Rika awoke with a sudden, violent twist, her curved daggers instantly flying into her hands as she rolled out of her makeshift bed.
Her emerald eyes scanned the steam-filled room, her body tense, her vine marks flaring a defensive, pale green
The bathhouse was completely silent.
"Hey," she called out, her voice sharp, echoing off the crumbling pillars.
"Wake up. It's dawn."
No response.
Rika cautiously approached the stone basin. The discarded linens were piled neatly on a bench.
The old, blood-soaked rags were gone.
Hanjun and Jayhon were nowhere to be found.
She dropped her daggers slightly, her jaw slacking in absolute, utter bewilderment.
They left?
Last night, she had spent hours tossing and turning, her mind racing with a massive dilemma.
She had fully intended to abandon them.
In her thoughts Hanjun was a freak—a terrifying, blank-faced tactical prodigy who had literally blitzed her and struck her across the face without a single shred of hesitation.
He was too unpredictable, too dangerous to keep around.
She had reasoned that maybe, just maybe, she could take the crybaby Jayhon with her because his water-Zheki could be useful for concealing tracks, but Hanjun was a monster disguised as a starving kid.
And now... they had just walked out before she even blinked.
Rika walked over to the spot where Hanjun had been trying to fold the towel.
The square cloth was sitting on the floor, perfectly flat, except for one corner that had been folded into a horribly mismatched, jagged crease.
A cold shiver ran down her spine.
He anticipated me, she thought, her heart pounding against her ribs. He knew I was calculating his utility.
He realized I might try to split them up, so he extracted his asset before I could establish a tactical advantage. He's... he's completely playing me.
She bit her lip until it bled, her high-elf pride warring with genuine terror. "You arrogant little peasant," she whispered into the empty steam picking up the towel. "You think you can just use a Royal Crest holder as a shield and walk away?"
_________________
"We are currently lost," Hanjun noted flatly.
"I know we're lost!" Jayhon panicked, keeping his head down as they walked past a row of fishmongers. "Stop saying it so loudly!" Hanjun reaponded
"You always worry come on."
And then he paused, his eyes locking onto a fat, roasted sausage hanging from a street vendor's cart.
His stomach let out a ferocious, violent growl that sounded like a dying animal.
"I'm hungry. We must steal that meat."
"No! No more stealing!" Jayhon grabbed Hanjun's oversized sleeve, his face twisted in fear.
"Look up!"
Blocking the end of the narrow alleyway was a single city guard.
He wasn't one of the golden-armored elites from the palace; he was a standard low-tier patrolman wearing a mismatched leather vest, a rusted iron cap that sat crookedly on his head, with a big belly.
He was holding a half-eaten meat pie in one hand and a short, notched spear in the other.
The guard blinked down at the two dirty kids. He had a scruffy beard full of pie crumbs and a pair of lazy, tired brown eyes.
"Well, well,"
the guard mumbled, chewing loudly.
"Matches the description. Silver hair, big gray eyes, looking like a pair of starved rats. You two are the ones the palace is making a fuss about?"
Jayhon froze, his knees knocking together. "H-Hanjun... what do we do?"
"We must kill him," Hanjun said blankly. "Jayhon, prepare your water or anything. I will attack and if he catches me run for your life."
"Hey! Don't just talk about attacking me right in front of me!"
The guard snorted, setting his meat pie down on a nearby barrel with a look of profound annoyance.
"Kids these days have zero manners. Alright, let's get this over with. Come on."
"Out of my way, fat Pig!," Hanjun said in a completely flat, emotionless drone.
Instead of throwing himself into a clumsy, blind trip, Hanjun actually used his brain.
He focused, keeping his feet firmly planted on the cobblestones, and deliberately drove his right fist forward, aiming straight for the guard's massive, exposed midsection.Deep in his chest, he squeezed the raw energy, trying to force it out.
A sharp, flickering light flared around his fist—but it wasn't the brilliant emerald blade from before. This time, it sparkled a weak, unstable orange, wavering like a dying candle flame under too much pressure.
SPLAT.
Hanjun's fist hit the guard's stomach dead-on.
Nothing happened.
The orange light went pop and vanished into a tiny puff of grey smoke.
The guard's fat stomach simply jiggled slightly from the impact. Hanjun stayed frozen in his punching position, his hand pressed against the man's leather vest, his vacant gray eyes widening slightly in sudden realization.
Ah, Hanjun thought, his deadpan mind quickly analyzing the data.
The palace guard I broke had his guard completely down.
He was confused by my economic management statement and completely relaxed his core. But this fat one... his posture is lazy, but his body weight is anchored. His guard was not down at all. My penetration value is zero.
"What are you doing, you weird little brat? Tickling me?"
The guard snorted.
"Hanjun! Move!" Jayhon screamed.