Chapter 31: The Port City of Shuihan
The road wound like a lazy river through the rolling grasslands south of Daiyo, the wide dirt path flanked by dry brush, sun-bleached stones, and the occasional twisted tree that had somehow survived the southern droughts. The heat was gentler than it had been days ago, softened by the coming of early spring, but it still clung to their backs and filled their boots with sweat.
Six figures made their way down the winding trail, dusty, sunburned, and very clearly not enjoying each other's company this particular morning.
"You know," Yogan said, glaring at the smoldering remains of their last cooking pit from the night before, "when I said I wanted to travel the world, I didn't mean like this. It would've been nice if someone in this group, anyone, knew how to light a fire properly."
"Excuse me," Kenshiro said, one brow raised. "I lit the fire. The fact that it collapsed in on itself and smothered out is not my fault. It's the wood's fault."
"The wood's fault?" Rilo asked, incredulous. "What kind of excuse is that? Who stacks wood like a tower of cards in a windstorm?"
"Oh, I'm sorry," Kenshiro snapped. "Maybe if someone hadn't dumped half a bucket of river water on it, the fire would've had a chance to burn."
"That was you, you idiot," Haru muttered.
Kenshiro turned, pointing an accusing finger. "No. That was Rilo. You were sharpening your knife and pretending not to hear me ask for water."
"I was ignoring you on purpose," Haru said flatly. "Because you wouldn't stop singing that idiotic campfire song about roasted eel-squids."
"That song slaps and you know it," Kenshiro replied with mock offense.
"I almost killed a squirrel just to make it stop," Yogan added under his breath.
Behind them, Keru walked in silence, his arms crossed behind his back, surveying the horizon as though he'd already ascended to some spiritual plane far above mortal pettiness. His neatly groomed hair didn't seem to have a single leaf or smudge of ash in it. Not a crease in his armor. Not a patch of dust on his boots.
Mariko walked just behind him, her head slightly tilted downward, cheeks flushed as if hoping no one would draw her into the conversation.
Rilo sighed and dropped his pack to the ground as they paused at a fork in the road. "Look. I've traveled all over the riverlands. I know how to make a fire. But not when some genius decides to use wet moss as kindling."
"That was Yogan," Kenshiro said immediately.
"Hey," Yogan cut in, hands on his hips. "I was just trying to keep the smoke down so we didn't attract any attention."
"Right," Haru said, "because nothing says stealth like coughing up your lungs around a pile of burning weeds."
Kenshiro snorted.
"Honestly," Rilo muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, "if it weren't for Keru stepping in every time we nearly froze to death or poisoned ourselves, we'd be six elegant corpses by now."
Keru finally turned, raising one eyebrow. "I'm flattered by the recognition. Though I must admit, watching your collective incompetence around a campfire has been one of the most spiritually enlightening experiences of my life."
"Oh, shut up," Yogan said, tossing a pebble at him.
Keru caught it midair with two fingers, glanced at it, then flicked it into the underbrush without breaking stride.
They walked in silence for a few more paces.
Then Kenshiro cleared his throat. "Well, at least I'm not the one who fell asleep during his watch shift last night."
"I was meditating," Yogan said defensively.
"You were snoring," Haru said. "Loud enough to scare off the spirits of the forest."
Mariko coughed behind them, trying very hard not to laugh.
Yogan shot her a sideways glance. "Don't get involved. You're the one who packed three dresses for a journey through backcountry roads."
"One of them is ceremonial," she said with a huff. "Besides, it was Keru who packed the staff."
"For what? In case we get invited to a noble wedding in the middle of nowhere?"
"Well then he packed earrings too," Kenshiro added gleefully. "I saw her polishing them by the river yesterday."
"I did not!" Mariko snapped, her face now crimson.
"You did," Keru said calmly. "I handed you the cloth."
"Oh my spirits," Mariko groaned.
They all laughed.
Even Haru, who rarely smiled, cracked a grin as they crested a low ridge. Beyond it, the distant shimmer of rooftops and smoke marked the beginning of a town. Buildings clustered together like mussels on a rock, sloping downward toward the sound of seagulls and the salty scent of the ocean.
"Is that…" Rilo asked, shading his eyes.
"Shuihan Port," Keru confirmed.
The laughter died down as they all came to a stop, looking down at the city below. Waves broke softly against the southern docks. Tall ships rocked in the harbor. The scent of fish, seaweed, and brine reached their noses on the wind.
"Finally," Yogan said. "A place to sleep with walls."
"And a real kitchen," Haru added.
"And actual beer," Kenshiro grinned.
"And no one burning moss under my nose," Rilo muttered.
They began the slow descent into the outer fields that led to the city gates, their jokes fading into a more reflective silence.
Whatever came next would be different.
But at least they had survived each other.
For now.
By the time the group reached the base of the final hill, the city of Shuihan unfolded before them like a woven mat of rooftops and tide-washed stone. It was not a sprawling capital like Daiyo, but it breathed with its own rhythm. A dense, humming sprawl of people and movement, pressed between the forested hills and the pale blue ocean.
The city sat like a squat crescent wrapped around its port. From their vantage, Yogan could see dozens of long, slender ships bobbing in the harbor, their hulls curved like crescent moons, with sloping wooden fronts that lifted slightly above the waterline. Some were painted in streaks of red or green, others bore the unfinished color of sea-aged timber. No great warships with mounted weapons or metal cladding, just agile vessels for fishing, trade, and ferrying. The sails, when present, were simple and square, cut from heavy cloth dyed in sea-stained patterns.
Wooden piers jutted out from the port in an uneven rhythm, some crooked with age, others newly reinforced with ropes and netting. Men and women moved in droves along the docks, hauling baskets of dried seaweed, crates of salted fish, and bundles of woven goods wrapped in reed mats.
The scent hit them before they reached the gate, salt, sea-brine, manure, cooking oil, and people. It clung to their clothes like smoke.
The city gates were not made of stone or iron, but thick timber beams, framed in gently curved wood with layered slats of thatch above the arch. Two tired guards in faded green vests waved them through without much more than a glance.
Inside, the roads were packed with foot traffic, hand carts, and domesticated beasts hauling wagons behind them. The ground beneath them was hard-packed dirt, uneven in places, and spotted with manure. At every intersection, vendors had set up low wooden stalls and suspended canopies that shaded them from the sun. The buildings rose no more than two stories tall, with gently upturned eaves, sliding paper windows, and walls of wooden slats or plastered clay. Some homes bore wind chimes or red-painted symbols for luck.
Yogan was the first to speak, glancing around. "Alright. Let's find food before I start chewing on my belt."
"I second that," Kenshiro said, wiping sweat from his brow. "If I see another wrinkled berry or moss-covered root, I swear I'll defect to the Fire Nation, if it means a decent meal."
"Where's the nearest tavern?" Rilo asked, turning toward a nearby vendor who was fanning a grill of small fish over open coals. The man pointed west, past the crowded lane, toward a small row of squat buildings with faded red banners fluttering from their entrances.
Keru nodded and took the lead.
They pushed their way down the main path, avoiding carts and steaming baskets carried by workers. Every few steps, someone shouted over a price or slammed shut a stall window. Chickens darted between legs. A child ran past dragging a string tied to a turtle-duck. Somewhere nearby, a bell rang.
"This place is a maze," Haru muttered, stepping aside to avoid a woman carrying a stack of eel crates.
Yogan glanced back at him. "Says the guy who insisted we wouldn't even need a map."
"Well, we wouldn't have if someone didn't insist we stop to rest every hour."
Everyone turned to Mariko.
She crossed her arms. "Don't start."
"Oh, we are starting," Kenshiro said. "We left Daiyo four days ago. It was supposed to take two. Two, Mariko. You said you were fit for travel."
"I am," she said defensively. "But I wasn't expecting the path to be… muddy. And narrow. And filled with biting flies."
"You stopped to change robes three times," Haru said.
"There was a leech!"
"You screamed like the forest was burning," Rilo added.
"I was bitten!"
"And then you demanded we boil your cloak," Yogan said.
"For hygiene!"
Kenshiro waved a hand. "We ran out of food on day three. You had us rationing dried fish crumbs."
"Let's just agree," Rilo said, "that if we don't find a tavern soon, I'm going to eat Kenshiro."
"Try me," Kenshiro said, flexing his arms. "I taste like regret and bad decisions."
"And undercooked eel," Haru added.
They all laughed, even Mariko, who gave a half-hearted glare before a smile betrayed her.
Keru slowed his pace as they approached the row of buildings the vendor had pointed to. Wooden signs hung from rope cords above the entrances, carved with looping characters. The scent of broth and smoke drifted from the open windows.
"This looks promising," Yogan said, peering into one of the side alleys.
A tavern sat nestled beneath the arch of two adjacent homes, its roof sagging slightly in the center but still standing. Red paper lanterns lined the doorframe, and laughter echoed from within.
"Thank the spirits," Rilo murmured.
"Beds first," Haru said.
"Food first," Yogan countered.
"I'm getting a beer," Kenshiro declared.
"Do not drink more than two," Keru warned, already stepping through the doorway.
"Make that four," Kenshiro whispered to Yogan.
As they crossed into the tavern, the bustle of the city faded behind them, replaced by the warmth of hearthlight and the hum of voices. The first leg of their journey had ended. What lay ahead would be unknown. But for tonight, there was food, warmth, and for the first time in days, a roof over their heads.
The interior of the tavern was bathed in a gentle amber glow. Lanterns hung from wooden rafters, their paper casings painted with swirling cloud motifs and faintly flickering with flame. Low tables dotted the room, surrounded by floor cushions rather than chairs, and the sweet, savory scent of broth, spice, and sizzling oil filled the air like a benediction.
The group had claimed a table near the far wall, tucked beneath a painted screen of water lilies and moonlight. A wide window offered a view of the street beyond, where dusk had begun to paint the rooftops in fading gold.
They sat with weary limbs, legs crossed or stretched out beneath the table. Their travel-worn clothes clung to their skin with dust and sweat, and their packs slumped beside them like tired animals.
A matronly woman In a thick cotton apron approached with a stack of wooden menus, her expression brisk but not unkind.
Keru rose his hand before she could speak. "Six rice bowls. Steamed buns. Two plates of grilled meat. Pickled cabbage. Dried seaweed with sesame oil. And six cups of rice wine."
The woman blinked. "That much?"
"Triple it," Yogan added, without lifting his head from where he rested it on his forearm.
The matron sniffed, scribbled on her slate, and disappeared with swift, efficient steps.
When she was gone, they all sagged into the cushions again.
"I think I love this place already," Rilo said, voice muffled by his sleeve.
"I'm going to marry a soup bowl," Kenshiro muttered.
"I'm going to drown in one," Haru said.
Yogan raised his head just enough to speak. "Not before I claim the tub. First one of us to find a bathhouse is getting carried there."
"Agreed," Mariko said. "No offense, but you all smell like wet fish and regret."
"You're one to talk," Rilo replied. "You've been wearing that same sash for four days."
"I rinsed it in river water."
"You dried it over a burning piece of moss," Haru added. "It smells like old feet and pine."
"Enough," Keru said calmly. "Food first. Insults later."
Their orders began to arrive, steaming baskets carried in on woven trays, ceramic jugs clinking on lacquered boards. The first wave of rice bowls hit the table, followed by the fragrant curl of grilled meat and the oily sheen of seaweed and pickled vegetables. There was no need for discussion then. Just eating. Loud, messy, blissful eating.
After the worst of their hunger was slain and the first round of wine poured, conversation began to settle in.
"So," Yogan said, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, "what's everyone planning tomorrow?"
Mariko sat straighter, her cup in both hands. "Keru and I will be heading to the city lord's estate. As discussed before. We're here on behalf of my father to begin trade negotiations."
"I would like to request that no one says anything embarrassing to or around Lord Jian Ye," Keru added without looking up.
Kenshiro raised his hand. "Define 'embarrassing.'"
Keru stared at him, expression unreadable.
"I'm joking," Kenshiro said, grinning. "Mostly."
Mariko shook her head. "Regardless, we'll need the morning to clean up. I'd rather not arrive looking like I've been sleeping in a bush."
"You have been sleeping in a bush," Haru said.
"Which is why I'd like to stop looking like it."
"A real bath sounds amazing," Yogan said, stretching out one leg. "My back hasn't stopped aching since that last campsite."
"I still can't believe we ran out of soap," Rilo muttered.
"Whose job was it to pack the hygiene kit?" Haru asked.
"Don't look at me," Yogan said. "I was too busy being accused of murder back in Daiyo."
"Technically it was rape," Kenshiro added, then immediately raised his hands. "Too soon?"
Everyone gave him a sharp look. He coughed into his drink.
"Anyway," Rilo said, glancing at the window, "I'll be heading to the waterfront tomorrow. I've got some old contacts in Shuihan. If they haven't drowned or been run out by now, they should be able to help me secure a ride south." Rilo shrugged. "My charm is unforgettable."
Kenshiro chuckled. "Your breath, too."
"I'll take care of it tomorrow," Rilo said, ignoring him. "Half the day's already gone."
Kenshiro leaned back and poured another cup of wine. "As for us? I say Haru and I find a gambling den. Toss some dice, win a few coins, lose even more. Classic."
"You'll lose all of it," Haru said.
"That's part of the fun."
"You guys just want to stay far away from Daiyo," Yogan said knowingly.
"You're not wrong," Haru replied. "Boss Shen wasn't the kind to forgive easily."
"Don't I know it," Rilo muttered, rubbing his wrists without thinking. "I'm still peeling off the smell of his dungeon."
The table quieted a moment.
Then Yogan lifted his cup.
"To new cities. And warm food."
They all raised theirs.
"To no dungeons," Kenshiro added.
"To no leeches," Mariko said.
"To hot water and soap," Haru muttered.
"To forgetting Daiyo," Rilo said softly.
They drank.
Outside, the tide rolled in slow and steady against the piers, and the afternoon wind carried the scent of the open sea.
The tavern was warm with life. Laughter rose and fell like waves, the clinking of ceramic dishes punctuated the gentle hum of music from a reed flute in the corner, and the air was thick with steam and spice. Every corner was filled with conversation, from fishermen speaking of rising tides to tradesmen complaining about the taxes on eel-silk.
Then the door opened.
A rush of evening wind cut through the interior, rustling paper lanterns and carrying with it the scent of sweat, leather, and metal.
All at once, the tavern stilled.
It wasn't a sudden silence, not entirely. But the tone shifted. Voices dropped, heads turned, and several conversations ended mid-sentence. Even the flute stopped playing.
Four figures stepped through the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered, their movements clean and deliberate. Each man was dressed in light armor of black leather overlaid with crimson trim. The plates were curved in layers across the shoulders and chest, fastened with bronze clasps, and each bore a long, curved blade at the hip, sheathed in lacquered scabbards. Their boots were worn but polished, and each man wore bracers marked with a faint insignia, too distant to make out.
They walked with unity, not in rigid formation, but in a way that spoke of discipline. Training. Brotherhood.
The one in the front was different.
He was shorter than the others, his head barely as high as Mariko's, who was herself dwarfed by the rest of the group at the table. But he was not diminished by height. In fact, it made him stand out more. His build was compact, agile, the lithe physique of a swordsman rather than a brute. His armor fit more snugly than the others', tailored for speed rather than intimidation.
And then there was his face.
The sharp line of his jaw, the flawless symmetry of his features, and the calm, poised look in his eyes made several heads turn. His hair was short and dark, swept back with precision, and there was a confidence in his walk that was neither arrogance nor showmanship. It was the quiet certainty of someone who had long since proven himself and no longer needed to announce it.
The waitress who had served Yogan's group straightened from where she was setting down a jug of tea. Her eyes lit up.
"Well look what the wind dragged in," she called, grinning.
The handsome man smiled softly, not wide, but enough to brighten his already striking features.
"Still cooking those dried turnip cakes, Mei?" he asked.
"Only when I know you'll be the one to complain," she shot back.
The rest of the tavern chuckled lightly, the tension easing somewhat. Several other patrons raised hands in greeting or gave small bows. The taller guards offered respectful nods, one of them clasping forearms with an older man seated near the hearth.
They moved deeper into the tavern, toward a long table near the center, exchanging greetings with ease. Their posture remained upright, their hands never far from their weapons, but there was no threat in their manner. They did not demand attention. It was simply given.
Yogan leaned sideways slightly, eyes locked on the group as they passed.
"Alright," he muttered, "who are they?"
Rilo was watching too. "Definitely not just mercenaries."
"They're too clean to be," Haru agreed. "And too friendly with the locals to be new."
"I recognize that armor," Keru said quietly, setting down his cup. "That black and crimson. They're likely retainers."
"Retainers?" Kenshiro asked.
"Guards. Personal men in the service of a noble," Keru explained. "Probably the city lord."
"Seriously?" Yogan said, still watching the smallest of the four, who had now knelt beside a child to tousle his hair and exchange a few quiet words. "They look like someone carved them out of a statue and gave them really nice boots."
"They're well-respected," Keru said. "You can tell by the way the tavern shifted when they entered. People know them."
"Then why are they here?" Mariko asked, her voice lower than usual.
Keru didn't answer right away.
The four guards took their seats, laughing with an old man who poured them drinks, as though they were regulars. The handsome one sat with his back straight, eyes scanning the room now and again without tension. His smile returned now and then, quiet but genuine.
"I don't know," Keru said finally. "But we should keep an ear open. People like that don't just come for soup."
The sun had dipped low enough to soften the edge of the afternoon heat, casting long shadows across the narrow streets. The scent of fried dough, stewed vegetables, and incense clung to every intersection, and the hum of the city still buzzed around them as they stepped out of the tavern.
They moved slowly at first, all of them too full and too tired to rush. Yogan had his hands behind his head as he walked, eyes half-lidded in bliss. Kenshiro was whistling a tune with no real melody, and Rilo looked like he was still halfway asleep. Haru, ever the quiet one, muttered about finding somewhere quiet to sharpen his blades. Mariko walked a bit ahead of them with Keru, trying not to trip over the uneven dirt paths still slick from a recent water spill.
"Alright," Yogan said, stretching his arms above his head, "we've eaten. We've lived. Now where in this godsdamned town can a man find a bath?"
"Preferably one with walls and hot water," Rilo added. "And soap. Real soap. Not the crushed flower petals you tried rubbing on your armpits yesterday."
"They smelled nice," Kenshiro defended.
"You smelled like a brothel carpet," Haru said.
"And not a clean one," Rilo added.
Mariko glanced over her shoulder. "Remind me again why I travel with you people?"
"Because you're secretly entertained," Yogan answered.
"Because no one else will have you," Kenshiro said at the same time.
They found the bathhouse two streets down. The structure sat at the end of a low, sloped alley where steam curled from beneath the tiled roof. The building was broad and low, its walls made of smooth wood and faded white plaster. A large curtain hung over the double entrance, painted with a wave motif on one side and a mountain on the other. symbols of cleansing and stillness.
A squat old woman sat behind a bamboo counter near the front. She looked up from her bowl of soup as they entered, eyes narrowed.
"You track in dirt, you clean it," she barked.
"We're here to pay for that privilege," Keru said, stepping forward and bowing slightly.
"Six heads?"
"Split by gender," he added.
The woman nodded. "Two coppers each. No roughhousing. No singing. No yelling. And no trying to peek into the women's side or I will throw you into the river myself."
Yogan raised both hands. "Understood."
She waved them through, pointing left for the men, right for the women.
Mariko vanished behind the curtain with barely a word.
The men turned into the left corridor, already tugging at their clothes.
The inner chambers smelled of heated wood, cedar oil, and mineral-rich steam. Lanterns glowed dimly behind rice paper screens, and the soft gurgle of flowing water echoed gently down the stone hall. The floors were polished smooth, the walls etched with simple linework of clouds and reeds.
By the time they entered the main bath, the room was already fogged with heat. A large stone basin carved into the floor formed the central tub, where clean water flowed continuously from spouts carved in the likeness of lion-turtles.
They lowered themselves into the hot water with groans of satisfaction. It was deep enough to sit submerged to the chest, with ledges carved along the inner rim for reclining.
Yogan sank down until only his head remained above water. "This… is heaven."
Kenshiro leaned back and closed his eyes. "If I die here, bury me with a jar of plum wine and a roasted duck."
"I'm not dragging your body anywhere," Haru said.
"Just throw him in the river," Rilo muttered.
They lounged in silence for several minutes. Then the easy quiet gave way to something more serious.
Keru was the first to speak.
"That group back at the tavern. Did you notice anything strange?"
Rilo opened one eye. "You mean besides the entire room going silent when they entered?"
"The tall ones, sure," Keru said. "But the short one. The pretty one."
"The one who looks like he could model for tapestry paintings?" Haru asked dryly.
"Exactly," Keru nodded. "He's the leader."
"Yeah," Rilo said, adjusting his arm along the stone edge. "I saw it too. The way the others deferred to him, even if it was subtle. He's the one in charge."
"He didn't even look like a fighter," Keru added. "Too small. Too polished."
"Which means he's probably the most dangerous," Rilo said.
They all looked toward the far side of the bath, where Yogan and Kenshiro were dunking their heads under the water and trying to trap rising bubbles with their mouths.
"They don't seem concerned," Haru muttered.
"Maybe they're just too stupid to worry about it," Keru said.
"They are," Rilo answered, but then added, "most of the time."
Keru glanced at him. "You say that like you've seen the other side."
"I have," Rilo said. "Back in Tamai. The day I met Yogan. The city lord there was rallying guards to clean up the forests, bandit activity, the usual. I was with the group when we ran into her."
"Her?"
"Kiya," Rilo said.
Keru actually sat upright. "The Kiya?"
Rilo nodded. "The leader of that bandit faction. She was there. I saw Yogan face her."
"I've heard of Kiya," Haru added. "She's said to be one of the strongest non-benders in the entire south. Some say she might even crack the top ten."
Keru scoffed. "I've heard the stories too. That woman once fought four earthbenders in a village raid and walked away without a scratch. If Yogan stood against her and survived…"
"I didn't just survive," Rilo said. "He won."
Keru leaned back, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "I'll be honest. I wouldn't have believed that if I hadn't seen him in Daiyo."
"You didn't see the worst of it," Haru said. "You weren't there when he fought Boss Shen."
Keru frowned. "What happened?"
"He fought like nothing I've ever seen. That airbending… I've heard tales of what people like Wan or Monk Nara or Elder Kaijo could do. They say they could create typhoons with a breath. And I always thought that was exaggerated. But Yogan, in that moment? I believed it. He hasn't even earned his tattoos yet."
"He left the temple before he could get them," Rilo clarified.
"And the thing is," Haru went on, "Shen was a big deal. But the Big Boss? That guy was different."
"You mean the firebender?" Keru asked.
"Yeah. Yogan called him Mun Lao."
That name stopped both Keru and Rilo.
"The Mun Lao?" Rilo asked slowly.
"There's no way," Keru said. "That's a myth."
"He introduced himself. Said something about a Raava too," Haru said. "I had never even seen firebending before. And this guy was melting rock with his flames. They weren't even red. They were white. White with blue edges. Yogan tried everything. Air, water, nothing worked. Mun Lao was on another level."
Keru didn't speak for a moment. Then said, "If that was really Mun Lao… then Yogan should be dead."
"He nearly was," Haru said. "But then… something changed."
He leaned forward, eyes distant.
"His eyes glowed. Not just glowing. They burned. White-hot. Like they were lit from inside. And the air around him bent itself. It didn't even look like bending anymore. It looked like nature itself moved with him. When he spoke, it was like two voices overlapped. One was his. The other…"
Rilo said nothing. His brows were drawn, his mouth tight.
Keru looked at him. "You recognize that?"
"I was a child when Wan died," Rilo said. "Too young to understand who he was. But the elders in my village, they always spoke about him. They said when he entered battle, his eyes would glow with blue-white fire. The air would split around him. And when he shouted, it was like two voices came from one mouth."
"You think that's a coincidence?" Haru asked.
"No," Rilo said. "I don't."
They looked across the bath once more.
Yogan had sunk beneath the water again, only his hairline and nose breaking the surface as he floated on his back. Kenshiro was humming something that was most likely obscene.
"Do you really think," Haru said quietly, "that Yogan might be… connected to Wan? To the General who fought for the world two decades ago?"
"He's only nineteen," Rilo replied. "But I think we're all starting to realize something."
They all stared for a long moment.
Yogan let out a sudden loud snort and slapped water at Kenshiro, who screamed as if he were under attack.
The others watched in silence.
Then Keru exhaled slowly and muttered, "Spirits help us."
---
Their skin steamed in the cool late afternoon air, still warm from the mineral heat of the baths. Hair now dried or tied back, robes freshly donned and clinging less with grime and more with comfort, the group moved down the narrow road toward the northern edge of the market, where the inn signs flickered with welcoming lantern light.
"I feel like a new man," Yogan said, arms stretched behind his head, a blissful grin on his face. "Like I could fight a dragon."
"You smell like you could negotiate with one," Kenshiro added. "If I'd known you had that much natural stink under your robes, I'd have buried you in the forest days ago."
"I'll have you know," Yogan said proudly, "this is the scent of spiritual rebirth."
Rilo sniffed once. "You used up half the bathhouse's soap."
"Because I earned it," Yogan replied.
"Least none of us smell like mildew and dying rodent anymore," Haru said.
"I liked your forest smell," Kenshiro teased. "You had a strong dirt and desperation vibe."
"You smelled like regret and spoiled grain," Haru shot back.
Even Keru allowed a rare smile.
Mariko rolled her eyes. "You all still sound like barbarians. But at least now you smell like slightly cleaner barbarians."
Just then, a sharp female voice cracked through the street.
"You idiot!"
A rock, no larger than a barrel, flew through the air and slammed directly into Haru's chest with a dull thud.
The impact knocked him off his feet. He hit the dirt hard, a grunt escaping as his limbs sprawled across the road like a broken doll.
Everyone froze.
Yogan looked up slowly.
Standing down the road, framed by the flickering glow of street lanterns, was a woman in sleeveless robes cut from thick brown and tan cloth. Her trousers were tied tight at the calf, and heavy boots scraped against the dust as she took another step forward. Her sleeves were rolled, and her forearms were braced with strips of leather. Her hair was dark and tightly braided down her back, and her green eyes burned hotter than the coals of a smithy furnace.
Kenshiro went pale.
Sweat broke across his forehead in a wave as he took a slow, trembling step backward.
"Talia," he said, voice cracking, "I can explain."
The woman's gaze snapped to him like a drawn bowstring.
"Of course," she said, raising her hands with practiced movements, "you went with him."
She stomped the ground with one foot, then swept her arms wide.
A stone slab rose from the ground and whipped forward like a hammer.
It caught Kenshiro square in the chest, knocking him into the air and onto his back with a choking gasp. He hit the ground next to Haru, groaning in pain.
Yogan blinked. "Okay. This is escalating."
Before anyone could react further, the woman dropped into a deep stance and drew both palms up from the dirt. A series of smaller stones rose into the air around her, spinning like moons around a planet.
Then she launched them.
They rained down toward Kenshiro and Haru, deadly accurate, fast, and vengeful.
Keru reacted first.
He stomped once, thrust both hands forward, and a dome of hardened earth surged from the road. It arched over the two men like a turtle's shell just in time. The stones slammed into the barrier with hollow thuds, cracking but not breaking it.
Yogan leapt back, his hands already moving through the air.
With a twist of his shoulders and a pivot of his foot, he sent a burst of wind toward the woman. It was not meant to harm, only to force space between her and the fallen men.
She snarled. "Stay out of this, Monk freak."
She slammed both palms into the ground.
The earth rippled, then surged. A wide wall of stone burst from the dirt, not aimed to strike, but to shove.
The wall barreled forward, catching Rilo, Mariko, Keru, and Yogan in its sweep. It pushed them off balance, scattering them across the street. It wasn't lethal, but it was fast, controlled, and ruthless.
The woman began advancing again, fury radiating from her in waves.
Yogan rolled to his feet, eyes narrowing.
He inhaled sharply, then sprang into the air with the grace of a dancer and the force of a cyclone. His body twisted mid-air, robes flaring. He used a palm to redirect a current behind him, flipped over the wall, and landed nimbly on the other side.
She saw him coming.
"I said stay out of this!"
With a furious cry, she stomped, raised her arms, and summoned a massive boulder from the dirt.
She hurled it at him with all her strength.
Yogan exhaled through his nose.
He spun low, then whipped his arms upward in a spiraling motion. Wind burst outward from his body like a coiled serpent released.
The twisting air caught the boulder mid-flight. Stone cracked, then crumbled. It eroded rapidly, breaking apart into fine dust before it could reach him.
He didn't stop. He stepped forward, palms flat, and redirected the wind toward her.
She barely had time to plant her stance.
A wall of earth rose in front of her just as the wind slammed into it, splintering the edges but stopping the full force. Dust exploded into the air.
"Don't," Haru said suddenly.
Yogan paused, half-ready to bend again.
"She wants to kill you," Rilo said, already drawing himself into a stance.
But he didn't need to.
The dust settled, and Haru was already pushing himself up. Kenshiro, groaning beside him, spat out a mouthful of grit and stumbled to his feet.
They walked slowly to the front, both clearly aching from their impacts, but standing regardless.
Haru dusted himself off and looked up at her.
"Long time, sis." He said.
She stared at him, chest heaving with fury.
Kenshiro forced a smile despite the bruise rising on his jaw. "It's been a while, babe."
The woman's fists clenched.
Yogan blinked slowly.
Then the street went still.
[A/N: Can't wait to see what happens next? Get exclusive early access on patreon.com/saiyanprincenovels. If you enjoyed this chapter and want to see more, don't forget to drop a power stone! Your support helps this story reach more readers!]