100

Hadjar looked up from his beer and gazed at the speaker. He wasn’t surprised to see Eon Mrax in front of him. The sectarian hadn’t really changed since the last time he’d seen him, apart from the new, long scar on his frowning face.

“Hello,” Hadjar said.

Eon, like before, picked up a jug from a passing serving girl’s tray. The girl started to say something to the impudent man, but then stopped. She could feel the pressure of the Spirit Knight’s aura. In these backwater places, he was like a Lord in the capital — someone a person didn’t want to argue with. With a stuttering, apologetic whisper, the girl darted away, fleeing between the other tables.

“You’ve gotten stronger.” Mrax took a sip from the jug. Then, with a grimace, he set it aside. “Shall we go outside or do it right here?”

Hadjar drained his beer in one gulp. Wiping his lips, he looked into Eon’s eyes. During his adventures, Hadjar had forgotten that the sect that worshipped the Enemy had been added to his long list of prob
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