After Altair left, Gegran stretched and prepared to return to her interrupted nap. But before she could lean back, the wind chimes on the tavern door jingled again.
"Are you kidding me…" she muttered, running a hand through her hair. "If that boy forgot something again, I swear—"
It wasn't Altair.
A tall woman with light-blonde hair and sharp, ocean-blue eyes stepped inside, quietly closing the wooden door behind her. Her hooded cloak obscured half her face, but her height and posture alone were unmistakable.
If Altair had still been here, he would've recognized her instantly.
"Really, Vienata?" Gegran sighed. "I'm a bar owner running an upside-down schedule. My beauty routine is already clinging to life—and now you're intruding on my sleep again."
"Sorry, Gegran." Vienata bowed her head politely. "But you know how it is. If an executioner from the Zimang Party walks in during business hours, people start asking questions. Bad for you. Bad for me."
"Sure, sure…" Gegran muttered. "This place survives more off commissions from Beyonder gatherings than actual alcohol anyway…"
Vienata's gaze softened. "Still. I'll try to be more discreet next time."
Gegran stared at her for a second. Vienata had changed lately. Still fierce in a fight, still painfully sincere—yet with new quirks that could leave anyone speechless.
"You want your usual? Half-and-Half?"
Vienata slid two small banknotes across the counter. "Yes. And give me the recent news while you're at it."
Gegran pocketed the money with a nod. "Keep a low profile. The local gangs have pooled together a bounty for your head—two hundred pounds."
"Only two hundred?" Vienata scoffed, unfazed. "That's almost insulting. And? Did anyone accept?"
"Yes. A professional. Sequence 9, highly skilled. Combat, assassination, stealth—he can do all of it. Good at striking from the shadows."
Gegran listed Altair's strengths without hesitation. She wasn't known as "Answer-All" for nothing. She gathered secrets, sold secrets, and survived by being too useful to kill.
Vienata cracked her knuckles. "Interesting. I hope he stays brave when I finally catch him."
"Good luck with that," Gegran replied, sliding her the drink. "There's a gathering tonight, by the way. You coming?"
Vienata downed the cocktail in one go.
Gegran winced. "That is a waste of perfectly good alcohol. Sip it next time—don't swallow it like a starving bear."
Vienata casually popped the lemon slice into her mouth and chewed it. "Then give me something cheaper next time. If there is a next time. Or swap it for a Strong Ronci, maybe?"
"Absolutely not."
Vienata just grinned. "If I ever drown in the Tassok River from drinking too much, at least let the man who drags me out be handsome. I'd happily make my last moments meaningful."
"You're insane," Gegran replied flatly. "You're at that age—why not look for someone to marry?"
"Here? In the East Borough?" Vienata stared at her like she had sprouted horns. "The men here either drink themselves into oblivion, can't cook, can't wash their own shirts, or are gang members who only want cheap thrills. Might as well marry a steel pipe—it's durable, low-maintenance, and at least useful in a fight."
Gegran burst into laughter. "If you marry a steel pipe, invite me. I want to see which poor man you replaced with plumbing."
Vienata raised her glass. "Then—cheers to the steel pipe."
"To the steel pipe."
Both drank.
After a moment, Gegran blinked heavily. "You Fosac people aren't supposed to care about this stuff. Why are you demanding a man with 'proper discipline'?"
"We care," Vienata replied, tapping the ice in her empty glass. "Intisians don't. Besides, I can't do housework at all. Someone has to."
"Hire a maid then."
"No. What if he runs off with her?"
"…Get a male servant?"
"If he's too handsome, I'd run off with him."
"…Stay single," Gegran concluded.
Vienata stretched, adjusting the cleaver and blowgun strapped to her belt. "Alright, alright. I'll leave you to your nap. I'll get some food before the gathering."
As she reached the door, Gegran whistled teasingly behind her.
"Hey—what if the guy who accepted the bounty is actually handsome? Would you fall for him?"
Vienata paused thoughtfully. "Maybe. If he dies obediently, I'll fall in love with him."
With that, she slipped outside, pulling her hood low once more.
...
Meanwhile…
In a dim inn across the district, Audrey Hall checked a gold-cased pocket watch, then sealed the room with a wall of spirituality. She closed her eyes and whispered:
"The Fool who does not belong to this era.
The mysterious ruler above the gray fog.
The King of Yellow and Black who wields fortune."
A crimson glow blossomed.
Mist surged.
Her consciousness rose into the ancient bronze temple, settling onto the seat of "Justice." Around her, seven crimson sparks descended into their own chairs.
Audrey glanced toward the head of the long table. The main seat remained empty—as always—its silence almost solemn.
She rose and curtsied.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Fool."
The others followed.
Alger, The Hanged Man, cleared his throat.
"The Blue Avenger continues to sail near the sea line. We still can't break the loop toward the Western Continent… and thank you again for the mushrooms. Without these… unusual crops, my fleet would've starved by now."
He nodded toward The Hermit.
One by one, the members reported their missions.
And high above, the mist swayed, ancient and silent.