Chapter 653: New city, known issues
Strax walked through the narrow streets of the small town with firm but unhurried steps. The scene was a mosaic of destruction: burned-out houses still emitting the acrid sll of smoke, blackened walls, pieces of roofing scattered across the ground. This place had suffered. And yet, there was life. Children ran barefoot through the rubble, rchants set up makeshift stalls using charred wood, people shouted, discussed prices, exchanged news.
This ti, Strax didn’t stand out. There were no horns, nor the black kimono embroidered in gold that made him look like an emperor erging from the flas. Now, he was simply a man with black hair with slightly reddish tips, possessed of a restrained presence. Anyone who saw him might have mistaken him for an ordinary traveler—though, in the golden eyes hidden beneath the calm, there was a fla that betrayed much more.
As he walked, he observed everything. Not just the rubble or the makeshift stalls, but the people. The way their faces hardened with distrust, the rush to rebuild, the fear hidden in every gesture. There was sothing intriguing about how mortals rose after ruin, even when the odds were so slim.
It was then, turning a corner onto a less busy street, that he saw it.
A group of n—four in all, their clothes wrinkled, redolent with the sour sll of alcohol—surrounded a young woman near a wall. Their smiles were crooked, full of malice and cheap wine. One of them reached out, grabbing the girl’s arm when she tried to back away.
“Co on, little flower…” the drunk drawled. “The city is dead after all… no one will miss you.”
The woman flinched, trying to pull her arm away, but another man blocked her exit, laughing loudly. “Stop being so sarcastic, it’ll be quick.”
Strax stopped in the middle of the street. His golden eyes narrowed, taking in the scene.
The wind carried to him the sll of alcohol mixed with sweat, the sound of vulgar laughter, the woman’s shallow breathing.
He didn’t rush. He simply walked toward the group, his steps slow, almost lazy, as if he were just another onlooker. But there was sothing in his walk—an invisible weight—that made the few passersby look away and turn away.
When he got close enough, his voice broke through the n’s laughter like distant thunder:
“Get your hands off her.”
The words weren’t shouted. They were spoken calmly, almost casually. But the air seed heavy the mont they were uttered.
The drunks turned, confused, and then laughed when they saw an “ordinary man” standing before them. The one holding the woman stepped forward, his eyes half-closed with drink.
“And who the hell are you?” he asked, spitting on the ground. “Mind your own business, stranger.”
Strax didn’t answer imdiately. He simply tilted his head to the side, watching the man as if studying an insect. His golden eyes glinted in the light from the city’s still-living embers.
“I said…” he repeated, his voice lower now, carrying a gravity that made the woman catch her breath. “…take her hands off her.”
The silence that followed was strange, uncomfortable.
The n laughed again, but it didn’t have the sa force as before.
The woman, her arm still trapped, stared at Strax as if she’d found an unlikely salvation.
Strax took another step forward, and the ground seed to creak under his weight.
The silence of the street seed to swallow Strax’s every word. The distant fire crackled in abandoned ruins, but here, before him, the air was heavier, as if the entire space awaited his next move.
He took another step toward the group. His golden eyes glead with intensity, and his deep voice cut through the air like a blade:
“Pathetic.”
The word ca out dry, filled with disgust. Strax didn’t raise his voice, but it was enough to make the young woman shudder. The n also heard the word like an invisible punch to the chest.
“What?” one of them growled, tightening his grip on the girl’s arm.
Strax didn’t stop walking. His pace was slow, asured, but he had the firmness of soone who would never back down. “Nothing repulses more than n like that.” His eyes narrowed, and a cold smile played across his lips. “Weak, cowardly… who believe wine gives them power.”
The tension rose. The taller drunkard tugged on the woman’s arm, as if to assert dominance, but Strax was already too close. He raised his golden gaze directly to the man, and that was enough.
The invisible pressure coming from him—not an overt draconic aura, but sothing more subtle, like the promise of death—made the drunkard let go of the young woman’s arm. She recoiled instinctively, her eyes wide, and then took the opportunity to run. She stumbled in her haste, disappearing around the corner.
Strax didn’t even look away to follow her. His attention remained fixed on the four n, who were now completely focused on him.
The fattest of the group spat on the ground, his voice thick with anger and alcohol. “What is it, you bastard? You want to pick a fight?”
Strax stopped a few feet away from them. Silent for a mont, he tilted his head to the side, as if watching them with genuine curiosity. Then he laughed—a low, deep laugh that sounded like the rolling of rocks in an avalanche.
“Fight?” he repeated, savoring the word. He uncrossed his arms and let them hang loosely at his sides. “No.”
The n frowned in confusion.
Strax’s smile widened, predatory. “What I see here isn’t worth a fight.” He paused, his voice dropping, thick with contempt. “They’re just filthy pigs.”
The insult fell like sparks in hot oil. The four n huffed, inflad with rage. One of them, younger, raised his clenched fist. “I’ll break this bastard’s face!”
“Shut up and let’s go together!” shouted another, already advancing.
Patience was at an end. The sll of alcohol and sweat now mingled with the violence about to explode.
Strax, however, didn’t move. He only laughed again, but this ti it was an open laugh, filled with pent-up fury. His golden eyes shone even brighter, sparkling like live coals.
“Co.” He opened his arms, as if offering his chest. — Show this world how disgusting you are.
User Comments
0 comments from readers