Deinderatrix's reputation preceded her both in the city and within the Sibar Adventurers' Guild.
She wasn't just famous for her seductive appearance. Her track record included rejecting a wealthy noble, abruptly confessing her love to an elf from the Northern Glyph Tower, and, most recently, causing a scene at an inn where she made a rather forward proposition to a light-blue-haired elf.
—No, no, no, you're all getting it wrong! —the mage exclaimed, throwing her hands up—. It's not what you think! Seriously.
Jinneth narrowed her eyes at her.
Beside her, Arya was trembling as she held back her laughter; bursting out laughing in the middle of the guild hall would utterly ruin her image as a serious archer.
Meanwhile, Alaster stared at the small box containing the ring which, fortunately, wasn't an engagement ring.
—This... —Detrix pointed at the object with a red-painted nail—. It's a Mage's Ring. It's not an ornament. It functions as a weapon; it stores up to 450 mana points to use for your spells.
—It was mine when I started out, which is why the design is gender-neutral. I noticed you were channeling mana bare-handed, and...
—But it works just fine like this —Alaster interrupted, confused.
The mage arched an eyebrow. —You really should accept it.
—It looks expensive. I can't —he said, pushing the small box back across the table.
Detrix softened her gaze, her voice dropping to a whisper.
—Come on, take it. Look at it as an apology for the misunderstanding at the inn. Forget that first impression.
—Besides, if you keep moving mana without a catalyst, you're going to permanently damage your meridians—or at least until you level up.
Arya finally uncovered her mouth and cut into the conversation.
—Just take it already. Or are you never going to let it go? I thought you'd forgiven her for screaming, "Ohhh, give me elven babies!" at you —Arya added, mimicking the mage with exaggerated gestures as she laughed.
Detrix and Jinneth glared at her, looking ready to kill.
Jinneth, who had also been part of that chase, decided to back the mage. Not out of kindness, but out of pure self-interest.
«Dammit, why is that witch looking at me? If she tells Al that I insulted him at the inn too, I'm going to lose all the ground I gained after he forgot about the whole Uriel mess», the baker thought.
—You should accept it, Alaster-darling. It looks like a well-intentioned gift —Jinneth said aloud.
Internally, she was thinking something entirely different: «Well-intentioned my foot, she just wants to get close to him!»
But she kept her smile and nodded.
Alaster grew suspicious: «I just hope it's not stolen goods and I end up getting scammed.»
Ultimately, he sighed.
—Alright. Thank you, Detrix. The incident at the inn is water under the bridge.
The mage beamed. Internally, she was throwing a party: «YES! I did it! I've got a foot in the door, and I helped out a newbie. I am an admirable woman.»
Her self-satisfaction lost some of its dignity, however, because she couldn't stop staring at his chest and abs.
Alaster slipped the ring on. «It's not going to fit», he thought.
But the moment it passed his knuckle, the metal magically shrank, adjusting to a perfect fit.
—It fits you perfectly! —Jinneth blurted out.
The mage nodded happily, while Arya stared at the ceiling, thoroughly done with the situation.
—I have to run —Detrix said. She grabbed her coin purse, tucked it next to the potions on her belt, and waved goodbye—. See you around. And read a basic magic tome if you don't want to break your own body.
The mage sauntered off with her usual stride, leaving Alaster deep in thought.
She was right. He had assumed that using magic without tools was an advantage, but now he understood the aches and dizziness he felt after practicing.
Drawing mana straight from his core and forcing it through his meridians was doing actual damage. «Crap», he thought.
Jinneth snapped him out of his thoughts by hoisting a canvas sack from the floor. —Aren't you going to turn this in?
—Right, almost forgot —Alaster said—. I'm going to talk to Mila.
He stood up from the table and walked over to the counter.
Mila was already glancing at him out of the corner of her eye while attending to a massive adventurer in plate armor. Alaster stood behind him to wait his turn, overhearing the man.
—How about we go for a few drinks, gorgeous? And after that, whatever happens, happens —the guy proposed, letting out a foul, raspy laugh—the kind that betrayed thirty years of tobacco and phlegm.
Mila let out a heavy sigh. —I'm sorry, I'm married. Besides, uninvited advances are not permitted within the guild.
Her voice sounded tired and flat. She adjusted her glasses, and a strand of her straight brunette hair fell across her face.
Alaster hadn't seen her wearing glasses before; the accessory gave her a strict air, a cross between a serious librarian and a mature office lady that commanded respect.
The armored guy let out a mocking whistle. —Word on the street is you're divorced. Come on, don't play hard to get. I'm sure a voluptuous woman like you likes to have fun.
Mila sighed again, wondering which of her friends had spread the gossip.
—If you have no further business with the guild, please make way for the next person —she said, narrowing her eyes into a firm stare.
The adventurer smirked arrogantly, but noticed Mila's gaze was no longer on him—it was fixed on someone behind him. Turning around, he came face-to-face with Alaster.
The receptionist's tone shifted entirely, becoming notably softer, her professional coldness melting instantly. —Hello, adventurer. What can I do for you today?
Alaster looked at the man. He was large, portly, had a greasy face, was missing teeth, and reeked of alcohol in the middle of the day.
—Are you finished with the gentleman? —Alaster asked, looking at them both.
—Yes —Mila replied, completely ignoring the brute.
—Good —Alaster smiled, and Mila caught her breath at the elf's proximity—. I have the items from the gathering quest here —he added, placing the bag of herbs onto the counter.
Mila opened it, inspected the contents, and let out a small, pleased hum.
—They are perfect. Very clean work. These are the best quality I've received in a long time.
—They'd better be, because they almost cost me my life —Alaster joked with a tired expression.
Mila smiled back at him.
Seeing the massive double standard in her treatment—rejected with absolute disgust while she practically beamed at the newcomer—the drunk adventurer exploded with toxic jealousy and slammed his fist onto the counter.
—All this pleasantry over some damn twigs?! —the fat man roared—. I brought in proof of cull for five Level 20 Blood Wolves, and you treated me like a nuisance!
—And now you're smiling and playing the sweet little girl to this long-ears just because people say he killed a Level 100 Alpha Wyvern?! It's an insult that you think we're that stupid! You just want him to ride you!
Hearing the vile insult thrown right at Mila’s face, Alaster’s expression darkened instantly.
His body reacted before his thoughts could form, shifting his weight forward as he advanced on the brute with the clear intention of slamming his fist into that greasy jaw.
But before he could strike, Mila reached across the counter and intercepted his arm, her grip surprisingly tight as she held him back.
«No, if he fights inside the hall, they will fine him heavily», Mila thought frantically, her heart racing. «And if Alaster strikes first, that brute could attack him without any legal consequences!»
Mila snapped her gaze toward the giant in plate armor, her eyes flashing with pure fury. —You are a scoundrel! —she shouted, her usual composed demeanor shattering.
Then, she quickly turned her face toward Alaster. Her voice softened completely, shifting into a gentle, protective tone. —Al... calm down. That man isn't worth your time.
Alaster paused, his knuckles still white, and looked at her.
Back at the table, Arya had also snapped up like a coiled spring. She drew her bow, nocked an arrow, and aimed. If Jinneth hadn't diverted her arm just in time, the guy would have died right then and there. The arrow buried itself deep into a wooden rafter in the ceiling.
The slur "long-ears" was an unforgivable insult to all elvenkind.
It wasn't just a personal attack on Alaster or a vulgar slight against his friend; the derogatory word sent a wave of profound indignation through every elf sitting in the guild hall.
Even though the insult hadn't been aimed at them directly, the elven patrons bristled with cold rage, their hands drifting toward their weapons as they glared at the brute.
Mila stared at the scene with wide eyes, waiting to see if the tension would explode.
The drunk expected it too; he was confident his Level 36 status would crush the elf's Level 1 if he was given an excuse to fight.
But Alaster took a breath and forced his posture to relax, heeding Mila's warning. To him, the man was simply a disruptive customer throwing a tantrum out of nowhere. «What is wrong with this guy? Talk about a bad drunk», he thought.
Alaster looked back at Mila with a calm smile. —Well, yeah, I almost died. Given the risk... doesn't that warrant a bit of an extra reward? Even just one or two more coins?
Mila blinked in disbelief. He managed to pull back his anger so quickly?
She looked at the fat drunk huffing with rage, and then at the elf who stood there smiling with his chest exposed. The contrast was ridiculous. «And he still wonders why I treat him better», the receptionist thought.
However, Alaster's complete indifference snapped the last thread of the drunk's patience. Garlan thrust his hand across the counter, grabbed the canvas sack, and hurled all the herbs directly into the elf's face.
The canvas sack struck Alaster's chest, and the medicinal herbs exploded outward, scattering across the marble floor.
Alaster looked down. The plants he had worked so hard to gather now lay broken, crushed, and ruined at his feet.
With total composure, he raised his head and looked at the receptionist.
—Mila, does this mean my quest is ruined? —he asked.
Mila, her hands trembling on the counter and her nerves frayed by the tension in the room, rushed to answer.
—No, no... not at all. You had already turned them in at the counter in perfect condition. I will personally file an incident report, and we will charge the value of the damaged materials directly to his account.
Alaster nodded, satisfied with the logic of the protocol, and turned around, completely ignoring Garlan's presence.
The massive adventurer, seeing that the elf wouldn't even deign to look at him, took two steps back.
The lack of a violent response seemed to embolden him, and he began to cause an even bigger scene, raising his voice so the entire hall could hear.
—Look at him! Do they really expect us to believe this long-ears killed a Wyvern?! There's something shady going on here! The guild is hiding and manipulating his data!
—This guy is a total fraud who doesn't earn his keep by bleeding like the rest of us! He's making a name for himself on guild nepotism and favoritism! He's probably paying her with something else!
Garlan's words began to sour the room.
Adventurers at nearby tables halted their conversations, exchanged glances, and began to mutter and whisper, casting suspicious eyes toward the counter. Mila watched them all with narrowed eyes, biting back her rage at the blatant defamation.
Alaster, completely detached from the opinions of the crowd, addressed the woman again. —So, is my quest finalized? Will I face any penalties for the state of the herbs?
—No, of course not —Mila replied firmly.
The receptionist reached beneath the counter and pulled out 35 copper coins, placing them one by one onto a small metal tray. The clinking of the metal echoed in the sudden silence of the room.
Alaster stepped forward, extending his large, elegant hand to slide the coins out and count them.
But before his fingers could touch the metal, Mila’s instincts completely short-circuited. Driven by a wave of raw nervousness and a desperate need for anchoring after the confrontation, she reached out and intercepted his hand, her palm pressing directly over his.
Alaster paused, his violet eyes locking onto hers. He immediately noticed that her fingers were trembling slightly against his skin.
Mila’s mind went into absolute, chaotic shutdown. The solid, warm, and heavy reality of his hand beneath hers instantly shattered the barrier of her self-control.
«T-this... this isn't one of my fantasies», she thought frantically, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. «This is the real one... he is right here.»
Her gaze helplessly drifted down from his face, sweeping across his exposed, masculine chest. She swallowed hard, her inner thoughts reaching a scandalous, wild crescendo.
«Why... why is he even semi-nude in the middle of the guild hall?! He looks... he looks even better than he did in my bathtub! At least sixty percent sexier, and a three hundred percent hotter!»
Alaster’s brow twitched. He could tell she was staring intently at him, her breathing heavy and erratic, while a fiery blush crept up her neck. Her reaction was a complete contrast to her usual mature composure.
Garlan, completely oblivious to the silent tension and desperately fishing for a reaction, let out a mocking laugh and pointed a finger at the elf. —Look at him! He's nothing but a coward!
A few patrons in the tavern caught the drunk's energy and let out weak chuckles.
«Coward...» —Joseph's internal voice echoed within him. The word flipped an old switch in his mind. In his past life, in his day-to-day existence as an ordinary citizen, he could swallow a lot of things. But never, under any circumstances, had he tolerated being called a coward.
Alaster stopped counting the coins, gently sliding his hand out from under Mila's trembling grasp. He turned his head with agonizing slowness.
—Shut your mouth, drunkard —he said.
In that instant, the elf's iridescent violet gaze locked directly into Garlan's eyes, and a freezing tension flooded the entire hall. The murmurs died on the spot.
Every adventurer felt the chill of the elf's glare—a palpable wrath radiating from those eyes that glowed menacingly.
Then, Alaster smiled. Everyone present stared at the elf's mocking, predatory grin with genuine fear; Garlan himself, despite his status, felt his stomach drop.
Alaster clapped his hands.
CLAP.
Then again.
CLAP.
And once more, a slow, rhythmic, heavy applause that rang through the silence of the guild.
His appearance was undeniably charismatic, holding the gaze of everyone in the room like a natural stage performer.
In a smooth, deep voice, Alaster broke the stillness, gesticulating lightly with an open hand as his eyes flashed dangerous, iridescent sparks with every poison-laced word:
—Bravo, bravo. Why all the theatrics, drunkie? I get it now! You're just putting on a grand show because you desperately want to earn a few coppers to keep your miserable drinking streak going.
The giant brute froze, his face turning an angry shade of purple as the entire room hung on the elf's next words. Alaster chuckled softly, a sound that carried across the quiet hall.
—You could have just asked nicely instead of making a scene —Alaster added, his tone dripping with mock pity.
Joseph picked up one of the copper coins from the tray. With a clean, sharp flick of his wrist, he balanced the piece on his thumb and snapped it forward.
The coin flew in a perfect arc and clattered loudly against the metal plates of the brute's boots, landing right at his feet.
—Here —Alaster's voice dropped into a dangerous, venomous whisper—. How about you dance for it, drunkard?