Arthur's left shoulder collapsed inward, the tearing agony nearly suffocating him. He gritted his teeth while struggling upright, gaze like an ice-tempered dagger piercing toward the man covering his face in anguish—Bernie. Crimson liquid gurgled from Bernie's thick finger gaps, meandering across the filthy floor in dark rivulets.
"Gods above... that boy actually won?" In the deathly tavern silence, some mercenary finally recovered his voice, hoarse amazement like water droplets hitting hot oil. Weathered faces froze in pure shock and disbelief, as if witnessing the resurrection of the dead.
Time halted for several heartbeats before heavy breathing refilled the space. Two mercenaries bearing the bleeding dagger emblem rushed forward through the crowd, supporting Bernie's swaying form. His screams tore through the air.
"Ignore that waste! He's nothing but shame!" Cristy's shriek pierced the chaos. That handsome face twisted with rage, skin flushed liver-colored. Yet mercenary honor weighed heavier than mountains—Bloodthorn members could lose, but never publicly abandon wounded comrades. Two more men lifted Bernie's heavy frame, stumbling toward the tavern's swinging door and outside—only a healing mage's holy light might salvage Bernie's ruined eyes.
Every gaze now pinned Cristy like invisible thorns. Those looks held naked mockery and schadenfreude, each one lashing him like whips. This Bloodthorn deputy leader wished the floor would crack open and swallow him whole.
"Go!" Cristy squeezed the command through clenched teeth, every second's delay pure torture.
"Deputy Leader Cristy," Adeline's voice carried lazy sharpness as she and Tony's group blocked his path like stone barriers. "You seem to have... forgotten something?"
"You won! What more do you want?" Cristy's hand gripped his sword hilt with white-knuckled, trembling force.
Adeline casually twirled her staff, the crystal tip refracting yellow light. "Spoils of war. You wouldn't try cheating a child out of his prize, would you?" Her gaze drifted toward Arthur.
Cristy whirled around, those cold eyes locking onto Arthur like a hunting viper. Invisible pressure poured down like ice water. "You," his voice froze enough to drop icicles, "dare claim this sword?"
Arthur's left shoulder clothing was soaked in dark bloodstains, the swollen joint grotesquely shaped. Cold sweat slid down his pale cheeks, yet his tight mouth corners pulled into an almost provocative arc: "Naturally. I won it."
"Fine! Take it!" Cristy's arm swept violently! That cold-gleaming longsword wrapped in furious pale golden Combat Aura shot like a poisoned arrow, spinning through air straight toward Arthur's face! Too fast—nobody could react!
"Despicable!" Adeline's staff rose instantly as surrounding magical elements churned wildly. Tony's greatsword, Angus's battle axe, every Azure Rose Company weapon drew simultaneously with flashing steel! None believed the wounded youth could dodge this lethal strike—bloody melee would shred Nightingale Tavern within moments.
Yet Arthur's body toppled backward like a severed tree trunk! The blade's ear-piercing shriek grazed his nose tip!
Boom!
The longsword drove deep into thick wooden walls, tremendous impact bouncing it back to shatter a person-tall wine jar in the corner. Amber liquid mixed with pottery shards splashed everywhere, intense juniper gin aroma instantly filling the air.
Even his sneak attack failed! Cristy's facial muscles twitched violently as he released a suppressed cold snort. "Adeline! Azure Rose Company's humiliation today will be repaid hundredfold!" Each word dripped poison.
Adeline merely shrugged indifferently. Since Arthur was unharmed, she had no interest in entanglement, staff lowering as she lazily cleared the path.
Cristy turned to leave.
"Wait." Another clear voice rang out—quiet, yet instantly silencing the entire clamorous tavern.
Cristy's raised foot froze mid-air before turning with extreme slowness.
Nightingale leaned against the bar, fat arms crossed over her chest, round face wearing a merchant's calculating smile. "Deputy Leader Cristy, your memory seems poor? Haven't you... forgotten something else?"
Cristy said nothing, fingers fishing in his belt pouch before a gold coin traced a faint arc toward Nightingale. He turned again.
Nightingale didn't raise her hand. The coin clanged to the floor, rolling several times before stopping in greasy board gaps.
"Insufficient." Nightingale's smile chilled. "Ten gold coins."
Cristy staggered, nearly falling. "Ten gold coins?!" He roared, pointing at scattered broken tables and chairs. "You're extorting! Those broken boards are worth ten gold coins?"
Nightingale's chin gestured toward the spilled liquid and fragments: "Those broken tables weren't valuable. But what you smashed was my finest reserve wine—juniper gin. Don't believe me?" Her pudgy finger indicated the floor mess. "Crawl down and taste it? Leader Cristy should distinguish authentic from fake."
Cristy's teeth ground audibly, jaw muscles bulging. He certainly knew this fat woman was exploiting the situation, but having a deputy leader publicly crawl and lick floors? Better to kill him!
"Ten gold coins? I can afford it!" He forced the words through gritted teeth.
"Now," Nightingale raised two fat fingers, waggling them, "it's twelve. The extra two compensate for insulting my reputation. Everyone present," she surveyed the room, "tell me—when has Nightingale ever extorted anyone?"
"Sister Nightingale's the fairest!" Someone immediately jeered from the crowd.
"Right! Sister Nightingale never cheats anyone!"
Mercenaries watching the spectacle roared with laughter, noise nearly lifting the roof. Frustration, fury, shame... Cristy's face contorted beyond recognition. He swallowed the roar nearly bursting forth. While he was Bloodthorn's deputy leader, this woman Nightingale... he couldn't provoke her. Eventually, he nearly emptied his own and his mercenaries' coin purses, clinking together twelve sweat-stained gold coins that he slammed onto the bar before fleeing with his men like hellhounds pursued them.
Tony grinned while picking up the sapphire-inlaid longsword flowing with magical radiance, approaching Arthur. "Kid, that was fucking beautiful! From today, you're Azure Rose Company! Need anything, find your brother Tony!" He tried patting Arthur's right shoulder.
"Get lost, idiot! Don't you see his shoulder's shattered?" Nightingale's massive frame moved like a mobile fortress, directly bumping Tony aside. With surprising agility, she stripped Arthur's bloodied shirt. Her thick fingers carried unquestionable authority as they examined Arthur's deformed left shoulder joint.
Excruciating pain! Cold sweat instantly poured from Arthur's forehead, temples, and back, streaming downward. He clenched his eyes shut, lower lip bitten white, brow knotted, forcibly swallowing the cry rising to his throat.
A soft silk handkerchief carrying elegant herbal fragrance gently brushed his soaked forehead and cheeks. Arthur opened his eyes to find Adeline's face inches away, those deep eyes holding no pity—only pure affirmation and silent encouragement.
At that moment, strange coolness spread through his shoulder like immersion in icy springs. The tearing agony miraculously subsided by half. Nightingale was applying viscous black salve evenly across his swollen purple shoulder with steady, precise movements. Then she took clean white gauze, layer upon layer, expertly wrapping and stabilizing his entire left shoulder and upper arm.
"The bone's cracked inside," Nightingale told Adeline without looking up, hands continuing their work. "These days, treat that arm like it doesn't exist. Finding a healing mage would speed recovery."
"Thanks, Nightingale." Adeline's voice softened.
"That old fox Kaines found gold in the cracks this time." Nightingale finished bandaging, casually patting Arthur's uninjured cheek with moderate force, leaving traces of black medicine. "This boy's bones are mountain-hard—born mercenary material."
Color finally returned to Arthur's pale face. He lowered his head somewhat embarrassed, yet his mouth corners couldn't help curving upward.
"Here, kid, it's yours!" Tony again offered the sword, its flowing radiance reflecting his envious expression. "Know what this is? Frostwhisper—rare-grade frost-enchanted blade! That bastard Cristy worked like a slave for Bloodthorn a full year to afford it! Three hundred gold coins!" His tone could wring acid.
Arthur accepted the heavy longsword with his uninjured right hand. The cold hilt's texture felt unusually distinct. Without even glancing at this priceless treasure, he directly presented it to Adeline.
"Teacher," he raised his head, voice quiet yet exceptionally clear, "may I give this to you?"
Adeline was completely stunned, her staff's radiance wavering: "...Why?"
"It's too precious," Arthur's gaze remained honest and calm. "I'm unqualified to possess it, and... cannot protect it." The tavern fell instantly silent. Mercenaries exchanged incredulous looks—could a half-grown child so clearly perceive the cruel reality of "innocent possession inviting disaster"?
"Wait," Adeline seemed to realize something, leaning slightly to study Arthur's eyes. "What did you just call me? 'Teacher'?"
Arthur's face flashed with cunning like a fox stealing honey: "Didn't Aunt Nightingale just say... I was your magical apprentice?"