Chapter 21: FRIH - 21
Their conversation ended, and they continued their stroll through the streets. The sounds of the city—the chatter of merchants, the clattering of carts, and the occasional horse-drawn carriage—faded as they moved farther into quieter, less trafficked parts of the town. The air grew calmer, more peaceful. As they reached a particularly secluded area, the noise of the busy marketplace became nothing more than a distant hum. Ronan stopped abruptly, his steps slowing to a halt. The city's clamor now seemed like a memory, replaced by an almost eerie stillness. Only the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze broke the silence.
He turned his gaze toward a narrow alleyway at the end of the road. The shadows there were deep, and the faintest hint of movement caught his attention. His eyes narrowed, sharp and unwavering as he studied the dim passageway. The scent of damp stone and old wood lingered in the air, adding a chill to the atmosphere.
"Come out," he called out, his voice smooth and calm, carrying effortlessly through the quiet air. There was no panic, no urgency, just the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly what was going on. "Don't hide; I see you. Are you a gang?"
His words were more of a statement than a question. He activated his x-ray vision, the world around him shifting into a ghostly outline. His gaze swept over the area, finding the figures lurking in the shadows. There were five of them in total. Three men, two women. He could feel their presence, their intentions. His lips quirked upward ever so slightly. "Bold. You're not locals, are you? Following us for money?"
Frieren, walking just beside him, frowned. She remained silent, her eyes narrowing as she scanned their surroundings. She'd sensed their presence before Ronan had even spoken—something was off. She had been ready to take action, but when Ronan had subtly stopped her with a single look, she'd held back. The silent communication between them was enough. Engaging in combat in a crowded area like this would be disastrous for both of them.
Then, just as the tension in the air began to build...
"Hmph."
A cold laugh echoed from the depths of the alleyway, sending a shiver down Frieren's spine. A large, muscular man stepped forward from the shadows. His bare torso gleamed with a bronze hue in the sunlight, his skin crisscrossed with scars, each one telling a tale of countless battles. His presence was imposing, his every movement exuding raw strength.
Frieren's heart skipped a beat, her instincts screaming at her. —A powerful human!
Ronan's expression remained unfazed as he regarded the man with cool indifference. He tilted his head slightly, as though inspecting him like an intriguing specimen. "Warrior?" he asked, his tone casual but laced with the subtle edge of someone who had seen far worse.
The man shook his head, a sneer playing on his lips. "No," he replied gruffly, his voice deep and resonant. "I'm a pugilist."