Numbers x Casket-Chapter 17: For The Insight

Efraim was stunned upon hearing him. His words felt like daggers piercing his chest, and yet he still wore a smile and replied. "We're not a thing, though."

Then, the sound of a mug being slammed on the bar counter made him dazed.

"Cut the crap!" Enrick raised his voice and looked straight at the appraiser's eyes.

"I saw how she cared for you, and those smiles of hers! Are you blind or what?" he added; irritation was painted on his face.

Efraim didn't reply; he couldn't find the words to say. All of the things the assassin said were right. He knew the answers, yet he kept on avoiding the question.

"You have the strength, but sadly you lack the courage to fight," Enrick stated, shaking his head as he stood up.

He stepped towards the exit but halted for a second after passing the appraiser's seat.

"I hope you won't regret your choice," he said and left while leaning his hand on the wall to keep him from falling.

Efraim was left at the bar counter; the assassin's words kept ringing inside his head.

During his contemplation, his order arrived. The server came back with a large mug and placed it in front of him. Its sweet and intoxicating aroma wafted on his nose; however, he just stared at it; its golden-like color reminded him of something.

"The drink's taste would change if you keep it waiting any further," the old man commented upon seeing the appraiser deep in thought.

Efraim let out a smile while shaking his head.

"I really don't know what to do at this point," he said without averting his gaze from the drink.

The server poured water in a small cup and took a sip. Then he moved closer to the young appraiser.

"If your head can't give you an answer..." He paused and pointed at the appraiser's chest before continuing. "Then why not follow this?"

Efraim looked at the frail old hand in front of him.

"Follow my heart?" he repeated.

The server retracted his hand and nodded at the young equator's response.

"Sometimes, the best decision doesn't require a lot of thought; all you need is to trust your own guts," the old man stated, advising the young lad.

Then a shout coming from the back part of the tavern reverberated in the place. "Hey old man! Another bottle of liquor here!"

"Coming!" the server yelled back.

He looked at the appraiser and smiled before leaving. Efraim stared at the mug of ale while contemplating what he heard. The old man's parting words left a deep impression on him.

With a long sigh, Efraim held the mug's handle and raised it before chugging it all in one fell swoop. He was about to stand up and leave when a man reeking of alcohol put his arm around his shoulders.

"The sword in your leg looks nice; would you mind lending it to me for a day?" the man said, his tone filled with nothing but pure arrogance.

Efraim glanced at him; his muscle mass was twice his size, and there was a claymore strapped behind his back.

"Sure, why not?" he replied, smiling; his voice dripped with sarcasm.

Then, he put the man's arm away from his body and stood up. He faced him and looked straight into his eyes before speaking once again.

"But for one condition," he demanded.

Curious about what he meant, the man tilted his head and asked. "What is it?"

Efraim brushed the man's shoulder with his hand and arranged the collar of his coat before smiling. The man was several inches taller than him, so his gaze was looking upward.

"Let your neck be its scabbard," he said with a smirk.

A series of laughter echoed in the tables in front as they heard the appraiser's mockery.

Meanwhile, the man's nerve snapped; anger rose up to his head, making his face turn red. The next second, he clenched his fist and grabbed Efraim's clothes with his other hand. He tried to lift him up, but his weight was beyond his expectation.

He couldn't make him budge; his body looked like it was stuck on the floor. Fueled by the annoying curl from the young man's lips plus the effects of alcohol, he pulled back his arm and struck his fist straight at his face.

However, the next second, he began to feel pain from his hand that crawled all the way to his arm. His punch was blocked as Efraim grabbed his wrist inches away from his face.

He exerted some strength and bent the arm upward, causing intense suffering that soon painted on the man's face.

"Ahhh! It hurts! Let go of me!" The man cried in despair while trying to pull back his limb from the appraiser's clutches.

It was loud enough to garner all the people's attention, but no one dared to intervene. They just watched in silence, curious how it would end.

The man gritted his teeth, and with his free hand, he reached for the grip of the claymore on his back. As soon as it was unlatched from its strap, he swung it in a horizontal slash, aiming at the appraiser's neck.

As a response, Efraim squinted his eyes, and he ducked in to dodge before letting go of the man's wrist. Then, with his right arm, he threw a punch towards the attacker's abdomen.

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'Just a little bit, enough to make him unconscious,' Efraim thought, trying to control his strength.

However, despite holding back, a large explosion occurred as the man's body slammed into the tavern's wall. He was sent flying outside of the place along with the debris that cushioned his fall.

A deafening silence enveloped the room; some felt scared while others felt amused, but one thing was sure: they were all curious about the young man's identity.

Meanwhile, the culprit behind the outrageous scene stood there with his mouth partially open.

'I think I need to control my strength better,' he thought.

Then he searched for the tavern's server.

"Hey!" he called him out.

As soon as the old man looked at him, Efraim tossed something towards his direction. The old man caught it with both of his palms, and his eyes widened in surprise upon seeing its shimmering radiance.

"A silver coin," he uttered before raising his head to stare at the young man.

"For the damages," Efraim stated.

Then he turned around and was about to leave, but the old man's reply made him halt his steps.

"But this is too much," he said.

Efraim looked back with a smile plastered on his face.

"The excess is for the insight. Thank you," he conveyed.

Afterward, he walked towards the door, leaving everyone in awe.

. . . . .

The clouds gathered, drifting across the horizon while streaks of light coming from the sun passed through its gaps, shining above a small carriage being pulled by a twin-headed horse.

It was currently passing in a peaceful scenery, a wide prairie where horned rabbits could be seen jumping all over the place.

Despite the weather being hot, a man was lying on the carriage's roof; his black hair glided in every breeze while his eyes were closed and his arms were positioned under his head.

This man was none other than the appraiser; three days had already passed since the incident at the tavern, and he was now set on a journey towards Celestia's capital, the place where magic reigned supreme, the home of the Magic Tower—the Arcane City.

Efraim remained in that position until the carriage came to a halt. He opened his eyes and looked at his surroundings.

Aside from the path ahead with no obstruction or anything to cause their sudden stop, there were tall and thick bushes, enough to cover a human's height on both of their sides.

"Uhmnn, why did we stop?" a woman's voice rang, coming from the inside of the carriage.

Based on her tone alone, she felt troubled and anxious. It was soon followed by another voice, but this time, it came from a man.

"Hey, are you listening?" it said; its tone was quite enraged.

However, the coachman kept his silence. He didn't reply at all; instead, he went down from the carriage, and people armed with different kinds of weapons came out of the thick bushes.

Based on the neckcloth that covered half of their face and the entirety of their neck, they were a group of bandits who exploited the news about the festival that would happen in a few days, blocking the people in the middle of nowhere and threatening them to hand over some coins so they could pass. There were even groups that robbed belongings and sold their captives to slave traders.

Based on how they looked at the carriage with lustful eyes, this crowd was more likely to belong to the latter.

"Damn slave traders," Efraim uttered.

Accompanied by a deep sigh, he stood up on the roof; his right eye turned into a cyan-colored hexagram, and numbers ranging from fifty to seventy-five appeared on the group. All of them were written in a vibrant blue color.

'Quite skillful for mere bandits,' Efraim thought.

Then, he pulled his swords from their respective scabbards and held them in a reverse grip.

On his left hand was a blade made of glass, while on the right was a sword with a black blade; the end of its handle resembled a lindworm's head, while a serpentine-like tail design coiled on its rainguard all the way to its shoulder.

. . . . .