Martial Arts Vs Magic - Chapter 119

Chapter 119: A Gentleman's Mistake

Hours stretched into the late afternoon as Rafin and I worked on the irrigation channels. When we finally returned to the hut, the sun had begun its descent, painting the desert in hues of amber and gold. 

My muscles ached from the unfamiliar labor, a different kind of pain from the injuries I'd sustained. It was honest pain, earned through useful work rather than desperate battle. It didn’t feel too bad.

Rafin settled on a three-legged stool outside the door, carving something from a piece of wood with practiced hands. I sat nearby, watching the road for signs of Lailah's return.

"Been doing this long?" I asked, nodding toward his skilled whittling.

"Since I was a boy." Rafin smiled, turning the wood to catch the light. "My father taught me. Said idle hands invite the desert madness."

I chuckled. "Sound advice."

"You have any family waiting for you somewhere, Alexander?" he asked, not looking up from his work.

The question struck deeper than he could know. Family. The faces of those I'd left behind flashed through my mind—some by choice, others by necessity.

"I must have," I said quietly. "But it's... unclear."

Rafin nodded, understanding in his eyes. "Memory's a strange beast. Sometimes it hides what hurts us most."

"Or what we've lost," I added, more to myself than to him.

We lapsed into companionable silence. Watching his expression, I was realizing that this was a man no less hardened than the superpowers of this world. He might not have the strength of an 8th Ascension, but his mentality was respectable. To save strangers, feed them, let them stay overnight, despite the dangers of having a pretty daughter? He was a good man.

As the silence stretched, I decided to pull out my Status Page for a bit.

°°°°°°

Name: Iskandaar Romani

Age: 20 years

Race: Human

Qi: 195/265 [!!!]

Level: 95 | 45% EXP

°°°

Class: Myth Slayer 

Class Level: [6/10]

Class Skills: 

• Mythrend [Active]

• Void Step [Active]

• Soul Sever [Active]

• Legendbreaker [Passive]

• Veil of the Slayer [Passive]

• Astral Rend [Active]

• Fate Unraveled [Active]

• Echoes of Oblivion [Active] (New!)

• Mythic Dominion [Active] (New!)

• Astral Infusion [Passive] (New!)

°°°

General Skills:

• The Heavenly Demon Skill Tree [49.99%]

• Insight [Intermediate]

• Swordsmanship [Grandmaster]

• Kickboxing [Grandmaster]

• Inner Focus [Intermediate]

• Mana Manipulation [Master]

°°°°°°

The sight of my Qi almost stung me physically. 265 Max Qi?! An absolutely insane drop from the 20,995 I remembered seeing last time. The many exclamation marks beside it said enough about its wrongness. 

I couldn’t regain the actual amount of Qi before fixing these channels. However, once I did, the Qi should return in a surge instead of having to regain it from zero. So it wasn’t that bad of a situation…

I sighed.

The sun continued its descent, shadows lengthening across the sand. After a while, Rafin set aside his carving and glanced toward the road.

"Lailah should have returned by now," he murmured, a faint crease appearing between his brows.

I'd been thinking the same thing. "Perhaps the market was busy?"

"Perhaps." His tone suggested otherwise. He stood, brushing wood shavings from his lap. "She knows better than to linger after dark."

Another half hour passed, the sky deepening to dusky purple. Rafin's pacing grew more pronounced, his glances toward the road more frequent.

"I should go look for her," he finally said, reaching for a staff leaning against the wall.

Just as he took his first step, a figure appeared on the road—Lailah, her silhouette unmistakable even in the fading light. Her usual graceful stride seemed less fluid, her shoulders slightly slumped.

Rafin exhaled audibly. "Finally."

She approached, carrying a small cloth bundle. Even in the dim light, I could see the tightness around her mouth, the slight redness around her eyes. Whatever had delayed her had clearly upset her.

"I'm sorry, Father," she said as she reached us. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"...Was it them again?" Rafin asked quietly.

Lailah's eyes darted briefly to me before she sighed and nodded.

"Them?" I asked, unable to restrain my curiosity.

Her expression changed immediately, like a mask sliding into place. The frustration vanished, replaced by a bright—too bright—smile.

"Oh, just market nonsense," she said with a dismissive wave. "I got everything we needed! The spices, even some carrots for the stew. We should cook now, before it gets too late."

Without waiting for a response, she hurried inside, leaving Rafin and me exchanging glances.

"Market nonsense," Rafin repeated quietly, his tone making it clear he knew it was anything but.

****

The hare stew simmered in a clay pot suspended over the small fire pit at the center of the hut. The aroma filled the small space—rich, savory, and mouth-watering. Under different circumstances, I might have appreciated the simple comfort more.

"The marketplace was bustling today—merchants from all over." Lailah said, stirring the pot with forced enthusiasm. "You wouldn't believe the fabrics the south eastern traders brought! They say the silk is so fine it can go through a ring and out. And there was a storyteller near the well, drawing quite a crowd with tales of the Great Salt Wars."

I watched her closely as she spoke. 

For all her animation, there was a slight tremor in her hands as she ladled stew into clay bowls. Her eyes skipped over her father's when she mentioned the well, and Rafin's almost imperceptible sigh didn't escape my notice.

The mention of the south east reminds me of the Naga Princess, I noted. I hadn’t seen her among the Waybound students in Nevaramis; it made me wonder why. Was she not allowed to participate by her guardians, given the kidnapping incident?

Regardless, it was a passing thought. I doubt I’d ever get the answer.

"Were the spices difficult to find?" I asked casually. "You mentioned you'd need salt."

"Oh, just the usual haggling," she said, passing me a bowl. "Old Maruk always starts at twice what he'll take. It's a game to him."

"And the rest of your delay?" I pressed gently. "The sun was nearly set."

Her smile faltered for just a heartbeat. "The well was crowded. Everyone needed water before the day ended."

We ate in relative silence after that, the only sounds the occasional scrape of spoons against clay bowls and the crackling of the fire. The stew was delicious—simple but hearty, the hare tender and flavorful.

"This reminds me of something," I said, genuinely impressed. "You have a gift for cooking, Lailah."

Her smile, this time, reached her eyes. "Really?! Awh, thank you, Alexander,  that’s so sweet of you to say. It's just practice."

"And instinct," Rafin added proudly. "She got that from her mother."

A fleeting shadow crossed Lailah's face at the mention of her mother, but it passed so quickly that I almost missed it.

As we continued eating, a hot desert wind gusted through the open window, threatening to scatter Rafin's carefully stacked herbs drying on a shelf nearby. I tensed, ready to reach out despite my weakness, but something strange happened.

The air around Lailah seemed to... soften. The gust gentled as it passed her, the herbs barely rustling despite the force that had rattled the wooden shutters moments before. It was subtle—so incredibly subtle I might have dismissed it as imagination if not for my natural 6th Ascension senses to notice the unnatural.

My Demonic Sphere skill flickered weakly, like a guttering candle, offering nothing concrete but a sense that something wasn't quite ordinary about our hostess.

I glanced at Rafin, but he showed no reaction. Either he hadn't noticed or was accustomed to such occurrences.

"Is it always this hot at night?" I asked, wiping sweat from my brow.

"The desert holds the sun's heat," Rafin explained. "It will cool by midnight."

Yet as Lailah moved around the small hut, clearing away our empty bowls, I noticed the oppressive heat seemed to lessen in her immediate vicinity. It was as if she carried a pocket of cooler, fresher air with her—not enough to be obvious, but enough that I found myself leaning slightly toward her when she passed.

"More stew?" she offered, pausing beside me.

"Please," I said, more to keep her close than from hunger.

As she ladled another portion into my bowl, I studied her. Silver eyes that caught the firelight in unusual ways. Movements that held an almost instinctual grace despite her common upbringing. The way the air itself seemed to respond to her presence.

"You're staring, Alexander," she said, not unkindly.

"Forgiveness," I replied. "I was just thinking how remarkable it is that you and your father took in a stranger like me."

"What else would we do? Leave you to the vultures?" She shook her head. "Father says kindness is the only wealth that multiplies when given away."

"A wise man, your father," I said, glancing at Rafin, who seemed absorbed in his own thoughts.

"Not wise," Rafin replied, looking up. "Just old enough to have learned a few things worth remembering."

The conversation drifted to safer topics—the crops, the changing patterns of the stars, the proper way to repair mud brick walls. Yet underneath it all ran an undercurrent of tension, of things deliberately left unsaid.

When Lailah stepped outside briefly to dump the washing water, Rafin leaned toward me.

"I don’t think it was a bad choice. Saving you, I mean. I notice the concern in your eyes. For once, it eases my mind and fills me with gratitude to not be the only one worried about her. She doesn't like to burden others with her troubles," he said quietly. "She thinks because I'm getting older, I need protection from worry." A sad smile played across his weathered face. "As if a father could ever stop worrying about his daughter."

“Fair enough. Has any of the previous people you’ve saved caused trouble?” I asked, and he paused.

“Yes, a few,” he said. “Much, much trouble.”

“Then why do you keep doing it? I respect the kind thought behind it, but doesn’t that put you both in danger?” I asked, and saw him chuckle.

“It does, but…” he frowned to himself, staring at the ceiling, before laughing again. “Well, it just makes me nostalgic. The right thing to do. Lailah’s mother… she and I wouldn’t have met if I didn’t save her that day from the desert heat. I was young then. I’ve continued saving people since then, as if to live that memory just one more time.”

“...” The melancholic look in his eyes was unmistakable as he stared at the ceiling, leaning back into his arms. Before I could respond, Lailah returned, and Rafin straightened, his expression going cheerful once more.

"I should check the irrigation channels once more before bed," he announced, standing. "The night winds can shift the sand."

After he left, Lailah busied herself with tidying the already neat space, avoiding my gaze.

"You don't have to pretend for my sake," I said finally. "Your father clearly knows. Whatever happened in the market—"

"It's nothing," she cut me off, her back to me as she arranged dried herbs. "Just petty nonsense."

"Petty nonsense doesn't usually leave marks," I observed quietly, noting the faint bruise partially hidden by her sleeve, visible only when she reached up to the shelf.

She froze, then slowly turned to face me. "You see too much for a man who can barely stand."

"Sometimes it's easier to see the world clearly when you're not busy conquering it," I replied.

Our eyes met across the small room, hers wary, mine steady. For a moment, I wondered if I’d spoken too much, if I’d given away too much, but then I noticed the careful facade she'd maintained all evening wavering slightly.

"Why does it matter to you?" she asked softly.

I laughed. "There isn’t any grand reason behind a simple question, my lady. As your father might say, kindness deserves kindness in return," I said, looking into her eyes.

She studied me for a long moment, as if weighing my worth against some internal measure, then let out a giggle. “You just called me ‘my lady’? You might be some [Knight] after all. I thought you looked like one.”

Whatever she saw in me must have satisfied her for her to be giggling like that. I just smiled at her, shrugging. She sighed and sat down across from me.

"There are men in Scorpion's Kiss who think they own the marketplace," she said carefully. "They demand 'protection money' from those who sell there. When sellers refuse..."

"They make examples of them," I finished for her.

She nodded, unconsciously rubbing her arm where the bruise lay hidden. "We don't sell much, just trade for what we need, so normally we wouldn’t have to pay much. But… ugh, well, because of some incidents in the past, they always target me. That’s why I avoid them and time my plans better. This time around, I was a little careless and stumbled upon them… and then…" she trailed off.

"They decided to confront you all for once," I prompted.

Her silver eyes met mine, something unreadable in their depths. "Yes. Today, they said the Baron has new rules. Everyone pays now, no exceptions. And those who have been avoiding the pay for being ‘too smart,’ as they put it, should be taught a lesson."

I stayed quiet. There was a dance of firelight across her face. She wasn’t quite scared as she spoke of the incident—she looked angry as well. That was rare for people like her, a simple Level 7. Seeing the quiet strength beneath her fear, I felt a smile on my lips.

"Some men mistake cruelty for strength," I said softly. "It's the easiest mistake in the world to make, and the most dangerous. Given how serious the situation sounds and you’ve still managed to escape, I suppose you understand strength better than most farmers’ daughters."

"...And what would you know of strength, Alexander?" she asked, genuine curiosity in her voice.

I gazed into the dying fire, memories of battles won and lost flickering through my mind. "Enough to know that true strength is blind. True strength doesn’t see cruelty or kindness," I said, recalling the deaths of countless innocents under my ritual, which granted me power that rivalled a God.

The night wind whispered outside, and somewhere in the distance, a desert wolf howled at the rising moon. But inside this humble dwelling, with this mysterious woman whose kindness outweighed her caution, I found a moment's peace in the midst of my fallen greatness.

Some battles are worth fighting, even when victory is never complete.

As I met her eyes, I realized that her today’s battle would haunt her tomorrow.

****

A sharp crack split the silence of the night, jolting me from sleep with such violence that for a disorienting moment, I thought I was back in Merasca, dodging Xohr'Veskhaa's attacks. My heart hammered against my ribs as my eyes adjusted to the darkness, searching for threats in the unfamiliar shadows.

Another sound—the nervous braying of what must be Rafin's old donkey, followed by the rustling of disturbed crops.

“Hm.” My combat instincts flared to life, sending urgent signals to muscles that refused to respond properly. I pushed myself upright, grimacing as pain lanced through my damaged pathways. The disconnect between mind and body was jarring, like a general whose army no longer heeded his commands.

Footsteps whispered across the packed earth floor of the hut. Light and quick. Lailah.

I strained to hear, catching the soft creak of the door opening and closing. Sliding from the bed, I moved with painful slowness to the window, where a thin gap in the shutters offered a sliver of moonlit visibility.

Lailah stood in the silvery light, her back to the hut, facing the direction of the fields. Her posture was tense but not frightened—alert, like a sentinel. She wore only a thin nightdress, seemingly oblivious to the desert's midnight chill.

"Please," she whispered, her voice carrying in the still air. "Not tonight. We have a guest who needs peace."

Who was she talking to? 

I shifted slightly, scanning the surrounding area, but saw no one. The moonlight revealed only empty fields and the distant, dark silhouette of Scorpion's Kiss on the horizon.

Yet she continued, her words too soft for me to catch, hands moving in gentle, almost coaxing gestures. It was as if she addressed the night air itself.

Another disturbance rustled through the crops—something larger than desert wind. The donkey brayed again, more frantically this time.

"I—” Lailah was about to speak when her head snapped to the side. Toward the crops. “...Well, since you’re here anyway, why not play with those uninvited guests?" Lailah's voice changed, taking on a resonance that vibrated in my chest despite its softness.

The air around her shimmered, like heat rising from sun-baked stones, though the night was cool. A small whirlwind formed at the edge of the field, kicking up dust and pebbles. This was no natural desert gust; it moved with purpose, swirling in tight, controlled spirals, tracking whatever had caused the disturbance.

A yelp of surprise—human, not animal—followed by the sound of scrambling feet. Two shadows broke from the cover of the crops, running toward the road with the peculiar urgency of those who've encountered something they cannot explain.

The whirlwind followed for several yards before dissipating as suddenly as it had appeared, settling back into unnatural stillness.

Lailah stood motionless, one hand pressed to her chest, her silver eyes wide with what appeared to be confusion mixed with relief.

"The desert spirits are restless tonight," she murmured, glancing toward the now-peaceful fields. "Rest now, please."

She turned toward the hut, and I retreated quickly from the window, moving back to my bed with as much stealth as my weakened state allowed. The door creaked open moments later, and I feigned sleep, keeping my breathing deep and measured.

Her footsteps paused near my bed, and I felt her presence hovering there, as if checking that I remained undisturbed. After a moment, she moved away, settling back onto her own sleeping mat across the room.

Behind closed lids, my mind raced. What I'd witnessed was no coincidence or trick of moonlight. The wind had responded to her—or rather, to something within her. 

An innate magic, raw and untamed, manifesting instinctively in response to her emotions.

It’d be weird if she were fooling my Insight skill, so she really was Level 7. Then how could she wield such powers? While I lay still, pretending to sleep, mysteries swirled in my head. 

It seems the saying is true. The desert holds more secrets than just sand and sun.

****

A shout shattered the morning stillness.

"Open up, Rafin! We know you're in there!"

I bolted upright, momentarily confused by the harsh sunlight streaming through the window. I must have been more exhausted than I realized; I hadn't heard the initial commotion that would have preceded such a demand.

The pounding on the door intensified.

"The Baron wants compensation! Your daughter's actions have consequences!"

“Y-you, you stay here.” Lailah looked at me and said, approaching the door behind her father. I scowled and looked at the window. I moved quickly—or as quickly as my battered body would allow—and pushed the window open. 

Through the uneven shutters, I glimpsed a group of five men standing in the yard. Their leader, a burly man with a pockmarked face, balanced on the balls of his feet like someone accustomed to violence. The insignia on his vest was unique.

It marked him as part of the local "security force"—thugs with official backing.

“Who goes?” Rafin shouted as he opened the door and stood before them, his posture deceptively relaxed, his weathered hands hanging loosely at his sides. But I recognized the stance of a man prepared to fight if necessary.

Behind him, partially shielded by his body, stood Lailah. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of fear and anger, her fingers curled into the fabric of her father's shirt.

"What’s going on? My daughter did nothing wrong," Rafin's voice carried clearly, steady despite the tension. "She paid what was asked. Then she had no choice but to flee when your men asked for more."

The leader spat on the ground. "Fled? Did she just flee? Keep lying! My men were hurt by something they couldn’t see, and she fled during that opening. Later, when I sent Galen and Torrence to check on your hut last night, do you know what happened? We found their dead bodies this morning!"

“What?! You sent men to my place in the middle of the night?!” Rafin sounded pissed, glaring at the man. I observed the situation unfold with a scowl.

Galen and Torrence… they must be the two figures I saw last night. They’re… dead? I couldn’t be sure how strong those two men were, but if a Level 7 girl could just ask the wind to murder two grown-up men, it was dangerous enough already.

My eyes flickered to Lailah’s trembling form behind her father. She swallowed, and I saw the fear and regret in her face. 

The other men muttered among themselves, making superstitious gestures.

"And do you mean to say my daughter killed them? The wind blows where it wishes in the desert!" Rafin replied calmly. "If your friends were trespassing in my fields under cover of darkness, perhaps they deserved a fright."

"Do you know what the punishment is for harboring a witch?! The Baron forgave you and just burnt your wife, but now your daughter too? You’ll finally be punished!" The leader snarled, stepping closer. "The Baron takes such matters very seriously since the incident at the eastern well."

"And do you know what happens to men who threaten honest farmers on their own land?" Rafin countered, his hand drifting to the knife at his belt, despite the sweat that trailed down his cheek.

The thug's face twisted into an ugly smile.

"Your debt has doubled for this disrespect." His gaze shifted to the trembling Lailah, something predatory entering his expression. "We'll take payment in coin or… service. The choice is yours, old man."

Rafin’s eyes went bloodshot, while Lailah froze. The thugs laughed, exchanging glances. There was not much to observe after that. That was it. 

I'd seen enough.

“Gentlemen,” I slowly approached the door. “You’ve made a mistake.”

Some men believe themselves wolves among sheep, never realizing they've wandered into a dragon's lair.