Coleridge

Clement shuddered, the first to react.

He saw the white-haired woman's hand, which she had just raised, stop in midair. A hint of hesitation flashed across her delicate face before she lowered it again.

But then she immediately lifted her leg and kicked the drunkard in the stomach.

The woman wore a pair of leather boots with high shafts. The hard heel sank viciously into the drunkard's soft belly, as if stabbing into it.

His body was kicked into the shape of a shrimp, his butt flying backward. With a loud crash, he slammed straight into one of the tavern hall's load-bearing pillars.

He climbed angrily to his feet and was just about to lash out when he opened his mouth and vomited all over the floor with a loud retch. A foul smell mixed with alcohol instantly spread through the hall, and the nearby patrons hurriedly covered their noses and mouths.

"Bitch, you're really vicious!" The drunkard straightened up, his eyes bulging with rage as every muscle in his body swelled.

He stepped forward and charged toward the white-haired woman.

The woman remained unhurried. She lightly extended her delicate hand and traced a circular path through the air in front of her.

With a clank, the foot the drunk had just stepped forward with suddenly slipped. His tall, burly body immediately pitched forward out of control, and he slammed face-first into the floor, eating dirt.

"Ahahahahaha!" His pathetic appearance sent the patrons in the hall into uproarious laughter.

"Hm?" Clement, the tavern owner standing nearby, found it strange. It seemed that something white had flashed beneath the drunkard's foot just now, like... a layer of frost. But it had vanished at once.

How could frost form on the floor? Had he seen things? The drunkard struggled to his feet