The chocolate elf took Isidor by the hand and dragged him off. Sasha was a verbally quiet young lady but had no issue acting upon her impulses and curiosities. 

...It was a disservice to the city of Caeruleum that Tycon unleashed the two of them... but their little 'adventure' without supervision would be conducive to their growth. 

Lone had the privilege of choosing their destination. It was his Name-day, after all. The two of them traveled to a different tavern: dirtier, cheaper, and with a larger collection of unwashed adventurers than the Broken Drum. 

Tycon swirled his wine cup, noting not one, but two still-living flies, struggling within it. He calmly called over one of the tavern waitstaff. He was provided with a decanter. 

It would do. 

"So, Mister Lone. How does this go?"

Lone downed his wine-- notably without utilizing the decanter to de-fly it first.

"Well... usually, we wait for a well-off young master to come in, then we take him into the back alleys and shake him down for all he's worth."

Tycon narrowed his gaze into thin slits. During their very first meeting, Lone's guild attempted that very plan with him as the target, "I'd like a different plan, please."

Lone placed a hand on the back of his neck, "Oh, right. That might not go so well." 

The young Ranger was the only survivor of his previous guild. Tycon murdered the rest of them in ruthless and b.l.o.o.d.y fas.h.i.+on with bolt, steel, and spell... and a spine-breaking constriction. 

"Well..." Lone bared his teeth, grinding them lightly in thought, "--we could just start a fight and take the wallets of the loser?"

Tycon furrowed his brows... "Very well. Seems... logical, enough. Shall I?"

Lone wore a worried expression, "Boss, I don't really think you'd be good at that."

"Nonsense," Tycon frowned. "How hard could it be? If I were to ignore the fact that this tavern smells like weeks-old unwashed undergarments, I could find fighting words calling attention to the Tyrions' unbrushed teeth; feebleminded, racist bigotry; and the looming stench of poverty that hangs over them all."

Lone frowned, nodding, "I don't want to fight the entire tavern, Boss."

"...Oh." Tycon averted his gaze for a moment. He gestured to Lone, "Then, please."

It was no time for Tycon to practice something he was apparently unskilled with. It was best to allow an 'expert' to demonstrate their prowess. 

He sipped on his wine as he watched Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, saunter over to... admittedly, the poorest-looking fellow in the tavern. 

It was good to start with a low-difficulty target, challenging higher difficulties from there. He imagined that with Lone sleeping outdoors for several moons, he'd be out of practice. 

...Right. They had both been away from civilization for some time. After this endeavor, the next order of business was a trip to the public baths. 

"Hey, old man!!" Lone slammed his hands down on the poor adventurer's table, startling him. 

⟬ Unranked Human Beggar. ⟭

The older gentleman with a malnourished pallor shrank at Lone's unwarranted aggression, "Wh-what do you want?" 

Lone sneered, the muscular Ranger looking down at his prey, "Give me all your money."

With his battle-scarred appearance, Lone struck a fearsome and unfriendly appearance. Tycon supposed if he, himself, was an Unranked human, he'd be obeisant to such a confident command. 

"I... I don't have nothing on me," The old man frowned, his eyes sparkling with a hint of tears. "I... I been robbed a coupl'a nights ago... P-please don't hurt me."

Lone looked down at the old adventurer's fare. It consisted of discarded bread heels, a small bowl of broth, and a cup of water. 

"You must... really be hungry," He glared.

"Y-yes... I... I am." 

Lone raised his hand as if to strike the beggar. 

Tycon held his breath. Arrogance. Ruthlessness. His friend was being quite heartless, but this was how this world worked. The weak were trampled underfoot, while the strong grew in power. If these tactics could get Sol Invictus the coin they needed to survive comfortably, then so be it. 

A waiter approached the beggar's table and addressed Lone, "How can I help you, sir?"

Lone scowled at the waitstaff, "Get this man today's special-- on my coin."

"Right away, sirs."

Tycon's face fell, his forehead striking against the table. At the last moment, he had the cognizance to hold onto his winecup so it wouldn't spill. 

...

Lone returned to Tycon's table looking quite proud of himself.

Tycon spent a large amount of willpower and... he felt like it cost him mana to *not* use a Third-Circle ⌈Vexing Gaze⌋ on him. 

Lone sat down, his expression suddenly changing to one of shame. He looked away, not meeting Tycon's glare... "I uh... I failed, Boss."

" Y e s . " Tycon gnashed his teeth, " Y o u d i d . "

The Ranger turned back with a wide smile, "But I did a good deed."

« System, activate ⌈Vexing Gaze⌋. »

⟬ Warning: The target is a Trusted ally. Continue activation? Y/N? ⟭

Tycon took in a deeeeep breath through his nostrils... and exhaled... slowing his heart rate, returning him to a calmer state. 

...Then he took a second breath. 

« System, disregard. Do not activate. »

⟬ Understood. ⟭

Tycon twisted his lips into a hard grimace, "Just... do it again. And pick a wealthier mark, if you would."

"Got it, Boss," Lone nodded hurriedly, eager to please. 

Lone stood from the table and immediately swaggered over to a trio of filthy adventurers. They looked a bit wealthier, but they were the third-strongest group in the tavern. 

The most outspoken gentleman amongst them was a large, bearded fellow who looked almost fat on account of his underlying musculature. 

⟬ Bronze-Rank Human Warrior. ⟭

Lone's new target had more promise than his last. 

With an antagonistic scowl on his face, Barza Keith, the Lone Shadowdark, insulted the man's mother.