It hurts! It friggin' hurts!
Young Master Aren had a look that was a combination of shock and fear. In his less than twenty years of existence, this was the first time he was wronged by a girl so much younger than him.
Crazy! Violent and crazy...and, and a drunkard!
It was only now that he had noticed the scent lingering around this seemingly harmless girl. Instead of the usual fragrant flowers and mild powders, the lady sitting in front of him smelled like cheap wine. Why did he not notice this a while ago?
Aren unconsciously retreated by half a step. "Hey! I'm suing you for physical injury!"
The eldest daughter of the Vega household rolled her eyes at him, and the fact that she looked pretty and delicate doing it terrified him more. Really, his master is right! Beautiful females are the most unpredictable and dangerous beings! Entangling with one brings tons of headaches. In his case, it brought him a swollen cheek!
"Uh-huh? Innkeeper, bring us an icepack!" she ordered with her deceptively sweet, angelic voice.
"Yes, lady!"
Then, Lady Cassandra smiled at Aren. "Let's make a bet. If this first aid doesn't reduce the swelling, I'll hit you harder just so we can give justice to your statement. If I remember correctly, physical injury as defined by law involves some bleeding that takes at least a week or two to heal? How about a slap that involves my nails? Uh, how about I do it on both sides of your face? You know, we're all about aesthetic balance here..."
Aren gaped. Who is this hoodlum in front of him?! What's with this transformation?!
He felt that he had neither done nor said anything wrong. Well, at least not that warranted that crisp slap. Why was he being punished like this? He even tried to butter the little missy in front of him by mentioning all the impressive titles he had heard when he arrived in this tiny mortal town. Was she angry because he praised her? Should he do the opposite?
However, he dared not utter any insults her way. Icy-cold fear had paralyzed him, the same way he felt the first time he met his respected master. As a practitioner of arts, Aren was clear that his reflexes are exponentially faster than the average mortal. Yet, she had managed to slap him before he could even react.
Did that mean this Lady Cassandra is a practitioner of a higher level than him? The lack of fluctuations around her made him think that she was a mere mortal, that's why he decided to casually give her a hand. After all, Gaelsworth is too ordinary and he was bored out of his wits.
However, he did not know that a practitioner is hiding in a tiny town like this. She was obviously a practicing talent way better than him. Not only was she younger, she's also stronger. Based on the codes of ethics of their kind, then wouldn't that mean him harassing her permit the loss of a limb or two? In his master's words, she could even turn him into a servant!
Oh, no! Being slapped is fine! He had learned his lesson. He would treat her like he would an ancestor.
"Lady Vega, no, Fairy Vega! Goddess Vega, spare this little one for offending you! This is a misunderstanding! Let's eat, let's eat! The food here smells heavenly!"
There was no longer any trace of aristocratic bearing as Aren smiled like an idiot and sat back on the chair that had toppled down due to his abrupt movements. Acting like a good little brother, his hands were busy putting food on her plate. He would have knelt down if the two of them were in a private dining hall, but with so many eyes looking at them, Aren dared not act too shameless. After all, even though he was known as a trash young master, a prodigal son in the eyes of society, he was still a son of Hann. News has wings. Not only his father but also his brothers would beat him black and blue once they learned that a proud Hann knelt and begged in front of a lower-nobility woman in public.
As the lone practitioner in this generation of Hann, his true activities and whereabouts were kept a secret from the mortals of his family. His relatives would never understand the frigidity of the hierarchy among practitioners of arts. The tradition of practitioners had preserved the level of respect observed by the ancients. Some temperamental practitioners strictly adhere to the code. Aren's master was one of them.
Strength means power! Strength earns respect! These words were drilled into his head ever since he was young.
"Why are you not eating?" The deceptive demoness, no, Goddess Vega, asked him after taking a few bites out of the juicy-looking piece of meat on her plate. "Don't tell me this is poisoned?"
"What? No! Please, stop joking!"
"Then, eat!"
"Yes, goddess!"
"Drink!"
"Yes, goddess!"
"Don't stop until I tell you so."
"Yes, goddess!"
Aren immediately did a fast work on the food. Goddess Vega even ordered another round of meals and drinks just for him. However, while he was busy wolfing down the newly-cooked dishes and the wine, he did not notice the increasingly pensive expression on the girl's face. It was only after he could no longer count how many bottles he'd drunk and plates he'd cleaned out that Cassandra Vega told him to stop. He was only a hairbreadth away from passing out.
A softly spoken question floated into his ears.
"Have you ever been to the Greater Mountains?"