Chapter 108: The Mad Shrike (Part 9)

W was usually quite arrogant, but she was by no means a reckless fool.

Because of her sheer audacity, she often found herself dancing on the razor’s edge of life and death. Yet, her razor-sharp intuition, coupled with the intense vigilance buried deep beneath her haughty exterior, formed the absolute foundation that allowed her to consistently snatch that singular chance at survival.

Charging into this tavern so brazenly was purely a symptom of her current phase. She had only recently taken up the mercenary mantle and had two veteran backers who treated her surprisingly well. She was currently stuck in that ‘fearless of heaven and earth’ honeymoon period, aggressively testing the boundaries of her place in the Kazdel food chain.

At this stage in her life, W the mercenary cub would probably dare to hiss at a literal god if one happened to block her path.

You, observing this from the future, can easily deduce this because you know her inside and out. But the current Doctor in this memory cannot; he merely finds the girl’s behavior utterly baffling.

He watched with his own eyes as the expressions of those two veteran mercenaries—Hoederer and Ines—shifted from relaxed, to shocked, to intensely vigilant, and finally settled into an ashen pallor the moment W finished her little speech.

It was precisely because he saw their terrified reactions that he found the situation even more beyond understanding. Was this… supposed to be a provocation?

Just as the Doctor was about to coldly suggest that Hoederer keep a tighter leash on his Sarkaz subordinate, the tavern’s filthy door curtain was roughly shoved aside. A heavily scarred mercenary stepped into the dim light, his suspicious gaze scanning the room before locking onto the exceptionally conspicuous, standing figure of W.

The icy words the Doctor had prepared to intimidate this clueless Sarkaz girl took a violent, hairpin turn in his throat. By the time the syllables left his lips, they had morphed into a sickeningly sweet, boyish croon: “Sure, how about a few drinks? I like your eyes; they’re like an eternal flame, blooming from the ashes.”

‘My past self was actually using a fake pretty-boy voice?!’ You watch the memory unfold, feeling a chaotic mixture of amazement, utter disbelief, and immense schadenfreude.

The heavy suspicion in the scarred mercenary’s eyes faded slightly at the display. In these black-market taverns catering exclusively to Kazdel’s worst, the patrons were all desperate outlaws with no guarantee of seeing tomorrow. It was incredibly common for two strangers to hit it off and spend the night together to blow off steam; the only difference here was that this particular pretty boy had a silver tongue.

And it didn’t even necessarily have to be between a man and a woman. There was once a widely circulated, crude joke in Kazdel stating that every low-level mercenary waking up after a heavy night of drinking had to recall five critical things: who was beside them, what race they were, what gender they were, whether they had paid for the room, and most —whether they were the ‘top’or the’bottom’ last night.

That fifth question really shouldn’t have existed. But a few years ago, the Twin Empresses of Leithanien violently overthrew the tyrannical rule of the Witch King. A massive wave of the Witch King’s loyal remnants became mercenaries, shedding their names and fleeing into Kazdel to escape the relentless pursuit of the Voice of the Empress. Unfortunately, they also brought along some of the ‘elegant hobbies’ of Leithanien’s decadent nobility to the simple, primitive Sarkaz.

The most far-reaching cultural impact of this migration was that the simple-minded Sarkaz realized, for the very first time, that there were actually perverts in this world deeply interested in their backdoors.

Insert Sarkaz_Screaming.jpg here.

Even long after the Witch King’s remnants had vanished into the dust, their cursed culture left a deep and painful scar on the Sarkaz people. A specific manifestation of this trauma was that wandering Banshees went from being the most popular choices for one-night stands to being the absolute least welcome option. Quite simply, the rumor mill claimed that most wandering Banshees were now sneaking out just to experience ‘pegging’ behind their clan’s back.

Ah… off-topic again.

By the time you snap your attention back to the unfolding memory, the Doctor had already smoothly charmed W’s name out of her. He rolled up his sleeves with practiced elegance and began mixing a drink for the young mercenary.

“Sour lemon, strong spirits, cherry tomatoes, orange peel, ice, and garnished with a single potato leaf—forgive me, these are the only ingredients I have on hand in a place like this. To your eyes, brighter than the muzzle flash of a gun. May the hatred in your blood never catch up to you. Sound good?” The Doctor handed over the simple yet exquisite cocktail with a breathtakingly gentle smile.

With his clear, soft gray eyes and slightly reddened ears, he played the part of the innocent, smitten bartender perfectly. He could even hear W’s breathing noticeably hitch and quicken for a fraction of a second.

‘Tsk, tsk, tsk… laying it on thicker than a Sarkaz winter coat!’ you think, shaking your head.

You aren’t fooled by his angelic appearance for a single second. You can guess his frantic inner thoughts with your eyes closed: ‘Sister W, I am begging you, please keep playing along! Don’t leave! My actual assassination target is right at the door, just stay put!’But W had never encountered this specific archetype before. She had probably been too poor her entire life to even know what a romance scam looked like. This sudden barrage of affection seemed to be a bit too much for her developing brain to process.’She had never heard anyone speak the Sarkaz language so beautifully! Is he really describing me?!’

“Ah… that, I…” The young girl W, who was still years away from becoming the ruthless, explosive-obsessed mercenary of the future, suddenly flushed bright red. Her eyes darted around the room frantically, entirely unable to meet the handsome young man’s tender gaze.

Meanwhile, the scarred mercenary, finally letting down his guard completely, slowly stepped deeper into the room. He specifically pulled up a chair nearby, clearly intending to watch this little romantic drama unfold up close.

‘How… how should I explain to him that I just came over to talk tough?’W’s internal panic was almost evident.’Will I seem especially crude? Kazdel mercenaries really are different from those outside, and he’s so handsome, he even said he likes my eyes… I’m probably not worthy of his affection, right?’

W didn’t even need to look over her shoulder to feel the burning, envious gazes of the other female mercenaries in the tavern. Clearly, she wasn’t the only one stirred by the young man’s poetic words and flashy bartending skills.

But W had always been a decisive person. In just half a second, she made up her mind.

‘Sorry, Hoederer, first come first served. This unknown mixed-blood Sarkaz is way too attractive; I’m claiming him for myself first!’

W took the glass with both hands, staring down at the perfectly spherical ice cube carved with delicate rose patterns. She took a slow, tentative sip. Whether it was the actual taste of the cheap ingredients he had magically elevated, or simply her own dizzy psychological state, this drink was infinitely more intoxicating than anything she had ever tasted.

The white-haired youth smiled tenderly, watching her drink with an unmatched, almost ladylike poise, until—

A hand outside the grimy tavern window pressed flat against the glass, flashing a quick, silent “OK” gesture.

The net had been closed.

The youth, who had just been wearing an expression of pure, soft affection, instantly retreated half a step backward without a shred of hesitation. His gentle smile vanished, replaced by an absolute, terrifying void. He drew a compact Originium pistol from his waist in a blur of motion and barked a single, freezing order: “Do it!”

Squelch—

The head of the scarred mercenary, who had just settled into his chair to watch the show, burst open like a dropped watermelon. A streak of lethal purple shadow pierced straight through his chest without losing a fraction of its momentum.

A thin, small figure materialized from the darkness, efficiently slamming W face-first into the wooden table and pinning her there. The sudden kinetic force knocked her almost untouched, exquisite drink to the floor, shattering the glass into a hundred pieces.

Simultaneously, harsh alarms began to blare across the entire city block. The elite operatives of Babel, having tracked the scarred man’s exact route, breached the perimeter and ruthlessly suppressed everyone associated with him.

The youth, who had been a blushing, sweet-talking bartender just a second ago, now stood with a face as cold as permafrost. Over a dozen heavily armed figures rapidly descended from the windows, the rooftops, and even the tavern’s cellar, all wearing standard Babel combat uniforms. They immediately flanked him, securing the room.

“This is a Babel internal matter. I suggest you all sit still,” the Doctor said coldly, his voice devoid of any warmth. He casually flipped open his tactical terminal in front of the stunned crowd, beginning to verify the headless scarred man’s identity information.

Hoederer and Ines didn’t offer a single ounce of resistance. They raised their hands high in the air and sat obediently in their spots, not even daring to glance over at the tactical squad.

Mainly because it was just too damn embarrassing. Their junior had just tried to publicly flirt with Babel’s Commander, only to get counter-flirted into a tactical takedown.

W’s face burned with a heat hotter than any explosion. It wasn’t just because of the agonizing force with which Ascalon had pinned her to the sticky table, but because the horrifying realization had finally set in.

She had just acted like an absolute, monumental clown!

‘You [Kazdel expletive] bastard!’W screamed internally, her eyes locked onto the Doctor’s cold back.’I am going to kill you!’

[Rhodes’s Note:

Enjoying the operation so far, Doctor?

(This daily grind literally pays the landship’s rent! 🙇‍♂️):

Massive thanks for reading and supporting the operation!]