Valeria shot Lucavion a questioning look as they made their way toward the Iron Matron. “Why do you always go there?” she asked, her tone laced with genuine curiosity. “Out of all the places in this city, you keep coming back to that inn.”
Lucavion tilted his head, feigning surprise. “What do you mean, ‘always’? We’ve been to a good number of places, haven’t we?”
She arched an eyebrow, conceding his point. “True, we’ve tried different places. But it doesn’t change the fact that the Iron Matron is where we end up most often.”
Lucavion chuckled, clearly amused by her observation. “I suppose you’re right about that,” he said, nodding. “Though I’ll say the food is worth it. It’s rare to find an inn that actually puts care into its dishes.”
Valeria gave him a skeptical look. “And?”
He glanced at her, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. “And… well, that place can offer me a certain kind of protection.”
Valeria’s curiosity sharpened. “Protection?” she echoed, her tone incredulous.
Lucavion’s expression turned unreadable, his eyes glinting with something unspoken. “You could say it’s a sanctuary of sorts,” he replied, his voice lowering. “One that has… a few layers of security I find convenient.”
A sense of intrigue sparked within Valeria, though she fought to keep her expression neutral. “And here I thought you simply liked the atmosphere,” she remarked dryly.
He flashed her a knowing look. “The atmosphere has its appeal, but I’d be lying if I said that was the only reason.” His voice dropped slightly as he continued, almost as if he were sharing a secret. “That place isn’t just an inn. It is operated by a certain adventurer, whose strength can match quite a lot of strong people. Sometimes, being surrounded by a certain… type of company is the best protection of all.”
Valeria narrowed her eyes, studying him closely. “So, it’s not just about the food, then.”
“Not quite.” His smirk returned, his gaze lingering on her for a beat. “Though it
is
good food. And if you’re hungry, why overthink it?”
As they continued down the bustling streets, Valeria considered his reasoning more closely. Now that he’d clashed with members of the Cloud Heavens Sect, she realized, it was more than likely that trouble would follow him sooner rather than later. The sects were known for holding grudges, and Lucavion, bold as he was, had just painted a target on himself.
She glanced at him, his expression casual as ever, and it all began to make sense. Alone, without the support of a powerful family or a close circle, he had to rely on his own wits—and, evidently, the protection offered by a place like that Iron Matron’s. With its reputation and its formidable innkeeper, the inn was more than just a safehouse; it was a shield, one that even the Cloud Heavens Sect would hesitate to challenge openly.
“I see why you keep going back there,” she said finally, her voice low. “After all, if trouble does come knocking, the Iron Matron wouldn’t stand by quietly.”
Lucavion’s gaze flicked to her, his smirk softening. “You catch on quickly,” he replied, his tone laced with a hint of approval. “Let’s just say, the Iron Matron’s Inn isn’t the kind of place where people settle scores. Its owner’s reputation isn’t just idle talk.”
Valeria nodded, recalling a few stories she’d heard over the years. The Iron Matron was rumored to have once been a formidable adventurer herself, someone who commanded enough respect—or fear—that her inn remained a neutral ground. If the stories were true, even the most hardened mercenaries and rival sects thought twice before causing any disruption there.
As they stepped into the familiar warmth of The Rested Hawk, the comforting hum of voices and the smell of roasted meats greeted them. Lucavion led the way through the crowded room to their usual table near the far wall, a spot just secluded enough to keep away unwanted ears.
They had barely settled when Jorkin, the stout and ever-attentive staff member they’d come to know well, approached with his familiar easygoing smile. “Ah, Lady Valeria, Lord Lucavion,” he greeted his voice a low, rumbling tone that cut through the surrounding chatter. “The usual?”
Lucavion nodded, leaning back in his chair with a faint smirk. “The usual, Jorkin. You know us well.”
Valeria gave a small nod of confirmation. “Yes, thank you, Jorkin.” Despite her initial wariness of the inn’s hospitality, she had to admit she’d grown used to the place—and, if she were honest, Jorkin’s unfailingly polite demeanor.
Once Jorkin had taken their orders, he left with a respectful nod, promising to return shortly. Silence settled between them as the warmth from the nearby fire filled the space, and Valeria found herself relaxing into the moment. But it was short-lived, as Lucavion suddenly turned his gaze toward her, his expression thoughtful.
“So,” he began, his tone casual yet probing, “what did you think of your opponent today?”
The question caught her slightly off guard, and she took a moment to consider it. She thought back to the fierce gaze of the beastkin boy, his desperation and raw power that had been unlike any opponent she’d encountered. She had bested him, but something about the way he’d fought lingered with her.
“He was… surprising,” she admitted, her voice steady. “I could see that he was strong, but there was more to it than just physical skill. There was a desperation, a drive like he was fighting for more than just a victory.” She paused, then added thoughtfully, “I suppose it made me wary in a way.”
Lucavion watched her, his gaze keen. “Hmm…What else?”
Valeria took a deep breath, letting her mind drift back to the intense clash in the arena.
She recalled the fierce determination in the beastkin boy’s eyes, the way he’d thrown himself into every strike as though pain, injury, and even exhaustion meant nothing to him.
His movements had been reckless but resolute, as if he were fighting not just for victory, but for survival.
And there was something else—a subtle tension in the air around them, a hostility that hadn’t come from him, but from the spectators themselves.
“He didn’t care about getting hurt,” she murmured, more to herself than to Lucavion. “He was young, maybe younger than me, and yet… it felt like he’d already been through more battles than anyone his age should.” Her eyes grew distant. “And the crowd—they reacted with such… disgust. As if just seeing him there was an offense.”
Lucavion’s gaze never wavered, his expression thoughtful as he listened. “You’re sharp,” he remarked quietly. “That kind of disdain isn’t something you see for just anyone.”
She nodded, her voice taking on a grim edge. “The beastkin are hated here, aren’t they? And it didn’t seem to matter to him. If anything, he seemed to accept it, like it was… inevitable.”
Lucavion watched her closely, leaning forward slightly as he asked, “So then, what do you think could drive him to fight like that? To ignore the pain, the danger, and even the hatred surrounding him?”
Valeria hesitated, piecing together what she had sensed but hadn’t fully understood. “If I had to guess… maybe he was fighting for something more than just this tournament,” she replied, her voice quiet yet resolute. “To him, maybe winning—or just surviving—meant something much larger. Like he didn’t have a choice.”
“Then…..if that were to be proved, what would you do?”
Valeria narrowed her eyes, studying Lucavion carefully. “What do you mean by that?” she asked, her voice measured. “What exactly are you implying?”
Lucavion held her gaze, his expression thoughtful yet unreadable. “Think about it, Valeria,” he replied, his tone soft yet intense. “If that boy truly has no choice—if he’s fighting for something much larger than himself, something that forces him to push past pain and hatred… what would that make you? Or any of us here, really?”
She felt a strange chill at his words. “Are you saying… we’re in his way?”
He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sharp. “Possibly. Or maybe we’re just obstacles he’s resigned himself to face. But either way, if he’s fighting out of necessity, that means his view of us isn’t the same as ours of him. For him, this isn’t a tournament—it’s a battlefield. His actions aren’t for glory, they’re for survival.”
Valeria’s thoughts churned as she tried to process the implication. She had fought in countless training matches, tournaments, and even a few real skirmishes, but they had always been battles of choice, contests of honor or skill. She had never fought because she
had
to, because there was no other path forward. For the boy, however, this seemed like life or death.
She met Lucavion’s gaze, searching his face for answers. “But if that’s true… what am I supposed to do about it?”
Lucavion’s smirk faded, and for a rare moment, his expression softened into something almost sincere. “That is something that is hard to answer, isn’t it?”