Chapter 6: The Clash in Saikono

  Saikono Village—though "town" would be a more fitting description—was a world apart from Petita. It was a place of contrasts, where civilization met nature in a delicate balance. Circular in shape, it was enclosed by towering wooden walls, each plank standing over four meters high. But this was no ordinary wood. The timber had been harvested from the supernatural trees of this world, their essence infused with Menma, making them as sturdy as steel yet eerily alive. The trees of this land did not merely exist; they breathed, their leaves expanding and contracting as though drawing breath, exhaling faint wisps of energy into the air. The scent of the wood was unlike anything found in a mundane forest—earthy, yet tinged with something mystical, a fragrance that hinted at ancient power.

  As the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange-pink and violet, the village of Saikono stirred to life. Lanterns flickered to life in the streets, casting pools of warm golden light onto the smooth, cement-paved roads. Unlike Petita's rough dirt paths, these roads carried a sense of refinement, their polished surfaces reflecting the glow of lanterns like rivers of molten amber. The air was thick with the scent of sizzling meat, baked bread, and exotic spices, mixing with the faint aroma of fresh ink from calligraphy stalls and the fragrant oils of perfumers hawking their wares.

  People bustled through the lively streets, draped in silk garments that shimmered under the evening lights, a stark contrast to the ragged attire of those in Petita. Shops lined the pathways, their architecture simple yet elegant, wooden beams etched with intricate carvings that spoke of a long and rich history. The chatter of merchants, the laughter of children, and the rhythmic clinking of coins being exchanged all merged into a symphony of urban life.

  Amidst the crowd, Fayrouz and Fulan walked side by side. Fayrouz moved with her usual composed elegance, her long, dark coat flowing behind her, while Fulan's eyes darted from stall to stall, taking in the unfamiliar sights with quiet fascination.

  "This place is so lively compared to the last village," Fulan murmured, his gaze flitting across the colorful fabric stalls and street performers juggling flames.

  Fayrouz, however, remained focused. Her expression was as serene as ever, her voice unwavering. "We need to find a merchant or someone with a cart to take us to the Kingdom of Saita. We should reach it by tonight. Don't forget that."

  Fulan turned his gaze toward her, smirking. "I know... You seem so calm, like you're used to places like this."

  Without breaking stride, Fayrouz tilted her head slightly. "Places like this? You should see the Kingdom of Saita from the inside. This village is nothing compared to it."

  A brief silence settled between them before Fulan spoke again, this time more thoughtfully. "So this isn't your first time going to the Kingdom of Saita…"

  Fayrouz didn't hesitate to answer, though she kept her eyes ahead. "So you're the type who likes to talk about the past? I don't mind telling you, but I doubt you'll share your real story with me."

  Her words struck a nerve. Fulan's steps slowed slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he masked it with a casual smile. His tone, though light, carried an undertone of caution.

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  "I don't recall doing anything that would make me seem suspicious."

  Fayrouz kept walking, her tone as steady as ever. "Maybe. But I'm curious about your Menma particles..."

  Fulan let out a faint chuckle, the corner of his lips curling into a playful smirk. "You should stop observing me in such a perverse way."

  Fayrouz halted. She turned to face him, her expression unreadable, but the shift in the air was unmistakable.

  "Excuse me?"

  Fulan didn't flinch. "Nothing. It's just that watching the particles and cells flowing through my veins seems a bit... invasive."

  "A good attempt at changing the subject," she remarked, her voice unshaken.

  Before their conversation could continue, a voice thundered through the street, cutting through the noise of the village like a blade through silk.

  "THAT'S ENOUGH! I'LL PUT AN END TO THIS TONIGHT!"

  Fulan and Fayrouz exchanged glances before turning toward the source of the commotion. The lively murmur of the village had shifted—curiosity and unease rippled through the streets as people gathered in a wide circle. In the center stood two men, locked in a confrontation that had drawn everyone's attention.

  One of them carried a massive sword strapped to his back, its hilt wrapped in worn leather. He wore a simple brown shirt and black pants—the rugged attire of an adventurer. His posture was composed, his expression unreadable, as if conflict was something he had long since grown accustomed to.

  The other man was broader, more imposing, with a thick silver-streaked beard and sharp eyes filled with barely contained fury. A battle-worn axe was strapped to his back, its handle gleaming with use. He wore a military-style jacket and dark trousers, the uniform of someone accustomed to war.

  The bearded man’s voice thundered with emotion, his stance aggressive. "I was insane to let her follow someone like you! I should’ve dragged her away by force if I had to!"

  His anger pulsed through the air, thick and suffocating, but the swordsman remained still. His voice, when he spoke, was calm—serious, yet distant. "I never asked her—or you—to come with me. You both knew what the life of an adventurer entailed from the start. Death is something all humans share. The adventure I’m setting out on tomorrow will likely kill me too. I respect her decision, so I won’t mourn her death excessively."

  The bearded man's fury ignited. His hands clenched into fists, his breathing sharp and uneven. Without hesitation, he grabbed the swordsman by the collar, yanking him forward.

  His voice trembled with rage. "If you love death so much, I’ll make you see it today! That fool only loved you, you bastard! She didn’t care about the adventure or any of that! Don’t you feel even a little regret for her death?!"

  The crowd barely dared to breathe. All eyes were on the swordsman, waiting for his response.

  His gaze remained unreadable, his voice steady and cold. "No. I don’t regret anything."

  That was the final spark.

  The bearded man’s restraint snapped. In one fluid motion, he tore his axe from his back.

  It glowed red-hot, as if it had just been pulled from the heart of a forge. Steam hissed from its surface, the air around it distorting from the heat. The sheer pressure of his anger radiated from the weapon, like the first wave of an impending storm.

  "Good. Then I can kill you without remorse!"

  Whoosh!

  But before the axe could descend, Fulan moved.

  A faint white aura flickered around his body as he vanished from his spot.

  He darted through the crowd, faster than the eye could track, reappearing between the two men in a heartbeat.

  At the same time, Fayrouz moved with precision.

  Her glowing blue bands shot forward, stretching through the air like living tendrils. They wrapped around the bearded man's axe, tightening with unnatural strength.

  The weapon halted mid-swing.

  The crowd gasped as the two strangers intervened, their actions swift and decisive. Fulan stood protectively in front of the swordsman, while Fayrouz’s luminous bands kept the axe locked in place.

  The tension in the air was electric, thick enough to taste.

  For now, the immediate danger had been stopped. But the storm was far from over.