Coca Town was hardly what one would call a bustling metropolis, but as one of the few nearby link between the Tempest Grove and civilization, it had a few decent spots. Rion was currently in one such spot, seated at a small table near the corner of a brightly lit restaurant and savoring the rare quiet moment. The place was a bit more upscale than the usual joints, with polished wooden tables, soft lighting, and a more refined atmosphere overall.
Despite the increased sophistication, the food remained exceptional, thanks to the talented chef who had been working there for years. His culinary skills were evident in every dish, from the succulent grilled meats to the delicate seafood preparations.
His shared tent with Vance had been the first stop after they'd returned from their latest job, the two of them barely exchanging words as they dropped off their gear. After three days of fighting, tracking, and camping out in the unforgiving wilds, all Rion wanted was a moment to himself, a moment to forget about the grime that had clung to his skin, the tension in his muscles, and the constant vigilance that his job required.
That brief wash-up back at camp had been a blessing, even if it was just enough to scrape off the top layer of dirt and sweat. Clean enough to not look like he'd just crawled out of a ditch. Light clothing, a quick splash of water to the face, and then he'd made his way here, drawn by the mouth-watering smell of grilled meat that drifted through the town's narrow streets.
The town wasn't lacking in places to unwind after a mission. Seedy bars and gambling dens were always an option, popular among mercenaries looking to blow off steam. But those places came with their own set of problems, fights erupted over the slightest provocation, and when you made your living through combat, the last thing you wanted was to waste energy on a drunken brawl. No, Tao's restaurant offered something different. In its dimly lit, comfortable atmosphere, Rion could relax, clear his head, and avoid the usual parade of nuisances that seemed to dog his every step.
He had ordered the day's special: grilled ribeye steak, served with a side of roasted potatoes and a rich, creamy mushroom sauce. As someone who had to subsist on field rations these past few days, he couldn't wait to sink his teeth into the dish.
Rion's gaze wandered again as he swept across the restaurant, waiting for his food. Mercenaries made up the bulk of the clientele, as usual. It was easy to spot them, their rugged clothing, worn-out boots, and the unmistakable weariness in their eyes.
Every scar told a story, every dented piece of armor a reminder of battles fought and survived. Coca Town, being so close to the Tempest Grove, naturally drew these types, people who thrived on danger, on the thrill of pushing their limits. Rion wasn't so different from them, though he liked to think he had a bit more tact.
Most mercenary guilds didn't bother with whether you were a professional or not. They were only responsible for issuing tasks. Your life was your own burden, and if you thought yourself capable, go for it.
This was why the mercenary business was a mixed bag, with real professionals mixed in with a huge number of ordinary people pushed into it by circumstance.
At another table, a group of researchers huddled close, their conversation low but intense. They were probably fresh from an expedition, poring over the results of some strange artifact or biological sample they'd dug up from the Grove's depths. Their hands gestured wildly as they debated in hushed tones, their excitement palpable. It was almost refreshing in a way, seeing people so passionate about something other than survival.
And then, there are the oddballs. He chuckled quietly, shaking his head. The place was a melting pot of all kinds of people, and as Rion watched, his eyes landed on a particularly loud group nearby.
Seated at the table next to him were a pack of young adults dressed in matching navy blue bodysuits with a fiery emblem on the chest. Behind them stood four imposing guards, their physiques suggesting they were more than just regular escorts. They were there to protect, yes, but also to ensure that the brats in front of them didn't do something colossally stupid.
These people, as he had learned from their conversations, were students from the Pegasus Guild Academy and were in Coca town on a field trip of sorts. His gaze lingered on the group for a moment longer than he intended.
The Pegasus Guild Academy was known for its stringent entry requirements and elite reputation, a place where only the best cultivators could refine their skills. There were rumors about how one could secure a coveted spot in their ranks, and according to the mercenary grapevine, there were only two ways to get an offer from the famed guild.
The first, and most obvious, was to possess an ability ranked B-class or higher, something with real firepower or versatility. The Pegasus Academy prided itself on cultivating future leaders and top-tier combatants for their backer, The Pegasus Guild. These were the prodigies and the naturally gifted, the ones born with raw talent so powerful that they made heads turn whenever they walked into a room.
The second route to joining the Pegasus Academy? Money. Lots of it. As long as someone had enough to "invest" in the guild, their spot could be secured, regardless of talent or potential. Some called it nepotism, others a necessary evil to keep the guild's coffers full. Either way, the results spoke for themselves, many of those who bought their way in were just wealthy brats with mediocre powers but exceptional tutors to guide them through.
Rion's lips curled into a slight smirk as he studied the group. From the looks of them, it wasn't hard to guess which bracket of classification the young masters over there belonged to.
They were loud, laughing over some inside joke only they seemed to get, their polished uniforms practically gleaming under the restaurant's dim lighting. Their faces were too smooth, hands too soft. No calluses from wielding weapons, no scars from near-death encounters. They were all show and no substance, and the fact that they moved through the world with such blatant arrogance was enough to make Rion's skin crawl..
Brats....
He smirked to himself and shook his head slightly.Tempest Grove wasn't a place you survived through sheer luck or flashy powers; it was about strategy, preparation, and a good dose of paranoia. One misstep, one moment of overconfidence, and you'd be food for something far nastier than whatever creature those kids had stumbled across.
His attention shifted as the door creaked open, a gust of cool air sweeping in. A man in a long, dark coat stepped inside, drawing a few wary glances from the regulars. He had the look of someone who didn't belong, a stiff posture, eyes scanning the room too methodically. Rion didn't recognize him, but his instincts perked up. He took a seat at the bar, barely acknowledging the waitress who welcomed him with a grunt.
Great. Another one of those, Rion thought. He could practically feel the aura of danger emnating from the man, briefly considering whether he should make an early exit before any unnecessary trouble found him. But before he could think too much on it, the smell of his food arrived, distracting him in the best way possible.
"Tao's special ribeye," the waitress said with a tired smile, placing the plate down with practiced care. "Enjoy."
Rion's eyes lit up as he took in the sight of the perfectly grilled steak, the juices glistening under the dim lighting. The roasted potatoes were golden and crisp, while the mushroom sauce added a rich, savory aroma to the dish. He picked up his fork and knife, anticipation coursing through him as he cut into the tender meat.
The first bite was a revelation. It was soft but packed with flavor, the steak practically melting in his mouth. He let out an involuntary hum of approval, savoring the burst of richness that danced on his taste buds. After days of dry, processed rations, this was more than a meal, it was heaven. He didn't rush the meal, taking his time to savor each bite.
Halfway through his steak, a commotion broke out near the table of students. One of them, a tall, lanky young man with wild brown hair, who Rion had decided to call Young Master #1, was gesticulating wildly, his voice rising above the general murmur of the restaurant.
"I'm telling you, I really found a new way to use my adept ability. If not for the instructor holding us back, I could've single-handedly taken down the beast."
Young Master #1's boast was met with a chorus of dismissive snorts and eye rolls from his peers. One of the girls, a petite brunette with a nose ring, scoffed, "Yeah right, Herbert. You probably just ran away when the thing saw you."
The remark was enough to make Young Master #1's face flush an angry shade of red, his pride clearly wounded. Without warning, the boy stood up from his chair, fists clenched in frustration. "Oh, really?" he snapped. "I'll show you then!"
Before anyone could react, the teenager clenched his fist, and a sudden surge of energy pulsed through the air. Rion's instincts screamed danger a split second before the wind around the young man swirled into a concentrated sphere.
The air pressure changed, and the wind sphere shot toward the ground, shattering into a dozen sharp blades. The restaurant exploded into chaos as the wind blades scattered, cutting through tables and sending patrons scrambling for cover. Chairs clattered to the floor, and startled gasps filled the room as everyone backed away.
Governments around the world had implemented laws and procedures requiring individuals to refrain from publicly showcasing their origin abilities without proper permissions and licensing. If discovered, punishments ranged from fines to imprisonment, depending on the severity of the offense.
This wasn't just about maintaining public order; it was about control. Governments wanted to regulate the use of origin energy to prevent chaos, ensuring that only trained individuals with the right affiliations could use their powers openly.
However, Young Master #1 had been in a state of overexcitement and had forgotten this rule.
As the power of this sphere of wind was limited, the others were not really injured. Rion, however, was seated closest to the brats and was hit by the brunt of the attack. One of the blades clipped his torso, slicing through his shirt and leaving a sharp sting in its wake.
Another cut his arm, leaving a shallow cut that immediately began to bleed. Rion hissed in pain as he was knocked backward, his chair tipping over as the force of the wind shoved him to the ground. His dinner, his glorious ribeye flew from the table, landing unceremoniously on the floor with a splat.
Through it all, Rion lay there, his eyes narrowing as he took in the aftermath. His shirt was now a bloodied mess, with multiple gashes across his chest and arms. None of them were deep enough to be life-threatening, but they stung like hell. He had come here expecting nothing more than a quiet dinner before retiring to his quarters, so he was lightly dressed, without any of his usual gear, save for the handguns he never went anywhere without, just in case.
He slowly rose to his feet, wiping the blood from his arm with a grimace. If this were anywhere else, the authorities would soon be swarming the place, but Coca Town wasn't exactly a hub of law enforcement. Out here, things were more... flexible.
The bodyguards behind the group reacted immediately, moving with practiced precision. Two of them stepped forward, positioning themselves between the students and the rest of the restaurant, their broad frames serving as human shields. The other two remained vigilant, eyes scanning the room for any sign of danger, their muscles tense and ready for action.
Their hands hovered near the hilts of their weapons, fingers twitching slightly, as if anticipating a threat that might require force. In addition to their obvious readiness, it was clear from the casual demeanor of the students, laughing amongst themselves and showing no signs of concern, that they had collectively decided to shrug off the entire incident as little more than an unfortunate accident.
LITTLE SHITS!!!!!