CHAPTER 437: THE STAGE IS SET

The Stage is Set

"Hello, travelers," she greeted, her smile warm but professional, "welcome to the Old Wolf Tavern! What can I get for you this evening?"

Leon’s eyes tracked her, observing the sleek ease of her movements, the way she stood with a quiet confidence. She seemed no more than twenty, her long black hair falling straight down her back, catching the dancing flicker of lantern light. Her eyes were dark, shining like polished onyx, keen and watchful, sweeping over the room without a single detail passing them by. Her body was slender yet unmistakably feminine, an hourglass figure suggested beneath the minimal curves of her uniform, her narrow waist and slightly expanded hips defining her as both poised and confident. Each move, each tilt of her head, testified to a person who understood the impact she had on the room, but never forced the charm—professional, polished, precise.

Leon edged to the side, his eyes following her as she approached their table. The tavern around her dissolved, the background din muffled in the recesses of his mind as he itemized her presence—the distant aroma of lavender in her hair, the gentle heat of her smile, and the subtle self-assurance she radiated. She wasn’t at the tavern to flirt; she was here to demand attention, and she accomplished this with ease, gathering both interest and respect on nothing more than nonverbal necessity.

He did not blink at her arrival. In contrast to the women already occupying his table, she had a quiet poise, her loveliness subtle, professional in demeanor as opposed to provocative. Her beauty spoke without speaking. There was about her a calm command, the kind that elicited attention without compelling it. He raised a hand with careless precision. "Bring us something to eat."

The girl nodded almost on cue, her dark eyes flashing a quick glance at Natasha, in search of approval.

Natasha’s eyes locked with hers, piercing but serene, and the girl’s shoulders dropped ever so slightly. The waitress leaned forward with elegant studied ease. "Of course, traveler. What would you like?

Before he could even respond, Natasha’s voice sliced through the momentary hesitation, silky and authoritative. "Bring your tavern’s specialties. Fried green fish, grilled white rhino meat, multigrain bread, and a mug of beer each." She shook her head slightly, stressing the last phrase. "No sharing. One plate per person." Her chin rose ever so slightly, an easy gesture that packed the punch of power, courteous yet impossible to disregard.

The waitress curtsied, a smooth motion, and left. Her movements were light but confident as she glided from table to table, moving through the hot, scented haze of the tavern. Her lips stretched in a broader, sincere smile. "Very well, Miss Traveler. Your plates for you and your friends will be out shortly." With that, she flowed away into the kitchen, leaving in her wake the gentle thrum of expectation.

Leon sat back a little, his eyes drifting over the throng. The tavern hummed with murmur, mug-clinking, an occasional outburst of laughter. He brought his attention back to it, observing every gesture, every cast shift of eyes—but and then the keen, tingling feeling crept along the back of his neck. Someone was being watched. Somewhere. His senses flared, muted but persistent, a quiet whisper on the periphery of his awareness that would not go away. He turned slightly, eyes straining for shadow, figure in a window, lookout above—but there was nothing.

The sun had completely yielded to the horizon, and the streets were lit by the gentle, wavering light of lanterns. Shafts of golden radiance spilled onto the cobblestones, dancing across the uneven stones, throwing long, trembling shadows. Leon’s gaze narrowed as he watched the top windows of the tavern, the rooftop, even the flicker of life in the alley beyond—but still, nothing materialized before him.

He shook his head, attempting to shake the feeling. Odd, he thought, a shiver of discomfort writhing in his chest. I swear someone’s watching... but there’s no one.

Nova, sensing his stiffness, looked at him quickly, her eyes catching his subtle tension. Her voice was so quiet, almost inaudible, though her words held significance. Is everything okay?

Leon gave her a weak, cryptic smile, a glimmer of humor masking the wariness below. "Nothing," he replied, shaking his head slightly. "Just my imagination." The unease hung suspended for an extra beat, like a resounding echo that he couldn’t quite muffle, before he suppressed it, imposing calm into his stance.

Nova allowed a small, knowing smile to play on her lips before letting it die. "By the way, Leon," she whispered, her voice low, almost conspiratorial, "I... and the others, we wish to know your plan. How do you plan to move now, with us already far in the enemy’s capital?"

Leon’s lips curved into a subtle, knowing smile, one that hinted at thoughts unspoken. His gaze drifted first to the lantern-lit windows, spilling warm amber light onto the bustling streets outside, then swept across his companions, their faces alert but unaware of the quiet dangers threading through the night.

"This city," he murmured, voice low, almost a whisper to himself, "is a stage. And we’ve already begun setting the pieces."

The words floated in the air, fragile but weighty, like a threat veiled in verse. His friends looked at him, a fleeting doubt flashing between them, but underneath it was trust—an unworked-for instinct that Leon had won. The scent of food cooking teased their senses, the warm haze of the tavern enfolding them like a temporary sanctuary from the turbulence out there past the door. But outside, on remote rooftops and darkened alleyways, eyes watched them—quiet, steady, deliberating. Something or someone lurked unseen, following every move of the strangers bold enough to venture into Vellore.

Leon pulled back his hood completely, allowing the last wisps of evening light to graze his angled face. He relaxed back, hands entwined, eyes furrowed in contemplation, soaking up the world spinning blindly around him. Every action, every look, every flicker of breeze was a note in the game he had just started playing. And in this moment, peaceful yet electrified, it was certain: it was just the start.