The words were quiet, but they carried an undercurrent that made several nearby patrons shift uncomfortably in their seats. The mercenary must have heard it too, because his grip tightened even as uncertainty flickered across his features.
"Or what, half-breed? You going to—"
Jorghan moved.
His free hand came up in a blur, fingers catching the mercenary's jaw in a strike that looked casual but carried precision.
The sound of breaking teeth echoed through the sudden silence like cracking stone, and the mercenary leader went sprawling backward, blood pouring from his ruined mouth.
The wiry one with the scar lunged to his feet, going for his sword, but Jorghan was already there. An elbow to the nose sent blood streaming down the man's face, followed by a knee to the gut that doubled him over gasping.
Another one of their members came running towards him; Jorghan just turned to him and raised his hand.
Thud!
