Headed by a Snake
Chapter 3 Defending Her Honor

Tycondrius stared at his dim, golden-eyed reflection in the water.

It wouldn't have been troublesome if his pupils were merely uniquely colored. The entire sclera of his eyes were a mottled and cracked yellowish gold and his pupils were black elliptical slits.

Tycon groaned in annoyance-- he had the eyes of a nocturnal predator, hence the excellent night vision. He also induced that the shape of his pupils also improved his horizontal peripheral vision.

Was he... some kind of humanoid snake... Or a reptile...? Tycon's initial shock had worn off and had been replaced with annoyance.

« System, inquiry: What is... my species? »

[System response: Host's species is medusa.]

Hm. So this is a world where the medusa and gorgon species are different-- that wasn't terribly surprising.

Tycon took a deep breath in through his nostrils and exhaled into an irritated sigh. Every creature he had seen thus far had been human. Him being... not would greatly hinder his ability to move about freely.

« System, inquiry: Is there a way to make my eyes look human? »

[System response: Medusae are capable of repressing their supernatural ocular abilities so as to not affect allies and their young. Medusa society refers to this as "dimming."]

Tycon grumbled in frustration as he stared into the washbowl, trying to learn how to manipulate the muscles in his eyes.

…

Ignoring the protests of his empty belly, Tycon only emerged from his room a half-bell later. By then, he was thoroughly confident in dimming his vision and just as confident that he could eat an entire grilled haunch of a moderately-sized non-sentient.

Upon exiting his room, he strolled downstairs and through a loud cacophony of people, all patrons of the dining hall. A colorful bard fiddled a festive tune while she danced on a stage, armored men argued over a deck of cards, and a short-haired waitress skillfully dodged a pair of running children, while balancing a tray of frothy mugs.

Everyone in the dining hall was human. Of course, they would be. Learning to dim his vision was not time spent wasted.

Tycon observed that smaller weapons, like swords and daggers, were openly worn by the armored men and women. Heavier weapons: crossbows, halberds, and a needlessly large greataxe, were checked in by the inn's entrance, locked in a keyed metal cage.

He scoffed inwardly at the unwieldy greataxe. The monstrosity likely belonged to a skilless braggart. It was highly unlikely that the weapon's owner was both strong and large enough to put it to good use.

Mentally filing away the sights, sounds, and smells, he returned his attention to the quest he held of utmost importance: To fill his mouth and belly with delicious sustenance.

As he maneuvered his way through the tables, he noticed a number of unfriendly gazes upon him-- his vision and senses remained excellent, even though his eyes were dimmed.

« System, inquiry: What is the highest power level in the dining hall? »

[System response: The highest power level in the dining hall is a Level 15--]

« System, change setting: Use the Metallic Ranking system. »

[Understood. The highest power level in the dining hall is Bronze.]

Tycon didn't care to learn the System's complicated measurements, so he changed its settings to match what he knew. Bronze was a relatively brittle metal, still more than capable of killing a man. Iron was stronger than that, more reliable. It seemed self-explanatory.

With the highest power level being only Bronze, Tycon returned the hostile stares, grinning fearlessly. If there was any danger to be had in the dining hall, it would be from him.

The many pairs of staring eyes turned away, averting their eyes when caught.

Even humans must obey the rule of the strong, The powerful rule without contest and the weak avert their eyes in shame.

Upon finding an empty table seat, an attentive waitress arrived at Tycon's side almost immediately. "Hello, my name is Sorina, and I'll be your wench today!"

A what? No, he must have misheard.

The young human woman was of marriageable age, with neat short, brown hair. She might have been pretty. Tycon didn't particularly care.

He ordered a meat dish and two ales. Sorina cheerfully memorized his order and hurried off to the kitchens... though her departure prompted trouble to visit his table.

A dark-haired young man, the bridge of his nose marred by a scar stepped up onto the bench opposite Tycon, then planted a boot upon the table, leaning forward on his knee. Three light-armored, nasty-looking thugs backed him from behind. They probably thought they looked intimidating.

With a scowl, the man raised his voice, "You messin' with my girl, boy?"

Tycon sighed in annoyance. Perhaps the fool standing on his table thought he was defending Miss Sorina's honor? Was it because Tycon was incredibly handsome? He hoped it was not because he looked easy to coerce. That would be inconvenient.

Tycon pursed his lips, observing the few ruffians with pity. They did not look very strong.

"Your name?" Tycon asked with a sigh.

The mercenary paused momentarily. Had he forgotten? What kind of idiot forgets their name? "The name's Barza!! Of the Shadowdark Wolves! Remember my name, villainous sc-"

Tycon held up a single finger, interrupting Barza's passionate speech. "Very well, Mister Barza." He confidently gazed into the man's eyes, "No. I was not, in fact, 'messing' with Miss Sorina."

"Well... It LOOKED LIKE Y--"

"If you wish to challenge me to a duel, do so now, Mister Barza," Tycon offered with a hint of impatience.

"OU… YOU-- Wait, what?"

The ruffian furrowed his eyes in disbelief. Tycon's proposition had clearly caught him unaware. The arrogant glares of his companions turned from confident to confused. They glanced at each other, unsure of how to proceed.

Humans don't expect conflict. It's a strange hypocrisy.

Tycon spoke clearly and with measured words, hoping he could make even the most foolish of their number understand, "Mister Barza, I haven't had a decent meal in what feels like several suns. Please forgive me, as I'm in a very, very poor mood."

Neither Barza nor his men would meet Tycon's gaze. Were they even listening?

Tycon sucked in air through his teeth, exceedingly annoyed. He had strongly considered gutting the man on the spot-- he was certain he could maim and kill the lot of them. But he worried that the resulting hassle would result in a denial of his promised meal.

"Now, unless you have business with someone far above your station or are willing to die without a complete corpse, I suggest you..." Tycon bared his teeth, his voice carrying a tinge of threat, "--Find a different table."

Barza, the cowardly looking man audibly gulped. His lackey companions looked around the dining hall-- perhaps for other open tables.

Worthless trash.

Tycon just wanted a decent meal. No, he WOULD have one, even if he had to murder four men in a dining hall entirely filled with armed adventurers.

He gnashed his teeth, insulted by the amount of disrespect he'd received.

Conflict was troublesome-- but not something to be feared. Underneath the table, Tycon quietly released the catch on his sword. A single strike was all he needed to kill each of them. After all, his opponents were merely human.

But before Tycon could draw his blade... the shadow of a giant that fell upon the table.

The biggest man in the dining hall had approached from behind Barza and his three companions, three heads taller than any of them. Barza and his goons looked like children in comparison.

"Hey, Boss! Finally up?" The red-headed giant spoke with a booming voice, waving casually.

With a jovial smile, the giant sat at the table, the bench loudly creaking beneath his weight. With a meaty finger, he pushed Barza's boot off of the table.

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