Chapter 50 Challange

Chapter 50: Chapter 50 Challange

"Speak softly and carry a big stick; you will go far." — Theodore Roosevelt

The morning air was thick with the smell of roasted meat, stale ale, and damp wool.

Riven pushed open the heavy wooden door of the Boar’s Tusk, the settlement’s largest tavern and a popular gathering place for mercenaries and adventurers.

He had already visited the Adventurers’ Guild that morning to check the notice boards. There had been a few contracts worth considering, but nothing particularly interesting. He had decided to get something to eat before choosing one.

The moment he stepped inside, several conversations slowed.

A few patrons turned toward the entrance. Their eyes settled on his dark cloak and the obsidian half mask beneath his hood.

Whispers followed.

Riven ignored them.

He had grown accustomed to the reactions. Since acquiring the mask, he had become a familiar sight in the settlement, though not one most people welcomed. Some were frightened of him, while others simply found him unsettling thinking of him as a cursed child.

He didn’t care.

He walked toward an empty table in the corner, keeping his pace steady.

He had barely taken two steps when a heavy boot slammed down in front of him.

Riven stopped.

He slowly raised his head.

The man blocking his path was enormous. He stood well over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, thick arms, and a chest covered by battered leather armor. Several claw marks had been carved into the chest plate, and a heavy sword hung from his belt.

Riven recognized him.

Marcus was an d- tier mercenary and a member of the Ironfang party. He was known for his loud voice, heavy drinking, and habit of treating anyone weaker than him as a source of entertainment.

Riven had seen him around the Guild before.

He had never spoken to him.

Marcus crossed his arms and grinned.

"Well, look what the shadow dragged in."

Riven stared at him.

"The cursed child of the lower district," Marcus continued. "You know, kid, you walk around here looking like a walking funeral. Scaring merchants and acting like you own the place."

A few nearby adventurers glanced over.

Riven didn’t answer.

Marcus’s grin widened, though there was a hint of irritation in his eyes.

"I’m talking to you, boy."

He pushed away from the pillar and stepped closer.

"In this guild, we respect strength. Not parlor tricks and spooky pieces of scrap metal bolted to your jaw."

Riven remained still.

Marcus leaned forward, bringing his face closer to the mask.

"Take that ridiculous thing off. Let’s see what kind of face is hiding behind all that."

Riven didn’t move.

He had no intention of explaining himself to a drunk mercenary.

Marcus’s expression darkened.

"Did you hear me?"

He reached toward Riven’s hood.

The movement was slow and deliberate. Marcus clearly expected the boy to either back away or freeze in fear.

Neither happened.

The moment his fingers came within reach, Riven moved.

There was no warning.

One instant, he stood in front of Marcus. The next, he was gone.

A faint puff of dark mist marked the spot where he had been standing.

Marcus’s hand closed around empty air.

Before he could react, Riven reappeared behind him.

The distance between them had vanished in an instant.

Riven had used Shadow Leap.

He didn’t waste time admiring the result. His right hand was already raised, and a dense Umbral Needle formed between his fingers.

Marcus began to turn.

Too late.

Riven moved his hand toward the mercenary’s waist. The needle cut through the thick leather strap holding Marcus’s sword.

A sharp snap echoed through the tavern.

The sword fell.

Its steel blade struck the stone floor with a loud clatter, drawing everyone’s attention.

Riven stepped backward, dismissing the Umbral Needle.

The entire exchange had taken less than a second.

For a moment, nobody moved.

Marcus slowly turned around.

His expression had changed completely. The arrogance was gone, replaced by confusion and disbelief.

He looked down at his sword.

Then he looked at Riven.

The boy stood several feet away, his hands relaxed at his sides.

Marcus’s fingers twitched toward the knife strapped to his boot.

Riven noticed.

He didn’t raise his weapon or move toward him. He simply narrowed his eyes and watched.

The pressure surrounding the masked boy was difficult to describe. It wasn’t particularly strong, but there was something deeply unsettling about it. Marcus could barely sense the child’s mana, yet he seemed to have abilities beyond what he had sensed.

He had seen plenty of strange things during his time as a mercenary.

But he had never seen a child move like that.

Riven tilted his head slightly.

"Next time, keep your hands to yourself."

His voice was quiet and steady.

There was no anger in it.

That somehow made it worse.

Marcus swallowed.

He glanced at his sword again, then back at the boy. He could have tried to attack, but he had no idea how quickly Riven could move again.

And if the child could cut through a thick leather strap that easily, there was little reason to believe he couldn’t have cut something else.

Marcus slowly lowered his hand.

Riven turned away.

He walked past the corner table and took the empty seat near the back of the tavern. He pulled out the chair, sat down, and rested his hands on the table as though nothing had happened.

The tavern remained quiet.

Marcus stood in the middle of the room, staring at the severed strap hanging from his belt.

One of the other mercenaries finally broke the silence.

"Well, that was embarrassing."

A few people chuckled nervously.

Marcus shot them a glare.

"Shut up."

Nobody argued.

He bent down, picked up his sword, and examined the damaged strap. It would need to be replaced before he could use the weapon properly.

His eyes returned to Riven.

The boy was sitting quietly in the corner, his hood pulled low.

Marcus had expected a frightened child or an arrogant brat trying to act tough.

Instead, he had encountered someone who had disarmed him before he could even react.

He wasn’t sure what bothered him more.

The speed of the attack or the fact that Riven hadn’t seemed particularly concerned about him.

Riven leaned back in his chair.

He had no desire to start a fight in the middle of a crowded tavern. Killing another adventurer would bring unnecessary trouble, especially when he was still learning how the Guild handled disputes between its members.

But he wasn’t going to let someone grab him whenever they pleased.

He had already spent enough of his life being treated like property.

The thought brought back unpleasant memories of the mining camp.

He pushed them aside.

There was no reason to dwell on the past.

A serving girl approached his table, though she kept a cautious distance.

"Would you like something to eat?"

Riven nodded.

"Stew and bread."

The girl glanced at his mask.

"Anything to drink?"

"Water."

She nodded quickly and hurried away.

Riven looked around the tavern.

The other patrons had returned to their conversations, but the atmosphere had changed. People still glanced in his direction, though now they did so more cautiously.

A few adventurers whispered among themselves.

He caught fragments of their conversation.

"did you see that?"

"used magic without a spell"

"was that a movement spell?"

"that little thing is an adventurer?"

Riven ignored them.

He hadn’t intended to attract attention, but he wasn’t particularly bothered by it either.

The encounter had revealed something useful.

Shadow Leap worked well in a confined space. It allowed him to close the distance before an opponent could react, and it gave him a way to escape if a fight turned against him.

However, he had also spent a noticeable amount of mana.

He couldn’t use it endlessly.

And against someone who knew how to anticipate the spell, it might not be nearly as effective.

He would need to practice more.

The serving girl returned with his food. She placed the bowl and bread on the table before quickly stepping away.

Riven began eating.

The stew was hot and filling, though the meat was tougher than he would have liked. He ate slowly, keeping his attention on the room.

Marcus had returned to his table with the other members of Ironfang. He was speaking loudly again, but he no longer looked toward Riven.

The other mercenaries occasionally glanced at the masked boy.

Nobody approached him.

That suited Riven just fine.

By the time he finished eating, the tavern had returned to its usual noise.

Riven paid for his meal and stood.

As he passed Marcus’s table, the mercenary looked up.

Their eyes met.

Marcus’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.

Riven continued toward the door.

Outside, the cold morning air greeted him. He pulled his hood lower and began walking toward the Guild.

He had intended to spend the morning looking for a contract. That plan hadn’t changed.

The confrontation had been a distraction, nothing more.

Still, he couldn’t help thinking about the way Marcus had reacted.

The mercenary had been confident when he first approached. He had assumed Riven was an easy target because of his size and age.

That confidence had disappeared the moment Riven demonstrated what he could do.

Riven understood why.

In the frontier, people judged strength by what they could see. A large man with armor and a sword looked dangerous. A small child in a cloak looked weak.

The mask had changed that.

Now, people couldn’t decide whether he was dangerous or simply strange.

Perhaps that uncertainty was useful.

He reached the Guild and pushed open the door.

The familiar noise of adventurers filled the hall. A few people glanced at him as he entered, but nobody stopped him.

Riven walked toward the notice boards.

There were several new contracts posted, including a few that involved clearing monsters from the roads beyond the settlement.

He began reading through them.

For now, he would focus on earning money and improving his abilities.

He had a new spell to master, a mask he barely understood, and a great deal of work ahead of him.

The frontier wasn’t going to become any safer.

And Riven had no intention of remaining weak enough for someone like Marcus to threaten him again.