SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant Chapter 486: The God of War [I]

By the time they reached the southern reaches of Velkaris, the city had been utterly transformed. The grand boulevards and pristine shopfronts were far behind them, replaced by narrow, soot-stained alleyways where the stonework had been weathered by years of neglect. Though the crowd had thinned, the inhabitants they encountered were far more observant. Scruffy beggars lingered near corners, wrapped in tattered blankets with palms outstretched, while others watched from the shadows, assessing the quartet with the calculated gaze of those who measure whether a target is worth the peril.

Vivienne pressed onward, her pace unwavering. Trafalgar remained a step or two behind her, his eyes scanning the streets and every hidden corner. Rhosyn kept her senses sharp, absorbing every figure and movement without drawing attention, while Caelvyrn appeared almost mockingly at ease, strolling through the district as if he were merely taking a casual walk through an insignificant town.

Eventually, Trafalgar broke the silence. "I trust you haven't lost your way?"

Vivienne spared him a fleeting glance, her eyes returning to the road ahead. "No. I have not." Her voice was steady, though an undercurrent of tension persisted. "I am simply taking precautions. My master has already drawn enough unwanted attention by revealing himself during the war."

Trafalgar’s eyes tightened infinitesimally. "So, you were aware."

Vivienne released a controlled sigh. "Naturally, I knew."

"Then you are surely aware that the Eight Great Families have taken notice," Trafalgar continued, his tone remaining undisturbed. "They may not be conducting a direct investigation, but the fact that a Primordial presence surfaced on that battlefield has not escaped them."

The revelation caused Vivienne’s expression to harden.

"I warned him this would happen," she muttered, speaking more to herself than the group. "Repeatedly, in fact. He refused to listen." After a momentary pause, she added, "We are near the destination."

Caelvyrn scanned the neighborhood, letting out a soft hum. "It appears his standards have declined. In the past, he was a bit more..." He hesitated, searching for the right expression.

Vivienne looked at him sideways. "Extravagant?"

A faint smirk tugged at Caelvyrn’s lips. "Indeed. That is the word."

Rhosyn shifted her gaze between them. "You paint a picture of an insufferable man."

"He often was," Caelvyrn replied dismissively. "Yet, that hardly made him uninteresting."

They trudged on, delving deeper into the impoverished district, until Vivienne finally faltered in her stride. After a few more steps, she came to a full halt.

On the left-hand wall of the narrow alleyway stood a dilapidated tavern, the sign so withered that the name was indecipherable. Beside it, tucked into the gloom, a cramped staircase descended into the depths.

Vivienne turned toward it. "We have arrived."

She descended first, calling back, "Mind your heads."

The entryway was low enough to prove troublesome even before reaching the lower level. Trafalgar bowed his head slightly as he followed, while Rhosyn slipped through without resistance. Caelvyrn was the last to proceed.

A moment later, a hollow thud echoed through the stairwell.

"Damn."

Trafalgar looked back. Caelvyrn had struck the ceiling, though the impact was hardly enough to harm him; nevertheless, one of his horns had left a clear indentation in the stone. He looked more affronted than injured.

Vivienne paused and pivoted instantly. "I explicitly told you to be cautious."

Caelvyrn reached up, tentatively touching his horn, and inspected the mark on the stone. "To be fair, establishments of this caliber were not designed with men of my stature in mind."

Rhosyn examined the ceiling, then turned to him. "The ceiling wasn't the issue, dear."

For the first time since their arrival, a hint of amusement flickered across Vivienne's face, though it died away instantly. She exhaled and resumed her descent. "Just keep moving."

The stairs terminated shortly thereafter. At the base sat a weathered wooden door, the paint peeling and the brass handle long since dulled by age. Vivienne pushed inside without a word of announcement.

The atmosphere inside was hushed. Only a few tables were occupied, and the air was thick with the scent of rancid wood, alcohol, and stale fried food. The chamber was dim—not with any artistic intent, but with the weary wear of a place long forgotten by time. Behind the counter stood an aged dwarf, his face etched with wrinkles, while seated alone in the back was the individual they sought.

He was a man of advancing years. Brown hair threaded with streaks of grey, sleeves rolled up over scarred forearms—scars that continued up his neck—he carried himself with a casual air that masked a hidden readiness. Trafalgar’s eyes locked onto him.

The dwarf was the first to acknowledge them.

"New company, Vivi?" he queried, his voice raspy from a lifetime spent shouting over tavern noise and tobacco smoke.

Vivienne nodded as she closed the distance. "Yes. We require privacy, and this remains the most discreet location I know."

The answer sufficed. He readjusted his spectacles with a finger and squinted past her. His eyes settled on Rhosyn first. With her ebony hair, dark gaze, and somber attire, she possessed an air of elegance that felt out of place in this grimy dive. She was striking, but in a way that discouraged the casual observer.

Then, he looked at Caelvyrn. And stalled.

The midnight hair, the violet eyes, the horns—but more than the physical, there was an aura about him that the dwarf felt on an instinctive level, causing the old man to straighten instinctively behind the bar.

"Pray, do not wreck the furniture," he urged after a heartbeat. "I can ill afford it."

Vivienne answered before Caelvyrn could speak. "Rest easy. We are here strictly to talk."

The dwarf grumbled something unintelligible, pushing his glasses back into place. Finally, his eyes landed on the final member of the party. Trafalgar. With his charcoal hair tied back, piercing blue eyes, and sophisticated dark robes, he looked entirely out of place here. The black markings on his hand were clearly visible.

The dwarf stared a beat too long. Then, recognition struck. He recalled seeing those features on the front page of a newspaper tucked behind his counter. Trafalgar du Morgain. The SSS Talent. The name currently echoing across the region. To think that he was standing in this wretched hole in the south of Velkaris.

"Hell," the dwarf thought internally. "What could they possibly want here?"

Trafalgar offered a polite, calm nod that only heightened the absurdity of the situation. "Greetings. Might we trouble you for some drinks?"

The dwarf nodded immediately. "Of course. At once."

He scrambled to fulfill the request, asking no further questions. Meanwhile, Vivienne led the way to the table. Trafalgar followed, with the others trailing, until the four of them were finally seated around the scarred man.