The sun had set completely, leaving behind a faint twilight in the trees of the Golden Triangle Trail. The caravan, escorted by Louis and Elizabeth, finally arrived at a large rest stop standing majestically at the crossroads of trade routes. Buildings lined the road, including taverns filled with cigarette smoke and the smell of cheap wine, shops with dimly flickering oil lamps, and a two-story inn, which was the primary destination of Sir Roster's entourage.
The inn was spacious enough to accommodate a dozen people. With his stocky frame and air of arrogance, Sir Roster immediately decided that this would be his lodging. He assigned the fifteen members of his entourage to various rooms and took complete control.
"Please, Young Masters Louis and Lady Elizabeth," said Sir Roster with a fake smile, as if the hospitality were reserved for them alone. "Reserve any room you wish. I will cover the expenses."
Elizabeth glanced up, her gaze cold. "I'm very sorry, Sir Roster. We can pay our own bills. William is our friend. If you won't apologize to him, we can't accept your kindness."
His firm tone was like a whip. Sir Roster, accustomed to praise from his subordinates, was stunned for a moment. Then, his face turned sour. He snorted, turned away, and left without saying anything.
For Sir Roster, ignoring William was not without reason. Their initial meeting had made a bad impression on him, and he couldn't forget it.
When they first met, Louis and Elizabeth were chatting with William. William stood a distance away with his back to them. He was wearing a maple-red suit and had his long black hair tied back in a ponytail with the rest left to flow loosely over his shoulders. From a distance, especially for the nearsighted, William's appearance created an illusion; his slender frame and long hair could easily be mistaken for those of a young woman.
Sir Roster approached with a sly smile, thinking he had found an opportunity to flirt.
"This beautiful young lady hasn't introduced herself yet," he said confidently.
It was a fatal mistake.
William had been treated this way countless times throughout his new life, but this time, his patience shattered. The world had always misjudged him, mistaking his unfamiliar face and deceptive posture for something they were not. He felt as if there was no place where he truly belonged. He was fed up with others' empty advice to change his appearance to avoid being misunderstood. No one had the right to dictate to him.
In a deep, angry voice, he turned halfway around, his eyes glinting sharply.
"I told you... I'm not a lady."
Instantly, his fist slammed into Sir Roster's face. The sound of cracking bones was accompanied by the group's cries of surprise. Fresh blood flowed from the plump merchant's lips while William stood his ground, unapologetic.
From that moment on, Sir Roster cultivated a cold hatred for William and chose to pretend he was nothing but a shadow throughout the journey.
William was an outsider on this mission, not bound by rules, but by his own will. As night fell, he walked alone through the vast inn district. As darkness fell, the rest stop on the Golden Triangle Road grew livelier. Merchants, travelers, and soldiers stopped by to enjoy the brief respite before dawn beckoned them back to the road.
Gazes followed William's every step. Their eyes reflected a mixture of awe, confusion, and even envy. Women whispered and some dared to step closer, captivated by his ambiguous features—too delicate for a man and too stern for a woman. The men, on the other hand, snorted and frowned, caught in the same doubt: Was he beautiful or handsome? To William, it was all meaningless human folly.
He stepped into a pub where the roar of laughter mingled with the smell of stale liquor. Oil lamps hung from the ceiling and cast wild, dancing shadows on the smoke-blackened wooden walls. William sat on a high stool near the bartender's table. He was calm, but his eyes were cold.
"One glass of wine," he said curtly.
The bartender—a tall man with a black mustache—filled the glass and politely placed it in front of William. "Please."
William didn't wait. He downed the wine and ordered another, then another. Two or three glasses slid down his throat, yet his consciousness remained alert and his eyes remained clear. People around him began to notice him, not just because of his striking face, but also because he seemed to defy the liquor as if it were water.
"Are you really strong enough to drink?" the bartender asked, sounding amazed. He was still cleaning the glass in his hand, though his eyes never left William.
"Of course." William tapped the table lightly, his tone full of confidence. "I can handle any number of glasses. And I'm still awake."
Another voice, hoarse and mocking, cut through the din of the pub.
"Oh, there's quite an interesting, cocky kid here."
A well-built man emerged from the crowd. He wore a black coat, and a scorpion tattoo on his wrist moved faintly in the light of the oil lamp. A heavy and oppressive mana aura emanated from his body, like a beast hiding its fangs. William knew instantly that this was no ordinary man, but a sentinel.
The burly man crossed his arms over his chest and glared at William as if to challenge him with just a glance. William merely glanced away, his eyes cold, and then returned to his drink. His indifference pierced the man's pride like a knife.
The table thudded loudly as the man's large hand struck the wood. The glasses rattled, and several patrons jumped to their feet in surprise. The once boisterous atmosphere of the pub turned tense in an instant.
William remained seated calmly with his back slightly leaned back and his fingers stroking the rim of his glass.
A loud bang struck the wooden table, the crack echoing throughout the room. The burly man looked down with a furious glare. His face was red and the veins on his temples bulged like snakes about to burst. The crash forced the rough chatter and laughter in the tavern to a sudden halt.
William, sitting not far from where it happened, casually swirled his wine glass. He stared at the burly man with a sharp gaze, as if a small fire were burning behind his eyes.
"You're just a snotty kid," the man growled in a deep voice. "You have a pretty face, and you think the world should bow to you. Don't be so arrogant."
William smiled faintly, but his smile held no trace of friendliness. He raised his glass and watched the wine swirl slowly before snorting.
"Who's arrogant?" Someone who easily gets upset just because someone else is better at drinking wine? How ridiculous."
His words drifted through the air, cold and piercing like thin blades, scraping against his opponent's ego.
The once-bustling tavern was now tense. Candles swayed on the tables as tension filled the air. Several patrons held their breath, waiting to see who would break the silence first.
"Just good at drinking wine?" the burly man asked sarcastically. "It's nothing. You're far weaker than I am. Just look at your small frame."
The words "weak" and "small" sparked something within William. He wasn't offended, just amused. This man, he thought, was a shallow creature who measured strength solely by muscle. His lips quirked slightly and his gaze grew more piercing.
William suddenly slammed his fist against the table in front of him. The sound of vibrating wood shrieked through the air, startling the patrons. The bartender, caught in the middle, swallowed hard as cold sweat dripped from his brow.
William stood with his head and chin held high, staring at the burly man with dark eyes. He had to look up slightly because of his opponent's towering frame, but their gaze negated the difference in height.
"I am indeed small," said William, his voice deep and cold. "It doesn't matter. We can prove who is stronger. It's better to judge with a real fight than to hide behind constant prejudice."
He crossed his arms over his chest and stood as still as an unwavering shadow.
The burly man snorted and patted his chest proudly. "All right, boy. You've got guts. But don't cry when you fall to the ground. I am Sir Jones, an unofficial sentinel and the most trusted bodyguard of wealthy merchants. I protected caravans on the Golden Triangle Route when the Order's sentinels were busy deciding who was worthy of protection."
"There's no need to introduce yourself at length just to show off," William replied, tilting his head slightly as if letting the words fall as a subtle taunt.
Sir Jones's eyes were red with rage. With a single blow, the table next to the bartender split in two, sending wood flying and leaving a cloud of dust in the air. The patrons' voices rose, filled with shock and fear.
"This kid is sure brave," someone whispered from a dark corner of the tavern.
"He's really angered Sir Jones," said another.
"Sir Jones is no ordinary person. He's the one who saved the merchants from being kidnapped on the Golden Triangle Route," said a middle-aged man, his voice trembling.
"If that kid dares to challenge him, then he must be no ordinary person," said someone else, eyeing William with a mixture of curiosity and fear.