Chapter 50 - The Drunk Encounter

The man’s words hung in the air like the stench of spilled liquor—filthy and heavy.

Some heads turned. A few eyes narrowed. But no one stood.

In the far corner, the bartender kept wiping a glass, eyes flickering toward the scene and then back down. A couple of older patrons shook their heads once and returned to their drinks. Another table simply chuckled—like this was just the tavern’s background music.

Because here... it kind of was.

Luca glanced sideways.

The girl still hadn’t moved.

She sat there, hand frozen around her mug, gaze lowered. There was no panic. No struggle. Just a stillness that felt wrong.

Too calm.

Poor girl. Must be frightened.

He set his drink down slowly and rose from his chair.

The alcohol burned warm in his veins, numbing just enough of his restraint—but not his clarity.

He walked up to the burly man—thick arms, a scar across his neck, breath like spoiled onions—and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey," Luca said, calm and courteous, even with the slight sway in his stance. "I think you’ve had enough for the night. How about you let the lady be and enjoy your drink elsewhere?"

The man turned, slowly. Looked Luca up and down. And laughed.

"Ain’t it past your bedtime, pretty boy?" he sneered, grinning wide. "Go run back to your noble mommy. This one ain’t your business."

The girl finally looked up—startled.

Her eyes met Luca’s. Widened. As if noticing him for the first time.

He didn’t look back at her—his gaze stayed on the man.

"I’ll ask again," Luca said softly. "Let her go."

The tavern quieted just a bit. Just enough that boots scuffed the floor more audibly. Somewhere, someone muttered, "Kid’s got a death wish."

The man scoffed. "What, you gonna fight me in your fancy school shoes?"

He didn’t let go.

Luca’s voice didn’t rise. "Wrong answer."

Then it happened.

A flash.

One second the man had a smug grip on the girl’s arm.

The next, Luca twisted that arm backward, slammed the man into the edge of a nearby table with a

thud

, and swept his feet out from under him. A crash of mugs and curses erupted.

The tavern stirred.

The man tried to stand, but Luca was already on him—pressing his boot down on his chest, not even winded.

"I said," Luca repeated, staring down at him, "Let. Her. Go."

The man coughed, spat something crude, but didn’t move again.

Ofcourse , the man was a commoner and Luca was born noble and an academy student, there was no comparison.

A few gasps echoed. Someone even clapped once, before being elbowed.

The girl remained still—unblinking, mug still in hand.

The tavern, briefly shocked, resumed its rhythm. A few murmurs passed. Some laughter. A grumble of "Serves the bastard right."

Luca finally stepped back, hands still loose at his sides.

The man growled something and limped away, avoiding eye contact.

Luca glanced at the girl.

Luca didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

Still slightly unsteady from the alcohol, he turned—nearly stumbled—and made his way to the door, hand brushing against the wall once to keep balance.

***

It had been a long time since she’d stepped into a place like this.

The tavern was loud, warm, alive in a way most places weren’t. And yet, she sat in the farthest corner, alone—untouched by it all.

Her fingers wrapped around a wooden mug, its contents barely half-finished. She stared down at the drink, watching the faint swirl of foam tremble with each vibration from the wooden floorboards.

They didn’t want me to come.

Of course they didn’t. A place like this... for someone like her? It was practically forbidden.

But she’d insisted. Just once. Just for the atmosphere. Just to feel

normal

again.

And after enough convincing—

or pestering, really

—they gave in.

She exhaled softly.

The smell of alcohol... it’s stronger than I remember.

There were people laughing too loud at a table nearby. Another pair in the corner were arguing in hushed tones. A trio of students hunched over their mugs, sharing whispered gossip. And the barmaid had already spilled a drink—twice.

It wasn’t beautiful. It wasn’t peaceful.

But it was

real

.

And right now... that’s all she wanted.

As she brought the mug to her lips, she noticed someone sit at the table beside hers.

She didn’t turn.

Didn’t even glance.

The enchantment she had cast earlier was still in place. It wasn’t true invisibility—not even close—but it shifted attention away from her. Bent the eye ever so slightly, dulled the curiosity of passersby.

If someone wasn’t

really

looking... they wouldn’t look.

It wasn’t flawless, but it was enough.

She sipped.

Still a week left,

she thought, tracing a finger around the rim of her mug.

She closed her eyes for a moment.

And then—

"

Hey girl, you look so poor, why don’t you accompany me tonight? I’ll give you more money than you’ve ever seen in your life.

"

Her eyes opened.

Slowly.

The voice was close.

Too

close.

A man stood beside her, breath foul, presence louder than his words.

His hand reached for her hand.

But she didn’t flinch.

She didn’t even look up.

She simply... stilled.

The hand around her wrist tightened slightly.

Filthy. Predictable.

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t speak. Just kept her head low, waiting—counting, even—as she listened to the scummy lilt in the man’s voice echo around the tavern.

One... two... three...

Then—

A new voice entered the scene.

Polite. Calm.

Too polite.

Her eyes lifted, just enough to see a tall boy standing beside them—formal clothes, posture still trying to be steady.

What’s this? Trying to play the hero?

Internally, she scoffed.

How typical.

A noble brat pretending to stand up for a common girl in a bar?

Please.

She had half a mind to mutter something just to watch him fumble, but instead she sat back, letting it play out. Morbid curiosity, if anything.

The burly man mocked him, of course. As expected. And when the boy—the noble boy—asked again, she rolled her eyes in her mind.

This is going to get annoying.

Then—

Crack.

The man’s body hit the table with a crash.

Wait... what?

She blinked.

The noble kid didn’t just talk back. He

moved

. Swift. Clean. Precise. No flashy magic. No exaggerated show.

Just... efficient violence.

The man groaned beneath a boot. The tavern paused. She sat there—now mildly impressed.

Alright, not bad.

Still, she waited for the part that always came next.

The smug grin. The look of "You’re welcome." Maybe a wink. A line like

"Are you okay, miss?"

But...

Nothing.

The boy glanced at her once.

And walked away.

Not a word. Not a gesture. Not even a dramatic exit.

Just... stumbled toward the door like he was late to dinner and had somewhere better to be.

She stared after him.

Really? That’s it? No credit?

She remained seated for another moment, the tavern slowly settling back to its usual noise. No one cared anymore.

And then, quietly, she stood.

Her mug remained untouched.

She slipped through the crowd, ignored by all, until she reached the back exit and stepped into the cool night air of the alleyway behind the tavern.

Silence.

Until it wasn’t.

From the shadows, figures emerged—hooded, cloaked, graceful and silent. Kneeling in unison as if choreographed.

One stepped forward, holding a covered sack—rough burlap, stained dark.

He knelt and unwrapped it.

The head of the burly man from earlier rolled slightly onto the ground, his eyes wide in frozen fear.

She didn’t even glance down. Her gaze was as still and cold as the moonlight on her shoulders.

"Clean work," she murmured flatly. "Late, but clean."

They didn’t reply.

She turned to walk away, the air around her shimmering slightly—like reality itself was bending.

Her hair shifted first. The simple dark hue faded, strand by strand. Her frame subtly elongated, posture straightened, the slouch vanishing into quiet regality. Clothes shimmered, becoming a modest ceremonial cloak beneath her illusion charm.

She smiled and asked, "What about the other one? "

Someone behind her said, "He’s returned to the academy. Shall we go and fetch him?"

She paused mid-step.

Her transformation ,now completed, returning to her original appearance of a beauty with lavender silver hair, that can shake the soul of anyone who saw her.

The softest smile tugged at her lips.

"Academy, huh?"

A beat of silence.

Then the one closest to her nodded. "Yes, Saintess Aria."