The World Is Mine For The Taking-Chapter 582 - 92 - Crossing Paths (2)

"Mister, with all due respect, please leave the establishment. We do not tolerate such behavior here," the waitress said, her tone unwavering as she stood firm against the figure before her.

The adventurer leaned back in his chair, a smug grin stretching across his unshaven face. The sunlight spilling through the windows flickered over his rugged features, casting jagged shadows that only emphasized his arrogance.

"Oh? Alright, I'll leave... but only if you come with me." His eyes gleamed with something vile, predatory. "I've been itching since yesterday—I haven't had a single bitch in over a week, ever since my party and I returned from that damn dungeon excavation." His fingers tapped lazily against the wooden table, the rhythmic sound filling the tense silence.

"We're in dire need of some... soothing," he continued, his voice dropping to a sickly, honeyed drawl. "But tonight, I'm not in the mood for some common prostitute. No, no… The moment I saw you, I knew I had to have you. So how about it, sweetheart? Just give it to me."

The tension in the air thickened like a storm cloud ready to burst. Conversations around the tavern had dulled, all eyes discreetly shifting to the unfolding scene.

The waitress, however, remained unfazed. She crossed her arms, her gaze sharper than a drawn dagger.

"I am not a prostitute, and this establishment does not tolerate such behavior." Her voice was steady, but there was a weight to it now—a warning, a blade hidden beneath silk. "If you refuse to leave, I will remove you myself."

For a moment, the adventurer simply stared at her, as if trying to process the audacity of the words spoken to him. Then, he threw his head back and laughed—a deep, guttural sound that grated against the ears like rusted iron.

"Oh?" His grin widened, teeth yellowed from too much drink. "You really think you can take me on, little girl? Just so you know, my party is A-rank. We've fought tooth and nail against monsters that would make these weaklings here piss themselves!"

He spread his arms theatrically, as if expecting the world to bow before his so-called glory.

"I've stared death in the face and spat at it! Haven't you heard of the name Death Spitter? That's me! I've been spitting on death since the day I picked up a sword! Hell, death itself doesn't even dare come near me anymore unless I go looking for it myself!"

A heavy silence followed his proclamation.

I had never heard of the name Death Spitter before. Judging from the sea of blank expressions in the tavern, neither had anyone else.

"If you wish to bask in the glory of the great Death Spitter," he continued, leaning forward with a disgusting leer, "then why don't you become my concubine? I promise I'll provide for you. No more wasting away in this dump. Your only job will be to spread your legs for me, bear my children, cook my meals, and massage me whenever I need it." His voice turned mocking. "Much easier than working in this measly restaurant, don't you think?"

To drive his point home, he grabbed his mug and tipped it over, letting the golden ale spill onto the wooden floor. The liquid splattered over his boots, but he didn't care. He was basking in his own self-importance.

The waitress exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples as if she were dealing with a particularly stubborn child. Then, she straightened, her fingers flexing at her sides.

"I had hoped it wouldn't come to this..."

The moment those words left her lips, she moved.

A sharp crack echoed through the tavern as her foot struck the legs of the adventurer's chair. The old wood splintered instantly, snapping apart like brittle twigs beneath her strength. With a startled yelp, the adventurer was ripped from his seat, his body tilting backward as gravity took hold.

Before his back could even hit the ground—before his stunned mind could process what had happened—her body twisted with an elegance that spoke of deadly precision.

Then came the second kick.

Her foot smashed into his face with a sickening thud, his head snapping back as blood and saliva sprayed into the air. His body flew backward, slamming against the floor with a force that rattled the entire tavern.

Silence.

Stillness.

The so-called Death Spitter lay motionless, his arms splayed out, his jaw hanging slack. Unconscious.

So much for that grand name. He hadn't even reacted.

The other adventurers at his table scrambled to their feet, hands hovering over their weapons, but they hesitated. Their gazes flickered toward the waitress—the woman who had just obliterated their leader in two swift movements.

Their hesitation deepened when a slow, deliberate sound sliced through the thick air.

Shing.

The unmistakable whisper of steel leaving its scabbard.

A deadly chill crept through the room as the adventurers turned their heads. Around them, the other patrons—men who had been drinking and laughing just moments ago—were now gripping the hilts of their weapons. The sunlight gleamed off polished blades, the metal glinting like predatory eyes in the dim room.

No words were spoken.

The message was clear.

Try something foolish, and you die here.

A cold sweat dripped down the backs of the adventurers. Then, with stiff, careful movements, they reached for their fallen comrade—not to avenge him, but to retrieve him. Their hands shook slightly as they dragged his limp form toward the exit, not daring to meet anyone's gaze.

The moment they crossed the threshold and disappeared into the night, the silence shattered.

Laughter—deep, booming, victorious—erupted from the patrons, shaking the very foundation of the tavern. Mugs clashed together in celebration, raucous cheers filling the air. The echoes of their amusement roared through the establishment, a resounding fuck you to the fool who had dared to think himself above the rest.

The Death Spitter had spat on death one too many times. And death had finally spat back.

"Death Spitter, my ass! He didn't even manage to dodge!"

"Well, I suppose he can avoid death, but he sure as hell couldn't dodge Arianne's boot!"

"I was trying to hold back my laughter, but I can't! I can't believe someone actually had the audacity to ask Arianne for sex! The nerve of him!"

The adventurers erupted into hearty laughter, their voices filling the tavern with a lively energy. To them, the scene they had just witnessed was nothing short of comical. Honestly, I couldn't deny that it was amusing as well. Seeing them so entertained by the misfortune of their fellow adventurers, I could only assume that such incidents were a common occurrence in this establishment.

The waitress—whose name, apparently, was Arianne—sighed softly, brushing down the apron over her blouse with practiced ease. As she did, her gaze briefly flickered toward me. However, the moment our eyes met, she averted her gaze, turning away as if nothing had happened.

Without another word, she bent down to retrieve the fallen tankard the adventurer had so rudely knocked over. She then grabbed a cloth and wiped away the spilled ale with smooth, efficient movements.

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I had no idea why a woman like her was working in a place like this. Not that it was any of my concern. And yet, I found myself curious.

Before I could dwell on it further, the rich aroma of freshly prepared food wafted through the air, its tantalizing scent curling into my senses like an intoxicating spell. It was warm, inviting—the kind of scent that made one's stomach tighten in anticipation.

Arianne placed the dishes before us, her voice carrying a note of professionalism.

"Please, enjoy the food."

With that, we dug in.

The moment the first bite touched my tongue, I was taken aback. The flavor was exceptional. Far beyond what I had expected from a small tavern in an adventurer's village. Each bite was rich, the ingredients well-balanced, the textures perfect. It was the kind of meal that could make a man forget his troubles, even if only for a little while.

Now I understood why Raymond had recommended this place. It wasn't just good—it was incredible.

We ate in contentment, savoring every bite while exchanging words of praise about the food. Time seemed to slow as we filled ourselves, indulging in the unexpected delight of a truly satisfying meal.

Eventually, we finished, our plates emptied and our hunger thoroughly sated.

The bill arrived shortly after. While the price leaned toward the expensive side, it was far from unreasonable. Considering the quality of the food, it was well worth it.

"Thank you for your patronage," Arianne said, bowing politely as we settled our payment.

With that, we turned to leave, making our way toward the tavern's entrance.

But just as we reached the door, it was suddenly pushed open from the outside.

A woman stepped in.

Tall—for a woman, at least. Her emerald-green hair cascaded past her shoulders, matching the sharp intensity of her verdant eyes. Though she wasn't particularly bulky, her physique was well-defined, muscles visible beneath the fabric of her attire. And her expression... pissed.

Yet, as our paths crossed and our eyes met, something in her hardened demeanor shifted.

She stopped.

Her piercing gaze softened, widening slightly in surprise.

"Leon...?"

It was Rose.