The man stared at the white stick tucked between Fyar’s fingers before accepting it with so hesitation. His hand felt stiff.
"Here’s how," Fyar said in a low voice. He brought his own cigarette to his lips, inhaling slowly until the tip glowed red, then exhaled a thin stream of smoke into the air. "Inhale, then exhale."
Driven by curiosity, the man watched intently, then mimicked Fyar’s movents. As a result, he imdiately choked. A harsh cough wracked his body, his face flushing red as he fought the stinging in his throat.
"Either you’re not used to it, or you’re doing it wrong. Try again," Fyar said without any change in his expression. He simply watched the man try to catch his breath.
The man took a deep breath, then tried a second ti. This ti, it worked. Smoke left his mouth without making him cough. He repeated the motion, this ti with a calr style, as if he had found a new sense of confidence.
This feeling... it’s strange. Interesting. What is this? The burden on my shoulders feels lighter. This little thing gives a bit of peace. The man’s eyes widened slightly as the sensation of nicotine began to spread.
"Good, isn’t it?" Fyar’s voice broke his reverie, with a slight hint of mockery in it. "That thing you’re smoking is called a cigarette. It’s from my hotown." Fyar paused for a mont, then continued, "Your question about that has been answered. Now, go away."
"You haven’t answered our other questions," the red-haired woman beside the man retorted. Her voice was sharp.
Fyar let out a long breath, a trace of reluctance clear on his face. "I don’t want to be disturbed. Fine, sit down. Wait until I finish eating, then I’ll answer." He pointed to the empty chairs at his table with his chin.
Not long after, Laura arrived carrying a tray with Fyar’s order. Her eyes swept over the table, noticing Fyar was now accompanied by two won and a foreign man. A faint frown appeared on her forehead.
"Sir Fyar," Laura called cautiously, "are they your friends?"
"No," Fyar answered flatly, his eyes fixed on the food that had just been set down. "They’re beggars. Just ignore them."
"WHAT DID YOU SAY!" The red-haired woman slamd the table and shot to her feet. Anger flashed in her eyes. The man beside her quickly grabbed her arm, forcing her to sit back down.
"Very well, Sir Fyar." Laura gave a slight bow, then hurried away from the table, sensing the tense atmosphere.
Fyar began to eat his food. His movents were quick and voracious, his focus solely on the plate before him, oblivious to the three pairs of eyes staring at him strangely.
"Are you that hungry? Are you a vagrant?" the red-haired woman sneered.
This damn woman. If no one else were here, I would have shot her already. Fyar seethed internally, but his face remained calm, as if he hadn’t heard her remark.
After his plate was clean, Fyar slowly set down his utensils. He leaned back in his chair and looked at them one by one. "Who are you? And why are you so curious?"
The man who had been smoking took a card from his pocket and slid it toward Fyar.
Fyar picked up the card. Its surface was smooth, with neatly engraved text.
Zaefal
Age 28
Level 20
Status: Active Adventurer, Party Leader
Class: Hunter
Level Up Progress: 80%
Requirent for level 30 promotion unlocks at level 29
This... is like a ga. Level, status, class. It’s like an ID card from my world. Was I really thrown into a world like this? Damn it. What am I supposed to do? My only power is this gun with less than fifty bullets left. A sliver of anxiety crept over Fyar as he continued to stare at the card in his hand.
He returned the card to Zaefal. His gaze then shifted to the red-haired woman. As if understanding his look, the woman crossed her arms over her chest.
"My na is Rasie. Level 29. Hunter. I’m not giving my card to a weirdo like you," she said curtly.
Ugh, I really want to shoot her in the mouth, Fyar cursed inwardly.
Fyar then turned to the green-haired woman next to her. "And you?"
Unlike Rasie, the woman gave him a gentle smile. "I’m Illya. Level 17, a Witch. It’s nice to et you."
Now, this one is polite. I like her. Fyar took another breath, longer this ti. "I’m Fyar. I’m new here. My clothes are strange because I co from a place that is very, very far away. This is the typical attire of my culture. I don’t belong to any party, and my adventurer card is lost."
"Do you know your level and class?" Zaefal asked.
"No. I’ve also lost my mory," Fyar decided to lie. It would make things easier.
"Lost your mory?" Illya looked surprised, her eyes widening.
Fyar nodded. "I woke up in the forest this morning. I don’t know anything else. All I rember is my na and a little about my culture."
I hope they don’t ask how I rember how to smoke. If they do, I can just say it was a remaining instinct. Fyar had already prepared a backup answer in his head.
"This thing you call a cigarette is truly enjoyable," Zaefal remarked, taking another drag from the cigarette in his hand. "I’ve never experienced anything like it. Your hotown must be very isolated."
"You walked all the way from the forest to get here? How did you get past the gate without a card?" Rasie asked, her gaze full of suspicion.
Fyar had anticipated that question. He decided to tell a part of the truth. "After waking up in the forest, I killed a many-legged, one-eyed monster. Then I found a water source to clean myself up. I kept walking until I heard screaming. I found four bandits harassing an old man and a woman. I killed all four of them, then asked the old man for help to get to the city and give a little money."
Fyar paused, letting them process his story. "It happened that the gate guards seed to know the old man, so they let us in without an inspection. And that’s my story."
The three adventurers looked slightly shocked. They wondered to themselves how a person who claid to have lost his mory and powers could kill four bandits alone.
Zaefal leaned forward slightly. "What was the old man’s na, if you don’t mind asking? It’s rare for the guards to bend the rules."
"Eutas," Fyar answered simply.
Zaefal, Rasie, and Illya exchanged glances. A silent understanding passed between them. The na Eutas was well-respected in this city.
"How did you kill them?" Rasie was still not satisfied. "Bandits are usually between level six and nine. Whereas you..."
"That’s...," Fyar offered a faint smile. Before they could ask anything else, he added, "Oh, right, there’s sothing I wanted to ask. When I took an emblem from one of the bandits, Eutas and his daughter looked terrified. They panicked."
Panicked? Zaefal thought.
"What kind of emblem?" Rasie asked quickly.
"A black skull," Fyar replied.
Instantly, the air at the table seed to freeze. The faces of the three adventurers turned pale. Zaefal’s confidence, Rasie’s arrogance, and Illya’s gentleness vanished in an instant, replaced by expressions of shock and a deep, profound fear. It was as if Fyar had just uttered a forbidden na that should never have been spoken.
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