The hand stopped. Instead of grabbing Johnn’s throat, Slayter pulled out a chair and sat. He reached out and snatched a large bottle of strong liquor from a passing, terrified server, slamming it onto the wooden table.

Suddenly, the mouth of his helmet hissed with escaping steam. The lower plate clicked and retracted with a mechanical whir, revealing a scarred, rugged jawline and a mouth set in a grim line. He needed the clearance to drink.

Everyone in the tavern froze, blinking in total confusion. The expected bloodbath had been replaced by a tense, silent sit-down. Slayter didn’t look at the crowd; his glowing visor remained fixed on the young man across from him.

"I am not here to recruit you, boy."

He rumbled. His voice was clearer now that his mask was open. He tilted the bottle back, finishing half of it in one go.

"And I certainly didn’t come here looking for a ’duo’ partner. I came because I heard a new SSS Rank had appeared. But you are different."

He leaned forward, his heavy armor clanking against the wooden table.

"If you did not know, every other SSS Rank in this world had to crawl. We bled. We fought for decades to reach the top. But you? You reached it in one single push of your flames into the Promethean bowl."

Slayter’s eyes, sharp and full of years of battle, scanned Johnn’s confused face.

"A power that high, appearing out of nowhere... it is rare. It is something that needs to be... celebrated."

Slayter finished. He slammed the bottle onto the table with a loud crack.

"Even if the one holding that power is a fool who cares more about ’types’ than survival."

The tension snapped like a dry twig. The adventurers poked their heads up from behind the bar. The Promeathers stopped shaking....

They weren’t going to die.

The leader of the Promeathers scrambled to his feet, dusting off his violet plate with shaking hands. He let out a high pitched, nervous laugh.

"Yeah! That’s right! Celebrate!" he shouted, waving his arms. "We’re celebrating the arrival of a new legend! Just like Slayter said! The duo of the decade! Or, uh, the solo of the decade! Whatever!"

He looked nervously at Slayter, who simply stared back with one cold eye. The leader quickly grabbed his glass and held it high.

"A toast! To Johnn! And to Slayter Fatalis! The legends of the Guild!"

Slowly, the other adventurers stood up. One by one, glasses were raised. The music started again, though it sounded a bit shaky. The tavern began to breathe again. The fear was still there, but the party returned, all because a dazed rookie had told the world’s scariest warrior that he wasn’t "his type."

The building shook with the weight of two SSS Rank legends and the cheers of a hundred adventurers. But just a few feet away, the world was a very different place.

Hoppy stayed on the ground, her small body trembling. The joyful roars from the tavern felt miles away. She looked up slowly, her head throbbing from where her hair had been torn and her forehead had hit the stones.

For a second, she hoped to see Maddy’s hooded cloak. She hoped for a hand to reach down and save her. But as her vision cleared, that hope died instantly. It was replaced by a soul-chilling frost that made her heart stop.

Standing over her was not the woman with the greatsword. It was the man from the plains—the slaver she had escaped that morning.

He looked down at her with a jagged, cruel grin. The shadows made his face look like a monster’s. He didn’t care about the heroes celebrating nearby. He only cared about the prize at his feet.

"Well, well... I thought I was going into that tavern to see a hero. But it looks like I found something that will make me a hero to my boss instead."

Hoppy tried to scream, but no sound came out. The tavern music was too loud, and the man’s shadow was too dark. She was right outside the safest place in the city, yet she had never been more alone.

She tried to crawl backward, her hands scraping against the grime, but her limbs felt like lead. The man’s shadow swallowing her whole, he continued:

"You know, my boss was going to have my head for losing you. But bringing you back now? After all this trouble? I won’t just be a hero to his eyes; I’ll be the man who taught a little ’property’ exactly what happens when they run away."

The slaver reached down, his thick fingers flexing in the dim light.

"You won’t get away this time... you little deer."

As his hand moved toward her, Hoppy’s world narrowed down to the small bag clutched against her chest. Inside it was her notebook—the one Maddy had praised, the one that held her drawings and her voice. It was the only piece of herself she had left.

The thought of Maddy’s kindness sparked a sudden flame of survival in her heart. She wasn’t just property. She was a person.

As the slaver’s hand closed in, Hoppy didn’t shrink away. Instead, she lunged forward like a wild animal. She grabbed his hand and bit down with every ounce of strength and anger she possessed. Her teeth sank deep into his fingers, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth as she clamped her jaw shut.

The man let out a throat-tearing scream of agony. He tried to shake her off, but her rage held her fast. With a final, desperate jerk, she tore herself away, leaving him clutching his mangled hand.

Hoppy didn’t wait. She scrambled to her feet, her legs shaking but moving. She turned and sprinted toward the golden light of the tavern.

"I’ll be safe... I’ll be safe there," she gasped, her breath coming in ragged sobs. "Miss Maddy... the hero... anyone... please! Please help me!"