The Golden Stag Inn, Oakhaven City. Night.
"Trash them!" shouted the Silver Eagle squad leader, swinging his longsword clumsily due to intoxication.
Five soldiers advanced simultaneously, surrounding Rianor's table. Other patrons screamed and scrambled against the walls.
Lady Rhea didn't draw the rapier at her waist.
"To deal with drunk trash like this, bare hands are enough," Rhea muttered.
The first soldier charged. His movements were slow and full of openings.
Rhea stepped forward, entering the enemy's range (In-fighting).
Her right hand parried the enemy's wrist, while her left hand slammed into his chin with an open palm strike.
SMACK!
The soldier toppled backward, crashing into his comrade.
"One," Rhea counted.
Two other soldiers attacked from the left and right.
Rhea hopped onto the sturdy wooden bar counter.
She executed a low spinning kick, sweeping empty beer glasses right into their faces.
CRASH!
Glass shards and leftover beer sprayed into the soldiers' eyes.
"Aaargh! My eyes burn!"
Rhea jumped down, landing on the back of one soldier, clamping his neck with her thighs (Triangle Choke), then slamming him to the floor.
THUD.
"Three," Rhea stood up again, smoothing out her slightly wrinkled shirt. Her breathing wasn't even labored.
Meanwhile, Sir Rianor was still sitting calmly on the bar stool. He hadn't moved an inch, even though the brawl was happening a meter away from him.
"You're not helping your sister?" asked Elara, the mage girl, who was also sitting casually (and even took another sip of coffee).
"Why should I?" Rianor shrugged. "That would be like helping a lion catch a mouse. Unnecessary."
Suddenly, a stray glass bottle flew toward Rianor's head (thrown by a panicked soldier).
Rianor didn't see it.
But Elara did.
The girl simply flicked her index finger. No incantation.
Ting.
The bottle stopped in mid-air, 10 centimeters from Rianor's face. It shattered into fine dust, which then fell harmlessly to the floor.
High-Level Gravity Magic. Without chanting.
Rianor turned, shocked. He looked at the glass dust.
"Wow," Rianor commented. "Good reflexes. Thanks."
Elara shrugged indifferently. "You owe me a life."
On the other side of the room, Sir Roland was in action in his own way.
Amidst the chaos of flying tables and chairs, he stood atop a safe chair.
"Ladies! Gentlemen! Calm down!" Roland shouted.
"See the bloodstains on that soldier's shirt? Hard to remove, right?"
Roland held his bar of soap high.
"With Northreach Magic Soap, blood stains, beer stains, and even stains of past sins can disappear in a single wash! Buy now, 50% discount for the special Bar Brawl Edition!"
Miraculously, some merchants hiding under the tables were actually interested.
"I want two, Sir! To wash my husband's shirt, he gets drunk often!"
Back to the fight.
Only one man remained. The squad leader.
He trembled, seeing his four subordinates groaning in pain on the floor with dislocated arms or legs.
"Do... do you know who I am?!" he shouted in panic. "I am Sergeant Brutus! The Second Prince's Guard! If you touch me, the Prince will—"
A massive hand gripped Sergeant Brutus's shoulder from behind.
The grip was so strong it dented his shoulder armor.
Duke Lucian stood there.
"The Second Prince?" Lucian whispered into Brutus's ear. His voice was low, like a tiger's growl. "Tell your Prince... teach his dogs how to bark politely."
Lucian threw Brutus toward the exit.
The large man flew across the room and landed right in the muddy street outside the inn.
CRASH.
"Take your friends and leave," Lucian ordered. "Before I change my mind and cut off your hands for ruining my dinner."
The soldiers, though in pain and limping, immediately supported each other and ran for their lives. Their fear of Lucian was far greater than their drunkenness.
Silence returned to the inn.
The innkeeper appeared from behind the cashier counter, his face pale as he looked at the damage to his bar.
"My tables... my glasses..."
Rianor stood up. He placed a pouch of coins on the counter.
"10 Gold. Enough for damages and Hush Money," Rianor said. "Tonight's event never happened. Understood?"
The innkeeper weighed the heavy pouch. His eyes sparkled. 10 gold was a year's profit.
"Yes, Young Master! Nothing happened tonight! Just a strong wind!"
Rianor turned to Elara.
The girl had closed her book and was preparing to leave.
"Wait," Rianor called.
Elara stopped. "What now? Want to show off more theories?"
"No," Rianor smiled faintly. "Just wanted to say... if you need research funding for that Mana Fluid theory, look for me in the Capital. My name is Rianor Sudrath. We just opened a vacancy for... a Mad Researcher."
Elara paused for a moment. The corner of her lip lifted slightly—a very thin and rare smile.
"Sudrath... That Bankrupt Family from the North? Interesting."
She threw a small metal business card toward Rianor. Rianor caught it.
Written on it: Elara Vane – Department of Forbidden Research, Sol-Regis Academy.
"If you survive in the Capital for more than a week... maybe I'll drop by," Elara said mysteriously.
Then, POOF.
Elara vanished in a puff of thin blue smoke. Short-distance teleportation.
"Damn," Rhea approached, patting the dust off her pants. "That girl Blinked like in a game. Nor, your taste is okay. High maintenance girl."
"She's not high maintenance, she's High IQ," Rianor corrected, tucking the card away safely. "And she's from the Academy. That's our entry point to magic technology."
Duke Lucian approached, his face back in Tired Dad Mode.
"Done fighting? Done flirting? Let's sleep. We have to leave early tomorrow before that Prince's troops come back with a whole circus."
"Yes, Dad," the children answered in unison.
That night, the name Rianor Sudrath was recorded in the memory of a genius mage.
And the name Lady Rhea was recorded on the blacklist (or admiration list?) of the Prince's soldiers.
The journey to the Capital had just begun, and they were already making noise.