Will of the Battlefield

The tension rose. The toilet fell into an eerie silence for a brief moment, the only sound being the occasional plop of water droplets falling from the faucet and hitting the booth’s floor.

In that awkward stillness, Thane’s grip tightened, his knuckles turning white. His expression was tense, his patience wearing thin.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, his voice sharp with anger.

Contrary to his hostility, the two men seemed amused. A smirk played on their lips, as if Thane was nothing more than an entertaining child to them.

The one in blue robes finally spoke. "Young man, you have much to learn. And in fact, you were the one who told us that."

Thane wasn’t in the mood for riddles. "Are you screwing with me, you damn geezers?"

In a flash of irritation, he hurled his cup of coffee at the blue-robed man.

Something extraordinary happened.

The cup halted along with a slight buzz, a buzz that Thane had experienced before.

The buzz only he, himself, was able to sense in the crowd.

Then, it reversed course, hovering back toward Thane.

Splash.

The tall boy found himself soaked in the bitter, lukewarm liquid.

The man in white robes observed him, his expression hidden behind the hood. "Kid, this anger of yours—learn to wield it as a weapon. Right now, you’re not only foolish but also severely lacking in self-cont—"

A low chuckle echoed in the empty restroom, cutting him off.

"HAHAHAHA..."

It belonged to none other than Thane Ironforge. He wiped the dripping coffee from his face, his lips curling into a wide grin as he stepped forward.

The blue-robed man remained unbothered, exuding an aura of authority no ordinary person could oppose. Yet, Thane stood before him without hesitation.

His grin widened. "That was you."

The blue-robed man raised a brow. "Come again?"

Thane tried to get a clear look at his face but couldn’t—some strange power obscured it. But that didn’t stop him.

"You were the one who caused the earthquake with a single shout. You stopped Edniot Quintess from killing Willa Martinez. And just now, you threw back the coffee in midair using buzzing air."

Thane knew it was them, but until this very moment, he couldn’t tell which of them was the source.

He held his ground, unshaken. "Now that I’ve seen it firsthand, I’m certain of my judgment."

The two old men exchanged a glance.

Buzzing air was a rather dumb way of explaining sound waves.

The blue-robed man sighed. "Did he just pretend to be angry so he could confirm it was us who caused the tremor?"

"Oh, that? No." Thane shrugged. "I really am pissed and confused. How do you guys know about me? Wait... did Pops tell you beforehand? Damn that old man, he’s dead meat, I swear."

Once again, the two men found themselves perplexed. They couldn’t decide whether Thane was a genius or a fool—or perhaps both.

The white-robed man gestured toward Thane’s wrist. "The bracelet. It bears a unique hammer symbol, with engravings in a lost language. That hammer is the sigil of the Ironforge family.

And you’re wearing a silver one. The Ironforge clan has four types of bracelets: an iron one for regular clan members, copper bracelet for main bloodline, a silver one for heirs, and the black one. Made from an unknown material, worn only by the clan head. Yours is silver."

Thane’s eyes lit up. "Whoa, you geezers are sharp. How’d you figure all that out?"

The white-robed man clicked his tongue. "Why do you keep calling us geezers?"

Thane scratched his head. "I don’t know. My gut just tells me you guys are old... and powerful."

The blue-robed man chuckled and slowly removed his hood, revealing his face.

Thane leaned forward eagerly—but as he took in the man’s features, his grin gradually faded. His heart skipped a beat.

The man was indeed old. Bald at the front but with a thick patch of hair on the back and sides, long sideburns that connected to a similarly dense white beard, and nearly hidden lips. His monolid eyes and rounded eyebrows suited his face.

But that wasn’t what unsettled Thane.

It was the markings on his face.

Three curved lines trailed down from his left eye like tears, while two ran horizontally across his cheekbones.

Each of these lines represented power.

The Blessed were marked by the number of lines on their faces, each pattern unique to the individual.

Upon reaching the age of eighteen, one received a single line and a gift—an ability granted by their blessing.

As they honed their skills, they grew stronger, eventually breaking through to the next stage. Every two-line breakthrough granted them a new gift.

The man before Thane bore five lines.

That meant he had three gifts.

Thane had expected him to be strong—but not this strong. He had assumed, at most, three lines.

This blue-robed man was the most powerful person he had ever encountered.

"You’re... a Five-Lined Blessed." His voice wavered for the first time. The old man wasn’t even exuding hostility, yet Thane felt a crushing pressure in the air.

At that moment, another voice broke the silence.

"Aren’t we supposed to be hiding our faces?" the white-robed man complained as he pulled back his own hood.

Unlike his companion, this man wasn’t quite old. His slicked-back gray hair was neatly trimmed at the sides, complementing his sharp features and s-shaped eyebrows.

He sported a well-groomed Van Dyke beard, his eyes piercing and unwavering.

And just like the first man—he had five lines on his face.

A second wave of pressure slammed into Thane.

His lips felt dry. He subconsciously licked them, but it didn’t help.

Then, something clicked in his mind.

He took a moment to assess himself.

"Wait... am I... afraid?"