The drunkards gaped at the stunning girl, drooling. One stood up, staggered toward her with a tankard in hand.
"Hey there, pretty little —"
**Crack!**
Before he could finish, the bull-like warrior sent him flying. The tavern erupted in laughter.
Dwight watched with interest.
A tough close-combat warrior, a ranged archer… and the girl was surrounded by her companions, clearly the leader. Could this be one of those legendary adventure parties?
From his studies, Dwight knew this world hosted mercenary-like bands — some hundreds strong, others just a handful. The southern forests teemed with low-grade magical beasts, drawing adventurers who hunted them for profit. Local lords, short on manpower, often hired these groups to deal with bandits or hunt wanted criminals for bounties.
The Empire had no large-scale mercenary guilds, however — imperial law banned major armed private alliances, fearing threats to state authority. In Dwight's eyes, this was only sensible; controlling private militias was essential for stability.
But… a mage in a ragtag adventurer party?
That was astonishing.
From his reading, Dwight knew mages were extraordinarily rare.
Becoming a mage required not only exceptional talent, but also decades of relentless effort. Only then could one be called a mage.
Records suggested the entire Empire held no more than a few hundred mages. Even great noble houses often failed to recruit one into their service. Their rarity made them absurdly expensive to maintain; only the wealthiest could afford them. A mage in a royal or noble household was a source of immense pride.
To find one in a shabby little adventurer group was highly unusual.
The four took a table in the corner. The bull-like warrior chugged from a whole barrel of ale. The archer picked at roasted meat quietly. The mage sat with eyes closed. The beautiful girl clearly grew annoyed at the stares burning into her.
Fortunately, the group looked dangerous enough to keep trouble at bay. Quiet whispers were the only disturbance.
Especially from Dwight's own men.
These knights, raised in the Count's manor, thought themselves far above common adventurers. A few drinks, mixed with the bitterness of exile, left them itching for an outlet.
Others feared provoking the girl's group — but the Rollin knights were not so timid. Still, they showed some restraint around their master, limiting themselves to quiet remarks.
Dwight drank two cups, listening to his men mutter about the girl's legs. He almost smiled. It felt just like his old life, hanging out in bars with friends, talking about girls.
But the men grew bolder, their voices louder. And they clearly held little respect for their disgraced young master.
The girl, meanwhile, had a fiery temper. She glared back at every leering eye — only making the men drool more.
Finally, one tipsy knight chuckled low.
"Look at those legs. God in heaven, I've never seen anything like 'em. A hot piece like that… in the capital's pleasure houses, she'd cost at least a hundred gold coins."
"A hundred? Please. You've never even been there!" another scoffed. "The cheapest girls there start at three hundred!"
Dwight watched his bitter, grumbling men, then smiled suddenly.
"Is she that pretty? I've seen better. But those legs… they do have something."
The knights fell silent, stunned.
Their quiet, dull young master — the so-called idiot — had just spoken like one of them! They'd only dared talk so freely because they thought he understood nothing.
"What? Are you not men?" Dwight laughed. "It's just a girl. You're skilled knights, too afraid to do more than whisper behind her back? Ten gold coins to the man who goes over and talks to her."
The knights laughed. The disgraced young master might have been rude, but he spoke their language.
One bold man grinned.
"I'll take those ten coins, my lord!"
He stood, banged his fist on the table, and shouted toward the corner.
"Hey! Beautiful! Let me buy you a drink!"
The girl's face twisted with rage. She started to stand, but a companion held her back. The mage nodded toward Dwight and muttered something — clearly noting his noble clothes and advising against trouble.
The knight hesitated, unsure what to do next.
Then Dwight suddenly stood, whistled toward the corner, and flipped them the middle finger.
The Rollin knights were horrified.
Raised in a noble house, trained for discipline, they had never seen a highborn lord — the Count's own son — make such a vulgar gesture.
Before they could recover, the fiery girl reacted.
A heavy tankard flew straight at Dwight.
A knight in front of him reacted instantly, throwing up an arm to block. The mug shattered, ale splashing everywhere, soaking Dwight's sleeve.
The knights exploded in anger. They leaped up, drawing swords, shouting, and charged the corner. The girl drew her curved blade. A few shouts, and all-out fighting broke out.
The tavern descended into chaos. Cowardly patrons fled; the brave lingered to watch.
The bull-like warrior alone held off five or six Rollin knights. All were a little drunk, and at first held back — especially the adventurers, after the mage shouted a warning to avoid killing. But when the brute took a punch to the nose, shattering it, blood streaming, he lost all restraint.
He slammed his heavy shield outward. A knight screamed, sent flying, crashing into the bar and splintering it. The cramped space worked against him, though; blades sliced into him from all sides.
The archer fared worst. Built for ranged combat, he could not use his tall longbow indoors. Armed only with a dagger, he was soon kicked to the ground.
The beautiful girl parried a knight's sword with her curved blade, light on her feet. Seeing her companions falter, she fixed her gaze on Dwight — clearly the leader — and lunged straight for him.
The knights did not forget their duty. A guard threw a table, slamming into her and knocking her off balance. Another knight slashed down; his blade pierced her leather armor, but a white light flashed across the surface — magic enchantment — deflecting the strike. She was unhurt.
The mage, watching from the corner, scowled. He stood, raised both hands high, fingers tracing rapid symbols. Strange syllables poured from his lips, and faint rings of light spread from his fingertips.
The attacking Rollin knights suddenly felt their bodies go heavy.
Every movement slowed. Their swords felt several times heavier. Caught off guard, several were cut and bleeding within seconds.
Dwight's eyes lit up.
Slow Spell! Real magic!
The mage stepped back, still gesturing. A fireball blazed to life at his fingertips and shot toward the knights. One skilled guard sliced it apart with his sword, but sparks flew, burning several men, leaving them screaming and disoriented.
Flames erupted across the room. The mage seemed to turn into a living flamethrower.
Just like that, the twenty Rollin knights lost their advantage, barely holding their own against four opponents.
Then Dwight noticed something wrong.
The mage had cast seven or eight Fireballs in a row. Even a First-Class Mage should have limits.
And Dwight had observed something incredible: the mage barely chanted at all. He merely flicked his wrist, and a fireball launched instantly, at terrifying speed.
This was far beyond the power of a First-Class Mage.
Dwight recalled his books: mages were deadly at range, but helpless in close combat.
Seeing the mage unguarded in the chaos, Dwight grabbed a wine bottle and hurled it.
Mages could cast powerful spells, but their bodies were weak. The bottle forced the mage to stumble aside; it smashed against the wall, shards cutting his face. He yelped, clutching his cheek.
Dwight lunged, tackling the mage to the floor, hands around his throat.
His plan was sound — but he had forgotten his own strength.
He was only thirteen. The mage, weak as he was, was still a grown man.
They struggled. Dwight was flipped beneath him, arms pinned.
Then — **THUD!**
The mage's eyes rolled back. He collapsed unconscious on top of Dwight.
Dwight pushed him off and saw his loyal servant Mad, terrified, holding a splintered table leg.
With the mage down, the Slow Spell faded, and the fireballs stopped.
The Rollin knights roared back into the fight.
The brute warrior, outnumbered, soon took two sword cuts to the legs and fell. The archer was already knocked out. The fiery girl put up the fiercest fight — her skill was average, but her enchanted armor boosted her speed and strength. Her curved blade, no ordinary weapon, snapped two knights' swords.
Only when several knights ganged up on her was she finally subdued, pinned roughly to the floor.
Dwight panted. Shaken knights helped him up and found him an unbroken chair. They were ashamed — their duty was to protect their master, yet he had been endangered.
Dwight did not care.
He now understood the situation perfectly: these adventurers were amateurs.
Their combat skills were ordinary. The bull-like warrior was strong, but nothing more.
Not one of them could wield Battle Qi — not even low-grade.
They were completely unskilled.
And that showed just how out of favor Dwight truly was.
The twenty knights assigned to him were clearly the worst the Rollin family had to offer. Twenty men against four, and they had struggled this much.
Father really has given up on me, sending me off with trash like this, Dwight thought bitterly.
Otherwise… the Rollin family, the house of the Empire's second-in-command military leader, had no real warriors?
It made sense. Why would a skilled knight choose exile with a disgraced master? Only the incompetent accepted such a posting.
Dwight waved off his men's apologetic pleas. Instead, he picked up the captured weapons.
He glanced at the brute's shield and lost interest. Then he walked to the fiery girl and studied her leather armor closely.
After a moment, he cheered quietly.
"Just as I thought!"
After years of studying magic texts, Dwight's curiosity burned brighter than ever.
He confirmed the armor was enchanted with at least two spells: one to boost agility, another to enhance strength.
Armor enchanted with two magic effects was extremely valuable. It would sell for a fortune in the capital's high-end weapon shops, sought after by skilled warriors.
How did a low-grade fighter like this long-legged girl own something so precious?
He took her curved blade next. A gem in the hilt, he realized, was a magic storage tool, just as his books had described.
Another enchanted weapon.
Most valuable of all was her silver bow and arrows.
Silver was too soft for ordinary weapons, but it was the perfect metal for fighting mages.
Common knowledge: silver naturally repelled many forms of magic.
High-level mages often cast protective spells on themselves to compensate for their weak close-combat ability.
Silver arrows were rare anti-magic weapons — useless against normal men, but deadly against mages.
Dwight stared at the girl, baffled.
A low-level fighter carrying high-grade enchanted equipment, even a rare anti-magic bow?
He stared at her a little too long. The girl misinterpreted his look — and so did the knights.
A teenage boy staring intently at a woman's chest was easy to misunderstand.
"Take her armor off," Dwight said casually.
He only craved a quiet room to study these magical items, to verify the theories in his books.
But the knight hesitated, awkward.
"My lord… you really want us to… strip her here?"
His tone was vague, his expression lewd.
It was obvious, beneath that tight, revealing leather armor, the girl wore almost nothing — perhaps only a thin undergarment.