Chapter 307: Sudden Assassination Attempt

Seeing Henwell signal his men to leave, the Black Ring Rider leader chuckles, “Buddy, it’s too late! My people have already started moving. By now, your men are probably all dead. Since someone’s paying such a high price, we have to make it value!”

The ranger rolls his eyes. “What good is killing his men? Judging by you, you don’t have the skill to face the main target. When I make my move, you’d better stay out of the way. I just need his head to settle the score.”

Silk, the Black Ring Rider leader, laughs. “No problem! My employer only cares that he dies—who kills him or how doesn’t matter. So brother, do your part. I’ll sit back and enjoy the show. Not a bad deal, right?”

The scarred man with the missing finger curiously asks Henwell, “Can you tell me where I slipped up?”

Henwell flips a gold coin deftly between his fingers. “Many places. You shouldn’t have acted so invested in playing the gambler. There are plenty of desperate gamblers here, many in this room, but they only gambles like his life depends on it.”

”When I came in, you didn’t even glance at me once—that was overacting. Honestly, I thought your organization would send someone more skilled.”

”How did you graduate from Forge Furnace? Was your instructor Iron Whip Leicester? Or Bonebreaker Staff Singer? Surely not Scarface Archie? If that’s the case, we’re practically brothers in arms! Though then I’d have to wonder if Archie’s forging skills have seriously declined.”

The scarred man narrows his eyes at Henwell. “Am I qualified? You’ll find out soon enough.”

Henwell shrugs. “Fine. I suggest we finish this game first. There’s only one round left. Whatever happens, we should see things through. After the game ends, alive or dead, we’ll settle this.”

Silk smiles. “I have no objections. You’re an interesting man. Letting you live a little longer isn’t hard to accept.”

Kleios the ranger spreads his hands. “I agree. Leaving no regrets when killing is my code.”

In the final round, Henwell sweeps the table once again.

He looks at the three empty-handed opponents. “I think it’s time to answer some questions.”

He turns to the scarred man. “How many of you came?”

“Four, including me,” the scarred man replies.

Henwell nods. “No lies. Confident, I see.”

Then Henwell looks to Kleios. “And you? How many?”

Kleios taps his sword hilt. “Isn’t one enough?”

Henwell says nothing more, raising his cup to drink it all down. “Let’s go. It’s getting late. I’m ready to rest.”

Silk, the Black Ring Rider leader, narrows his eyes. “Buddy, why don’t you ask me? I’m more than willing to answer all your questions!”

Henwell pulls out his pocket watch and glances at it. “It’s about time.”

Silk blinks. “About time for what?”

Henwell smiles. “Heh… for your men to be mostly dead.”

Silk jumps to his feet, but just then the tavern door bursts open. Hubert, covered in blood, strides in carrying several severed heads.

He tosses the heads onto the gambling table. “My lord, it’s all taken care of. There are some survivors, should we keep them?”

Henwell waves a hand. “Leave that to Barnett.”

Then he tilts his head, signaling, “The Black Ring Rider leader has no men left. He’s useless now. Kill him.”

Seeing the heads of his trusted men on the table, Silk knows he’s done for today.

Before Henwell finishes speaking, Silk lunges up, drawing a dagger.

A flash of steel cuts through the air, Silk’s head rolls onto the table.

Waintu steps forward, dragging Silk’s bloodied clothes to wipe his sword.

The scarred man suddenly erupts, lunging at Orak, who’s seated nearby.

Waintu sidesteps, knocking him back while firing a crossbow bolt from his left arm, piercing the man’s chest.

Waintu follows up with a slashing strike, cleaving the man’s torso in half.

Amid the chaos, a dull, slender sword thrusts toward Orak’s back.

Hubert steps forward, catching the blade with his metal gauntlet.

At the same time, he draws his longsword from his waist, reverses the grip, and strikes upward, shattering the attacker’s throat.

He then drives the blade through the attacker’s left ribs, slicing across the chest.

The sudden bloodshed throws the tavern into turmoil.

Two panicked dancers are knocked down repeatedly, collapsing to the floor.

Henwell reaches out, pulling them up. Once the crowd backs away, he releases them.

Both dancers slump to the ground.

Sharp-eyed onlookers notice their chests are distorted and twisted unnaturally; their necks are bent at odd angles.

The daggers they held only left faint marks on Henwell’s armor.

Henwell wipes the metal scratches off his armor, kicks aside the two bodies disguised as dancers, drags a chair over, and sits back down at the gambling table.

At this moment, the ranger Kleios has already jumped onto a nearby table, crouching low and ready to bolt at any second.

Hubert and Waintu’s earlier moves made him realize he’s bitten off more than he can chew this time.

Facing two Battle Knights alone, winning is already tough. If they gang up on him, escape would be nearly impossible.

But what truly freezes him isn’t the two Battle Knights—it’s Orak, calmly drinking on his chair.

From the moment the fight started, Orak’s presence has locked onto Kleios like a predator.

Though Orak hasn’t reached Grand Knight rank yet, he’s close, and his strength far surpasses Kleios’s.

Any sudden move from Kleios would trigger Orak’s fierce counterattack instantly.

When Henwell glances back at him, Kleios feels his muscles stiffen in terror.

As a seasoned wanderer, he knows this kind of oppressive aura only comes from a Grand Knight.

That makes him even more frozen in place.

If it were just Battle Knights, Kleios might pay a price but still have a chance to run.

But facing a Grand Knight like Orak, escape is out of the question.

Noticing Henwell’s gaze, Kleios quickly loosens his grip on his sword and raises his hands, signaling he won’t resist.

Henwell ignores him, turning instead to the old man across the table.

“Sorry, boss! Things got a bit messy. Consider the money on the table my compensation. Hope you don’t mind.”

The old man narrows his eyes. “You broke my rules. Killing here in my place is a direct challenge to me.”

Henwell replies, “I like the name Peace Tavern. It resonates with me. My territory is called Peace Haven. There, I have my own rules. So I get pretty angry when others break my rules. But if the stakes are high enough, I’m willing to forgive their recklessness.”

The old man’s voice deepens. “So you’re saying I should forgive your recklessness too?”

Henwell sneers, “No, no, no! You misunderstand. I’m just saying my rules are rules, and yours aren’t as tough as mine.”