My Taming System Makes Me Overpowered

Brian stared at Vesper’s outstretched hand for a long moment, the wide grin on his scarred face slowly fading into a look of dry amusement. He folded his massive, chain-wrapped arms across his chest and leaned back against the table, tilting his head as the dim lantern light caught the old battle marks etched across his features.

”Tempting,” Brian rumbled, a dark chuckle vibrating deep in his chest. ”It really is. But it sounds a whole lot like a you problem, shadow. Why would you want to put the Death Crows at risk for Duke Owen’s personal crusade?”

Vesper didn’t pull his hand back right away. He merely raised an eyebrow, a mocking smirk touching his lips as the noise of the surrounding tavern pressed in around them—the clink of mugs, the low murmur of gamblers, the distant roar from the fighting pits. ”What’s the matter, Brian? You scared of a little risk? Seems like your time out of real action in this pit has made you soft.”

Brian’s eyes flared. A thunderous, terrifying laugh erupted from his throat, raw and booming enough to silence the crowd for a heartbeat. Heads turned. Conversations died. Even the nearest fighters paused mid-drink.

”Soft?!” Brian bellowed, slamming a massive fist against his chest hard enough to make the chains rattle. ”I am Brian the Executioner for a reason! I’ve painted these sands with the blood of a hundred gladiators!”

He wiped a tear of laughter from his eye, shaking his head as the tension in the room slowly bled away into uneasy chuckles and resumed chatter. ”That being said... even if I agree to tag along for the thrill of it, I highly doubt the rest of the gang is going to be so willing to jump into a fight with an anomaly who erases commanders.”

”I guess we’ll just have to take a vote on it,” Vesper said smoothly, catching his blood-red coin mid-air and sliding it back into his pocket with practiced ease. ”After a little convincing, of course.”

Brian smirked, crossing his arms tighter across his broad chest. ”And what do you think your odds are?”

Vesper offered a lazy, dangerous grin that never quite reached his eyes. ”Let’s leave that to luck.”

Brian let out another boisterous bark of laughter, shaking his head in something close to nostalgia. ”Some things never change. You’ve always been a reckless gambler, Vesper... just as much as you are a master assassin.”

”What can I say?” Vesper replied casually, tossing his head back with a wink. ”Talent runs deep.”

”Well, you’re in luck,” Brian said, stepping back toward the open cage door. The heavy iron bars still dripped with sand and old blood. ”The rest of the gang is meeting up at the Grim Spire tomorrow at four in the afternoon. If you seek an audience with the Death Crows, be there.”

”Thanks, pal,” Vesper said, inclining his head slightly.

”No worries,” Brian grunted, grabbing his massive war-cleaver off the bloody sand with one hand. The weapon looked almost comically oversized even in his grip. ”Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to the ring. These fools aren’t going to slaughter themselves. See you at four.”

As Brian strode back into the cage to face a fresh wave of trembling opponents, the crowd’s roar swelled once more. Vesper lingered near the shadow of the support beam for a few moments longer, watching the brutal spectacle with cool indifference. Steel clashed. Sand flew. A man screamed. Vesper’s expression never changed. Then he turned and vanished quietly back out into the neon-lit streets of Malgrath, swallowed by the city’s restless night.

Miles away, the dark purple sky over the red-rock canyon was beginning to pale into the faint, greyish hue of pre-dawn twilight. The last stars flickered weakly above the jagged ridgelines.

The campfire had died down to a bed of glowing, crimson coals, casting a soft, uneven warmth over the small camp. Lyrielle lay fast asleep, resting her head peacefully against Vince’s lap, her breathing slow and even. Vetra remained wrapped tightly in her bedroll on the opposite side of the clearing, her steady breathing the only other sound in the quiet night.

Vince sat upright against the smooth boulder, his dark purple eyes staring out into the pitch-black abyss of the canyon walls. The night air carried the faint scent of dust and distant sage. Nothing moved. Nothing should have moved.

Suddenly, Vince’s gaze snapped to a jagged rock formation fifty yards away.

His eyes narrowed. In that split second, his hyper-honed instincts and passive perception picked up a microscopic shift in the spatial air pressure—something so subtle it barely registered as real. Was it a beast? Or was it the wind? He couldn’t tell. The sensation vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, gone before he could fully make sense of it.

TAP.

The moment Vince focused his perception directly onto the location, the sensation vanished into thin air—erased so smoothly that it left no trace of mana or scent behind. No residual heat. No displaced grit. Nothing.

Vince didn’t leap up. He didn’t wake Lyrielle or draw a weapon. He simply sat there in silence, his expression calm and calculating as he analyzed the brief encounter with cold precision.

If whatever that was wanted to attack us, it would have struck while we were setting up camp, Vince thought rationally, his mind breaking down the situation piece by piece. It didn’t engage. It merely observed and erased its presence the moment I locked onto it.

He let out a low, quiet breath, brushing a stray lock of hair from Lyrielle’s forehead with careful fingers. Her brow remained smooth in sleep.

Probably a tracker, he concluded smoothly, brushing the lingering tension from his mind the way one might brush dust from a sleeve. No point in stressing over a ghost in the dark.

With only a few hours left until morning, Vince shifted slightly, resting his back more comfortably against the boulder. The coals behind him pulsed once, then dimmed further. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to drift into a light sleep, completely unbothered by the shadow still lurking somewhere beyond the horizon.

Whatever was coming... he would break it all the same.