Turning toward the wine rack, the manager took down a bottle from the top shelf—the one with the least dust. He wiped the neck of the bottle with a cloth, grabbed two glasses, and brought them over to Croy.
“This is some of the tavern's private reserve. Please try it first, milord. Our best wine will be right up.”
Croy tapped his fingers on the table a few times and asked with some dissatisfaction, “Don't you have any serving girls to keep me company while I drink?”
The manager paused.
“Serving girls? My apologies, Sir Knight, but our territory is remote and cannot compare to the bustling cities. We don't have serving girls to accompany our patrons.”
“How pathetic. Go, fetch the girl I took a liking to!”
“The girl you took a liking to?”
Croy raised an eyebrow and let out a strange, mocking laugh.
“Heh, you were right there. Don't tell me you don't know which one I'm talking about? Hurry up and have someone fetch her!”
He recognized the manager and knew the man knew exactly who he meant.
“But, but...”
“Hmm?”
The manager's hesitation vanished instantly under Croy's threat. He offered an apologetic smile and backed away.
“Right away, right away. I'll go get things ready. Please wait a moment, milord.”
With that, he turned and headed into the tavern's kitchen.
The kitchen was dimmer than the front hall, and the fire in the hearth wasn't burning very brightly. Zane stood by the counter where the bottles were kept, holding one and pouring a dark powder into it.
When the manager pushed open the door and saw this, he rushed over, snatched the bottle from Zane's hand, and hissed, “Zane, what are you doing? Poisoning him?”
Zane didn't answer right away. He stuffed the bottle of poison powder back into his pocket before turning around, his eyes bloodshot.
“Manager, I heard everything. That bastard still hasn't forgotten about my sister. I had no choice.”
He paused, as if he had made up his mind long ago.
“But don't worry, Manager. I'll take full responsibility. You and the tavern won't be involved.”
Hearing this, the manager's voice suddenly rose.
“Bastard! Do you even know what you're doing?!”
“I know! I'm killing him! I'm killing that bad guy!”
Zane clenched his fists, refusing to back down even an inch.
He knew this was a cruel world. Submitting blindly would only lead to being devoured whole. Only by fighting back could he carve out a path and find a sliver of hope to survive.
“Bullshit! That's not what I'm talking about!”
The manager strode over and scolded him, “Do you think you're the only one who wants him dead? Let me tell you, there are plenty of people in the territory who want him dead! Take full responsibility? How old are you? You think you can take responsibility for this?!”
As he spoke, his voice softened, becoming more earnest.
“You still have a sister. Taking good care of her is what you should be doing. Leave this kind of thing to me. I'm old. Even if I die, I'll have no regrets.”
He patted Zane on the shoulder and placed the poisoned wine onto the tray. Zane stood frozen in place, completely caught off guard by the manager's decision.
He had assumed the manager would continue to back down and try to convince him to give up on killing the Church Knight.
“Manager...”
“After I carry this out, slip out of the tavern with the other bartenders. Don't come back.”
The manager picked up the tray and walked toward the exit. Just as he reached the door, Zane suddenly asked, “Why? Why are you helping me?”
He couldn't understand. Before, the manager had been good to him because he pitied him and knew he had a sister to support, so he had lent a helping hand. But now?
Poisoning a Church Knight was highly likely to result in death.
He didn't think he was that important to the manager.
The manager stopped in his tracks and let out a laugh.
“Fool, I'm not doing this to help you.”
As if remembering something, a happy smile appeared on his face.
“The Saintess cured my son's brain affliction, allowing him to live like a normal person. This period has been the happiest time of my life.”
“I am deeply grateful to her, so of course I have to find a way to repay her. You're just incidental, so don't think too highly of yourself. Besides, there are plenty of people in this territory who share my thoughts.”
With that, he let out a cold laugh.
“By persecuting the faith in our hearts, these guys are seeking their own deaths.”
He picked up the tray and turned to walk into the front hall. The flames in the kitchen hearth flickered with increasing intensity.
Croy had taken a few sips of the wine served earlier and left it untouched on the table, seemingly very dissatisfied. The moment the manager emerged, his gaze immediately locked onto the bottle on the tray.
“Sir Knight, thank you for waiting. This is our most famous local wine. Though it cannot compare to the wines of the Holy City, it has a unique flavor of its own.”
“Is that so? Let me try it.”
He eagerly uncorked the bottle, poured the wine into his glass, raised it to his lips, took a sip, and then set it down.
Smacking his lips, he said, “Tsk, the aroma is too weak, and the taste is quite astringent. It's indeed far worse than the wines I usually drink. But what can I expect when this place is so remote and undeveloped?”
With that, he drained the glass in one gulp.
“Whatever, I can't expect too much. It's barely passable. So, aside from this, where is the girl I asked for?”
The manager offered a placating smile. “She's on her way.”
Croy let out a cold snort and slammed his longsword onto the table.
“Good. If I find out you're lying to me, I won't just destroy your tavern—I'll cut off your limbs and hang you at the gates of the lord's city as an example!”
“Milord, I wouldn't dare lie to you!”
The manager looked panicked and began to fluster, seemingly terrified of death. Croy laughed loudly at the sight, his desire to toy with these lowlifes deeply satisfied.
He loved seeing the expressions of fear on the faces of these lowlifes.
Croy poured another glass and tossed it back.
“I doubt you'd have the guts. Go, bring out the best dishes your tavern has to offer. If I don't like them, I'll still trash your tavern anyway!”
“Yes, yes, right away!”
The manager took two steps back and returned to the kitchen. This time, however, he did not order any food to be prepared. Instead, he crossed his arms and leaned against the wall, waiting quietly.
Until, finally, the sound of a shattering glass echoed from the front hall.
He turned and walked back to the front hall. There, Croy was swaying on his feet as if heavily intoxicated, his head shaking groggily.
“No! Damn it! Someone... poisoned the wine!”
Thud!
He slammed his hand onto the table and tried to stand, realizing something was wrong. But it was too late. Just as his fingers brushed the scabbard on the table, he collapsed onto it, completely losing control of his body.
Seeing the manager emerge from the kitchen with a face full of disgust, how could Croy not realize what had happened?
“You... you bastard... How dare you poison me... Aren't you afraid of the church's retaliation...”
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