The screams gradually died away, and Stanley seemed to lose interest in chatting as well. He stood up, straightened his clothes, and said to Renard, "I'm not in the mood for a drink anymore. If we get another chance, I'll tell you the rest."
Renard naturally didn't dare object. In fact, he hoped the old man would leave as soon as possible. Being around someone so moody was sheer torture.
It was a full ten minutes after Stanley left before the tavern's atmosphere slowly returned to normal.
Even so, no one dared raise their voice. Instead, they whispered among themselves, and most of their conversations were about the old man and his deeds.
The tavern owner wore an inscrutable expression, his thoughts a mystery. As for Colliver, he had already passed out at the bar.
Renard downed glass after glass of strong liquor, as if he could erase what had just happened by getting drunk. He was certain that at least one of those spoiled young nobles had been no less important than he was. Yet the man had still acted without the slightest restraint. That was the privilege of the strong.
Just as he was feeling uneasy, a pleasant, teasing voice suddenly interrupted his thoughts. "Handsome, can I get you something to eat?"
Renard looked up to see a tall, beautiful waitress standing before him with a tray. She leaned forward slightly, revealing her snowy cleavage, and kept her eyes fixed on him as if they could speak.
The woman looked to be around twenty. She had a voluptuous figure, and a hint of seduction showed in her delicate, flawless face. If she'd traded her tacky dancer's outfit for something else, she would have been a peerless beauty.
After struggling for a while, Renard came up with a two-word