Chapter 52: A Warning and a Brawl

  The morning sun hung low over Xenor, its golden rays peeking through the towering spires and bustling streets. The city was alive with merchants setting up their stalls, adventurers haggling over weapons and potions, and guards making their morning patrols.

  Marcus and his party—Vira, Thalron, Arixa, Boruk, and Ragn—had spent the morning keeping a low profile, knowing that tomorrow, Marcus would stand before the gathered Guild Leaders for questioning.

  No one spoke about it outright, but the tension in the air was undeniable.

  Marcus exhaled through his nose as he walked, flexing his fingers inside his new gauntlets. He wasn’t nervous—no, nervousness implied doubt. It wasn’t the questioning that bugged him.

  It was the feeling that something bigger was coming.

  And then, he saw him.

  Vealeth.

  The dragonkin warrior stood at the edge of a weapons stall, his newly forged sword and shield strapped securely to his back. He was inspecting a set of throwing knives, his sharp, reptilian eyes flicking up the moment Marcus locked eyes with him.

  Vealeth smirked. "I was wondering when I’d run into you."

  Marcus grinned, approaching without hesitation. "What, you come all this way just to admire Xenor’s market district?"

  Vealeth scoffed, placing the throwing knives back down. " No I came to claim my tournament prize" Vealeth pointed to the newly forged weapons with a thumb over his shoulder. "My father does great work." Thalron said, pride in his voice. "Indeed" Vealeth replied whole heartedly. Vealeth continued, " the other reason I came here was to find your where abouts, but seeing that you are here before me now, I must warn you Marcus."

  The lightheartedness in Marcus' expression faded just slightly. "Warn me?"

  Vealeth crossed his arms, tilting his head. "Ever heard of the 'Followers of the Black?"

  Vira and Thalron exchanged glances. Boruk frowned. "Sounds like some doomsday cult."

  Vealeth snorted. "You’re not wrong." He looked back at Marcus. "They believe, they must gather or train strong individuals to ward off some—sort of—calamity, or something like that" He waved a dismissive clawed hand. "To be honest, I never paid much attention to their ramblings. To them, the ‘calamity’ is some prophesied event—some reckoning they’re all waiting for."

  Marcus narrowed his eyes. Vealeth continued "When we spoke after the tournament I was warning you about them?"

  Vira Chimed in, "you being here now, does that mean you left them, won't they come after you?"

  Vealeth smirked. "Yes, and—Probably. But I’m not worried about myself." His gaze darkened. "I’m worried about you—Marcus."

  Marcus didn’t flinch. "Why?"

  Vealeth, glancing around. "Because they’re watching, Marcus. You beat me in the tournament, that defeat inspired me to—let's say, leave their cult with a bang" He leaned in slightly, voice lowering. "They’ll consider you a threat, you're a powerful abberition."

  Arixa scoffed. "A lot of people consider him a threat."

  Vealeth ignored her. "Just be careful. If they’re here in Xenor, you’ll know soon enough."

  Marcus was quiet for a moment before speaking. "Stem, is there any connection between the Followers of the Black and this ‘Black Horizon’?"

  There was a brief pause before Stem answered. "A direct connection is unconfirmed. However, records suggest that the Followers of the Black’s ideology originated from writings associated with several different cultural lores. It is likely that the Followers are a lesser faction inspired by it."

  Marcus exhaled. "That’s a yes in a roundabout way."

  He looked back at Vealeth. "You should join us."

  The others immediately reacted.

  Arixa scoffed. "Oh, here we go."

  Thalron frowned. "Marcus, you fought him once, and now you think you understand him?"

  Marcus shrugged. "Yeah, I do."

  Vira sighed, rubbing her temples. "We already have a full party."

  Vealeth chuckled, shaking his head. "I appreciate the offer, Marcus. But I’m not the kind of person who plays well in groups. You’ve got your own crew—too many people already." His gaze lingered on Marcus for a moment. "But I’ll be around. I’ll keep an eye on things."

  With that, Vealeth turned, walking off into the city streets.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Marcus watched him go before turning to his friends with a smirk. "Told you I knew his motivations."

  Arixa threw up her hands. "You are impossible."

  Let's get drinks now, before I have to process more doom and gloom, Boruk said as he walked toward the nearest Tavern.

  The Iron Fang Tavern was packed with adventurers, mercenaries, and travelers, each nursing a drink or a plate of steaming food. The warm glow of lanterns reflected off wooden beams, the scent of roasted meat mingling with ale and the faint hint of metal and sweat—a telltale sign of the fighters within.

  Marcus sat at a round table with his party, stretching his shoulders. Arixa was flicking a knife between her fingers, half-listening to Ragn and Boruk argue about some brawl they’d had in their younger days. Vira sipped her drink, eyes flickering between the doorway and the large windows, her instincts sharp. Thalron was focused on his plate, methodically cutting his food with a practiced efficiency.

  Then—the doors slammed open.

  A squad of Xenorian Guards marched in, their heavy boots clanking against the wooden floor. Seven of them, fully armored, each bearing the crest of Xenor’s ruling Thane. The tavern fell silent. Conversations died, drinks paused mid-sip, and every set of eyes turned to the intruders.

  At the forefront stood Captain Vessan, a grizzled veteran with a thick beard peppered with gray. His armor bore scars of past battles, and his deep-set eyes were full of irritation. His gaze scanned the room—then locked onto Marcus.

  "Marcus Elder." His voice cut through the silence like a blade. "By order of the Thane of Xenor, you are to be taken into custody immediately."

  Marcus let out a slow breath and glanced at his drink. "Can I finish my ale first?"

  Arixa snorted, already flexing her fingers.

  Thalron, however, immediately stood up and placed himself between Marcus and the guards. His stance was poised, authoritative, and completely unintimidated.

  "Captain Vessan, Marcus is under my protection until the Adventurer’s Guild has finished its questioning," Thalron declared, his tone firm and unyielding. "Until then, he is not to be detained by any other faction."

  Vessan’s jaw tightened. "Your rank does not override the authority of the Thane."

  Thalron’s hand drifted toward his blade. "You’d be surprised."

  The tension in the room skyrocketed.

  Arixa cracked her knuckles, shifting to a battle stance. Boruk and Ragn rose to their feet, standing side by side, their sheer size and presence making them an immovable wall. Vira’s fingers curled at her sides, the air around her subtly crackling with contained mana.

  The guards tensed, shifting their weapons ever so slightly.

  Marcus sighed, already feeling where this was going. "This is gonna turn into a tavern brawl, isn’t it?"

  Boruk grinned. "Yeah, probably."

  Then—

  A guard grabbed Marcus' arm.

  And all hell broke loose.

  The Brawl Erupts

  Arixa moved first.

  Before the guard could even register what was happening, she launched herself over the table, grabbing a half-empty tankard and slamming it against his helmet. The loud clang echoed through the room as the man staggered back, dazed.

  Boruk, never one to be left out of a fight, grabbed a whole table—an entire wooden table—and heaved it into two oncoming guards. The impact sent them sprawling, knocking chairs and plates into the air.

  Thalron parried a guard’s blade with his own, then pivoted into a precise pommel strike to the ribs. The armored man gasped, doubling over, and Thalron followed up with a sharp kick to the knee, sending him crashing to the floor.

  Ragn ducked under a wild sword swing and drove his fist into the attacker’s stomach, his sheer strength lifting the man off his feet before he crashed onto a nearby table, unconscious.

  Vira, meanwhile, snapped her fingers, conjuring a sudden gust of wind that blew a guard backward, sending him crashing through a stack of barrels.

  Marcus barely had time to react before another soldier swung a baton at his head. He tilted just enough for the strike to graze past his ear, then retaliated with a sharp right hook to the guard’s jaw—the impact knocking the man’s helmet clean off.

  Another soldier came at him with a wide slash—but Marcus sidestepped smoothly, caught the man's wrist mid-swing, and drove an uppercut straight into his gut. The guard wheezed, his knees buckling, and Marcus followed it up with a swift elbow to the temple, dropping him like a sack of bricks.

  Arixa was grinning as she spun midair, dodging a spear thrust before driving her knee into the attacker’s chest. She grabbed the falling man by his armor and flung him over a table.

  "Not bad, Marcus!" she called, narrowly dodging a sword swing.

  "Not bad yourself!" Marcus shot back, narrowly sidestepping another attacker.

  Boruk grabbed another soldier in a bear hug, lifting him clean off the ground before slamming him down through a chair, the wooden frame exploding into splinters.

  Thalron fought with precision, his blade glowing as he parried, countered, and disarmed each attacker with ruthless efficiency. "You should have stayed outside," he murmured, side-stepping a desperate punch before slamming the hilt of his sword into the man’s gut.

  Vira twirled her fingers, sending thin arcs of wind that knocked weapons out of the guards’ hands, disarming them without dealing any lethal damage.

  The tavern had become a battleground, tables overturned, tankards spilling ale, unconscious guards slumped over chairs and floors.

  Captain Vessan, realizing how quickly his men were being overpowered, growled in frustration and drew his sword.

  Before he could charge—

  A large wooden beam came flying across the room—

  Slamming into him, sending him crashing into the bar.

  Boruk clapped the dust from his hands. "That should do it."

  Marcus exhaled, surveying the wreckage. "Alright. That was fun, but we should get out of here before reinforcements show up."

  Thalron nodded. "Move. Now."

  They bolted toward the tavern exit, weaving through Xenor’s streets as alarm bells rang in the distance.

  Guards were already swarming toward them.

  "They’re coming!" Vira warned.

  "Then let’s make this chase interesting," Marcus grinned.

  With that, they disappeared into the city, using their wits, speed, and the crowded streets to evade capture.

  Their destination?

  The Adventurer’s Guild—the only place they could be safe.

  As they burst through the Guild Hall’s entrance, the looming figure of Fillia Kelcrest stood at the top of the stairs, her golden eyes burning with intensity.

  Beside her, Quell rested a massive hammer against his shoulder, looking unimpressed.

  Fillia’s icy tone cut through the commotion as the pursuing guards skidded to a halt.

  "Enough."

  Captain Vessan, still recovering from being thrown across the tavern, glared up at her. "The Thane demands—"

  "The Thane’s demands do not override the Guild’s authority on our grounds," Fillia interrupted, voice sharp. "Until Marcus Elder has answered to the Guild Leaders, he is under our jurisdiction."

  Vessan clenched his jaw but knew he was outmatched.

  After a tense moment, he gave a reluctant nod and ordered his men to withdraw.

  As the guards disappeared, Marcus let out a slow breath.

  "Well," he muttered. "That was fun."

  Arixa grinned. "I take back what I said earlier. I love tavern brawls."

  Boruk chuckled. "So… what

  now?"

  Marcus glanced at Fillia.

  "You rest," she said. "Because tomorrow? You answer for everything."