Chapter 17: A Cry Through Chaos
Kael looked at him.
Two seconds later, he smiled.
It was not a pleasant smile.
"You sure have a nice fantasy going."
Silas spread his hands, the helpless look still lingering on his face.
"Uh... is that not allowed? You think the request is unreasonable?"
"Reasonable?"
Kael let out a cold laugh. His fingers moved away from his wineglass and settled slowly on the table.
"You give me one piece of intel that someone might attack the capital, and now you want me to lend you imperial soldiers to guard your tavern? Do you take me for a fool?"
Silas’s smile stiffened.
Kael didn’t give him a chance to cut in.
"First of all, the imperial army is not The Black Tankard’s private security force. And even if I really did send men here, starting tomorrow, this place wouldn’t hear another scrap of intel worth a damn."
When those words landed, the air beside them seemed to tighten.
Silas understood exactly what Kael meant.
The Black Tankard had become an intelligence exchange point precisely because it was not an official imperial site.
Mercenaries, slave traders, hedge mages, and those who preferred to stay hidden in the dark were willing to talk here because they believed there wouldn’t be imperial soldiers standing at the door, listening in.
Once soldiers moved in, even if it was under the so-called banner of "protection," this tavern would turn from an intelligence hub into an empty shell everyone avoided.
Kael stared at him, mockery curling at the corner of his mouth.
"So don’t play pitiful with me."
Silas didn’t answer right away.
Kael had already seen through his little scheme. This request was never simply about "wanting protection." Silas was testing his bottom line.
To put it more bluntly, he wanted to use the imperial army to prop up The Black Tankard.
It wasn’t quite meddling in military power yet, but it was dangerous enough. Suspicious enough.
"No, no, General Kael, you’ve misunderstood me."
Silas hurriedly waved both hands.
"I’m not trying to get my hands on your military authority."
"Not trying to meddle?"
Kael sneered, anger already burning in his voice.
"Then what the hell was all that bullshit just now?"
He raised a hand and patted the slightly rusted curved saber at his waist.
His palm pressed against the scabbard, and the old leather gave a faint rasp. The sound wasn’t loud, but it reached Silas’s ears more clearly than any drunk’s shout in the hall.
"What exactly do you want? Say it clearly."
Kael’s gaze went completely cold.
"Otherwise, this blade of mine is about to give you a full-body massage."
Silas’s expression finally changed.
He knew Kael was furious now. Worse, Kael wasn’t the kind of man who only made threats with his mouth. If Silas kept using this sort of request to test him, The Black Tankard might really end up half demolished by this man.
Maybe more than half.
"Wait, wait! We can talk. We can talk this through..."
Silas lifted both hands higher, trying to drag the negotiation back into something he could still control.
But things had already veered away from his original plan. Kael’s anger had come too fast and too directly. All the tactful wording Silas had prepared suddenly didn’t seem so useful under that crude pressure.
Bang!
A huge crash came from the entrance of The Black Tankard.
It was so heavy it sounded like someone had slammed the entire door into the wall. Even the wineglasses on the bar trembled faintly.
Then a wave of chaos broke out outside. Tables and chairs scraped and shoved, drinkers cursed, mercenaries shouted in excitement, and the tavern that had still been more or less under control a moment ago instantly fell into disorder.
Many people in the hall turned their heads at the same time.
The mercenaries closest to the entrance were the first to stand. Some squeezed toward the door with cups still in hand, while others kicked their chairs aside outright, trying to grab a good spot for the show. Several people who had been quietly exchanging information also stopped talking, all their gazes turning toward The Black Tankard’s front doors.
Kael’s brows pressed down.
"Tch. What happened at your tavern door?"
Silas’s smile vanished as well.
"No, I’m not sure either. Why don’t we... go take a look?"
He was, after all, the owner of The Black Tankard. If such a loud disturbance broke out at the entrance and he didn’t even go look, he couldn’t justify it.
But just as he was about to move, Kael had already stepped out of the corner ahead of him.
At that moment, Silas noticed Kael’s hand had already fallen onto the battered curved saber at his waist.
Kael’s steps were heavy, each one landing on the wooden floor with a clear sound. The mercenaries pushing toward the door had been fighting for position, but when Kael approached from behind them, a few of them turned to look.
Then they instinctively moved aside.
No one ordered them to.
They just moved.
Kael’s expression was even darker than before. He ignored the smell of alcohol, the noise, and the press of bodies around him, his gaze fixed directly on the entrance.
Because after that crash, beneath all the chaotic noise, he had heard a very soft, very young voice.
It was so faint it should have been crushed beneath the tavern’s uproar.
But Kael still heard it.
"Da... Daddy!"
...
Earlier that morning, after Kael handed Puff over to Zera, Zera took her to the changing room.
The light inside was soft. Rows of neatly pressed little clothes hung from the racks. Zera picked through them for a long time before finally changing Puff into a very pretty little princess dress. The skirt fell in layered ruffles, the fabric light and soft, with delicate patterns sewn along the collar and sleeve cuffs. Puff sat on the cushion and looked down at the dress arranged around her, her little hand gently clutching at the skirt.
She should have been happy.
But she wasn’t.
"Da... Daddy?"
Puff lifted her head, the small sound squeezing out of her throat. She looked toward the changing room door, then behind Zera, unease filling her silver-white eyes.
Just now, she really had gotten a little upset with Kael over getting out of bed. Puff knew she had been sulking. She had puffed out her cheeks and refused to pay attention to Kael, refusing to forgive him so quickly for casually tossing her to someone else.
But when she realized Zera had really taken her away, Kael never came looking for her again.
She changed into the pretty little dress, and Kael didn’t appear.
Zera carried her outside, and Kael didn’t appear.
She waited and waited, but she still didn’t see that person walk over, pick her up, and hold her the way he had before, calling her an idiot in that impatient voice.
Puff lowered her head. Her fingers slowly tightened around the skirt.
Was it because she had argued with Kael, so Kael hated her now?
Was it because she wasn’t obedient, so Kael had thrown her to someone else and didn’t want her anymore?
Puff didn’t know what Kael was really thinking.
But that was what she was thinking now.
Her chest began to hurt little by little. It wasn’t a sharp pain, but a dull, stuffy ache lodged there, making even breathing feel like something she had to do carefully. The more she thought about it, the worse she felt. The worse she felt, the wetter her eyes grew. Before long, bright tears rolled from those silver-white eyes and fell one by one down her cheeks.
"Huh? Puff, what’s wrong?"
Zera quickly noticed something was off.
By then, it was already time for breakfast. Zera had seated Puff in the spacious, grand morning dining room. Breakfast had been set in front of her, along with the milk she liked. The long table had been wiped until it shone, the tableware arranged in perfect order. Light from outside the windows fell across the tabletop, catching the rims of the silver cups in a soft glow.
But Puff didn’t move.
She just sat quietly in her seat, staring blankly at the glass of milk in front of her.
She didn’t look like she was waiting for breakfast to cool.
She looked more like she was waiting for someone to come eat with her.
The other maids in the morning dining room had already finished breakfast and withdrawn to the side one after another. Only Zera remained beside her, quietly waiting for Puff to finish eating so she could deal with her own tasks afterward.
But Puff suddenly began to cry.
Fat tears kept rolling from her eyes, soaking her cheeks and dotting the pretty little princess dress. She didn’t make much noise. At first, she only gave low, broken sobs, but that wronged, swallowed sobbing only made it more alarming.
