Opeka's square was alive with the usual chaos—merchants hawking overpriced trinkets, kids dodging cartwheels, and the faint hum of Elder Mara's Earth charms keeping the dust from choking us all. I leaned against a barrel outside the Black Stone Tavern, my wooden sword tapping my thigh, plotting my next masterpiece.
Janko, still sporting faint paint smudges from my whisker prank, was stomping through the crowd, his scowl deeper than a Zenoite mine. The village hadn't let "Double-Whisker Wretch" die, and I was damn proud of that.
Inside the tavern, Bera was polishing mugs, her apron doing a piss-poor job of hiding those glorious curves. Lila, stacking chairs, flaunted a skirt so tight it might as well have been painted on, her backside a work of art that could tempt a Dragon-God.
Their rivalry was a powder keg, and I was the spark. "Bera, you trying to blind me with those melons?" I called, dodging a mug she flung with a smirk.
"Eyes off, Killyaen," Bera shot back, her Fire Qi sparking in her eyes. "Or I'll roast you with a Fire Qi flick." She crossed her arms, pushing her assets front and center, and I didn't bother hiding my stare.
Lila slid in, her smirk sharper than a Teridian blade. "Bera, those melons of yours look like they're about to burst that apron. No wonder you're always spilling ale—too busy hauling those boulders around." She turned, flaunting her sculpted backside with a slow sway. "Some of us have curves that don't need a cart to carry them, sleek and perfect, like a Zenoite blade."
Bera's laugh was venomous, her eyes glinting with challenge. "Sleek? Lila, that scrawny ass looks like a plank whittled by a blind dwarf. Flat as a Crestmoore quarry slab and twice as boring. At least my chest has men lining up to warm their hands by the fire." She leaned closer, her apron straining, daring Lila to keep going.
Lila tossed her hair, undaunted.
"Fire? More like a smoldering heap of overripe fruit, sagging under its own weight. My hips could dance circles around your lumbering frame, and Killy knows it—why else is he staring at perfection?" She gave a teasing twirl, her skirt riding up just enough to make my pulse race.
I clapped, grinning like a fool. "Ladies, you're both masterpieces tearing up my heart. Why fight when you could share the Supreme Elf's adoration?" Their glares hit me like a double Zenoite Krovar swipe, but their flushed cheeks told me they were eating it up. Chaos was my art, and I was painting a damn mural.
Janko was my real target. His "Double-Whisker Wretch" fame wasn't enough—I needed something bigger. No Moonflower sap, moozze tails, Gromble oil, or Starbloom petals this time. I'd spent the night rigging a new prank: a bundle of Firepetal seeds, ground into a stinging powder, mixed with crushed Flaevyn feathers for a sticky, iridescent mess. I'd stuffed it into a hollowed-out apple, rigged with twine to burst when someone—guess who—grabbed it from a market stall. I'd paid a kid to leave it there with a note: "Sweet Gift for the Whisker King." Janko wouldn't resist.
He didn't. I watched from my barrel as he snatched the apple, thinking it was a peace offering. Pop! The twine snapped, and a glittering cloud of Firepetal powder and feathers exploded, coating him in a shimmering, stinging haze. He yelped, swatting at his face as the tavern crowd roared.
"Glitter-Grub Wretch now!" I shouted, vaulting onto a crate for a better view.
Janko's curses were music, his painted whiskers glowing under the feather-dust sheen.
"Killyaen, you're dead!" he bellowed, charging through the square. I laughed, dodging behind a cart, my legs straining under N'Nazmuz's curse. That damn 30-kilogram weight dragged at every step, burning my stamina like a cheap candle, but the thrill kept me moving. I'd trained for this—Goran's drills had me swinging my wooden sword until my arms screamed, the curse making me stronger than any qi-blind bastard had a right to be.
Training that morning had been a beast. Goran—Peak Element Lord Fire—had me running Wind's Rebuke forms until I nearly collapsed, the curse's pressure turning every swing into a slog.
"You're a damn ox, kid," he'd growled, parrying my strike with a smirk.
"But you move like one, too. Use that strength, not just your mouth." I'd landed a solid hit, nearly cracking his wooden sword, and the curse's passive healing had smoothed out a bruise from a bad block by the time I hit the tavern. Didn't make the weight feel any lighter, though.
Back in the square, Janko was still flailing, feathers stuck to his clothes like he'd rolled in a Flaevyn nest. Bera and Lila had followed me out, their bickering paused to cackle at Janko's misery.
"Nice one, Killy," Bera said, her grin wicked. "But you're still a pervert."
"Pervert with style," I shot back, winking. Lila snorted, but her eyes flicked over me, half-charmed, half-ready to slap me. Perfect.
Elder Mara's voice cut through the laughter, sharp but calm. "Killyaen, Janko, settle down before this feud burns the village to ash." She stood by the tavern, her Earth Qi humming faintly, arms crossed.
"No more pranks or punches tonight—save your fire for the festival." Her gaze lingered on Janko's feather-coated form, then mine, promising a lecture if we pushed further. I gave her a mock salute, already plotting my next move.
Vuk ambled over, his grizzled face lit with amusement. "You're gonna get yourself exiled, boy," he said, clapping my shoulder. "Heard tell of a glowing blue relic in Crestmoore's quarry—might be worth more than your pranks." My amulet pulsed faintly, like it was eavesdropping, and I frowned. Vuk and his damn ruin stories, always yapping about "ancient ruins" from Legends of the Middle Sea.
Probably just a shiny rock, but that pulse nagged me, hinting at Solspire and its mysteries. I shoved the thought aside. Ruins didn't make Bera laugh or Janko rage.Janko, now a sparkling mess, stormed off, swearing revenge. I leaned back against the barrel, catching my breath as the curse's weight settled.
The square was still buzzing, and I was its king. Bera and Lila resumed their sniping, Lila jabbing about Bera's "boulder-sized chest" and Bera countering with Lila's "stick-figure hips." I could've listened forever, plotting my next prank—maybe with Vuk's fishing nets and a jar of Honeyvine sap.
Janko wasn't getting off easy, and neither was Opeka.As the sun dipped, I headed back to the tavern, Bera's laugh and Lila's smirk burned into my brain. Solspire, relics, amulets—those were for another day. Right now, I was the Supreme Elf, and this village was my canvas.