In one of the snugs, Arnold sipped his water, his gaze wandering around the confined space.

  The Snug was, in essence, a private room within the pub. Its entire design served a single purpose: secrecy.

  It was the smallest room in the pub, wedged deep down a narrow, dim corridor.

  Villagers often called it “the Hole in the Wall”. The nickname came from the way the space looked from the outside, for it even had its own side door leading directly to the street.

  It was called the external door, allowing patrons to enter and exit the pub without passing through the main bar at all. Patrons could slip in and out like ghosts through that hidden entrance.

  At first, Arnold didn’t know the term. He only understood when the barmaid introduced them.

  Inside, the room was cosy but obscure. The lighting was minimal, provided by a single oil lamp mounted on the wall. It smelled faintly of old ale, unwashed coats, and the low burn of lamp oil.

  The snug contained only one small table with high-backed wooden benches on either side. The benches enclosed the occupants like a booth, their backs tall enough to block any view from outside. The walls were paneled in dark wood, absorbing sound and light alike.

  Beside him was the service hatch: a small, shuttered opening in the wall that connected directly to the main bar. If a patron wanted to order, they only needed to tap on the hatch. The publican would slide it open, take the order without stepping inside, then shut it again. Absolute privacy. No need for a server to enter the room or overhear anything beyond that hatch.

  Sitting opposite Arnold were only Rudo and Davis; the others didn’t show up.

  To be fair, two of them showing up was an achievement in itself, considering Arnold had technically humiliated them just yesterday.

  “Soo, What information ya want to hear, master?” Before him, Davis asked respectfully.

  “Master?” Arnold raised an eyebrow upon hearing the strange title from Davis. He remembered he was a ‘young master’ just yesterday. Did he just get promoted?

  Davis was a thin man with sunken eyes who looked perpetually half-asleep. His brown hair was tied loosely behind his head. He was clearly the brains of their little group.

  “You beat us fair and square. Since that’s the case, you are now our respectable master,” Rudo replied in Davis’s stead, taking a long pull from his tankard of ale.

  Rudo, on the other hand, was big but short, thick arms and chest stuffed into a ragged vest. A small teardrop tattoo marked the skin on his right bicep.

  Both wore shaggy, patched-up clothing common among the poorest villagers, cloth frayed at the sleeves and dirt smeared across the hems.

  Arnold couldn’t help admiring their attitude. Who told him they were just simple thugs? What gang of thieves behaved like this? Bowing, showing manners, calling him master, and even protecting the villagers from outside threats?

  They acted more like mercenaries on a strange moral leash, abiding by the baroness's rules.

  They all ordered plates of dry meats and a tankard of ale. Yet, for Arnold, he only ordered water.

  ‘That seems delicious.’

  Arnold, or Izzy, who still controlled the vessel, would love to taste the ale too, but knowing this was just a backwater village, how good could it be? She doubted it could match even the lowest quality liquor Benjamin had hidden in the mansion’s cabinet. It would likely be a taste of disappointment.

  Since transmigrating into a different body, it seemed her addiction had been subdued. Although she missed the sensation, her mind didn’t crave it.

  Besides, she had to take care of Isa. That girl could pop into Arnold’s control at any moment. The last thing she wanted was for her to develop a dependence because of her.

  Izzy could already imagine her young mind’s annoying voice crying about liquor without understanding what it meant. It sounded like a headache waiting to happen.

  And this was not a good place to experiment. Izzy had never tasted alcohol with Arnold’s body, so she didn’t know what effect it might cause. It was better not to risk having her mind muddled in the middle of a pub filled with strangers.

  Sitting beside Davis, Rudo crossed his thick arms, the muscles on his forearms rippling under the rough fabric of his sleeves.

  “A loss is a loss. We have our own code, sir. Abiding by the rule of the defeated is one of them,” Rudo said while drinking from his ceramic tankard, ale dribbling slightly down his beard.

  ‘So chivalrous?’ Arnold widened his eyes in mild surprise.

  Davis clicked his tongue in dismissal.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Tch. Speak for yarself, mate. I ain't bound by no vows.”

  Rudo rolled his eyes at Davis’s comment. Instead of arguing, he leaned forward and raised a question to Arnold.

  “If I may make so bold, sir… how in blazes did you best the lot of us yesterday?”

  “Was it just luck?” He murmured.

  Arnold took a moment to consider the question. To be honest, it was not difficult to deal with them.

  “Skill,” he answered calmly.

  “Tch,” Rudo clicked his tongue in annoyance, clearly dissatisfied with the answer. He lost interest and slumped back into the bench, resting his elbow on the wooden wall like a disappointed ox.

  Arnold smirked. Yesterday was merely a test for Arnold’s body. To deal with Rudo, the muscular brute of the group, Izzy had deployed the simplest and dirtiest tactic she could imagine.

  [SLIP!]

  It wasn’t much. Izzy simply needed Isa to use Psychokinesis to nudge his boot ever so slightly, just enough to disrupt his balance. To an outsider, it looked like pure, stupid luck. But it was not.

  Their main body could expend energy to use Psychokinesis within 150 meters, while their vessel could use it within a 15-meter radius. Still, within that zone, subtle manipulation was possible.

  Controlling a human limb directly was hard, incredibly hard. But tipping a foot by a few millimeters during a sprint? That was fairly simple.

  Though, Izzy had to admit, Rudo’s chin hitting Arnold’s hand was purely a coincidence. She had not planned that part.

  As for the other two, their skills were amateurish at best. Izzy had used Psychokinesis to subtly deflect their weapons, throwing off their aim just enough to create fatal openings.

  Even if her Psychokinesis was weaker compared to her young mind’s, it was incredibly effective at close range. Isa had also lent a small helping hand, providing clearer imagery of how to direct the invisible hands, similar to how Izzy aided Isa when she controlled the marionettes.

  Arnold placed a strip of dry meat into his mouth. It was tough, tasteless, a little salty, exactly what he expected from a pub. It felt more like chewing an old leather strap than eating food.

  “Tell me about your group,” he asked, shifting the topic.

  Davis’s smile deepened, the corners of his mouth curling with a hint of pride.

  He rubbed his hands together in a gesture that was half-calculating.

  “Ah, understood, master.”

  He continued, leaning forward with a conspiratorial air.

  “Our group is but a humble tendril of a larger vine, known as The Smile Decree: ‘Teardrop.’ We offer our protection to the villagers, and in return, they pay a modest tax.”

  ‘The Smile Decree, what an odd name.’

  Arnold's eyes twitched, but he remained silent, letting Davis continue.

  “The deal was only extended to the villagers. It does not include the outsiders. That's why folks tend to brand us as thieves.”

  He took a long sip of his ale, wiping the foam from his mouth with a refreshed sigh.

  “We also have a deal with Madam. Mostly common jobs such as resupply, collecting tax, transport supply, clearing out pests, escorting merchants, that sort of thing. You could say we enjoy a… mutually beneficial business relationship.”

  “Hmm.”

  ‘They are clearly hiding something,’ Arnold noted internally, as he remembered the maid from the entrance and her violet eyes. But since it wasn’t immediately relevant to his survival, Arnold let it slide.

  “We’re merely the dregs at the bottom of the barrel. We can’t privy more to the secrets of our organization, I’m afraid.”

  ‘And yet you spill all of this so easily?’ Arnold grimaced mentally.

  If he ever had underlings, he would never trust someone like Davis to keep sensitive information sealed. The man talked far too freely.

  “The boss of our branch goes by the name Danz. Under him were two others from the warrior path, Loyal and Cinder. Our group was mostly at the entry stage, so we mostly only found easy targets to rob.”

  ‘Now it’s getting interesting.’ Arnold tapped his finger on the table.

  “Tell me about the Bless.”

  Rudo paused with his tankard raised midway to his lips and stared at Arnold. Davis also fell silent, both of them giving him the strangest combination of disbelief and confusion.

  ‘What?’

  Arnold furrowed his brows. Why were they looking at him like some peculiar creature they had never seen before?

  Davis snickered into his cup.

  “I knew it. You truly are a different breed of beast, Master!”

  Meanwhile, Rudo’s shoulders slumped in defeat. He dejectedly took another sip of his ale, murmuring into his tankard.

  “Defeated by some Blessless…”

  ‘Oh, I see.’ Understanding dawned on Arnold.

  “I am sorry, sir. But that intel…” Davis trailed off. However, before he could finish, Arnold took out an Alan coin and flicked it across the table toward him.

  He had a strong suspicion that information like this would normally cost a gold coin, if not far more.

  “Of course, anything for you, master!”

  Davis’s smile returned instantly as he snatched the coin from the air and pocketed it.

  ‘...’ Arnold grimaced inwardly. His pocket had noticeably thinned since the first day he entered the village. Now, he had only two Alan coins left.

  “Ehem. The Bless were those who were chosen by the Monarch!” Davis shouted theatrically, placing his palms together in a prayer gesture, before the corner of his mouth curved up in a grin.

  “That is what the church would most likely say. But truth be told, it ain't quite so simple.”

  Davis lifted his leg and rested his boot on his own chair, pointing a finger directly at Arnold.

  “To the outside world, the common folk know us as Bless. It is easier for them to swallow the knowledge that those with extraordinary power are gifted by the divine.

  “But for the inside, the underworld, we carry a different name.”

  He smiled meaningfully, tapping his own chest.

  “The Stagefarer.”

  Prepare for information drop in the next few chapters.