Escape - Chapter 40.1

Schedule: Wed and Sat

Chapter 40.1

Damian’s imposing presence intensified tenfold as he rose, his height alone a form of intimidation. He moved slowly, his footsteps echoing a steady thud, thud. The man with the pierced cheek stumbled backward, his retreat halted by a table. Trembling, he burst into tears. “P-please… s-spare me… please…”

Damian’s impassive lips curled into a subtle, chilling smile. At that moment, a strong force gripped his arm from behind. “Damian. You promised me.”

The strained voice held a note of steel. He glanced back, his gaze falling to his captured arm. The grip was firm. As expected, Adeline was the most formidable opponent in this place. Her eyes held a different fire than the pathetic pleas of those begging for their lives.

She would never bore him. He pictured her pale face stained with blood, then flinched, a frown creasing his brow. His imagination was a cruel and twisted thing. Did he want to keep her? But hide her from what?

“It hasn’t even been half a day since you promised not to kill anyone.”

“I didn’t kill them.” He responded dryly, gesturing towards the two twitching men. Even the man who’d been stabbed in the eye and collapsed seemed to still be breathing. But just barely.

Adeline sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose before speaking coldly. “Get out of here with your friend. I’ll let you live.”

The man with the bloody, saliva-laced chin, pointed by Adeline’s sharp gesture, trembled before rising and helping his companion. Their feet dragged as they stumbled away. He would likely die soon.

The door creaked shut with a thud after the injured men departed. Adeline surveyed the ravaged tavern. Dust motes danced in the sudden silence. Dishes lay scattered, tables overturned, chairs strewn across the floor. She walked towards the abandoned money pouch, the pirates’ bounty of gold coins glittering within. She placed her hand on it.

“Do you think I can’t do this?” Her voice was sharper than she intended. He hadn’t been unable to avoid the attack. He hadn’t tried. He just needed an excuse. She tore her gaze from the disappearing coins to meet his golden eyes. His face was unreadable.

She couldn’t tell if he felt remorse, or what he was even thinking. That fueled her anger further. Damian wasn’t like this. He was more controlled, more calculating than even she was.

“This isn’t like you.” It was an unfair statement. He wasn’t the same, yet she expected him to be. A flicker of something crossed his cold features. Adeline couldn’t decipher it. They stared at each other, locked in a silent battle. The air thickened with tension. Then, a small sound shattered the moment.

Clink.

“Uh… um…”

They turned sharply to see a forgotten figure. The barkeep, who had been hiding behind the long counter, cautiously sat up, rubbing his head. He looked around the wrecked tavern with wide, bewildered eyes. Taken aback, Adeline stammered an apology. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I truly didn’t mean to cause any trouble. I didn’t think… that this kind of commotion would drive everyone away… If there are any unpaid bills, I’ll cover them.”

Her apology was sincere. She genuinely felt terrible. Perhaps sensing her sincerity, the barkeep, who had looked weary, shrugged. “We operate on a pre-paid system, so there are no outstanding charges. And I saw those men start the fight. Please, have a seat.”

“What? Why?”

“You ordered onion soup.”

She had completely forgotten. They had ordered food. The chaos had erupted before the appetizers even arrived. The barkeep disappeared back into the kitchen with the now-cold soup.

“He’s certainly dedicated to his job,” Adeline murmured, her heart rate slowing as she turned back to Damian. More specifically, to the wound on his hand, dripping crimson. Sensing her gaze, he slowly raised his hand.

The man who had become Damian was a man of few words. He mostly listened when Adeline spoke, rarely responding. It was a stark contrast to his previous self, who had engaged in endless conversations with the players, fueled by an insatiable curiosity about the world. Perhaps he was avoiding speaking now.

“This isn’t like you.”

He stared at the gushing wound in his hand. What would Damian have done in this situation? He didn’t know. He wasn’t Damian.

His languid eyes slowly lowered to his bloodied palm. He felt strangely detached. He even clenched his fist, the masochistic sensation of the wound pressing against his skin strangely arousing. The dripping blood triggered a memory.

He saw himself slicing his right palm with a dagger, placing his clenched fist over his heart. Rows of soldiers in navy blue uniforms stood at attention. He felt the blood trickling down his wrist as he spoke.

“I, Damian Max Reynardor, through this sacred oath, swear to protect the safety of District 13 as a soldier.”