### Chapter 38: The Tavern (Part 2)
Honestly, I didn’t even need to say much.
The moment I unleashed the Power of Order, those drunkards squealed and shot up from their tables, their faces now painted with shock and fear, completely abandoning their previous enthusiasm for the spectacle. They clearly understood what that meant—this was no ordinary fight you’d find in Jasmine Lane.
In this city, anyone with the Power of Order is not someone they can mess with or provoke. Stirring the pot could genuinely get you killed here.
Those closest to me were already scrambling away from their seats in a panic.
The night was still young—the majority were tipsy but not so far gone that they couldn’t tell which way was up. Just as I extinguished all the candles on the first floor, their survival instincts kicked in. They turned and pushed off each other, someone knocking over a table in the frenzy, while another snatched a bottle from a neighboring table. They rushed toward the exit in a chaotic stampede.
I decided to ignore the mess around me.
Glancing back at Barry, who looked somewhat dazed, I tilted my head, gesturing for him to follow me, and made my way around the bar to an old wooden door in the back that seemed to lead to the kitchen. It probably connected to another exit of the tavern. The door was half ajar, and I recalled that the man who was beaten up this morning was carried out through here. There was a faint light beyond the door, but it was eerily quiet; I couldn’t hear a thing.
The maid must have bolted from here…
I guessed, pushing the door open with a creak and stepping inside.
As soon as I entered, the scent of bl**d hit me like a freight train.
Since I had blown out all the candles downstairs, the kitchen, although cramped, was dimly lit by just two flickering candles hanging over the butcher’s block. The flames danced as if they might snuff out at any second, but they cast a hazy light, barely illuminating the grim outlines of a dirty tavern kitchen.
Greasy stewpots, an oven caked in coal dust, and a small table piled haphazardly with unwashed plates and pans—it was a real mess. Not far from the butcher’s block, there were still some bloodstains from the previous butchery; even the block had chunks of meat heaped on it, with flies buzzing around like they were throwing a party.
However, I didn’t see a single butcher’s kn*fe.
Not a soul was in sight…
I suddenly remembered the few men I had killed earlier upstairs; one of them had been wielding a butcher’s kn*fe. They must have been the ones preparing meat.
It seemed that a little gang, headed by a maid, was running this tavern while indulging in some less than savory activities on the side—most likely involving women.
They had pegged me—the “lonely drifter who wandered here, ready to struggle on my own”—as their next target… Ha!
You really should get your eyes checked.
As I quickly scanned the kitchen, I maneuvered around the hanging meat hooks, not bothering to linger, until I spotted another door ahead that seemed to lead to the alley outside the tavern. I hurried towards it.
“Gak—”
Suddenly, I heard Barry retching behind me.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, turning my head just enough to keep moving.
“N-nothing…” he replied, pinching his nose as if the smell was assaulting him: “This place… reminds me of some bad memories… I feel like I might throw up… Sorry…”
“Why apologize? That woman’s getting away!”
The kitchen’s back door was wide open; someone had clearly made a hasty exit. If I let her slip into the alley, finding her again would be a real hassle…
I stepped outside, and indeed, I found myself in the alley behind Jasmine Lane—where winding paths veered off in every possible direction. Under the thin moonlight, even the shifting shadows were hard to make out.
I closed my eyes, straining to hear, hoping to catch the faint sound of the maid’s fleeing footsteps among the cacophony of noises in the air.
Where do you think you can run off to?
“Xi… sister…”
But then I heard Barry calling me from behind.
“What is it?” I couldn’t help but open my eyes, eyebrows furrowing.
He almost shouted my name again…
Turning back, I saw that the boy hadn’t followed me outside; he was standing in that foul-smelling kitchen, staring blankly at the bloody butcher’s block.
…?
I walked back.
“Barry, what are you doing just standing there?”
“Look at this meat…”
He pointed at the chunks of meat, turning to me with a shaky voice and trembling finger. The dim light reflected off his pale face, making his expression look quite peculiar.
What’s wrong with the meat?
I leaned down beside him for a closer look at the meat chunks.
The flesh was cut with the skin still attached, but the bones had been removed. I couldn’t tell which animal it came from, and the unprocessed yellow fat beneath the skin was a bit gross, but the meat was undeniably fresh… wait a second.
The color of the fat… and the texture of the skin… why does this feel…
A bit like…
I looked up and met Barry’s shocked eyes. I saw the same realization mirrored in them.
Are you kidding me?
I suddenly grabbed a nearby spatula, stirring through the meat chunks, staring at the nearly thumb-sized pieces, their dark yellow skin shining in the candlelight. Beneath my mask, my face darkened further.
d*mn…
Clang!
Suddenly, from the darkest corner of the kitchen, I heard a faint noise.
It sounded like something had clattered against the wall, echoing from beneath the floorboards, near a pile of hay. I shot my gaze up and saw Barry had heard it too; he yelped in surprise, stumbling back a couple of steps.
“Shh!”
I quickly gestured for him to be quiet.
“What was that noise…” he asked, looking uncertain.
“Let’s go check it out.”
I waved him to follow and dashed over to the corner, pushing aside a handful of hay. Barry had grabbed a candle from above the butcher’s block and came over, the flickering light illuminating the dark corner of the kitchen. There, I spotted a wooden panel with a lock, obviously the entrance to a cellar, sticking out of the rotten, filthy floorboards.
“What is this…?”
“Back up.”
I gently nudged Barry back as I geared up to break the iron lock with force. Upon closer inspection, though, I realized the lock was already open—it just needed a lift at the edge of the panel, and the cellar entrance opened up, revealing a hole barely large enough for an adult to squeeze through.
“…Give me the candle.”
I snatched the flame from Barry’s hand. Once the wooden panel was fully opened, I wasted no time in stretching my legs into the pitch-black hole, stepping onto the firm earth below and bending to hold the candle high, gradually sliding down the slope into darkness.
