The man's insolent words hung in the air like a dark cloud, and the girl's face drained of color, her heart racing.
A chorus of raucous laughter erupted from the drunken patrons surrounding them. Their mocking jeers filled the tavern, drawing everyone's eyes to the girl standing defenselessly before the man.
"Hey, Howard!" one of the onlookers cackled. "You don't even have a roof over your head, and you think this little girl will perform with you on the streets? Hahaha!"
"Why don't you let me take care of Howard for you? We could have a nice chat tonight," another voice chimed in, the sleazy grin on his face unmistakable.
"You stepped on my foot..." Suddenly a voice came, bht everyone ignored it.
More cruel laughter erupted, laced with sneers. The girl's heart sank further. Covering her chest, she forced a smile. "Haha, uncle, I think you've had too much to drink. Let's not make a scene."
But Howard, his patience thinning, rolled his eyes and yanked the girl closer, his voice booming with rage. "How dare you! I've been nice to you, and you're shameless enough to act like this? I'll teach you a lesson!"
His massive hand swung toward her face, a blur of angry motion. She could only close her eyes, bracing for impact. But instead of the sting she expected, nothing came.
"I said, you stepped on my foot," a calm, unpleasant voice interrupted from a nearby table. Howard turned to see a man with piercing red eyes staring him down.
As the girl opened her eyes, she was stunned to find Howard's hand frozen in mid-air, gripped firmly by a leather-covered hand that belonged to James.
"Who the hell are you? You want to die?" Howard sputtered, his drunken face now an alarming shade of purple.
"Drunken bravado can make a fool out of anyone," James said coolly, his grip unyielding as he watched Howard squirm. With a swift motion, he forced the man down onto the broken shards of plates scattered on the tavern floor.
"Ah! You bastard!" Howard howled, trying to rise, but James's foot pressed him back onto the jagged pieces.
"It doesn't hurt, but I detest those who don't apologize when they step on my foot," James remarked, his tone cold. "And I really hate bullies."
He applied just enough pressure to make Howard sink further into the ground, the man's cries now a faint whimper, blood trickling from his mouth and nose.
"What the hell are you doing?" several drunks shouted, slamming their fists on the table, but their bravado faltered as they sensed the F-level aura radiating from James. One by one, they sank back into their seats, fear etching their faces.
The tavern fell silent, the only sounds being the heavy breaths of the patrons and Howard's weak whimpers.
"Is he... going to die?" the girl asked, her voice barely a whisper, her eyes wide with concern.
"Oh?" James glanced at her, casually twirling a pair of chopsticks in his fingers. "Why? Don't you want him to die? Or would you prefer to keep enduring his bullying?"
The girl took a hesitant step back, biting her lip, shaking her head. She glanced at Howard, lying helplessly on the ground, then shook her head again, her expression a mixture of fear and pity.
"Stop it, guest," she pleaded softly.
A faint but distinct mid-grade F-level aura drifted from the back kitchen. James's gaze shifted, and he saw a man leaning casually against the kitchen doorway, a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips as he eyed him with an amused smirk.
"I never thought I'd see a fellow F-level warrior eating in a dump like this," the man called out, his voice laced with sarcasm. "Did the tavern inside jack up its prices again, or are you just slumming it for fun?"
He sauntered over, flicking ash from his cigarette as he rudely shoved aside the mercenaries sitting near James. Without so much as a word of apology, he plopped himself down at the table, making himself comfortable.
"And yet here you are, too," James remarked coolly, barely lifting an eyebrow as he noted the man's equal F-level status.
The man took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke with deliberate ease. "We're not the same," he murmured, his voice taking on a smug tone. "I come here to make money. A lot of it, too."
Without warning, the man picked up the glass of cheap wine James had ordered and, with a smirk, casually poured it over Howard's battered head, still sprawled out on the floor.
"This lousy place, they sell watered-down wine for more than 20 dollars a glass." He sneered and kicked at Howard's limp body. "The food they serve is barely fit for a dog. But you know what? You can still make a killing in a day here."
He leaned back, extending his hand as he pointed dismissively at the room full of mercenaries and adventurers. "These pigs," he spat, "they're willing to cough up thousands of dollars for garbage like this. The money's worthless down here, but get enough of it, and you can trade for some real goods."
Despite the clear insult, not a single mercenary or adventurer in the room dared to protest. They sat in silence, staring into their drinks, their faces a mixture of shame and fear.
The man crushed his cigarette into the shoulder of a nearby mercenary without so much as a second glance. "It doesn't matter if these pigs live or die," he continued, his tone dripping with disdain, "but if they start dying in here, it'll hurt my business. So, you'd better stop before you mess up my profits." His eyes narrowed in contempt as he glanced at James.
James's lips curled into a faint smile. "Why didn't you step in when your customers were being bullied, then?" he asked, his voice tinged with mockery.
The man let out a sharp laugh. "She's a G-level nobody, trash. What does it matter? As long as I keep her fed, I can give you another just like her, as many as you want." His patience was wearing thin, and with a sudden jerk, he pulled a sleek pistol from his pocket and aimed it directly at James's head.
"If you weren't F-level like me, I wouldn't even bother with this conversation," he growled, his finger hovering dangerously over the trigger. "Now, get your foot off him and get lost. Or I'll blow your brains out, right here."
James glanced at the gun pointed at his forehead, his expression unchanged. Something about the weapon caught his eye; no magazine, no obvious bullets. It was unlike any conventional firearm he'd ever seen.
"Does this thing even work?" James asked with genuine curiosity, his gaze fixed on the weapon's strange, compact barrel.
The man chuckled darkly. "You really are a backwater bumpkin, aren't you? This isn't just some ordinary gun; this is a high-tier weapon. Get out, or I'll show you exactly how 'useful' it is."
"Interesting," James said with a calm chuckle, his gaze shifting momentarily to the trembling girl beside him. Then, in a sudden burst of motion, he brought his foot down hard, crushing Howard beneath his heel. The man's body shattered like brittle glass, disintegrating into pieces on the floor.
Before the smoking man could react, James's left hand shot out, snatching the pistol from his grip with lightning speed. His right hand swung into the air, summoning a large, ominous sickle that appeared out of thin air, its gleaming blade poised to strike.
"I think I'll test your weapon today," James said with a chilling grin, the edge of his sickle flashing in the dim tavern light as it descended upon the man.
---
PS:
That's the harsh reality of running a business in an underground tavern. The scarcity of food makes everything a hundred times more expensive than usual. G-level people have much greater physical needs than ordinary folks, so their demand for food and drink is insatiable.
PSS:
Completing tasks brings in a fortune, but for F-level and above, currency is usually traded in the form of crystals, not cash.