The group of armoured men burst through the front door, knocking over a potted plant on their way, they had their weapons drawn.

“Hand over all the gold if you know what’s good for you!” one of them exclaimed as the room fell silent.

Darius sat at one of the tables with the witch, they were both eating turnip soup, it was flavourful and warm, nothing like the dry bread and water they’ve been living off until now.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?!” demanded Emily.

She drew the short sword she kept under the reception desk.

She wasn’t particularly skilled with the weapon.

Not getting a response, the leader of the bandit group, a small, stumpy man with a brown bowl-cut walked up to Darius and grabbed him by the scruff.

The witch didn’t get involved despite the fact the short bandit was literally inches away from her.

Darius moved the spoon of soup closer to his mouth only for it to be slapped away by the bandit.

“Listen to me when I speak, asshole!”

Darius eyed the soup in mid-air, he saw the innocent soup fall to the ground, its warm, creamy texture being sullied by the flavour of dirt and dust.

In a flash, Darius grabbed the man by the hand, twisting his wrist back until it popped, the bandit let out a scream as Darius slashed his sword at him, moments before slicing his neck, Darius decided this random vagabond didn’t deserve to die just yet.

With one well-placed cut that slid all around the short man’s body, Darius removed his clothes, causing shreds of them to rain down as the still-screaming bandit covered his privates.

Darius stepped over the man and walked towards the rest of the bandits.

These weren’t generic alley-thugs, they saw one of their own get humiliated effortlessly, they weren’t about to run to their deaths next.

Some turned to run as others fell to their knees, pleading for their lives.

Darius gestured towards the broken vase; the same one they broke upon entering the inn.

“Clean that up,” he commanded,

“Our angel of a chef…- I mean innkeeper provided us with soup…- I mean a room, and you would ruin this perfectly quiet locale?!” Darius continued.

“He’s really grateful for the soup, isn’t he?” thought Emily as she placed her sword away, breathing a sigh of relief.

“Y-YES!” a few of the bandits cried as they scooped the dirt into their hands, a few tried to piece the vase back together but without any glue it was impossible.

Once the floor was sufficiently clean Darius commanded the intruders to leave, after that he returned to his soup.

“…you got so upset over soup?” asked the witch.

“Of course not, it’s all about them barging in here and disrespecting me,” Darius replied before picking up the spoon that was so rudely knocked from his hands and using it to eat the soup.

“Dude, are you seriously going to eat with the dirty spoon?” asked the witch.

“I’m not going to get sick from some dust,” Darius replied.

He put a spoonful of soup in his mouth.

“Besides, you live in a sewer,” he continued.

“…fair point…” she remarked.

“Are you guys alright?” asked the innkeeper rushing over to them.

Darius turned back to her, “Yeah, those guys were nothing… As in they didn’t even feel like street-thugs…” he remarked.

“What do you mean?” asked the innkeeper.

“Their stances, they were sloppy, if anything someone who had to resort to crime on the streets would be able to handle themselves in a fight,” Darius replied as he continued eating his soup.

“True, but they came here for money, I bet they’re just thieves hoping to intimidate the owner of a lonely inn,” the witch replied.

Darius looked out the window, seeing the stars glistening in the clear sky.

“Probably…”

His gaze snapped back to the witch.

“Aren’t you going to read it?” he asked.

The witch retrieved the index from her bag.

“Of course I am…” she replied.

“There are just so many pages…”

Darius picked his bowl up and well as the witch’s empty bowl, he placed one in the other before bringing it up to the kitchen.

When he returned, he sat down and crossed his arms.

“Could it be the witch of under-town is afraid to face her fate?” he asked with a hint of sarcastic smugness.

“Tch, as if…”

The witch leaned back in her chair.

“I mean, what’s the point of getting worked up over my future if we’re going to kill the you-know-who anyway?” she asked.

“True, true,” Darius nodded.

“Then why are you still holding the index?” he asked seeing the witch holding her hand over the book.

“Huh?” she looked down to her bandaged hands, seeing them holding the book tightly.

“Guess I’m not that logical after all…” she remarked.

“Guess not,” Darius laughed.

He grabbed the book from her hands and opened it, flipping it through its pages until he found his own picture.

“Essential NPC number sixty-seven…” he began.

He skimmed over the first few lines,

“Destined to drown in a bathtub after getting really drunk…” he read over the words several times.

He looked at the date and saw that he was meant to die really soon.

“Tch, as if I’d die in a stupid way like that!” he exclaimed shutting the book as the witch did her best to hold back laughter,

“A fucking bath? Seriously?” she managed to ask.

“Well, it doesn’t matter right now, since we’re going to stop the you-know-who!” Darius replied crossing his arms.

“A fucking bath!? What the hell?” he thought.

He stood up and loudly exclaimed.

“Fine, I won’t take a bath until the day I die!” exclaimed,

“Poor wording,” the witch replied.

“You know what I mean!”