"Men, get him! Then we'll split the loot once we've stripped him clean," the woman said, unsheathing a sword with a sinister glint in her eyes. The other thugs quickly followed suit, brandishing improvised weapons and closing in on Mok with hostile intent.
A group of men approached from behind, but Mok spun with elegance, avoiding every attempted strike with precise movements. "I don't want to harm you. Just give me the information, and we'll leave," he said calmly, his composed voice contrasting sharply with the tension in the air.
As he spoke, he dodged attacks with the grace of an expert dancer. They came at him from all sides—swords, fists, and kicks aimed directly at him—but the butler blocked and deflected each one without losing his composure. Not a drop of sweat appeared on his brow, nor a speck of dust marred his impeccable suit.
"Wow, that butler is really good," Lucca murmured from a corner, watching in awe as Mok moved as if part of a perfectly choreographed performance. "It's incredible how he still has his suit intact and not a hair out of place."
"Damn butler! Surrender now, and we'll go easy on you!" one of the attackers shouted, drawing two swords with a menacing flash.
But Mok remained unfazed. He was skilled in the art of defense, even against multiple opponents at once. He moved like a fish swimming against the current, dodging and blocking every attack with admirable precision. Without using weapons or causing real harm, he subdued his adversaries with a skill that bordered on artistic. "If Paltio saw this, he'd be thrilled," Mok thought as he moved and evaded.
"Don't move, foolish butler!" the woman roared, advancing alongside her husband, both wielding their swords fiercely. With a swift motion, Mok zigzagged between them, grabbing their forearms and spinning them around. Their swords flew out of their hands, embedding themselves deeply into the wall behind them.
More thugs joined the fight, but Mok quickly dropped to one knee, placing his hands on the ground. With an elegant spin, he delivered circular kicks that knocked down all the disarmed men. Then, a massive figure of the Eggplant race stepped forward with heavy footfalls. His colossal body and exaggerated strength shook the ground when he delivered a brutal punch, splitting it in two with a deafening crack.
However, Mok leaped agilely, landing precisely on the giant's arm. The behemoth tried to strike him with his other arm, but Mok easily evaded, launching himself into the air and delivering a direct kick to the man's face. The impact was so powerful that it sent him flying into one of the walls, leaving him unconscious.
The few remaining thugs, realizing they were no match for the elegant butler, decided to flee in panic. "Damn you, butler!" they shouted as they abandoned the scene, leaving behind the chaos they had tried to unleash.
"Well, there are all kinds of uncivilized people in this world... And they don't even have manners," Mok remarked, adjusting his suit cuffs with an air of nonchalance as he glanced at Lucca, who had seated himself at the bar.
"Well, you really are good, butler," Lucca said, smiling in admiration. "If you can handle all these guys on your own, then you're definitely the right person to help me get my cane back."
Seeing the couple still on the ground, Mok approached with calm but firm steps. "Well then, tell me: where are Lucca's companions and his cane?" he asked, his composure contrasting sharply with the tension of the moment.
Without further resistance, and terrified by the beating the butler had dealt them, the couple decided to talk. "Alright, alright… We'll tell you," they stammered, glancing nervously at each other.
"You should've said that when the butler offered you money, and maybe your rundown tavern wouldn't be in such a sorry state now," Lucca commented as he struggled to stand, casting a disdainful look at the place.
According to the couple, Lucca's companions were staying at an inn behind an ancient clock tower. Mok helped the elderly man walk, concerned about his condition. "Why do you need that cane?" the butler asked as they moved forward. "Perhaps I can make you another one from some wood we find around here."
"It's not just the cane itself—it holds something precious to me," Lucca replied in a melancholic tone, as if the object carried an important story.
Upon arriving, they spotted a group of five men with Red Chili characteristics gathered around a campfire. They had horses tied nearby and seemed to be engaged in lively discussion. One of them held Lucca's cane, adorned with gemstones that gleamed like rubies and coated in gold.
"This old fool had this with him," one of the men said, admiring the cane greedily. "It must be worth a fortune."
"Yeah, and it's a good thing I slipped that potion into his drink," another added with a mocking laugh.
"You did the old man a favor; he's already more dead than alive," a third chimed in, shrugging.
"Besides, we would've taken it anyway. That old man trusted everything he saw, not to mention how frail he is," they concluded, bursting into laughter.
Mok was about to step forward, but Lucca stopped him with a firm gesture. "Thank you, butler, for your help, but this matter is mine, and I must settle it personally."
"But, sir..." Mok began, concern evident in his voice.
"Relax, young man, I'll be fine," Lucca assured him with a determined smile.
The five men continued laughing and examining the cane, planning to melt it down to sell, when they heard footsteps approaching.
"Well, look who it is—the old man," one of them said upon seeing Lucca limping toward them.
"What do you want, old timer? Your silly cane, I presume?" one of the men mocked, raising the object high as if it were a trophy.
"That's right, lad. People shouldn't take what doesn't belong to them without permission," Lucca replied calmly, though his eyes gleamed with a mix of dignity and restrained fury.
"Foolish old man! And what are you going to do about it? There are five of us. Surely what we slipped into your drink didn't kill you," another taunted, crossing his arms smugly.
"No, and now I'm going to have to teach you brats a lesson," Lucca declared firmly, straightening his posture despite his limp.
"Well, old man, so eager to die," sneered one of the men, his voice carrying an authoritative tone. He wore a cowboy hat that marked him as the leader of the group. He glanced at one of his companions, a man with an eye patch, and said, "Alright, you—finish this old fool off. I don't want to waste more time on this."
"Sure thing. I'll finish him quickly so he stops bothering us," the man with the eye patch replied, unsheathing a long, sharp knife with a sinister grin.
From his position, Mok watched with growing concern. He wanted to intervene, but Lucca stopped him with a look filled with dignity and seriousness. It was as if the elderly man wanted to convey that this was his moment, his personal battle.
"But how is this possible?" Mok murmured to himself, furrowing his brow. "He can barely move."
The man with the eye patch advanced toward Lucca with steady steps, raising the knife ready to plunge it into his chest. Lucca, however, remained motionless, his calm expression contrasting sharply with the tension of the moment.