Chapter 143: No One Likes To Be Bothered During A Meal

“It’s really gone.” A young boy small sailing vessel approached the cloud of fog floating on the eerily calm water. A few days ago, the Storm Wall, also known to the those in Yeramesh as the Great Storm, had suddenly lost its momentum. Now, there was a massive opening in the wall of stirring fog that couldn't be called a storm anymore.

“Come on, we’re here to make a pickup.” An old man with a patchy white beard and short white hair ignored the enthusiasm of the boy and steered along the cloudy wall.

Eventually, he heard something tapping along the hull of the boat and dropped anchor before raising the sails.

“Don’t say anything strange, boy.” The old man grumbled as he moved toward the edge of the boat.

The water began to ripple and then a male Naiad with dark blue hair and eyes slowly emerged, “My arrival will bring the end to all of my enemies, what am I?”

“Vengeance.” The old man answered.

The Naiad nodded before a stream of water rose from the ocean and pushed an airtight chest onto the boat.

“You’re known as the best smuggler in all of Yeramesh so I have some faith in you, but if you lose that chest you’ll spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

“Is it that important?” The old man asked as he glanced at the chest.

“It is...To help you understand how important it is, I’ll tell you that the one who requested has killed two dragons and destroyed a floating palace,” The Naiad answered.

“I see…” The old man held a solemn look but the young boy next to him grew too excited.

“Really?!” He nearly jumped out of his clothes.

The Naiad looked at him with narrowed eyes while the old man glared at him.

The Naiad shook his head and began to laugh, “He’s not as serious as you were back then but it’s good that he’s passionate.”

“The boy’s too naive for this line of work if it wasn’t for me getting weaker and weaker each year I’d still be smuggling alone,” The old man sighed. It was clear that the two of them had been working together many times before and shared quite a long history.

“Hey…” The Naiad showed a serious look, “I don’t have anything solid but there are talks that the Sea Serpent may be released in order to combat the threat to the dragons. I don’t know what kind of deal was reached but the elders are more than ready to assist.”

“I’ll pass it along to the leaders, thanks for the heads up.” The old man nodded before he signaled to the boy and they began to lift the anchor.

The Naiad disappeared beneath the surface and the boat set sail again with no evidence of a transaction ever taking place.

…

In a tavern in a small mining town, two women whose appearances were obscured by worn out cloaks sat together at a table and silently ate. In the corner of the compact building, a drunkard was busily yelling and a few other customers scattered about.

“That’d be another fuckin’ dragon dead. Whoever it is he’s killing those so-called Gods like ants. Today’s a new fucking era for Yeramesh and it has no room for those bastard Gods!” His face was flushed red and he reeked of cheap alcohol. As he ranted on his mug emptied itself onto the table and floor.

“You really think that’ll happen?” Someone asked which spurred the drunk man on.

“Of course! Those Gods are as good as dead.” He answered with confidence.

“Keep it down before you get all of us killed!” The barkeep yelled at him.

“No, listen! The Wrath of God has made itself known and it’s slaying all of those flying lizards!” The drunkard shouted.

The loud noise of armor clattering together resounded outside and a group of men dressed in full armor entered the tavern and it became deadly silent with the exception of the two women who continued eating.

The intricate carvings on their breastplates were lined with scars and scratches which told that they weren’t pretending. The leader had crimson reptilian eyes that carried an almost soul-crushing weight. He took a moment to glance around the bar before approaching the nervous barkeep.

“Ale.” He said curtly as he dropped a golden coin onto the counter.

“F-For a member of the Dragon Legion, there’s no need to pay.” The barkeep waved his hands nervously.

The leader pressed his finger against the coin and dragged it across the counter until it was closer to the barkeep.

“Ale and Bramich is just fine.” He said solemnly.

“...Right away, Sir Bramich.” The barkeep bowed as drops of sweat began to pour down his face. He hurriedly poured the most expensive liquor he had on hand. It was something he was saving for himself but he didn’t feel so stingy after looking at the intimidating half-dragons.

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A pristine mug arrived and the leader of the group finished it in one gulp that wasn’t unmannerly in the slightest.

“Ah, very good, it must’ve been terribly expensive,” Bramich said as he handed back the mug.

“No, it’s nothing, really. If anything it’s an honor for me to be able to serve someone such as yourself, Sir Bramich” The barkeep smiled wryly.

“...The blood of the Dragon Gods running through me makes intoxication nothing more than a dream. It’s unfortunate don’t you think?” Bramich smiled charmingly as he asked.

“M-Maybe just a bit.” The barkeep agreed while suppressing his trembling.

“Even so, I don’t wish to get rid of it. Although such vices are tempting I often find it more rewarding to maintain self-control. Truthfully, the blessing I received from the Dragon Gods exceeds a few moments of wanton drunkenness,” Bramich said as his reptilian eyes flashed with a cold light.

He stood up and looked at the drunkard who was rambling a few moments ago and the person in question was grabbed by the other members. They quickly brought him in front of Bramich and forced him to the ground.

“What was it that you were saying earlier?” Bramich questioned as he drew an ivory sword covered in small inscriptions and enchantments.

“Y-You’re Bramich the Butcher!” The drunkard instantly recognized the bone sword because of how infamous it was. It was said that a Fallen Dragon God was slain and his bones were made into weapons which the strongest members of the Dragon’s Legion wielded.

“Shut your mouth!” A Dragon Legionnaire stepped on the drunkard’s leg and instantly broke it.

“Aaaaaah!” The Drunkard fell to the ground while cradling his legs while streams of tears and snot trickled down his face.

“I said shut up!” The Legionnaire kicked the man again.

The drunkard tightly closed his mouth and occasionally whimpered as Bramich looked down at him.

“Such a crass nickname was given to me by those who would vilify me for performing my duty. Do you add an occupational title for everyone you know?” Bramich asked.

“He’s talking to you!” Another Legionnaire kicked the fallen drunkard.

“N-No, Sir. I don’t! I don’t!” The drunkard whimpered.

“Ah, so if my job is to eliminate those who speak ill of the Dragon Gods, why place such a negative connotation on an honorable task?” Bramich asked.

“Y-You were rumored to have killed thousands...I just…” The Drunkard trailed off with terror in his eyes.

“That’s enough.” Bramich stopped him and sheathed his sword.

Just as the Drunkard was about to exhale a sigh of relief, Bramich spoke, “Kill him outside, I’d hate to cause a mess.”

“Wait! No! Please!”

Two Legionnaires nodded before dragging the wailing drunkard outside and carrying out their orders. The vicious sounds that emerged from the drunkard being beat to death served to disrupt the appetite of everyone in the tavern except the two cloaked women who never paused in eating their meal.

Bramich narrowed his eyes suspiciously before nodding his head to the Legionnaires and one of them approached the women who continued eating.

“I can’t forgive myself for interrupting the meal of two paying customers but could you remove your hoods?” Bramich asked in a cordial manner but his eyes were cold.

The two women continued eating as if they hadn’t heard him which drew the anger of the Legionnaire. He slammed his fist on the table and flung the plates away before speaking, “Didn’t you hear him?”

The two women whose faces were obscured by hoods didn’t even flinch in the face of the Legionnaire.

His rage doubled and he reached for the hood of the woman to his left but she shot up out of her seat and a red light flashed causing him to freeze in place. A horizontal line of blood emerged from his neck before his body fell onto the ground and his head rolled.

The Legionnaires immediately drew their weapons and moved to protect Bramich who drew his own sword.

“May I know your name, madam?” Bramich asked.

The woman removed her hood and exposed her bright silver eyes along with her raven-colored hair, “Lauren.”

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