Chapter 94 – A Chaotic Night
Half an hour later.
Gideon slipped out of the side gate of the Allard estate.
He now wore a black leather cowboy hat, a beige checkered scarf around his neck, and the rugged clothes of a local hunter. Unless someone looked closely, it would be hard to tell he was an outsider.
From Sadie, he had already acquired the "poison."
It wasn't lethal—just a nerve-paralyzing compound, refined from the Allard family's experimental ammunition project. It wasn't even on the market yet.
The banquet wouldn't start for a while, so Gideon decided to lay the groundwork early.
Soon, he reached the Dead Dog Tavern. Preparations were in full swing. Staff bustled about, carrying barrels and baskets into the kitchen, humming hymns of praise as they worked.
By now, dusk had deepened. The last streaks of sunset gave way to lamplight that flickered along the street.
Gideon circled the tavern, scouting. He quickly spotted a quiet corner, vaulted onto the wooden eaves, and clambered onto the roof with effortless grace.
Through a gap in the boards, he had a clear view into the kitchen. He waited patiently, letting a dish finish cooking—better not to risk someone "tasting" mid-prep and realizing something was off.
---
Meanwhile, at the Cooper training grounds—
"What did you just say? That bitch Sadie wants to meet me?"
Dolbora Cooper blinked, suspicion flickering in her eyes.
"Yes, Miss," said her butler, head bowed. "Her messenger claimed she wants to discuss… a certain secret uncovered at the warehouse."
Dolbora frowned. Secret? What secret?
Then her face paled. The antler?
That relic was the Cooper family's trump card in the coming struggle for the Trait.
Her gaze hardened. After a moment's hesitation, she made her decision. "Where?"
"Near the tavern."
---
Not far from the Dead Dog Tavern, an Allard-owned shop stood quiet.
Sadie waited at the window, eyes fixed on the tavern across the street. On the table beside her lay Gideon's black priest's robe and an old phonograph.
Moments later, the door opened.
"Everything ready?" Gideon entered, already stripping off his hunter's garb.
"Yes. The recordings are just as you instructed." Sadie turned—only to freeze.
The priest's upper body was bare, sculpted like a statue, each line of muscle sharply defined. Sadie flushed, jerking her gaze away… only to sneak a few glances anyway.
Gideon didn't notice. He quickly donned his loose black robe, clearly more comfortable than the hunter's outfit.
"I'll head over first," he said, grabbing his cloth satchel.
Though the invitation had Sadie's name as well, she had no intention of attending—not after what happened at the warehouse that morning.
---
On the way to the tavern, people greeted Gideon at every corner.
"Father, thank you for protecting Saint Fréyan!"
"You must be the kindest priest the Church has sent us."
"Please, let me host you at my home tonight!"
He smiled and nodded, every inch the humble servant of God.
At the tavern's entrance, members of the Hunter Association were already waiting.
"Father Gideon!" A man rushed forward—it was Belen, the hunter he had saved earlier that day.
"Thank you for sparing my life!" His gratitude was genuine. To survive a monster attack at all was rare; to walk again, unheard of.
"Helping others is simply sharing the Lord's mercy," Gideon replied humbly.
"You must be a devout son of the Church." Belen bowed his head with respect.
With the greetings done, the crowd poured into the tavern.
Inside, chaos and joy reigned. Women danced on stage to lively music, men clinked mugs with rowdy cheers, and waiters darted through the crowd balancing trays.
Bourbon whiskey, red beans and rice—the tables filled with hearty southern fare.
When Gideon entered, the room rose in cheer. Everyone raised their glasses to the priest who had saved their town.
If only they knew I'd poisoned the food… Gideon mused, expression never betraying his thoughts.
His manners were impeccable, his smile disarming.
During the banquet, Belen pulled him aside, pressing the idea of joining the Association. But Gideon brushed it off; tonight, he had another agenda.
Then, the poisoned dish was carried out.
In one corner, a stubbled hunter received a steaming plate of gumbo—okra stew thick with shrimp, sausage, chicken, and local spices.
"Ohhh, my favorite!" He inhaled the savory aroma, eyes gleaming.
"...Meow."
Just then, a low growl echoed outside the tavern.
"Hey, mutt, your nose really is sharp," the stubbled hunter sneered, slamming his fist against the wooden wall.
"But this isn't for you. Get lost."
The sound outside slowly faded.
Satisfied, the hunter downed the last of his whiskey in one gulp, grabbed his spoon, and dug into his gumbo.
Gideon checked the time in his head.
Sure enough, it didn't take long before someone staggered, pale-faced.
"Ricky, what's wrong with you?!"
"My hands—I can't feel my hands!"
"There's poison in the food!"
At first, the chaos was drowned out by the drunken revelry. But as more and more hunters collapsed or slurred in panic, the whole tavern realized something was horribly wrong.
"You—!"
Gideon turned sharply, pointing at Belen with an expression of outrage, as if he'd just been betrayed.
"No… it's not me!" Belen stammered, shaking his head desperately—only to notice his own fingers trembling, his breath unsteady.
"Then who—who the hell did this?!"
---
Word of the incident spread fast. That night, dozens of poisoned hunters were carried to the Benecks family's clinic.
The Dead Dog Tavern poisoning quickly drew the attention of every faction. Spies and informants filled the streets, fishing for details.
Rumors swirled like wildfire.
Some claimed they had heard beastly snarls outside the tavern before the banquet began—perhaps it was a monster.
Others swore they had seen a certain Miss Cooper near the tavern.
And still others accused the Benecks family, saying they staged the poisoning to push their medicines.
Naturally, the Allards weren't spared either. Some whispered that they were angry the Association invited Father Gideon, and lashed out in petty revenge.
---
By dawn, the city was a cauldron of suspicion.
Everyone with a grudge seized the chance to sling mud at their enemies. And since the battle for the Trait was about to begin, many connected the dots between the poisoning and the looming competition.
The more rumors spread, the murkier it all became.
Each faction scrambled to issue denials.
The Coopers were especially loud—Dolbora swore that Sadie Allard had arranged to meet her at the tavern, only to stand her up. She claimed Sadie must have orchestrated the whole thing.
But because the two families had always been bitter rivals, most dismissed it as yet another round of their feud.
The only person spared suspicion was the priest himself.
He had saved them all, only to be targeted with poison at their banquet. The people of Saint Fréyan felt ashamed, even protective of him.
Exactly as Gideon intended.
If he couldn't reduce his enemies, then he'd make sure everyone else drowned in the same chaos.
Suspicion, once planted, would take root and spread.
When the factions entered the Plague Lands, they would carry those doubts with them—making alliances brittle, cooperation fraught with paranoia.
Weakening his enemies was just another way of strengthening his own side.
And as the town seethed in confusion, the true mastermind—Father Gideon—slipped away under the cover of night, escorted by the Allards, heading straight for the gates of the Plague Lands.
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