It was a formidable Mystical Item, but Severin's smirking confidence betrayed his prior knowledge.
He had already decrypted that the man before him was a sequence 8 Barbarian.
While Barbarians boasted incredible strength, constitution, and mental resilience.
In this battle to compensate for his lower sequence 8 abilities compared to Severin's sequence 7 Cipherist abilities, This knocked off some of Severin's abilities rendering them useless or too slow, Sverin could not mentally manipulate him fast enough.
However, the Barbarian found himself struggling to match the lightning-quick pace of a Cipherist.
The only reason the man managed to keep up was that he received a warning every time Severin's Dirk was on the verge of touching his flesh.
Severin's curiosity focused on the man's dagger, which managed to keep up with Severin's Dirk. It was evident that the dagger was no ordinary weapon; it possessed mystical properties that defied conventional expectations.
With a sense of resolve, Severin decided that the time had come to unleash his full Cipherist potential!
Throughout the night, Severin had concealed his true intent with a practised skill that he had honed over time. While it was common for seasoned swordsmen to hide their intentions, for Severin, it was child's play compared to the capabilities of a Cipherist.
This skill had become second nature to him, and he had employed it effortlessly throughout the night.
However, he understood that against an opponent with premonitions like the man before him, he needed to counter it with something more.
Drawing upon his Cipherist powers, he activated his ability cloak.
Cipherists had the unique ability to cloak their intentions and actions, rendering their plans and strategies indecipherable to others.
As he activated his ability, Severin's dirk found its mark in the man's flesh, puncturing his body with deadly precision.
The man was startled.
Severin's Cipherist ability to cloak his intentions and actions was a game-changer in the duel.
As the enigmatic man with the Aspirant Item continued to press his attack, he found himself increasingly bewildered.
Severin's movements became unpredictable, his strikes veiled in a shroud of ambiguity.
The man's Aspirant Item, designed to anticipate threats and attacks, was rendered almost useless in the face of Severin's cloaking ability. It was as if the Cipherist had become an enigma, his every action a puzzle that defied prediction.
With a deft and fluid motion, Severin capitalized on the confusion he had sown.
His dirk found openings in the man's defences.
Parry after parry, dodge after dodge, the Cipherist's strikes grew more relentless and precise.
Severin maintained a cautious distance, well aware of the man's unique weapon and the brute strength that defied reason.
The man's curved dagger could only be effective at specific angles, and Severin couldn't afford to underestimate his formidable opponent's strength.
The man's face contorted in frustration as he struggled to keep up with Severin's newfound advantage.
The room, illuminated only by the flickering flames outside, witnessed the conclusion intense battle of wits and abilities.
After a relentless series of stabs, Severin finally disarmed the man, sending the blade clattering to the corner of the room.
Seizing an opportunity, Severin skillfully tripped his opponent, causing the man to stumble forward.
In one seamless motion, Severin deftly circled behind the man and expertly sliced his throat. With a gurgling gasp, the man toppled forward, clutching his oesophagus as he crumpled to the ground.
Severin moved to the aperture behind where the man had initially been seated.
"Do you know why you lost?" he asked, a sardonic smile playing on his lips.
Behind the chair, he found an opening that provided him with a view of the chaotic scene unfolding outside by the docks.
He then returned, dragging the chair along with him, and positioned it in front of the man's lifeless body.
With a swift kick, he flipped the man onto his back, then set the chair down and settled in to observe the unfolding events outside.
"Because you attempted to employ your intellect. my my my, a barbarian ought to fight with the heart of a barbarian," he taunted, the words dripping with scorn.
Severin sat there, his gaze fixed on the lifeless form of the man, as the last vestiges of life slowly ebbed away from his body.
Barbarians possess a constitution that defies logic, granting them an incredible vitality that is supernatural.
This was precisely why Severin had initially sought a hand-to-hand confrontation.
Barbarians were relentless; a gunshot wound might prove fatal, but it would also afford the man an opportunity to escape. Given Severin's capabilities, he could eventually track and eliminate him, but time was a luxury they couldn't afford tonight.
Severin, now composed and steady, reached down and picked up the scroll, paying no heed to the Dying man's accusatory glare.
"Of course, it's not entirely your fault," Severin quipped, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Blame it your pathway, from Accused to Barbarian, the shift from intellect to muscle. Hehe, I can't help but find it rather comical,"
The Accused pathway, with Sequence 9 as Accused and Sequence 8 as Barbarian, defied the usual conventions.
Typically, those Accused relied on their intellect to solve problems, and the abilities granted to them by the potion were oriented towards mental prowess.
In contrast, Barbarians were known for their reliance on physical strength.
However, not all pathways adhered to this pattern.
Take, for example, Severin's Larcenist pathway.
In this case, Sequence 9 Larcenists possessed abilities associated with stealth and subtlety, traits often linked to thieves.
The Sequence 8 Swindlers, on the other hand, excelled in deception and persuasive manipulation.
Further down the line, Sequence 7 Cipherists displayed skills related to decoding, decryption, and coding.
The man's downfall stemmed from his inability to adapt his mindset.
He continued to act as if he were only an Accused, failing to embrace his true nature as a Barbarian.
Armed with this insight, Severin deciphered the man's recent advancement and recognized his failure to harness his Barbarian abilities.
In such a situation, victory was practically guaranteed for Severin, presenting him with an effortless triumph.
Despite being a Cipherist, Severin had been strategically employing his Swindler abilities.
This demonstrated his extensive experience and adaptability, as he seamlessly integrated different skill sets to suit the situation at hand.
Severin couldn't resist the temptation to read the incomplete letter he found beside the dying man, and so he began to peruse its contents as he watched the life slowly ebb away from his adversary.
*********
******
***
In the dimly lit confines of the Salty Siren, a man with unruly, jet-black hair defied the laws of gravity. His closed eyelids bore the weight of deep shadows, evidence of a wearied soul.
Yet, beneath his youthful and somewhat innocent countenance, there lay an undeniable magnetic allure, captivating those who chanced upon him.
This mysterious figure, lost in the embrace of slumber, displayed arms embellished with intricate tattoos, each telling a unique story and adding an air of enigma to his presence—Finn.
Finn lay in deep slumber within the dim confines of the Salty Siren, his tranquillity shrouded in questions.
Was it the effect of a potent drug or the embrace of intoxication that had rendered him unconscious?
Beside him, Ingrid exhibited a different demeanour.
She wasn't asleep, and her cheerfulness didn't align with the past festivities or the joviality that had once filled the establishment.
The music had faded into silence, the dance had concluded, and the merriment had given way to an eerie void.
The Salty Siren, which had once bustled with patrons, now stood desolate.
No souls lingered in the absence of revelry and camaraderie.
Instead, chaos loomed on the horizon. Not yet within the confines of the establishment, but the screams of panic drew ever nearer.
A short while ago, a terrified soul had burst in, shouting about a fire that had engulfed the nearby chapel. Many among the patrons were either devout or had loved ones in the chapel, prompting their hasty departure to address the inferno.
The Salty Siren's manager had urged all able-bodied men to join the efforts to quell the riots sparked by the chaos.
Some of the working women had chosen to retreat further into the island, leaving Ingrid alone in the Salty Siren, her inexplicable giddiness contrasting sharply with the turmoil unfolding outside.
It was almost as though the chaos fueled her sense of euphoria.
The riots drew nearer, their ominous rumble reverberating through the darkened streets.
Flames from the nearby Buildings illuminated the sky with an eerie, flickering light, casting long, dancing shadows on the Salty Siren's walls.
Ingrid's inexplicable giddiness persisted, she remained in the lit tavern, her demeanour unfazed by the approaching riot.
Outside, the desperate cries of those caught during the riot echoed through the night.
It was a cacophony of fear, anger, and despair, a symphony of chaos that threatened to consume everything in its path.
Finn, still lost in slumber, remained oblivious to the encroaching storm.
In no time, the riot surged into the Salty Siren, like a tempest crashing into the sanctuary of the establishment.
The once-dimly lit tavern was now ablaze with chaos as the mob of enraged individuals poured in, their faces contorted with anger and desperation.
The men who had joined the riot had lost loved ones in the chaos surrounding the chapel's stampede.
Fueled by grief and a desperate need for someone to hold accountable, they descended into a state of irrational violence, it was a riot.
Ingrid's inexplicable giddiness collided with the fury of the rioters, creating an eerie juxtaposition within the tavern's walls. She sat undeterred, a singular enigma amidst the tumultuous sea of emotions.
It wasn't until someone swatted at Ingrid that she snapped out of her revelry.
Rationality poured over her like cold water, and she realized something was wrong.
She swiftly dodged the next swat, a makeshift club crafted from broken furniture that struck Finn's shoulder and sent him crashing into two chairs.
The impact woke Finn, though he wasn't aware he had been hit.
What he did see was that men were pouring whale oil onto the furniture, and the intent was clear—they were about to set the place on fire.
Drawing upon his experience as a privateer he was not too phased, he quickly gathered the spilt coins from his pouch.
A poor kid began picking up the scattered riches, but Finn kicked the kid's head, knocking him out cold.
He then secured his coins and reached for a weapon, only to find no sword. Despite a month of training, he hadn't acquired one, so his two trusty daggers would have to suffice.
As he made his way toward the exit, a glint of movement caught his eye.
Ingrid was crawling beneath a table, hiding from the enraged mob that had invaded the Salty Siren.
The situation had escalated rapidly, and they needed to escape before the establishment succumbed to the impending flames and chaos.