She lowered her gaze and sighed, confusion flickering across her face.
Oren's chest eased beneath her mesmeric tone.
"You moved tables? Was there a problem with the seating arrangements?"
Oren shook his head and smiled, trying to sound reassuring.
"No, no. It was fine… I promise."
Glancing around the room, he continued.
"Actually, I prefer it over there. The cushions are softer, and the seats are much warmer than these stools. Since I'm tired, I'd rather sit in warmth than on something hard and cold."
Am I digging myself into a hole?
There really was no reason to lie to Elyra. It was not as though he had done something wrong.
Even if he had, he was in a gambling den, what was worse than that.
Fine lines creased Elyra's brow.
Noticing the unease on the young lady's face, Oren added with an unhelpful grin, a faint shrug following his words.
"The people around me were just a tad too loud for my liking. Their shouts gradually became vexing, so I removed myself."
She squinted at him, surprising Oren as her accusatory gaze hardened.
Does she know?
Staring back at Elyra, Oren's expression froze.
A faint smile lifted her lips.
Did she think he was antisocial?
But even if she did think that, Oren knew he was not, therefore he did not care.
Still, maybe I should interact with more people and candidates.
"People?"
Elyra's voice echoed, drawing a few fleeting glances.
She does know.
Oren's smile tightened as he glanced across the room.
The place he had first sat remained empty.
No one had gone near it since he arrived.
She knew that too, but instead of arguing, she chuckled.
After a short while, Elyra took a small white menu from Oren's stool, replacing it with an unprofessional mint green leaflet.
She held it up, placed it on the table, then spoke as if rehearsed.
"Revered senior."
"Revered," Oren murmured, interrupting Elyra, but she continued.
"This menu should suit your etiquette, if you are up to the challenge. Go on. Look at the menu."
She watched, amused, as Oren's eyes dimmed while he opened the leaflet.
She waited patiently, her little brown notebook in hand.
As Oren looked inside, he remained composed.
Only when reading the names of the items did his demeanour change slightly.
The names were not dishes, but deals.
Exactly what he came for.
There were dishes in a separate section, however, in one of the unpopular deals that involved betting on how much one could eat.
To him, it sounded strange.
Why was watching someone eat entertaining?
He skimmed over the dishes to the games and other forms of wagering.
Dice, cards, chess, coin flips, betting, and personal wages. Even other games Oren had not heard of, but all required money.
Oren currently had five Mountain Yie.
It was not nearly enough compared to proper wages, even in the outskirts.
Hopefully there was still something he could do. Looking down, beneath the game names was a bold heading.
Premium Deals.
It showed instructions on how each game worked, its benefits, and its cost.
Mostly to persuade the gamblers into sinning even more.
He glanced at Elyra and spoke indifferently.
"I see. This place is not just a humble outskirts restaurant."
Elyra laughed in irony. She had not expected Oren to say something so foolish.
What Oren was going to do, though, was quite humble. He was not going to go big.
But gradually rise.
If he were to gamble, he would choose food. Despite being difficult to earn much, it offered guaranteed benefit.
His gaze returned to the food deals, searching for the most reasonable choice.
The girl continued watching the subtle details of Oren's face, admiring him furtively.
Oren leaned forward, tracing a finger across the item names.
After a moment, he spoke.
"Hmm... I would like the Three Lotus Seed Soups, five Wild Mushroom Stews, two Bloodfire Wines, and four Nine Year Fermented Brews."
He pondered for a moment.
"Aghh, I almost forgot the one BFC stew."
He paused, slighty embarrassed by his, over the top order, noticing the maid's jaw drop slightly.
"Oh, also. These are premium deals, I think."
His voice wavered, but his bright smile concealed the uncertainty.
The waiter jotted down Oren's order with a straight face, startled that such a lean man was eating so much.
Oren did not have one of those things called a beer belly. His frame rejected anything fat.
Elyra looked at him and asked, "That will be?"
"I choose the long-term subscription," Oren spoke over her, continuing.
"The one where the residence takes a sixty-five percent cut of everything I make."
"Yes. Yes, that is the subscription, revered senior. Do you wish for anything else?"
Her face turned a light pink.
Oren shook his head, dismissing Elyra.
She left in an instant, but Oren could already hear the whispers from across the room.
"That boy...! He ordered enough to shock even the waiter."
The group laughed at the rare sight of a surprised waiter.
A strong scent of wine filled the room.
Oren ignored their laughter. He found it amusing.
Unlike the men across the room, Oren found it comedic that he had no money, certainly not enough for this feast.
He had already counted the cost.
Such money he did not have.
The whole meal would have cost him nearly two hundred Mountain Yie. So much money.
How will I ever pay off this debt?
After a few brief moments, he chuckled quietly.
Oren knew that Mountain Yie was the standard currency of the outskirts, and that spending two hundred with no guaranteed profit would seem foolish to the average outskirtsman.
But just like him, many in this establishment, even less fortunate than Oren, were spending far more.
Some wagered their entire weekly wage.
Others their monthly wage.
Most, little to nothing.
Either way, poor or wealthy, he would not discriminate, because tonight he would benefit from both.
He shrugged, glancing at the distant table of numbered red and white cards. He did not know what game it was, nor did he care.
The thought of his meal occupied his mind.
It made him wonder whether the food here even differed from the city. Oren could see that this was a place where citysmen and outskirtsmen ate, drank, and indulged.
The food quality, however, was as much a gamble as gambling itself.
After a few minutes of observing the small crowd, he noticed a few masked men and women in the room.
He was still unsure why their faces were hidden.
In the end he dismissed them completely.
Focusing on Elyra's short figure.
She was across the room, speaking with a small group of men.
Some were betting on anything just to impress the pretty waiter. Others merely for the sake of winning.
His finger slowly tapped against the table, the speed gradually growing with his anticipation.
I am so hungry. To think I have not eaten today.
It was mainly because Oren had rushed to the introductory lesson.
Oren looked toward the false field behind the window wall.
After a while, Oren's food arrived.
On the large wooden tray Elyra held were three bowls of golden lotus seed soup.
Five dark, earthy mushroom stews. Two glowing flasks of Bloodfire Wine. Four stout bottles of aged, mahogany Nine Year Brew.
And also the BFC stew.
The sight before him was a vast spectacle of gluttony and colour.
Elyra bit her lip, stumbling forward. A strained breath escaped her clenched teeth.
"Take it."
The tray's weight was heavy enough for Elyra to struggle.
Noticing his entertained smile, she looked at Oren darkly.
Her movements suddenly became clumsy, exaggerated, urging him to hurry.
In the end, she mumbled, drawing Oren's gaze from the food to her face.
"Take the tray, or I will drop it."
She chuckled at Oren's worried expression.
He looked at her, then the food, then back at her again.
Only then did he realise she was truly struggling.
In the next moment Oren took the tray, an amused smile formed on his face.
Unlike him, Elyra huffed, stretched her loose arms, and walked away, leaving him with one word.
"Enjoy."
Oren let out a deep breath and placed the tray on the table, taking in the glorious sight.
"Divine," the word slipped from his mouth as he smiled uncontrollably.
He beheld the sacred spread.
He had never tasted these outskirts delicacies before, yet he could already distinguish them.
The aroma alone drew the attention of a few distant gamblers.
In the next moment, Oren froze, then flinched at a voice from across the room.
"Senior? Brother. Junior?"
The man's words blurred together.
His dark brown eyes shone with an unfathomable light, not from chandeliers, but from the haze of countless wines.
He was seated across the room, two brothers beside him. He burst into laughter, making Oren squint at his food.
"Let us join you."
Glee filled his voice.
Oren, however, picked up a spoon, pretending not to hear.
The intoxicated man wore plain white robes, loosely and untidily wrapped around his lean frame, as though he cared little for appearances.
The man spoke loudee.
"Ahh, you are going to make me lose my voice, just answer, stop ignoring me."
He suddenly stood, wine bottle in hand.
The fabric hung open as he walked, revealing pale, almost sickly skin.
His face was similarly plain, unremarkable at first glance, yet unsettling the longer Oren looked.
He appeared to be in his mid-twenties.
As the distance between them shortned, Oren found it difficult to concentrate on his food.
Not in worry or fear, but in irony.
He sensed something false about the man's. drunkenness.
As if the slurred speech and clumsy movements were a performance the establishment silently accepted.
Then a loud bang erupted in the centre of the room.
Thud.
Smash.
A faint scent of cheap and expensive wine filled the air.
The bottle shattered on the floor, too quiet to draw full attention.
But loud enough to disturb Oren.
Next came the man's cry.