Bonus - Nameless, One-Shot, Tongue-in-Cheek Creative Writing Thigie

The famous Bazar of the North definitely lived up to its reputation. Every visitor entering the city through the main gates was greeted by a seemingly endless cavalcade of tents, stalls, and even just simple peddlers selling their wares on colorful carpets laid out on the bare pavement. 

Between these little islands, a roiling sea of people churned without end, led by the currents of need and curiosity; their numbers would have made even the most casual observer wonder just how so many could fit between the walls of the venerable city of Quintex, bastion of the north and the bulwark of the empire.

Those tall, imposing walls surrounding the numerous districts of the city were, in fact, an absolute necessity. The savage north was never found wanting when it came to monsters of all shapes and sizes, and the geography of the land, the meeting point of two rivers and three plains, meant the city was right in the center of the ancient migration paths of a number of nasty creatures. 

This was both a menace and an opportunity, as while it made the land completely unsuitable for farming, it also invited craftsmen, traders, and the adventurous folk willing to strike out and supply the first two with raw material, resources, and valuables of all shapes and kinds. It was a dangerous lifestyle, but one that promised riches beyond one's wildest imagination and fame that could immortalize one's name in the annals of history. But of course, none were more famous than the outworlders; invited by the land itself for a purpose no one could fathom, endowed by strange powers and often referred to by a simple yet powerful word: Heroes.

Such as the man walking the streets of the bazar at this very moment. He was a tall man, a little on the heavy side, but by no means a giant. Under his short cropped hair he had a handsome, if maybe just a hint androgynous face, with sharp eyes under his thin brows, like twin emerald set in the face of a masterwork statue. He wore the finest metal breast plate money could buy, its mirror-shined surface adorned with intricate golden filigree, and he had a sky-blue cape trailing behind him, billowing in the faint breeze as if it had a will of its own.

Wherever he strode, the crowd parted around him, their gazes filled with a strange mixture of awe, envy, and just a hint of caution. He paid them no heed. He had been living in this world for two years by this point, and he had long since gotten used to the stares of people who never met a Hero before. He came to this city in preparation of a high difficulty quest, and he decided to test his luck in the bazar, hoping that he would stumble upon something valuable. In fact, he was more or less guaranteed to do so. After all, he was a Hero, and his Luck potential was at an astonishing 'EX' level.

In this world, every inhabitant possessed something called a 'System'. It granted them attributes, still, and other perks he couldn't even dream of before he got reincarnated into this world. Thinking so, he quickly checked his status panel.

He was level eighty, which was very respectable. It was the level where he could solo even lesser dragons and other mythical creatures with minimal difficulty. However, one's level only told half the story. The true measure of one's prowess lied in the five stats and four potentials. 

The stats were Strength, Endurance, Dexterity, Affinity, and Resistance. As the name implied, Strength made one physically stronger, Endurance made one tougher to the point where even arrows would bounce off their skin, Dexterity aided anything related to hand-eye-coordination and movement, Affinity governed one's magical abilities and how much mana they had, while Resistance made them able to shrug off negative magical effects and curses and weaken or even outright negate magical damage.

The Hero walking through the Bazar had what he considered a strong melee build. He spent most of the bonus points he got from level ups on his Strenght and Endurance, with Dexterity receiving a fair share as well, while Affinity and Resistance were his dump stats. Normally this would have resulted in him being weak against spellcasters, but that is where the four potentials came into the picture.

Those were the privilege of Heroes, and were Growth, Presence, Versatility, and Luck. Each of them were rated from E to S, and every ten levels, the Hero could enhance one potential by one stage. Growth influenced the amount of XP received and bonus stat points gained, Presence made the natives have a better disposition towards the Hero and made it easier to gain trust (and thus get access to lucrative Quests), higher Versatility allowed the Hero to use various, otherwise mutually exclusive skills and powers, while Luck just straight up skewed probabilities in their favor. 

Our Hero had a solid A in Growth, a middling B in Presence, an unusually low D in versatility, and an absolutely outstanding EX in Luck. The latter meant that if a spell of ability could be resisted, he was almost guaranteed to do so, and because of his Luck, he could avoid or take minimal damage from offensive spells, completely negating his build's main weakness. Not only that, he was also very likely to stumble upon forgotten ruins full of treasures, find ancient artifacts on the roadside, or if he needed money, he could win in any card game of bet without even knowing the rules. It was, to put it bluntly, a typical cheat, and the reason why he was roaming the bazar, seemingly without aim, was just so he could exploit his Luck even further.

Like that, he came to a sudden halt in front of a small tent almost at the exact center of the market. It was a remarkably unremarkable, unassuming stall selling a wide variety of 'vendor trash', items with very little apparent value that adventurers often gathered in the wild, often sold as souvenirs to the visitors in the city. However, aside of the various odds and ends on display, there was a small wooden case in the middle, showing off a variety of low-quality enchanted rights and other assorted accessories.

He stopped in front of the stall and, after looking over the wares, his naturally settled on the display case. Without further ado, he immediately utilized every Hero's most important ability, called 'Appraisal'. It was more or less the most common skill among adventurers, but very few of them had the leisure granted by the Growth potential of Heroes to spend enough point on it to unlock its full potential. Our Hero did so in the very beginning, so by now he was a master of scanning the objects in his vision and separating the wheat from the chaff at a glance.

It didn't take him long to pause as he took a closer look at the rusty iron ring tucked away in the corner of the case, and once he read the item description, he didn't hesitate for a second.

"Shopkeeper," he called out to the portly man dealing with another customer, his voice a honeyed baritone made even more imposing by his Presence. "I wish to purchase that ring."

"Which one, my good sire?" he middle-aged peddler asked, his attention immediately captured by the Hero's request, yet after following the armor-clad man's pointing finger, his brows quickly knit into a conflicted frown. "Do you mean that old, rusty iron ring over there? I'm sorry, but I can't sell that."

By this point the Hero knew the drill. This wasn't the first time he stumbled upon a seemingly useless item in a shop, and once he showed interest, it was a given that the natives would realize it was probably more precious than they thought and try to hike the price of it in the last second.

"I am willing to give you two Aurean gold coins for it," he pressed on as he reached into his inventory and brandished the two large coins, earning him some very familiar shocked gasps from the onlooker. However, the peddler didn't budge.

"I'm sorry, my friend, but I really can't sell it to you. It is already reserved."

"Four pieces," he doubled down without batting an eye. Money held little meaning to him; for the average onlooker, four golds could feed a family through a winter, for him, it was spare change he could earn in an afternoon. Yet, the man behind the counter only shook his head.

"You don't understand. It was the son of the governor who asked me this morning to hold onto that ring until he returns."

"Then why do you still have it on display?"

"I…" The middle aged man stammered for a moment, then sheepishly stated, "I honestly didn't think anyone else would be interested in it."

"I don't know about you, but I don't see the son of this governor here. On the other hand, I am offering you six pieces of gold for that ring, right here, right now."

"It's not about the money," the peddler excused himself, and the Hero already had a good idea about what this was about. This wasn't the first time he ran into a tyrannical young master of a noble household, and he had a feeling it wouldn't be the last.

"Listen, if you are afraid of him, I can just—" he began, only to get interrupted by a polite yet sharp cough from behind him. When he looked over his shoulder, he found a short, plump young man. He wore fine clothes and his short golden hair was parted in two right in the middle, giving him a somewhat goofy appearance. His face was, contrary to the Hero's expectations, quite well balanced; if he shed some weight, he could even be called handsome. Furthermore, he had a broadsword hanging on his side, its hilt covered in gold and encrusted jewels, obviously more of a decoration than an actual weapon of war.

"Is there a problem?" the young man asked, his voice oddly nasal and not particularly pleasant on the ears. 

"No, young master," the middle aged peddler immediately interjected with a conflicted expression. "There is no problem whatsoever."

"Good," saying so, the young noble walked over, stood right next to the Hero, while pointedly ignoring his presence. "I hope you still have the ring from this morning."

"Yes, young master," the peddler answered with a smile and immediately reached over to the display case, only to be stopped on his track by the Hero.

"Excuse me, but I was going to buy that ring."

"Were you now?" the young master finally glanced up to the man almost a head taller than him, and then he added, "Unfortunately for you, I already reserved it."

"I was under the impression the bazar worked on a first-come-first-served basis," the Hero pressed on, undaunted by the displeased look in the young man's eyes.

"Yes, and I came first and put dibs on it. What is so hard to understand about that concept?"

"Maybe, but you weren't here just a minute ago, so since I showed interest first, I should be able to bid on an ownerless item, shouldn't I?" the Hero countered through gritted teeth.

"Ooooh? You want to start a bidding war?" the young scion of the Governor asked while he looked at the armor-clad man like he was staring at a clown. "Just in case, do you know who I am?"

Here he goes with his family, the Hero thought. They always did that whenever things didn't go their way. All of these 'young masters' were the same, whether they lived in the Veltian Republic or in the imperial city of the Shara Dynasty. The north was apparently not an exception either.

"I don't know, and I don't care whose son you are," he told the brat as he focused his Presence on him.

"Oh, but you should," the young man answered, his face beaming with a friendly smile, yet his eyes cold and dark like a dungeon. "For you see, my father is the governor of this city, which means my family earns a fairly sizable cut from all the tariffs and taxes on every item sold here. Some of that money naturally ends up in my pockets." While he said that, the young man's smile widened even further into an obviously fake grin, and he added, "You have annoyed me. This means that, even if you are willing to spend ten thousand Aureans on a simple ring, I will, without a moment of hesitation or remorse, bid ten thousand and one, just to spite you. And trust me, unless you are the Emperor of the North, you are going to run out of money before I do."

That made the Hero pause for a bit. He had to admit that the brat was most likely correct. While he had more money than most natives would see in their entire lives, and he could earn more with minimal effort, his funds at the moment were nowhere near enough to enter a bidding war against this young noble. Unfortunately, he absolutely had to get his hands on this ring.

It was likely that no one in this city knew it, but that old, rusty band of iron was actually an ancient relic, and part of an especially powerful item set called the Cold Iron King's Garbs. He already possessed four of the set items, and by gaining the fifth, he would unlock the set ability that would make him immune to faerie magic, which in turn would allow him to return to the Grave of Oberon, where he could complete the Fourth Trial of Oberon, gaining the Fairy King's Crown, which would finally grant him access to the Fae Realm, where he would be able to gather the ingredients of the elixir that would allow him to raise his Luck potential to EX++.

In other words, he couldn’t back down. Thankfully, if this brat was the same as all other 'young masters' he ran into over the years, he knew should be able to use one of the many tactics developed by him and his fellow Heroes over the years. He quickly considered his options, and after surveying his 'opponent' one more time, the Hero decided on his plan of action.

"Do you think flaunting your wealth like that makes you a man?" he raised his voice, hoping to get even more attention than what they have already garnered. "Do you know honor? Or is that sword merely a decoration on your waist?"

"This?" the brat asked back while patting the hilt of the blade on his side.

"Of course that's what I'm talking about," the Hero declared with a scowl on his face, his Presence drawing more and more attention by the second. "Can you even use it, or is it only there because you think it makes lording over people easier?"

"I would say I am quite proficient with it, yes," the young man answered, seemingly completely unaffected by the scene.

"Then I challenge you for an honorable duel, for the right to purchase that ring. Do you dare to accept?"

For the first time, the young man looked around, obviously unsure, but at last he looked the Hero in the eye and said, "I see, so this is what you were aiming for. I suppose I have no choice."

As a matter of fact, he had. He could have run away. In fact, it was what the Hero had expected for him to do. He already knew the formula: he would humiliate the young scion in public, so he would send henchmen, then the governor gets a wind of it when he defeats them, and then it would balloon into a huge incident. As luck would have it, this time he didn't plan on staying in the city long enough for all that development, so his plan was to just grab the ring once the young master slipped away, and then immediately leave the city and get on with his business.

In stark contrast to that plan, the noble brat walked into the middle of the road and casually unsheathed his blade, after which he gestured towards the Hero. The moment he did so, all of the onlookers took a couple of steps back and formed a circle around the two. 

Now, the Hero wasn't afraid of the young man. He already checked his status with Appraisal, and he was at a level twenty. It was actually a pretty high level for a native, close to a veteran city guard in the north, so it made sense that the brat was overconfident. While he was at it, he also appraised his equipment, and aside of the sword being an Uncommon magic blade, all his clothes and jewelry were Common items not even worth a second look.

The real problem was that there was a huge difference between publically shaming a fledging noble, and physically beating them up in public. The latter was not only a bigger issue, but it would invite quicker retribution from the brat's father. However, this wasn't the first time the Hero ran into a situation like this, so he quickly adjusted his plan.

"You are confident, aren't you? Very well. Let me show you a thing or two about hubris! You will thank me later!"

Saying to, the Hero drew his sword, a simple yet elegant Legendary tier silver blade he gained by a fortuitous encounter with the nymph of a sacred lake, and he assumed a combat stance. As he did so, his body immediately took up the pose, as if on autopilot, so that he could concentrate on more important things. While he did that, the brat also took up a stance, one reminiscent of the fencers from the Hero's old world, with his sword extended forward and a minimal profile shown to the opponent.

Once he was ready, the Hero decided that he wouldn't use a skill, as it would have been a serious overkill. As such, he simply raised his blade high for an overhead normal attack… only to get interrupted by a metallic clank, and his own body jerking him back mid-swing.

It took him a solid second to realize what just happened. The brat only moved slightly, took a single step in, and lightly jabbed at his breastplate. It did no damage, yet his Combat Senses immediately made him abort the attack he was executing and made him step back. 

However, what really confused him was not the fact that the Combat Senses intervened; it was a passive skill everyone in this world who had anything to do with armed fighting naturally developed. On lower levels, it was indistinguishable from well-honed reflexes. On higher levels, it was more like a sixth sense. Raise it high enough and it was almost like precognition, allowing a person to easily dodge an arrow fired from their blind spot.

The Hero didn't have high enough Combat Senses to do that yet, but avoiding a simple, limp-wristed stab like that should have been a piece of cake, yet it happened so fast he didn't have the chance to do so. While he Appraised the brat one more time, just to see if he missed something, the young man looked at him as if he was hopeless.

"If you didn't have that armor, you would be already dead," he stated calmly. "That strike would have slipped right between your ribs and hit your heart." He paused for a moment, as if drinking is his opponent's confusion, and then he asked, "Do you want to know how I did that?"

Instead of answering, the hero drew his sword back, his body tense like a bow, and then he immediately launched a swift stab forward… which then sailed well past the brat as he took a casual step to the side and lightly hit the larger man on the crown of his head with just a single twitch of his wrist. 

"… and now, if that wasn't the flat of the blade, your head would be bleeding, making you dizzy and the blood interfering with your vision," the plump young man calmly stated as the Hero recoiled again. "You must be thinking that it has something to do with Combat Senses, right? Sorry to disappoint you, but it doesn't. You are simply too reliant on your System."

In the meantime, the Hero shook his head, focused his attention, and he once again raised his weapon over his head with a determined expression.

"Sunder Weapon!" he yelled out and he lunged forward with a vertical strike… and once again, the young man simply sidestepped and, before he could do anything, he stuck the back of his plate armor. 

While the Hero stumbled forward and regained his balance, the young master continued with the same, disinterested voice.

"Thank you for the demonstration. The skills you use are also part of the System, and they are indeed very powerful. They are, after all, mementos of legendary knights, warriors, and adventurers of old, integrated into your System so that you can learn them."

"Vermilion Thunder!" the Hero called out, and his blade was suddenly covered in arching red sparks as he once again lunged forward, yet before the strike could connect, the young master once again lightly shook his wrist and parried it with such ease as if his opponent was a child wielding a stick.

"Another great demonstration. For you see, those legendary adventurers? They worked hard, risked their lives, and dedicated countless sleepless nights to perfect their techniques. Techniques you picked from a menu because they looked good and you now use without truly understanding or appreciating them; just following the motions without the heart."

"Call of the—" the Hero called out as he raised his weapon into the sky, but immediately got interrupted when the young man suddenly grabbed hold of his jeweled sword by the blade just above the cross-guard and swung his weapon like a club, delivering a quick, vicious strike. The pommel of his sword connected with the side of the Hero's face, followed by a sickening crunching sound as the man's stance broke and he nearly fell to the ground in shock.

"For example, you pay no heed to the fact that calling the name of each and every one of your skills just tells your opponent what you are about to do. Not to mention, they are executed exactly the same, all the time. They would be predictable even without you telling me what you are planning to use," the plump young man coolly explained as his deceptively dexterous hands flourished his weapon, and a split-second later he was already holding it 'properly' once again. "Nor do you pause to consider that raising your weapon into the air in the middle of the duel is an opening no self-respecting opponent would ignore." After saying that, he let out a derisive sight and added, "But who am I kidding? Of course you didn't, as you have been so coddled by the System you never had to."

In the meantime the Hero regained his stance and, for the first time, he held his weapon low and pointed it at his opponent. There was a small trickle of blood by the corner of his mouth, but the strike with the pommel obviously caused more psychological damage than it did physical.

"Look at that? A half-way decent guard position. Color me impressed," he spoke in a tone that seemed genuine to the crowd yet incredibly degrading to the Hero. "Your stance is still a mess though."

Before he could say anything else, the Hero took a guarded step forward and attempted to swipe at his opponent, only to get parried with contemptuous ease.

"Your movements are also dull. You are supported by the System, and yet you still move like a tortoise." After saying so, the young master casually stabbed forward, and the tip of his blade etched yet another small scratch onto the surface of the shining armor. "It's probably your shell. Have you ever considered that wearing a heavy jousting armor, that wasn't designed for combat on foot, is a bad idea? Oh, but of course you didn't. Let me guess: It's Rare, or Unique, so you just put it on because the System said it was an amazing piece of equipment."

It was at this point that the Hero finally lost his cool. However, maybe after learning from all of his previous mistakes, he quickly took two steps back before he prepared for his next attack, not daring to underestimate his opponent any longer. He held his sword high, its cross guard near his eye level, and before long the whole blade lit up with a brilliant blue light that elicited numerous hisses from the onlookers as they hurriedly covered their eyes.

"I call upon thee, bounty of the Viridian Lake, Sword of Unerring Light, Vi—"

"And on another note," the young man suddenly closed the distance, and before the Hero could do anything, he bashed the pommel of his weapon against the glowing sword. Since it was right in front of the Hero's face, this naturally meant that the flat of the blade came into contact with his forehead. The moment it happened, he staggered back with a pained yelp as his skin sizzled and burned by the blade, and in the meantime the plump young master hooked his weapon's cross guard under his opponent's and, with a mighty tug, he wrenched the still glowing sword out of his distracted hands. 

The blade flew through the air in a low arc and landed on the ground not far from the edge of the circle of onlookers. The young master waited for it to stop glowing, and then he turned back to the man clutching his bleeding, burned face and he added, "I never understood why all of these legendary weapons have these ridiculously long incantations before you could unleash their powers. Who in their right mind would wait for you to say all that?"

Since the Hero didn't seem receptive to his comments, the young man simply shrugged his shoulders and walked away. At the very same moment, the crowd burst out in cheers, interweaved with comments such as 'The young master did it again!' and 'Did you see! He took down that scary outworlder without a hitch!'. It was easy to see that, despite appearances, the portly young man was surprisingly popular with the masses. While the cheers continued, a group of city guards made their way into the circle and quickly apprehended the man and his weapon.

In the meantime the young master walked over to the peddler, leaned closer to him, and then he told him, in a subdued, almost embarrassed voice, "Sorry for the scene, sir."

"It wasn't your fault, young master," the middle-aged man vigorously shook his head, but the young man only let out an embarrassed sigh in response. "Oh, before we forget: here's your ring."

After saying so, he presented the rusty iron ring without any fanfare, and the young man casually took it.

"Thank you. Here's the medicine I talked about." Saying so, he handed over a small red vial, and once the peddler took it, he continued, "If her condition doesn't improve in a day, go to the palace and find me, and I will have the court healer take a look at your daughter as well."

"Thank you," the man answered while clutching the vial, and after a curt nod the young master turned around, and by then his face was back to his previous, calm and nonchalance visage. Like that, he walked over the burned Hero pouring precious potions over his face while under the watch of the guard.

"You said you would teach me about hubris," he told the Hero a touch provocatively. "I have to thank you for showing me such a great example in your person. I will forever remember this lesson."

"You…!" the man on the ground snarled, and he looked like he was about to jump to his feet and strangle the brat, yet he didn't dare to move under the scrutiny of the city guard. Normally he wouldn't have cared, as he could escape even without a weapon in hand, yet for some completely unfathomable reason, the seemingly normal guardsmen surrounding him were all level eighty elites! It made absolutely no sense, yet Appraisal never lied… and yet no matter how many times he appraised the young man in front of him, it still showed level twenty. It was inconceivable, yet the events spoke for themselves.

"You probably wonder how someone like you could lose so decisively," the young master mused, as if to himself, while he rolled the ring between his fingers. "To be honest, you are pretty damn strong. I can't use any observation-type skills, but by eye, I'd say you should be over level eighty. That's quite high. If you dueled any of my guards, you would surely win. If you fought the strongest adventurer on the continent, you would probably still win." At this point he paused as he leaned closer, and then he added, in a low, measured voice. "However, you didn't fight them. You fought me."

After saying so, he let out a low chuckle as he threw the ring into the air before snatching it up and theatrically dropping into his coat pocket, and then, after giving some wordless instructions to his guards, he turned on his heel and finished with, "You were simply unlucky."