Ruger turned his head and glanced to one side. Mahama, a burly man, was already looking somewhat dumbfounded. Over at the street corner, two women had seized the opportunity to run their hands over Wizard Zorn's chest hair. The sight was striking, and considering who he was made it feel all the more peculiar.
Wizards came in all sorts.
Ruger had already forgotten where he had first heard those words.
Far in the distance, Heaven Pillar Mountain, which simulated the rising sun and setting moon, had gone completely dark. This nameless island and nameless city belonged entirely to bonfires and laughter now. The scent of cheap liquor and roasted meat of wildly varying quality mingled with the cheers and firelight, drifting freely through the streets and alleys.
Mahama gradually relaxed as well.
The cheering, milling crowds in the streets had blocked their view. Many people were pulling one another into dances, and they could no longer see the chest hair being endlessly fondled in that distant corner.
Ruger looked at Mahama and found it rather amusing.
Having come from a tiny Kobold den, he had seen little of the world, and everything about the supernatural world remained hazy to him. Certain deep-rooted assumptions had yet to take hold, and he had not developed a rigid way of thinking. The shock was therefore less severe, and accepting things came more naturally.
But that only extended to watching the fun. Ruger felt rather thankful for his appearance. The mistaken belief that he and Mahama were God-Gifted had afforded them a measure of peace. Otherwise, the thick-waisted, broad-shouldered cook nearby would already have dragged them over to dance.
Some people called out the beat, using simple shouts to keep everyone's steps in time. Holding hands, they laughed and kicked their lower legs out