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Where is she? And what the heck is happening right now?
Asterion pushed his way forward through the gathering crowd, his sharp eyes scanning the scene ahead. The noise grew louder with each step—shouts, agitated murmurs, the unmistakable tension that came before violence. When he finally reached a vantage point where the commotion unfolded clearly, his brows rose slightly in disbelief.
…Okay? Now what is this? Someone's really causing a scene in broad daylight?
A destroyed wagon lay nearby, its wooden frame splintered and broken. Several guards stood between the crowd and the center of the disturbance, keeping civilians at a safe distance. Two adventurers stood locked in confrontation—one tall and broad, a massive hammer resting over his shoulder, the other wielding a drawn sword despite visible injuries.
And Scarlette was nowhere in sight.
Asterion's jaw tightened. This situation would escalate quickly if left alone. Fights between adventurers were never simple—ego and strength collided far too often, especially in a crowded city.
He stepped forward instinctively—
—and froze.
A sudden, familiar voice echoed inside his mind, clear and unmistakable.
"Back down, Varyn. This is a fight between adventurers. No nobles should interfere."
Asterion halted mid‑step.
"You're on a secret mission, remember? Don't draw attention to yourself. There may be nobles in disguise watching the city. Hide for now. I'll handle this."
His heart skipped.
Scarlette.
His gaze swept the crowd more urgently now, searching for the source of that voice. It didn't take long for him to spot her. The crimson‑haired woman stood several paces away from the commotion, partially concealed among the spectators. She wasn't looking in his direction at all; her focus remained fixed on the two adventurers at the center of the scene.
Realization dawned on him.
Telepathy…?
His breath caught.
That's a high‑tier spell.
Shock flickered across his expression as pieces fell into place far too quickly.
How did Scarlette learn something like that? Wait—she's a Swordmaster… but this isn't sword technique. This is… magic.
His mind raced.
Are you telling me she's also a mage? More precisely… a sorcerer?
Asterion frowned deeply, stunned by the implication.
In three years… this is the first time I've ever seen her use magic.
Whatever Scarlette was hiding ran far deeper than he imagined—but this wasn't the time to dwell on it. He took a steadying breath and obeyed her instruction.
She was right.
He could not intervene.
He was operating under a secret imperial order, and causing a noble‑level disturbance would only complicate matters. Moreover, the possibility that other nobles lurked in disguise around the city made exposure dangerous.
A shame, he thought reluctantly. But I know Scarlette. She won't allow this to spiral out of control.
With that, Asterion withdrew a little, repositioning himself on the edge of the crowd. His posture relaxed, but his eyes never left the center of the disturbance.
......…
............…
...............…..
Scarlette stood quietly, hidden in plain sight.
From where she observed, she could see everything clearly.
Ryan Wayne—her so‑called companion—stood at the center of the scene, sword drawn but posture visibly strained. His left arm was stiff, his breathing uneven, blood seeping through torn fabric. Yet even injured, he retained control—his stance disciplined, movements restrained.
Opposite him stood the other adventurer.
Bulky. Broad‑shouldered. Confident to the point of arrogance.
A war hammer rested lazily on the man's shoulder, his smirk loud and unapologetic as he looked down on Ryan. It was an expression Scarlette recognized far too well—pride born from strength used without discipline.
She didn't intervene immediately.
Instead, she faded deeper into the background, suppressing her presence until it was nearly undetectable. To the untrained eye, she became just another spectator—a hooded woman lost among the crowd.
At first, she had intended to intervene.
A fight like this in the city, especially with so many civilians nearby, was dangerous. Had the guards not moved swiftly to push onlookers out of range, she would have acted at once.
But once she assessed the scene further, her urgency eased.
The city guards were competent. They were doing their job—containing the perimeter without provoking further conflict. For now, escalation was being held at bay.
And more importantly—
She wanted to see what Ryan would do.
Let's see how you handle this.
Her gaze narrowed, evaluating him carefully.
Back then, you were a noble… a fallen one, to be precise.
Ryan's past was not a simple story.
But now… since you're working under that person…
She exhaled slowly.
I can't keep thinking of you as "fallen" anymore.
Her attention shifted briefly to the bulky man facing him—and annoyance flared.
…I know this idiot.
The memory surfaced unbidden.
During a subjugation mission months ago, Scarlette had been temporarily assigned to another party. That party's leader happened to be this exact same adventurer—boastful, reckless, and entirely oblivious to his limitations.
Because of his incompetence, half of his party nearly died.
She remembered taking command without hesitation, overriding him when the situation spiraled out of control. By then, members of his group were already bleeding heavily, some barely conscious.
Just recalling that mission pisses me off.
And now, the very same man was harassing her injured companion.
Scarlette's patience thinned considerably.
Still, she held back.
She had no interest in bullying someone weaker or flaunting her strength unnecessarily. Rank and title meant nothing to her. What mattered was effort, discipline, and responsibility.
That philosophy was why she distanced herself from most adventurers.
Too many were arrogant. Too many relied on rank rather than skill. Too many think that power entitled them to respect.
Disgusting.
Her eyes softened slightly as she returned her focus to Ryan.
You're injured… yet you still haven't lost composure.
She observed closely—his grip steady despite the pain, his movements calculated to conserve stamina rather than show bravado. He hadn't rushed forward, nor had he escalated the situation without reason.
At least you haven't disappointed me.
Scarlette was many things—but reckless wasn't one of them.
She respected strength, but more than that, she respected restraint.
Which was also the reason she never joined parties.
From the very beginning, when she was nothing more than a low‑rank adventurer scraping for survival, she refused to follow others blindly. She disliked being ordered around, disliked relying on people she did not trust, and despised the infighting and arrogance among adventurer groups.
Trust was a luxury she could not afford.
That was why she worked alone.
That was why she became strong.
That was why she remained distant.
Scarlette folded her arms slowly beneath her cloak, gaze never leaving the confrontation.
Show me.
Show me what you'll do next.
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