Chapter 664: Interesting people.
The streets of Darion seemed to breathe life to excess. Every corner teemed with people: merchants shouting prices, fruit vendors clapping their hands to attract attention, warriors flaunting their muscles and weapons as if the whole world were their audience. Carriages laden with barrels passed by, children ran laughing, and street performers juggled flaming torches.
Amidst this vibrant chaos, Strax and Samira walked side by side, blending into the flow of people as if they were just two other travelers seeking distraction. The mana seal made them invisible to instinctive eyes—no one broke stride, no one averted their eyes, and that alone made them chuckle.
Samira held the scabbard of her new sword as she walked, her gray cloak flowing behind her. At one point, they stopped near a stone balcony overlooking an open square. There, a crowd had gathered, and among the spectators appeared warriors displaying blows, kicks, and punches as if part of an impromptu show.
Samira leaned against the balcony wall, her amber eyes narrowed, assessing. “Hm. The number of martial artists is impressive.” She smirked. “It seems like half the city thinks they’re dragons.”
Strax watched with a lazy but attentive gaze. He saw beyond the movement, beyond the muscles. He saw the discipline in some, the arrogance in others, and the grotesque errors of the majority. “Yes,” he murmured, his golden eyes flashing. “But… something’s wrong.”
Samira arched an eyebrow. “Wrong how?”
He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, and pointed with a slight movement of his chin. “Have you noticed? We only saw hand-to-hand combatants. Punches, kicks, spears, swords… But where are the mages?”
She looked away thoughtfully. “Now that you mention it… it’s true. I haven’t seen any since we arrived.”
Strax growled softly, as if the absence tasted bitter. “It’s unnatural. On any continent, there are always mages among warriors. Even the weakest. But here… nothing.”
Samira tried to soften the words. “Maybe Darion is a city geared toward warriors. Mages might prefer other places.” She shrugged. “Or they’re not welcome.”
Strax, however, didn’t seem satisfied with the explanation. His piercing golden eyes fixed on a distant point in the square. He felt something—a sudden pressure, a surge of mana so dense it distorted the air. It was as if the city itself had held its breath.
And then he saw her.
Among the crowd, almost camouflaged in her naturalness, walked an Asian woman. But she wasn’t just any woman. Her features were fine, delicate as porcelain, but her body was pure carnal temptation: sharp curves, a firm posture, and a walk that seemed to blend elegance and provocation with every step. She wore simple clothes, a light dress, nothing that screamed wealth or power. And yet… she shone.
Not literally, but her aura. It was colossal. Thunderous. Strax felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. This wasn’t just mana—it was a living, suffocating presence, as if her essence took up more space than her body allowed.
He said nothing. He simply watched, analyzing her like a predator stares at another predator. His golden eyes followed her, taking in every detail.
And then she stopped.
Slowly, the woman looked up. And her eyes met Strax’s.
For an instant, everything around them disappeared. There was no more plaza, no more voices, no more noise. Just two eyes colliding.
Strax felt the impact—as if he’d been hit by an invisible blow to the chest. There was too much power in that silent exchange. But it wasn’t just power. It was confidence. The certainty of someone who knew exactly who they were and didn’t need to prove anything to anyone.
And then… she smiled.
A slight, almost playful smile. And she disappeared.
Not like someone hiding behind a crowd. Not like someone simply turning a corner. She vanished. Like smoke blown away by the wind.
Strax kept his gaze fixed on the spot where she’d been, his heart beating faster than he cared to admit.
“Strax?” Samira’s voice pulled him back. “What was that?”
He took a deep breath, regaining his usual predatory calm. “Nothing,” he replied quietly, but his eyes were even more serious than before. “Just someone… interesting.”
Samira stared at him suspiciously, but didn’t press the issue. She was used to his way of keeping secrets until he decided to share them.
Strax finally turned his face to her, and his voice was deep, filled with cold certainty.
“Be careful.”
Samira arched an eyebrow. “With what?”
“With the people here.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and began walking, beckoning her with his gaze. “There are strong people in Darion. Stronger than I imagined.”
The warning wasn’t delivered in a tone of alarm, but of acknowledgment. Samira understood the message and smirked, adjusting her sword at her waist. “That just makes it more fun.”
They left the square behind, walking through alleys until they reached the tournament’s grand registration hall. It was a circular stone building, with red and gold flags fluttering overhead. Lines snaked out the gate, packed with young warriors.
The atmosphere there was different from the city. Denser, more competitive. The air seemed to carry an electric tension. Every face was a mix of pride and anxiety.
Strax and Samira joined the line, blending into the crowd. And even sealed, even invisible, Strax felt the stares. Not because others saw them, but because the instinct of the weak always sensed when predators were nearby.
Samira smiled, almost savoring the atmosphere. “How are we going to sign up?”
Strax smiled back, golden eyes sparkling. “As always,” he said calmly. “Let’s just go with the flow.”
The line snaked like a living snake, full of energy and inflated egos. Men and women of all ages were there, most in their twenties, exuding an almost childlike confidence. Some came in trained pairs, others still arguing over who would be the “Dragon” and who would take the title of “Phoenix.”
The hubbub was constant, but none of it distracted Strax. He observed every posture, every foot movement, every irregular breath. A quick glance was enough to distinguish who was just muscle, who had technique, and who should never have joined that line.
Samira, for her part, was amused. Her eyes roamed over the bodies, the clothes, the mannerisms—and she always seemed to find reasons to smile.
“Look at that one over there,” she murmured, leaning slightly toward Strax.
He followed her gaze and saw a tall young man, chest puffed out, blond hair slicked back. The boy wore armor too light to protect, but too heavy to be in the way.
“A peacock,” Strax concluded.
“I bet he’ll fall at the first punch.” Samira chuckled softly.
Further ahead, two brothers were arguing among themselves, arguing over who should take the role of Dragon. One of them claimed he was the eldest and therefore had the right; The other shouted that he was the strongest, and that age didn’t matter in combat.
Samira shook her head, bored. “If you must argue about this, neither of you deserves the title.”
Strax didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed elsewhere. Up ahead, there was a silent group of three hooded men. Unlike the noisy crowd around them, they didn’t laugh, didn’t speak, didn’t gesture. They just stood still, like rocks. And Strax, even with the mana seal active, felt a twinge of discomfort as he looked at them.
He narrowed his eyes. “These aren’t ordinary.”
Samira noticed his gaze and arched an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“Later,” he replied dryly, resuming his walk with her as the line moved forward.
On the way, they heard more conversation.
“They say last year’s champion took off his opponent’s arm with a single spear thrust,” a boy commented excitedly.
“Bah, I’m exaggerating,” his friend replied. “I bet it was just a show.”
“Show or not, I saw the guy training! If he comes back, no one will take the title from him!”
Samira rolled her eyes, bored. “Humans love to turn defeats into legends.”
“That’s what’s left for them,” Strax muttered, his voice thick with irony.
The line moved slowly, but each step brought them closer to the interior of the hall. From the outside, the building looked merely solid; inside, Strax could already feel the currents of energy circulating, as if the place itself had been shaped to contain the fury of hundreds of warriors.
Samira, impatient, fixed her hair and sighed. “Are we going to be here much longer?”
“A little,” Strax replied. “But watch.” It’s always in the “before” that we discover who truly has potential.
She smiled, understanding his predatory tone. “And have you ever seen anyone worth it?”
“Few.” He discreetly adjusted his cloak on his shoulder. “Most are just muscles. But… there’s something strange about some.” He paused, his golden gaze narrowing. “It’s like they’re hiding something.”
Samira licked her lips, amused. “They hide it poorly.”