In a truly simple cabin, a young man lay completely still, so motionless that anyone might dare say he was dead.
Of course, this was not the case, for the young man slowly began to open his eyes. However, a painful memory came to his mind, making his body tremble and forcing him to press his eyelids shut tightly.
— You're awake? — said a gentle voice, while placing a hand upon his forehead.
Just with that gesture, he recognized who it was. Viviane. She was probably there because she had healed him. Dante then opened his eyes again, slowly. His blurred vision received the first traces of light.
Even so, three silhouettes could be discerned: one, of course, was Viviane, who kept her hand on his forehead. The second, by its size, clothing, and the blurred white, could only be the old man Tyler. The third, however, was unrecognized. Amid smudges, one could distinguish black hair, perhaps long, and a tunic covering the entire body, in gray — or perhaps white, faded by time.
Clack.
A snap sounded, and he knew what it was. Without a doubt, it was Viviane healing him. As soon as the snap echoed, his vision began to improve. As expected, he had been right.
Only the new presence sparked his curiosity. At a glance, he could see facial traits of Viviane in her, but older. So, hastily, Dante concluded she was the young woman's mother — though he kept that thought to himself.
The first to speak was Tyler, who looked happy and proud. A broad smile spread across his face as he stared at Dante.
— Well, well, well.
The words came out short, repeated three times, accompanied by a nod. Strange, truly.
Silence, however, would no longer reign. The woman with black hair pulled up a chair, sat down quietly, and began to speak:
— Well, young man, I really don't have much to say. I don't like the fact that the fiancé of my precious daughter, the only mage in the village, is you. However, since you managed to pass the combatant initiation, there's really nothing I can do. Allow me to introduce myself: I am Thalia Brookfield, mother of Viviane and wife of Tyler. A pleasure.
She finished the greeting staring at him with the eyes of an old fox.
Dante, still mentally tired, only responded with a polite gesture:
— It's a pleasure, ma'am. My name is Dante.
— No surnames? — said the woman, looking at him with slight curiosity and impatience.
— Yes, ma'am… unfortunately, I don't remember.
The answer seemed to bother her. She stared at him with slight hostility.
Tsk. A murmur escaped her lips before she spoke again:
— How can my daughter be engaged to someone like you? You come from no family, have no surname, no memories. It's disgraceful!
Her complaints continued in sequence, not giving space for Dante, Viviane, or Tyler to reply.
— And clearly the fault lies solely with you, Tyler! — the woman ended, pointing an accusatory finger at the old man before resuming her grievances. — What's in your head to choose a random heir from the middle of the forest? Don't you understand this is not only about the village's fate, but also your daughter's?! — she said, almost trembling with rage.
The old man simply ignored her. It didn't seem worth arguing with his wife. Instead, he turned to Dante, who was still trying to go unnoticed.
— How do you feel, brat? Amazing, isn't it? — he said, pulling Dante out of bed.
The moment his feet touched the ground, Dante truly found it amazing. He felt completely different, like a predator. He tried to take a simple step, but his body leaped about three meters, straight to the cabin door. His mind filled with curiosity.
How?
Beneath his feet, a hole marked the impact. His body trembled uncontrollably with a well-known feeling: excitement.
The pure excitement of strength almost drove him out of control. He could feel how much stronger he was. Until a laugh pulled him out of his immersion.
— Hehe… looks like you enjoyed it, didn't you? — said Tyler, approaching and pulling Dante somewhere.
Left behind were Viviane, who laughed discreetly with her hand over her mouth, and Thalia, who grumbled irritably at being left alone.
The old man led Dante to a small dueling field and ordered him to attack. Dante, boldly, obeyed.
He advanced. In one step, he reached Tyler, throwing a straight punch and then a left cross toward the abdomen. However, the old man vanished into the dust before the blows could reach him, reappearing at the young man's side. Quickly, he struck with the same strength Dante had used.
But his skills were far superior. The blow landed squarely on Dante's jaw, making him stagger. Still, he didn't fall. He advanced again, this time with a front kick to keep distance.
His leg shot up quickly, driving toward the old man's chest, who blocked it with nothing but bare hands. Then, he counterattacked with a flurry of punches, which Dante tried desperately to dodge or block.
Left. Right. Flank. Up. Down.
The attacks kept raining as Dante defended and tried to counter with punches.
Good.
A hook struck squarely at Dante's elbow, making his guard drop. Unexpectedly, he managed to react. As soon as his right arm fell and his face was exposed, he threw a front kick aimed at the old man's head.
As expected, it was easily deflected. Tyler had his own fighting style — a blend of several arts known in Dante's world, but infinitely more complex.
An elbow strike cut through the air and drove toward the young man's guard, hurling him away and opening a gash on his arms.
— Brat, what are you doing with those hands on your face? That ruins your vision! — the old man frowned, not realizing that was a continuous boxing guard.
Then he advanced like an animal. No longer with simple punches, but with fingers curling like claws, brutal legs, suffocating pressure.
Dante could only retreat and defend. While they fought, he thought of some method to hit him. Tyler was taller, but too fast for distance to serve as an advantage.
He has no guard…
If I hit his face with an elbow strike, victory is guaranteed.
The young man thought, rolling to escape a side kick.
As soon as he raised his elbow to land the blow, a punch — almost like a mere flick of the hand — hurled him to the ground, sealing his defeat.