Lennox stood behind the counter, his fingers drumming idly against the polished wood as he reviewed the tavern's earnings from the past two weeks. Business had been good—better than he had initially expected.
1,600 gold coins.
That was the amount he had accumulated in sales over the last fourteen days. Adding it to the 2,700 gold coins he had made in the months prior, his total earnings had now reached 4,300 gold coins.
A slow smirk tugged at his lips.
He was nearly a quarter of the way toward the 20,000 gold required to upgrade the Mystic Tavern to Level Two.
Not bad at all.
Just as he was about to close the system interface, the tavern door swung open with a soft creak.
Lennox's smirk widened.
First customer of the day.
He glanced up, already preparing to greet whoever had entered—only for his breath to hitch in his throat.
His entire body tensed.
Two figures stood in the doorway.
They were tall, draped in long, hooded cloaks that concealed their forms, their presence exuding an oppressive stillness that sent a chill creeping down Lennox's spine.
Their faces were obscured beneath the heavy fabric of their hoods, but their gazes—sharp, piercing, unnatural—burned into him with an intensity that made his skin crawl.
Something was wrong.
The air in the tavern felt heavier, as if the warmth of the Mystic Tavern itself recoiled from their presence.
Lennox suppressed the unease bubbling in his chest, forcing himself to keep his expression neutral. Some customers were queer but harmless, after all. Best not to judge too quickly.
He plastered on a practiced smile. "Welcome to the Mystic Tav—"
The two men did not respond.
They didn't even pause at the threshold.
They simply moved.
Silent. Fluid. Spectral.
Their footsteps made no sound.
Their cloaks barely shifted as they glided toward him, their movements eerily synchronized—like shadows stretching toward their prey.
Lennox's pulse hammered against his ribs.
His instincts screamed.
Something was very, very wrong.
Then—it happened.
Without warning, the taller of the two lunged forward.
A blur. A streak of black fabric.
He vaulted over the counter effortlessly, his body twisting mid-air with a ghostly flair.
His hands reached for Lennox—long, claw-like fingers tipped with unnaturally sharp nails, aiming straight for his throat.
There was no wasted motion.
No sound.
Only cold death approaching.
Lennox's breath hitched again.
The pressure that slammed into him froze him in place.
His limbs locked, his body refusing to obey as the suffocating aura of the attacker crashed over him like a tidal wave.
He barely managed to stumble back—but he already knew it was too late.
The figure's fingers were a breath away from his skin.
Then—
A chime echoed in his mind, breaking through the tension.
[Threat Detected: Activation of Safe Haven Feature.]
And suddenly—everything stopped.
The tavern fell into absolute stillness.
Lennox felt it instantly—an invisible force washed over the space, freezing everything in place except for him.
The cloaked figure remained mid-motion, hovering over the counter, his outstretched hands just inches from Lennox's throat.
His nails, long and unnaturally sharp, gleamed under the tavern's light, frozen in time.
His hooded counterpart, still standing beyond the counter, was equally trapped, his head slightly tilted forward as if he had been preparing to move.
Lennox's heart slammed against his chest.
Then—he exhaled sharply, pure relief flooding through him.
"Holy shit—"
His legs nearly gave out beneath him.
He wasn't a fool. If not for the Safe Haven feature, those men—no, those monsters—would have already done gods knew what to him.
He took a shaky breath, forcing himself to steady.
Then—his lips curled into a sharp grin, his previous fear turning into something else.
Annoyance.
His voice was cold as he looked at the frozen attacker, his fingers still stretched out like an eager vulture.
"Tsk. Bad move, buddy."
He turned to the system in his mind.
"Can I move them?"
[Yes. The targets will remain incapacitated as long as they are within the Mystic Tavern's premises. You may relocate them freely. However, removing them from the tavern will disable the Safe Haven's effect.]
Lennox nodded. That was enough.
His gaze flickered back to the two immobile intruders.
Now that he was calmer, he took a moment to observe them closely.
Even with their cloaks concealing their figures, there was something… unnatural about them.
Something predatory, cold, and calculating.
And their eyes—or what little he could see of them beneath their hoods—were now filled with something else entirely.
It seemed like fear.
Lennox smirked.
He could almost feel their confusion.
They had entered thinking themselves the hunters.
Instead, they had walked straight into a trap.
"Alright, then."
Lennox grabbed them both—one in each hand—lifting them by the scruffs of their cloaks like they were nothing more than stray chickens.
His strength had grown considerably from training the Titanbone Method, and to him, they were light as sacks of leaves.
He carried them through the kitchen, ignoring their still frozen, panic-filled gazes, before dumping them unceremoniously into one of the empty storage rooms.
The two men hit the floor with a dull thud, but neither could move.
They remained there, helpless, trapped in an invisible prison of the Mystic Tavern's will.
Lennox crossed his arms, peering down at them.
A small, nagging temptation stirred within him.
What do they look like?
He could just pull back their hoods.
But—
He stopped himself.
His instincts whispered caution.
Strong people have strange powers.
There could be curses, poisons, or other spells attached to them.
He had read enough books to know that recklessness could be fatal in a world like this.
He wouldn't take unnecessary risks.
Shaking his head, he turned back to the system in his mind.
"Keep them incapacitated until Garrick returns."
[Confirmed.]
Satisfied, Lennox shut the storage room door, locking the two men inside.
With that handled, he strode back to the common room, dusting his hands off as if he had simply taken out the trash.
I should continue doing business as usual.
And not long after, the tavern door swung open again.
A different presence entered.
One he knew well.
It was One-Eyed George.
The seasoned adventurer strolled in, his heavy sack slung over one shoulder, his large recurve bow and quiver of arrows shifting against his back.
His scarred face split into a familiar grin as he made his way to the counter.