Chapter 233 — Amber's Old Friends

The instant Amber snapped her fingers, Scarface Anton had already reflexively flung out a hand and seized a nearby wooden post. Others in the tavern did the same—grabbing whatever fixed object was closest, or else abandoning all dignity and plopping straight down onto the floor. Their movements were so smooth and practiced that the reaction might as well have been instinct. The rest, however, were not so fortunate. They merely stared about in bewilderment at the inexplicable change around them, unsure what to do—and very soon, they would not need to do anything at all.

A murky, hazy shadow abruptly bloomed around Amber, and everywhere it spread, everyone instantly felt the world spin. Within mere moments, every soul in the tavern was dragged bodily through a "shadow jump." Though it lasted less than a second, it robbed everyone of their balance in an instant. Those who had found something to hold onto fared somewhat better; those who had stood or sat there dumbly were already sprawled in a heap, and it was a long while before they could scramble up.

Surveying the spectacular scene before her, Amber nodded in satisfaction, having at last recovered a bit of her pride as a "master."

Her combat prowess was indeed pathetic—but that depended on whom one compared her to, and in what field. As a shadow stalker, it was understandable that Amber could not beat Gao Yang or the people around him in a straight fight. But how many true extraordinary-class professionals could there be in this tavern?

If there were any, they wouldn't be scraping by in a place like this!

Here there was nothing but idle scoundrels and swindlers, whose greatest skills amounted to a few parlor tricks or a con or two. Even the renowned "Scarface Anton" was merely a half-baked stalker—not even quite up to the standard of a low-class professional. They were gutter rats, the dregs at the very bottom of society, huddling together here for warmth, and the strongest among them was not fit to appear in the sight of true professionals.

Amber, at least, was an extraordinary-class professional—and a master of shadow power at that, one who even styled herself the Chosen of the Night.

The title "Queen of the Tavern" was not one she had bestowed upon herself.

Only after a long while did the severe dizziness and neural disorientation caused by shadow power's assault on the mind gradually abate. One by one, those sprawled on the floor clambered up in sorry fashion—yet not a single hothead dared to step forward and make trouble. Anyone who could survive in this social environment was a cautious and clever sort, skilled at sizing up a situation in an instant and finding the safest way to protect themselves. In that single moment just past, they had all understood exactly how to protect themselves.

Seeing this, Amber curled her lip slightly. "This crop's still no fun at all."

"Boss, what brings you back?" Scarface Anton, forcing down the lingering dizziness in his head, squeezed out a smile and sidled up. "A couple years back you said you'd found a lead on your birth parents and just up and vanished... Did you find them?"

"Nope. My real parents are probably dead in some ditch somewhere—doubt I'll ever find them in this life," Amber said with a wave of her hand. "But I did find something a lot more interesting."

"More interesting?" Anton blinked. He knew this one—who had once ruled the sewers and commanded the back alleys—was always off chasing "interesting things," but that usually meant treasure worth stealing and unlucky fools worth swindling. Whenever she mentioned such things, her face always wore a mocking, derisive look. Yet now her expression was plainly full of relish, with no trace of jest. "What did you find?"

Amber only smiled. "Heard about the founding duke coming back to life?"

"I've heard," Anton said with a shrug, even as he gestured for his men to restore order in the tavern. "Word's been spreading for a while now—some of the rumors, we helped spread ourselves. A few months back some mercenaries passed through and hired a whole bunch of people to carry the news."

"Damn it, so you lot went and secretly made money off my..." Amber shot Anton a glare, but before she could finish she switched tack. "Everyone here?"

"If you mean the ones in this town, they're all here," Anton said, sweeping an arm to encompass the whole tavern. "It's winter now—these little bastards hole up in the tavern day after day, like they're hoping to drink themselves to death in here."

Amber fished out a small dagger and scratched at the pitted wooden bar, searching for marks she had carved there years ago. Unfortunately, most were long gone—brawls and cheap liquor always wore away the marks on a bar counter fast. "Ask everyone if they'd like to do some proper work."

By now quite a few "old acquaintances" had gathered near the bar. A woman with slightly dark skin, dressed like a witch, froze at Amber's words. "Proper work? Boss, you? Proper work?"

Amber raised a hand, and the little dagger in it spun in a neat circle just beneath the "witch's" neck, precisely snipping a few loose threads at her collar. "'Witch' Gipuli, why didn't I cut out your tongue back then?"

"This tongue of mine can make quite a bit of money when it wags," the witch-dressed woman said, retreating half a step with a fawning smile. "Why don't you just tell us about this 'proper work' of yours? We're all listening..."

"Simple. I'm working for that founding hero who came back to life right now. Don't give me that look of disbelief—I'm his personal bodyguard. Personal bodyguard, understand? I don't even have to knock before entering his room, I'll have you know. Anyway, I'm rich now, but I haven't forgotten you lot of no-hopers. You've got a chance now—if you're willing to mend your stinking ways, you can live like me, like decent folk. Still don't get it? The duke wants to hire you!"

A sudden silence fell over the room—a reaction that caught Amber entirely off guard.

"Why so quiet?" Amber looked at them curiously. "Not willing?"

"It's not that we don't believe it—we can't believe it," Scarface Anton said, wearing an expression that heaven only knew was a grin or a grimace. "We know about the founding duke's business down south, but how would a man like that ever deal with the likes of us? Boss, you been drinking shadow potion like water again lately?"

"Figures you lot would have that much ambition," Amber said with a curl of her lip, casually tossing a cloth sack onto the bar. A clinking cascade rang out from within, and as the mouth of the sack fell open, several gleaming gold and silver coins rolled out. They were newly minted, with beautifully perfect symmetrical profiles and smooth curves, and stamped on the obverse was the crest of the Cecil territory. "You don't have to believe my words—but the money's real enough."

The eyes of the several people at the bar went instantly wide.

They rarely had the chance to handle gold coins, but silver they could come by now and then—and Cecil silver was a new currency growing ever more popular in the Southern Frontier of late. The coins were of excellent purity and full weight, and by some casting method or other, every single coin was struck to exacting uniformity, exquisite and flawless. Naturally, such currency found favor with traveling merchants, and with them it circulated throughout the southern regions.

Anton had once been fortunate enough to get his hands on three Ansul silver coins—but those were plainly not as brand-new as the coins Amber had brought. The gold and silver pieces rolling out of the sack bore not a single scratch or smudge; they were so new they might have just come out of the mint.

Anton's heart tightened at once, and a nervous look came over his face as he turned to Amber. "Boss, stealing from a noble's mint gets you hanged!"