Starting from Ainz Ooal Gown, simultaneously traveling through time

[Black Plum] Tavern, late at night.

The strong aroma of inferior ale permeated the noisy air.

Gerd sat alone in the shadows of the corner, three large wooden cups already empty in front of him.

He grabbed the fourth glass, tilted his head back, and gulped it down. The amber liquid dripped down his chin, soaking his shirt.

"What should I do... what should I do...?"

His eyes were bloodshot and unfocused, and he kept muttering to himself like a broken phonograph.

That Valyrian steel sword, that sword that symbolized glory and carried His Highness's trust, was foolishly lost by me!

In that embarrassing way...

The thought of his comrades' eyes when they learned the truth, and the possibility of facing His Highness's questioning, almost overwhelmed him with immense shame and fear.

"How can I still have the face... What should I do..."

He tried to numb his nerves with alcohol, but the more he drank, the clearer his fear became.

Just as he was in a daze, the loud conversation of the patrons at the next table, mixed with a few drunken laughs, reached his ears.

One of the voices was particularly loud, with a boastful tone:

"...Hey! Do you know those new longswords those city guards are carrying? Let me tell you, those things aren't simple; they're called the Valyrian Steel Sword!"

Valyrian Steel Sword!

These five words were like a thunderclap, instantly shattering the chaos and intoxication in Gerd's mind.

He abruptly raised his head, his unfocused gaze suddenly sharpening as he locked onto the source of the sound—

He was a guy with unusually long arms, and he was boasting to his tablemate with great enthusiasm.

Gerd's memory was instantly activated.

He recognized that face!

It was the adventurer squad that Captain Kabu had ordered to be secretly observed during the fortress's surveillance.

Their captain was a horned man, very distinctive.

Oh right, it's an adventurer team called [Fangs of the Beast]!

This long-armed man... seems to be one of them?

How did he know about the Valyrian Steel Sword? And why was he so certain about it?

Gerd's heart pounded, a mixture of wariness, doubt, and a desperate urgency like a drowning man grasping at a piece of driftwood.

Instead of reacting immediately, he shrank deeper into the shadows, pricked up his ears, and listened intently.

Dort, the long-armed guy over there, was clearly drunk.

The usual caution and alertness typical of thieves were completely washed away by alcohol, and he fully entered "drunk bragging" mode.

As the saying goes, alcohol emboldens even the most timid.

At this moment, he felt a surge of pride, and he couldn't help but want to share the secrets he had heard from the dwarf Toronto.

"Let me tell you," Dort slammed his hand on the table, spitting as he spoke.

"Those Valyrian steel swords aren't ordinary magical weapons! What's amazing is that everyone has one! Just imagine how extravagant that is! Impressive, isn't it!"

"There's something even more amazing!" He lowered his voice mysteriously, but his volume actually increased due to his drunkenness.

"That sword, it's said, wasn't forged hammered out one hammer blow at a time, but cast entirely from a single piece! Have you ever seen one? Amazing, right!"

The other drinkers at the table were stunned and began to urge him to say more.

Dortmund became even more smug and continued to spout nonsense:

"The hilt, guard, and counterweight are all engraved with dragons! A group of fire dragons flying in the sky, breathing fire and burning the earth—the engravings are incredibly detailed! They tell a story! Impressive, right?"

"There are words on it! It's a lost ancient script, what's it called... Valyrian! One line says 'The glory of Valyria endures,' and another says 'Blood and fire are of the same origin'! Sounds powerful, right?"

"Let me tell you, there's a lot more to this than meets the eye. They say that during the forging process..."

Dort got more and more excited as he talked, and was about to add fuel to the fire by revealing the dwarves' speculations about blood sacrifices and special flames.

"etc!"

A low, suppressed voice, clearly filled with anger, interrupted him.

Gerd rose from the shadows and walked over.

His expression shifted between light and shadow in the dim light, his eyes fixed on Dort: "You, where did you get all this information? You even know the inscriptions on the sword?"

How could an ordinary adventurer possibly know this much about the details of military weapons?

He even knew the contents of the inscriptions that he, the former owner, didn't know.

Dortmund was annoyed at being interrupted while he was in the middle of a whirlwind of excitement, and he glared at Gerd with drunken eyes.

Alcohol completely numbed his sense of crisis.

Instead of recognizing what the other person's military uniform meant, he saw it as a good opportunity to show off his extensive knowledge.

He let out a burp, puffed out his chest, and dropped a bombshell in an exaggerated tone that screamed "I know the inside story":

"That's because... I personally 'took' one to examine! Hehe, once our team's dwarf blacksmith examines it, all the secrets will be clear, right?"

This statement is like pouring ice water into a pot of boiling oil.

The once noisy tavern quickly quieted down around this table.

Everyone who heard this turned their gazes in unison, a mixture of astonishment and amusement, first toward Dortmund, who had uttered such outrageous words.

Then, as if by unspoken agreement, they slowly moved onto Gerd.

More precisely, it was the uniform he wore, which was clearly visible even in the dim light of the tavern, representing the garrison of Lapis Lazuli Fortress.

The air froze for about a second.

The next moment—

"Fuck you!!!"

Long-suppressed anger, the humiliation of losing the sword, hatred for the thief...

All emotions erupted like a volcano!

Gerd's eyes turned bloodshot, and he let out a beast-like roar.

Without any wasted words, a powerful straight punch, like a cannonball, landed squarely on Dortmund's stomach!

"vomit--!!!"

Dort's eyes bulged out, and he vomited the wine he had just drunk, mixed with gastric juices, in a jet-like manner. He flew off the ground like a broken sack.

He slammed heavily against the wooden wall behind him with a "bang," then slid softly to the ground, curled up in a ball, and could only groan in pain.

Gerd stood there, panting heavily, his face flushed red.

Half of it was the effect of alcohol, and the other half was extreme anger.

Having just been swindled out of her precious sword by someone using her beauty, she suddenly overheard a thief in a tavern brazenly boasting that he had stolen the same sword before!

This is blatant mockery! It's like rubbing salt into his bleeding wound!

"You damn thief! I'll beat you to death today!!"

The string of reason snapped completely.

Like a raging bull, Gerd roared as he charged toward Dortmund, who was sprawled on the ground, clearly intending to kill him.

The blow to the abdomen made Dort vomit violently, but it also unexpectedly cleared his head considerably.

The intense pain and nausea dispelled some of the effects of the alcohol, and he finally saw clearly the burly man in front of him, his eyes blazing with fury and dressed in military uniform.

"Misunderstanding! Brother! Sir!" Dort clutched his stomach, his voice hoarse with pain as he tried to explain, his tone distorted.

"I was just bragging! It was nonsense! Don't take it seriously!"

"Bragging?" Gerd paused, his eyes flashing even colder.

"Can you really exaggerate in such detail? You even know about the dragon pattern engraved on the sword and the 'Blood and Fire Origin' inscription?"

"I bet you've already scouted this place and done all the research! We'll take you back and interrogate you thoroughly to see what else you know!"

Before he could finish speaking, another vicious hook punch was aimed at Dortmund's face, which was still trying to argue!

"Bang!"

Dortmund had no time to dodge; he took a solid hit to the cheek, his head snapped to one side, and several bloody teeth mixed with saliva flew out.

His left cheek swelled up rapidly, and he saw stars before his eyes.

"I...I went back!" Dort covered his face and screamed incoherently, trying to make a last-ditch effort.

"I did steal one! But I returned it after I looked at it! You didn't lose anything! The sword was already back to its rightful owner!"

"One minute you're bragging that you didn't steal it, the next you're saying you did steal it and returned it? You never tell the truth!" Gerd's anger flared even more.

"Looks like you won't confess unless I beat you into submission!"

The third punch came right away, this time to the right cheek!

"Bang!"

It's symmetrical now.

Dortmund's cheeks were swollen like over-fermented buns, and his whole face looked much fatter.

The man with long arms, who was originally quite handsome, now looked both comical and pitiful.

Even a clay figure has some earthy qualities, let alone a thief like Dortmund who constantly licks blood from the edge of a knife.

After taking several heavy punches in a row, the excruciating pain and humiliation finally overwhelmed the fear and guilt.

"Just because I have long arms doesn't mean I'm a goblin!"

Dort let out a strange cry and, with some unknown strength, suddenly sprang up from the ground.

Taking advantage of his long arms, he lunged at Gerd with wild, unruly punches, his slender claws trying to scratch the other's eyes.

"Well done!" Gerd was not surprised but delighted.

In a head-on confrontation, who has a professional soldier ever been afraid of?

The two immediately wrestled together.

The tavern erupted in chaos.

"Oh no!! They've started fighting! They've really started fighting!"

"Beat him to death! Yes! Beat him up! That long-armed guy deserves it!"

"Dortmund, you idiot! You petty thief, trying to fight a legitimate military officer hand-to-hand? Have you lost your mind?!"

The drinkers, eager to stir up trouble, cheered and commented loudly.

Indeed, if estimated according to the ranking system in the game, Dort's professional level is far higher than that of Gerd, an ordinary centurion.

Dortmund's level is 24.

The Gerd level is only 18.

But when it comes to straightforward, unpretentious hand-to-hand combat, how could a thief who has put all his skill points into stealth, lockpicking, and escape possibly be a match for a professional soldier who has trained day and night and experienced many life-and-death battles?

The situation was completely one-sided.

Gerdeg parried Dortmund's chaotic scratches and swiftly closed in.

A left hook, a right elbow strike, and a low kick – three clean and crisp movements executed in one smooth motion!

"Bang! Thud! Smack!"

Dortmund was like a punching bag, being repeatedly knocked back until he finally lost his balance and fell heavily to the ground again.

This time, he didn't even have the strength to get up.

Gerd stepped forward, and a heavy military boot landed directly on Dort's chest.

With just a little effort, Dortmund found it difficult to breathe and was unable to move.

"You have lost."

Gerd looked down at him, his voice cold and carrying a chilling calm.

Dortmund lay on the cold, dirty floor, his chest being trampled on, his swollen and deformed face filled with terror.

He saw the undisguised, sinister rage in Gerd's eyes.

"Let...let me go..." he pleaded with difficulty.

"Let you go?" Gerd's lips curled into a smileless arc.

"Come back to the barracks with me and have a good talk. I'll make you tell me every single 'good deed' you've ever done since you were a child, clearly and without missing a single word."

"I have plenty of time and plenty of ways to do things."

That look, that tone, made Dortmund feel as if he had fallen into an ice cave, his blood almost freezing.

He knew that once he was taken away, the consequences would be worse than death.

Extreme fear overwhelmed everything.

With his last ounce of strength, he screamed at the top of his lungs, a piercing, distorted scream directed towards the tavern entrance:

"Captain!!! Help—!! Quack!!!"

(The last sound could be the sound of a tooth being knocked out, or it could be a terrified scream.)

The scream pierced through the tavern's clamor and carried far into the night.