In the dimly lit tavern, I was eating my al, tearing into a hefty piece of chicken. After a journey that had lasted two nights, I had finally arrived at my destination. I had been searching for them for nearly a week now. Of course, I still hadn’t found the Hero or his mother. Mainly because the novel hadn’t specified their exact location. All I knew was that they were hiding sowhere in the forest to the north. That was it.
With information so limited, finding them was turning out to be more difficult than I had expected. Ti was running out, and with every passing second, I could feel the chances of success slipping through my fingers.
I had only brought two knights with , but they were the finest my county could offer. There was a technique in both of them. One specialized in magic, the other in swordsmanship. You could say they complented each other well. After all, they were brothers. Their nas were Tullan and Mullan. They were not only strong, but fiercely loyal. Their father had been the right-hand man of the original Leonardo.
Sotis I felt as though Leonardo was incredibly old, even though I rembered thinking the sa thing when reading the novel. In truth, Leonardo was only twenty-eight. Being a bastard, he had joined the army at the age of sixteen and spent his youth on the battlefield. Years of brutal frontline combat had molded him into a hardened warrior.
Despite being a bastard, Leonardo had noble blood. That alone should have kept him stationed in the rear lines during battles. Yet he fought on the front lines, in the deadliest clashes, and lived to tell the tale. Why? Because of his stepmother, Duchess Matilda, who had used her influence against him. As you might guess, Duchess Matilda despised Leonardo, the illegitimate child of her husband’s forbidden affair.
I didn’t have access to Leonardo’s mories, but I could sense that his childhood had been miserable, all thanks to the Duchess. Perhaps that was why he had severed ties with his family. But I wasn’t Leonardo. My father was one of the Dukes of the Empire. how could I not take advantage of that?
Just as I was spiraling through these thoughts, I caught a glimpse, out of the corner of my eye, of a petite, sweet-looking tavern maid being harassed by a group of n.
I devoured the rest of my chicken in a single bite. It was delicious, but as I swallowed, it felt like it was settling not in my stomach but on the simring embers of my anger. n like these... they were the sa everywhere. The sight of so thugs bothering a simple, working woman stirred a familiar rage in .
One of the n grabbed her arm. She forced a smile, but it wasn’t a smile, it was a silent plea: "Please, leave alone." The n weren’t stupid, just bastards. I know the difference. Stupid n don’t understand. Bastards understand, but do it, anyway.
Mullan’s hand was already resting on his sword’s hilt, his gaze locked on the target. Tullan wore that familiar expression.
"Let cleanse this filth with my noble blade, my lord."
They exchanged a glance, the seamless communication of brothers forged by years of combat. I knew that if one of them moved, the other would follow instantly.
But I couldn’t allow that. Because this was that scene. That scene.
I raised my hand, calm and firm.
"Hold."
Both their shoulders tensed. Tullan raised an eyebrow. Mullan was more patient, but I could see the frustration brewing inside him.
"My lord... the girl is clearly distressed," Tullan said, his voice earnest and honorable.
"I know. But do not interfere... yet," I replied.
They said nothing, but their faces spoke volus: "Here we go again... our lord and his bizarre plans. Gods grant us patience."
But this wasn’t about a plan. It was... curiosity.
In the modern world, we’ve seen this scene play out countless tis. In books, in movies. A woman gets harassed, a hero steps in, throws a few punches, the tavern cheers, happy ending. But I always wondered... what happened in between? How did the woman react? Would the harasser change after being beaten, or simply move on to the next tavern? And the so-called hero. Was he really heroic, or just another man looking for a righteous excuse to indulge in violence? What if no one stood up? What then?
I was curious. In a world where everything had beco chanical and aningless, scenes like this still made hearts race. I wanted to understand why.
But... when the man didn’t release the girl’s arm...
"If it gets ugly... you have my permission. Smash his head in," I said quietly.
Mullan bowed his head. "Understood, my lord."
Tullan remained tense. Justice, to him, was as simple as flipping a switch. The mont he recognized evil, he wanted to strike it down. My command was law. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to wait.
The woman’s smile was gone. Now, there was only fear in her eyes. She tried to step back, but the n, with their rat-faced smirks, blocked her way. One leaned in and whispered sothing in her ear. Her eyes widened in alarm. She recoiled, but again, his hand reached out.
His fingers brushed her arm again, and I stayed seated, palm resting on the table, outwardly calm, though inside, a taut string was ready to snap.
Just as Mullan was about to move, the door swung open.
A wave of silence rippled through the tavern. You know that strange mont when all noise just... stops, instinctively? This was one of those monts.
A silhouette stood in the doorway.
"Of course... This damn cliché is going to co to pass in every way, isn’t it?" I sighed internally.
Not particularly short, nor overly tall, the newcor wore a dusty white cloak, the gri of travel clinging to the fabric yet, there was an undeniable grace to her presence. As she lifted her head, strands of dark hair fell across her face, but her eyes... her eyes swept across the room and locked onto the n.
She strode up to them, stepping between the thugs and the tavern maid, saying nothing at first. She simply stood there.
The n hesitated, instinctively evaluating her, weighing physical advantages. They glanced at the maid, then at the newcor... and sneered.
"What’s this, your big sister co to save you?" one of them chuckled.
Another barked out a laugh, his voice like a rusted bell fouled by cheap liquor.
Then the woman spoke.
"Step away."
Her voice was soft, but razor-sharp. Like a blade being unsheathed. She didn’t need to shout; her words hit the floor like a fallen dagger, demanding attention.
The thugs exchanged glances. To them, her words probably sounded like the nagging of an angry market woman. They didn’t take her seriously. One swaggered forward, leaning in close, adjusting his belt buckle with practiced bravado. The typical ’alpha male’ routine.
"Nice voice, girl. Bet it sounds even better in bed."
His voice was like a bucket of rotting onions. Stinging the nose, turning the stomach.
One of them yanked down her hood.
"Well, well... look what we have here. The innkeeper’s girl is nothing compared to you."
As his crude words echoed through the tavern, my eyes widened in shock, my heart pounded relentlessly and, my dick was hard... Ignoring the last reaction, I focused on the woman.
Undoubtedly, this was her.
Hair dark as the starless sky, cascading in gentle waves, and eyes bright like the lone star piercing the night. She was taller than the average woman, with an hourglass figure and wide hips, impossible to ignore. From my angle, I could only see part of her face, but even from here, her features were flawless.
And most telling of all. Strapped to her back, a strange, uniquely curved bow.
It was unmistakable.
The Hero’s mother... Willabelle.
And the instant my mind pieced it together, I was on my feet. I didn’t know how fast I am, but I had already activated my technique and drawn my sword.
My vision burned red, darkness closed in around , and I could see nothing... Nothing but the whore’s child! the motherfucker touching my precious angel. Every fiber of my being honed in on him, a predator locked onto prey.
My sword cut a glowing arc toward the heavens. Even the stars seed to tremble.
"Stellar Line: Slip Point."
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