Runia’s main square—also known as Central Runia.

The three-story brick buildings that huddled around this area were noticeably more opulent compared to the stubbier wooden buildings near the entrance gate. Jesters would occasionally perform acts where they promenade haughtily through the square to dramatize the behavior of nobles. This was, most definitely, the closest feeling of luxury that commoners could experience.

This time, Cere tried to look for an inn that had three floors, with the intention of staying at a room in its third floor. Since there were many public buildings around the area, it shouldn’t have been a difficult task because naturally, inns favored being close to public buildings.

Over time, it became apparent that visitors who planned on staying for long periods had enjoyed the convenience of being near places like bathhouses and banks, which made it a win-win situation when it came to profit.

The inn that Cere decided to enter was called Canaria. She liked that name because it reminded her of Canna, but she knew that the name actually referred to the fleeting nature of guests.

“Hello! Are you looking for a roo—eh?”

The little girl who was substituting as the innkeeper had paused with confusion when she noticed that her customer was also a little girl.

“Hello. I wish to reserve a room on the highest floor.” Cere replied politely as she removed her hood.

Having noticed Cere’s prim behavior, “I see! The cost is three silvers per night! How many nights would you like to stay for?”

“Two nights, please.”

“Okay—six silvers then.”

The little girl behind the counter was the daughter of the innkeeper. She had shoulder-length chestnut hair and appeared to be ten years old. After having looked through a list of guest records and noticing that Cere had placed six silvers on the counter, she replied cheerfully.

“Third floor, room number five! Thank you for choosing us! By the way, what’s your name?”

“I am Cere. Nice to meet you.” Cere tilted her head and smiled.

“Hi Cere! I’m Molly. If you need help, ask me any time, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, Molly.”

Cere paused a little, and then continued, “Um, is your diner open at the moment?”

“Ah… not yet, but it’ll be open in two hours. Come back then, okay? I’ll save a spot for you.” Molly grinned.

This inn was considerably larger than the previous two inns that Cere had visited. Besides the fact that it had three floors, its wooden interior was decorated using a variety of slightly dull-colored bricks. Combined with the fiery light from its multiple fireplaces, the overall atmosphere felt cozy and deluxe. Even the staircase, which was wide enough for four people, was made of high-quality polished wood.

Cere was happy with her room but was starting to feel a little hungry. The diner wasn’t going to open for the next two hours, so she left the inn and looked for a place to get a snack.

After a few minutes, she came across a tavern called “Second Home.” From the outside, it looked quite fancy, so Cere’s curiosity made her want to take a look inside.

The tavern had a comfy wooden interior and was overall a large open space except for the four large wooden pillars that supported the building. Only the first floor had tables for customers, while the second floor was blocked off—it was probably the tavernkeeper’s private quarters.

The tavern was lively—every single table was occupied by customers laughing and shouting with their comrades. The sturdy wooden tables were filled with many different types of dishes, and of course, ale.

With all the tables taken, Cere could only sit at one of the tall wooden stools near the counter. As she made her way there, her petite figure had caught the attention of several customers, who wondered why a child would visit a tavern alone.

Since Cere was the only one sitting at the counter, the tavernkeeper was able to quickly attend to her.

“Hello, I am Jones. What do you desire?” A soothing voice.

Jones was a thin, older man around the age of fifty with silver hair and peachy skin. His formal attire and facial hair gave him a decorous and dignified mien.

Cere decided to go along with his jocose question.

“I wish for… biscuits and milk,” Cere simpered.

Jones replied playfully, “That is quite the onerous wish—but do not fret, for I will grant it in a minute.”

Cere giggled at his cheesy words.

Suddenly, a man at a table nearby shouted repugnantly at Cere. “What the heck is a tiny kid doing ‘ere?”

Cere heard him loud and clear but ignored him.

Then a man next to him chippered, “Ey Boss Rugg, looks like she ignored ya, geheh.”

Hearing his henchman’s impish remark, Rugg immediately punched him in the face, propelling him out of his chair and then falling unconscious. Rugg was a large, muscled, tanned-skinned man who was about six feet tall. Tipsy from his many ales, he continued.

“I said, what da hell is a kid doing here?!” He abruptly stood up from his chair, knocking it away with his calves.

A few of the nearby tables fell silent from Rugg’s outburst. The tables further away noticed the lowered volume of the tavern and fell silent as well. Eventually, the entire building became silent—the attention was now on Rugg, the known leader of a barbarous crew that killed feral beasts in the outskirts for Runia’s guild.

This time, Cere felt the need to reply. But before she could, Jones had returned and spoke instead.

“A cup of milk with biscuits. Enjoy.” He spoke without a care for Rugg and placed a cup of milk and a plate of biscuits in front of Cere, who then formally asked him a question.

“Mister, a customer here is complaining about my presence. Am I allowed to be here?”

Jones, understanding the situation, said, “You are most welcome here, little miss.” He couldn’t resist letting out a tiny smile. And when he looked at Cere’s expression, he became intrigued. Then he continued.

“Now now, let us all enjoy the evening, shall we?” Jones spoke dulcetly with a hint of gibe.

Rugg, feeling downplayed but noticing the attention on him, stomped towards Cere and slapped her cup of milk away from the counter. The cup crashed against a wall before falling to the floor, creating a trail of milk on the wall and a puddle underneath. Then he shouted.

“Yer pretty cocky for a dumb lil’ brat! Looks like I gotta fix you up.”

Cere was devastated… at her poor cup of milk.

Rugg balled up a fist and hurled it towards Cere with the same strength that made his henchman unconscious.

Cere, having already anticipated this, kicked the counter to hastily launch herself away, falling backwards out of her stool and backflipping before landing on the floor in an agile stance. Then she stood up, seemingly unfazed.

The bystanders were impressed by Cere’s dodge, leading to a growing number of cheers that reverberated throughout the tavern.

But Cere was not unfazed in any way. She was thinking quickly, and a lot of thoughts were going through her mind—the situation was plainly disadvantageous.

Rugg was around five times bigger than Cere, so even with all of her training, she couldn’t take him down easily. If Rugg were to land a hit on her, she would become severely injured.

Her command, battle assist, was considered as well. However, it needed three minutes to activate, and by then, the situation would have gotten too out of control. For one, it was unrealistic for her to be capable of putting up a fight against a large, muscled man like Rugg. And two, she would need to dodge numerous times, which meant that there was a high possibility the customers would become part of the fray.

With these reasons, there was only one method left—run away. Retreat.

There was no way that Cere could win. Actually, that’s incorrect—it would be better to say that there was no reason why Cere should win. And so, since Cere was closer to the entrance, she could easily make her escape.

But then—

“Enough.” A new voice.

The cheers died.

Chills ran down Cere’s back—no.

Chills ran down everyone’s back, along with audible gulps.

The deep voice came from a man sitting at the very back corner of the tavern. He was a giant, literally.

On Eyne, there exists a race of giants, and he was one of such. In Runia though, they were uncommon—especially in this part of Runia.

He was nine feet tall, herculean, bronze-skinned, and fully cloaked in a shabby robe. No one had paid him any notice before, but once he stood up, his presence unleashed like a fire ignited.

Everyone, except Cere, recognized that voice. Just hearing him utter “enough”, was indeed, enough—defiant thoughts were merely a catalyst for castration.

Cere instinctively backstepped away from the giant and stood against one of the large wooden poles. Rugg’s menace had become nothing.

The giant simply looked at Rugg and said, “Out.”

And Rugg scampered out. The henchmen at his table also followed suit, except for the one that remained unconscious.

Then he looked at Cere and said, “Follow.”

And Cere followed.

The two were now sitting at the counter. The giant sat one stool away from Cere due to his size.

He then talked in his regular voice, which was as loud as a regular shout, “You guys become dull or something? The show’s over, so start clapping! Well, except for that fool over there.”

The tavern exploded in rowdy cheers. Some were laughing at the unconscious henchman lying on the floor, while others continued their previous chatter.

While Cere was sitting anxiously, the giant spoke to Jones in a low voice.

“A cup of milk for her. On me.” He offered to buy Cere another cup of milk. Her old cup was still on the floor, forgotten.

“Right away sir.” Jones spoke with a slightly puckish tone before leaving to get the milk.

“So, what’s your name?” The giant asked, continuing his low voice so that only those near the counter could hear.

“My name is Cere. W-what’s yours?”

“Borock.”

“Are you… a giant?” Cere’s anxiousness was slowly turning into awe.

Borock paused for a moment before he replied, “I’ll let you off this time, but we hate being called giants. We are gigas.”

—The race of human giants: Giga. The term giant was considered derogatory.

Gigas were typically eight to twelve feet tall and were, essentially, naturally muscled humans with darker skin tones, such as tan or bronze.

Borock continued, “Just like how you huma hate to be called humans, ya know?” He spoke more casually.

“Oh, I see.”

Cere didn’t know that. If Borock was right, then she was referring to the human race in a disrespectful manner the entire time. Cere spoke equivocally in an attempt to hide her ignorance. To Borock, it would have been weird if Cere did not know the preferences of her own race.

“The milk has arrived.” Jones had returned and placed a cup of milk in front of Cere.

Suddenly, the mood darkened.

Borock glared at Jones. “Hey. Jones. Why didn’t you help her?” Borock spoke invidiously—he was referring to Rugg’s violent behavior.

Jones immediately paused. Shortly after, he replied with conviction. “Well. When I saw her face, I didn’t feel the need to.”

Then Borock’s face became serious. “Hoh… really now. That’s quite impressive—” he quickly turned to Cere, “of you, little miss.”

“Umm…” Cere reflexively shifted back on her seat from how close Borock got.

“Oh. My bad.” Borock moved his body back.

Although Cere felt intimidated by Borock, she was still quite curious about him, so she asked—

“Why was everyone so scared of you?”