Chapter 33: 33. Local Champions
"You've come from different parts of this city only for this, while some of you have been here all this while." Words that would hold significant meaning flowed out of that man's mouth as he slowly swept his gaze on that group. A slight smile apparent on his features.
The man who seemed to be the leader of that group looked to be in his late forties. He possessed a head full of black hair with bits of gray strands. He had black eyes and stood at a height of about 5ft6.
Lines that revealed stress existed on his facial features but his unmoving gaze made them overlook that detail. His name was Nemus.
The assigned leader of that group. A man with a terrible personality and the blood of both innocent and guilty lives on his hand.
"When I had been dispatched as the head of this small group I could not but be joyous, even if I've only dealt with one or two of you before." He paused finally focusing his gaze on the brown box before them.
One of the five men that carried the box came forward to open it, revealing that it was a crate.
The moment the cover was removed the sight of its insides made the eyes of those present widen.
Tristan remained silent just as Mark had said. He was the tallest in the group of those who attended that meeting and when his eyes fell on the contents of the box he could only wonder what they were.
At least some of them. Swords, knives, and even bows existed on the inside of that box, but three, in particular, stood out.
"What are those?" Tristan whispered to Mark who had been transfixed by the contents of the crate. Tristan's words brought him out of that daze and he scanned the area suspiciously.
"These are guns," Mark stated seemingly unable to handle that reality properly.
"They are weapons that fire small projectiles moving at incredible speeds. They are like arrows but far more portable and powerful. Only the enforcers use them… so for them to be here means…" Mark explained even if the last parts of his words were more to himself than not.
Still not properly understanding the gravity of the situation, Tristan gazed back into the box. Those who had attended the meeting were twelve In number including Tristan and Mark.
The other belonged to the group who stood by watching them from both sides.
Nemus began to talk again, but Tristan barely listened. He got bored of the opened crate and swept his gaze on the world around. He admired the size of the warehouse.
Nine men stood on the left and right sides of the group, eyeing them in case they took suspicious actions. But in truth, most of them were just hungry for some violence.
Tristan managed to lock gazes with one of such men.
His gaze remained unfazed even if he realized that the individual now had eyes on him. Tristan once again looked at him and their eyes connected in what felt like a stare-off.
The man broke that stare off and approached him with his palm on the hilt of his blade.
This immediately caught the attention of others, including Nemus who explained how that day would go. All they had been called that day was to see the products that were for sale.
"What is it?" Nemus asked the man. He lacked any concern for what happened there as long as a proper buyer wasn't affected. He had been told that one of them was there from Lax.
An aberration since the original event had not occurred that way.
"This kid doesn't know respect, I'll teach him that," the said man unsheathed his blade briefly sweeping his gaze on the others.
Words could not explain the amount of fear traveling through Mark's being. His eyebrows twitched when he realized he stood in the way between the man and Tristan. He would be cut down.
Still.
"Please overlook his actions, he's new and doesn't understand how these things work," Mark bowed his head already trembling.
Tristan on the other hand saw no reason for that reaction. He stepped forward when the man would not stop his march.
Mark took deep breaths while he remained in that posture, the man on the other hand continued to stare at Tristan, only to find that his gaze was unyielding.
"I will cut you down if you don't move bastard," the man raised his blade high above Mark's bowed head.
"Please… have mercy," Mark further pleaded, uncertain of the reason he went that far knowing fully well Tristan could handle him.
Oh yes.
He didn't want to fall on the blacklist of those men.
Snorting the man sent a kick to Marks's side, sending him flying. Proceeding forward he executed a downward slash. He went straight for Tristan's chest.
'Why are these people so violent?' Tristan frowned watching that blade descend on his figure. Of course, he stopped it with his palm.
The sound of metal striking metal resounded in the warehouse, as the man's blade shattered due to the unmovable surface that was Tristan's palm.
Amazement filled that place and gasps left the mouths of those watching.
The man stared at his sword's hilt before raising his head in disbelief.
Tristan clicked his tongue and his left arm flickered to deliver a blow to the man's chest sending him shooting backward like a bullet till he crashed into a pile of boxes which stopped his movement.
The others moved forward at that point, ready to attack Tristan, but they remained hesitant.
One of them rushed towards the man in the distance to check his vitals. After crouching he straightened his back to shake his head.
He was dead.
Those men surrounded Tristan at that point while those who had simply come to take part in the business sought ways to escape that site. It wasn't hard for such situations to turn into a bloodbath.
"You say you're from Lax?" Nemus asked, circling the duo. A light smile shone on his face even if deep down he hated that situation.
The man Tristan had killed was at the peak of the First-class. Meaning the young man before him had to be at least Second-class.
"Yes sir," Mark replied regretting coming there. Tristan simply glared at them.
"When did someone as strong as you join him?" Nemus ignored Mark to focus on the strong one. "Do you know what he does?"
"I don't. But you're no worse yourself, are you." Clenching his fists, Tristan responded. Mark's expression widened but the tension of that situation choked him. He dared not speak.
A total of 15 individuals were against them all of which wielded weapons.
"Do you think you can win against us?" Nemus stretched his hand towards his blade.
"I'd rather not cause too much commotion, but yes. I'll eradicate you all if it comes to it." Words that sent shivers down the spines of those men came out of the tall boy.
Those men prepared to attack even if their guts trembled madly at the thought. The way he had taken out their colleague meant he could take them out with similar ease.
Silence reigned at that point, and the tension skyrocketed.
"Very well then," Nemus announced at some point. "Stand down." He commanded his men.
"I apologize for what my man did. He deserved what was coming to him, honestly."
"You both can go… you're scaring my customers away, my boss won't be happy about that," the man backed them approaching the individuals who had been kept from leaving. The rest were at the entrance.
Stunned by the turn of events, Mark did not wait too long before he grabbed Tristan by the arm and they left the warehouse.
"Boss… why did you not let us take care of them?" One of those men asked Nemus a bit after the duo left.
Glancing at the person over his shoulder, Nemus drew his sword in an instant, proceeding to deliver a long slash from the man's chest to his side.
"If you all don't know when to back down from a fight, come here and I will waste you first!" He was furious.
"I will not let myself get killed because of arrogant fools who are merely local champions!"
"That boy has to have been at least Second class. If you can fight something on that level then go ahead."
"Fools! Utterly useless!" He hissed, kicking the crate in anger. He wondered how Lax had gotten his hand on someone that strong.
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone