Two groups of gentlemen were currently standing in a stalemate.
"Damn it. We were supposed to be done an hour ago. What's this hold-up? Ridiculous..." Angrily, said a relatively young man in a leather jacket.
Around him stood other similarly dressed thugs, all sharing the same prideful look in their eyes.
"Have some sense, kid! So what if we're a little late? Better this than getting caught by the guards," replied a middle-aged thug in a grey worker's uniform.
He was standing not too far away, a few people on his side.
These two groups were supposed to be doing a trade at the moment, but one of them kept delaying.
The man in gray, a representative of a certain small gang, just couldn't get rid of a weird sensation.
Ever since coming here, he kept having this feeling of being observed; it gave him goosebumps.
He sent his men to check the perimeter, but nothing suspicious was discovered.
It was unreasonable to delay a trade because of a feeling, but the man in gray thought it was important to trust your intuition in this city.
Others scoffed at his superstitions plenty of times in the past, but in the end none of them lived for as long as he has.
Intuition kept him safe so far, but today they were dealing with a powerful gang; angering them could lead to plenty of unspeakable consequences.
Besides, they were standing around for long enough with nothing discovered. Local guards weren't this competent or patient.
Looking at the young man at the opposite side, who was about to lose his patience, the man in grey was beginning to worry.
"Clear, boss!" Said in a quiet voice a thug in gray as he ran over.
"Same here!" Said another from a different direction.
"Good! Stay on the lookout, everyone," the middle-aged thug said with a nod.
He knew waiting any longer would be foolish, so with a heavy heart, he reached for a briefcase and put it on the ground.
"Finally!" With an annoyed face, the thug in a jacket approached.
With this, the briefcase was soon opened.
However, there was nothing inside.
No one's gaze showed any surprise at the sight. A special spell was required for the product to appear.
Very slowly the man in grey cast a spell, its magic circle obscured, and with a bit of smoke a paper bag appeared where there was nothing before.
The young man hastily grabbed the bag and deliberately stood up, looking inside with a forced smile.
"Looks good." Even his voice appeared awkward.
He pretended to move away for a few moments, but nothing was still happening.
"Ridiculous..." The young man exhaled and returned with eager footsteps.
"See! No one is here! Let's be done with this already," he said towards the thug in grey.
"It seems that way, alright," replied the middle-aged man.
With his eyes going around one last time, he stretched his hand back towards the briefcase and cast another spell.
This time, quietly, a smaller bag appeared.
"Boss! Someone is here!" Suddenly yelled a thug on the perimeter.
With a ruthless expression, the man in grey closed the briefcase, almost hitting the fingers of the young man, and stood up.
The thug in a jacket cursed with lingering fears and turned his attention to the scream as well.
There was a young man walking with sharp features, his eyes blue.
He didn't attempt to hide, openly walking over.
"What are you doing here?" Calmly, asked Cyril, the thugs slowly surrounding him.
"Who the hell are you? Were you the one casting the spell earlier?" said with a scowl the man in grey.
"I don't know what you are talking about," blankly stated Cyril.
His calm demeanor provoked a bit of rage inside of the thugs.
"Whatever, tough guy, you are not going anywhere from us." The younger thug said, approaching with a threatening gait.
His mood was already quite bad, and now a perfect outlet appeared.
Once close enough, he scowled at Cyril's face, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets.
"You picked the wrong time to be walking here, pal." His hand shot forward with these words, an object glistening in his grip.
Cyril, in a smooth motion, grabbed the knife with his bare hand, completely halting the attack.
The thug let go of the weapon in a startle and moved a few steps back.
"So you are not just some waste..." He cautiously said while narrowing his eyes.
Cyril threw the dagger in the old garbage bin to the side, his demeanor still relaxed.
Everyone nearby drew their weapons, some even preparing to rush in, but the thug who had attacked Cyril stopped them with a raised hand.
"I'll deal with you myself." He arrogantly approached again, his hands actually casting a spell in the process.
His body shined for a second, and suddenly the muscles on his body became more prominent, veins easily visible.
A body enhancement spell...
"Who knew street thugs were capable of this? Though his casting is even worse than your classmates'."
The man in a jacket now stood in front of Cyril with his hands spread out and his chin raised.
"Come on, show me what you've got!" He passionately said.
Some of the similarly dressed thugs around let out a bit of a cheer, obviously excited.
Since it would only be the polite thing to do, Cyril obliged with this request, quickly striking with his palm.
The thug didn't even flinch, still standing with his chest puffed out, his expression turning to mockery.
"That's—" But his speech was interrupted.
Suddenly a big patch of his hair fell to the ground, silencing everyone around them.
The thug clutched his head with a pained expression; where lush brown locks had been was now an empty space.
"What—what have you done?!" The thug with a tremble stared at the hair on the ground.
Once recovered from his initial shock, the man raised his hand and yelled, "Get him!"
The thugs around all jumped in with weapons swinging; some activated the same body-enhancing spell.
Dodging their attacks, Cyril retaliated by quickly striking them with the same technique.
After a second, some thugs fell to the ground, their legs refusing to move, while others were knocked out cold.
Cyril stared at the result of his training with a satisfaction.
The technique was powerful. After the initial contact, he could guide the mana to any point in the human body, allowing Cyril to win most fights by simply touching his opponent.
A downside to that would be the natural delay of activation as a result of mana traveling through the body, but that time could be shortened with better mana control.
Still, a competent mage might be able to save themselves if allowed a moment to take care of the wound.
The rest of the thugs standing further began running away.
But before they escaped too far, a blurry dot suddenly crashed into them, ricocheting from one to the next.
Soon all of the thugs were down, a beautiful red butterfly fluttering her wings over their bodies.
It looks like she can do the technique just fine...
Cyril noticed the state of the bodies. They were similar to the ones near him.
Since she also succeeded, it was only a matter of who was first...