"Two grilled steaks, with your special house sauce."
"Garlic butter chicken wings, lemon-garlic roasted potatoes, roasted pumpkin and sweet pepper soup, assorted vegetable tempura, shrimp and mushroom omelet, and a yakitori platter. That's it."
"As for drinks—one cranberry wine with ice, and three mugs of iced barley beer. We'll order more if that's not enough."
After casually placing the order, Lucas waited for a response. But when none came, he frowned and looked up—only for his face to go completely dark.
Jeanne was bent over the counter, both hands stroking and gently rubbing Anya's tail. The catgirl waitress looked like she was in heaven, eyes half-lidded, tail flicking in bliss.
"..."
Lucas's cheek twitched, and so did the corner of his eye. He looked completely done.
"Ahem… Miss Anya?" He tapped his finger against the table, trying to bring her back to reality.
"Meow? Wha~t is it, nya?" Her golden eyes were glassy with contentment—she'd clearly forgotten she was at work.
Lucas stared at her for a few seconds, then gave up with a sigh.
"J-Just… take our order already…"
"Anya!!! What in the world are you doing?!"
Whack! A huge fist came down right on Anya's head, leaving a bump so big it could've been seen from the next table.
"M-Mia Mamaaa!" Anya crouched down, clutching her head, ears drooping as she trembled pitifully under the counter.
"Sorry about that, dear guests." The towering woman—barely shorter than Lucas but far broader—gave a stern look at her employee. "I'll make sure this idiot gets a proper lesson later."
Facing the intimidating Mia Grand, Lucas forced out a stiff smile.
"No, no, it's fine. Really. If anything, my girlfriend was the one who… uh, distracted your waitress first. So it's kind of our fault."
Mia Grand's lips quirked upward despite herself. She gave Lucas a long, approving look before grabbing Anya by the scruff and heading back toward the counter.
"No need to be so polite. Your meal's ten percent off tonight—enjoy yourselves!"
As the two disappeared, Jeanne's cheeks flushed pink. She lowered her head and murmured, "Sorry, Lucas… I caused trouble again."
"This? Hardly counts as trouble." He waved it off easily and changed the subject. "Anyway, I ordered you a cranberry wine. That's alright, yeah?"
Cranberry wine—lightly sweet and tart, with a lingering fruity aroma. A drink popular among Orario's women, even beloved by some of the goddesses themselves.
"Fruit wine? That actually sounds nice." Jeanne's curiosity sparked immediately.
"It's good stuff. I've had it before—really smooth."
---
Before long, Anya returned, still nursing her bump but smiling as if nothing happened.
"Here you go, nyan~! Your food and drinks! Please enjoy!" She cheerfully set down their plates, waved to Jeanne, and hurried off to serve another table.
Their spot was tucked away in the corner, giving them a clear view of the whole tavern.
Between bites, they quietly chatted while taking in the lively scene around them.
"Don't be fooled by how ordinary this place looks," Lucas said, lowering his voice. "This tavern's anything but ordinary. In terms of pure combat strength, even compared to all the Familias in Orario, the Hostess of Fertility could rank near the top."
Jeanne blinked, intrigued. "You're joking."
"Not at all."
Her gaze swept around the hall, lingering briefly on each server—until it fell on a gray-haired girl wiping down a table. For some reason, Jeanne's heart gave a small, inexplicable jolt.
Something about her felt… off.
She set down her fork and knife, raised her glass to clink with Lucas's, then leaned closer and whispered, "It's her, isn't it? That gray-haired girl. There's something strange about her. I can't explain it, but… there's this subtle feeling of wrongness."
Her eyes shifted again. "Actually, not just her. Everyone working here feels unusual somehow. Especially the owner. That kind of pressure… it's not something a normal person gives off."
Lucas paused mid-drink, silently admiring the saint's instincts. Not many people could sense what she just did.
He drained his beer in one long gulp and sighed in satisfaction.
"Word is, most of the staff here used to be adventurers. Each one's got their own story—probably not the kind you tell in polite company."
Jeanne's eyes widened. "You mean… they're all former adventurers?"
"Exactly." Lucas smirked. "Now you understand why nobody ever causes trouble at the Hostess of Fertility? Every waitress here has at least Level 3 strength. But the main reason is the owner."
He threw a glance toward the counter—where the "Demi Ymir" was casually polishing a glass.
Their eyes met for half a second. Lucas immediately looked away, pretending to study his plate, and whispered to Jeanne, "That's the Demi Ymir. A secret known to almost every veteran adventurer in Orario."
"'Demi Ymir'? A title?" Jeanne asked, brows furrowing.
Lucas tore a piece off his garlic wing, savoring it before muttering, "Yeah. She used to be one of Orario's twin pillars—the former captain of the Freya Familia. Level 6. One of the strongest."
Jeanne inhaled sharply.
Even for her, calm and composed as she usually was, the name alone sent chills down her spine.
She wasn't new to adventuring anymore. Thanks to Lucas's lessons, she now understood just how wide the gap between Levels could be.
A Level 5 was already considered a city pillar, but Level 6? That was the realm of heroes.
Each one of them was extraordinary—legends whose names spread far beyond Orario, sung by bards across the lands and immortalized in hero tales.
And Mama Mia… was one of them.
Jeanne's mind reeled. "That's… unbelievable. By adventurer standards, she's still young. Why would someone like her retire and open a tavern?"
Lucas refilled his glass, smiling faintly. "Dreams are funny things. Not every adventurer lives for glory or fame. Some chase wealth, others revenge. Some just want peace. You don't have to understand it—but you do have to respect it."
He handed her a skewer of grilled chicken. Jeanne took a bite, and her eyes lit up. "It's delicious!"
Lucas grinned proudly, ready to share his thoughts on good food—when another voice cut in.
"Hey. Did you just say the One-Eyed Black Dragon?"
The voice was soft but cold, with a barely restrained edge of hatred.
Lucas and Jeanne turned simultaneously toward it.
Standing there was a girl with golden hair and golden eyes, her expression calm yet unyielding.
"The Black Dragon," she said firmly, "has to be slain."
"...Huh?"
Golden hair, golden eyes, and the serene, doll-like presence that could freeze the air around her—there was no mistaking it.
The War Princess herself.
Ais Wallenstein.
And the impression she left on Lucas and Jeanne was unforgettable.