Chapter 10: Tavern Brawl

The tavern fell silent, all eyes fixed on the confrontation between Drake and the scarred mercenary. The air crackled with tension, thick enough to cut with a knife. The scarred man's face was a mask of fury, his hand gripping his sword hilt so tightly his knuckles were white.

"You think you're funny, huh?" he snarled, taking another step closer, his breath reeking of stale ale and onions. "Maybe I should teach you some respect."

"Respect is earned, not demanded," Drake replied, his grin widening, though a glint of steel entered his eyes. "And so far, all I've seen you do is yell and spill your ale." He gestured to the table with his tankard, a drop of ale splashing onto the wooden surface. "Maybe try hitting something a little smaller next time. Like… a fly. With your forehead."

A low growl rumbled from the scarred man's throat. His companions at the table shifted uneasily, some looking eager for a fight, others looking more apprehensive.

"That's it," the scarred man growled, finally drawing his sword. The blade gleamed in the firelight. "I'm going to make you regret those words."

"Now, now," the bartender interjected, stepping forward. "Let's not have any trouble in here. This is a respectable establishment."

The scarred man glared at the bartender, then back at Drake. "Stay out of this, barkeep," he snarled. "This is between me and this… jester."

Drake chuckled. "Jester? That's a new one. I prefer 'professional instigator.'" He took another sip of his ale, completely unfazed by the drawn sword.

The scarred man lunged, his sword aimed at Drake's chest. Drake, relying on his superior Dexterity, leaned back quickly, narrowly avoiding the blade. The tip of the sword grazed his shirt, leaving a small tear.

*Notification: "Skill Activated: Street Fighting (Level 1)."*

Drake saw his chance. As the mercenary stumbled slightly from his missed attack, Drake grabbed his tankard and smashed it against the man's head. The tankard shattered, sending shards of ceramic and ale flying. The mercenary staggered back, clutching his head and roaring in pain.

*Notification: "Damage Dealt: 15. Critical Hit! Target Stunned."*

"Oops," Drake said innocently, discarding the broken remains of the tankard. "Looks like I spilled some more ale."

The other mercenaries at the table jumped to their feet, drawing their own weapons. The tavern erupted into chaos, patrons scrambling for cover.

"Looks like the party's started," Drake muttered, cracking his knuckles. He surveyed the scene, assessing his opponents. There were four of them, all armed and looking angry. He knew he couldn't take them all on in a straight fight. He needed to use his wits, his speed, and the environment to his advantage.

*Notification: "Quest Updated: Survive the Tavern Brawl."*