Sword of Dawnbreaker

Chapter 234 - 233: Amber’s Old Friends

As Amber snapped her fingers, Scarface Anton instinctively reached out to grab a nearby wooden post. Some in the tavern also clung to the nearest fixed objects or simply sat down on the floor without any care for dignity. The action was so smooth and skilled, it seemed like a second nature to them. But for others, it was different. They just stared blankly at the strange changes around them, not knowing how to react, and very soon, they didn’t need to react at all.

A murky haze of shadow suddenly spread around Amber, and wherever the shadow reached, everyone immediately felt the world spinning. In mere moments, everyone in the tavern was forcibly dragged into a "shadow jump." Although it lasted less than a second, it instantly threw everyone off balance. Those who had secured themselves beforehand fared a little better, while those standing or sitting stupidly were scattered around, unable to get up for quite some time.

Seeing the spectacular chaos before her, Amber nodded in satisfaction, finally regaining a bit of the pride of being a "master."

Her combat capability was indeed weak, but it depended on whom she was compared with and in what field. As a rogue, it was understandable that Amber couldn’t face Gawain and those around him head-on, but how many true Beyonders were there in this tavern?

If there were, they wouldn’t be hanging around in a place like this!

Here, there were merely some idlers and swindlers. At best, they knew a few tricks or scams. Even the renowned "Scarface Anton" was just a half-baked stealth user, not even qualified as a low-grade professional. They were rats in the sewer, the lowest scum of the city streets, huddled here for warmth. The strongest among them couldn’t even appear in the sight of a true professional.

Amber was at least a Beyonder, and she was a master of shadow magic, even self-proclaimed as the Chosen of the Night.

The title "Tavern Queen" was certainly not self-bestowed.

It took quite a while for the severe dizziness and nervous disorders caused by the shock of shadow magic to gradually subside. Those lying on the ground crawled up, looking miserable and awkward, but none dared to stand out and act rashly. In this societal environment, anyone surviving was cautious and astute, skilled at assessing the situation instantly and finding the safest approach for themselves. Just in that moment, they figured out how to protect themselves.

Seeing this, Amber slightly turned up her nose: "This batch is still not interesting."

"Madam, why are you back?" Scarface Anton, suppressing the lingering dizziness, forced a smile and asked as he approached, "Didn’t you say two years ago that you found clues about your biological parents and suddenly disappeared... did you find them?"

"No, my parents might have long died somewhere—I’ll probably never find them in this life," Amber waved her hand, "but I found something more interesting."

"More interesting?" Anton was stunned. He knew this dominant figure of the sewers, who once ruled the black alleyways, often sought "interesting things," usually treasures to steal or unlucky targets to ensnare, which she mentioned with a mischievous and mocking expression. But now, her expression was clearly full of enthusiasm, completely devoid of jest, "What did you find?"

Amber just smiled: "Have you heard about the Grand Duke’s resurrection?"

"Heard about it," Anton shrugged while signaling his men to restore order in the tavern, "The news has spread long ago—some of it with our help. A few months back, mercenaries came through here and hired a bunch of people to spread the word."

"Damn it, you secretly earned my..." Amber glared at Anton, but before she could finish the sentence, she changed her tone, "Are they all here?"

"If you mean in this town, yes, they’re all here," Anton gestured around the tavern, "It’s winter now, and these rascals just hang around the tavern all day, as if they’re eager to drink themselves to death here."

Amber pulled out a small dagger and began scratching the pitted wooden bar, looking for the marks she carved in the past, but most of them were gone—fights and poor quality booze quickly wore down the marks on the bar: "Ask everyone if they want to do something legitimate."

By this time, quite a few "old acquaintances" had gathered around the bar. A slightly dark-skinned woman dressed like a witch hesitated upon hearing Amber’s words: "Legitimate work? Madam, can you even do legitimate work?"

Amber raised her hand, spinning the small dagger under the "witch’s" neck, precisely shaving a few loose threads from her collar: "’Witch’ Giply, why didn’t I cut off your tongue back then?"

"This tongue of mine earns me plenty of money," the woman in witch’s attire retreated a half-step, wearing a flattering smile, "Better tell us about your ’legitimate work,’ we’re all ears..."

"It’s simple. I’m now working for the reborn founding hero—don’t give me that look of disbelief. I’m his personal bodyguard, you hear? I don’t even need to knock when entering his room. Anyway, I’m doing well now, but I haven’t forgotten you hopeless lot. Now you’ve got an opportunity: if you’re willing to change those damn bad habits, you, too, can live a respectful life like me. Got it yet? The Duke wants to hire you!"

The scene fell silent, which wasn’t the reaction Amber expected.

"Why aren’t you all reacting?" Amber curiously observed these men, "Unwilling?"

"I don’t believe it," Scarface Andon showed a crying-or-laughing expression, "We know the Grand Duke’s affairs in the south, but how could a person like him associate with people like us. Boss lady, you’ve been drinking shadow potion like water again, haven’t you?"

"I always knew you bunch were only capable of this much," Amber smirked, casually threw a cloth bag onto the bar. A series of jingling sounds followed, and as the bag’s mouth opened, several shiny gold and silver coins rolled out - newly minted coins with perfectly symmetrical contours and smooth lines, with the emblem of the Cecil territory imprinted on them. "You don’t have to believe my words, but the money is real."

The eyes of the few people at the bar immediately widened.

They seldom had the chance to handle gold coins, though silver coins came their way occasionally, and Cecil silver coins had become an increasingly popular new currency in the southern borders. This currency was remarkably pure, weighed considerably, and mysteriously crafted with minute precision, flawless in detail—naturally embraced by traveling merchants and circulated in the southern regions.

Andon had the fortune of coming across three Anzu silver coins, but they clearly weren’t as pristine as the ones Amber brought. The gold and silver coins that rolled out of the bag didn’t have a scratch or stain on them, as if they had just emerged from the mint.

Andon’s heart tightened instantly, looking at Amber with a tense expression, "Boss lady, stealing money from an aristocratic mint will get us hanged!"

Amber immediately glared viciously at the scarred bald man, "Watch your mouth - you really wanna be used as a sledgehammer, huh?! I’ll swing you right into a boulder!"

Andon shrank his neck immediately, daring not to make a sound.

Obviously, Amber was at least ninety percent right.

Having been "missing" for several years, the boss had somehow stuck around that founding hero, becoming a personal guard to a grand aristocrat—a tale of pure fantasy happening for real.

"You guys can discuss," Amber waved her hand, quietly pushing the money on the bar to a more prominent place, "But I must clarify, money is a good thing, but not easily earned. The Duke doesn’t want to hire a bunch of hooligans and scoundrels to ruin his reputation, so whoever takes the money will first have to go with me to the Cecil Clan, learn the rules and laws there, then proceed to proper business. If you can’t learn the rules..."

Amber didn’t finish her sentence, only swept a threatening gaze around, causing everyone’s neck to shrink involuntarily.

In reality, there wouldn’t be any dreadful punishment; according to Gawain, those simple rules and regulations could be learned within a month, even by fools, and if not, a bit of exposure would sink in. But Amber knew, this was a group of scoundrels who wouldn’t learn until forced by rewards and punishment.

While the tavern’s crowd fell silent with fear, another feeling grew more tangible:

No serendipity drops from the skies—only when things carry some inherent risk might they be real.

Dealing with aristocrats was dangerous, every streetwise person knew it well, but their boss seemed able to protect them...

The reputation of that founding hero seemed quite decent...

Yet it’s unclear what a grand aristocrat would hire a swarm of low-lifes and thieves for, but at worst, how bad could it get? Surely they wouldn’t be sent to fight wars or subdue monsters with such a ragtag team, right?

As the tavern regained its lively chatter, Andon quietly approached Amber, this scar-faced man lowered his voice, barely containing his curiosity as he asked, "Boss lady, how exactly did you get cozy with such a big shot?"

"Actually, it’s nothing much," Amber waved indifferently, "I pried open his coffin and woke him up."

Andon: "...Huh?!"

Amber lifted her half-empty cup of lousy beer, brought it to her lips and sighed, "Ah, so when stealing, never get caught by the owner, or else you might end up trapped – I wish you’d pour me water instead! This is barely better than water with booze mixed in, what did you dilute it with?"

"Actually, this was the dilution ratio you set back in the day..." Andon chuckled wryly, "Alright, I’ll get you some water."

"Forget about it, I’ll just drink this," Amber shook her head, looking down at the foaming bad beer, chuckling in frustration, "Whether man or elf, they sure are creatures so easily indulged in pleasures..."