Three well-built men moved towards us. The instigator himself clearly had no intention of fighting. He leaned back in his chair, anticipating an amusing show.
— Let's go! — Erik, still hoping to avoid a fight, tugged at my sleeve, pulling me towards the tavern exit.
However, the three heavies blocked our path. The oldest and tallest of them, with a look of sadistic pleasure on his overgrown face, locked the door. The mechanism of a padlock clanked, cutting off our escape. Laughter and taunts came from all sides. They seemed to regard us as easy prey, despite the sword I carried and Erik's long knife. The thug, however, noticed our weapons. Baring his sparse teeth, he said:
— If we settle this with fists, you'll get off with bruises. But if you pull out the irons, you won't leave alive.
That phrase infuriated me even more. For a few seconds, I literally lost control. My hand reached for the hilt, but Erik stopped me.
— Don't draw a sword in a tavern brawl, — he said in a pedagogical tone, and then immediately darted aside, evading a wild kick from one of the thugs.
Alright. Let's have a little MMA. The opponents are more numerous and bigger, but they clearly underestimate me. I wonder if I can stack magical rage in a fistfight? We'll find out now.
The main thug charged at me, while the other two rushed Erik. The tavern was spacious, allowing me to maneuver between the tables and patrons. I tore off my hat, flinging it into my opponent's face. He laughed and brushed it aside, but immediately received a front kick to the chest. In my past life, my martial arts experience was minimal, but I could execute the simplest moves. It was a pity that reaching the enemy's head with a kick was problematic. I was worried my pants might give out.
The thug grunted in surprise, taking half a step back. The spectators let out astonished cries, and I tried to follow up with a one-two punch. It seemed to work, but no knockout. I still can't knock someone out with a single blow. That's a problem with cold steel, and now in hand-to-hand combat. However, the thug staggered. Judging by the sharp pain in my right knuckles, I hit him on the teeth. Never mind. Another one-two, a couple of kicks, and I'll whittle him down. Especially since the first drops of rage had already fallen to the bottom of the magical cup.
I lunged forward for a jab, and that alone saved me from defeat. A blow from behind just grazed my back. It clearly wasn't a fist. Twisting and jumping aside, I found a young, fair-haired boy right behind me with a chair in his hands. He was trying to smash me over the head with this improvised weapon. Reinforcements had arrived for the enemy.
My back burned with a stinging pain. I could see out of the corner of my eye that another local bastard was getting up and heading in my direction. This was bad.
I glanced stealthily at the thug I had been pressing just moments ago. He was still reeling from my attacks. So, I darted toward him. I delivered a simple, wide-swinging punch. The stunned man, however, didn't have time to react. My fist felt a collision with something hard yet yielding. A jaw. Now, that was a knockout, or at least a knockdown.
I immediately had to dodge another application of chair-no-jutsu. Another combatant who had joined in was wearing brass knuckles on his right hand. A brawl with fists, right. Only the desire not to become a wanted criminal stopped me from using my sword or dagger. However, the situation was still crap. We would either be beaten up or branded as the instigators of the fight. But right now, that didn't matter. Now I had to fight back.
Things were going poorly for Erik. The Halfling was immediately in a two-on-one situation, and with a lame leg to boot. The cook could barely counter his longer-armed enemies. His face was already covered in blood.
My two opponents were no longer rushing in like the knocked-out thug. They understood that, despite my unremarkable appearance, I was dangerous. I had been wandering and fighting for about a month now. Many times, Loom-Pia had directed the rage accumulated in battles to strengthen my body. Although I still had problems with striking technique, I had enough strength and speed.
One of the opponents tried to flank me while the chair-fighting adept pressed forward. I started shifting to avoid being surrounded, and…
I tripped.
With great difficulty, leaning on a table, I managed to avoid falling. But how did that happen?! There was definitely no table or chair behind me. I try to look back from time to time. And then, turning my head, I met the gaze of a rather decently dressed fat man. He was looking at me and grinning nastily like a naughty child. He had tripped me!
The bastard!
And again, for a moment, it was as if a red mist descended before my eyes. I can't say I completely lost control. No. I understood everything and made the decision myself. Grinning back at him, I grabbed a two-pronged fork from a plate. I plunged this implement right into the scoundrel's plump cheek, driving the tines under the skin and twisting them. A frantic squeal was my reward.
I immediately had to dodge the next chair attack, but it was easier this time. The fork attack brought me a little more rage.
Jumping back, I grabbed a chair myself. Then my opponent and I crossed our, ahem… weapons. The chairs' legs tangled, and that's all I needed. I kicked the enemy in the shin, then under the knee. The guy gasped in pain. While he hesitated, I broke the clinch and swung my chair at the lad with the brass knuckles.
Now I was perceived as the main threat. One of the thugs who was pressing Erik broke off from beating the Halfling to switch to me. The Hobbit immediately took advantage of this. He executed a kind of double-leg takedown. He tackled the remaining assailant, taking the fight to the ground.
They tried to surround me again, but I went for a breakthrough. Raising the chair above my head, I charged straight at the guy with the brass knuckles. He tried to dodge, but simply wasn't fast enough. He only managed to cover himself with his arms when I swung the chair at him.
The spectators around were no longer laughing. Frightened murmurs broke through the noise of the fight. Some men rose from their tables but had not yet dared to enter the fray. The instigator himself was pale and was staring at me strangely with burning eyes.
I hit the guy with the brass knuckles with the chair again. The bastard begged for mercy. Then I spun around, meeting another chair thrown at me with my makeshift furniture weapon.
— Enough! — the innkeeper's voice boomed.
He finally decided to intervene. I noticed a light crossbow in his hands. I lowered my chair, trying to shield my body. However, the innkeeper seemed not to be looking for a fight.
— Get out through the back door! — he demanded.
— With pleasure, — I replied, spitting on the floor. — Erik, how are you?
— Getting up, mein Herr, getting up… — the Halfling groaned, rising from the floor, all dirty and bloodied.
Moreover, the blood on his face was probably not all his own. The brute he had been wrestling with, clutching a wound on his neck, complained:
— The dwarf bit me!
Well, he shouldn't have messed with a believer in the Great Maw.
Both of us, backing up, went where the innkeeper was pointing with his crossbow. Threats and insults followed us:
— Stinking tramps!
— You'll be strung up!
— You're a savage, a cur, scum!
Erik and I went through a small kitchen and tumbled out the back door into a narrow alley. Stench, garbage, ropes overhead where some rags were drying. Quite a dump.
— We have to get out of the city, — the Halfling whispered to me, trying to wipe the blood from his face.
However, we didn't even manage to leave the alley. In front of us, the path was blocked by three burly young men with metal-studded clubs, and behind us, the heavily beaten but still combat-ready enemies were emerging from the tavern. Four of them. They had armed themselves too. Two clubs, a short sword, and the bearded man I had battered first had a massive cleaver. A kind of sword-knife. They're called Messers, I think. A ignoble weapon, but simple to handle and effective.
In response, I drew my sword without any hesitation. The rich man who had started this mess was just coming out of the tavern. His eyes gleamed with a kind of animal excitement.
— What are you waiting for?! — he shrieked, addressing his cutthroats. — Finish them!
At that, I went off again. The dice rolled a new burst of rage with a bonus to Intimidation.
— Well, you bastards, try it! — I roared, sweeping my sword from side to side and pointing the tip at one thug after another. — With this blade, I've cut Goblins, Orcs, Beastmen, and Chaos cultists! Do you think you're facing some green kid?! I've killed more creatures than you've fondled women! Come closer! I'll spill your guts! I'll flood the streets of your fucked-up little town with blood! I'll carve it up before Tamurkhan's horde does!
The surge of threats worked. The cutthroats hesitated. Confusion and even fear were readable on their faces.
— Herr Wolfgang, we need to call the guard, — the bearded man I had beaten suggested. — He's small, but he's mad.
— How much does my father pay you, Herman? — the rich man asked menacingly. — You are nothing without our family.
The bearded man spat blood onto the dirty pavement, finally intending to charge. There were no windows opening onto the alley. It was a secluded spot, and the noise of the market square would drown out any fight. We had to try to get rid of these scumbags and get out of the city as quickly as possible.
However, before the fight could erupt, another potential participant appeared in the alley. Or rather, a participant-female. I was extremely surprised to see her here. The Silent One. She stood behind the three thugs with clubs. A tall figure in a cloak and hood.
— We don't require assistance, good person, — the rich man Wolfgang snapped at her.
Wrong on both counts. This was not a person, and she shouldn't be called good. As if to refute the rich man's statement, the Silent One took off her hood. Her hair didn't cover one of her ears. Wolfgang's men understood everything immediately. The three with clubs recoiled.
— These two will come with me, — the Elf said calmly. — Do not hinder our departure.
— These two… — Wolfgang pointed at us, spitting saliva. — They trashed my father's establishment. They damaged the face of the respected Heinrich Casterman. Let them surrender their weapons, and I will, fine, hand them over to the guard.
However, the Silent One was not going to compromise.
— I am not in the best shape right now and I am not sure I can incapacitate you without killing you, — the Elf said without showing any emotion, and then added in a very strange tone, — And I am completely unsure that if blood is spilled… I will be able to stop.
— Are you threatening us? — Wolfgang frowned. — Non-humans are getting completely out of hand today. Respected burghers are already…
The rich man fell silent when the girl, with a movement almost invisible to the eye, pulled a knife from her belt. A fraction of a second later, it was sticking out of the tavern door behind Wolfgang. The throw was so fast and strong that the knife was buried almost to the hilt. This clearly impressed the assembled cutthroats. Such a throw was probably equal in power to a crossbow shot.
And in the Silent One's hand, a second knife had already appeared. With it, she pointed toward Wolfgang and warned:
— This one is flying at you.
— Do you even know who my father is! — the rich man tried to intimidate her.
This was terribly foolish, but he was probably too used to everyone in this shitty little town bowing to him and his dad.
— If a single hair falls from my head, pointy-ear, my father will drag you out from under the earth itself!
— First, he'll have to drag you out from under the earth, — the Elf replied. — Does your father's influence allow him to resurrect the dead?
The question was rhetorical. The rich man was unlikely to have the surname Kemmler or Von Carstein. Therefore, Wolfgang immediately became much more agreeable:
— Let them leave! — he waved his hand. — But you will still answer for this, savages. You'll come crawling back on your knees.
A part of me regretted that the conflict had de-escalated. I really wanted to spill the guts of this daddy's boy who thought he was something special. However, it wasn't worth exacerbating an already bad situation.
We followed the Silent One.
— Did they give you a pass too? — Erik asked, limping more than before. — Or did the guard let you through for a generous gift?
— Neither. The walls are not high. The guards are almost blind, — the woman replied calmly. — Do what you intended, and let's leave.
We didn't need much convincing. Erik, limping and wiping blood from his face, visited the market, where instead of a cart, he bought a small hand-truck, which he immediately began to load with sacks of various grains.
— I don't promise a feast, but we'll fill our stomachs, — he kept saying.
The Silent One didn't stray from us. From her height, she constantly looked around, clearly expecting trouble. However, the guard wasn't in a hurry to arrest us. Having bought grain for the squad for a couple of days, as well as a few sacks of bones for soup, we hurried away. We pushed the heavy hand-truck together. It bounced unpleasantly on the crooked stones of the dirty pavement. It looked like it might fall apart at any moment, but it held up.
The guards at the gate looked at us with clear suspicion.
— Who's that? — one of them pointed at the Elf, who had already pulled her hood over her eyes. — And who smacked your face, noseless?
— Oh, nothing… A small misunderstanding, — the Halfling waved his hand, and stepping away from the hand-truck, handed the guard another bribe.
Thus, we left Friedrichsburg. I sincerely hoped that other cities of the Empire would prove more hospitable than this foul den.
— In Sigmar's name, what happened to you? — Markus frowned, seeing our procession.
— Nothing terrible. It's all for later, — Erik replied with a smile, eager to get as far away from the city as possible. — We have food, and that's the main thing. Come on, Herr Schlossberg.
Two Sigmarites volunteered to replace us on the hand-truck. Just as I stepped aside, the Silent One loomed over me.
— We need to talk. Let's move away, — she said.
Markus and the Sigmarites glanced at her with clear distrust. Why would this fully-grown Elf invite unsullied youths into the woods? However, I told them everything was fine and followed the girl.
The Silent One led me away from the city along a barely visible path. At first, one could see many signs of human activity around. Clearings, campfires, garbage. I had seen such things in the forests of my own world. Only instead of bright packaging, there were broken shards, bones, and scraps of rags. Then a normal forest began. Dense, quiet, calm in its own way. Birds sang, insects buzzed.
The Elf stopped in a small clearing where a primitive altar was built from branches and stones. Clay figurines of animals lay near it. This was hardly a Chaos shrine.
— Here, — the girl said, turning to me. — We will talk here.
— Why here? — I inquired.
— The Winds converge. They flow slowly. This place is calming. Look closely.
— The concentration of the Wind of Life is high here, warmblood, — Loom-Pia explained. — Pay attention to the lush vegetation. Even things that should already be withering are still blooming.
Indeed, there was a lot of greenery around. Thistles and a bunch of other plants, whose names I didn't know, were blooming.
— So, what did you want to talk about?
— Us.
It sounded… ambiguous, but the Silent One was hardly putting anything into it other than the general mission. The girl paused for a moment and continued.
— What powers stand behind you?
The hell should I know. However, it was better to answer with something more understandable and impressive.
— The Ancient Race. Not they themselves personally, but likely a magical mechanism they left behind. I received gifts and a mission. Visions in dreams. Images of catastrophe and the world's demise, and what I must do to prevent the cataclysm.
There. It seemed not entirely a lie, but it sounded much better than the naked truth.
The Elf nodded meaningfully, and then unexpectedly announced:
— My name is Liandra, and I am obligated to deliver you to the White Tower of Hoeth at any cost.