Their conversation ended, and they continued their stroll through the streets. The sounds of the city—the chatter of merchants, the clattering of carts, and the occasional horse-drawn carriage—faded as they moved farther into quieter, less trafficked parts of the town. The air grew calmer, more peaceful. As they reached a particularly secluded area, the noise of the busy marketplace became nothing more than a distant hum. Ronan stopped abruptly, his steps slowing to a halt. The city's clamor now seemed like a memory, replaced by an almost eerie stillness. Only the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze broke the silence.
He turned his gaze toward a narrow alleyway at the end of the road. The shadows there were deep, and the faintest hint of movement caught his attention. His eyes narrowed, sharp and unwavering as he studied the dim passageway. The scent of damp stone and old wood lingered in the air, adding a chill to the atmosphere.
"Come out," he called out, his voice smooth and calm, carrying effortlessly through the quiet air. There was no panic, no urgency, just the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly what was going on. "Don't hide; I see you. Are you a gang?"
His words were more of a statement than a question. He activated his x-ray vision, the world around him shifting into a ghostly outline. His gaze swept over the area, finding the figures lurking in the shadows. There were five of them in total. Three men, two women. He could feel their presence, their intentions. His lips quirked upward ever so slightly. "Bold. You're not locals, are you? Following us for money?"
Frieren, walking just beside him, frowned. She remained silent, her eyes narrowing as she scanned their surroundings. She'd sensed their presence before Ronan had even spoken—something was off. She had been ready to take action, but when Ronan had subtly stopped her with a single look, she'd held back. The silent communication between them was enough. Engaging in combat in a crowded area like this would be disastrous for both of them.
Then, just as the tension in the air began to build…
"Hmph."
A cold laugh echoed from the depths of the alleyway, sending a shiver down Frieren's spine. A large, muscular man stepped forward from the shadows. His bare torso gleamed with a bronze hue in the sunlight, his skin crisscrossed with scars, each one telling a tale of countless battles. His presence was imposing, his every movement exuding raw strength.
Frieren's heart skipped a beat, her instincts screaming at her. —A powerful human!
Ronan's expression remained unfazed as he regarded the man with cool indifference. He tilted his head slightly, as though inspecting him like an intriguing specimen. "Warrior?" he asked, his tone casual but laced with the subtle edge of someone who had seen far worse.
The man shook his head, a sneer playing on his lips. "No," he replied gruffly, his voice deep and resonant. "I'm a pugilist."
He clenched his fist, and the sunlight glinted off the metal knuckles wrapped around his fingers, shining like a cruel promise. He took a step forward, his eyes locking with Ronan's, then shifting to Frieren. There was a dangerous gleam in his gaze. "Don't compare me to those sword-wielding weaklings. Fist-to-fist combat is a man's romance." His words were heavy with arrogance, as though he felt an unshakable superiority.
Ronan's gaze remained steady, his features unmoved by the man's boast. He had no time for arrogance. "Your perception is sharp," the pugilist continued, "you spotted our group from afar. But that's meaningless against superior strength. You're a mage, and she's an elf. I've dealt with mages before. Hand over your money and those magical tools. You dared to take what the Savage Beasts mercenary group wanted. You're incredibly bold."
Ronan stayed silent for a long moment, his mind processing the words. Robbery was robbery, and this man was no different from any other thug. But the added theatrics only made him roll his eyes inwardly. He rubbed his forehead, exasperated. "So, the Savage Beasts are bandits, and you're their leader," Ronan said, his voice taking on a slightly mocking tone. "What gives you the courage to rob us? Knowing we're wealthy, aren't you afraid of retaliation? Especially since you revealed your group's name?"
The pugilist froze, his eyes narrowing in confusion. The words… why had he said that? He'd been confident that the sheer force of his group would ensure no one would live to talk about it afterward. But now that his plan was out in the open, things felt less certain.
The silence stretched out, thick and heavy, before the man's expression darkened. His gaze turned to ice, his voice becoming colder, sharper. "You're talkative," he sneered. "You won't have a chance. I've changed my mind. I want the money, and I want the elf." He stepped forward, his grin widening as his eyes scanned Frieren hungrily. "I've never tasted an elf before."
As he took another step forward, the air seemed to shimmer. A soft hum filled the space as a barrier spell activated, an invisible membrane that encased the area with a soft crackle. It was as if the very world around them had shifted into a battleground. The figures who had been lurking behind the pugilist now stepped forward into view, their expressions twisted with greed and malice. Four more, all equally dangerous, all ready for a fight. The standoff was inevitable.
Ronan sighed, his breath steady despite the rising tension. He looked at the pugilist with mild distaste. "Why didn't you say that earlier?" he asked, his voice still calm, though there was a subtle sharpness beneath it. If he'd known what they truly wanted, he wouldn't have played games with their intelligence. Provoking them had only made this more difficult. Especially with Frieren standing beside him.
The atmosphere hung heavy, the sense of impending violence palpable. It was time to act.
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