CHAPTER 207: WAGER

Lucas leaned back against the counter, swaying just enough for Selene to pinch the edge of his sleeve in silent disapproval, but he shook her hand away with a lopsided grin. His cheeks burned from drink, his lips curled into the kind of grin that spoke of mischief rather than fury. He was not angry, not even close. No...tonight he was drunk, and he was enjoying every second of the recklessness that came with it. He had not felt this kind of looseness since the days of his old life, in that futuristic world where neon lights and pulsing music blurred the lines between right and wrong. Back then, being drunk had been a way to forget; now, it was a way to let go.

He pushed himself off the counter, steadying his stance more out of instinct than clarity, and raised his voice so it cut through the heavy silence of the room. "I do not care who you are or what coin you have tossed into this inn," he said, his grin broadening, his words sharp though slurred. "If you think your silver buys you the right to refuse me, then step forward and let me see this brave man who dares to deny Xavier."

The innkeeper paled but obeyed. He wrung his hands nervously, darting his eyes to the crowd before motioning toward a corner table where several finely dressed men sat apart from the commoners. They had not joined the merriment earlier, and their table was stacked with fine wine instead of the cheap ale given to everyone else.

Lucas turned his gaze toward them, squinting as if trying to bring the blurred shapes into focus. He then laughed, clapping his hands together with exaggerated amusement. "Ah, so there you are. Hiding in the shadows, drinking wine while the rest of us drink ale. No wonder the best room belongs to you, eh?"

The crowd followed his gaze, and all eyes landed on a middle-aged man with a thick mustache and a richly embroidered cloak draped over his shoulders. Rings glittered on his fingers as he slowly rose, clearly not pleased at being called out so directly. His companions exchanged wary looks, but none moved to stop him as he stepped forward, adjusting the collar of his cloak.

"I am the one who has reserved the chamber," the man said, his voice calm but heavy with authority. "A traveling merchant of high standing, and one who pays generously for respect. And who, may I ask, are you to demand what is not yours?"

Lucas chuckled, then staggered a step closer, pointing a finger at the man as though he had just declared himself emperor of the room. "Who am I?" he repeated, tilting his head back and laughing loud enough to make the rafters echo. He then dropped his voice to a playful whisper, though loud enough for everyone to hear. "I am the man who just bought this entire inn’s goodwill with barrels of ale. I am the man who gave every soul here a reason to smile tonight. That makes me more of a king here than you with your fancy cloak and shiny rings."

The merchant’s brows furrowed as murmurs ran through the crowd. Selene groaned softly, burying her face in her palm. "Xavier," she muttered, her tone a mixture of embarrassment and warning, "must you always stir fires where there need not be flames?"

Nyx leaned forward, her lips twitching with amusement. "I think he is enjoying himself too much, Selene. Look at him. He hasn’t looked this entertained in days."

Lira, trying not to laugh, whispered, "He looks like a wolf who found the henhouse open."

The merchant’s jaw tightened. "You speak boldly for a drunkard," he said coldly, "but bold words cannot replace honor. I will not be shamed in front of these people by some foreign brat who has yet to learn his place."

Lucas leaned closer, his grin widening, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "Oh, I know my place," he said with mock seriousness. He raised a finger and tapped his chest lightly. "My place is in the best room of this inn. Tonight. While you and your rings find another corner to sulk in."

The crowd burst into uneasy laughter, caught between their disapproval of Lucas’s arrogance and their enjoyment of the spectacle. Some clapped at his audacity, others frowned, but all were riveted to the scene unfolding before them.

The merchant’s face darkened, and he straightened to his full height. "You will regret this insult," he warned.

Lucas only leaned back, spreading his arms as though welcoming the entire inn into his joke. "Perhaps," he slurred, "but not before I drink another cup in the best room this place has to offer."

The inn had gone silent once more, all eyes flicking between the wealthy merchant and the drunken foreigner who dared challenge him.

And then, at the innkeeper’s hesitant gesture, the merchant finally stepped fully into the open, revealing himself as a richly dressed traveler whose every feature screamed wealth and pride. A traveling rich merchant, the kind whose name carried weight wherever trade routes stretched.

The richly dressed merchant stepped forward into the full light of the hearth fire, his polished boots clicking against the wooden floorboards, his rings catching the glow as if he were flaunting every ounce of wealth he carried. The murmurs in the inn grew louder now that all could see him clearly. Some whispered his name...apparently he was not just any merchant but one known along the roads of Lechia, a man who traded directly with nobles and even supplied luxuries to the palace. His very presence carried weight, and the common folk lowered their voices out of fear of offending him.

Lucas, however, leaned lazily against the edge of a table, grinning like a man watching a jester rather than an influential merchant. He lifted a cup of ale and took a long swig before slamming it back onto the table, foam spilling over his fingers. "So, this is the great bookee who thinks coin buys respect," he said loudly, making sure everyone could hear. "Tell me, merchant, does your gold buy you courage as well, or only the best rooms and fearful nods?"

The crowd stirred uncomfortably. Some chuckled, others hushed them quickly. Selene tugged at his sleeve again, whispering fiercely, "Lucas, stop this. You are pushing too far."

But Nyx only smirked, her chin resting on her hand as she watched. "Let him," she murmured. "He’s in one of his moods."

The merchant folded his hands behind his back, his composure steady despite the laughter bubbling up around him. "You are a foreigner," he said sharply. "You do not understand how things work in this city. Here, respect is earned with deeds and status, not drunken words and bravado."

Lucas laughed so hard he bent at the waist, holding his stomach as though the man had just told the greatest joke in the world. He straightened again, wiping tears from his eyes. "Deeds and status, is it? Well, I did buy ale for every soul in this inn, didn’t I? That’s a deed. And they raised their cups to me, not to you. That’s status, wouldn’t you agree?"

A ripple of laughter spread through the commoners seated at the back. They were emboldened by drink and by Lucas’s brazenness. The merchant’s jaw tightened, but he held his ground.

"I will not trade insults with a drunk," he said coldly. "But if you insist on testing me, then perhaps we should settle this as men of Lechia do. With a wager."

Lucas raised a brow, his grin widening. "Ah, a wager! Now you speak my language." He swayed slightly as he stepped forward, almost tripping over his own boots, then pointed a finger at the man. "But tell me, rich man, what do you wager with? Another gold ring? A cask of wine? Or perhaps your pride, which you seem to hold tighter than your purse?"

The crowd roared at that, half in laughter, half in shock at the sheer audacity of his tongue. Selene buried her face in her hands with a groan, while Lira clutched her sleeve, whispering nervously, "He is going to get us all killed."

But Lucas was not backing down. He leaned closer to the merchant, his words carrying a mix of drunken slur and sharp edge. "So tell me, bookee, if I win your wager, will you give me the best room in this inn? Or shall I settle for your cloak and rings as trophies?"

The merchant’s eyes narrowed dangerously. He was no longer merely annoyed; he was insulted, and everyone could feel the tension tightening in the air.

The innkeeper wrung his hands, whispering prayers under his breath. The commoners, however, leaned forward eagerly, sensing that something unforgettable was about to unfold.

The merchant finally spoke, his tone sharp as steel. "If you win, the best room is yours. But if you lose, you and your women will serve me as attendants for the rest of the night. Do you accept, drunkard?"

Lucas laughed again, throwing his head back so hard that Selene smacked his arm in exasperation. He dropped his gaze to the merchant, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Accepted," he said simply, as though the stakes meant nothing at all.