Two Warriors

The wind seemed to whistle.

Monkey had just cracked his neck like clockwork—a rhythmic clicking as his head went round in a full circle, before confidently approaching the lone mercenary in front of him. The mercenary was clad in toughened leather, and many bandoliers and bags were attached to his garments. He seemed to be resourceful, as each container seemed to be packed with items that each had a unique use. The only one that was completely empty was a softer sack attached to his waist.

However, these were only the first things to note about this man. The strangest thing, perhaps, was the large cloak that hung from his unevenly bulging left shoulder. He had something hidden there, something hard, but it was difficult for Monkey to sense what exactly. However, when he moved, the thing beneath the cloak would clink just slightly, too faint for a normal person to hear; some kind of weapon, maybe? Additionally, some kind of rhythmic and soft ticking noise emanated from his wrist. Another thing Monkey took notice of was his stance: "The whipping winged serpent!" he thought to himself, intrigued. It was an elegant stance, where the user seemed to be inhumanely light on their feet, almost so as they'd seem to fly when battling their opponents. The last thing that Monkey took notice of, was that he could not sense any magical energy coming from the mercenary. None whatsoever.

Monkey blinked, and before him was the mercenary, who had sprung from his feet without noise—at least without noise for the average individual. Monkey had blinked on purpose, for he knew that the mercenary would strike at this time. Vortexing his entire body, Monkey shot a fist diagonally upwards, aiming for the mercenary, whose instincts were honed enough that he managed to quickly dodge out of the way. However, what came unexpectedly to Monkey was the fact that a kick he did not foresee landed cleanly at the right side of his torso. The mercenary had kicked as he dodged, creating additional momentum, which shook Monkey's entire body before he landed a good distance away. Monkey, however, did not budge, as if the mercenary had just kicked a thick castle wall. Instead, he simply just grit his teeth and sucked in air.

"That one stung, I'll tell you that."

The mercenary looked intimidated. No one should have been able to recover from that, considering it was not just one of his most powerful unarmed strikes, but also his own technique he had perfected over decades.

"How are you still standing? I know I hit my mark."

The mercenary readied his stance yet again in anticipation. Monkey answered.

"Full body enhancing—I channel magic into my bones, my muscles, even my organs. Essentially, your blows may hurt, but will never inflict any real damage. That is my magical affinity."

The mercenary clicked his tongue, seemingly out of annoyance.

"Hey, hey, don't be mad at me. Landing that blow puts you in the top five strongest guys I've faced, and I know why you were able to do it. You have no magical latency—you cannot channel magical energies at all. Instead, you honed your martial arts to this degree, where you could even land a strike on ME, the legendary-" praised Monkey before pausing to ponder, scratching his head in search of lost memories. "-the legendary... the great..." Monkey kept trying to remember.

"You do not remember your own name?" asked the mercenary, confused as to what was going on. A man of his caliber should be able to remember his name at least. No, in fact, that's not good enough. A man of his caliber should be remembered by many; his name should have been spread all over the country as a legendary warrior, even during these days, when martial arts were being forsaken in favor of pure magical ability. Here, however, stood a man who combined the two so effortlessly; it made no sense.

"I do not, in fact, remember my name, unfortunately-" said Monkey, pouting just a smidge. "-but you can call me Monkey. What's your name?"

"What-" the mercenary almost faltered in his stance. "-Monkey? I won't question your name, there must surely be a great story behind it. My name is Soran Noxia—just Soran is fine."

"Pleasure to meet you, Soran the Warrior."

Soran felt honored to be called warrior by such a man, but he had an arrest to undertake, so he kept steadfast. Or, at least he thought he would, but unexpectedly, Monkey had relaxed his stance and was reaching for a handshake. Soran promptly raised his eyebrow as he too relaxed his stance.

"When you exchange names, you must shake hands. It is an old, but important custom. Come now, Soran." said Monkey, assuring Soran of his goodwill.

Soran returned to a regular posture and started walking slowly, but determinedly towards Monkey. The culinarians who had been watching secretively held their breaths bated, as if a rise in tension suddenly took a hold of their lungs. Soran's steps seemed to grow louder, and Monkey's muscles seemed to grow tighter. The wind seemed to whistle yet again, the heat of the sunrays seemed to smolder, and the air seemed to get denser. But what seemed to be and what truly was had now become hard to differentiate. Even Soran started to feel this sudden change in tension as he slowly but surely approached Monkey. Reaching out his hand to grab Monkey's, he immediately felt like a helpless little rabbit who had fallen into a deep and dark pitfall trap. Had he not expected it, he might've ended up with one too many broken bones, but he was ready.

Quickly and fiercely the two fighters started shooting flurrying fists at each other, releasing the built-up tension like a shockwave, wherein the culinarians all took cover behind their stalls. None of the punches actually seemed to connect—each strike was like jet streams of water hitting rock, diverging and sending force into surrounding objects. Wood splinters, dust, and gravel were being flung all over as their unrelenting flurry continued. Both warriors' whole bodies moved along with each strike, and in accordance with each other, like some form of martial arts exhibition.

They seemed to be matched equally until Monkey's hair all of a sudden started fluttering and his eyes were set aglow. With it came speed unmatched, and Soran felt like he was about to be hit by something that might end him for good—as if a large tower of dark stone was collapsing on top of him, but only its shadow could be seen approaching.

Monkey's whole body shifted forwards as he shot his steel-like arm forward at blinding speeds, and with it came his shout: "Pincer!". It was the name of his technique, based on a crab he had seen once at a beach, many, many years ago. As his fist came to a halt, it sent a shockwave that took a dozen stalls with it and sent all the hanging lanterns whipping and spiraling in the wind. It was as if a tornado that had been laid sideways in the avenue had come into existence for but a blink of time before disappearing without a trace in the avenue that now was partially trashed.

However, Monkey knew his fist had not connected. From Soran's bulging left shoulder, half-hidden in darkness still, sprouted cold, dark chains that had tightened themselves around Monkey's arm, restraining it.

"So that's why it clinked!" said Monkey with excitement, finally realizing what had been hidden behind the cloak.

They were just about to continue the fight but were stopped by two mercenaries—the same ones from before, that had previously escaped—running in to stop the scene.

"Wait! Wait! It was a mistake!" one of the mercenaries shouted out, panting as he came to a halt, tuckering out as he placed his hands upon his thighs.

The other mercenary was holding the same issued poster from before, but this time, it seemed different.

"Look, we got the wrong guy. But all said and done, we already caught the real culprit."

Soran looked at Monkey, then back at the mercenaries, then back at Monkey. Soran's face was painted with great disappointment. Not wanting to accept that his possible income was now forfeit, he released and reeled in his chains back behind his cloak with swift but subtle movements, before marching towards the mercenary holding the poster and yanking it out of his hand again. As he viewed the sketch and compared it to Monkey, the mercenary walked up to Soran.

"Look, the guy on the sketch has a beard. That guy: no beard. Right?" said the mercenary in between his panting breaths.

"See? I wasn't a criminal after all, just as I said! Besides, I can't grow a beard because of magic interfering with my follicles and stuff," said Monkey as he stroked his non-existent mustache.

When Soran looked, he definitely noticed now that there was a beard missing on Monkey. Though, he was sure that the sketch did not have a beard the last time he saw it. He clicked his tongue and ripped the poster to pieces.

"Hey, don't be so furious, you'll get another bounty for sure!" one of the mercenaries said, trying to console him.

"I need my money, now. Otherwise, I can't pay for the reparation costs of my equipment, and they are custom made, so I cannot just buy new ones." He took a heavy step towards the mercenaries and looked them sharply in the eyes. "Besides, you should have kept an eye on that elf-thief. She has my stuff, but you let her run away. Perhaps you should pay the reparations for me in her stead."

Both of the mercenaries tried calming Soran down, but he remained irritated. However, when Soran noticed Monkey approaching, his emotions subsided and he instead became focused. Monkey kneeled down and started untying the golden ornaments which had been tightened by his knees, then he stood up and handed them over to Soran.

"One pays for your reparations, the other for your hiring fee. Don't worry—both are pure."

Soran was taken aback, not really knowing what to say. He felt both intrigued, confused, and thankful.

"You are hiring me? Why? You have unmatched strength just by yourself. I don't reckon you'd need somebody to get their hands dirty for you, and certainly not someone to be your bodyguard," noted Soran, trying to figure out what Monkey was getting at.

"Soran, you shall join my companionship and help me on my journey. I may be strong, but I lack guidance. A seer told me I should head north to find what I'm seeking."

"And what are you seeking?" asked Soran

"The Crying Monarch," said Monkey after a slight pause. His gaze had turned slightly darker as if the very name itself had power over him.

"I've never heard of something like that. You might not find me useful."

"No need. You are a mercenary who has without doubt traveled far and wide. You shall guide me through this world and its countless places. Thank you in advance," said Monkey optimistically, his gaze turning bright and cheerful.

Soran smirked. Here it was: what he had been looking for all this time. He had questioned Monkey's intentions, but now he was certain. An adventure was finally at hand, and in truth, he could not wait to get it started!

"I'll take your offer! Let's get down to business."

Monkey and Soran once again locked hands in a firm grip, but this time around it was not a test of vigor or strength. Nay, this time around, their destinies had linked together and bonded. Before them would lie a tale that would be told for millennia to come, among gods and peasants alike.