Aetherios System [Slow Build OP MC, Isekai LitRPG/Cultivation] Chapter 164: Book 3: Chapter 20: Tattoo Parlor (Pt.1)

Read chapter 164 of Aetherios System [Slow Build OP MC, Isekai LitRPG/Cultivation] by TTReynolds on NovelPedia.

Book 3: Chapter 20: Tattoo Parlor (Pt.1) Chapter 20: Tattoo Parlor (Pt.1) For a long moment, no one breathed around the fight arena. The silence around the crater was broken only by Beithin’s wet coughs, his soft laughter, and the faint crackle of settling rock in the crater surrounding them both. Dozens of eyes stared down at the two men, the earth-born Cresselian gasping in the ruin, and Alex standing over him with his aura fading, one fist still smoldering with residual purple-black aether. Alex saw all the mercenaries around them watching with shocked expressions. They didn’t have the look of men and women watching another brawl. It was the look of predators realizing another, even bigger, predator had just stepped into the den. Murmurs broke the stillness first. Alex heard a clearing of someone’s throat. A hissed curse. A half-choked “...fuck me.” Fear rippled across their faces, tempered with awe. Some leaned back, others clutched weapons as if by instinct. Then, from somewhere in the crowd, a single cheer split the air. A nervous, uncertain sound, yet it was enough. Like a dam bursting, others followed. Applause, hollers, a rough cheer that built into a roar. Some clapped their fists against their armor, others stomped the ground. Excitement and reverence tangled with fear, but it spread all the same. Alex, the strange human with fire in his veins, had done what few could imagine, he’d broken Beithin. At the crater’s edge a young man shoved forward, a human, wiry but broad in the shoulders, late twenties at most. His dark hair was tied back, his jaw squared, and his nose a bit too small for his face. Alex recognized him as the second-in-command of Beithin’s squad. He dropped down carefully, boots crunching on the cracked stone, and crouched by Beithin’s side. From his belt, he pulled a thick vial of potion, the liquid inside glowing a soft ruby hue. Without a word, he pressed it to Beithin’s lips. The Cresselian drank deep, grimacing as the magic took hold and begin resetting his insides. Blood at his chin was carefully wiped away by the younger man’s sleeve. His chest rose easier, his eyes clearing as the healing began to mend shattered ribs and bruised flesh. The human wrapped one arm under Beithin’s and pulled him slowly upright, the larger man leaning heavy against him. Beithin’s jaw was tight, but his eyes never left Alex, assessing him, his spirit still not entirely defeated. The cheers still thundered, echoing across the caravan camp. And Alex? He simply exhaled, shaking out his aching hand as he stepped back, letting Beithin stand. A healing potion of his own appeared from his bracelet, and Alex drank down the contents, feeling the ache in his arm and side begin to ease. The roar of the mercenaries still thundered when Beithin raised one bruised, bloodied hand for silence. His second hand steadied him by grabbing his lieutenant’s shoulder, but the Cresselian’s spine straightened as though he carried a mountain on his back and refused to let it bend. His words carried well, strong and even, despite his bruised insides. “The deal… is honored.” A groan rippled through the mercenaries around them. Some spat into the dirt, others cursed under their breath, but none dared challenge it. Beithin’s word was stone, and stone did not break—unless it was Alex punching it. His lips tugged into a smile, faint but real. He stepped forward, extending his hand. Beithin clasped it in a grip like firm granite, and for a moment they locked eyes, warrior to warrior. Not as enemies, nor quite as friends, but with an understanding forged only in the crucible of violence. When they broke apart, Alex walked to the cloth on the ground and collected the reagents he’d fought for, sliding them carefully into his bracelet’s storage. He left behind a pouch of gold and a few smaller items from his own stock, a fair trade, which he paid without complaint. Then he turned, heading through the dispersing circle back to his friends. Ghrukk and his