Under a large tree in the swamps outside of Dunric, a slightly old-ish man sat cross legged, slightly tired from his walk across the bridge and city. His hands lay resting in his lap, and his eyes seemed closed under the shade of his hat. The musty and damp air of the area affect him naught, for his nostrils had become used to it in the few hours he'd been here.
But in reality, he was quite awake. His mind was concentrating on clearing itself up, but he was failing to do it. He could not help but think about the situation of the city and nation. They were living in the terror of a certain organization known as The Order. Certainly not very order-like, considering its genocidal activities. It was a criminal organization, with no right to create such havoc and terror in a civilization.
He had to make up his mind. He had to either leave the place as it was, or he could attempt to step in. It all depended on his view of the balanced out situation. Would it hurt the balance of the world and timeline if he were to step in? Were the Order meant to succeed? If so, he'd be interfering with the natural order of things. But genocide and terror was also against the natural balance of humanity and nature. Neutrality or taking a side.
A hard choice.
The belief that he and his entire monastery followed was that the world followed a set Path, one that would eventually lead to a perpetual living death of the Universe, in which all change would end, causing everyone to be stuck in time. But this Path could easily be changed by one aware of it, which would lead to an artificial destruction of mankind, using a type of those Landeian bombs. Or something like it.
Which is why he was reluctant to step in. The slightest change, so early in the Path, could have disastrous consequences, like a premature ending of the Path. He sighed. This was what made him and his fellows so slow in life. Each major change had to be meditated upon, and planned about. Sometimes, he had the thought of disregarding it entirely, and following a new way of life, for it seemed contradictory in nature, and very much against the new ideas of living like it didn't matter.
But he always ignored those impulses. Although his teachings also encouraged free thought and free will, he tried to not doubt the theory of the Path. It would be like questioning the purpose of one's whole life, something he wouldn't want to do, for doubt was the first sign of incompetence and failure. It could affect him incredibly, especially if it was when he was manipulating his chakra gates. He could die because of a slight notion of doubt.
It was this train of thought that was causing him much trouble in meditation. Purging his mind of all this monologue, he attempted once more to fall into a state of meditation, but was interrupted once more by the sound of someone, or some many people, walking through the swamp towards him. He opened his eyes to see a group of three men, with swords in their hands. This could not bode well. They were probably bandits of some sort, considering the sudden sparsity of Order men.
One of them spoke in an accent he recognized to be from the ghetto-ish part of the city, some place he had tried to avoid in the first place. "Old man, stop sleeping in such a place. Don't you know, this place is populated by....... *hick* bandits?" Oh brilliant, he thought. They were drunk too. At what time, now? Something like three o' clock in the morning, and they were drunk. The populace here was terrible, and also terribly treated. He replied in kind, with a slightly harsh tone "Well, I am aware. But if anything, they should be the ones afraid of me, because not all that glitters is gold, and not all that is dull is coal. Also, I am not "old man", so I'd rather have you not refer to me like that."
They didn't speak any more than a slight grunt, and then spat right in front of him. He stayed calm, and stopped himself from getting irritated, and then spoke again "Can you leave now?" This must have offended their silly little ego's, as they raised their swords in a reluctant unison, and rushed him in a drunk and feral fury. Their weapons wavered as they attacked, so they weren't much of a threat, really. He sidestepped them, and then kicked sideways at the first one. Immediately, his foot made contact with his hypochondrium, and made a thwack sound. The man's body fell forcefully to the ground, and his friends stopped to look at him. He didn't get up, since his head had made contact with a rock, causing him to start bleeding, and get knocked out.
"Again, I'd rather you leave my presence." he said, once again as a warning. He wasn't gonna waste any energy on these chaps. He could easily take them with just one hand.
They irrationally attacked him again, although they couldn't entirely be blamed for their drunken actions. He didn't even move. All he had to do was just stand there, until they walked right into his raised fists. It was almost embarrassing, really. As they fell to the ground, Tiberius jumped onto the back of their heads, lightly standing on them. It would keep them ground into the dirt for now.
But it was nearly time for him to head back. Usually, he'd sleep in the country side, on the ground, but in the swamp of Dunric, he couldn't exactly do that. He mulled over his residence choices for the next minute, with a slight "Hmmmmmmmmm", still standing on the heads of the fallen men.