2.2 The Most Bloodthirsty Killer in the Region

If Mish's eyes had seemed big to him before, it was because he'd never seen them wide open. She looked like a fly. Cérise used her as a crutch to stand up, which made her squeak, but it wasn't as though anyone wanted her here anyway. All the while, he and Svart aimed at each other with impractical weapons.

"Stay back," Mish told him. "I'll handle this."

"What—no."

"You're hurt."

"I'm n..." Cérise broke out coughing again. Great. He gestured for her to leave with his free hand, to no avail. Still, it was better than to have Snail around, given the name that was getting thrown around.

"Just leave them alone," Said Vit, from afar, "We're already in trouble because of the damages to the shop. So what if he knows what they are? Does that warrant trying to kill him? Again?"

Svart ignored him.

"And you say I waste time and money. Hey, clerk, are you the most bloodthirsty killer in the region? Yes or no?"

Cérise ignored him.

Vit sighed. "Val, go calm down that poor shopkeeper. Tell him we're paying for damages. I'll stay here and watch the thrilling combat between Svart and a man half his size."

Mish struck.

"Oh, right, forgot she was there."

She whizzed by so fast that Cérise couldn't see her this time. It would've been kind of impressive, had she not proceeded to bodyslam the ice claymore, which Svart held before him like a shield. Mish tried to roll back, but she ended up stumbling. Disappointed, but not surprised, Cérise shoved her back, then sidestepped as Svart swung his blade. It was a warning, not a killing blow, and it said as such: while this is non-lethal, it'll shatter half your bones if it hits.

Cérise's hands shook. The black dots obscuring his vision persisted no matter how much he blinked. Breathing hurt. "If you kill them," said Vit, "Just know I'll be the first to tell the guards."

Yet he wasn't stopping it. Svart swung at the air, summoning a whirlwind of ice which Cérise didn't dodge because the absolute hindrance that was Mish didn't budge, and so he had to, quite literally, slash it in half. As it crashed and dissolved against the buildings nearby, it hissed, leaving two trails of blue-white around Mish and him.

Behind his glasses, Vit's eyes widened. Svart wasn't nearly as surprised. He summoned a second, and by the third, icicles the size and shape of a dagger joined in. "Will you talk now?" Asked Svart, when Cérise parried a shard almost as long as his arm, making him stagger. "Where did your sarcasm go, Vit? Does that seem like something a simple clerk could do?"

"Mish," whispered Cérise. "Run. I'll be fine."

"But—"

"Leave!"

"No!" And there she went, speeding again, not towards Svart, but the shop. Vit, far from catching her, stepped to the side so she'd have free access to the door.

...well. Now she couldn't say Cérise hadn't warned her.

With that out of the way, Svart lunged. It was clearly meant for Cérise to dodge, since trying to counter would just send him flying like a frisbee, but he did neither; with a jab, Cérise cleaved through the ice. Svart let it go right before the blade reached his fingers. It was Cérise to strike this time, once, twice, thrice, as Svart stepped back.

Vit clapped. "Woo! Svart, you're fucked!"

It didn't even sound sarcastic. Was he stupid? Cérise attacked the way a wounded animal did, with a single objective: to run.

Finally, Svart slipped, for Cérise cornered him against a puddle that had been ice a couple of minutes ago.

While he didn't expect the brute to meg for mercy or anything, Cérise didn't expect Svart to outright scratch at him, yet that's what he seemed to do, as he collapsed.

No.

That wasn't it.

His cloak. With Cérise skidding back and Svart landing on his ass as he swiped at it, the cloth tore almost to the middle. Cérise scowled at him, snapping, "What the—" before he realized the real intention behind this.

He covered his upper arm, now bare, but it was too late.

Svart's eyes narrowed. "Knew it."

Cérise ran.

***

Finally. Finally here. The moment Pluie crossed the main gate to the city, he collapsed like a sack of rice. Uncaring, people walked past and above him, save for a couple of mercenary girls that helped him up. They didn't give him food, though.

Anyway, he'd been to Khon-Pak before. Everyone had. Not only did it possess the largest oasis around, but it also had great baklava. Pluie's stomach growled, but he was a man on a mission. Besides, how could he possibly afford something to eat when he'd been mugged two times in the middle of the desert, and one of them had involved the emergency money hidden within his underwear? All that was left was resolve; it'd carry him through.

He just had to find the heroes now.

Okay. Okay. In a city of one hundred thousand people, how high was the probability of finding the heroes? High, of course. He'd read enough novels to know that he'd end up hearing about a scandal sooner or later. It'd inevitably be linked to them. Then, he'd follow his head and/or the gossip, find said scandal, invite himself into the drama, rescue everyone, and impress them enough to get recruited. Plans of the sort were foolproof. These kinds of things always happened. Even if he were to be mugged again, chances were, one of the champions from Akiha's group would come and save him instead, so then he'd throw himself to the floor and beg them to join while crying.

Pluie's stomach roared.

This wasn't too bad. Magic cooled the city enough for him to walk without feeling dizzy. He'd been trained to withstand mortal insolation, not by the academy itself, but by life.

Hours later, Pluie went with plan B—asking around. He used his guard badge to its fullest advantage (meaning he begged) and thus, could gather the following:

a) Ah, I think I saw a group like that a while ago.

b) A half-beast, beastman, giant and two humans traveling together? Why does everything have to be political these days?

c) I saw them. They ate all the falafels.

d) I heard there was a fight a while ago near the main street. They might've been involved.

"A fight?" Asked Pluie. "Did you see it?"

As of now, he asked a beastmen couple who'd been enjoying a day of urban tourism until a certain city guard came to interrogate them. They exchanged glances. The one who'd spoken first said, "I saw a half-beast fighting a group of foreigners. There was another guy, a Raabi, like you, I think, but he ran away, and the foreigners took the girl."

The other beastman squinted at him. "You told me you'd just gone to the bathroom."

"Yes, but—"

"Guys," said Pluie, "Let's—let's focus for now, please. So you're telling me a fight broke out, one of them was kidnapped, and no one did anything about it?"

"Listen, what was I supposed to do? Huh? Get kidnapped, too? Even her friend left her behind. He just lolnoped the fuck outta there."

Pluie stared at them, aghast. Had one of the heroes abandoned a comrade? Moreover, were those foreigners so strong that they'd fought toe-to-toe with such an elite? "I mean... the guards, not civilians." Though now that he vocalized this, his earlier question answered itself. "Well... you said near the main street, but..."

"You know the falafel shop? The famous one? Where they had no falafels because of your friends? Well, a couple of blocks before that."

His friends.

His.... friends.

Oh, to be acquainted with such formidable people. "Wait," said the other beastman. "You said the other guy abandoned the girl, right? The foreigners are obviously using her as bait. That's why they kidnapped her. The guy might have gone for reinforcements. The whole thing is a trap."

...a trap only Pluie could save them from. "That's it," he said. "That's it. Thank you so much. Have a great day."

"You too, kid. Good luck."

He might need it, but he no longer wanted it. This was his chance, and now he'd join the heroes, no matter what.

It wasn't hard to reach the place, either. If the strange puddles and glass shards weren't enough, the neighboring shops all being closed were a dead giveaway.

Then, and only then, did he think of asking the beastmen for food.