As the lights of the square came into view, Ikurus let his clothes shift. The regal fabrics softened and shortened, becoming simple short trousers and a black, short sleeved shirt. His boots dissolved into nothing, leaving him barefoot against the cool stone. It felt better that way. Real.
Berfolt County's men were a rowdy bunch.
The square was packed with food stalls and drink tents, each one louder than the last. Men crowded around tables and barrels, laughing, shouting, slapping backs as they traded stories of hunts, brawls, and old victories. Tankards clashed together. Dice rolled across worn wood. Someone was singing terribly and no one cared.
Ikurus walked deeper into it all, tail swaying lazily behind him.
Further ahead, a massive wooden stage dominated the center of the square. Two men were wrestling atop it, muscles straining as they grappled and slammed one another into the boards. The crowd roared with every impact, cheers erupting whenever someone hit the ground hard enough to shake the platform.
Despite the noise, the atmosphere was warm. Honest. No fear. No hunger. No tension hiding beneath the laughter.
Ikurus smiled to himself.
"At least the man takes care of his people."
He bought a thick slab of grilled meat, juices still dripping from it, and a jug of beer heavy enough to make the handle creak. Settling onto a bench near one of the stalls, he ate with clear satisfaction, washing it down with deep pulls from the jug. For a while, nothing else mattered.
By the time he finished, he leaned back, full and content.
Then his eyes drifted back to the stage.
Another wrestler was slammed down hard, the crowd exploding with cheers. Ikurus felt a familiar itch beneath his skin. Too much energy. Too much restraint built up from earlier.
A slow, dark smile crept across his face.
"Yeah," he muttered, rising to his feet. "That'll do."
He started toward the wrestling stage, the noise of the fair swelling around him as the night promised something far more interesting.
"Heh heh."
A deep, hearty chuckle rumbled behind him.
"You look like a man who knows how to fight."
Ikurus glanced back to see an older man standing with his arms crossed, long gray hair tied back, his face weathered by years of wind and war. Despite his age, his body was solid and coiled with strength, the physique of a hardened warrior who had never truly left the battlefield.
"I can usually tell how a man fights by what he eats," the man continued. "Meat and beer. Good signs." His sharp eyes studied Ikurus closely. "I don't know who you are, kid, but for some reason I can feel it. There's a lot of power in you."
He straightened slightly and gave a short bow of the head.
"Ah, where are my manners? Gerald Alexander. Captain of the Guard for Berfolt County."
Ikurus smiled faintly. The man reminded him of General Grevos. Same weight in his presence. Same confidence earned, not claimed.
"Ikurus Veythros," he replied. "Nice to meet you."
He lifted his hand to offer a handshake.
Gerald's brows rose as he caught the name. "Veythros, eh?" He laughed warmly. "Ahh, you're Master Kaelith's boy. You'll do just fine."
He took Ikurus's hand and shook it firmly, then paused, surprised. The grip was strong. Too strong for someone so young. Calluses brushed against his palm.
Gerald's grin widened. "So you are a fighter."
Ikurus's tail flicked once behind him as a wide smile spread across his face.
"Sure sounds like you're about to ask me something."
"You like fighting," Gerald said knowingly. "Care to compete?"
"Sure," Ikurus replied instantly. "What're the rules?"
Gerald leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was sharing a secret.
"Nothing but strength, boy. Take down your opponent however you can. Keep it clean, keep your claws retracted." He chuckled. "It's a bit of a private fight club me and the older soldiers run. Locals love it."
He turned toward the stage, already waving Ikurus along.
"Come on then. Let's get you introduced."
Ikurus followed without hesitation, anticipation buzzing through him as the crowd's roar swelled louder.
Gerald led Ikurus past the edge of the stage and behind the main wrestling platform, where the noise of the crowd dulled into a steady rumble. A circle of older soldiers stood gathered there, men and women alike, their armor worn and mismatched, bearing the marks of long service rather than ceremony. These were not fresh recruits. These were survivors.
Conversations slowed as Gerald approached.
"Alright, you lot," Gerald called out, clapping his hands once. "Got someone new for tonight."
Eyes turned toward Ikurus, sizing him up in the way only veterans could. Not with malice. With curiosity. Measuring weight, stance, breath. A few raised brows at his age. A few smirked at his tail. None dismissed him outright.
"This here is Ikurus Veythros," Gerald continued. "Master Kaelith's boy."
That name carried.
Several soldiers straightened. A few nodded knowingly. One let out a low whistle.
From the back of the group stepped a woman with steel in her posture and silver in her hair. Her left arm was gone from the shoulder down, replaced by a cybernetic limb of dark metal and glowing seams that hummed softly as it moved. The design was practical, reinforced at the joints, clearly built for battle rather than beauty.
Her remaining eye was sharp. The other bore a long scar that pulled slightly when she smiled.
She walked up to Ikurus without hesitation, studying him for a moment. Then she chuckled.
"So," she said, voice rough and warm, "Ready to get some dirt in your eye cub?"
She reached out with her metal hand and pressed a cold tanker into Ikurus's palm.
"Drink up. You fight better when you're relaxed."
Ikurus accepted it, surprised but pleased, smiling back at her. "Appreciate it."
She tilted her head, amused. "You've got good balance. Good instincts. And you're not scared." Her gaze flicked briefly to his tail. "That'll serve you well."
Gerald laughed from behind them. "Careful, Rhea. You're gonna scare him off before he even steps on the stage."
Rhea snorted. "If he scares that easy, he doesn't belong here."
A few of the soldiers laughed, tension easing as tankards were raised and shoulders relaxed. Ikurus felt it then. Not scrutiny anymore.
Acceptance.
Whatever happened next in the ring, he was already one of them.
"So," Ikurus asked casually as he pulled his shirt over his head, rolling his shoulders loose, "who am I fighting?"
Gerald laughed, deep and genuine. "I like your guts, kid. Truth is, fights are about to wrap up. Folks want to eat, drink, and enjoy the rest of the night." He cracked his neck once, eyes gleaming. "But if you're still itching, you and me can have a go."
Before Ikurus could answer, a scream cut through the air.
A man went flying off the stage and crashed into the crowd with a heavy thud. For a split second there was silence, then roaring laughter and cheers as the hulking man sprang back to his feet, grinning ear to ear.
"Guess I lost, brother!" he shouted. "Good match!"
His opponent leapt down from the stage and wrapped him in a fierce hug, both of them raising their fists high. The crowd exploded, stomping and cheering, tankards raised.
Gerald watched it with a proud smile. "Ahhh, that's what it's all about."
He turned back to Ikurus. "Alright, kid. We're up."
With surprising speed for his size, Gerald leapt onto the stage and motioned for Ikurus to follow.
Ikurus didn't take the stairs.
Finishing his beer he passed the tanker back to Rhea.
"Hold this please"
He vanished upward, darting like a shadow as he bounded from one light post to the next. Gasps rippled through the crowd as golden eyes flashed above them, moving too fast to track. He landed lightly on the stage, bare feet touching down without a sound, tail swaying lazily behind him.
Gerald spread his arms wide.
"Alright, Berfolt!" he called out. "Last match of the night! You've seen the guards, you've seen the locals, now feast your eyes on something special."
He clapped a hand on Ikurus's shoulder.
"This here is Ikurus Veythros!"
The name rolled across the square. Some cheered. Some whispered. Others just stared, caught between curiosity and excitement.
Gerald grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Show them what you've got, cub."
Ikurus smiled, eyes gleaming under the lights as the crowd's roar swelled around them.
The two closed the distance instantly, colliding with raw force.
The impact echoed across the stage as they locked into a tight clinch, muscle grinding against muscle. Gerald fought like stone, rooted and relentless, his movements sharp and compact, elbows tucked, hips heavy. It was pure kyokushin. Close range power, crushing balance, every motion meant to break something.
Ikurus answered with fluid brutality.
His stance was lighter, knees bent, hips loose, weight constantly shifting. Muay Thai instincts from his time on Earth took over as he framed with his forearms, driving short knees into Gerald's thigh and ribs, testing angles, feeling for rhythm. The crowd began to swell as people pressed closer, drawn in by the sound of flesh meeting flesh.
Gerald grunted and suddenly surged forward, arms locking around Ikurus's waist.
With a roar, he attempted to body slam him.
For a split second, Ikurus felt his feet leave the ground.
Then he twisted.
Using Gerald's lift and forward momentum, Ikurus landed cleanly on his feet, pivoted hard, lifted him slightly and slammed Gerald into the stage instead. The boards shook as Gerald hit, dust bursting into the air.
Ikurus's eyes widened just a fraction.
Strong. Too strong.
That level of power reminded him of Rokash.
The realization sent a thrill through his chest, excitement sparking alongside a flicker of caution. He grinned despite himself.
The scuffle resumed immediately. Gerald charged again, teeth bared, and this time wrapped Ikurus up from behind, arching his back and launching into a suplex.
The crowd gasped.
Ikurus hit the ground hard, the impact driving his head straight into the dirt beneath the stage. The earth swallowed half his face. For a heartbeat, everything went quiet.
Then Ikurus pushed himself up, dirt falling from his hair as he dug free, golden eyes burning.
The two rushed each other again.
Ikurus threw a heavy right cross. Gerald shifted to guard.
Too late.
Ikurus spun with the motion, his hips snapping as his elbow came around like a blade. The strike cracked against Gerald's chin with a hollow thud.
Gerald staggered back and fell hard, the wind knocked clean out of him.
Silence fell.
Then Gerald started laughing.
He pushed himself up, raised one hand, and waved it high. "That's it. I'm done. Loss is mine."
For half a second, the crowd didn't believe it.
Then the square exploded.
Cheers roared like thunder, tankards thrown into the air, people shouting Ikurus's name as word spread rapidly. The arena champion of six straight years had fallen.
The noise was so loud it rolled up the stone walls of the estate itself.
Inside the castle, nobles paused mid conversation, glasses trembling in their hands as the sound reached even them.
Ikurus stood there, chest rising and falling, dirt streaked across his face, tail swaying slowly behind him.
And he was smiling.