That same afternoon, the trio found the restaurant that the clothing store clerk had recommended. It was a cozy little place with dark wooden tables and a delicious smell of homemade food.
Since Colin was footing the bill and had a heavy bag of gold jingling discreetly on his belt, the girls didn't hold back. They ordered several dishes, trying a bit of everything. Brighid, in particular, seemed to have a black hole in place of a stomach in her new body.
She ate with voracious enthusiasm, attacking platters of roasted meat, mountains of potatoes, and mugs of juice with impressive speed.
The noise the two were making—the loud sound of Brighid's chewing, the irritating noise of Safira slurping juice through a straw—began to attract disapproving looks from other tables. More refined customers wrinkled their noses and cast sideways glances in their direction.
However, the restaurant owners, a robust and smiling couple who saw Colin's gold jingling with each order, didn't seem bothered at all. Those noisy customers were filling their coffers, and that's what mattered.
Meanwhile, a few blocks away, near the imposing university library, the group of students who had provoked Colin earlier was now surrounding a different young man.
This was Wiben, a name that carried weight in academic corridors, a member of the infamous and powerful Loafe guild.
Wiben was the image of casual elegance: dark, well-cut hair that fell to his shoulders, intelligent brown eyes, and an impeccable formal outfit, including a blazer that highlighted his athletic build. Expensive rings gleamed on his fingers.
He was leaning against the library's stone wall, arms crossed, listening to the students' story with an expression of polite boredom.
When they finished recounting their encounter with Colin, stammering about the yellow eyes and the strange feeling, Wiben let out a sigh, running his hand through his perfectly arranged hair.
"Wait, let me see if I understand. The guy didn't even touch you, did nothing, and you want me to go beat him up just because of some stupid legend and because he gave you a dirty look? Seriously. I have better things to do."
Wiben was undeniably handsome, with an air of a bored aristocrat that many girls must have found irresistible. The rings and expensive clothes made it clear he wasn't just any student.
Trim!
The library door's little bell chimed.
A girl came out, blinking her eyes to adjust to the afternoon light. It was Samantha. Blonde hair tied in a high, functional ponytail, penetrating blue eyes that seemed to analyze everything, pink lips, and a confident posture.
She wore simple but well-cut clothes: white blouse, tight black pants, and sturdy boots. She stopped when she saw Wiben surrounded by the students.
"Who are these, love?" she asked, her voice soft. "Friends of yours?"
The group of students immediately became uncomfortable in her presence. Samantha was also a known and respected, and perhaps feared, figure at the university.
"M-Miss Samantha! How are you?" stammered Myuri, the morning's bully.
Samantha raised a perfectly arched eyebrow. "What do you want with Wiben?"
"It's nothing, Sam," Wiben replied quickly, pushing off from the wall. "They were just leaving, weren't you, boys?"
The students swallowed hard, intimidated by both Wiben and Samantha. They looked like cornered rats.
"Y-yes... we were going..." Myuri began, but then, in a last act of desperation or stupidity, he added: "But first... we wanted to say that... we're offering a hundred gold pieces to Mr. Wiben... for the service."
Samantha looked from her boyfriend to the young men, confusion clear on her face. A hundred gold pieces? For what?
Wiben, who was already dismissing the boys, stopped. He scratched his neck, a feigned expression of annoyance on his face. A hundred gold pieces. It was a lot of money to simply ignore, even for him. He could buy many rare books or a beautiful gift for Samantha with that amount.
"Tsk!" he clicked his tongue. "Why the hell do you want me to beat up this guy so badly?"
"It's... it's just to know..." Myuri stammered. "To see if the story about yellow-eyed Elves is true..."
Wiben rolled his eyes. What an idiotic reason. But a hundred coins were a hundred coins. "Whatever. Payment in advance."
"Wiben!" Samantha scolded, her voice suddenly firm and irritated. "This isn't the time to accept this kind of dirty work! We have more important things to do!"
"Relax, love, it'll be quick," he replied, approaching her and touching her face tenderly. "I promise I won't even break a sweat."
Samantha grimaced, clearly bothered, but ended up shrugging with resignation. She knew how Wiben was. And, to be honest, even she was a bit curious. What kind of elf was worth a hundred gold coins to get beaten up?
"Alright, where do I find this guy?" Wiben asked the students, already entering work mode.
"The last time we saw him, he was heading toward the One-Eyed Dwarf Inn," Myuri replied quickly.
"Great. Give me the money and get out of here. I'll handle this."
◊❱───────⸂◍⸃───────❰◊
After leaving the restaurant, with Brighid burping contentedly and Safira still marveling at the dessert, Colin began doing mental calculations.
The bag of coins was still heavy, but he realized he had spent almost fifty gold pieces in just two days, between the city entrance fee, the inn, new clothes, and that feast.
If he continued at that pace, the money that seemed like a fortune would be gone in the blink of an eye. He needed to start controlling his expenses.
They decided to walk a bit more through the city, exploring streets they hadn't seen yet. The capital was a constant spectacle.
They saw exotic beasts being displayed in cages by dubious-looking merchants, creatures with iridescent scales, birds with flaming plumage, small reptiles that blew smoke through their nostrils.
On a corner, a group of street artists performed incredible acrobatics, spitting fire that took the shape of animals and manipulating spheres of light that danced in the air to the sound of a hypnotic flute.
The magical artifact shops were a temptation, with windows displaying amulets that promised luck, rings that supposedly controlled the elements, and vibrant-colored potions bubbling in crystal flasks.
The weapon and armor shops were even more impressive, with an almost infinite variety of gleaming swords, intimidating axes, complete armor sets that seemed to belong to legendary heroes, and shields with unknown coats of arms.
Colin felt the old warrior's itch, the urge to pick up a heavy sword, feel the balance, maybe buy new armor. But the prices were exorbitant.
A good sword would cost more than he had spent so far. He decided that, for now, it was better to maintain his civilian appearance. Drawing less attention was more strategic.
After much walking, they reached a wide square that was beginning to fill with people.
The sun was already descending on the horizon, painting the sky orange and purple. In the center of the square, a vendor with a colorful cart was selling something that looked very much like ice cream—cold, colorful balls in sweet pastry cones.
Colin, vaguely remembering the frozen pleasure of his old world, bought three, all chocolate. Brighid and Safira's eyes sparkled. If Colin hadn't controlled them, they would have probably attacked the cart and devoured the poor vendor's entire stock in seconds.
The night air was beginning to cool, but the square was getting livelier. A small crowd was forming in front of an improvised stage. Posters announced the performance of a traveling circus troupe for that night.
Curious, the three decided to stay and watch.
The show began with a man with a face painted like a clown, but with surprising agility. He swallowed swords that seemed to be on fire, to the crowd's amazement.
Then he spat fire, but the flames weren't ordinary: they transformed into fire rabbits that ran between people's legs, drawing screams and laughter, before rising to the skies and exploding in showers of colorful sparks, like magical fireworks.
The crowd applauded and cheered at each trick. Safira watched with wide, sparkling eyes, completely absorbed in the magic of the moment. Colin observed everything with silent intensity, hands in his pockets.
He was impressed, yes, but his expression remained neutral, as always.
His gaze drifted to Brighid, who was beside him, also watching the show, but with a more contained expression. He frowned slightly, observing her profile under the light of the torches and colorful explosions in the sky. The transformation was still recent, and he was still getting used to seeing her in that form. There was something... different.
Brighid felt his gaze and turned her face, meeting Colin's yellow eyes fixed on her. For an instant, she held his gaze, but then suddenly felt embarrassed, looking away and placing a strand of vibrant green hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture that exposed the delicate curve of her neck.
When she finally gathered courage to look at him again, it was Colin's turn to quickly look away, returning to stare at the stage.
"Hey, you!" A voice called behind Colin, cutting through the crowd's noise and the circus music. He turned and came face to face with the morning's group of students. But now they weren't alone. Beside them stood Wiben, the elegant young man from the library, and Samantha.
"Finally found you! I spent the whole afternoon looking for you!" said Wiben, approaching with a smile.
Colin looked him up and down, vaguely recognizing him but not understanding the reason for the approach. "Who are you? And what do you want?"
"You'll find out soon enough. But how about we talk somewhere less..." Wiben looked around at the noisy crowd and light show "...crowded? More private."
The request immediately sounded suspicious to Colin. "And why would I want to leave here?"
Wiben ran his hand through his hair, an affected gesture. He shrugged. "That's up to you. But my friends here"—he indicated the students, who were trying to look threatening—"might end up being a bit... careless... around your friends. We wouldn't want any accidents, would we?"
The veiled threat made Brighid instinctively grab Colin's wrist, swallowing hard. She looked at the group. They were just humans, but there were many of them. And this Wiben had a dangerous aura.
Her own magic was still unstable; it would take at least two days to normalize completely. At that moment, in terms of magical combat, she was practically useless.
Safira, on the other hand, was powerful but still a novice, with difficulty controlling her flames, especially under pressure. And Wiben... he seemed strong, much more trained and dangerous than the bandits they had faced on the road.
Colin also felt the threat, but curiosity about this guy and the situation prevented him from reacting aggressively. Besides, he was in unknown territory, an intruder. Causing a scene there could bring bigger problems.
He looked at Wiben.
"Your problem is just with me, then?"
Wiben nodded, his smug smile growing. "Just do what I say, and the girls stay out of it. Simple."
Colin sighed, resigned. Protecting Brighid and Safira was the priority. "Alright. Show me the way to this less noisy place."
"Colin!" Brighid squeezed his wrist tighter. "Wouldn't it be better to call the guards?"
He gave her a weak smile. "Do you really think the guards would get involved? Look at them. They're nobles, students. The guards would probably side with them." He touched her forehead with his index finger, a gesture to calm her. "Everything will be fine. Trust me."
Brighid bit her lower lip, still reluctant, but ended up nodding.
Grab!
Safira, who had been quiet until then, grabbed the hem of Colin's shirt, her eyes wide with worry.
Colin smiled at her too, stroking her hair. "Stay calm, little one. It'll be quick."
With a heavy heart, Safira nodded, lowering her head.
The group moved away from the illuminated and noisy square, following Wiben through narrower and darker streets.
They entered a fetid and silent alley, squeezed between two tall buildings. Some beggars who were sleeping there, wrapped in rags, got up frightened and fled when they saw the group approaching.
The only light came from a solitary gas lamp high on a wall, casting weak, yellowish light over the dirty ground and walls covered with moss and grime.
"Here's good. An excellent ring, don't you think, elf?" said Wiben, stopping in the middle of the alley.
"Ring?" Colin repeated, raising an eyebrow.
"Exactly!" Wiben began unbuttoning his elegant vest and the shirt underneath, throwing the pieces to Samantha, who caught them with an impassive expression. He was left with only a tight t-shirt that showed his well-defined muscles. "You and me. Let's settle this here and now. In front of your friends. A man-to-man fight, just fists. No tricks, no magic. What do you say?"
Wiben expected some hesitation, maybe a protest. But, to his surprise, Colin just smiled and began taking off his own shirt, throwing it to Brighid, who held it with trembling hands, her eyes fixed on him, full of worry.
Colin was in his element. Street fights? He had grown up with them.
That pompous pretty boy posing as a fighter didn't intimidate him one bit. His bare torso revealed a surprisingly defined body covered with scars.
"You're university students, right?" he asked, cracking his knuckles, his smile widening. "This is perfect!"
Finally! he thought. Time to test the level of these pampered boys from here!
Wiben cracked his neck, a confident smile on his face. "You're going to get beaten up and you're still happy? Must be a masochist."
Vush!
Without warning, Colin exploded into movement, charging like a bull and throwing a powerful straight punch toward Wiben's face. But Wiben was fast.
He dodged with an agile sidestep and counter-attacked with a precise circular kick to Colin's ribs.
Bam!
The impact sounded dry in the silent alley. Colin skidded to the side, air leaving his lungs, his hand instinctively going to the hit spot.
Shit, he's fast, Colin thought, feeling the sharp pain.
Tough, Wiben thought, lowering his leg. Even without using magic to strengthen the kick, I thought he'd fly far. Must be a strength user. Interesting. But if it's just brute force, he won't last long.
"Did that hurt, elf?" Wiben taunted, dancing lightly on his toes.
Colin just smiled, a trickle of blood running from the corner of his mouth.
He advanced again, this time trying an uppercut. Wiben stepped back, barely dodging, and responded with a quick cross that hit the right side of Colin's face.
Bam!
The blow cracked, but didn't seem to stop Colin. He continued advancing, throwing powerful but somewhat predictable punches. Wiben, with more refined technique, dodged most and counter-attacked with precision, exploiting every opening in Colin's guard.
Punches cracked on his chin, cheek, forehead, eye, abdomen. Colin absorbed the blows, but the wear was beginning to show.
His nose was bleeding freely now, and his lower lip was cut. Wiben, on the other hand, remained practically untouched, although the effort of dodging and striking was beginning to leave him breathless.
Neither was using magic, but Colin's absurd resistance, probably the result of the Strength Tree—the only passive tree that strengthened the body without needing active mana—was beginning to tire Wiben.
His own knuckles hurt from hitting that mass of resistant muscles so much.
Bam!
Another brutal blow to the abdomen made Colin gasp, feeling a wave of nauseating pain. His body's natural armor was reaching its limit.
Taking advantage of the opening, while Colin was bent over, Wiben grabbed his head with both hands and delivered a violent knee to his face.
Crack!
The sound of cartilage breaking echoed through the alley. Colin staggered backward, blood gushing from his nose, his vision blurring.
"Had enough, elf?" Wiben asked, breathing heavily but still standing firm.
Colin wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand, his yellow eyes still burning with determination despite the damage.
"Not... even close," he panted, raising his fists again.
But before he could advance, a new voice cut through the tension.
"Well, well, what do we have here?"
Everyone turned to see a figure emerging from the shadows at the alley's entrance. It was a young man with disheveled dark hair, wearing simple but clean clothes. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he took in the scene.
"Wiben beating up some poor soul again? How... predictable," the newcomer said with a mocking smile.
"Stedd," Wiben growled, his expression darkening. "This doesn't concern you."
"Oh, but it does," Stedd replied, stepping closer. "You see, I was just passing by when I heard the delightful sounds of violence. And you know how I hate to miss a good show."
Stedd's gaze fell on Colin, taking in his battered state with apparent interest.
"You know what? This doesn't seem fair. University-trained fighter against... what are you exactly?" he asked Colin directly.
"None of your business," Colin replied through gritted teeth.
"Feisty! I like that," Stedd grinned. "Tell you what, Wiben. Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"
"Stay out of this, Stedd," Samantha warned, her voice cold.
"Or what, Samantinha?" Stedd's smile widened. "You'll tell daddy?"
The tension in the alley ratcheted up another notch. Wiben's hands clenched into fists, but before he could respond, Stedd made his move.
In a blur of motion, he was suddenly between Colin and Wiben, one hand on each of their chests, pushing them apart.
"Now, now, boys. Let's not get too excited," he said casually. "Wiben, you've proven your point. The elf can take a beating. Congratulations."
"I'm not done with him," Wiben snarled.
"Oh, but you are," Stedd's voice carried a subtle threat despite his casual tone. "Unless you want to explain to the university why you were beating up civilians in dark alleys."
Wiben's jaw worked silently for a moment, clearly weighing his options. Finally, he stepped back.
"This isn't over," he said to Colin.
"Looking forward to it," Colin replied, spitting blood.
Wiben turned to the students who had been watching the fight with wide eyes. "You got your show. Now pay up and get lost."
Myuri fumbled with a small pouch, counting out coins with shaking hands. "H-here, sir. One hundred gold pieces, as promised."
Wiben snatched the pouch and tucked it into his vest pocket. "Pleasure doing business."
As the students scurried away, Wiben began putting his shirt and vest back on, his movements sharp with irritation.
"You always did know how to ruin a good time, Stedd," he muttered.
"It's a gift," Stedd replied cheerfully.
"Assassin? How cruel. I just saved your pampered hide and this is how you thank me? Where are the good manners of nobility?" Stedd retorted.
Paft!
With a low groan, Colin finally collapsed completely to the ground, unconscious or nearly so. Brighid ignored Stedd and Wiben, running to him and kneeling by his side.
"Colin! Colin, wake up! Talk to me!"
"Relax, greenie," said Stedd, still smiling. "He'll be fine. Just needs a good rest and maybe some patching up. He's tougher than he looks."
Samantha approached Wiben, handing him his clothes with a cold look directed at Stedd. "You're back..." she murmured, her voice tense.
"Did you miss me, Samantinha?" Stedd provoked.
Wiben put on his shirt and vest hurriedly, recomposing his dignity. "This fight is over," he announced, adjusting his collar. "I already got what I wanted. I proved my point."
Colin wasn't completely out, but couldn't get up on his own. Brighid, with effort, managed to get him sitting and put his heavy arm over her shoulders, helping him stand, swaying.
"Hey, elf!" Wiben called. He bent down, picked something up from the dirty ground, and threw it in Colin's direction. It was the small red stone, the tournament pass. "You dropped this. But if you're thinking of participating in the tournament, forget it. You're too weak." He glanced at Brighid and Safira. "Maybe you two have some chance. But you, elf... give up."
Colin remained silent, just staring at Wiben with eyes clouded by pain, but with a spark of defiance. Wiben gave one last look of contempt and left the alley, followed by Samantha, disappearing around the corner.
"So you're going to participate in the tournament?" asked Stedd, approaching Colin and Brighid with sudden enthusiasm. "How cool! Wonderful! I'll definitely cheer for you!"
Before Brighid could respond or thank him—or ask who the hell he was—Stedd bent his knees and made an impossibly high jump, grabbing the roof's edge and climbing with feline agility.
"Hey!" Stedd shouted from above, his silhouette outlined against the moon-lit sky. "Elf, Calimanian, half-breed, whatever you are! Next time, try to fake it better! It was obvious you were holding back the whole time!" He gave a little laugh. "Now, farewell!"
And with another jump, Stedd disappeared into the darkness of the rooftops.
Brighid stood there, supporting Colin's weight, looking where Stedd had vanished and then at Colin's bruised face. He was... smiling? A small, pained, but genuine smile.
She didn't understand. What was funny about taking such a beating?
"What are you laughing about, you idiot?" she asked, her voice mixed with worry and irritation.
Colin looked at her, his yellow eyes shining despite the swelling. "This place... I think I'm going to like it here."