A gaggle of drunks couldn't peel their eyes off the stunning girl, some already drooling. One bold fool, clutching a sloshing tankard, staggered toward her. "Hey, gorgeous—"
Crack! Before he could finish, the ox-like warrior at her side sent him sprawling with a single blow, sparking a roar of laughter from the tavern's crowd.
Du Wei's gaze sparked with curiosity. Hmm, a close-combat brute of a warrior, a sharpshooting archer… and this girl, flanked by her crew, must be their leader. Could this be one of those legendary adventuring bands?
Having studied this world, Du Wei knew of such groups—mercenary-like teams, some numbering hundreds, others just a handful. The southern forests, teeming with low-tier magical beasts, drew these bands like moths to a flame, hunting for pelts and profit. Local governments, strapped for manpower, often hired them too, tossing out bounties for bandits or other nuisances.
Yet, the empire forbade large-scale mercenary guilds, wary of any armed group threatening its iron grip. Du Wei nodded to himself—smart move. Loose cannons could destabilize a nation.
But… a mage among them? That was a shock. From his readings, Du Wei knew mages were rarer than dragon's teeth. Becoming one demanded not just raw talent but decades of grueling study. Across the empire, only a few hundred existed. Even nobles struggled to secure their loyalty, and a mage's upkeep could bankrupt lesser houses. For a king to boast one in his court was a mark of pride.
So, to spot a mage in this ragtag crew? That was downright bizarre.
The trio—plus their fiery leader—claimed a corner table. The burly warrior chugged a barrel of ale like it was water. The archer gnawed on roasted meat with precision. The mage, eyes shut, seemed to meditate. Meanwhile, the girl bristled under the leering stares of the tavern's men.
Thanks to their intimidating aura, no one dared approach. Whispers, though, buzzed like flies—especially from Du Wei's own entourage.
These knights, hailing from the Rowling House, fancied themselves above some scruffy adventuring band. Fueled by ale and the bitterness of their exile, they itched for trouble. With their master nearby, they kept it to murmurs, but restraint was fraying.
Du Wei sipped his wine, amused by their chatter about the girl's striking legs. It reminded him of old nights at bars, joking with friends about beauties. But these knights, after a few rounds, grew bolder, their voices creeping louder. Worse, they showed little respect for their "disgraced" young lord.
The girl, a spark ready to ignite, shot glares at every lustful glance. Her fiery eyes only fanned the flames of their interest.
Then, one knight, two cups deep, chuckled low. "Those legs—gods, I've never seen a finer pair. A spitfire like her? In the capital's pleasure dens, she'd fetch a hundred gold coins, easy."
"A hundred?" another scoffed. "You've never been to those dens, have you? Three hundred, minimum!"
Du Wei eyed his grumbling men, a sly grin forming. "Pretty, is she? Eh, she's alright. But those legs? Now those have some spice."
Silence. The knights froze, stunned that their quiet, "dimwitted" young master would speak so boldly. They'd heard he was a clueless boy—hence their loose tongues.
"What's wrong? Not men enough?" Du Wei laughed. "She's just a girl. You're all skilled knights, yet you sit here whispering like cowards. Tell you what—I'll toss ten gold coins to whoever's brave enough to chat her up."
The knights roared with laughter. This fallen heir might be rough around the edges, but he spoke their language. One brash fellow grinned. "That coin's mine, milord!"
He stood, slammed his mug down, and hollered across the room. "Oi, lass! How 'bout I buy you a drink?"
The girl's eyes blazed with fury. She started to rise, but her companions tugged her back. The mage leaned in, muttering—likely noting Du Wei's noble garb and urging caution.
The knight, met with silence, scratched his head, fumbling for words. Then Du Wei stood, whistled sharply, and—flip—raised a crude gesture.
His own knights gaped. A noble of the Rowling House, the earl's eldest son, acting like a street thug? Unheard of!
Before they could recover, the girl's temper snapped. A heavy tankard hurtled toward Du Wei. A knight in front leaped up, deflecting it with his arm, but ale splashed everywhere, soaking Du Wei's sleeve. His men roared in outrage, drawing swords and charging the corner. The girl yanked out a curved blade, and with a few heated curses, the brawl erupted.
The tavern dissolved into chaos. Cowards fled; thrill-seekers lingered to watch.
The ox-warrior alone faced five or six Rowling knights. Both sides, tipsy but cautious, pulled their punches at first. The mage shouted something—probably a warning to hold back. But when a knight's fist cracked the warrior's nose, blood gushing and bone snapping, restraint vanished. The warrior swung his massive shield, sending a knight crashing through the bar counter with a sickening crunch.
Space was tight, and the knights' swords found their mark, carving gashes into the warrior's hide. The archer fared worse—his longbow useless in close quarters, he parried weakly with a dagger before a knight's boot floored him.
The girl danced through the fray, her curved blade parrying a knight's longsword with grace. But as her allies faltered, her eyes locked on Du Wei—the clear ringleader. Feinting past a knight, she lunged for him.
The Rowling guards hadn't forgotten their duty. As she moved, a knight hurled a table, staggering her. Another's sword slashed down, striking her leather armor. A flash of white light flared—the armor, enchanted, repelled the blade unharmed.
From the shadows, the mage's face darkened. Rising, he lifted his hands, fingers tracing swift symbols as strange chants spilled from his lips. A faint halo pulsed from his fingertips.
The Rowling knights faltered, their bodies suddenly heavy. Each swing felt like dragging a boulder, their blades impossibly ponderous. The sudden shift cost them—one knight took a gash, then another, blood staining the floor.
Du Wei's eyes gleamed. Slowing spell! Real magic!
The mage retreated, fingers flicking again. A fireball sparked to life, streaking toward the knights. One, skilled enough, cleaved it apart with his sword, but embers sprayed, singeing others who yelped and flailed.
The room flickered with flames as the mage became a living flamethrower. The Rowling knights, once dominant, now barely held their own—twenty against four, yet only breaking even.
Du Wei frowned. Something was off. This mage had unleashed eight fireballs in a row, barely chanting, each shot faster than the last. That was no novice trick—far beyond a low-tier mage's power.
Recalling his studies, Du Wei knew mages were glass cannons, deadly at range but frail up close. Spotting the mage unguarded, he snatched a bottle and hurled it.
The mage, caught off guard, barely dodged. The bottle shattered against the wall, shards slicing his cheek. He yelped, clutching his face—then Du Wei tackled him, small hands clawing at his throat, toppling him to the floor.
But Du Wei, a scrawny thirteen-year-old, had miscalculated. A mage's melee skills were weak, but not that weak. The man twisted, pinning Du Wei beneath him, wrenching his arms.
Before Du Wei could shout, a thud echoed. The mage's eyes rolled back, and he slumped. Du Wei shoved him off, spotting Marde, his loyal servant, trembling with a table leg in hand.
Without the mage's spells—no slowing curses, no fireballs—the Rowling knights surged forward. Swords clashed, and the tide turned.
The ox-warrior, overwhelmed, took two slashes to the legs and crumpled. The archer was already out cold. The girl, though, proved slippery. Her skills were mediocre, but her enchanted armor—blessed with agility and strength—kept her in the fight. Her curved blade, no ordinary steel, sheared through two knights' swords. Only when more knights piled on did they pin her down.
Panting, Du Wei was helped to a chair by shamefaced knights, mortified they'd let their lord come to harm. He waved them off, unfazed.
He sized up the defeated crew. They were nobodies—decent brawlers at best. The warrior had brute force, but none wielded even basic aura, the hallmark of true fighters. Pathetic.
Then again, Du Wei's own men weren't much better. Twenty knights to subdue four amateurs, and they'd struggled? Clearly, his father had sent the family's dregs to escort him—cast-offs for a cast-off son.
Du Wei smirked bitterly. No surprise there. Why would skilled warriors volunteer to babysit a disgraced heir? Only the desperate took this gig.
Ignoring his men's apologies, Du Wei inspected the spoils. The warrior's shield was junk, but the girl's gear? That was something else. He crouched beside her, studying her leather armor. After a moment, he whooped. Got it!
His books confirmed it: the armor bore two enchantments—agility and strength. A rare find, worth a fortune in the capital's markets. High-tier fighters would pay dearly for it. So why did this low-skill spitfire own such a prize?
Her curved blade caught his eye next. A gem in its hilt glimmered—a mana-storing crystal, straight out of his texts. Another enchanted weapon.
Then there was her silver bow. Silver, soft for weapons, was a mage's bane. Metal naturally disrupted magic, and silver arrows could pierce a mage's protective spells. A "magic-breaking" weapon—useless against most, but deadly to spellcasters.
Du Wei's gaze lingered on the girl. A nobody with a trove of high-grade gear? Curious.
His staring drew side-eyes. Even his knights began to wonder—after all, a teenage boy ogling a girl's figure could spark rumors.
"Strip her armor," Du Wei said casually, his mind purely on the magic items. He itched to lock himself in a room, cross-reference his books, and unravel their secrets.
The knight hesitated, voice low. "Milord… you mean, here? To undress her…"
His tone carried a smirk, eyes flicking to the girl's curves. Her armor hugged her tightly, hinting she wore little beneath—maybe just a thin undergarment.