9 First Tavern [2]

Once Anastasia was out of sight, Marek erased his smile and sat on the nearby seat. "Water," he asked tersely.

"Yes." The barman, caught off guard by the sudden shift in atmosphere, complied with surprising politeness.

As Marek drank the water, feeling refreshed, a man from behind approached, his arm coiling around Marek with a lascivious grin. "Is this cutie a noble?" he asked with a playful tone.

Even though she had a hood, Anastasia was unable to hide her beauty entirely nor her noble aura.

"Hm? Aren't ya also a noble?" the man asked, scrutinizing Marek's features closely. Despite Marek's attempts to conceal them with dirt and hair, his sharp and delicate features hinted at his noble lineage.

Marek remained stoic, refusing to engage further. "Another," he repeated, signaling for another glass of water and ignoring the man's probing questions.

Frustrated, the man reached out to push Marek, but as his finger made contact with Marek's back, he recoiled with a groan of pain. "Guh!"

'Prometheus,' Marek called inwardly.

[My apologies, Milord, but this is—]

'I told you we need to be cautious until we've regained our strength,' Marek interrupted.

[But, Milord, you are a God while they are—]

'Pathetic ants, yes,' Marek finished for Prometheus. 'But does a God concern himself with ants? One slap is enough to end their lives.'

Marek's response silenced Prometheus, leading him to reluctantly acknowledge Marek's point. Despite his own desire to kill everyone in the tavern, Marek chose to remain silent out of consideration for Anastasia and skillfully handled Prometheus by leveraging his reverence for him.

"W-what…?" Confusion clouded the man's expression as he stared at his reddened finger, bewildered by the burn.

"What's going on, Godan?" his companions asked, amused by his apparent confusion.

"Are you already tipsy? Haha!" they teased.

"Tsk!" Godan brushed off their questions as he joined his friends but his gaze remained fixed on Marek's back, filled with animosity.

-Crack!

"Huh?" The barman let out.

A sharp sound echoed through the tavern as Marek's grip on his glass caused it to crack.

Marek was pissed off because he was certain that these three individuals would come after him and Anastasia. Their tone and glances confirmed his suspicions.

"Forgive me," Marek muttered, placing five copper coins on the table as compensation.

The bartender accepted the coins but couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his spine as he caught sight of Marek's very dark gaze concealed behind the glass.

After a brief ten-minute break, Anastasia returned, her spirits lifted, though she kept her hood on.

Marek greeted her with a warm smile as he rose from his seat, gesturing towards a table the bartender had prepared for them, complete with their meals.

"Please, take a seat," Marek said with a flourish, pulling out a chair for Anastasia, who blushed slightly in embarrassment at the gesture but accepted nonetheless.

His intention was simple: to ensure she felt comfortable and relaxed, injecting a bit of humor to lighten the atmosphere and allow her to enjoy her meal undisturbed.

As Anastasia eagerly raised her glass of water, she quickly gulped it down.

"Don't drink too quickly," Marek advised gently, then took Anastasia's knife and fork, expertly cutting her chicken into bite-sized pieces. He wanted to make it easier for her to eat without exerting too much effort, knowing it might have been a while since she had eaten a proper meal.

"Thank you... um?" Anastasia's gaze held a hint of uncertainty as she looked at Marek.

"Arthur," Marek replied with a warm smile.

"...brother Arthur?" Anastasia's voice held a note of hope as she searched Marek's eyes for reassurance.

Understanding the significance of this gesture for Anastasia, Marek nodded gently. "If you'd like. Yes," he affirmed, offering her the comfort of a familial bond she desperately sought. "But remember to eat slowly."

"Um!" Anastasia nodded eagerly, her smile widening as she turned her attention back to her meal.

Soon enough, Marek joined her, indulging in his own meal with gusto. The sensation of hot food combined with fresh water revived him.

For the next half hour, Marek engaged in conversation with Anastasia. Initially shy, she gradually opened up to him.

Drawing from the lessons he had learned from Edward, Marek effortlessly guided the conversation, creating a space where Anastasia felt safe to share her thoughts and feelings.

After they finished eating, Marek left with Anastasia under the scrutiny of a few people.

***

"Are you sure about that, Shosa?" The barman's eyes narrowed with skepticism.

"Absolutely!" Shosa's cheeks, already puffed out, seemed to inflate even more with conviction. "I saw her face! Girls like her are a rarity, one in a hundred million! She's so young now, but mark my words, give her five years, and she'll become the ultimate attraction for our customers. We'll rake in a fortune! Have you ever laid eyes on the Princess of this country?"

"What on earth are you talking about?" The barman asked, annoyed.

"Have you seen her or not?!" Shosa's voice rose in frustration.

"What do you think, you fool? I'm a bartender in the slums," the barman retorted sharply.

"Exactly! But that girl... she exudes that princess aura! I swear, if she were a bit older, I might have fallen for her myself!" Shosa's words tumbled out, accompanied by an almost drooling admiration.

The barman remained silent, simply pushing Shosa's face away.

"What's the hold-up, Clastor?" A new voice interjected, and it was Godan, sporting a mischievous grin.

Despite their outward appearances, all three of them were actually allies, a fact they only revealed when they were alone, like now, in the back room of the tavern.

Their strategy was simple yet effective: they would wait for interesting customers to enter their tavern, then employ their individual roles to manipulate and exploit them. Godan would often play the tough guy, while Clastor, the barman, would step in to offer reassurance. Meanwhile, Shosa excelled at extracting valuable information from their unsuspecting targets.

Using this method, they had successfully lured and kidnapped hundreds of beautiful young girls and boys, profiting immensely from their illicit activities.

"I don't know," Clastor responded, his arms folded across his chest.

"It's not like you to hesitate, Clastor!" Godan chuckled, taking a sip of his ale.

Clastor remained silent. He hadn't played the role of helper with Marek and Anastasia because they hadn't given him the opportunity, or rather, Marek himself, the child, hadn't needed it.

Moreover, Clastor couldn't shake off his unease regarding the boy's demeanor. Normal children would have been scared or nervous, but Marek displayed none of those traits, leaving Clastor feeling distinctly uneasy.

"It's too strange, don't you think? Just the two of them, without any adults, eating here like it's nothing," Clastor said, his brow furrowed with concern.

"Fuck it! We can't let this opportunity slip through our fingers! That girl is one of a kind!" Shosa shouted.

"Aye, and the boy as well. He's sure to catch the eye of those women with unique tastes—maybe even some fellas, hahaha!" Godan chimed in with a boisterous laugh.

Clastor sighed heavily. "Fine. Did you manage to find out where they're staying?" he asked of Shosa, whom he had tasked with shadowing Anastasia for just such information-gathering opportunities.

But Shosa clicked her tongue in frustration. "That little brat isn't as gullible as I thought! She didn't spill a thing! But I've got someone tailing them," she said.

"Excellent! When do we strike?" Godan' asked eager.

"Tonight. But bring more people. That boy's confidence is starting to make me uneasy. They might have knights with them, or it could be some trick from the Holy Knights to catch us off guard," Clastor warned cautiously.

"You're overthinking it, Clastor!" Godan waved off Clastor's concerns with a grin as he turned to leave. "I'll gather my crew."

"Godan," Clastor called out before Godan could depart.

"What now?" Godan turned back, his expression impatient.

Clastor fixed Godan with a stern gaze. "That girl is undoubtedly a virgin, and she'll fetch us double the money in that case," he reminded Godan, knowing all too well his lust for fresh, beautiful girls.

"Ugh, I know!" Godan grunted, taking another swig of ale before departing.

"Hey, Clastor!!" Shosa called out to the barman.

"What?"

"Do you think we'll get a promotion of some kind from the Boss for sending him these excellent goods?" Shosa asked excitedly.

Clastor smirked. "Maybe."