Artemis moved around the pub with practiced ease, her tray balanced steadily in one hand while she weaved between tables. The clinking of mugs, the smell of ale, and the loud chatter of mercenaries filled the air. She was constantly on her feet, shifting from one table to another, placing down mugs of beer with her usual calm grace.
But then, one of the mercenaries, already flushed with drink and arrogance, reached out boldly, his hand snaking toward her butt.
Before his filthy fingers could even brush against her, Artemis reacted. Her body moved like a gust of wind. Her movements were very quick, fluid, and she was practically untouchable. His hand sliced through nothing but air.
"Huh?" he muttered, clearly not expecting her to dodge so effortlessly.
Artemis straightened, her expression calm but her tone firm. "I'm sorry, sir, but behavior like that is not welcome in this establishment. I suggest you take that kind of inappropriateness elsewhere before we kick you out."
