Jeremiah walked through the town square, his body still covered in bandages beneath a white cassock that signaled he was a priest in training. The people greeted the young man, as he and Raymond had earned newfound respect among the townsfolk.
Father said he has taught all he can for now, and I need to improve on my own for Tarth. My attacks mostly focus on elemental conversion, but I specialize in fire. If I master converting to other elements as well, it should be pretty similar, Jeremiah thought to himself as he drifted aimlessly.
A few feet away, an old man was being cornered by three thugs.
"Hand over the coin!" one of the thugs demanded. The old man backed away. He stood out like a sore thumb, with an East Asian appearance in a region where most people looked Caucasian.
"I don't want trouble," the old man replied.
"Just hand over the coin then!" another thug shouted.
"That I cannot do," the old man answered.
"Bad answer," one of the thugs sneered as all three pulled out daggers.
The first thug charged, swinging his dagger toward the old man's chest. The old man slipped aside, deflecting the blow with his left hand, and delivered a punch to the thug's face with his right. As the thug's head snapped back, the old man struck his throat with his left hand. The thug collapsed, coughing and wheezing.
The two remaining thugs froze in shock.
Oh my word. That was insane, Jeremiah thought, marveling at the old man.
"Let's go in at the same time! He can't handle us both!" one thug shouted.
Before they could attack, one was dropped by a kick to the back of the head. The heavy blow caused a ruckus. The thug turned to see Jeremiah, the young man in the white cassock.
"Jeremiah! Please show mercy!" the thug pleaded.
"Get out of here," Jeremiah ordered firmly. The thug roused his two friends, and they fled.
"Good sir, I saw what you did. I need you to mentor me," Jeremiah pleaded with the old man.
"An exorcist of the Vatican wants to learn a martial art from the Third Continent instead of magic?" the old man said with a hint of sarcasm.
"I've hit a ceiling, sir. I need to break through quickly, or else I'll be inadequate," Jeremiah said, his face full of conviction.
"The townsfolk speak highly of you, even before you were known for surviving a demon fight. They say you're humble and hardworking. I'll take you in for two weeks—I want to see this quality myself," the old man said as he turned to leave.
"Where can I find you?" Jeremiah asked.
"You will go to the waterfall at sunrise tomorrow. Be late, and I drop you," the old man replied.
"Thank you!" Jeremiah shouted, overcome with excitement.
With this, I can take my combat abilities to a new level, Jeremiah thought, exhilarated.
At the marketplace, Raymond walked around. The people made way for him, as he was now more recognized among the townsfolk. His white cassock made him stand out, and his quiet, avoidant nature contrasted with Jeremiah's demeanor.
I need to find dual blades. The longsword has carried me this far, but I must forsake everything I was in order to become stronger, Raymond thought as he reached a blacksmith's shop.
Raymond knocked on the door.
"Enter," a voice called from inside. He stepped into a small room cluttered with weapons.
"Hello," Raymond said quietly. A young woman with striking blonde hair peeked up from behind the counter.
"Hi. Can I help you?" she asked.
"Yes. I require dual swords," Raymond replied.
"Dual swords? These will be perfect," she said, reaching for a pair of steel blades. They looked new and untouched by battle.
"How much?" Raymond asked.
"Fifteen gold pieces," she replied.
"How about eight gold pieces and five hundred silver coins—and I'll throw in something special," Raymond negotiated.
"And that is?" she asked skeptically.
"This," Raymond said, drawing his pure silver longsword. Though restored, it still bore cracks. He handed it to her for inspection.
"This is incredible steel. Even damaged, this sword is worth at least eleven gold pieces—likely far more. Give me this, and I'll make it five gold pieces," the blacksmith said, marveling at the blade.
"Deal," Raymond replied without hesitation. She handed him the swords, and he left.
For Tarth, the best way forward is preparation, Raymond thought as he exited the marketplace.
Atop a balcony of the cathedral, Father Cranel stood smoking a cigarette, gazing at the lands beyond the town. The wind blew gently, the sky a clear blue dotted with white clouds.
"So you're just going to stalk me now?" Cranel asked, his voice monotone and uninterested.
"Heard your boy and Bold's kid had a close encounter with demons," a voice called from the roof above.
Father Jaqen leapt down onto the balcony.
"For a blind man, you're quite the climber," Cranel remarked. Jaqen chuckled.
"I thought your demon hatred would have you frothing at the mouth. You're oddly calm. What am I missing?" Jaqen asked with a smirk.
"I'll tell you straight. In less than three weeks, we'll head to Tarth. Demons will converge there. That will allow me to kill as many as I want," Cranel replied, his crimson eyes fixed on Jaqen.
"So the red-eyed dog is finally on the hunt again. Thought you'd lost your edge," Jaqen said.
"No way you came here just for that. What do you want?" Cranel asked.
"Cranel, the pope wants you to return to the Capital soon. War is coming—not from demons, but heathens. We need the strongest ready," Jaqen stated seriously. Cranel laughed softly in response.
"What's so funny?" Jaqen asked, growing annoyed. Cranel burst into loud laughter, then suddenly went quiet.
"Oh, seems you bastards forgot. I work for no man. My employer is the Lord. Your orders have simply aligned with that for now. Tell the pope this: I, Cranel, the crimson-eyed wolf, serve no man," Cranel said, pushing past Jaqen into his room.
Jaqen chuckled to himself. Cranel, you are truly distasteful, he thought before leaping off the balcony and vanishing into the surrounding area.