Indi feigned hurt when Hovem asked who she was. The feline woman’s eyes widened as she gasped dramatically and sat up straight with her delicate fingertips pressed against her chest. It was as if his ignorance physically wounded her.

  "You don't know who I am?!" Indi’s question hung in the air in a perfect blend of mock offense and shock.

  With theatrical grace, both of her elbows gently hit the table as she cradled her face in her hands. "But I'm so famous in this town already...~" she cooed in a honeyed voice that dripped with faux disappointment. She then leaned her head to one side in a tilt until it came to rest on one side.

  "Graceful, intelligent, beautiful, attractive, regal..." Each quality was punctuated with a flick of her finger, her smile growing wider with each self-proclaimed virtue. “That should narrow it down!" Indi’s tail flicked happily behind her, curling and uncurling in lazy, satisfied arcs in lieu of the kingpin's confusion.

  Hovem appeared utterly taken aback by the sheer audacity of this woman. His face cycled through a captivating sequence of bewilderment, shifting to indignation and finally settling on wary annoyance. “W-What...?" His mouth moved silently like a fish suddenly finding itself on dry land, realizing that the fundamentals of breathing had changed without warning.

  He then twisted in his seat to glance back at his freelancer guards, seeking some grounding in their reactions but found only the same puzzled looks mirrored back at him. The blonde spearman's brow was furrowed in absolute confusion while the duelist had subtly shifted his stance, reassessing the threat she posed now that this strange feline had entered the equation.

  Turning back to Indi, Hovem found her gazing at him with expectant patience, as if waiting for him to finally connect the dots. Her sky-blue eyes never faltered and remained completely fixed on him, making Hovem feel very... uneasy. This was especially true when he noticed the spark of mischievous intelligence in her gaze as her ears twitched at the hired freelancers.

  After finally recovering from his bewilderment, Hovem’s features hardened as he drew himself up. "NO," the word came out sour and dour as if he'd tasted something foul on his tongue as he snarled.

  The kingpin’s eyes narrowed to slits as he leaned forward, digging the table's edge into his abdomen. "Now, how about ye tell me who the fuck ye are, or I'll have me lads here take off them ears from ye head!" The threat came out as a guttural growl, completed with spittle flying from his lips as he jabbed a finger at Indi.

  Azeline's facial expression shifted to one that spoke volumes without uttering a word—it conveyed her belief that this was a particularly bold statement. Utterly foolish, yet incredibly bold, especially when Indi frowned. This was definitely not going to end well for them, and Azeline couldn’t help but twitch the corner of her mouth upward in grim anticipation as she sat back to witness the inevitable fallout.

  However, Indi's pout faded, replaced by a more mischievous smile as her tail began to swish merrily again. She straightened up in her seat once more with an air of dignity, squaring her shoulders and lifting her chin in a display of courtly etiquette.

  "Well!" she exclaimed, placing a delicate hand on her chest as if she were about to recite a royal lineage. "I am Indina Serafina Fiorella, Purveyor of fine goods and Facilitator of tasteful vices!" She introduced herself with a flourish as though she were at a ball.

  After her little debut, Indi rested her head in her hands on the table before smiling up at Hovem through her lashes. "But most just call me Indi," she finished with a casual wink as if granting him the great privilege of using her shortened name.

  Hovem and his freelancers exchanged glances before erupting into raucous laughter that echoed across the cafe's outdoor seating. The kingpin slapped his knee while his guards' shoulders shook with mirth. Their previous wariness was momentarily forgotten in the face of what they perceived as a harmless, overly dramatic whore with a few weapons she most likely used as decorations.

  All the while, Indi just sat there, smiling sweetly as if she were merely waiting for the children to finish their tantrums.

  "The smuggler and whore? You really the one Einar’s been talkin’ big about?" Hovem finally managed between chuckles, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. He turned to Azeline with an expression of utter disbelief. "I thought ye were some hulking and menacing monster!" The slight carried a tone that suggested they thought of her as some frivolous creature.

  In response, Azeline huffed in amusement as she simply shrugged. Refusing to answer or even dignify his assumption with a response, Azeline stead turned her gaze to Indi and saw that she continued to stare at Hovem with that fixed smile, though something in its quality had shifted. What had been playful had become predatory, like a cat eyeing a particularly stupid mouse that had wandered too close to its paws.

  Shaking his head, Hovem glanced back at Indi and licked his lips in a way that was so repulsive it made Ferei visibly recoil at the edge of the cafe. "Aye, you know..." he drawled, raking his gaze over Indi's figure, "like ye said, ye quite the looker."

  He adjusted himself lewdly beneath the table, deliberately moving his hand in an overt manner to his crotch. "Maybe I'd consider not tellin’ Einar where ya are, but not after I get a taste test." His tongue darted out again to wet his cracked lips. "If yer any good, might even keep ya around. Make me a good bit of coin, ya will."

  As he spoke, Hovem leaned closer, his foul breath wafting across the table. His fingers drummed impatiently, occasionally pausing to scratch at a blackened, crusty scab on his neck. The whole time, his eyes never left Indi's chest, entirely missing the dangerous glint that had sharpened in her gaze.

  Indi's eye twitched at his proposition, but she merely let out a deep sigh before a derisive chuckle escaped her lips. She regarded him and his posse with a deliberately slow look, humming with mock interest as her fingers tapped rhythmically against the pommel of her parrying dagger, which was sheathed nestled across the back of her hip.

  "How... disappointing," she spoke with an edge that dripped with disdain.

  The feline then languidly stood up from her chair, arching her lithe back in a stretch that displayed her extraordinary flexibility that was signature. "One's subordinates truly reflect oneself," she observed coolly, swirling the pommel of her dagger in lazy circles as she straightened to her full height.

  "Very well." Indi's voice retained its playfulness, but it had a glacial edge. "We’ll skip the pleasantries then, shall we?"

  As she spoke, her fingers closed around the hilt of her parrying dagger, drawing it from its sheath with a deliberate slowness. The blade caught the morning light and sent it dancing across the cafe's weathered tables before emerging fully with a rapid, aggressive SHING that silenced all nearby conversation.

  Indi leveled the dagger at Hovem like a promise of blood to come, its polished point hovering in the air. Even though the feline maintained her smile, Indi’s gaze had transformed completely—gone was the playful glint in her eye, replaced by the cold, calculating stare of a hungry cat sizing up a particularly scrawny mouse.

  "My intentions were to engage in some semblance of negotiation," she continued her tail now perfectly still behind her. "I was even considering offering some coin for your services." A mirthless smile curved her lips, showing off her long and sharp canines

  "Now, though, I think my generosity is a little bit… wasted." The threat was delivered in a tone reminiscent of someone who had ordered executions as casually as others might order breakfast.

  Hovem's face contorted with rage as he slammed his hand down on the table. "Have ye lost yer mind?!" he roared, his voice cracking with indignation. "Ye dare point a fuckin' dagger at me-"

  But, before he could finish his tirade, Indi's offhand shot to her belt with lightning speed, and in one fluid motion, she pulled her eating knife and drove it downward with a terrifying force. The blade pierced straight through Hovem's hand and embedded deeply into the wooden table beneath.

  Staring down at the blade in shock, Hovem’s mouth hung open in a perfect circle of bewilderment before reality caught up with his nervous system. A high-pitched shriek of pain escaped his lips as he instinctively tried to yank his hand free, only to find himself pinned firmly to the table.

  His guards were already in motion as their training overcame their momentary shock. The spearman lunged at Indi, thrusting the wicked point of his weapon directly at her chest, but the cat was already a step ahead. Her body twisted with feline grace as she sidestepped and kicked off the ground, putting several feet of distance between herself and the now-drawing duelist.

  The second freelancer's falchion flashed out, swiping at Indi as she took her step baclwards. Ever the slippery one, Indi pivoted and swept her parrying dagger upward, deflecting the duelist's backhanded slash with a metallic clang that sent sparks dancing through the morning air. In the same motion, she ducked under the thrust of his secondary dagger and dipped effortlessly beneath his armpit, like water flowing around a stone. As she passed, her parrying dagger sliced through his gambeson and plunged deep into the soft tissue of his liver. The man's eyes widened in shock, and his breath caught in his throat as the blade twisted before withdrawing.

  Using his own momentum against him, Indi then harnessed her mana-enhanced power and pushed the now-wounded duelist, sending him stumbling into the screaming crowd that was frantically trying to disperse. Tables, chairs, and cups flew into the air as patrons scrambled away from the sudden violence. Outside the cafe's perimeter, onlookers gawked from what they believed was a safe distance while thugs lounging on the street corner laughed at the spectacle, pointing and making impromptu bets on the unfolding melee.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Seeing the incapacitated duelist tangled in the mess of pedestrians and overturned furniture, the blonde spearman moved to cover his comrade. After planting his boots firmly in a defensive stance, the Freelancer leveled his spear at Indi while his eyes narrowed and his body coiled like a spring.

  With precision honed from years of combat, the spearman instinctively gauges the distance to his target and thrusts his weapon forward in a flawless jab. The attack was textbook, as the long, sharpened tip whistled through the air, but Indi had already shifted her weight to the side. Her body flowed around the strike, and anticipating a follow-up, she extended her arm in a calculated arc, deflecting a sideways swipe and directing the spear's sharpened point into the ground.

  In that split-second window, Indi stomped down hard, trapping the weapon between the heel of her high-heeled boot and the sole of her foot. Leveraging its trapped position, she kicked upward with her other leg, causing the spear to jerk violently in the spearman's grip.

  Unlike lesser fighters who might have released their weapons, the spearman never loosened his grip. Instead, he allowed himself to be yanked along in a rotational arc, following the momentum of his cherished weapon. Tumbling head over heels across the ground, the spearman somehow managed to regain his footing and forcefully yank his spear free, prompting Indio to lift her foot high and huff in indignation.

  But whatever small amount of breathing room the spearman managed to gain was swiftly extinguished as he instantly hurled his spear horizontally to intercept Indi’s parry dagger. Another deafening clang resonated as metal met metal, but the feline was already in motion again. She twisted her body in a fluid, almost dance-like manner and executed a spinning back kick that struck squarely against the right side of the spearman's abdomen, right where his liver was located. The impact of the blow crumpled his plated armor inward, the metal groaning in protest as an unimaginable wave of pain was sent through him.

  The man had been literally thrown back, yet he still held strong, regaining his balance and slid a few meters before taking up a defensive stance once more. A primal roar erupted from his throat in an attempt to fend off the crippling pain as he saw Indi on the move again and unleashed a rapid flurry of thrusts and stabs so fast they nearly blurred into a single continuous attack. The air itself seemed to hiss as his spear sliced through it, each thrust a killing blow.

  Indi's reaction was as decisive as it was graceful. Twisting and turning her body in a way that that seemed inhuman, she parried or deflected each successive blow. Her parrying dagger sang a deafening song as it intercepted the spear's point again and again, with each deflection buying her fractions of a second to reposition herself closer.

  When the opening she had been waiting for finally appeared—a thrust extended just a fraction too far—Indi darted into the spear's guard like a streak of lightning. The man attempted to retract his weapon to counter her, but it was too late—he felt another, much lighter, impact against the bent, heavy plates of his armor on his side where she had kicked him earliers.

  Desperately pivoting away, the spearman swung his spear in a wild, sweeping arc, aiming to either knock her aside or create some distance between them. "Ye fuckin’ whore!" he roared in anger as he adjusted his stance, realizing the feline had created quite a bit of distance between them.

  However, he noticed that she had positioned herself quite far away. The woman appeared completely unfazed by the fury aimed at her—almost bored. She stood there with perfect, graceful poise, her weight delicately balanced on the balls of her feet, one leg slightly forward in a stance that emphasized the curve of her hip. Her parrying dagger remained elegantly raised at shoulder height, pointed directly at him, while her free hand rested at the small of her back, accentuating her slender waist and the feminine arch of her spine. Despite the deadly intent of her posture, there was an undeniable grace to her presence, as if she were prepared for a court dance rather than a fight for her life.

  The spearman noticed with growing unease that the woman hadn't even drawn her sword—the rather plain hilt still rested untouched at her hip. She was toying with him, meeting his desperate assault with nothing more than an offhand weapon and an infuriating half-smile that never quite reached her eyes.

  With burning rage, the spearman charged forward, but something felt wrong. His usually perfect balance failed him mid-stride, and he found himself inexplicably tumbling forward. The man’s prized weapon skidded across the ground in front of him as confusion painted his features.

  The fact that he was just staring at the ground on his hands and knee was infathomable especially when the spearmen finally noticed the thick globs of crimson liquid hitting the ground beneath him. At first, it was just a few heavy splatters that splashed against the worn cobblestone road, but then it began pouring out in an alarming stream within seconds.

  As Freelancer’s life essence formed a rapidly expanding puddle that seemed impossibly large beneath him, a wave of dizziness crashed over the man as he straightened up. His vision swam and darkened at the edges while he clumsily fumbled at the pouches strapped to his belt. His fingers grew numb as they desperately searched for the healing potion he always carried, but in his haze, the spearman ended up scattering a whole manner of possessions across the ground—a few coins, a sharpening stone, scraps of parchment, and a small carved figure all tumbled out as he fought against the encroaching abyss.

  Leaning further and further as consciousness began to slip away, the Freelancer's once-powerful frame betrayed him with each passing heartbeat. Finally, his trembling fingers closed around what he sought—the thick glass vial with its life-saving crimson contents—but the bottle slipped from his blood-slicked grasp, clattering to the floor and rolling away across the uneven stone.

  With nothing left to support him, the spearman slumped forward and fell face-first into his own pool of blood. It was only then, in those final moments of clarity before death claimed him, that he realized the terrible truth—that devil of a woman had somehow slipped her dagger through the gaps in his armor and directly into his heart during their exchange, and he hadn't even felt it.

  Shock etched itself across his features; his mouth parted slightly to scream before the light of life faded from his eyes, leaving only a vacant stare fixed on nothing. His final thought was not of home or loved ones but a simple disbelief that he had been bested so completely without even seeing the blow that killed him.

  Indi harrumphed indignantly as she sheathed her parrying dagger with a fluid motion that betrayed years of practiced discipline. With an almost theatrical languidness, she waltzed over to the body of the fallen spearman while carefully avoiding the spreading crimson pool that threatened to stain her impeccable boots.

  Just before the encroaching blood could reach it, Indi stooped gracefully and plucked the healing potion from the ground. More than half the bottle was already smeared with the man's blood as she held it delicately by the cap between two fingers. Examining the pitiful liquid, Indi’s face contorted into an expression of absolute disgust as if she'd discovered something particularly foul.

  "How... quaint," she remarked in a disappointed tone, rotating the vial to measure its contents with a critical eye. Not only was the crimson liquid inside unbelievably diluted—likely cut with cheap wine to stretch its potency—but the quantity was so insufficient it couldn't have saved him from a small cut, let alone a wound where his heart had been punctured. Nothing would have saved him from that.

  A strange look formed on Indi’s face as she found it ridiculous people bought something with such… abysmal quality. It was barely above the snake oil sold in back alleys to desperate Freelancers. But then again… Indi glanced at the body and came to the conclusion this may have been one such Freelancer.

  She then turned toward Azeline, who remained casually seated across from Hovem. The kingpin was still moaning and weeping, his hand firmly pinned to the table by Indi's eating knife. The woman seemed to care very little about the man's suffering or the commotion around them and had even started munching on the kingpin's confections, casually popping sugared berries into her mouth from the plate he'd ordered before their arrival.

  "Azeline, dearest. How much do you believe something so... insufficient is worth?" Indi asked in a voice that carried the same disdain she might use when inquiring about a particularly shabby peasant's hovel.

  Azeline looked over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes at the vial as she chewed thoughtfully. A "Eh, maybe an entire gold?" She gave a noncommittal shrug before turning back to select another berry from the plate.

  Indi's face scrunched in utter disbelief as she glanced back at the vial, giving it a gentle shake and observing the liquid inside swish around like ordinary water. The sight only confirmed how severely diluted this so-called ‘healing potion’ truly was. "Perhaps I should have Auri double our prices then..." she muttered under her breath, still holding the bottle with clear distaste.

  She turned her attention back to Azeline as a contemplative expression crossed her face. "Do you think the life of such a humble freelancer is worth the price of this... 'potion'?" The final word dripped with such derision that it was barely recognizable. It was as if she couldn't bring herself to dignify the thing with proper pronunciation.

  A thoughtful hum escaped Azeline’s lips as she popped another berry into her mouth, seemingly deaf to Hovem's incoherent pleas for mercy. The kingpin's words had devolved into a pitiful jumble of whimpers and half-formed promises, punctuated by sobs each time he unconsciously shifted his pinned hand.

  Leisurely crossing her arms, Azeline considered the matter. "I knew the guy," she finally stated with casual indifference. "He's pretty okay. Not as good as the one you just killed, but he can hold his own."

  Indi harrumphed at this assessment. She needed more muscle in this town, and things were less than ideal. Still, her gaze drifted toward the disappointing duelist she had gutted earlier. The man was still alive, crawling on his hands and knees across the cobblestones, leaving a trail of crimson behind him as he desperately tried to drag himself away from the scene.

  After a moment of consideration, Indi made up her mind. With a flippant wave of her hand, she gave her verdict. "Collect the fool, Azeline," she ordered before strutting over toward the still groaning freelancer. “We shouldn’t linger for too long.”

  Azeline's lips curled into a knowing smirk as she bent over the table and wrapped her fingers around the hilt of Indi's eating knife. With a swift, merciless yank, she pulled the blade free from both flesh and wood, eliciting a pained scream that echoed throughout the street.

  "Come now," Azeline giggled with a sparkle in her eye as she tugged Hovem by the collar and pulled him across the tabletop. "We've got a LOT of questions to ask you." She nearly cackled as the kingpin’s feet scrambled below him while he was dragged away.

  Meanwhile, Indi approached the wounded duelist with a slow, sensual gait. The crowd seemed to sense her presence, backing away and forming a widening circle around the injured man. Feeling the change in the atmosphere, the freelancer spun around awkwardly, pointing his falchion directly at Indi.

  "Ye... ye finishing me off?" he managed through clenched teeth. His weapon wavered unsteadily in the air between them as his hand trembled.

  Indi didn’t respond right away and simply stood there, out of reach. A thoughtful finger rested against her chin as the feline tilted her head, examining the freelancer like a curious specimen while her tail swayed lazily.

  "Well," she finally drawled, "that is entirely predicated on how much loyalty you have towards your previous... employer." She emphasized the last words with a hint of mockery.

  The freelancer winced as pain wracked his body. His breathing grew even more labored as he took a moment to consider his options. After a moment, the duelist’s arm gave way, no longer able to support the weight of his weapon, causing his falchion to clatter to the ground with a resonant clang that seemed to punctuate his surrender.

  "I got none for that cheap shite," he gasped, using his free hand to support himself as he slumped further down. "I was just paid to do a job for the bastard."

  A nefarious smile spread across Indi's lips, causing her sharp canines to glint in the morning light. With casual indifference, she flicked her wrist and tossed the healing potion at the man. "Good," she purred. "You should find working for me much more... amicable."