[ Chapter Three ]
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Ashran spread out a sheet of paper and read, 'Order a frog meat, a Raw one – tell it to the barkeeper (the one with a scar on his left eye).' He lowered the paper and turned his eyes to the Angry Frog Tavern in front of him. Ashran wondered if this tavern really served frog meat, and if he would be eating one, and a raw at that. Despite his doubts, he stepped inside.
The tavern was filled with patrons seated at wooden tables under warm, lantern-lit surroundings. Dark-green and Red banners hung from the rafters, and people engaged in conversations and drank. The rustic interior felt cozy and inviting. A heavily armored man slumps wearily at a table, his eyes downcast. Beside him, a woman in a simple dress leans casually against another table, holding a bottle and engaging the robed figures seated nearby. A large black dog lies on the floor between them, seemingly asleep.
Ashran made his way to the counter where the barkeeper stood. The barkeeper looked younger than Mr. Gram, he has a clearly visible scar on his left eye, and a bit of mustache.
"What may I serve you?" asked the barkeeper, not making eye contact to him. His eyes were focused on the glass he was holding, cleaning it with a cloth.
"Umm, I would like to order frog meat . . ." said Ashran slowly, as if he couldn't believe what he was saying.
"And?"
"Oh, right, a raw one. Please."
The barkeeper's eyes narrowed as he looked at Ashran, half curious and half suspicious. Ashran evaded his eyes.
"Raw, huh? I see. Follow me." He led Ashran to an old wooden door, opened it, and said, "Here you are. Downstairs, you will see 'im."
"You won't go with me?" asked Ashran.
"No, there's no need. Anyway, enjoy yourself," said the barkeeper as he returned to the counter.
Ashran slowly descended the wooden stairs, which creaked under his weight. Turning left, he was greeted by a dimly lit basement. The noise and merriment of the tavern upstairs felt like a stark contrast to the quiet gloom below.
A man with a well-groomed beard emerged from the shadows and said, "Dear customer! Thank you for coming here. Come, let me introduce you to the types of slaves I have here." He pushed Ashran to the center of the basement. "We've got a notorious thief," he pointed to a man inside a cell with shackles on and, "a female warrior, and even a former noble!" two figures sat leaning against the iron bars. "Each one comes with unique qualities! Now --"
"Mr. Gram, you know I didn't come here to buy a slav--"
"OR PERHAPS! You'd like a slave that provides 'comfort'?"
"You . . . have one?"
"Of course I have, you silly!"
"How much—err, no, forget it. I came here to tell you that I've decided to get a new card. So, if you could, please," said Ashran, trying not to look at the slaves bound inside the cell.
"I see. . . alright then," said Mr. Gram, with a trace of disappointment on his face. And he added, "But if you ever change your mind, you're always welcome here, and I'll give you a discount."
"Sure, thanks. I'll keep that in mind," replied Ashran.
After Ashran finished his transaction with Mr. Gram, he ascended the creaky stairs from the dimly lit basement of the Angry Frog Tavern. The loud chatter of patrons and the clinking of mugs filled the air once again.
Eventually, he discovered that frog meat was not on the menu at all. Most people don't eat frog meat, although Mr. Gram mentioned that it tastes good, especially the meat of a giant frog.
It was almost evening when Ashran stepped outside the Angry Frog Tavern. The lively chatter of the tavern faded as he entered the streets of the Night District. The crimson glow from overhead lanterns bathed the surroundings in a warm, yet mysterious ambiance. As he walked down the alleyway, he noticed a sudden commotion up ahead. In a shadowy corner, three figures were ruthlessly attacking a lone individual. Within seconds, the person was now lying on the ground, covering their head and curling their body in defense.
Ashran could hear laughter from the group as they beat up the person lying on the ground. He caught words from one of them saying, ". . . where did you hide the item . . ."
Without hesitation, Ashran stepped towards them. He pulled the musket from his back which was covered in cloth. The weight of the musket felt substantial in his hands as he approached to intervene.
"Shouldn't that be enough?" said Ashran as he approached, his voice cutting through the tension. The three assailants—whom Ashran mentally labeled as "Thug A, Thug B, and Thug C"—turned to face him.
Thug A and Thug B stood close to their victim, while Thug C positioned himself behind them, seemingly observing their actions.
"Hey, if you want to live longer, you should just mind your ow—!" Thug C's words cut short as Ashran aimed his musket and fired, the shot striking him in the chest. Thug C gasped in pain and collapsed to the ground.
"Alright, alright, I've heard enough of that," said Ashran calmly, dismissing Thug C's cliché remarks. The other two assailants were now fully alerted.
Thug A drew his sword swiftly, while Thug B removed his foot from the person on the ground and assumed a fighting stance with his unsheathed sword. Their blades glinted in the dappled moonlight.
"Well, come on then. Fight me," said Ashran.
Then, the battle began immediately as thug B charged straight towards Ashran.
Ashran fired at Thug B, the sound of impact was heard as the bullet struck him. Despite the wound to his chest, Thug B pressed forward, swinging his sword in a horizontal arc. Ashran narrowly dodged, feeling the blade graze past him with formidable force. Surely, if it had struck him, it wouldn't have ended with just a graze.
Thug B lunged at Ashran once more, his sword slicing through the air. Ashran sidestepped, only to find Thug A confronting him from the right, attempting to catch him off guard.
Ashran swiftly ducked low, narrowly avoiding the blade that whizzed past his head. Rolling back to his feet, he tightened his grip on the musket. Thug B advanced with a wide swing of his sword. Ashran raised the musket, its weight reassuring in his hands, and pulled the trigger. The musket roared, smoke billowing from the barrel as the shot found its mark, sending Thug B crumpling to the ground.
In that fleeting moment, Thug A hesitated, uncertainty flickering across him. Ashran seized the opportunity, swinging the musket like a club. The wooden stock connected solidly with Thug A's jaw, sending him stumbling backward. Ashran quickly reloaded, his hands moving with haste.
As Thug A regained his composure, he sneered, "Y-you think you can get away with this? Once I report back, our clan will send Ghosts after you!"
Ashran remained composed. "You're right, that's concerning. But it'll only happen if you make that report, won't it?"
"Gu...!! DON'T YOU DARE MESS WITH ME!!"
With sudden resolve, Thug A turned and bolted, fleeing from Ashran's presence.
Ashran leveled his musket and fired. Another gunshot echoed through the alley. The fleeing figure was hit, his sword slipping from his grasp as he crumpled to the ground.
Silence descended upon the surroundings once more.
Ashran stood, the smoke from his musket curling into the air. He scanned the surroundings; the person who had been lying on the ground moments ago was nowhere to be seen. However, a trail of blood caught his eye, leading off in another direction.
"Well, well, should I follow it . . . ?" Ashran mused aloud, his gaze fixed on the bloodstained path ahead.