Chapter 96: The Giant Turtle Feast

The restaurant was filled with people speaking a variety of languages, most of which Wright couldn't understand. Judging by their expressions, however, he could guess they weren't saying anything pleasant.

A wooden cup suddenly flew toward Wright's head. He tilted his head to dodge it, and the cup sailed past him, smashing onto the table behind him. The impact sent food flying and spilled wine all over the floor.

"Who's the bastard?!" shouted a man at the table, now drenched in food and drink. Everyone at the table stood up, anger evident on their faces as they looked for the culprit.

Wright took two steps back to clear their view and pointed at a burly man at another table. The leader of the drenched group turned to the man Wright indicated.

"Brothers, get him!" he shouted.

The drunken group launched into action. Some brazenly yelled at the burly man and his companions, others picked up chairs to charge, while a few had already started throwing their cups across the room.

On the other side, the burly man and his group were mercenaries, equally furious after being splattered with soup when Wright cracked open the turtle shell. The man Wright pointed at was their leader. He had been the one to throw the cup at Wright, but seeing the table across from him yelling and advancing, he felt his temper flare.

Drunk and irritated, he stood up, leaning on a companion's shoulder for balance. Just as he was about to say something, a wooden cup flew directly at his head, hitting him squarely. The impact knocked him off balance, and he toppled onto the table, sending food and drinks crashing to the floor.

The atmosphere in the restaurant turned electric. People here weren't exactly known for their gentleness, and many seemed ready to fight at the drop of a hat.

The two groups quickly descended into a chaotic brawl. Nymeria and Tyene exchanged glances with Wright, signaling that it was time to slip away. As the fight escalated among the dozen or so participants, Wright tried to lead the two women out unnoticed. However, one of the spectators suddenly shouted, "That bastard who cracked the turtle is trying to run!"

Immediately, cups and plates flew toward the trio as the bystanders joined the fray. Wright pulled the two women aside to dodge the projectiles, but a man drenched in turtle soup rushed toward them, intending to throw more at them. Annoyed and unwilling to let their newly changed clothes be ruined, Wright acted swiftly. He grabbed the man's wrist, clenched his shirt, and lifted him clean off the ground before tossing him onto a nearby table, which collapsed under the impact.

"You son of a—! Get him!" Another table of diners sprang into action, joining the growing chaos.

More and more bystanders were drawn into the fight, and the commotion quickly attracted onlookers. In this lawless area, brawls were a daily spectacle, an entertaining part of life.

"Ah!"

"It's that bald guy!"

"Where'd he go?"

"Hit him!"

Soup, wine, chairs, and tables flew in every direction, and soon the melee had grown into a brawl involving dozens of people. Wright, focused on keeping their clothes clean, dodged splashes of liquid while effortlessly tossing anyone who got too close. His throws invariably caused chain reactions, with the thrown individuals colliding with others, which only fueled the fight further.

Fortunately, the crowd refrained from using weapons, relying solely on fists and kicks. The regulars of this area, accustomed to wearing swords and daggers from a young age, knew better than to escalate to lethal combat. Even as heads bled and noses broke, they treated the fight as an everyday indulgence.

Wright steadily moved toward the exit with Nymeria and Tyene in tow, clearing a path by tossing anyone in their way. The sheer volume of combatants inevitably led to accidental injuries among the bystanders.

"What are you staring at?"

"What if I am?!"

"That bastard over there dared to steal our business last month—ah! Who hit me?"

The scale of the brawl continued to grow. The restaurant's furniture was entirely destroyed, with every table and chair smashed to pieces. Diners and spectators alike were caught up in the chaos, and some even spilled into the kitchen, overturning pots and pans and using the utensils as improvised weapons.

One man placed an empty iron pot over another's head, prompting a brief pause as everyone nearby stopped fighting to gang up on the unfortunate victim inside the pot, kicking and punching mercilessly.

Elsewhere, someone trapped under a broken table resorted to biting the legs of passersby in retaliation.

The restaurant owner stood in the ruins of his establishment, on the verge of tears. With no hope of collecting payment and everything from tables to cookware destroyed, his anger boiled over. "Kill these bastards!" he roared, rallying his staff to join the fray. Grabbing whatever they could — iron pots, planks, and stools — they leaped into the brawl.

In a place like this, those able to afford the giant turtle dish were no ordinary patrons. Many were mercenary captains, trusted members of large fleets, or wealthy merchants. Though unremarkable elsewhere, they held considerable influence here.

News of the fight quickly spread. Loyalists from their respective groups arrived, either to protect their benefactors or to retaliate. Within minutes, reinforcements poured in from all directions.

Initially, the newcomers tried to break up the fight or pull their comrades out. But the drunken brawlers, unwilling to lose face, kept escalating matters. Wright's habit of tossing people only further inflamed tempers.

"I've had it with those Volantene bastards! Let's get them!"

"Norvoshi cowards! We're not afraid of you. Charge!"

What began as a restaurant brawl expanded into a massive street-wide melee involving over a thousand people. Nearby streets became battlegrounds as more fighters joined, and neighboring businesses either shut their doors in haste or were dragged into the chaos.

Residents living above the shops watched the spectacle from their windows, throwing random objects down to add fuel to the fire, further intensifying the disorder.

Tyene, usually the picture of delicacy and gentleness, was no stranger to combat. Having trained alongside her sister from a young age, she had no reservations about unleashing her strength. Without modern concerns like manicured nails to worry about, her punches were full-force and relentless. Even as her knuckles split and bled, she pressed on, indifferent to her own pain. Each swing of her fists left her opponents crumpled on the ground.

"Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!" Tyene exclaimed, grabbing another unlucky soul and pummeling him with the same ferocity.

Nymeria, on the other hand, had honed her skills to near-perfection through Wright's grueling training. In Westeros, her martial prowess was already considered among the best.

Now, unrestrained, she moved with calculated precision. Every kick felled an enemy, every punch targeted vital points in their upper bodies. Her efficiency conserved energy while dispatching opponents swiftly.

At the forefront, Wright carved a path through the chaos. Anyone who stood in their way was seized and hurled aside.

As the trio pushed farther from the center of the initial fight, the participants became increasingly ignorant of what had started it all. Those arriving as reinforcements had heard only fragments: a black-haired Westerosi nobleman, accompanied by two stunning women, had cracked a giant turtle in half with his bare hands, spilling soup everywhere and sparking a brawl.

But as the skirmish expanded, new participants joined with their own assumptions. Some mercenaries thought it was a duel. Sailors believed it was a dispute over trade. Merchants assumed it was a robbery.

Taking advantage of the pandemonium, thieves began pilfering valuables from the distracted combatants. Small bands of resting brigands seized the moment to target pre-selected victims. Meanwhile, the destitute scoured the chaos for anything of value—coins, food, or even scraps of clothing.

The ruined city of Ny Sar quickly devolved into utter bedlam, a boiling pot of disorder where every faction, motivation, and opportunistic crime added to the turmoil.