After a rather eventful lunch, I gave Takson a heavy pouch of coins and told him to spend the rest of the day exploring the city on his own.
With my apprentice temporarily dispatched, I began my usual routine: walking the streets, scanning, recording.
Over the years, I had mapped and logged over a hundred towns and villages. With their coordinates stored in my database, I could open a Vector Gate to any of them at a moment's notice.
Now, I was adding this new town to the collection.
But this time, I encountered an anomaly.
"Hey, miss, what are you doing?"
I heard the voice of a little girl from behind me. I was, of course, already aware of her presence.
I was in my human disguise, and this was not the first time a stranger had tried to strike up a conversation. I had a standard, highly effective protocol for these situations.
Ignore them.
Usually, if I simply didn't respond, they would get the hint and leave after a few awkward seconds.
"Miss, are you an adventurer?"
"..."
"Your eyes are really pretty."
"..."
"What do you do for a living?"
"..."
"Miss, why won't you talk to me?"
It seemed the standard protocol was ineffective against this particular subject.
With an internal sigh, I turned to face the small girl with the thick, orange braid who had just plopped down on the bench beside me.
She was staring at me with wide, curious eyes. I found children with this level of forwardness... troublesome.
I ran a quick scan. Age: seven. She had probably wandered off from her parents, who would no doubt be looking for her soon. Worried she might get lost, I decided it was best to engage.
"Query: What is your name?"
"You talk funny," the girl observed, but she answered politely. "My name's Flamme. What's yours?"
"Stell."
"...Hm?"
"Query: You said your name is Flamme?"
"Yeah. Why?"
She looked at me, completely oblivious to the significance of her own name. But beneath my placid, disguised face, my processors were running wild.
It could have been a coincidence, of course. But I couldn't ignore the other possibility.
That I had just stumbled upon the child who would one day become humanity's greatest mage—before the demons, before the tragedy, before she was found by Serie.
The young Flamme.
Takson wandered through the city streets.
Stell had given him a substantial amount of money, enough for a day of leisurely spending.
He had left his battle-axe back in their room at the inn. Why carry it around town? Besides, his own body was a weapon. An inconvenient thing like a tool wasn't always necessary.
This was their usual routine whenever they visited a new city. I would give him some funds and let him explore on his own.
Would he get lost? Robbed? I wasn't concerned. Getting lost was impossible; I was always tracking his location.
As for being robbed... I had never explicitly taught him how to deal with such things.
But I knew how he would see it. If his purse was stolen, it was his own fault for not being strong enough, not being aware enough to stop the thief. That was just how Takson thought.
"Teacher said to do whatever I want," he muttered to himself, "but I have no idea what to do." Too many choices could be a burden in itself. "Right. I'll start with the food street."
Lunch had been... stressful. And with his intense training regimen, he was always hungry.
"What should I get?" he wondered, picturing the various delicacies his teacher had once described to him. Lost in thought, he made his way toward the market.
...
"Oof!"
As Takson was daydreaming about food, someone darted out from a side street and slammed right into him.
Years of training and combat had hardened the boy's body to a near-inhuman degree. He barely budged. The man who had run into him, however, was sent sprawling to the ground.
"Whoa!" Takson snapped out of his reverie. "Sorry about that! Are you okay?" He offered a hand to the fallen man.
"Tch, watch where you're going next time!" the man grumbled, rubbing his bruised backside. He took Takson's hand and let himself be pulled up, all the while shooting the boy a dirty look. "Jeez, what's the point of being built like a brick wall?"
He grumbled a few more complaints, but he seemed to be in a hurry and made to leave. But as he tried to walk away, he found that Takson hadn't let go of his arm.
"Hey, what's your problem? I've got places to be." A few beads of sweat trickled down the man's forehead.
Takson just smiled, his grip like a vise. The man struggled, but he couldn't break free.
"Don't worry," Takson said, his smile never wavering. "I won't keep you from your 'urgent business.'"
"Just as long as you return what doesn't belong to you."
"Otherwise," his smile widened, "I can't guarantee how many of your bones will still be in one piece."
He held out his other hand, palm up. The man's face went pale. With his free hand, he shakily produced a familiar-looking coin purse and placed it in Takson's outstretched palm.
The man was a pickpocket. He had seen me give Takson the money and had marked him as an easy target.
He never imagined the kid would be this strong, or this perceptive. The moment Takson's hand had closed around his arm, the thief's heart had skipped a beat. Looking at that cheerful, smiling face, a cold dread had washed over him.
Takson hefted the coin purse, confirming its weight was correct, then released the man's arm. But he wasn't finished.
"Aaargh!—"
A sharp cry of pain echoed through the street, drawing the attention of passersby. They glanced over, saw who was screaming, and then, with a collective shrug, went back to their business.
"Huh. Seems like you're not very popular around here," Takson observed. The crowd's indifference told him everything he needed to know.
He looked down at the thief, who was now writhing on the ground, clutching a hand that had been cleanly and expertly broken. The coldness in Takson's eyes silenced the man's whimpering.
"Consider this a lesson," he said, his voice low. "If I catch you again, it won't be just one hand."
"Eep!" The thief scrambled to his feet and fled, cradling his shattered hand.
"Yep, still got it," Takson said to himself with a satisfied nod. He had spent years honing a specialized "anti-thief" sense, a hyper-awareness of anyone who entered a five-meter radius around him. He'd dealt with dozens of pickpockets over the years. This one was strictly amateur hour.
The surrounding townsfolk, having witnessed the swift and brutal justice, gave Takson appreciative nods as he walked away.
What a pain, he thought.
A few minutes later, he arrived at his destination: the food street. He stopped at a small stall selling freshly baked cookies.
"Mmm, smells good," he said, buying a large bag. "I'll bring some back for Teacher."
And with that, his shopping spree began.
"This one's good."
"Ooh, this one's even better."
"A bit pricey."
"Too sweet."
….
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