Back in the tavern, the atmosphere slowly settled after the chaos.
The bloodstains on the floor still sizzled with faint residual energy, but no one dared bring it up.
The drunkards had all resumed pretending to drink, even though half their mugs were upside down.
The bard quietly tried to tune his instrument, trembling so much that the strings sounded like dying squirrels.
Behind the counter, Wheat Bread dusted her apron, cleared her throat, and raised her voice.
"Alright, everyone! That guy and his group will be escorted out the back, so no one has to die unnecessarily. Please enjoy your drinks, don't talk to any squirrels, and for the love of mana, no one should try to follow them."
There were a few nervous chuckles. One drunk tried to raise his mug in salute, only to drop it on his own foot.
But amid the awkward atmosphere, one person didn't laugh. Didn't move. They didn't even breathe, it seemed.
