A New Light (The Astral Wanderer Book 1), D'Artagnan Rey [best romantic novels to read .TXT] 📗

he spun completely and realized he was surrounded by curious onlookers. “What are you staring at, huh? Get the hell out of here unless you wanna end up like these two.”

That drew some concerned yelps and gasps but others in the crowd looked like they did indeed want to challenge the drunkard. Devol beat them to it. He was the first to move but took only a single step forward before a hand grasped his arm.

When he looked over his shoulder, Jazai regarded him with a questioning look. “Are you sure?” he asked, mainly to check before his friend involved himself in a street brawl. The swordsman nodded and the other boy returned it and released him. He moved quickly in front of the warrior.

“Hmm?” The man muttered and glowered at the young Magi. Now that he was only a few feet in front of him, the full size of this man surprised him. He was not as tall as Wulfsun, but only by a few inches. His muscles showed that he was at least familiar with combat and training and the exotic ax was also a sign that violence wasn’t uncommon for him, but he already had proof of that now.

The warrior bent forward and his hand slipped off his knee before he caught himself, propped himself a little more securely, and peered into the boy’s eyes. “What do you want, kid?” He scowled. “Think ya are gonna be a hero? I ain’t here to start trouble. Those guards came after me for nothin’.”

Devol pointed behind him to the destroyed cart. “Was that you?” he asked and the man raised an eyebrow quizzically. “I saw you at the inn. You wanted more to drink. My guess is you saw an opportunity to get ale and broke the cart—on purpose or accidentally, it doesn’t matter. I would assume that would count as disorderly conduct and theft.”

At the quiet challenge, the stern visage became even more aggressive and the man clenched his teeth. His breath reeked of alcohol, heavy and almost suffocating. So far, however, that was the only intimidating thing about him.

“So what? You wanna play guardsman?” The drunk growled in annoyance, straightened to his full height, and rolled his shoulders. “Didn’t work out for them two, did it?”

“I want you to apologize,” the boy announced and folded his arms. “You’ve hurt two men and scared people in this town. You are a traveler, right? That makes this worse. People live here and—”

“Shut yer trap, kid!” the warrior demanded and tossed his ax onto the ground, where it cut through and sank into the cobblestone. “Like I’ll take a lecture from some brat. Yeah, I am a traveler—a mercenary. And all I wanted was a drink. I think I deserve a little hospitality.” He raised his hands in front of him and formed them into fists that began to shake in anger. “And if you and these other gnats don’t get out of my face, I’ll do more than scare ya.” He gritted his teeth and his muscles became engorged and grew from their already stocky girth to almost double in size. “See this? I can use my Mana to enhance my strength, and I could probably already snap your tweedy little neck without it.”

“That’s called Vis,” he corrected. And not proper Vis, either. It enhanced the capabilities of the body but the whole point was that the Mana augmented the user’s physical form. He merely injected it into his muscles, and while it might have given him a small boost in strength and power similar to the innkeeper in Bluebell, it provided nothing else. He might as well have worn a suit of clay. “And you don’t have an Anima.”

His opponent lowered his arms and tried to stand straight, but a slight hunch in his posture ruined his efforts somewhat. The boy looked at him and waited, amused by the way he craned his neck, which made it appear that a shadow was cast over his eyes. “Vis? Anima? The hell is that?” The warrior grunted dismissively.

Devol looked at the ax. Exotics were relatively easy to use but someone not skilled in Mana arts would not get long or even effective use from them. He now thought that his drunken opponent had very likely stolen it without knowing what it was.

When he looked up, the warrior held his fist close to his face again. “Spare me another speech, brat. I’ll give you one last chance to get the hell away from here. If you want to face me as a warrior, I will treat you like one.”

He met the man’s heated gaze and nodded. “All right, then do so and we’ll make this quick.”

The anger faded momentarily to show confusion and surprise before a grim smile formed on the warrior’s lips. “Wanna be a man, then?” he asked and reached his arm back. “You ain’t ready for something like that.”

Devol held one finger up. “One thing before we start,” he said and the aggressive drunk paused briefly. “I don’t want to cause more of a commotion than you already have. So we will make this simple.” He looked at the man’s enlarged biceps. “You seem proud of your muscles. So on the count of three, we will each throw a punch. The one to knock the other down is the winner.” He began to summon his Anima as he said the last few words.

His adversary responded with a howled laugh. “Are ya kidding me, boy? I’ve got almost twice the reach you do, and that’s only the start of it!” His laughter continued as he shook his head. “I guess I can give you points for guts. Well, this was your call. Yer about to feel the punch of a real warrior.”

With a small nod, he drew one arm back and placed his fist against his other palm to hold it in position. “Very well, on the count of three. One…two…”

“I ain’t waitin’!” the man bellowed and swung his