Don't Interrupt My Meal (2)
Surviving the battlefields of the Middle Ages inevitably meant confronting abysmal supply lines. A proper feast was something you only encountered in dreams. Wilted vegetables. Bread so hard it could crack teeth, forcing you to soak it in saliva before every bite. Gamey jerky that demanded you wrap your teeth in aura just to tear off a piece. He had choked all of it down without complaint simply to stay alive.
That was why he could not tolerate the exquisite spread before him being ruined.
He climbed to the second floor in search of the bastard who was worse than a dog that had knocked over a man’s meal.
“Sir, you can’t… please stop right there!”
The inn’s servers rushed forward to block the bloodthirsty William, but one glare from him made them tuck their tails like beaten hounds and retreat. None of them wanted a spoon embedded in their skulls.
That’s him.
His gaze settled on a corner of the second floor, screened off by thin curtains. Clearly a VIP seat. From behind the fabric came a constant stream of raucous noise.
William fixed his eyes on that spot and began walking.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Unlike the noisy VIP area, the rest of the inn fell deathly silent. The thick killing intent rolling off William was to blame. A few patrons were already panting, on the verge of hyperventilating.
Customers who noticed him heading for the disruptive VIP section parted like the Red Sea, watching nervously. Some observed him with open curiosity.
“A Westerner…?”
“His aura is terrifying.”
But William, rage boiling over, noticed none of it. He strode forward and yanked the curtain aside.
Still gripping the spoon tightly, he glared at the fools who were still brawling without a shred of awareness. Six young men who had only just passed twenty stood before him.
They were tangled together, throwing punches.
William’s eyes swept over the scene.
Two against four, huh.
“Who the hell are you?”
The six looked up at him with glazed, drunken faces. William clicked his tongue.
So they got drunk and started a riot.
“You oversized monkey bastard, didn’t you hear me ask—!”
The insult was cut short. William had already seized the man by the collar and lifted him clean off the ground.
“Are you the one who threw that person?”
“Hey, hey! You beanpole bastard, let go! Do you even know who I am? Want me to toss you like that other guy?”
William’s gaze shifted to the punk’s raised hand. A faint trace of inner energy flickered there. For a mere thug, the boy had received decent training.
“I don’t care who you are. From this moment on, you’re just a student about to receive table-manners instruction from me.”
“What?”
William’s arm blurred, swinging down in a single ruthless arc. The thug’s face slammed into the table with a sickening crunch.
“Yang-geon!”
“You son of a bitch! You want to die? Do you have any idea who we—”
“Too much talking.”
William reached out with his left hand toward the jabbering fool. There was nothing mysterious about the motion—it was a simple, straightforward grab. The thug’s friend immediately tried to draw inner energy from his dantian.
This Westerner doesn’t know his place…
Under normal circumstances, he would have realized what was happening the moment his friend’s face was planted into the table without resistance. But the boy was already too far gone in his drunken rage for rational thought.
Soon after, the Silver Concealing Hand technique unfolded from his palm.
It was his signature move. His hand traced a curving arc, spinning as it shot toward William’s wrist.
Cute tricks.
Tricks meant nothing before overwhelming power.
William cloaked his hand in aura and swatted the incoming strike aside with the back of his hand.
Naturally, a mere thug’s skill could never withstand a hand wrapped in aura.
“Aaaagh! My hand!”
The boy clutched his hand and screamed. It had swollen like a club had struck it; anyone could see the bones were broken.
“Every last one of you lacks discipline.”
“I-it wasn’t me! Great Hero, sir!”
“M-me neither!”
The relatively sober thugs who had been watching the situation jumped to their feet and shouted. They looked like fresh recruits who had just received a dressing-down.
William ignored them completely. He grabbed the first young man he had slammed into the table by the scruff and lifted him. Blood poured from both of Seok Yang-geon’s nostrils as his eyes rolled back.
“Discipline must be taught to the undisciplined.”
“Y-yes, of course! Great Hero!”
The fat thug who was friends with Yang-geon rubbed his hands together, desperately deploying every flattering trick he had learned over the years to avoid the same fate. The survival instincts he had naturally developed while clinging to the coattails of the local gang leader had fortunately saved his life.
“W-we’ll just—”
“Sit.”
“Yes!”
The brawling thugs instantly plastered docile smiles on their faces and sat down as if they had never fought at all. Once they were seated, William addressed the fat one who had spoken first.
“You. Explain what happened here.”
With that, William casually claimed a seat, flipped Seok Yang-geon over, and positioned the young man’s head on the table. While everyone was still wondering what he intended, William pulled out the spoon and pressed it against the boy’s forehead.
What is he going to do with that…?
Thwack!
“Aaaagh!”
Seok Yang-geon’s scream echoed across the second floor of the inn. It was loud enough to reach the first floor, prompting the Hainan Sect party to rush upstairs in search of William.
Regardless, William began raining steady blows on Yang-geon’s forehead with the spoon.
“Aaaagh! My forehead! Stop! Stop it! I’m Seok Yang-geon of the Seok Family Manor… aaaagh!”
Thwack!
Thwack!
Thwack!
No matter what nonsense the boy spouted, William kept his chest pinned down with his left hand and continued drumming on his forehead with the spoon. Each impact produced a cheerful thwack that mercilessly rattled Seok Yang-geon’s skull. Since the weapon was only a spoon, there were no injuries beyond a bright red forehead, but the pain was impossible to ignore. Every rhythmic thwack was accompanied by another scream.
Whether the boy screamed or not, William asked the fat thug again.
“What happened?”
Thwack!
“Aaaagh!”
If I don’t answer quickly, I might be next!
The fat thug swallowed hard. He finally opened his mouth and began explaining why they had thrown a man from the second floor.
“W-well, you see…”
Thwack!
The fat thug’s explanation was long-winded but clear enough. By the time William had delivered well over a hundred rhythmic spoon strikes, he had grasped the full situation.
“So you’re the young masters of the Seok and Baek families—well-known houses in Seomun Prefecture—along with your friends. You got drunk, picked a fight, and started brawling. Is that it?”
“Y-yes, exactly!”
“How proud you must be, you idiots.”
“If my father hears about this…”
“Want a few more hits?”
William thrust the spoon in front of Seok Yang-geon’s eyes. The same spoon that had been mercilessly pounding his forehead made the young man flinch violently.
“N-no, sir!”
Any more and I might actually die!
“…Elder Baek?”
Having confirmed the situation was mostly resolved, Elder Baek-hyeon cautiously called out to him. Only then did William’s expression soften. He turned, stood up, and offered a respectful nod.
“Ah, Elder Baek-hyeon. I lost control of my anger and acted disgracefully.”
“Not at all. Correcting the manners of young people is precisely what us elders should do, isn’t it?”
Elder Baek-hyeon? The warriors of Hainan Sect are with him? Why is Hainan Sect accompanying a Westerner…? And they called him Great Hero?
Elder Baek-hyeon’s gaze shifted toward the troublemakers from the Seok and Baek families. Though not as furious as William, he was clearly irritated. The moment his sharp eyes swept over them, the young thugs felt chills run down their spines.
“I will be sending an official complaint to both the Baek and Seok families about this matter.”
“Pardon?”
“Do you think your fathers raised you to behave this way?”
“P-please, not that!”
The young men’s faces turned deathly pale.
Receiving a complaint from an inn was one thing. Having a direct complaint delivered by an elder of Hainan Sect—one of the Nine Great Schools that everyone in Seomun Prefecture knew—was an entirely different level of disaster. Moreover, Elder Baek-hyeon was personally acquainted with their fathers.
We’re finished!
But there was nothing they could do. No matter how privileged they were, they had been caught red-handed. The only option left was to return home quietly and await punishment.
“Go home and wait for your punishment. Also pay for the damages to the inn.”
“Yes…”
The local thugs of Seomun Prefecture slumped their shoulders and hurriedly fled Clear Stream Inn.
“Thank you for your help.”
“Think nothing of it. I, too, was angry that our long-awaited feast was disturbed.”
Elder Baek-hyeon chuckled warmly and suggested they return to their seats. William gave a small laugh and nodded.
Now he could finally enjoy a peaceful meal.
“A Western expert, huh? Where did someone like that come from? Hey, do you know anything about him?”
“If I knew, would I keep my mouth shut? You know I can’t resist spreading interesting stories.”
“True, that’s exactly like you.”
“A Westerner connected to Hainan Sect? How curious.”
“Since Elder Baek called him Great Hero, maybe he’s done the sect a great favor?”
The second-floor patrons who had watched the entire affair began chattering among themselves, stealing glances at the Westerner eating on the first floor. And that day, rumors of the Westerner who had appeared alongside the warriors of Hainan Sect began spreading through Seomun Prefecture like wildfire on the wind.