The other hooligan quickly dashed at Ewan in a reckless bid to save his friend from an apple.

  Ewan released the pinned hooligan—leaving the apple lodged in his throat—and countered with a sweeping-kick, toppling the other hooligan with a loud thud.

  Ewan stood up and yanked the hooligan's hair upward. His image burned in the hooligan's terrified eyes. He delivered a resounding punch on the latter's nose, slamming his skull on the ground.

  Left with a handful of torn hairs smeared with blood, Ewan lightly brushed off his hand. But he was not done just yet; he was a man of his word, after all.

  Turning to the fruit seller, he spoke, "Mister, may I have another one of your fine apples, please."

  The startled seller picked a random apple and tossed it at Ewan.

  The hooligan, writhing in pain on the ground, tightly clenched his bleeding head. Numbing pain spread across the back of his skull, further worsened by the burning sensation of his swollen nose.

  Then the black-cloaked man returned. The hooligan panicked, and tried to plead: "Listen... I wasn't—"

  But Ewan would have none of it, he cupped the hooligan's mouth, and said, "Say aah..."

  With that done, Ewan probed the other hooligans, who had surprisingly refrained from the fight. He tilted his head and saw them fixated on their initial spots.

  In fact, they were too still, as if frozen—or petrified. Then, his eyes darted to another figure in a black cloak leaning against the wall behind them.

  Sheathed in his usual detached bearing, the figure was Corvus. At first, he appeared nonchalant and at leisure, but occasional fluttering of his cloak revealed glimpses of a slender double-bladed glaive.

  Ewan approached him.

  "I didn't want them meddling in your... nutritional drive," Corvus clarified, noticing Ewan's stare.

  Ewan replied, "I see, thanks. We have some more time on our hands, let's explore a bit more."

  Leaving the scene of crime, the duo navigated deeper into the market.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "Why didn't you kill them?" Corvus questioned casually.

  Ewan's eyes widened and mouth agape, he was both confused and alarmed. He took a light breath, and answered, "Because that would've been out of proportion for one; plus it draws unnecessary attention. Also, there's this saying about murder being a sin... though I doubt that bothers you..."

  Looking at Corvus's indifferent face, he added: "...and that's right."

  Shaking his head, Ewan asked, "Didn't you also just threaten those other thugs?"

  Corvus squinted his eyes and tried to recall. I did? When?

  After a minute, he gathered, "Yeah! I mean—no. I only suggested it."

  "Then why were they glued on the spot?"

  "I removed Kharos and told them: you move, you die. That's all."

  Ewan gravely asked, "You truly meant to kill them?"

  "Of course. Unfinished strife breeds bitter vendettas that often return to haunt you."

  Ewan, unable to refute the simple, cold logic, shifted the topic: "What's Kharos?"

  Interlocking his hands pensively, Corvus lowered his voice to grave pitch: "Kharos would be my glaive... The name is inspired from Charon... a daemon and the ferryman of the dead souls in the underworld."

  Ewan abruptly stopped and crouched, covering his face tightly with a palm.

  "Hey, what's wrong—" Corvus checked. But Ewan gestured him to keep moving, while he slightly trembled. So, Corvus pressed forward.

  Ewan, meanwhile, tried to control his stifled laugh, What was that voice!

  Before long, he rose up; pacing ahead he soon caught up with Corvus.

  "You alright?"

  "Ah... yeah. Don't worry it was nothing."

  Stopping by another outlet, they moved towards it to further their agenda. A few feet from the gate, a doubt suddenly struck Corvus: "Hey, Ewan, why'd you start the fight, back then? It was very out of character from how you usually behave."

  Ewan's eyes lit with admiration. He smiled softly, and answered, "It's all thanks to you, Corvus. All my life, I was constricted to a narrow, conservative outlook. But through your profound insight, I've unlocked new horizons in the realm of espionage."

  Patting Corvus—dazed by the revelation—Ewan said: "Therefore, I won't play the role of a chivalrous hero, this time. No, instead I'm thinking of—"

  Corvus removed Ewan's hand, and pressed Ewan's shoulder: "No. I appreciate your efforts to explore new areas. But, no. You are not ready for the advanced stuff yet, and to practice in the middle of a mission is unbecoming of you, Ewan."

  Shifting his tone to sound appeasing, Corvus continued, "There will be plenty of opportunities for tryout in the Covenant of Eldara. But for now stick to your discreet approach, no matter how traditional they might seem, alright?"

  Ewan was not happy to postpone his training, but he relented: "Very well, Corvus. But only because you're asking."

  "I'm glad." Really glad.

  "Let's go," Ewan said as he walked inside the outlet.

  "You know what, I don't think we'll find much here as well; you can go, I'm staying here."

  Ewan silently nodded and left Corvus by himself outside the outlet.

  Corvus placed himself on a nearby bench, and ruminated, At least one of us should stick to what they know... What did he mean by chivalrous hero? Did he think his act was heroic? Airhead. If he wanted to be heroic, he should've given that seller those thugs' belongings.