“Who are you to approach—“ The girl began to say, ready to unsheathe her weapon.

She stood toe to toe with Ares. Their height was similar, but Ares beat her by a few inches, causing her to look up to him slightly. Her eyes narrowed as she looked up. She didn’t ever want to look up to a man. Let alone someone she didn’t know. The act made her feel weak, which agitated her further.

‘She must be confident in her draw speed to close the distance to this extent.’ Ares thought. His face was stolid and his ferocious eyebrows drew towards his ridge and his cheek elevated in annoyance. A single remark punctuated the girl’s words short. “Naïve.”

To not know your opponent and purposely put yourself in a disadvantageous position simply to put on airs was something that could cost you your life. A lesson Ares knew too well during his first encounter with Astercoth. He didn’t want to disappoint Myra, and this girl’s eyes told a similar story.

“What?” The girl spat. She pulled her sword out slightly as if trying to intimidate him and force a heartfelt sorry from his impudent mouth. It didn’t work. If she was looking for an apology, she surely wasn’t going to receive it from Ares. In fact, it only affirmed his preconceived notions of her.

He snorted, moved to her side, and pushed her out the way with his hand without making eye contact.

She suddenly lost track of him, her body tilting to the side.

‘Huh?’ The girl couldn’t see what happened. It was as if his presence disappeared and reappeared to her left. Before she could turn around to stop him, he was already at her master’s table. She gritted her teeth ready to strike out at him, only to see his afterimages cut her down in an instant.

The bloodlust overwhelmed her like the edge of a storm and her knees buckled beneath her. Her hands slapped against the dirty floor as she fell, letting out deep, uncontrolled breaths as If she emerged from the clutches of a sea, attempting to drown her. Her eyes were wide open and her silky silver hair stuck to her face indefinitely from the sweat and shivers. “W-What was that!?” She shouted, unable to comprehend what took place. She looked towards her master only to see an amused grin form from his face and instantly disappear.

The man moved his shoulder just a hitch and the hawk embroidered on his bracer shone a bright red. He had fairly short, blond hair with a large bang covering one of temples. His eyes were sunken, barely visible, casting a shadow on his sockets. Stubbles were plastered all over his chin, a testament to his usual lackadaisical attitude. He spoke to the boy approaching him, looking deeply into the last bit of wine that reflected his stoic expression.

“That’s quite the skill.” The man said, swirling the wine in the cup. Though he kept his cool, he was thoroughly surprised by the young man’s movements and killing intent out the corner of his eye. His feet nor body emitted any mana, yet he passed by his apprentice unnoticed and even drowned her with his killing intent, almost causing her to faint. She did well to resist though, he praised.

He still wasn’t attached to her. But her attempts to gain his recognition made him take a liking towards her. He didn’t like her at first not because of her lack of skill. She wasn’t weak. She just wasn’t strong enough.

He didn’t know the young man, but he was glad he incapacitated his apprentice so easily. ‘This’ll teach her the most valuable lesson in this field.’ He thought. ‘A lesson I’ll have to teach the ‘other one’ too.’ He sighed. One was troublesome enough.

He eyed the boy from the side, refusing to give him his full attention. More than anything, it was his pride. How could he let a brat impress him of all things? Though he didn’t admit it, he was quite curious of the boy. He was too young to be an A Rank adventurer, let alone a Beast Hunter. But that wasn’t his concern at the moment. He was wondering what he did to incite such a talented kid. He visited whorehouses frequently, but didn’t have any children, as far as he knew anyway.

After taking one last, hardy gulp of his wine, he swallowed all his pride along with it. His interest had finally overcome it.

“What’s your name, kid?” The man couldn’t help but smile at the boy’s physique. He was well-toned and handsome. He had decent armor. Along with his bloodlust, it gave him a nice contrast between seemingly carnal, yet noble. His deep blue eyes gave off a mysterious calm. Even he seemed to dwell on them, until his eyes fell upon his missing arm. He grimaced and looked the boy in the eye. Seemingly unfazed, he gave the boy an acknowledging nod. Had it been any other ‘invalid’ he would have definitely dismissed him. An ‘incomplete’ person was not worth his time.

The young man seemed to be a mage, seeing the spellbook partly visible from the back. He dismissed his movement earlier as some sort of unique spell. He didn’t believe it, but that would suffice for now. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw his apprentice ready to pounce. Her sword was fully unsheathed and assumed her stance. She spread her legs shoulder-width, lowering her center of gravity and took a deep breath, before narrowing her eyes. She was ready. Killing intent surged from the boy yet again. He had not even turned towards her, but it was affecting her greatly. She lost the stability and composure she attained earlier.

“Master Azazil, let me—“ She began panting. She could barely breathe under all the pressure the boy was exuding. It seemed only to affect her, which made her more anxious. Her hands became sweaty, loosening her grip on the hilt and her mouth became dry. She felt like she was in the middle of the desert, but she stood steadfast.

It could possibly be suicide to attack the boy. But she viewed him like an obstacle. Something she must overcome to reach her goal. But there was something else tugging at her heart. All that respect she had worked so hard to build from her master was seemingly gone in a few seconds. She was angry at the boy, but she couldn’t help but reflect on herself. It was just as the boy said. She was naïve, which made her feel all the more useless as he was about the same age as her. The man raised his hand, his palm facing towards her before he spoke.

“Quiet, Chyrsella.” The man said, hoping to silence his apprentice as passively as possible. He had to stop her from losing the remaining respect he had for her. More importantly, she was interrupting the boy who had yet to answer his question. He didn’t want to miss a single word he was saying, as he opened his mouth, her voice beckoned him again.

“Master Azazil, I can—“ Chyrsella said desperately.

“Enough!” He said slamming the table. She shuddered at his words, closing her lips tight to not anger him any more.

The whole floor went silent at the drop of his name.

“Oi oi, that can’t really be him, right?” A man whispered bending towards his comrade’s ear.

“Look at him, he fits the description, don't you see? And that blade… ” He replied.

“Hooh, I didn’t know he was such a handsome fellow.” A woman purred.

Seeing the ensuing ruckus about to unfold. Azazil quickened Ares’s answer with another question.

“Now, boy. Tell me what you want. Surely you did not come just for my autograph” He said teasingly.

“Your blade, give it to me.” Ares commanded.

The crowd gaped at his apt statement. There was no hesitation in his words. Only a command, as if he was a subject in his personal kingdom. Effari was the one most astounded. Ares didn’t seem like that type of guy, but that side of him… aroused her. The other waitresses around her began giving her a questioning glance, but she ignored them. Ares was the only one in her eyes.

But indeed, he wasn’t the type of be demanding. It was unusual for Ares to be so blatantly aggressive. But the blade at his side held sentimental value to him. It was one of two things he received from Astercoth before his ‘passing.’ To see an exact replica of it as soon as left Diatie, displayed like some trophy, disgusted him… is what he told himself. What he truly felt… was a sense of entitlement. A blade of that caliber should belong to him… and only him.

Rachel, whom he had forgotten was on top his head, tried to help Ares with her best attempt at an intimidating glare, only to have the opposite effect.

The crowed ridiculed him for his foolishness and Rachel, somewhat realizing she was the cause, buried her face into his hair, hiding her tears and embarrassment. But he was unfazed. His eyes said something different. He was serious. And Azazil knew.