Arcus looked down, staring at Bryan, who lay helplessly upon the cobblestone street. The atmosphere of the street was now quiet, filled only with the sound of ragged breathing and soft groans from the dozen thugs scattered around him.
Arcus's left hand still tightly gripped the cloth bag. Inside it, the thick cloaks for his comrades were neatly stored, alongside the packages of roasted meat and wheat bread whose warmth still seeped through the bag's fabric.
With a casual motion completely devoid of emotion, Arcus raised his right leg. He placed his shoe lightly right upon the chest of the thug leader.
Bryan groaned in pain. His survival instinct flared.
With all the strength he possessed, Bryan grabbed Arcus's ankle with both hands, trying with all his might to push the leg away from his chest. Bryan's face turned red, the veins on his neck bulging as he exerted all his power.
Yet, Arcus's posture remained standing tall with a lethal elegance. His leg did not budge a single millimeter.
To Bryan, what was pinning down his chest right now was not the leg of a human, but an immovable mountain.
Arcus lowered his gaze. His eyes, as cold as ice, stared at Bryan.
"I need freedom of movement in this city," Arcus said in a flat tone laden with boredom, as if he were asking a pedestrian for directions rather than interrogating a man who had just tried to kill him.
"Where is the easiest place to obtain official identification without many questions?"
Under the pressure of that mountain, Bryan's ribs creaked softly. His breath hitched, and terror overtook all of his arrogance.
"T-The Adventurer's Guild..." Bryan answered brokenly, his eyes widening in terror. "Y-you only need to pay one silver coin there... to register and get an adventurer identity plate... which can be used for official access throughout all the kingdom's cities..."
Hearing the information he needed, Arcus gave a faint, condescending smile.
In his mind, a thought crossed. My coins are actually almost gone after buying these cloaks. And now, these good people are kind enough to deliver money right to my doorstep.
Arcus glanced at the cloth bag in his left hand. However, delaying time and letting this food get cold is a sin. Bringing a warm dinner for my friends is the top priority.
Arcus looked back at Bryan. Without giving a warning, the tip of his shoe moved like lightning, kicking Bryan's lower jaw with lethal precision.
Thud.
Bryan's head snapped to the side, and his consciousness was extinguished instantly. The thug boss fell into a motionless faint upon the cobblestone street.
Having dealt with his final obstacle, Arcus turned around. His sharp eyes glanced toward the slightly ajar door of the Black Crow Inn. He walked casually, leaving the pile of bodies on the street, and pushed the wooden door open.
As soon as Arcus stepped inside, the scene within the inn had drastically changed. The room that was previously filled with hoarse laughter and crude chatter was now deathly silent, devoid of any patrons.
In front of the bar counter, Otto the innkeeper immediately dropped to the floor. The bald man knelt, his body trembling violently.
"S-Sir! I-I swear upon the name of Goddess Lumina!" Otto wailed with a trembling voice, both his hands touching the wooden floor. "I-I have nothing to do with Bryan and his boys! I never planned this ambush, please spare my life!"
Arcus stopped right in front of Otto. He stayed silent for a moment, letting the oppressive silence choke the air inside the room.
With a slow movement laden with arrogance, Arcus raised his right hand and pulled the hood of his black cloak back. His golden-blonde hair fell, framing his handsome and cold face.
He looked at Otto the way one would look at a servant. His pressure radiated outward, filling every corner of the inn.
"I do not like my hands getting dirtied by sewer rats," Arcus said arrogantly, his voice echoing, breaking the silence.
He tilted his head slightly, issuing a command that left no room for argument. "Clean up the street out front. Gather all the money and valuables they possess into one pouch, then bring it to my room."
Otto nodded rapidly over and over until his forehead hit the floor. "Y-yes, Sir! I will do it immediately!"
"After that, make sure those rats know who they just messed with," Arcus continued coldly. He turned toward the stairs, but paused his steps on the first stair.
"Gather that money, leave it in front of my room door. Knock once, then leave. And remember... do not even dare try to look inside my room."
Without waiting for an answer, Arcus ascended the softly creaking wooden stairs, bringing the warmth of the food and protective cloaks back to his friends waiting in room number four.
As soon as the sound of those footsteps faded onto the second floor, Otto exhaled the breath he had been holding in his throat. Cold sweat drenched his entire back. He felt as though he had just survived the jaws of a dragon.
Not wanting to waste a single second keeping the blonde monster waiting, Otto immediately got up and snapped at the two tavern waiters who had been hiding behind the beer barrels all this time.
"You two! Get out of there and bring empty leather pouches! Fast!"
The two waiters, who were just as pale as Otto, scrambled to grab the pouches and followed their master out of the inn.
The night air greeted them, decorated with a sight that made Otto's stomach churn.
Eighteen men—some of whom were the most feared thugs in this district—lay groaning, unconscious, or enduring pain with their bones in unnatural positions. There were no pools of blood, only a dominance of power that incapacitated them all in a matter of seconds.
"Search their pockets! Take every coin you can find!" Otto whispered in a panic. His own hands immediately moved to search the pockets of an unconscious thug near the door.
Otto's hands trembled violently as he pulled out a few copper coins. The clinking sound of copper and silver coins colliding as they were tossed into the leather pouch sounded incredibly loud in his ears.
The fear that he was collecting tribute for a god of death made his movements faster and rougher.
After several minutes of draining the wealth from the pockets of the helpless thugs, the leather pouch in Otto's hand felt heavy. He then walked toward the large figure sprawled in the middle of the street. Bryan.
Otto crouched down, then delivered two hard slaps to the thug boss's cheeks. "Bryan! Wake up, you fool!"
Bryan groaned softly. His eyes opened slowly, still clouded by confusion and the pain crushing his jaw.
As soon as Bryan's eyes could focus, he saw Otto crouching over him. In the innkeeper's hand, a kitchen knife gleamed, reflecting the lamplight, pointed right at his neck.
The knife in Otto's hand trembled faintly—clear proof that the bald man was actually still gripped by profound terror. However, tonight, Otto possessed an impenetrable shield.
He took refuge behind the shadow of the terrifying reputation of the blonde young man on the second floor. That artificial courage made his voice sound like a threatening hiss.
"Just so you know, Bryan..." Otto whispered sharply, pressing the dull edge of his knife slightly against the skin of Bryan's neck. "That man... he incapacitated all of you without even using a weapon or any skill whatsoever. He only used his bare hands. He is a monster in human form."
Bryan's breath hitched. His eyes widened, realizing the horrifying fact he had just experienced himself. The creeping fear on Bryan's face provided a certain satisfaction for Otto, fortifying the fortress of his illusory power.
"Deliver this message of mine to all the gang leaders in Wealden," Otto threatened, staring sharply into Bryan's eyes.
"The Black Crow Inn is now under his protection. If even one of you dares to approach my place with ill intent... all of you will lose your lives before you can even draw your swords."
Otto stood up, pulling his knife back. He lightly kicked Bryan's paralyzed leg with a look of disgust, then turned around, carrying the leather pouch full of coins back inside the inn.
In front of the inn room door, Arcus paused for a moment. He raised his hand and knocked on the wooden surface once.
That knock served as a signal. From the gap of the door, the magical blue glow of the [Tier C - Magic Lock] sealing the room slowly dimmed and faded until it vanished.
Arcus pushed the door open. His eyes immediately fell upon the corner of the room.
There, he did not see an elite fighter on high alert, but an Elf who looked so incredibly exhausted. Vrischil still sat glued to his wooden chair, tightly gripping Alphonse's hand in the exact same position as when Arcus had left her a while ago.
Arcus stepped inside, carrying the cloth bag in his left hand and the packages of food in his right hand.
The savory aroma of the hot roasted meat and wheat bread immediately crept into every corner of the cramped room. In another place or time, that aroma should have been appetizing and brought warmth.
But inside this room, the smell of food felt completely out of place. There was such a sharp contrast; the "aroma of life" from the warm food clashed violently with the "atmosphere of death" radiating from Alphonse's pale face and shallow breathing upon the bed.
Arcus placed the packages of food on the wooden table carefully.
"Eat, Vrischil," Arcus said softly, breaking the silence. "The meat and bread are still warm."
Vrischil did not respond. She did not even blink or turn her head in the slightest. her pair of emerald eyes were locked onto Alphonse's pale face. The Elf's silence was like a thick wall built from deeply suppressed anxiety.
Seeing Vrischil's stubbornness, Arcus's jaw hardened.
"Do you think Alphonse would be happy seeing you torture yourself like this?" Arcus reprimanded, his voice rising half an octave. "He will scold me if I let you fall sick from starvation!"
Still no answer. Only a frozen silence.
Arcus's right hand rose, running roughly through his blonde hair until it was messy. He exhaled a heavy breath, laden with frustration exploding in his chest.
Out there, he had just taken down over a dozen armed men bare-handed without breaking a single drop of sweat. His power was terrifying, yet inside this room, all that combat power was completely useless. He could not heal; he could not restore his friend's consciousness.
"Damn it," Arcus cursed softly, turning his face away.
He realized that arguing with an Elf whose mind was in turmoil was the same as shouting at a boulder.
Amidst the tension, a knock sounded from outside the door. One soft knock. Otto had carried out his orders.
Arcus walked to the door and opened it slightly. There was no one in the hallway, only a leather pouch lying upon the wooden floor. Arcus picked up the pouch. Its weight was quite heavy.
As he closed the door again, the clinking sound of copper and silver coins colliding was heard inside the room.
In the game, that sound was the melody of victory. Getting loot and collecting coins was always a joyous occasion. But tonight, as Arcus held the heavy leather pouch, the clinking of coins felt incredibly hollow and pathetic.
Without bothering to untie it or count the number of coins inside, Arcus tossed the pouch into the corner of the room.
Thud. The leather pouch landed roughly on the floor. The hundreds of coins they needed to survive in this city had been acquired, but all the wealth in the world meant nothing if the man lying on the bed had not yet opened his eyes.
Drained of the energy to argue, Arcus gave up. He slumped down, sitting with his back against the wall across from the bed. He bent his knees and let his arms hang limp, staring blankly at the gaps in the floorboards.
Only the sound of Alphonse's shallow breathing filled the room.
However, a few moments later, a sudden movement broke the silence.
Vrischil, who had been frozen like an ice statue all this time, suddenly jolted. her back stiffened, and her grip on Alphonse's glove tightened.
Arcus lifted his face, following the direction of the Elf's gaze. Right at that moment, under the dim light of the crystal lamp, Arcus saw clearly: Alphonse's right index finger resting on the bedsheet twitched softly.