Reflections on the Warpath - [An Isekai Progression Fantasy]

Jay ducked beneath the looping hook.

The crowd burst into laughter as the scrawny teenager who swung on Jay almost tripped over his own feet.

He wound up another swing, but Jay didn't let him get that far. He grabbed both the youth's spindly arms before turning and throwing him out of the bar.

Corinne was forced to sidestep the human cannonball, but she did so with a smile.

Another round of laughter coursed through the bar. Jay looked around, wondering what the hell was going on. Across the room from Jay, Marko and Jack sat beside Mia and Nelly on a table at the far end of the bar. While Marko joined in with the crowd's laughter, the other three had their heads in their hands.

"Looks like we've got a fighter, boys!" shouted a topless man covered in nautical tattoos, sagged and faded from age. He held a wiry arm over the bar counter and picked up someone's whisky glass before tilting his head back and pouring the drink down his throat.

The veins around the man's neck rippled as he gulped down the alcohol with ease. He snaked his tongue out, revealing another blurry dagger tattoo, before licking his lips and grinning at Jay, showing off an array of gold and silver with the occasional crooked yellow tooth. The man's gilded smile drew some attention away from his, weathered, unshaven face but Jay's focus quickly locked on to the twitching, bloodshot eyes that gawked at him like a hunk of fresh meat.

"Mr. Bassar, you're going to destroy my bar! Please can you stop fighting?" cried the barkeep standing behind the tattooed man. A crowd of also-shirtless men surrounding Anton Bassar began howling with laughter, some of the other patrons joined in but their laughs were far more muted.

Jay braved another glance at Jack upon realising that he was facing off with the other Directorate man Kestrel had come here to trail. Jay couldn't tell what his captain was thinking, but he seemed on edge.

"And why the fuck would I want to do that?" shouted Bassar.

He dropped the whisky glass on the counter-top, forcing the barkeep to watch as the shards of glass scattered over the varnished wood. He rolled his knuckles over the broken glass, embedding the glistening fragments into his fingers and leaking blood all over the bar.

He waved out his glass-laden fist and flicked blood across the floor.

"Can't you see how much fun everyone's having?"

Once more, Bassar's crew began cheering raucously, some of them forcing other patrons to join in.

"Now," said Bassar, raising his jagged fists and walking towards Jay. "You better not fucking disappoint."

He practically jumped forwards, hurling a looping overhand right at Jay's jaw.

Jay retreated, planning his next move.

If they were in the middle of the forest surrounding Red Rock, Jay would've loved to scrap with Anton Bassar. The ex-pirate seemed strong enough to hurt Jay, but not quite strong enough to win. As it was, Jay couldn't just throw hands. There was a chance Bassar had members of the Smothering Grasp Alliance inside the bar watching him, and Jay couldn't afford to be outed as a gladiator.

Jay clenched his fist beneath his moko. He willed the liquid metal fists not to come forth, but his control wasn't there yet. The stream wasn't as fast, but he felt it roll down his forearm as soon as his fingers curled.

If Jay couldn't afford to be outed, he couldn't afford to punch either.

Bassar yanked on Jay's cloak, tugging his head downwards.

Jay barely caught his footing.

He began to smile as his opponent launched a glass-laced uppercut towards him.

So what if he couldn't afford to punch? Jay hadn't been a boxer in a long time now, fighting without his fists wasn't the death sentence it had once been.

Jay lunged past his opponent's fist, driving his shoulder into Bassar's hips. He clamped both arms around his thighs and used his momentum to hoist the Directorate officer into the air. If Jay were truly fighting his opponent, he'd send Bassar barrelling out the door and into the kind who'd tried to fight him first.

But Jay was under specific orders to not cause a scene…

He'd already failed those orders, but there was no point in failing them even more.

Jay brought Bassar down slightly before rolling him into the bar. He pretended to breathe heavily and wiped a fake droplet of sweat off his forehead.

"Hey, I don't want no trouble."

Jay was actually quite enjoying the 'fight' but he felt compelled to end it for the sake of his alliance. In the corner of his eye he spotted Jack grimacing from across the room while Marko barely contained his laughter.

What're you mad about, Jack? It's not like I started it…

The rest of the bar shared Jack's stunned silence; they all stared at Bassar as he dragged himself upright using the bar.

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"Not too bad, kid," he said, smiling at Jay before spitting out a silver molar.

Bassar reached past the bartender to a glass bottle filled with a clear liquid and mounted to the wall. He tugged it from its fastenings with ease and uncorked it with his gleaming metallic smile before pouring its entire contents down his throat.

"Where d'you work, kid?" he asked after three gulps that went down without even a grimace.

Elaborate lies always fell apart. Jay didn't need a spy to tell him that simple ones always worked better. What better way to frame a simple lie than with a simple persona?

He nodded at the bar's entrance.

"Docks."

"Explains why you're so fucking strong," replied Bassar.

Jay simply smiled.

Bassar smashed the now-empty bottle against the countertop, creating another pile of shattered glass. Curiously, Jay noticed as his opponent brought his knuckles onto the glass, the pirate's old wounds had healed after downing the bottle of alcohol. His glass-infused fists weren't bleeding until he gave them a thicker coating of crystalline paint.

He ran at Jay, noticeably faster than before, and swung again. This time Jay dodged inside. He realised, after thinking more about the fight's circumstances, that he wasn't completely banned from punching.

Punching was fine, it was his new weapon that he couldn't afford to reveal.

Jay kept smiling dumbly as he grasped the inside of his moko and clenched. The liquid metal rushed to his knuckles, but the red cloak blocked it from the tavern's eyes. Jay pounded it into his opponent's gut, holding back power and deliberately missing his liver. He almost folded in two, but Anton Bassar didn't give up that easily.

Bassar clung onto Jay's moko, refusing to let him dodge again. He pulled back his right fist, winding up another looping hook.

As it neared his face, Jay knew he couldn't dodge this one.

Not because of the punch itself, but for the aftermath he'd cause by evading it. Bassar likely wouldn't accept such a one sided defeat. His cronies at the bar and the rest of the Directorate likely wouldn't either.

Jay let the jagged fist slam into his cheek. He pushed off his opponent, rolling with the blow and diving onto the floor.

"Fucking hell!" bellowed Bassar. He cradled his abdomen with one arm while shaking his other first at Jay. His lips began curling into a smile. "Are your hands made of fucking steel or what?"

Jay didn't say anything. It looked like he was causing a scene whether he wanted to or not.

As Bassar began another attack, Jay wondered if this fight could help him learn any of the storm sage's lessons. This fight seemed like the furthest thing from electricity at the moment, but it might be worth a shot.

Jay dodged his opponent's opening attack but let him land a body shot. He retaliated by headbutting Bassar directly to the nose.

To give him credit, the ex-pirate ate the attack like it was nothing. He grinned behind a crooked broken nose before swinging for Jay's temple. Impressed by his resilience, Jay let the man land it.

His jaw spun sideways, and Jay gave up on learning anything from this fight.

Fuck it.

He was in a bar, holding back his strength, hiding his identity, and eating punches from a batshit insane pirate who'd embedded half a broken bottle into his fists.

Jay didn't need to fight like electricity right now, he needed to fight like a half-drunk dockyard worker who had no idea how to throw a punch.

Bassar wound up an uppercut but Jay was one step ahead of him. He recovered from his feigned knock and wrapped his arms around the man's waist before lifting him in the air again.

But although Jay shouldered Bassar's weight with ease, the pirate didn't go up without a fight. Jay stepped forward and Bassar landed a flailing punch to the side of his head.

Another step.

Another punch.

Glass slivers jutted out of Jay's cheek as he powered forward, repeatedly tanking Bassar's punches as his march forward became a sprint. He locked eyes with Marko across the bar as the young gladiator realised exactly where Jay was headed.

He had enough time to raise his arms, but not much more. Jay hurled his opponent into His Kestrel teammate before jumping after him. Bassar rolled over the top of the gladiator, clattering into the table behind and knocking four of the patrons onto the floor. Jay fell onto Marko and tossed his cloak up so that it covered their faces.

"What the hell is this guy's problem!" whispered Jay, the tumbling tables and chairs obscuring his voice from the rest of the bar. Jay was definitely having more fun than he ought to, but he still didn't want to spend more time than he had to around the Directorate man.

"His problem! What the hell is your problem? You had an entire bar and you tossed him into me?"

Thankfully, Jay's moko covered his smug grin.

"Don't mind that. You trailed Bassar right? Are there any gladiators watching us right now?"

"No, we're safe. It's only his tight circle and the people too afraid to leave."

"Great. Thanks."

Jay rolled over the top of Marko and got to his knees. Again, he faked heavy breathing, however this time he wiped real sweat from his forehead. Bassar's repeated punches meant several streams of blood ran down Jay's temple and all across his moko.

He flicked his eyes up.

Barely a few metres away, Bassar was panting too. He looked up at Jay.

A smile tugged at Jay's lips. Even playing a role, he couldn't keep it down.

Bassar grinned.

The rest of the bar stared silently as the two men stared at each other.

Nobody dared disturb their fight.

But when Anton Bassar burst into laughter, Jay couldn't help but join in.

And so the rest of the bar stared silently as the two men—who seconds ago appeared to be trying to kill each other—simply laughed.

After his cackling faded, Bassar earnestly met Jay's eyes.

"Let's call it a draw?"

Bet you wouldn't say that if you were the one winning…

"Yeah… a draw sounds good."

"How about a drink too?"

"Even better."

"I believe I specifically asked you not to cause a scene," said Samira, questioning Kestrel within her war room.

Jay stifled a sigh. He'd already been through this once with Mia and Nelly and again with Kestrel during the boat ride home.

He didn't want to spend an hour talking to Bassar; it just sort of… happened. The moment their fight ended, the ex-pirate practically dragged Jay up to the bar with him. He repeatedly bought him drinks and Jay couldn't think of a polite way to decline them.

Their exchange wasn't completely useless, however.

After one too many shots of a disgustingly strong local liquor, Jay flat out refused to have another. He told Bassar that he had work the next morning, which wasn't even particularly untrue, and shot down any more offers.

Jay wasn't sure how the Directorate man would react to this, but he never expected to be offered a job.

"He told me to meet him at the Eastern warehouse at the Malaroy Docks," Jay told Samira, after first explaining how he got there. "Said he had a job offer waiting for me."

Jay expected Samira to be pleased with the opportunity. She took in the information in with little more than a nod.

"And I suppose you want to meet him there?"

"Of course."

Samira shook her head. "Absolutely not. You have a role in this battle, and it isn't as a spy. As evidenced by today's activities, subtlety isn't your strong suit. We'll send someone to assess the location independently."

Jay sighed, although he knew better than to get too visibly annoyed.

"Now," began Samira. "What can you tell me about Carlo Caruso?"