The atmosphere in the inn shifted from a sudden burst of violence to an adrenaline-charged silence thick with hanging dust. The rhythmic thud of the guards' boots on the creaking wood marked the end of the conflict. Tarzz, his face pale and refusing to look anyone in the eye, barked the order to retreat.
The other guards dragged the three drunks by their armpits like sacks of potatoes. Grolen was still knocked out cold, his head hanging limply with a streak of blood mixed with sawdust running down his forehead; the impact against the ceiling had taken him completely out of commission. Even the first guard Alaster had turned into a "human projectile" managed to stand up with difficulty; his plate armor was dented and scratched, having absorbed an impact that would have otherwise shattered his bones.
In the center of the room, Jinneth, who until a second ago had been clinging to Alaster's chest like a baby pangolin seeking shelter, let go to throw herself into her father's arms. Barnaby received her with a hug that looked capable of crushing boulders, letting out a sigh of relief that made his chest vibrate. The guards holding him had let him go with suspicious speed; Alaster knew it wasn't out of kindness. With over two hundred and twenty people gathered outside—angry neighbors and guests who had come down in their sleepwear—the Guard simply didn't have enough men to make any more arrests without triggering a massacre. For Tarzz, this was already a scandalous disaster; he would be lucky to get away with a mere reprimand instead of ending up in a dungeon himself for letting a captain's son cause such a riot.
Marly approached Alaster, who remained standing amidst the wreckage. The woman's hair was a bit disheveled, but her gaze was practical and maternal.
"Hey, Al..." she said in a low voice. "Do you want something to eat? You could use it to get your strength back."
Alaster shook his head slowly, scanning the premises. There were splintered tables, broken mugs, and the scent of spilled ale mixed with the ozonized smell of his magic. The crowd began flowing outside, following the guards to ensure they actually took the troublemakers away.
Alaster stood up from the chair he had leaned on for a moment, and Marly stared at him with a serious, almost analytical expression.
"You know, I think you got very lucky that guard was high-level," she commented, crossing her arms. "With those hits, you could have killed anyone else. And then you really would have a massive problem on your hands."
Alaster looked at the older woman, still processing the violence he had just unleashed. "That guy was about to do something terrible to Jinneth... and the guards were just watching," he replied, a trace of coldness in his voice. "But honestly, Marly... I didn't know I had that kind of strength. I surprised myself."
Marly looked at him with a puzzled face, arching an eyebrow. "Alaster, please... everyone knows elves have much higher base physical strength than a human. It's common knowledge."
Alaster blinked, confused. He tried to make the math work. "But... my strength stats are only at 7 points. That's a low number, isn't it?"
Marly let out a huff that was almost a laugh. "Son, listen: it's 7 strength points, yes, but in an elven physique. It's a racial modifier. A 7 in a mouse isn't the same as a 7 in a bear. Your muscles and bones are built differently; they channel mana differently even if you don't realize it."
"But I'm level 1," Alaster insisted, lowering his voice as if confessing a sin.
Marly stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes widening. "Level 1?" she exclaimed, almost in a whisper. "That's... very bizarre. Even someone who kills a chicken for dinner levels up. Heck, you level up just from carrying heavy boxes for a couple of weeks... It seems you've had a very easy life to reach adulthood at level one."
Marly stepped a bit closer, observing his pointed ears. "Either that, or you're a sixty-year-old teenage elf who hasn't left his garden. That would explain why you're so different from those snobby elves who sometimes come through town. Even better than Arya; she's great, but she always keeps that distance, like she's looking down on us from a mountain. But you... you almost seem human. Except for, well, you know, the ears and... the face and the body."
Barnaby, who was a few meters away comforting Jinneth, burst into a deep roar of laughter upon hearing the comparison. The tension finally shattered.
Jinneth straightened up, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. Her eyes, still a bit watery but sparkling again, locked onto Alaster. She approached him with quick steps and, with her characteristic spontaneity, extended her arms toward him in a spoiled, affectionate gesture.
"Alaster dear!" the girl cried, her voice still a bit shaky but full of affection.
After a minute, the racket from the ground floor became a distant echo. Jinneth, driven by a blend of nervousness and an unexpected determination, dragged Alaster through the second-floor hallways. The elf put up no resistance; after the violence they had experienced and seeing the panic in the young woman's eyes, he felt unable to deny her anything. To him, Jinneth was a creature of vibrant innocence, someone he had to protect.
"What do you want to do, Jinneth?" he asked softly as they walked. "Do you want to eat something sweet?"
"Nope," she answered in a small voice. "Let's just talk for a bit and drink tea."
Jinneth wouldn't let go of him. She walked pressed so close to his arm that Alaster could feel the pressure of her chest against his side. Looking at her from the corner of his eye, he noticed her eyes were suddenly tearful. Despite the sadness clouding her gaze, a small, mischievous smile danced at the corners of her lips.
Something's wrong, Alaster thought. His instincts as a man used to getting into trouble—what he liked to call his "foresight instincts"—were screaming that the situation was turning strange. However, the image of Jinneth about to be forced right in front of her own father was too heavy in his memory to pull away.
"Where are we going, Jinneth?" he asked upon seeing them pass several doors.
"Ummm... somewhere more comfortable, Alaster dear," she murmured, looking down. "It's where I feel safest."
Alaster observed her light steps. She was barefoot, wearing linen shorts that revealed her slender yet athletic legs, with that tanned tone of someone who had spent time under the sun on the southern beaches. Hers wasn't a stunning, icy beauty like Arya's; it was an approachable, warm, and earthy beauty.
They stopped before a door on the left. At that moment, Marly's shout echoed up from the stairs: "Hey, daughter! Goodnight! We're cleaning up a bit! Al, don't leave the poor girl alone!"
Jinneth took a breath and shouted at the top of her lungs, "Yes, Mom... goodnight!" Then she turned back to Alaster with a pitiful expression. "Come on... go on in."
The room was the perfect sanctuary. The first thing that caught Alaster's attention was a massive built-in couch in a bay window that jutted out toward the garden. It had glass of astonishing clarity, far better than any glassware he had seen in this world. It was the ideal nook for reading or drinking coffee.
"Please, Mr. Alaster, take a seat in my private bay window," she said, regaining a bit of her spark.
Alaster, noting that his feet were strangely clean despite the chaos and being barefoot just like her, settled onto the couch, which was nearly as large as a bed. From there, one could see a slightly battered roof, the inn's untended garden, and, beyond the fence, the street in the twilight. Jinneth leaped onto the couch and sat incredibly close, observing the elf's focused profile. How can he be so beautiful? she thought with a sigh.
She was about to squeeze against him when she noticed her clothes were damp from the juice and ale spilled during the fight. Her eyes welled with tears again, this time from the remembered humiliation.
Seeking a distraction, she saw Alaster reach his hand toward a small bookshelf. His fingers brushed a spine whose title started with something that made her heart skip a beat.
With blinding speed, Jinneth snatched the book away and hugged it tightly against her chest as if her life depended on keeping it hidden. Her face flushed a furious red. Alaster, however, had already caught the title in his mind; he would investigate it later.
"I-I'll be right back. I need to grab something to snack on," she stammered, backing away and bumping into a small table before leaving with a nervous laugh, never taking her eyes off him.
Alaster took the opportunity to examine the rest of the shelf. It consisted almost entirely of adventure novels: brave female warriors, monsters, and passionate romances with princes or mages. Plenty of romantic content and almost no educational material, except for a few merchant mathematics manuals focused on fractions and percentages. Women here seem far more independent, he noted mentally.
After a while, Jinneth returned with a tray. She had changed into a short but modest skirt and a fresh blouse of light fabric. She had tied her hair up, leaving a few loose strands framing her face.
"Do you like to read, Al?" she asked, offering him a cup of hot tea.
"Yes... when I was young I used to like reading fan—adventure stories," he corrected himself, remembering that in this world, fantasy was the daily reality.
"Oh! I thought elves only read about magic and research," she commented, sitting back down in the bay window.
"I can't speak for all elves, I only know myself," Alaster replied, feeling like a racial fraud.
"Don't you have friends?" she asked, placing a finger gently on her cheek in a cute gesture.
"No. At least no elven friends."
"What about Arya?"
"I met her a few days ago. She saved my life and introduced me to you guys... I owe her a lot, but I suppose it's just solidarity."