Shannon could see the girl wandering toward another group of travelers. Besides the issues of legality, he knew that people in the remote regions didn’t consider drugs a taboo. Be it medicinal use or making a festival more exciting, the purpose of use was clear and accepted, which was a possible reason for the much lower incidence of dependency or addiction in the country compared to the royal capitol and other big cities. He sighed and shrugged.
“Whatever the case,” he murmured. “A girl like that selling illegal drugs is just asking for—”
Before he could even finish the sentence, the girl’s short cry cut him off.
Shannon and his sisters turned. Across the square, Shannon watched as the girl was pushed to the ground, her packets scattering around her. Two surprisingly clean-cut young men stood over her; by the way they were moving, it was clear that they’d been drinking.
“What do you think you’re doing, girl?” One of the men sneered. “Don’t you know you need permission to sell this trash around here?” He ground one of the packets into the street with his heel. “You’ll ruin it for hard-working guys like us if you sell this trash on the street.”
Shannon guessed that they were from a rival group of illegal drug sellers—and that meant violence. Shannon scanned the street. None of the people nearby paid any attention to the girl, either because they didn’t notice her or had decided not to get involved.
“Shannon,” Pacifica whined, tugging at his sleeve.
“I know, I know,” he grumbled as he headed over. One of his least favorite activities was getting involved in the affairs of others, yet his steps were brisk and determined.
“It’s not trash,” the girl retorted in her strange monotone. “It works very well.”
“Oh, it ‘works very well,’ does it?” The other one leered at her unpleasantly. “Why don’t you give us a demonstration?” He picked up one of the red packets and grabbed her by the shirt, preparing to drag her away.
Dammit, Shannon thought as he picked up speed. He opened his mouth to demand that the men release the girl, but before he could form the words, another voice rang out.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
A huge hand gripped one of the youth’s heads from behind and lifted him with such force that the young man’s feet actually left the ground. The young man kicked wildly, but he couldn’t escape.
Attached to the hand was one of the biggest men Shannon had ever seen. Shannon himself was fairly tall, but this man was a full head taller, and probably weighed twice what Shannon did. He had thick lips, short-cropped black hair, and rugged features, and his thin gray eyes looked like they were laughing—possibly at the plight of the younger man in his grip. Everything about him shouted “bandit,” except for one unexpected factor: the man wore the white clerical garments of a priest of the Mauser faith.
“I can’t say I approve of violence, young man,” he boomed, his smiling countenance in opposition to his act.
“Gaah!” the younger man choked in response.
“Violence doesn’t solve anything,” the huge man continued. “Besides, it never looks good when a man raises his fists to a woman.”
“L-let go of me! Put me down… Aaaaaaagh!” the young man found his voice for a moment, but in response, the smiling priest flexed the brawny muscles on his thick arms and dug his huge fingers further into the young man’s skull.
“What was that? Did you want to say something?”
The young man opened and closed his mouth, unable to speak.
“You bastard! Let go of Reegs!” The youth’s companion pulled out what looked like a handiwork knife and pointed it at the priest.
The huge man sighed and tossed Reegs aside like a rag doll. He turned to the other young thug and stepped toward him.
The knife-wielding youth looked hesitant—he seemed surprised to face an opponent who wasn’t scared off just by the unsheathing of a weapon. For a few moments, his face screwed up into a grimace, most likely while he debated whether it was worse to fight a fearsome giant or back down from a fight.
The youth suddenly lunged at the huge man. Despite his lack of technique, he was too close for the giant to dodge at such short range. In fact, the priest made no attempt to move out of the way—he used his muscular arm, which looked like a thick twist of many entwined ropes, to block the knife. Shannon winced as the blade plunged into flesh,
Strangely enough, the man didn’t grimace in the slightest. Instead, he gave the youth a ferocious grin.
“So, what now?” the big man asked his attacker, the grin not leaving his face.
The younger man tried to push the blade in farther, but it wouldn’t budge—in fact, it seemed like the knife had barely entered the priest’s flesh at all. He let go of it in confusion.
As Shannon watched, something bizarre happened. The blade actually started inching out of the big man’s arm. The priest didn’t move a muscle, but it looked as if the flesh of his arm was actually rejecting the knife.
“H-huh?!” the young man choked in fear as he backed away.
“Now do you two idiots see who you’re dealing with? This is what your body can do when you know how to train it.”
The knife fell out of the giant priest’s arm, and he caught it in his other hand. He slapped his hands together over the weapon, strained his huge fingers for a moment, and snapped the blade in two with a metallic crack.
Shannon was impressed by the priest’s strength, even though he was a little confused by the religious affiliation and bloodthirsty actions. Suddenly, he noticed the first thug, the young man named Reegs, sneaking up behind the priest with another simple knife in his hand.
Shannon scooped a rock off the ground and let it fly.
“So,” the priest said to the dazed thug in front of him, “I hope you’ve learned your—”
“Ow!” Reegs’ attempt at stealth was ruined when Shannon’s rock hit him squarely on the hand. He dropped his knife and clutched his injured hand.
“I guess I didn’t really need to get involved,” Shannon called out to the man. He dropped the second stone he’d picked up in case he needed to intervene again.
“Thanks a lot,” the priest replied, and flashed Shannon another beastlike smile. “It’s too bad they went down so easily—I was looking forward to beating these two to a pulp.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be a priest?” Shannon asked incredulously. He kept his gaze squarely on the big man—he would obviously be a formidable opponent if it came to that, and Shannon wasn’t exactly on good terms with the Mauser faith.
No matter how much one trained, muscle strength alone couldn’t take hold of a knife or push it outward. Shannon’s late father had told him of a special case in which, through breathing techniques and self-hypnosis, someone could transform his muscles into armor. If mastered, this technique could allow a person to block swords with his bare hands and even stop an arrow fired at close range with his skin.
“So, who are you?” the priest asked him.
“Nobody,” Shannon replied calmly. He didn’t intend to give any more information than was necessary to a Mauserist priest.