Roderick could feel the weight of the spiteful gazes directed at him the moment he stepped into the Barrel Hound. back then, he'd have swept the entire place clean with a wave of his hand, laying waste to those who dared look at him with disdain. But now, the thought barely registered. The fire that once fueled his wrath had dulled, and he simply couldn't muster the energy to care.

  The tavern was unusually full this morning, and that alone piqued his curiosity. The Barrel Hound had always been a quiet place, mostly empty, save for a few scattered patrons nursing their drinks in peace. But today, there were two round tables filled to the brim with loud half-orc warriors, their boisterous laughter and crude jests cutting through the air like a hammer on stone. In the farthest corner, a lone figure sat cloaked in shadow, a man draped in a hood whose presence seemed as out of place as the warriors themselves.

  “That’s a nice cloak” he thought to himself as he took a few more seconds glancing over that silver drizzled hood.

  “Well, this is new,” Roderick muttered under his breath as he approached the bar. The owner, a canine-halfling named Gerald, was busy wiping down the counter, his ears flicking nervously as Roderick neared.

  “I didn’t know you allowed savages in here,” Roderick remarked with a sneer, his eyes flicking toward the rowdy half-orc group, the sarcasm dripping from his words. "They’re making enough noise to tear the place down."

  Gerald let out a nervous chuckle, the tension in his posture betraying his discomfort. “Yes, yes, good day to you too, sir,” he replied, his voice strained. “Business has been difficult lately, especially with rumors floating around about… a certain individual with a temper who frequents this establishment. So… I decided, from now on, all type of customer all welcomed in Barrel Hound, ass long as they have the money to spare” It was a thinly veiled jab at Roderick, one that he was certain Gerald hadn't meant to be so obvious.

  Roderick didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he placed five grish on the counter with a flick of his wrist, his gaze never leaving the bartender. “The usual,” he said, his tone calm but unmistakably carrying an edge, as if to remind Gerald of who was in charge here.

  Gerald snatched the coins with a quick nod. “Of course, sir, a moment, please,” he said hurriedly, disappearing into the back. “And, uh… while I’m back there, if you could refrain from starting any more incidents with my other customers, it would be greatly appreciated.” He left the remark hanging in the air, his voice betraying a hint of unease.

  Roderick responded with nothing more than a half-hearted shrug and a dismissive glance, his expression one of utter indifference. He grabbed a nearby bottle without ceremony, uncorking it with a practiced flick and taking a long swig, his eyes scanning the room lazily. It was a silent declaration of dominance—of how little he cared for the atmosphere or the company.

  As he waited for his barrel, the cacophony of the half-orcs' raucous conversation grew louder, their crude laughter and filthy jokes digging under his skin like nails on stone. The air around him seemed to vibrate with the tension, the very heavens conspiring to provoke him, to pull him into another outburst. Yet, he resisted. He closed his eyes, willing himself to find some semblance of peace, some stillness within his mind, no matter how fleeting it might be.

  “Excuse me? Hello? Sir?”

  Roderick’s eyes snapped open, his patience thinning. To his right, a small figure stood at his elbow, a young woman with a comically oversized pointy hat that nearly obscured her entire face. She was staring up at him with wide, violet eyes, her expression radiating cheerful energy that grated against his growing frustration. Her smile, impossibly wide, revealed every single one of her teeth, and her brown hair was braided into three thick, snaking plaits that rested over her shoulders.

  She seemed entirely unfazed by the rough company around her, her exuberance standing in stark contrast to the oppressive atmosphere of the tavern. Roderick glared at her for a moment, his temper boiling just beneath the surface. What does she want? he thought bitterly.

  “Sir? Hello? I knew you could hear me!” she chided, her tone light but firm.

  Roderick turned his gaze toward her, his lips curling into a thin, almost imperceptible sneer. “Precisely. You knew I could hear you, and yet I chose not to respond. That means I am actively ignoring you,” he replied, his words clipped and controlled, though the edge in his voice betrayed the simmering frustration beneath. “Run along, child. I’m not in the mood to spar with a brat today.”

  The girl’s face flickered with a brief flash of offense, but she did not falter. Her smile remained, though it grew a touch strained. “I’m not a child,” she said. “Why does everyone assume I’m a child? I’m a grown woman, see?”

  With a dramatic flourish, she dug into her bag and produced a silver badge, its surface gleaming in the dim light. It was a six-pointed star, set within a shield-like frame, and on top of the star, the faint carving of a tower could be seen.

  Roderick’s gaze flickered over it. He knew exactly what it was—the insignia of Heisphera. The girl’s chest puffed up with pride, and she beamed at him. “It’s the badge of an Orias Academy graduate! I’m officially a sorceress, just graduated! Isn’t that impressive?”

  Roderick eyed her with an uninterested frown. He had met more than his share of Orias alumni over the years. Some were promising; most were disappointments. He had shared a drink with more than a few of them, and from his experience, their prestigious academy had little to do with actual competence.

  “Go away,” he muttered, his voice flat and dismissive.

  The girl’s smile faltered for just a moment, but she pressed on. “But you haven’t even heard what I want yet!”

  Roderick’s eye twitched, a vein pulsing in his temple as the noise from the half-orcs grew louder. “What you want?” he scoffed, turning to face her fully. “What gives you the impression that I’ll comply with whatever nonsense you’ve come to peddle, huh?”

  The girl took a step back, her expression softening, though still filled with an unshakable determination. She dug into her pouch once again, and this time, she pulled out a folded piece of parchment. “Here! Professor Willthrop told me I need to come to you. It’s for my first assignment as an official sorceress! So I can get my permit”

  Roderick glanced at the paper with minimal interest but snatched it from her hand, unfolding it quickly. His eyes scanned the words, his expression softening just a fraction as he noted the official seal of Orias Academy stamped at the bottom.

  “An assignment to complete ten public quests under the supervision of a senior adventurine?” he muttered under his breath, reading the words aloud.

  “Yes, that’s right!” she chirped eagerly, her energy unflagging. “Professor Willthrop said you were the best person to help me with this! Roderick Barrenworht, She said I could learn from you!”

  Roderick’s brow furrowed at the mention of the name. Willthrop. The name alone brought a sourness to his mouth, dredging up memories he’d long since buried.

  “Willthrop? Cassandra Willthrop?” he asked, his voice tight with a bitter edge.

  “Yes!” The girl nodded enthusiastically, her smile widening. “The very same! She’s the only sorceress at Orias who has managed to reach gold rank as an adventurine. Isn’t she incredible?” She let out a relieved sigh, glad that Roderick knew the name. “She said you two knew each other—”

  “We don’t,” he said sharply, cutting her off, his tone brokering no argument. He crumpled the parchment in his hand and tossed it aside, the paper falling to the floor in a careless heap.

  The girl blinked, taken aback by the sudden hostility. “Wait, what? Why—why would you do that?” She took a step forward, her eyes wide with confusion and distress.

  “Run back to that woman and tell her she sent you to the wrong person,” Roderick said, his voice flat and final. “I don’t do quests anymore, let alone supervising a child”

  “But—” she protested, her voice faltering.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “No, it is not up for debate”

  “Please!” out of desperation, she grabs him by the arm, using both of her hands.

  “What are you—" he growled, standing up from his seat, “let go or lose it”

  At his stern words, she hesitated, her hands trembling slightly before she slowly released her grip from his sleeve. She stepped back, her face a mixture of frustration and desperation.

  “Please,” she insisted, her voice now tinged with a note of pleading. “You don’t understand! This is my last chance! Professor Willthrop said if I fail this assignment, I’m done! This is the fourth time she wrote me that letter, the others—they gave up on me! She said you’re the only one left who might actually be able to train me.”

  Roderick’s gaze softened, but only for a moment. He exhaled heavily, his patience fraying at the edges. “Train you? I’m no sorcerer,” he said, his voice rough with finality. “I don’t cast spells, I don’t teach magic, and I sure as hell don’t babysit wannabe adventurines.”

  “But—” she started, her desperation rising again.

  “Now, let go,” Roderick warned, his voice cold and firm. “Before I decide you need a lesson in manners.”

  The girl stood there, stunned for a moment, before her shoulders slumped in defeat. With a heavy heart, she turned away, her once-bright smile entirely gone. As she walked toward the door, her steps slow and heavy.

  Thump!!

  A loud thud echoed through the tavern as Gerald dragged a hefty barrel of nightshade onto the counter. The canine-halfling bartender panted heavily, wiping sweat from his brow. “Phew… there you go, Mr. Barrentworth. Another day, another barrel of nightshade. Now, if you’d be so kind, feel free to slink back to whatever miserable hole you crawled out of and drown yourself in it.”

  Roderick picked up the barrel effortlessly with one hand, hoisting it onto his shoulder as though it weighed nothing. Before leaving, he turned his sharp, piercing gaze toward Gerald. His voice remained calm, almost indifferent, yet it carried an unmistakable edge. “I’m here for my drink and my drink alone, Gerald. Your snarky comments and thinly veiled insults aren’t requiered. Toning it down, will be greatly appreciated”

  The air around him seemed to grow colder, and a faint aura of menace radiated from his towering form. Gerald swallowed hard, suddenly all too aware of his fragile mortality. “Ah, yes… I’ll see what I can do,” he stammered, his usual wit evaporating. “Have a… nice day, Sir.” He wanted to add and get out of my tavern as soon as possible, but he thought better of it.

  Before Roderick could step away, a piercing scream shattered the tense atmosphere.

  “AAAaaaaakkh!”

  He turned sharply, his eyes locking onto the source of the commotion. One of the half-orc warriors—the one with a ponytail—was clutching his cheek, blood streaming from a fresh, jagged cut. His face twisted in fury as he bellowed, “You! You little—! You cut me!”

  Standing opposite him, dagger trembling in her hand, was the girl from earlier. Her wide violet eyes were filled with shock, and her entire frame quivered. “I—I didn’t mean to!” she stammered, her voice cracking. “I was just trying to pick up my letter! It fell under your table! And you came at me!”

  “Came at you?? Im the one who’s bleeding here!!”

  “Because youre behaving like a jerk!!” She retaliated.

  The orc with the ponytail growled, his rage palpable. But before he could advance, another, larger half-orc stood. He was massive, his chubby form belying the raw strength evident in his bulging arms. Judging by the way the others deferred to him, he was the leader of the group. “Oi, little girl!” he barked, his voice a deep rumble. “Is that how you talk to someone older than you? Show some respect!”

  She blinked, stunned by his audacity. “Respect? Me? He’s the one who—”

  “Don’t you dare throw baseless accusations around, young lady!” another half-orc cut her off. “My friend here was just being friendly.”

  “Friendly?” she echoed, incredulous. “Do you mean when he called me disgusting names or when he tried to lift my skirt? Which part of that do you consider ‘friendly’?”

  The leader’s face darkened, his lips curling into a sneer. “Are you calling my friend a liar?” His hands clenched into fists, veins bulging as he stepped closer. “People in this city are all the same. You look down on us just because we’ve got orc blood in our veins.”

  “Racist!” the ponytailed one snarled, clutching his bleeding cheek.

  “What? I’m not being racist—” she protested, her voice rising in exasperation.

  “Oh, sure. Just because we’re half-orcs, we’re automatically savages, right?” another growled. “That’s what you’re saying, isn’t it?”

  “No—that’s not what i—"

  The leader cracked his knuckles, his voice dropping to a menacing growl. “We should teach this snobby little girl a lesson.”

  “Yeah… let’s take this business out side” another one added.

  One by one, the half-orcs rose from their tables, all ten of them, their malicious intent evident in the predatory glint in their eyes. They began to close in on her, slow and deliberate, like wolves circling prey.

  Roderick watched the scene unfold, his jaw tightening. He started to take a step forward, but a firm hand clamped down on his shoulder. Gerald leaned in, his voice a panicked whisper. “Don’t ingage. Let them be. You don’t want trouble with these guys.”

  Roderick glanced at Gerald, his brow furrowing. “I wasn’t—”

  Gerald interrupted him, shaking his head vigorously. “They’re Horn Raiders,” he hissed, his voice barely audible. “A hand full of them has been roaming around the city, terrorizing the neighbourhood, filthying the street, I heard rumours about their master… something about a huge plan for this sudden gathering”

  Roderick exhaled sharply, his gaze locked on the girl. Cornered, trembling, and outnumbered, she stood her ground, clutching her dagger with the last remnants of defiance flickering in her eyes. She was like a lone candle in a storm, and the half-orcs were circling, ready to snuff her out. He knew he had to act. But before he could move a muscle, someone else claimed the spotlight.

  From above, the hooded man who had been silently sitting in the corner of the tavern leaped into the fray. His knee came crashing down on the ponytailed half-orc—the one closest to the girl, with a dagger poised to strike her. The impact drove the orc into the floorboards with a sickening crack, rendering him unconscious in an instant.

  The tavern froze for a heartbeat, stunned into silence. Then chaos erupted.

  The chubby leader of the group bellowed, “Get him! Don’t just stand there! Attack!!” and the remaining eight half-orcs surged forward, chairs and fists raised like crude weapons. The hooded figure remained eerily still, his posture calm as if he’d already won the fight.

  The first attacker swung a heavy chair overhead, aiming to smash it down on the hooded man. In a flash, the hooded man stepped forward, driving his palm into the orc’s chest. The blow sent the larger opponent staggering backward, his grip failing as the chair tumbled harmlessly to the ground. Before the orc could recover, the hooded figure followed up with a precise elbow to the jaw, dropping him like a sack of grain.

  Two more came at him simultaneously. One swung a bottle, aiming for the hooded man’s head, while the other lunged low to tackle him. The hooded figure spun to the side, letting the bottle-wielder’s momentum carry him past, his own swing smashing into the second orc’s temple. With a sharp twist, the hooded man used the bottle-wielder’s extended arm to yank him forward and slam his knee into the orc’s stomach. The attacker doubled over with a wheeze, collapsing to the floor.

  The chubby leader roared in fury, hurling a table at the hooded man. He ducked under it effortlessly, closing the gap between them in an instant. A single, calculated strike to the side of the leader’s knee sent him toppling to the ground, howling in pain.

  The remaining orcs hesitated, their confidence faltering as they watched their comrades fall like wheat before a scythe. But one of them, either braver or stupider than the rest, charged with a dagger in hand. The hooded man sidestepped the reckless attack and caught the orc’s wrist mid-swing, twisting sharply. The orc cried out, the dagger clattering to the floor. With a fluid motion, the hooded figure swept his leg out, knocking the orc off balance and sending him crashing onto his back. The last few tried to put up fight, but futile, the hooded guy sweep them up with ease.

  By the time the dust settled, only the chubby leader remained standing, his wide eyes darting between his fallen comrades and the hooded figure, whose movements had barely broken a sweat. The leader took a shaky step back, then another, before turning tail and fleeing out the tavern door without so much as a glance behind him.

  Among the fallen, the ponytailed half-orc, bleeding and trembling, tried to crawl toward the exit, whimpering for help. His pleas were cut short as the hooded man loomed over him, seizing a broken table leg. Without hesitation, the man raised it high, his intent to deliver a final, agonizing blow clear as day.

  Before the swing could land, a hand shot out, catching the hooded man’s wrist mid-swing. The motion froze, the jagged wood hovering inches above the terrified orc’s head.

  “Mind if I ask what you’re trying to do?” Roderick’s voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of menace in his tone, sharp enough to cut through the tense air. “Planning to kill this trash?”

  For the first time, the hooded figure turned his gaze to Roderick. Beneath the shadows of his hood, a pale, sharp-featured face glared back, framed by strands of silver hair. His piercing eyes glinted like cold steel, but he remained silent, his expression unyielding.

  Roderick tightened his grip slightly, his hand emanating an unnatural heat that began to scorch the stranger’s skin. “I think they’ve learned their lesson,” Roderick said, his voice low and commanding. “You can stand down now.”

  The hooded man held his ground, his wrist trembling slightly against the growing heat. For a moment, it seemed he might push forward despite the grip restraining him. But as the faint wisp of smoke began to rise from his wrist, his sharp gaze flickered with realization. This wasn’t a fight he wanted—not yet.

  With a calculated motion, he lowered the makeshift weapon and released it, letting the table leg clatter to the ground. Still silent, the hooded figure pulled his wrist free and turned away. Without a word, he strode toward the door, leaving the wreckage and carnage in his wake.

  Roderick watched him go, his gaze lingering on the man’s retreating form. “Well,” he muttered to himself, glancing down at the broken remains of the tavern furniture, “looks like this morning just got interesting.”

  From behind the counter, Gerald peeked out, his face pale as a ghost. “Interesting?” the halfling barked. “You call this interesting? Look at my place! It’s a wrecked!”

  Roderick ignored him, his focus returning to the girl, who stood frozen amid the chaos. “You alright?” he asked gruffly.

  She nodded, though her wide eyes betrayed the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. “I… I think so. Thank you.”

  Roderick sighed, hefting the barrel of nightshade back onto his shoulder. “Don’t thank me. Go after that guy, he’s the one who safed you”