The village hall of Opeka, a sturdy stone chamber lit by flickering torches, buzzed with tension as Killyaen and Janko stood before the Master headwoman.
Her earth charms hummed faintly, her stern gaze pinning the troublemakers like moths. The tavern brawl—splintered tables, cracked beams, feather-strewn floor—had frayed her patience, and this dawn summons drew her line in the sand.
Killy, curse-heavy steps denting the floorboards, stood with a lopsided grin, while Janko, the "Cursed Cat," shifted, his beard faintly sticky from his failed prank.
Guards flanked the hall, spears glinting, as villagers peeked through open doors, whispering about the Supreme Elf's chaos.The headwoman, robes etched with earthen runes, leaned forward, voice sharp. "You've turned Opeka into a circus," she snapped.
"Killyaen's ballads, glowing barns, and now a wrecked tavern? Janko, your feather fiasco didn't help. This village relies on Zenoite crafting, not your feuds."
She slammed a fist, the floor trembling with her Master aura. "Zenoite's common enough, light as steel but strong, and our mine keeps us steady.
You threaten that stability. This time, you leave with a warning. Cause another ruckus, and you'll face consequences—fines, labor, or worse. Clear?"
Janko, seizing his moment, puffed his chest, pointing at Killy. "Headwoman, it's his fault! That Elf's taunts—'Plumed Cat,' goose waddling—forced my hand. I was defending my honor!" His voice whined, hands flailing like a cornered beast.
Killy, unfazed, tilted his head, whistling a jaunty tune, eyes wide with mock innocence. He paused, glancing at the headwoman. "Pardon, ma'am, but is it me, or do you hear cat meowing and hissing in this hall?"
He cupped a hand to his ear, smirking at Janko. "Sounds like a stray's tantrum in here."The guards stifled snickers, spear butts tapping as they bit their lips. One coughed, hiding a grin; another's shoulders shook.
The headwoman's eyes blazed, face a mask of fury, but inside, she roared with laughter. Killy's jab at Janko's "Cursed Cat" whining was too sharp, but a laugh would crack her authority.
Her lips twitched, betraying a flicker of mirth, but she slammed her fist, earth qi pulsing. "Enough, Killyaen!" she barked, voice wavering. "Your tongue's sharper than your swords, but it won't save you."
Janko, red-faced, sputtered, "See? He mocks me now!" but the headwoman silenced him with a hand. She fixed Killy with a glare, decision made.
"To keep peace, one pays today. Janko, you're dismissed—stay out of trouble. Killyaen, your provocations started this, so you'll fix another." She leaned back, voice cold. "The Zenoite mine, our crafting lifeline, is infested with Rotting Blind Mice. Clear them out. Alone."Killy's grin faltered.
Zenoite, common across human kingdoms, was lighter than steel yet strong, perfect for tools and blades, keeping Opeka's forges busy.
The mine was no treasure—its abundance spared the village from raiders—but the Rotting Blind moozzes had slowed work. Reeking of decay, the beasts swarmed, the strongest at Peak Apprentice, tough for villagers at Initial or Middle Beginner.
Stronger cultivators, like Goran, a Supreme Master, could crush them, but the task was too tedious, the infestation a nuisance, not a crisis. For Killy, with no qi, below Initial Beginner, it was a slog.
His curse-enhanced strength and dual-sword skills would help, but the mice's stench and numbers promised misery."Rotting Blind Mice?" Killy muttered, scratching his head. "Sounds like a party."
The headwoman's eyes narrowed. "Mock me again, and you'll scrub the mine's floors. Get it done, or your next summons won't be kind." She waved them out, guards smirking as Killy sauntered past, whistling defiantly.
Outside, Janko smirked, jabbing a finger. "Served you right, Elf. Enjoy your stinking mice."
Killy turned, grinned wide, and purred, "Meow." Janko's face purpled, fists clenching, but Killy was already strolling away, his taunt lingering like a cat's hiss. The feud simmered, ripe for another spark.
Killy kicked a pebble, the village hall's shadow fading. His cultivation book—meridians, dantian, twenty levels with Initial, Middle, Peak sub-levels—felt heavier.
He hadn't sparked qi at three Altars of Awakening, his spirit silent, but Vuk's tale of a First Altar near Solarija's capital, marked by a Scale of Azurion, glowed in his mind.
"Clear a mine, find an altar," he mused, grinning. The book detailed breakthroughs—reaching Peak to climb levels—but Killy wasn't even Beginner. The moozzes were a step toward proving himself, stench or not.
At the tavern, Bera caught wind of the punishment, leaning on the bar. "Off to fight smelly mozzes, Supreme Mage?" she teased, flicking a rag. Killy winked. "Warming up for my altar quest, Broom Queen."
She snorted, tossing the rag. "Don't reek of rot when you're back." Mirna, overhearing, blamed "cursed spiritual stones" for the rodents, while Marko, sharpening Killy's swords, chuckled.
"Bring me a moozzes tail for luck," he said. Killy, hefting his blades, felt the curse's weight but no fear. The mine awaited, a chance to inch toward his First Altar dream.