Catherine finally understood why the elven elders had always advised against her leaving home.
Even disguised as an orc, she was still a stunning beauty in the eyes of orcs.
Originally, Catherine had simply stood blankly beside Anbaixiu, wanting to listen to how he chatted with the bartender. Before she had stood there long, however, she noticed quite a few patrons in the tavern staring at her, which made her thoroughly uncomfortable.
Had she slipped up somewhere?
Trying to observe the orcs inside the tavern, Catherine soon identified her problem: she wasn't crude enough.
Not a single orc stood the way Catherine did; their postures were always curved or slouched. Sitting at the bar, they would hunch over with elbows propped on the counter; sitting in a chair, they would lean far back and splay their legs as wide as possible; even while standing, they always found something to lean against, radiating an aura of careless nonchalance.
Catherine, by contrast, had elven habits. She kept an elegant posture at all times, core stable, never slumping or sprawling—for an elf, lacking proper posture while standing or sitting was considered exceedingly impolite.
Catherine assumed this was why she drew so much attention.
Thus, she decided to try and adapt.
Catherine looked around and prepared to find an empty seat. Leaning back against a chair with legs splayed out shouldn't be beyond the abilities of a legendary ranger.
However, Catherine had no idea she had just seated herself at a gambling table.
At first, Catherine thought the orcs throwing dice were just playing some casual game. That was until a dark-skinned orc reeking of newly acquired wealth walked over and said quite bluntly, "Hey, gorgeous, fancy a round or two?"
Catherine was nearly blinded by the gold rings on his fingers and his gold-inlaid tusks, and the stench of alcohol wafting off him made her brow furrow tightly.
Facing this dark-skinned orc, Catherine rejected him decisively: "No, thank you. I don't know how to play."
In elven custom, this was already an unequivocal refusal, and the other party was supposed to gracefully back off.
To an orc, however, not knowing how to play simply meant: Then I'll just teach you!
The dark-skinned orc guffawed loudly. "Don't worry, any losses are on me!"
The loaded big spender grabbed a handful of chips and moved to shove them into Catherine's hand, looking to caress her hand in the process.
For some reason, even though this female orc didn't quite feel like an orc, looking at her longer made one realize she was breathtakingly beautiful, possessing a loveliness that transcended mere physical appearance.
Orcs were accustomed to straightforward things; to them, pretty was pretty, ugly was ugly. Yet this female orc made the wealthy patron think of the word "grace."
Yes, an unmistakable grace—she possessed a unique presence that set her apart from everyone else, unforgettable at first glance.
Such a woman made the loaded orc's heart leap, leaving him eager to shower her with money. With other women, tipping only came after taking full advantage of them; merely brushing fingers would never have been enough.
But wanting to fondle the hand of a legendary ranger was far too unrealistic.
The loaded orc didn't even catch Catherine's movement; his grasping hand caught nothing but thin air.
"Don't be shy! Come on, I've got plenty of chips here. Let me show you how to play. If you win, keep it; if you lose, it's on my tab."
The wealthy fellow moved to sit beside Catherine as he spoke, determined to win over this uniquely alluring beauty no matter how much gold it took today.
Yet how could there be only one high roller at the same gambling table?
Several other orcs had spotted Catherine as well, feeling her special charm just the same. Who could resist such a rare beauty?
Another loaded patron barked at once, "You have the nerve to bring out that pocket change? Hey beauty, come over here to big brother, all this is yours!"
Chips representing hundreds or even thousands of gold coins were tossed out carelessly—this high roller seemed to pack even more financial punch.
Catherine was thoroughly baffled. It wasn't as if she had never been pursued by men, but in the past, they had all been elves. Furthermore, as the Elven Queen, who would ever dare act so uncouth in her presence?
This tactic of throwing money in someone's face exasperated Catherine to no end, tempting her to pull out her own purse on the spot.
What were a few hundred gold coins? Her private savings were measured in tens of millions!
However, the second big spender's shout was loud enough to quickly draw the attention of the other patrons.
And then... even more orcs noticed Catherine's existence.
One after another, orcs looked as if Cupid's arrow had pierced straight through their chests; those with money whipped open their purses, while those without began flexing their muscles, intentionally or otherwise.
Wealth and strength—the most traditional ways of an orc's courtship.
The commotion drew looks from patrons of other races throughout the tavern, many of whom promptly fell into deep contemplation: they actually found this female orc remarkably delicate and attractive... Had the tavern served them tainted ale?
Catherine panicked. What did all these foul-smelling orcs crowding around her think they were doing?
The flustered elven girl had no choice but to look to Anbaixiu for help, her pleading gaze meeting Anbaixiu's just as he finished his business.
Anbaixiu sighed. He held open his left palm, clenched his right fist, and slammed it hard into his palm.
Anbaixiu: *Understand?*
Catherine: *Huh?*
Anbaixiu rolled his eyes. He had forgotten that this girl was a total rookie, not one of the old hands he used to travel with, and had no clue what the gesture meant.
Anbaixiu had no choice but to mouth to Catherine: "Beat the crap out of them!"
Because female adventurers were rare, in places like taverns, a harassed female adventurer held the right to unlimited retaliation.
Even if someone got beaten to death, there was no room for complaint—they were all adventurers living on the edge of a blade; if you couldn't beat a woman, you deserved whatever came to you.
This unequal convention, laden with machismo and prejudice against women, was standard across the continent.
Catherine couldn't decipher hand signals, but she understood his mouthing.
Her eyes narrowed. As yet another wealthy orc tried to grab her hand, she unhooked the longsword at her waist.
Striking second but landing first, the scabbard whipped across the orc's face.
With a sharp crack, the loaded orc went flying, his eyes rolling back midair.
After spinning three and a half times in the air, the unlucky fellow smashed through two tables. Half his face was swollen like over-fermented rye bread, and one of his tusks was snapped clean off.
Half his face swollen, a tusk broken. The sheer force shocked the entire room.
Dexterity was a ranger's primary attribute, but Catherine had an absurd excess of magic gear; the strength granted by her equipment was enough to arm-wrestle a hill giant.
Such savage, domineering power startled everyone in the tavern.
It was as though Catherine had entered a berserk frenzy. Any orc attempting to take advantage was smacked flying, shattering table after table.
She remained restrained, keeping the longsword sheathed and merely striking with it. Her exquisite martial prowess was more than enough to crush this mob of orcs.
As one burly orc after another was sent flying, cheers erupted through the tavern.
"Nicely done!"
"Great hit!"
"Boss lady! Let me follow you!"
"Drinks on me!"
...
None of the onlookers ever minded a bigger spectacle. Bathed in the waves of cheers and compliments, Catherine began losing herself in the excitement, the corners of her mouth curving up involuntarily.
So this was adventuring? It seemed thrilling and so much fun!
Anbaixiu sat quietly at the bar. Seeing Catherine excitedly downing drinks, he made no move to stop her.
Many whispered in corners, their gazes circling Catherine. Amidst the flurry of flatteries, mug after mug of ale was set before her, flushing her cheeks rosy red.
Even in orcish form, Catherine still made quite a few patrons draw in a sharp breath, making them question their own sense of aesthetics.
The orc bartender calmly wiped a glass. Someone would always pay for broken property anyway—usually the losers—so there was no need to hurry.
Yet after glancing at Catherine a few times, this true neutral orc bartender couldn't help remarking to Anbaixiu, "Aren't you going to warn your companion? A couple of drow are getting ready to spike her drink."
Anbaixiu said placidly, "A tavern brawl is a required course for adventurers. Without experiencing it firsthand, no amount of warning does any good; she'd only blame me for spoiling her fun."
The orc bartender scoffed with disdain, "Tch. Men."
Only then did Anbaixiu realize the bartender was female.
Orcs generally had well-developed chest muscles, and this orc bartender happened to be one of those extraordinarily rare flat-chested orcs; judging by her face alone, one really couldn't tell male from female.
No wonder she was so calm and largely unaffected by Catherine.
Still, for a true neutral bartender to speak up and offer a warning, this Elven Queen's charisma aura was simply absurd. Next time, he might as well disguise her as a skeleton.
Surely no one would get aroused by a bag of bones.
Just as he prepared to see whether Catherine would notice her drink being spiked, a figure wrapped tightly from head to toe approached Anbaixiu's side.
The figure lowered their voice, whispering softly, "Teacher... is that you?"
Anbaixiu turned his head, slightly surprised. "Harvey?"
Harvey pulled aside the scarf covering his face, saying excitedly, "It really is you! Teacher, long time no see!"
Anbaixiu marveled with feeling, "To recognize me like this... Harvey, you've improved again."
Anbaixiu didn't look like his usual black-haired, black-eyed self right now, and his outfit was entirely that of a ranger. For Harvey to still recognize him, his divination abilities must have grown stronger again—it certainly wasn't an issue with Anbaixiu's disguise.
Harvey was delighted. Sitting beside Anbaixiu, he asked, "Teacher, why are you here? Are the troubles in the City of Alchemy resolved?"
Anbaixiu nodded.
"All resolved. Having some free time on my hands, I took a stroll out here to the desert."
"That's wonderful." Harvey traced his fingers through the air, opening a tiny dimensional pocket, and retrieved a small silver-white box, handing it to Anbaixiu.
"Teacher, the phylactery is intact and undamaged. It is returned to its rightful owner."
When they had parted last time, Harvey left carrying Anbaixiu's phylactery and had mentioned coming to the desert, but Anbaixiu hadn't expected to reunite so soon.
Anbaixiu said with surprise, "It seems your progress is even greater than I imagined."
Creating a dimensional pocket directly with magic was not something an ordinary mage could pull off. Harvey had been a mere apprentice mage not long ago; such a rate of progress was astonishing.
Yet thinking it over, it wasn't impossible.
Harvey possessed extraordinary talent, otherwise he could never have figured things out on his own from books to break through as a divination mage. While working for Anbaixiu, he had spent every day reading and taking notes, and supplemented by Anbaixiu's pointers, that guidance had patched up his foundations.
With foundational knowledge solidified and superior talent, a bit of real-world tempering would naturally yield startling breakthroughs.
Many legendary mages had similar histories—appearing completely transformed within a month or two, then advancing by leaps and bounds straight into the realm of legends.
Anbaixiu felt a surge of appreciation for this talent. Having regained the power of divination himself, he was more than qualified to serve as Harvey's teacher now, and grooming a true legend wouldn't be half bad.
"Harvey, do you want to return with me? I can formally take you in as my disciple."
Though Harvey called Anbaixiu "Teacher" all the time, they were not truly master and apprentice yet. A genuine master-disciple relationship was as close as father and son. Anbaixiu had only taken a handful of disciples in his long life, and the previous ones had all perished through various misfortunes.
Hearing Anbaixiu's words, Harvey was first surprised and overjoyed, but soon shook his head. "I'm afraid... it's too late."
Frowning, Anbaixiu asked, "Have you... foreseen your own death?"
Chapter 149