Xenagos, the Craziest Planeswalker

"Hertes, go check the alley outside. If you find any bodies, dispose of them while you're at it. I don't want to see the guards anywhere near the tavern."

After waiting about five minutes, the middle-aged bartender and owner immediately gave an order to the young man clearing away plates and goblets.

He figured that, if his judgment had been right this time, five minutes should have been more than enough for that generous customer to deal with those obnoxious street thugs.

This was the safest time to clean up the scene.

If they waited any longer and the smell of blood spread, the city guards would come investigate. They might even conduct a large-scale search of the area, which would affect his business.

Everyone who came to this tavern to drink, meet, or conduct secret deals had dirty hands, without exception.

They were all exceptionally sensitive to the guards. Once something like this happened, they would stay away for days until the matter had completely blown over.

The young man called Hertes immediately put down his rag and tray, then turned and rushed out through the back door without a word.

From his nimble, practiced movements, it was obvious this was far from his first time doing such dirty work.

The tavern owner clearly trusted this subordinate. After watching him leave, he went back to serving customers with a relaxed expression.

But less than a minute later, the young man ran back in from outside, pale-faced and panicked. Gasping for breath, he said, "B-Boss, I think you'd better go take a look yourself."

"Hm? What happened that has you this nervous?"

A flicker of surprise flashed through the bartender's eyes.

Though his workers were all young, they had long since seen their share of gruesome sights.

The young man