Chapter Five: The Eastern Traveler

Back to the moment when Lin Qi had just finished his deal with the Cripple, the tavern’s heavy wooden door was pushed open with a resounding thud. A group of men, draped in black silk cloaks, entered with an uncanny, almost unnatural gait. The howling winter wind followed in their wake, squeezing through the doorway and sending a biting chill swirling through the cozy, sweat-filled warmth of the tavern. The rowdy, boisterous men, flushed and loud with drink, simultaneously lowered their mugs and turned to look.

“Well, well, wealthy gentlemen!” A shifty-eyed man licked his lips greedily.

Cloaks of black silk—silk from the East, a luxury in the Gallic Empire reserved for the highborn. Even minor aristocrats could not afford a bolt of silk; only the great nobles could clothe themselves in such finery. Lesser nobles might boast of owning a single pair of silk stockings.

“Hey, fat sheep with money to spare!” A few brawny men, their arms as thick as an ordinary man’s thigh, eyed the newcomers with avid interest, their greedy gazes sweeping over them repeatedly. In the dead of night, a party clad in silk cloaks wandered into the Cripple’s dive in the docklands—it was as if a flock of lambs had wandered willingly into a den of wolves. The mind reeled with possibilities!

Especially when these guests looked so frail and delicate.

Each wore a peculiar hat, round and more than a foot tall, its top flat and adorned with a black jade carving of a venomous lizard. Compared to the burly patrons of the tavern, their figures seemed slight, almost fragile; even the tallest among them stood no more than six feet, dwarfed by the seven- and eight-foot giants in the room.

What drew even more covetous attention was the fact that all these travelers—there were over a dozen—were pale-faced, almost corpse-like in their pallor. The leader, a young man, had a complexion so white it was nearly translucent, with an unhealthy greenish tinge beneath the skin. Such physiques, such coloring—these were clearly a party of invalids. The regulars felt confident: any one of them could handle these wealthy “lambs” with ease.

With soft steps that made a faint rustling, the nineteen pale, smooth-skinned, beardless young men entered at a measured pace. The last two closed the heavy oak doors behind them, shutting out the howling wind.

The leader coughed quietly, drawing a snowy silk handkerchief from beneath his cloak and wiping his nose with it. A flash of gold and jewels caught the light—hundreds of rough men in the tavern rose almost in unison, their eyes fixed on his right hand. What a priceless hand! Each finger bore a ring, nine in all, set with large gemstones and fine jade—grand rubies, dazzling sapphires, rare emeralds, and even two deep-hued tiger’s eye stones, treasures for which the nobles of Brayley would spend fortunes without a second thought. The fabled tiger’s eye, in particular, was said to imbue men with invincible vigor in the bedchamber—worth its weight in gold, and more.

Never had they seen such fat sheep! Even the spoils of a captured merchant ship on the high seas could not compare to the worth of a single finger on this youth’s hand.

Lisa, the serving girl closest to the door, cackled with delight. Perfumed and bold, she swept over to the young man, thrust his head into her ample bosom, and pressed him tightly to her. Her top half was clad only in a flimsy corset, her generous breasts, each nearly the size of a child’s head, half exposed. With her usual enthusiasm, Lisa embraced the youth, her right hand instinctively reaching for his groin.

This was Lisa’s trademark move in the Cripple’s establishment. Whether sailors, dockworkers, or men of all trades, none could resist her playful advances—after such a greeting, many would gladly empty their wallets for her.

But this time, Lisa made a grave mistake. The young man had never imagined that, upon entering the Cripple’s tavern, he would be so warmly “assaulted” by a woman. Usually so alert, he was taken utterly by surprise by Lisa’s forwardness.

Lisa managed to rub his face with her breasts several times, her soft hands reaching between his legs. Her fingers squeezed gently, but found only the smooth thinness of silk and nothing more.

“You—!” Lisa cried out in shock. What was wrong with this youth? Was he a woman disguised as a man? Why was that thing missing?

“Wretch, your entire clan deserves death!” the young man snapped, twisting free from her embrace with a surge of strength. His hand lashed out in a stinging slap, sending Lisa reeling seven or eight steps backward. The blow was so forceful that blood spurted from her mouth as she flew, several teeth mingling with the crimson spray.

“Hey, Easterner!” The black-bearded man, who had just been toasting with his pirate crew, parted the crowd and strode toward the assailant. In halting, heavily accented Eastern speech, he sneered, “This isn’t a place you can act as you please. You dared injure the lovely Lisa—I believe you owe her proper compensation!”

Every man in the tavern eyed the youths with greedy, malicious intent.

All, that is, except the youth who had struck Lisa; the men behind him stood, slightly stooped, in postures of utmost humility and respect, their gazes fixed on the floor before their feet. From the moment they entered, they had not moved a muscle, maintaining this uncomfortable position.

The youth who had struck Lisa let out a disdainful, grating laugh, his head raised arrogantly. In a raspy, high-pitched tone, he sneered, “A wretch? If she dies, so be it—what’s that to me? And not only her, but you as well. Heh heh.”

The black-bearded man stopped several paces short of the group, having sensed a surge of danger as he approached—greater even than the time he’d unexpectedly encountered the berserkers’ fleet in the northern seas two years prior. He trusted his instincts: this small group of frail-looking youths was extremely dangerous, perhaps even lethally so.

Damn Easterners! Only seasoned sailors truly knew how many perils the East harbored.

These nineteen gave off a silent, deadly aura, much like the venomous lizard perched atop their hats.

The black-bearded man coughed awkwardly, thinking to retreat.

At that moment, the Cripple slipped quietly out from behind the bar.

“This is the Cripple’s tavern. You are all my guests. And guests do not brawl in the Cripple’s tavern.”