Staven paused for a moment, not turning back, and continued walking towards the exit, but he was intercepted by another person at the door. The laughter inside the tavern had subsided; people knew something was about to happen, something possibly more interesting than mere mockery. They fixed their gazes on Staven, their eyes like the tips of black rocks emerging from a sea of darkness, waiting abruptly and lifelessly.
Under the gaze of those eyes, Staven turned around to face the man who had ordered him to stop.
"Who is that?" Jorgen asked the innkeeper.
"He's a blacksmith named Bower."
"The blacksmith wearing the diamond ring? That's quite unusual."
"Well, this guy is one of the few wealthy people in town, much wealthier than the Everloks. His workshop has had the contract for the town guards' weaponry customization and repairs for years, and he's used this fact for marketing, building quite a reputation. He's even opened a few branches in other towns."
Jorgen studied Bower. He was around fifty years old, with the sturdy build typical of a blacksmith. Among those who had looked in Jorgen's direction when he descended the stairs, he was one. Being a prominent figure in town, he couldn't possibly be unaware of Jorgen's identity. Now, knowingly with a Sentinel operative present, he was still putting on this show—though there were signs of inebriation, it was still a quite calculated move. He was trying to establish this as his territory, to show those around him that they would mock Staven to please him or seek to align with him to gain some ephemeral power: he was the sole owner of the only ember in the darkness, and the rest could only stand in the cold mud, hoping to share the light and warmth he possessed.
"Is there something you need, Bower? If it's not very important, I have to go home," Staven said.
"You're not very friendly, Staven. I saw you do something quite inappropriate—I might be the only one who noticed, but I certainly did. Given your noble status as a respected poet, it's no wonder every move and gesture of yours should be scrutinized by someone like me, who does the coarse work. I really wish I could learn some true gentlemanly behavior from you. You see, I have an Earl's banquet to attend in another town next month. I must learn to behave like a refined man. But you've let me down."
"I don't understand, Bower. Your words make no logical sense. I suggest you not waste our time..."
"Fine, I'll be direct. Though ignoring it might work, since you're so persistently clueless..." Bower walked over to the red-clad woman who had attempted to tempt Jorgen and pulled her up. "When you came in, you behaved improperly toward Miss Nellani. You here—" he tapped her buttocks, "gave her a squeeze."
A burst of commotion filled the tavern. There were boos and whistles. Nellani was taken aback, utterly unprepared for how she had gotten caught up in this situation. She had been drinking alone, oblivious to what had transpired, and hadn't even caught Bower's accusations against Staven.
"What are you saying... Bower," she glared at him. "You're drunk again."
"Don't worry about me, Miss Nellani. I thought maybe correcting behavior unbecoming of a gentleman like Staven might make it impossible for me to forgive him—of course, I only mean that a gentleman should refrain from such acts, not that I envy him. Nellani, don't you agree? There's nothing enviable about Mr. Staven to me, right?"
"You're so tiresome."
As Nellani spoke, she attempted to wrest her wrist from Bower's grip, but he tightened his hold while raising her arm. Nellani, significantly shorter than him, was almost lifted off her heels.
"Oh, I'm tiresome? That's not what you said last night," Bower retorted.
The attention of the crowd naturally shifted to Nellani, and the noise escalated once more. Staven managed to stammer, "I... I didn't even pass by her just now," but due to the muddled voice and ill-timed response, his words were drowned out by the din.
"Bower, aren't you afraid your wife will hear that?" someone chimed in. He was more familiar with Bower and tried to enliven the atmosphere with this false question, while simultaneously asserting his privilege to jest about Bower's marital life.
"Of course not, because I have a good wife who doesn't sneak out of the kitchen without my consent."
In a different context, delivered by a comedic actor on stage, this line might have been a passable piece of irony and self-deprecation. However, in this situation, spoken by someone like Bower, it was just a crude example of a male-oriented joke. It achieved Bower's expected effect—a round of uproarious laughter. Some people clapped their hands, and a few even pounded the table with the bottom of their empty wine bottles.
"Be careful not to break anything," the innkeeper tried to shout over the noise. "Double the price if you do! Remember the tavern's rules!"
"Don't make such a fuss," Bower retorted to the innkeeper, turning back. "Everyone's hardly ever this joyful, why dampen the mood? If anything's damaged, I'll compensate."
Next came a round of applause and cheers aimed at Bower. The townsfolk seemed to have donned a collective mask; they couldn't see Staven, who still stood frozen at the door, clutching his package, trying to argue with unimpressive words; they couldn't see Nellani's wrist, purple from Bower's grip, her shock mixed with anger.
Everything before Jorgen's eyes confirmed his suspicion. Bower's intention wasn't about Staven or Nellani; it was about showcasing himself. His actions were akin to a bandit leader in front of his subordinates, wielding weapons and executing prisoners, yet he hadn't planted fear in the townspeople's hearts. However, the hearts won through nonviolent actions are often less susceptible to betrayal. Jorgen could perceive Bower's satisfaction in his raised eyebrow and rosy cheeks.
When Bower had spoken to the innkeeper earlier and cast a glance at Jorgen, it was a way to involve Nellani, whom Jorgen had just interacted with. While it wasn't quite a declaration of war, it was a cautious form of provocation. Asserting dominance over the opposite sex is one of the most primal ways to flaunt power, and Bower's actions were akin to vermin in the dungeon, rather than a lion on the grassland.
Yet, Jorgen didn't intend to intervene. He had no reason to. What could he do? Step in and ask Bower to release the lady, as he had put her in an awkward position? That would only be an old-fashioned act of chivalry—essentially, meddling. The townsfolk were so engaged because they had a certain familiarity with the three main characters in this spectacle: Staven's brooding, Nellani's private affairs, and Bower's self-display—all within their expectations. If Jorgen were to step in and stop this incident, which was not really in violation of any laws, he'd reveal his ignorance about the dynamics of the small town. More importantly, it would make the notion of the ominous MI7 rather comical.
Jorgen wasn't willing to take that risk. He had no reason to champion for Staven or Nellani. His impression of Staven wasn't great, and Dalia despised him even more; as for Nellani, he had bought her a drink—so what?
However, completely ignoring the situation might inadvertently send the wrong message to Bower, making him think he can act as he pleases in front of MI7 members. So, Jorgen planned to use the pretext of "excessive noise disturbing the rest of the MI7 envoy upstairs" to usher these troublemakers out and have them sort things outside. It was the only way to maintain his ground without seeming excessively conservative.
Yes, that's what he should do. Completely impartial, standing solely in the position of the MI7.
But he didn't immediately act on it. He hesitated. A deep voice in his head told him to look at Staven and Nellani's eyes, their tensed bodies. They weren't model townsfolk, each harboring some dirty secrets, but was that enough to make them the sacrifices among the rats? The scent of alcohol, sweat, and food mingled in the air, turning into a hidden, damp rot that couldn't bear the light.
If there was a better way—
At that moment, Althea entered the room. The place grew somewhat quieter, as many turned their attention to the Night Watch Commander's ward. She glanced at Staven behind her, then at Bower, who still held onto Nellani.
"Althea, little sister, this is a gathering of adults. Why aren't you at home yet? Got lost on your way?" Bower said.
"No, I heard your voice outside and came in specifically to see. As expected, you're up to your usual low tricks again."
"Low tricks isn't language suitable for children. Besides, I'm just having a little fun with my acJorgentances... right, Nellani?"
"Mr. Staven, you can go now," Althea said. "Do you know why I don't enjoy your classes? It's because you always let these kinds of people intimidate you."
Staven left the scene without saying a word, surveying the surroundings before slipping out of the door.
Althea walked up to Bower.
"Release Miss Nellani," she said. "You're harassing her."
"Oh... our dear Althea is playing the righteous Night Watch game again. Nellani and I are on good terms, and I'm sure a few resting Night Watch members here can attest to that. But if she wants to go, she can. My only concern is that you're a bit too eager to take her place. Come find me in a couple of years."
With that, he erupted into laughter at his tasteless joke, attempting to coax laughter from the audience, but he failed. Only a minority responded, and Althea's subsequent actions silenced even them. With a kick to Bower's shin, the burly blacksmith fell to his knees. Nellani was finally free and quickly retreated to the side.
Bower spewed a string of profanities, unable to stand due to the intense pain and the alcohol in his system. "You little devil, how dare you..." He leaned forward, attempting to lunge at Althea. But she brandished a small knife, striking him on the bridge of his nose with the butt of the blade. He clutched his nose, falling sideways and knocking over a table, yelling, "Damn it! I... dare to ruin my face... I'll complain to the mayor!... Don't expect me to craft weapons for you again..."
"Say whatever you want," Althea wiped blood off the hilt of her knife. "Not crafting weapons for the Night Watch? Who would believe you have the guts for that? Everyone here, he attacked first, did you see?"
Some of the Night Watch members who had been joking earlier quickly chimed in, fearing to anger the Commander's sister and jeopardize their careers. They echoed, "Yes, Bower attacked first," "Bower made the first move."
"So, what I did was acting in self-defense. I won't bear any responsibility..."
At that moment, Althea's gaze happened to meet Jorgen's. He could see from her clearly surprised expression that she hadn't known he was in the inn as well.
Althea immediately averted her eyes, awkwardly sheathing the small knife.
Jorgen felt an urge to laugh suddenly, because Althea had learned from him this morning: how to injure someone with a legitimate reason and evade responsibility.
However, no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't laugh.
Early this morning, Bower had taken great care in dressing himself in new clothes, meticulously grooming his facial hair. It was an important day for him, as he was going to meet someone of great significance.
If things went well, it could be an exceptionally lucky day for him.
However, a few hours ago, in front of the entire crowd at the Blood Crow Inn, he began to doubt his luck.
Why did he let a young girl break his nose on such an important day?
Despite his displeasure, he considered himself adaptable. Perhaps he had gone too far with his antics. He intended to rectify the situation, hoping to turn his luck around before meeting the important person.
He was wrong.
Now, he lay in his backyard, barely able to see the sky as blood had filled his eye sockets.
He could hear the sound of the object hitting his face, could hear the rush of air plummeting down, followed by complete darkness in his vision.
Too much pain, why did I encounter this? So much blood, the sound of blood in my ears...
This time, the bone of his nose had been shattered completely. He could still breathe, still see the object moving away from his face, and a dark red sky came back into view. Then, darkness descended again.
Stop hitting me, I'll die, can't you understand? I need to live until tomorrow. I need to craft more weapons and make more money.
His right eyeball shattered. Two teeth fell into his throat, then slid out through the blood he coughed up. This time, he heard the weapon striking him being raised, the sound of sticky blood strands being pulled apart.
Someone, please. Save me. Help. Me. Save.
Blood soaked into the diamond ring on his right hand and then seeped into the ground.
In the midst of the night fog, a few barks of dogs echoed.