Shadowed Gaze: The Highserk War Saga - Chapter 71

A year had passed since the man started frequenting the tavern. His hair, grown carelessly long, merged with his unkempt beard, making it difficult to guess his age from his appearance.

Gangut, the tavern’s owner, had seen various types of people over the years. From worthless scum to adventurers who seemed as if they’d jumped right out of heroic tales. If he were to assess the man, he’d conclude he was someone who had burned out.

From morning till night, the man incessantly smoked and gulped down liquor. He didn’t converse with other customers and rejected the advances of both novice and experienced prostitutes with a single word. He drank single-mindedly, inhaling the purple smoke deep into his lungs, as if he wished for an early death or was trying to lose his sanity.

It was certain that the man had money. Gangut, concerned about his health and decadent lifestyle, had offered advice dozens of times, but he only ever received vague nods or delirious responses in return.

Even now, the man sat in his usual corner of the tavern, his face downturned, draining distilled spirits. Normally, one would sip such a drink in small amounts, or dilute it. He swallowed noisily, staring at the ceiling with hollow eyes while holding a cigarette.

Gangut’s tavern wasn’t a high-class establishment frequented by nobles or powerful figures. It was a public tavern, a gathering place for day laborers, citizens indulging in monthly luxuries, and adventurers relying on their own strength to plunge into demonic territories and battlefields. Naturally, there were no expensive paintings or skylights on the ceiling. At most, there were stains from tobacco and remnants of food thrown during fights.

Gangut occasionally grumbled, while liquor and tobacco continued to be consumed. This scene had repeated itself for a year, but today was slightly different. A group of inebriated adventurers, with one particularly boisterous member, decided to mess with the man.

“Why are you always drinking alone? Why don’t you join us?”

“Leave.”

The man replied without turning around.

“Drinking alone must make it taste awful.”

“It’s alright,” he replied.

“Does liquor taste good when you drink it every day without working?”

“Yeah, it’s alright, I guess.”

The adventurers’ irritation grew with the man’s indifferent attitude. Gangut held his head in his hands.

“You’re mocking us, aren’t you?”

“No, not really,” the man replied indifferently.

Gangut was a B-rank adventurer. He had dedicated half his life to one of the major labyrinths in these archipelago countries and managed to survive. After leaving the labyrinth city, he set up shop in Kopetsk, a city along the border. He never claimed to be first-rate, but considering the numerous adventurers who had fallen, he certainly belonged to the successful category.

It was inevitable for someone who lived on the edge of death and passed through numerous life-threatening situations to develop a keen intuition for danger. Even after retiring and becoming a tavern owner, this intuition remained unchanged. Gangut intervened, stepping out from behind the counter to get between the man and the adventurers.

“Don’t start trouble in my tavern. I’ll give you a drink on the house. Just keep it calm.”

“…If Gangut says so, alright.”

The adventurers returned to their seats, their dissatisfaction apparent, yet not entirely malevolent. They were typical adventurers.

“That helped,” said the man to Gangut. But Gangut hadn’t intended to save him. He was a customer, a poorly performing junior in the category of adventurers, to whom he had merely extended a helping hand. The man sat there, angrily sipping his drink, a complete fool in Gangut’s eyes.

“It doesn’t bother me. You’ve been a big help this past year with the money you’ve spent. But can’t you be a bit more sociable?”

“Maybe… You’re right. I owe you one, so I’ll try.”

As he looked up, the man’s eyes, which should have been tinged with gold, appeared terribly clouded. For a moment, Gangut’s body, though weakened, tensed up in response to perceived danger.

“…I’m glad to hear a good response.”

The occasionally shadowed gaze he showed could freeze the spine of Gangut, a seasoned adventurer. Although usually a quiet patron who paid well for his drinks, Gangut knew this man was unpredictable when provoked, given his past.

None of the patrons present when he first appeared at the tavern would dare scorn or misjudge him. They all harbored a deep fear. Gangut vividly remembered that day. Despite his cleansed appearance, the man couldn’t wash away the dense scent of death, the myriad scars on his gear, and his unstable, cloudy eyes. Struck by those eyes, Gangut struggled to find his words.

The innkeeper was sensitive to rumors. Being in a tavern where people gathered, he inevitably heard various pieces of information, albeit of varying reliability.

Considering the time when the man appeared, it roughly coincided with the period when the Felius Kingdom, the former Kingdom of Canoa, and the Highserk Empire faced their downfall, due to the “Flame Emperor Dragon” and the “Great Rampage.”

Gangut concluded that the man was a defeated soldier who survived the Four Country War and the Great Rampage, only to end up drifting to the archipelago nations after his homeland’s collapse. Indeed, many refugees from the fallen Highserk Empire were around.

Gangut, hiding his grimacing face, pushed the man into a corner of the tavern, treating him like a dangerous drug. It had been almost a year since he was asked to recommend lodgings and a general store. The deathly stench had faded, and those worrisome eyes seemed to be receding.

Yet still, Gangut felt an irrational anger. Foolish juniors were riling up those eyes, seeking a brawl. He wasn’t interested in the outcome of the fight. Of course, as long as it remained just a fight. But if those cloudy eyes were awakened inside the tavern, then his advice and a drink would have been cheap in comparison.

“Thanks for the drink, I’ll pay my bill now.”

After courteously finishing his greeting, the man left the tavern. Receiving the payment for the drink, Gangut saw him off.

“Watch your step. Have a good night.”

“Ya, ah…”

Staggering out, the man took a flask from his hip bag and began drinking again. Hearing footsteps approaching, Gangut turned back inside the tavern and sighed. The adventurers seemed to want to follow the man, slightly delayed. It was no coincidence.

“It’s outside the tavern… I couldn’t stop you.”

The adventurers, realizing their actions were anticipated, halted abruptly.

“A tavern brawl may be inevitable. But absolutely no weapons. It’s just a fight. Understand?”

The adventurers, with foolish grins, pushed open the double doors and headed outside. The man’s residence was near the notoriously unsafe slum area. Surely, there were deserted streets.

“Idiots,” Gangut muttered.

He wouldn’t intervene. They were not children, and the innkeeper was not one to overly meddle. Still, he hoped the man, seemingly on the brink of breaking, possessed mercy and self-control.

◆

The adventurer couldn’t calm his stomach. Normally, he wouldn’t chase and pick fights like this. It was just bad timing. This morning, one of his companions was seriously injured. A common occurrence for rough adventurers – being alive was profit enough. Drowning his worries in drink, he spoke to the lonely man.

His response, dismissively arrogant, couldn’t be overlooked. If underestimated by him, it would be the end for the adventurer. It affected his reputation and could make him a target for other adventurers.

Planning to punch him a couple of times and demand an apology, the adventurer intended to forgive him afterwards. His alcohol-impaired, slow thought process couldn’t fully comprehend that his actions were just misplaced anger. His companions initially tried to dissuade him, but now they followed, watching how things unfolded, retaining enough sense to intervene if things got out of hand.

Soon, the adventurer caught up with the man. In the alley leading to the slum, there was no one around in the dead of night. It was a district bad enough for drunkards and vagrants to be mugged.

The man was still pouring distilled liquor from his flask down his throat on his way home. The strong smell of alcohol irritated the adventurer’s nostrils. “Crazy drunk,” he scoffed, disregarding his own state.

“Hey, what was with your attitude back there?”

In response, the man lethargically replied, “Attitude? Nothing special, just as usual.”

Without looking at the agitated adventurer, the man took out a second flask, gulping it down. Instantly, the adventurer’s face reddened with anger and alcohol.

“If you’re drunk, I’ll sober you up!”

His anger boiling over, the adventurer kicked off the ground, lunging at the man. His arm extended, aiming a punch at the man’s jaw. He envisioned a direct hit, but his fist met nothing.

“What―”

His expected punch cut through air. Suddenly, a sharp pain erupted in his abdomen, and the liquor he’d been holding back spewed out with his stomach acid.

“Ugh… ahh… uhh…”

Doubled over, the adventurer received no interest from the man, who simply continued tilting his flask. The sequence of events was simple. By just tilting his head, the man avoided the punch, and using the momentum of the charge, he delivered a palm strike over the armor to the adventurer’s liver.

It wasn’t luck. This encounter was not something to be dismissed lightly. The battle-hardened adventurer immediately realized that the man before him was no mere drunkard. A counterattack like that required a precise combination of angle, timing, and brute strength. The skill to strike the liver, a vital spot, through armor was indicative of someone accustomed to breaking humans.

It was an impressive display of skill, unbelievable for a man rotting away in a tavern. The adventurer was aware of the unfavorable odds but possessed a pride that flared up in anger when looked down upon.

“Bring it on!!”

Spitting out the lingering acidic taste with his saliva, the adventurer lunged again. He feigned a strike to the face with his left hand and, while switching his stance, aimed a right punch at the lower abdomen. But the man closed the distance in an instant, striking the adventurer’s face with his elbow.

Blood from a broken nose dripped onto the alleyway. The dull pain was accompanied by a severe nosebleed, making breathing through the nose difficult and forcing the adventurer to breathe through his mouth.

“You bastard…”

Despite their confrontation, the man seemed disinterested in the adventurer, his gaze focused elsewhere, as if the adventurer was of no concern. The adventurer, by virtue of his profession, was confident in his physical strength. He lived in a world where violence reigned supreme.

But now, it was as if the adventurer was being dismissed as powerless, insignificant dust. The man, still holding onto his flask and not even bothering to put it down, sipped its contents. This stark contrast only enraged the adventurer further, while his comrades, observing objectively, felt a chill down their spines. They hadn’t seen the man’s move.

“Enough of this.”

“Stop it now.”

“Stop it with those eyes! I’m telling you to stop!”

The man didn’t respond, continuing to tilt his flask. Something inside the adventurer snapped.

“Still looking down on me, huh?”

In a fit of rage, the adventurer reached for his waist and drew his longsword with a swift motion. Monsters and men alike were equal before his sword; this was the creed by which he had lived.

“Let’s see if you can stay cocky now! Huh?!”

As the adventurer’s comrades rushed to intervene, it was clear he had no intention of killing. He only wanted to see the disdainful man turn in fear.

“Calm down, he’s unarmed. Drawing a sword is too much.”

“It’s too much to draw a sword in the middle of town.”

“Shut up, back off—”

The adventurer’s words were cut short. His guts churned, his nape bristled, and goosebumps spread across his skin as if in rejection. The once cold air of the alleyway seemed to grow warm.

“What the hell is this?”

Visible magical energy emanated from the previously emotionless man, filling the air with a palpable sense of death. In his hand, as if by magic, he now held a blood-stained longsword. The adventurer knew from experience – this was no bluff. The sword, evidently worn from real combat, sent him into a panic.

The man’s unfocused eyes now fixed on the adventurer. The irises, which should have been a light golden color, appeared cloudy. But that wasn’t all. The pupils had narrowed vertically, like those of a monster.

There are certain types of people one should not engage with. The adventurer realized too late that the man before him was one such person.

“Is this, uh, war? En… enemy.”

The man casually tossed aside the flask he had refused to let go of. In an instant, his figure vanished. The sword imbued with magical energy and undoubtedly possessing the power of a Strong Strike was unmistakable.

The adventurer instinctively braced himself and guarded his vital spots with his sword. A burning pain shot through his cheek and hand. By the time he realized he had been cut, his body was already thrown to the ground. He felt the imminent threat of death, his brain screaming danger, but his body refused to respond. Even as he tried to move, his torso was crushed underfoot, pushing the air from his lungs.

“Wait, stop, please…”

“Please don’t kill me…”

As his comrades pleaded, the longsword was poised at the adventurer’s throat.

Translator – Lyxxna