Fitting Right In

"What'll it be, Sire?" the minotaur bartender finally asked Trent in a not-so-favourable tone that came out as a growl, after his red gaze had been lingering on him and his bird hopping on the bar counter.

'Sire?' Trent thought. 'System? Why would he call me that?'

[The honorific, Sire, is usually addressed to high Elvarian, Infernian, and Aetherian Mana Keepers and Essence Channellers]

'But I'm a human,' Trent indicated.

[They do not know that. Elves, Devils, and Aetherians have humanoid figures, and with you behind a mask, it's justifiable they'll regard you as either Elvarian, Infernian, or Aetherian]

[And plus, human players are known to have zero Mana, but here you are, saturated with it]

Trent nodded and pointed at a random bottle in the cabinets. The huge male minotaur with horns that curved once turned with a scoff to get the drink, in a reluctant, disobedient manner. Trent noticed his muscular arms had a few swirling tribal tattoos. He quickly [read] the male.

Name: Pana-agen

Race: Taurian

Role: Former Leader of A Vanguard

Manifestations: Seven

Beasts Tamed: None

Essenced equipments: One

On glancing around and [read]ing everyone else, Trent noticed that the minotaur was indeed the best Essence Channeller in the inn, except for him. Perhaps that was why he had so much morale to act so coldly towards Trent. Trent scoffed, taking a moment's glance at a sexy female devil who was leaning on the counter, speaking to an elf. Her boobs pressed against the counter  and her red tail was flicking impatiently beneath her glossy black coat. Although she was speaking to the elf, who seemed handsome on his own, Trent could feel her gaze lingering on him.

"This would be 25 Shards,...Sire," the minotaur rumbled, slamming a goblet containing the drink Trent ordered on the counter before him. It created a loud noise that startled Claw, who flew and perched on Trent's shoulder, silencing everyone momentarily.

Trent stared at the milky liquid before him, the red glow from his visors reflecting on it. '25 Shards, heh?' He glanced around, spotting other indigenes with goblets before them as well. He didn't want to act greedy, but was this minotaur trying to overprice it? From the Denomination he had learned, these indigenes don't look like they could easily cough up 25 Shards for just a drink.

"That price is a bit high, don't you think?" Trent asked politely.

The minotaur's face contorted with anger, and he slammed his fist on the counter, almost toppling the goblet. "Do not question our prices, Sire!" he snarled, his red eyes blazing. "This is no ordinary inn of The Square! And you, Sire? You are no ordinary guest! Pay the 25 Shards, or find your bloody bounty drink elsewhere!"

Trent was astonished, not only by the male's outrage, but by the white energy, like a flame, that surrounded his fist. It seemed like he was Manifesting his Essence, and by the surprised faces of the indigenes, it didn't look like a good thing to display towards a Sire.

Another minotaur, a female this time, rushed behind the counter to calm what seemed to be her partner. Minotaurs are generally very ugly, but with definite facial features, their ugliness could be pardoned when compared to ogres and gnomes. The females had horns curved twice like those of a ram. "Pardon my husband, Sire. He's been picky since his retirement and is worn out from The Turmoil."

[The Turmoil is a term used by the indigenes to refer to the unravelling chaos]

"No, it's okay," Trent replied. It seemed Sires were well-known for stable self-finance, and who was he to condemn this male minotaur for overpricing? "In fact, I'll pay for everyone's meals and drinks," Trent said, undeploying his Invisibility Perk, and a bag of shards appeared on the counter.

The female minotaur's face flushed with surprise. "Are you serious, Sire?" she asked, equally surprised at the unfamiliar magic he had manifested.

"Yes," Trent replied, pushing the bag towards her and picking up his goblet. He raised his goblet and faced the indigenes. He had no words to proclaim for the toast he was about to give, but his system informed him. "Vortaal!" Trent hollered.

It took a while, but after a few seconds of silence, an ogre raised his goblet as well. "Vortaal!" "Vortaal!" they chorused with jubilation as food and drinks started piling in.

Trent took a glimpse of the male minotaur, whom his wife was pushing into the kitchen behind. The male had a stunned, surprised, yet arrogant expression. Trent only scoffed as he shook the milkish drink in the goblet. Suddenly, some humanoid females started crowding him, mostly devils. They made purring and silent moans, suffocating him with their heat while keeping a reasonable personal distance.

From what Trent had just learned, Darth Assassins like him were extremely feared and would never pull off what he had just done. These females, seeing the amount of money he had gifted, didn't waste time doing what females do best. Trent wanted to lie to himself that he didn't find them alluring, but that was almost impossible.

The devils' black dresses clung tightly to their curvaceous figures, with V-cut collars revealing the reflective upper surfaces of their busts. The dresses were short enough to reveal what was between their legs if they bent low enough. Nonetheless, their tails danced seductively, coiling in the air.

Trent pretended to sip his drink, though he wasn't actually drinking. He could retract the mouth area of his Crimson Knight skin and take a sip, but he didn't want to reveal human lips. He waited for the bartender's wife, acting uninterested in the swaying boobs and long legs that he occasionally glimpsed from the side of his visors.

"They are the finest in the outskirts. Don't you want one, Sire? Two, three, or perhaps all? Whatever your demands, they shall fulfill them," the female minotaur said with exuberance as she returned to the counter.

Trent shook his head in reluctant refusal. He had come into this inn to socialize, learn more about this world on his own, and most importantly, make progress with the first quest the goddess had given him.

"I see," the wife said and nodded at one of the devils. "Get her here."

The ordered devil grunted and stomped away.

Trent acted as if he hadn't heard her command, pondering how to ask his questions without raising suspicion. He needed to inquire like a seasoned Bounty Hunter, a Darth Assassin, rather than a foreign human gamer unfamiliar with this world.

He leaned in on the counter, ready to execute a perfect social conversation like he did best on the internet, though never in real life. "I keep hearing tales, some cautious activities and conversations going on in these outskirts. I hope this block ain't part of it?" he asked the minotaur.

The female's eyes twinkled with anxiety before quickly transitioning to concerned interest. This was indeed what Darth Assassin Sires were known for: always fishing around to execute the commands of the Darth Lords. "Aye," she said. "There's no shortage of tales in these lands. It's always about what the tale is. May I ask, Sire?"

Trent decided to go straight to the point. After all, for Darth Assassins to be so feared, they likely didn't appreciate delays. "The Orb of Permanence."

The minotaur's expression grew more concerned. She slowly drew her head back, eyes fixed endlessly on Trent's impassive visors. Suddenly, her eyes began to waver and finally widened in relief. "Oh, there she is, Sire," she exclaimed, diverting the conversation.