasp. It clashes against the other furniture with its plum, red, velvet cushions and golden trims. He places it down and sits opposite Ethan. "You can't expect etiquette from savages."

"There are mistakes in all our upbringings," Ethan retorts. He straightens up to mimic Cedric's authoritative posture, adding in a touch of European royalty. "Evidently, yours didn't include humility."

"Humility is for the weak," Cedric retorts, biting on Ethan's bait.

"If there is one category of people who cannot afford humility, it is the weak," Ethan says. "They bow because they never had the strength to act otherwise, or they bark until someone else bites. Like you."

Cedric's smirk twitches. He stands up and kicks the table between them into the sky.

'Short-tempered this one,' Ethan comments to himself.

The Orcs grab the tables to spread them into an improvised ring. Coins exchange hands as betting whispers spread through them and a few humans. Even Razak pitches in, betting a pouch of coins.

Thaddeus Drevoss pulls out a folded toga and pants from a haver-satchel and holds them before Ethan.

'I see. Fights like these must be the norm here,' Ethan thinks. He grabs the clothes offered by Thaddeus. They are heavier than expected, weighing something close to fifty kilos. Looking at them, he realizes that going elsewhere to change would de-escalate the tension. In three casts of Inventory, he absorbs the clothes, removes his, and summons the new ones onto himself. 'Aranthor's trick could be a huge trump card if I had a collection of gear. I should work on that.'

Cedric undresses the top half of his toga to tie it around his waist, freeing his arms. After loosening his right shoulder, he falls into a stance, his center of gravity high.

"No abilities or magic; don't even think of using your soul," Ghurlz growls.

'Shadow,' Ethan thinks, commanding Russ to hide in his. Ethan mimics Cedric's setup for his own clothes and falls into his mixed stance. The weighted fabrics feel strange as they lower Ethan's balance.

Cedric moves in and attacks in a rhythm, throwing punches and kicks with predictable technique. His style is primarily flashy, like a kata with wide, full movements. It would make him a terrible fighter if not for his inhuman speed and strength.

Ethan pivots and sidesteps, avoiding each strike with ease. He lets an overextended punch brush his shoulder as he steps inside Cedric's space. Ethan slams his shoulder into the lordling's chest, breaking the rhythm.

As he stumbles, Cedric's stance shifts before he forces himself to fall back into his kata-like martial art. It puzzles Ethan, as Cedric's posture was much better in that instant.

Thaddeus' eyes widen in shock as he notices the same shift, realizing something Ethan doesn't. Does knowing the style Cedric refuses to use betray some unsavory allegiances?

Cedric throws a fast, wide jab; Ethan's drunk thoughts miss it. It crashes against his jaw, lifting him off the ground with inhuman strength.

Ethan rolls with the punch, spinning his entire body to absorb the force before landing on his heel. Sensing Cedric following up with a tackle, Ethan continues rotating and throws a spinning kick. It crashes into Cedric's shoulder. The kick hurls him through a table and into the crowd, felling three orcs like bowling pins.

Standing Orcs throw back the lordling into the arena.

'He may be hiding his skills, but he can't reasonably take a beating in front of his men,' Ethan thinks. He falls back into stance as Cedric squares up in front of him. Glancing at the crowd, he notices the obvious stress in the men's expressions. He also spots Razak staring at them. 'They can't act without Razak noticing; any underhanded move will come from him.'

Cedric throws another flashy, overextended punch at Ethan's chest.

Ethan shifts his stance to loosen his muscles and joints. He grabs Cedric's fist with his fingers and drags him forward, using his opponent's inertia to throw him to the ground.

Cedric wrenches his fist out of Ethan's grasp and twists his body to land on his feet. The skillful balance of his move showed once again a glimpse of the style he doesn't want to display.

'Let's see how far you are willing to suffer before you take this seriously," Ethan thinks. Ethan straightens and melts any tension in his body. With a sharp inhale, Ethan launches forward. He hammers a vertical chop with the weight of his entire body into Cedric's collarbone.

Cedric gasps and tries to grab Ethan's wrist, but the next attack is already mid-flight.

With a snapping knee to the liver, Ethan floods Cedric's chest with pain. He follows up with a hook to the jaw, whiplashing the lordling's head sideways. A low calf kick sweeps Cedric's legs out, and as he falls, Ethan grabs Cedric by the face to pull him into an uppercut to the diaphragm.

The moment Cedric's feet touch the ground again, a backfist whips across his face, splitting his lip open. A claw strike to the throat, stopped just short of crushing the trachea, sends Cedric staggering back. He chokes out blood, shaking and blinded by pain.

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'I'm starting to think I misread the scene,' Ethan ponders. He stops himself from finishing Cedric, letting the man recover. 'Desert Razak was more dangerous than that. Unless his strength comes only from his abilities, he isn't this stage's boss. Even with all his henchmen.'

Cedric spits out blood and licks his split lip with the back of his tongue. The wound's blood turns dark and stops pouring out. He glances towards Thaddeus with his bloodshot eyes, letting out a grunt.

'Show me what you really know,' Ethan thinks, reading the interaction. He falls back in his starting stance, dropping One's reckless style for his own.

Cedric straightens, chest heaving. His body narrows, his center of gravity lowers slightly, and his fists float, loose and unclenched. He takes a step forward, but despite his shift, he looks vulnerable and tired.

Ethan watches wearily, searching for traces of deceit in Cedric's posture. Finding none, he throws a darting jab towards Cedric's plexus to end the fight.

Cedric twists. He opens his chest just enough for Ethan's knuckles to graze the skin before snapping his shoulder down and inward, trapping the arm. In that instant, Cedric's extended fingers ram into Ethan's floating rib. It doesn't break the bone; instead, it shocks a nerve.

Ethan wrenches his arm free. Before he can fully retreat, fingers jab into the underside of his bicep, targeting the radial nerve. Ethan's right arm falters, weakened as if it just suffered a cramp.

Ethan fakes a stagger, playing with Cedric's own methods. He opens his head to a straight punch.

Cedric lunges, throwing a punch with the full force of his pivoting torso.

Ethan senses stiffness in Cedric's attack – an attempt at forcing his way through another light redirection of his strength. Even when seemingly falling for a trap, Cedric still plans for Ethan's counter. Ethan bobs his torso to the side and moves into Cedric's space, using the lordling overreach to jab him in the chin.

Cedric throws a punch at Ethan's sternum despite the shortened space. Contracting his chest, Ethan forms a wall of muscles to protect the weak point. Cedric's shallow punch crashes against Ethan's reckless defense with a snap.

Ethan grabs Cedric under his extended arm. He rotates to pull the lordling above his shoulder and throws him onto the ground. He follows up with a straight, downward punch to the face; his fist crashes against a sheet of golden light. Recognizing the Sanctuary ability, Ethan moves away from his opponent to peer into the Ether and spot the caster.

"Viktor wins," Ghurlz growls, his gaze on the man shielding Cedric. He opens his hand to receive a pouch of gold thrown by the bet keeper.

'That wasn't it. He was good, but not even close to One,' Ethan thinks. He extends his hand for Cedric to take, lifting up the beaten man. 'Do I have to beat Razak in a sparring fight to get out?'

A sting pierces Ethan's hand as he lets go of Cedric's. He looks at his palm to find it slightly red. A venomous feeling moves up his forearm, spreading into his muscles before bursting into stabbing pain. Ethan looks back at Cedric to find him gone.

"I've welcomed many adventurers to my domain," Razak mutters as he approaches. He extends a horn filled with wine for Ethan to take. "Rare are those who fight with their fists, and those who do train in a single style. Mastering several, radically different ways of fighting reminds me of my old world, when we mostly killed each other."

The pain assailing Ethan's forearm stops there, unable to climb higher. It diminishes, vanishing like an insect sting against which Ethan would have developed immunity. He glances at Razak without a word, keeping his pain hidden.

"Did you come to my domain to kill someone?" Razak asks.

"No," Ethan answers truthfully. He flexes his fingers to vanish the lingering buzz. "I came here to get stronger."

"Good," Razak comments. "Make sure you keep to that. I wouldn't mind someone strong enough to challenge me sticking around."

'I'm starting to believe I might be here longer than I thought,' Ethan comments to himself. He taps his healed fingers on his forearm, thinking of the delay it inflicts on his goal. He vaults over a table to escape the ring. "I'm going to get some fresh air."

"Unarmed Combat leveled up (x3)."

Ethan reaches the side of the mountain where it forms a flat cliff isolated from the feast's sounds. He empties his drink, taking time to sense its herbs and Ether healing his body.

A wyvern, its wing extended, floats through distant clouds, casting them aside as it breaches them.

Ethan triggers predator's sight to scan the desert. In a sea of dunes, he sees giant beetles, the size of horses, burrowing through the sands. They trail behind a pack of four-legged, finless, armored sharks as they tear apart their unrecognizable meal.

In a ravine's shadow, a three-headed, sand-scaled hydra slithers down a dry riverbed. The hydra seems unaware of the giant spider exiting its hole to climb under a transparent web hanging above it.

Hosts of smaller creatures squirm from one hiding spot to the next – rodents, snakes, and insects. A few birds of prey fly above them, seeking their next meal.

"Are you lost?" the realm's master asks. He appears from a column of smoke rising at Ethan's side.

"Just wondering what you have in store for me and how long it will take," Ethan answers. He stops using predator's sight. "You recreated a lot of details to make this place feel … real."

"Shy of a few consequences, this place is as real as any other," the realm's master comments. "The unreal is what Alaric showed you; I hope you will learn a lot from him."

"I was expecting challenges I would only win on the verge of death. But instead, you gave me opportunities to grow; thank you," Ethan says.

"And yet you went out of your way to sabotage those opportunities by questioning your tutors," the realm's master complains. He sighs. "It wouldn't be fair of me to limit your experience of this realm to unwinnable fights. But you give me too much credit. How many people from your world would have stayed calm with their blood turned to a broth of plagues?"

"I know at least five," Ethan quips, thinking of the other Reapers. "They aren't … normal."

"I look forward to meeting them," the realm's owner says. "Today is coming to an end. Try to be more rigorous in your training tomorrow."

"Hmm?" Ethan asks. Glancing to the side, he realizes he's now alone.

"Speaking to yourself?" Thaddeus Drevoss asks.

Ethan turns to the approaching man and stores his emptied horn to free his hand.

"People were looking for you," Thaddeus says. Despite his sloshed posture, his steps are totally silent.

"I'm not big on crowded events," Ethan lies. He flashes predator's sight to check if somebody else is approaching but finds no one else. "Anything else?"

Thaddeus walks up to the cliff's edge, a few meters away from Ethan. "I wondered if you would be inclined to talk about Cedric."

"You understood something when he stopped acting like a noble and showed his true skills, didn't you?" Ethan asks.

"I've met other people fighting like that before; I even have the scars to show for it. Well, 'people' is a strong word," Thaddeus says. He retrieves a token from his haver-satchel and throws it for Ethan to catch.

Ethan rotates the metallic pin in his hand. It's a skull with pointed teeth and three black, crystal eyes. "I'm guessing this isn't the badge of some official, benevolent organization."

"No," Thaddeus says with a grin. "The Dark Descendants; they are a cult. I've hunted enough of them on adventuring contracts to know a lot. Like the fact that more than one noble mingles with them."

"The lordling included," Ethan guesses. "Now that he revealed himself, he will want to make sure you or I won't out him."

"Exactly why I came to see you," Thaddeus confirms. He turns to face Ethan. "I don't know who you are, but right now he must already be plotting against us. We need to ally ourselves to dismantle his plans, and once we leave, survive until we reach Kingsreach."

"That won't be necessary," Cedric snarls, popping into Ethan's senses as he exits a shadow. He's fully healed from their earlier fight, showing no sign of external or internal injury. "I've a deal to offer you, stranger. One Thaddeus here cannot match."