Christie boarded the carriage in a huff, upset because Sir Enke had contradicted her. However, she didn't immediately reprimand him; instead, she waited until the carriage was some distance away before speaking.
"Sir Enke, I respect you greatly. But if you don't have a reasonable explanation for what happened just now, I will make you pay the price!"
Despite being threatened by his mistress, Enke remained calm and slowly responded, "As I mentioned earlier, there is an assassin on the roof, likely targeting Ron."
"Of course, I remember that! That's precisely why I wanted to take Ron away. He cannot be harmed, at least not while I'm around. After all, he is my betrothed, in name if nothing else," Christie retorted, her anger only growing.
"No! You haven't had the wedding ceremony yet, so he's not your fiancé. Besides, he must face the assassination attempt on his own. If he escapes today, that doesn't mean he'll escape tomorrow. The territory is a thousand times more dangerous than here. If he can't handle this, there's no point in sending him there. And, Miss, you're too young to want to carry the title of widow, aren't you?"
Enke's response was calm and indifferent.
"Uh!" Christie found herself momentarily speechless. Though something didn't feel quite right, his words made sense. Realizing he was acting in her best interest, her anger subsided.
"Sir Enke, why don't you stay with me tonight?" she offered.
"I'm afraid I can't. I have a wife," Enke replied.
Christie's eyes widened in disbelief. "You never mentioned a wife when you stayed with me before! Enke, you're acting very strange today!"
"..."
...
Meanwhile, Ron was still a bit puzzled, unsure why Sir Enke had intervened. But he knew that as soon as Enke appeared, the uninvited guest on the roof had silently retreated.
"It's just as well. The unknown danger was unsettling," Ron thought.
Just as Ron was beginning to think the threat had passed, he heard faint footsteps on the roof again.
"It seems they won't be giving up on me tonight!" he mused bitterly.
Ron dressed in a heavy coat, grabbed his sword, and stepped outside. During his conversation with Christie, he had also been contemplating how to deal with the assassin. After much thought, he hadn't come up with any surefire plan to scare the killer away, but at least he had an idea of how to identify them.
Ron exited the inn. The night had just fallen, and the streets were still filled with people. He blended into the crowd, though he didn't expect this to throw off his pursuer. He wasn't trying to escape; rather, he had a plan.
Ron casually made his way into a nearby bar called The Disappointed One. The bar was always the place where people let loose after a long day, and as night fell, men and women of all kinds gathered here. Some were looking for a drink to ease the day's fatigue, while others were seeking a one-night stand...
Regardless of their reasons, the bar was always a mix of people who didn't care about anyone else.
When Ron pushed open the door, the bar was already crowded. The noise was deafening, making his ears ache, and the temperature had risen noticeably. The mix of sweat and perfume was nauseating.
Ron didn't care for this environment but suppressed his discomfort and squeezed through the crowd, looking for a place to sit. Unfortunately, all the seats were taken, so he headed to the bar, where there were still some empty stools. Here, you had to keep ordering drinks to stay, so most patrons didn't sit here unless they intended to keep drinking. Ron picked a seat away from the entrance but with a clear view of the door, ordered a few drinks, and began to drink alone.
Of course, he wasn't really drinking. With an enemy at hand, who had the mind for alcohol? He was just waiting for his prey to take the bait. If the pursuer realized their target had slipped into the crowded bar, they would surely follow to check.
This was the only way Ron could think of to identify the assassin—by feeling their presence when they entered. But despite waiting, with people coming and going, Ron didn't sense the same presence as the one on the roof.
Instead of the person he was expecting, a young woman approached him. The beautiful woman had golden wavy hair, a delicate face, and a curvaceous figure. Particularly notable was her ample chest, which rose and fell with each movement as she swayed towards Ron.
"Why is a young gentleman like you drinking alone? On a lonely night like this, could you use some company?" she asked.
Ron glanced at the woman, initially intending to send her away. But just then, he saw the door open behind her, and in walked a tall man wearing a gray trench coat and a round-brimmed hat.
"That's the same presence—the man from the roof!" Ron's mind raced as he identified his target. But he didn't let his thoughts show and smiled at the woman in front of him.
"My name is Ron," he introduced himself.
"A pleasure to meet you, Sir Ron! I'm Lir," the woman replied.
"Well then, Lir, I don't need company, but I do need a favor—a small task. The payment is one gold coin!"
Upon hearing about the gold coin, Lir's eyes sparkled with delight. She smiled broadly, "What can I do for you?"
"First of all, no matter what I say, don't turn around," Ron instructed. Seeing Lir nod, he continued, "A man just entered the bar wearing a gray trench coat and a round-brimmed hat. He's easy to spot. I need you to casually stroll around, then approach him and check if he's carrying any weapons and what type they are."
"That's it?" Lir asked, a bit incredulous.
"That's it," Ron confirmed firmly. "Now, act as if nothing happened and start moving. Once you've confirmed, come back for your reward."
Lir, though still a bit skeptical about how easy this job seemed, trusted her instincts. She could tell at a glance that Ron was a nobleman, likely drowning his sorrows, and definitely not someone who would short her payment. She was confident he had money and honor, so she didn't hesitate to follow his instructions.
She began to wander the bar as if nothing was amiss, eventually moving towards the man Ron had pointed out. She pretended to trip and fall into the man's arms, spilling her drink on him. She quickly apologized, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe the spill, and after a few moments, she had dried him off as best she could. The man, irritated by the incident, left the bar muttering curses under his breath.
As soon as the man was gone, Lir returned to Ron, her face lit up with excitement as she extended her hand for the payment. Ron, hiding his reluctance, maintained a calm demeanor and handed her the gold coin with a smile. Only then did he ask, "So, what did you find?"
Lir, not in a hurry to respond, first bit into the coin to check its authenticity. Satisfied, she tucked it into the cleavage of her chest before leaning in to whisper, "He wasn't carrying any weapons!"
"No weapons? That's impossible!" Ron couldn't believe it. Even an ordinary trained person would carry a weapon, let alone a killer.
Just like Ron always carried his sword—it was second nature, a physical instinct that couldn't be ignored.
"It's true! I'm not lying. But although he wasn't armed, he was carrying a lot of playing cards. I have no idea what for," Lir added.
Upon hearing this, Ron's face turned grim, and he gritted his teeth as he muttered, "The Night Performer!"