"Look..."
"What?"
"Silver hair. Blue eyes."
"G-Gasp..."
As Thoren walked through the streets of the town, faint whispers followed in his wake like trailing shadows.
They were low, hurried, and filled with unease, carried from mouth to ear before disappearing into the air.
He had decided to rest for the day before continuing his plans.
Since arriving in the Abyss, he had never truly taken the ti to explore the town.
His days had been spent either fighting, surviving, or preparing for the next inevitable confrontation.
Apart from the alchemist shop where he had sold the Blueheart Lotus, he had scarcely stepped into any other establishnt.
Now, however, things were different.
With his current reputation, every street he walked down felt altered.
People pointed at him discreetly.
So froze mid-step before hurriedly turning away. Others avoided eting his gaze entirely, lowering their heads as if afraid even a glance might invite disaster.
No one dared look at him twice.
Fear clung to them like a second skin.
"Look at them," Fidelia said quietly as she walked beside him. "They’re all terrified of you."
She had volunteered to guide him around town after he ntioned wanting to explore.
Though her steps were relaxed, her eyes constantly flicked toward him from the corner of her vision, watching his expression carefully.
Yet Thoren appeared completely unbothered by the reactions around him.
"They weren’t like this before," she continued. "At least... not to this extent."
Thoren shrugged lightly. "I don’t feel anything different."
That answer made Fidelia pause for a fraction of a second before she let out a soft chuckle.
"Of course you wouldn’t."
She tilted her head and looked ahead before suddenly changing direction. "Have you ever been to the Rusty Barrel?"
"No," Thoren replied, shaking his head. "What is it?"
She laughed softly. "Figures. You’re still a rookie in that sense."
Without waiting for his response, she gestured for him to follow and led him down another street.
As they passed, the crowd parted instinctively.
People stepped aside as if afraid of brushing against him. So nearly tripped over themselves as they hastily retreated, faces pale and stiff.
Fear gripped them from the inside out.
No one had expected Thoren to walk openly through the town like this.
brazen, calm, unguarded.
Yet when they rembered his strength, the image made terrifying sense.
What was the Federation Police against such a monster?
Unless they deployed every ounce of their strength, they would stand no chance against his undead legion.
And could the Federation truly deploy everything they had?
Everyone already knew the answer.
Fidelia stopped in front of an old wooden building.
The structure was worn, its exterior scarred by ti and countless storms. A wooden sign hung above the entrance, creaking softly in the breeze.
Rusty Barrel.
"What are you waiting for?" Fidelia said, pushing the door open. "Let’s go in."
Curiosity piqued, Thoren followed her inside.
The mont he stepped in, he realized the Rusty Barrel was a tavern.
The air was thick with the scent of alcohol and roasted at.
Awakeners filled nearly every table, their loud voices and laughter colliding into a chaotic din.
Jugs, so full, so empty, were scattered across wooden tables, stained dark from years of spilled drink.
Here, awakeners shed their burdens.
They laughed, argued, and drank as if tomorrow might never co.
And for many of them, it wouldn’t.
Every ti they ventured beyond the town walls, the chance of returning alive was barely more than a coin toss.
No one knew which expedition would be their last.
Suddenly...
The noise died.
Abruptly.
As if soone had snuffed out the sound itself.
Every awakener froze mid-motion.
Mugs hovered inches from lips. Dice rolled once more and stopped. Conversations cut off in the middle of words.
Eyes widened.
Jaws dropped.
Muscles stiffened.
Standing behind the counter, a young man in his early twenties stared at the new arrival, his eyes stretched wide.
The Grim Reaper... he exclaid inwardly.
"Rat," Fidelia called out casually. "Is there a free table?"
Her voice shattered the silence.
"Stop calling that!" the bartender snapped, irritation flashing across his face as he slamd a wooden tray onto the counter.
Fidelia ignored him entirely, her gaze sweeping the tavern until she spotted an empty table near the corner.
"There," she said, pointing. Then she turned back toward the bartender. "Serve us the Ghost Scream."
Rat’s expression twitched, but he ignored her and focused his attention on Thoren instead.
"You must be Thoren Starfall," he said cautiously. "The Grim Reaper."
Grim Reaper?
Thoren blinked in confusion but chose not to dwell on it.
"And you must be Rat," Thoren replied casually.
The bartender froze for a mont before a faint, amused smile tugged at his lips.
"...Please, take your seats," he said after a brief pause. "Your order will be served shortly."
Fidelia scoffed as they walked toward the table.
"Why is he called Rat?" Thoren asked once they sat down.
She smiled mischievously and began recounting the story.
As she spoke, Thoren’s eyes widened gradually.
"For three days," he repeated slowly, "he lived in rat holes just to steal a wine recipe?"
She nodded solemnly.
"...He really is a rat," Thoren muttered before chuckling.
Fidelia laughed along with him.
They talked idly after about mundane things, about their lives on the surface before descending into the Abyss.
For a brief mont, Thoren almost felt... normal.
"Here’s your drink," Rat said as he returned, placing two mugs on the table.
"You told him the story, didn’t you?" he asked Fidelia flatly.
"What do you think?" she replied, lifting her mug and taking a sip.
Rat snorted and walked away.
Thoren noticed the familiarity between them.
Their banter carried no malice, only long-standing acquaintance.
Fidelia exhaled and set her mug down. "Are you not drinking? Let tell you, this is the best drink in town."
"Really?"
"Yes. Try it."
Thoren lifted the mug, studying the shimring black liquid before placing it to his lips.
The instant it touched his tongue; a scorching heat surged down his throat.
It felt as if liquid fire was tearing through his chest.
He almost scread.
Almost.
He endured it.
When the drink finally settled in his stomach, the heat vanished, replaced by a soothing, pleasant warmth that spread through his body.
Watching closely, Fidelia waited for his reaction.
Most beginners scread.
So spat it out imdiately.
But Thoren continued drinking.
Her eyes widened.
What a monster... she thought.
"This is a nice drink," Thoren said calmly, setting the empty mug down.
Fidelia stared at it in disbelief.
"You... finished it in one go?" she exclaid.
"What?" Thoren asked, puzzled. "Was I not supposed to?"
Fidelia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
No one dared finish a Ghost Scream in one gulp.
But then again...
She glanced at him.
Perhaps she should have expected this.
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