"Traitors are scums"

Walking into the tavern, Xavier's nostrils were immediately assaulted by the overwhelming stench of alcohol mingled with the suffocating laughter of drunkards.

It was still daytime, yet the place was packed to the brim.

Rough-looking men clinked mugs and roared in laughter, some leering at the female workers, their crude comments cutting through the air.

The wooden floorboards creaked under the weight of the patrons, sticky with spilled ale and remnants of past revelries.

The dim light from the few hanging lanterns flickered, casting erratic shadows on the stained walls, giving the place a ghostly, eerie ambiance.

Suddenly, a drunken man staggered towards him.

"Hey, pretty boy... how about joining this uncle for a drink?" he slurred, a wry smile on his face, his steps faltering as though he might collapse at any moment.

His breath reeked of stale alcohol, and his clothes were disheveled, adding to his pitiful appearance.

Xavier scoffed.

If not for the fact that he had deliberately chosen ordinary robes to blend in with the crowd, would these lowlifes dare speak to him like that?

Calling him a "pretty boy" was audacious, to say the least.

His guard, the towering figure with a perpetual scowl, tensed slightly, awaiting his master's signal.

Before Xavier could signal him to intervene, another man approached.

He appeared to be in his late thirties, slightly chubby, with an unassuming frame that belied the sharpness in his eyes. There was an air of dignity about him, suggesting he was no ordinary commoner.

Without hesitation, the man delivered a thunderous slap to the drunkard, sending him sprawling to the ground, clutching his burning cheek. 

"Smelly brat, do you have any idea who you were just talking to? It seems you don't value your life anymore," he growled, his voice dripping with venom.

The drunkard, who initially wanted to retort, shrank back in fear upon hearing the chubby man's words. 

It dawned on him that he had offended someone far above his station. In that moment, the haze of alcohol cleared from his eyes, and he hastily scurried away, not daring to stay there one moment more.

Turning slowly towards Xavier, the chubby man's face fell into a look of dread. The third prince was infamous for his cruelty and ruthlessness, surpassing even his brothers in wickedness. 

He showed no mercy to his enemies, and anyone who dared disrespect him faced dire consequences.

The chubby man felt a sinking realization.

Not only did he not know why the prince was in his tavern, but he had also unknowingly drawn Xavier's attention. 

He feared he would have to pay the price with his life, denied even the right of a proper burial.

As the owner of the tavern, he had a deep sense of responsibility over the situation.

As Xavier's piercing gaze bore into him, he struggled to find words, his mind racing with different thoughts.

Finally, he dropped to his knees.

"Forgive this servant, Your Highness," he pleaded. "I had eyes but couldn't see. Have mercy, Your Highness."

Xavier looked at him with disdain and scoffed. "Get up. I have something to discuss with you,"

Upon hearing this, the man's face lit up with relief, and he scrambled to his feet.

"Please, this way, Your Highness," he said eagerly, gesturing for Xavier to follow him.

He knew whatever Xavier wanted to talk about must be incredibly important, and they couldn't risk others overhearing.

As they ascended a narrow staircase, his mind raced with apprehension.

What could the possibly want to discuss with him? It couldn't be anything good.

The thought made him break out in a cold sweat, and he secretly stole a nervous glance back at Xavier and his guard.

Their expressions were unreadable, as though they were carved from stone.

They finally reached a small, weathered wooden door at the end of the hallway.

The man pushed it open and gestured for Xavier and his guard to enter.

After they entered, he quickly shut the door behind them, blocking out the noise from downstairs.

The room they stepped into was small and plain. The walls were made of rough wood, painted a faded brown color.

A narrow window let in a bit of daylight, but it was dusty and hard to see through.

In one corner, there was a simple wooden desk. It was messy with papers and pens scattered around.

On top of the desk sat an old oil lamp, its flame giving off a soft light that filled the room.

Across from the desk, a shaky bookshelf held old books and scrolls with cracked spines.

The room had just two chairs—one sturdy and used often, the other newer but already a bit worn.

A worn-out tapestry hung on one wall, showing a picture of hills and sheep, its colors faded.

As soon as Xavier stepped into the room, he calmly made his way to the slightly newer chair and settled into it, crossing one leg over the other.

His guard followed closely, taking up a position standing just behind him.

Observing this, Bryan, the chubby man, hesitated and chose to remain standing, lacking the courage to sit down.

"What may I offer His Highness?" Bryan asked, attempting to mask his nerves with a broad smile.

Xavier ignored him completely, instead leisurely tapping his fingers on the armrest.

The silence stretched on, making Bryan increasingly uneasy, unsure of what was to come.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to him, Xavier spoke, his voice low and controlled. "I heard you traveled to the Avalon kingdom," he began, his gaze turning to fix on Bryan. "So, Mr. Bryan, what exactly did you go there to do?"

Bryan's heart skipped a beat. How had the prince found out about his trip to Avalon? Was he being watched?

"Y...Your Royal Highness," Bryan stammered, feeling a cold sweat break out on his temples, "I simply went there for some minor trading," he said, forcing what he hoped was a flattering smile.

Xavier's eyes narrowed slightly, and in the next moment, Bryan was struck by a thunderous slap that sent him crashing to the floor.

A few of his teeth clattered to the ground, and his mouth immediately swelled, the metallic taste of blood coating his lips.

Xavier's gaze burned dangerously as he leaned over him, seizing him by the hair with a firm grip.

"I don't tolerate lies," he warned through gritted teeth, then shoved Bryan's head back forcefully before settling back in his chair.

"Next question," Xavier continued, his fingers tapping methodically on the armrest. "I've heard you also visited Four Corners Village and were seen there with the Crown Prince of Avalon. What exactly was the reason?"

Bryan struggled to compose himself, his cheek stinging painfully where Xavier's slap had landed.

Fear gripped him as he tried to formulate a response that wouldn't further enrage the prince. 

"H...He is planning to attack the kingdom from that direction and sought my assistance as a local," he stuttered pausing momentarily as he glanced at Xavier.

The prince's eyes narrowed with a sinister squint.

"But Your Highness, I swear I didn't agree to it... ugh"

Before Bryan could finish his plea, Xavier's hand struck again.

The force of the blow was like a crashing mountain, sending Bryan sprawling several meters across the floor.

His head hit the ground with a sickening thud, bursting like a watermelon into a bloody pulp.

"Traitors are the lowest scum," Xavier's expression hardened.

He retrieved a cloth, and gently wiped his hands clean before discarding it.

Throughout the brutal scene, his guard remained silent, his expression unmoving even as Bryan's head was reduced to a gruesome mess.

He seemed unaffected, perhaps already accustomed to such violent scene.

After finishing wiping his hands, Xavier abruptly rose from his chair.

"Clean up this mess," he ordered coldly, before turning on his heel and striding out the door.