Elise's fingers tightened around her ale cup. A trace of confusion flashed through her grey-blue eyes, followed by bitterness.
She bit her lip in silence for a moment, then said heavily:
"Many people around me say that women are naturally weak, that our bones are soft, that we can't support the weight of knightly plate armor or swing a greatsword steadily.
"So I've been secretly practicing swordplay. I also use a wood-splitting axe to chop stakes to temper my strength.
"I haven't given up. I refuse to believe that I'm not even qualified to hold a sword!"
"But.
"...Tradition."
She looked up, trying to mask something. After a long pause, she lowered her head, took a large gulp of ale, and continued:
"The way of the knight in Westeros has always been a man's game.
"When people around me found out I was practicing with a sword, they kept emphasizing this point to me over and over.
"Women should spin yarn, manage the household, or marry well to continue the bloodline.
"Wielding swords and spears is deviant behavior that would make me the laughingstock of the entire North."
Finally, Elise said helplessly:
"Over time, I couldn't stand those strange looks, those malicious taunts, and the endless nagging from my relatives.
"Hehe, you're right. I thought the road ahead was dark, so I gave up."
...A person oppressed by gender and tradition.
Don Quixote didn't say much. He raised his cup in a toast and said:
"Miss Elise, at least you tried. That's admirable!"
Elise looked into Don Quixote's calm eyes, which held no judgment, and asked in confusion:
"You don't seem surprised by my thoughts."
...What's there to be surprised about?
In his past life, the LGBTQ+ community, the Red Pill movement, and a whole host of magical events that happened in reality were what truly surprised him.
Perhaps his threshold for surprise had been honed too high.
A mere rebellious idea challenging knightly tradition was surprising, yes, but not overly so.
"I've seen far more unusual things while wandering around. This is nothing."
Don Quixote, speaking comfortably from the sidelines, smiled:
"Besides, personally, I think those old knightly traditions are outdated and boring."
...Is he able to accept my ideas so calmly because he has seen the wider world outside?
I really hope that one day I can ride a horse and adventure around the world like a knight!
I'm so envious!
Elise was stunned for a moment, looking thoughtfully at the disheveled freelance knight before her.
Don Quixote suddenly spoke again:
"Miss Elise, I still haven't figured out your reason for taking over the Iron Axe Tavern?
"Does it have something to do with your knightly dream?"
"I don't want to be cooped up in a narrow room with needlework all day like most women." Elise came back to her senses, sighed, and smiled:
"So I had to find a reason to convince my family. And isn't the Iron Axe Tavern a perfect reason?
"I don't know why, but my mother has been feeling very low lately, and her health has gotten worse.
"The tavern's income is quite good, and my family didn't want to give up this business.
"So I proposed taking over the Iron Axe. Although they argued for a long time, they eventually agreed reluctantly."
"How is Lady Wylla's health?" Don Quixote asked with concern.
"Not optimistic."
Elise shook her head:
"Mother is getting on in years, after all, and she was already somewhat frail.
"But starting over a month ago, it suddenly got worse. Her mood worsened day by day. She drinks almost exclusively and has no appetite."
...Is it because of Old Valentine?
Don Quixote made a casual guess.
He had only met Lady Wylla a few times before and didn't know her specific situation.
He had always assumed Lady Wylla's frailty was a pre-existing condition.
He hadn't noticed the sudden change.
Don Quixote offered a sincere prayer:
"May the Old Gods protect her! May Lady Wylla recover fully!"
---
"Old Gods above! I'm going to kill you brutal monsters!"
A hunter who had had a few too many cups of strong spirits suddenly stood up.
The hunter's eyes were filled with resentment and fury as he stared fixedly at two guests a few seats away.
The two men wore black mail. On the table beside them sat two conical helms adorned with a relief of a flayed man.
Their fur cloaks were also emblazoned with a red flayed man on a pink field.
The two guests, dressed as knights and currently laughing, drinking, and eating meat, exchanged a glance.
"Hehe, hahahaha."
One of them stood up slowly, stared coldly at the seemingly drunk hunter, and smiled sinisterly:
"You filthy peasant, brains soaked in spirits... you've got some guts."
As he spoke, the corners of his mouth pulled into a cruel arc as he looked around.
The Iron Axe Tavern, which had been relatively quiet today, instantly became silent enough to hear a pin drop.
Many customers didn't even dare to breathe loudly. They either buried their heads pretending to drink or quietly shifted their seats to hide in the corners.
They all recognized the pink field and red flayed man sigil.
They were men of House Bolton, the "Flayers" whom Northerners feared more than they hated.
A Northern saying captured the cruelty of House Bolton perfectly:
"When a Bolton smiles at you, you'd best check if your skin is still attached."
Don Quixote stood up and reached out to stop Elise, whose grey-blue eyes showed a hint of fear but who was still preparing to step forward. He said calmly:
"Miss Elise, this is my duty as Don Quixote."
Without waiting for Elise's response, Don Quixote strode over.
The drunken hunter was not intimidated by the cold gaze.
He drew his hunting knife directly and said fiercely:
"Bolton dogs! You burned my village and flayed my daughter. I will never forget it!
"I'm going to kill you bastards."
The word "bastards" seemed to strike a nerve. The smile on the Bolton knight's face instantly vanished.
He also drew the sword at his waist, shoved aside the table and chairs blocking his path, and walked toward the hunter, saying ruthlessly:
"I'm going to flay the skin off you, peasant, and sew it into a wineskin!"
The other Bolton knight also stood up leisurely at this moment, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade.
His gaze swept coldly over the unusually quiet crowd in the tavern, finally landing cruelly on the approaching Don Quixote.
Crash!
Don Quixote took a few steps, then suddenly bent down, grabbed a wooden stool, and smashed it toward the Bolton knight approaching the hunter.
Immediately after, he quickly drew his sword to confront the other Bolton knight, declaring:
"Private fights are prohibited in the Iron Axe Tavern!"
The Bolton knight looked Don Quixote up and down.
Seeing the worn mail on Don Quixote with no obvious family crest, he assumed he was just a rootless, destitute freelance knight.
The corner of his mouth curled into a contemptuous sneer:
"Where did this wild knight come from? You dare meddle in House Bolton's business?
"If you know what's good for you, piss off. Otherwise, we'll flay you too and hang you at the tavern door as a sign.
"Hahaha, 'Iron Axe Tavern' sounds terrible anyway. How about we rename it the 'Human Skin Tavern'? What do you think!"
...