Chapter 4: A Golden Ticket
The tavern was still bustling with noise and laughter, even though it was already well into the night. Tankards clinked, adventurers hollered over stories that were probably 90% lies, and the smell of beer, sweat, and roasted meat filled the air.
Amon wiped a mug with a damp cloth and sighed.
"Just two more hours, and I'm free from this madness."
Fate, however, had other plans.
Suddenly, the tavern doors creaked open. A gust of cold air swept inside, and with it came... a hooded figure.
The moment they stepped inside, the atmosphere froze.
The laughter stopped. Glasses paused midair. Even the guy who had been in the middle of bragging about slaying a two-headed bear suddenly shut up.
A heavy, oppressive pressure filled the room.
Nobody could see the figure's face, but everyone could feel it.
Whoever that person was, they weren't normal. Not even close. They were the kind of abnormal existence that could probably kill you just by breathing too hard.
And the strangest part?
That person hadn't even released their aura, yet everyone could feel the overwhelming pressure.
The hooded figure moved with eerie grace and took a seat at a lone round table in the corner. Slowly, the noise returned as the tavern's customers wisely decided to pretend the new arrival didn't exist.
Amon glanced around, no one moved. Not a single waitress or waiter was willing to go anywhere near the figure.
Even Leon, who normally loved flirting with any breathing creature, was conveniently busy cleaning the same glass for the past three minutes.
"Of course it's gotta be me," Amon muttered, wiping the nervous sweat from his forehead. "You guys are so lucky that I'm so brave."
Of course, he was anything but brave.
With shaky steps and a smile faker than a noble's tax promises, he approached the table.
"Uh, may I take your order, esteemed... guest?" he asked, trying not to sound as though he was about to wet himself.
He still couldn't tell whether the person was male or female. Only a few strands of vibrant orange hair peeked out from beneath the hood.
Then, the figure spoke.
"A full bottle of Blazing Basilisk."
Amon's eyes widened.
Her voice was cold and indifferent, yet beautiful. A woman and not just any woman, she was far too powerful.
Blazing Basilisk wasn't just any ordinary drink. It was made using the venom of a Rank 5 Basilisk and specially prepared for people whose idea of fun was drinking something that could melt their intestines.
Only individuals with absurd levels of mana control could handle it without ending up in the afterlife.
'Why is she here, of all places? Shouldn't she be drinking gold-infused cocktails in some noble lounge or something?!'
"Y-Yes, ma'am. I'll check with the owner to see if we have it."
She simply nodded.
Amon hurried toward the counter as if he were escaping death.
"Mr. Ellias, do we have any Blazing Basilisk in stock?"
The old man blinked.
"Hah! A small place like ours? Of course not. That's high-end liquor. Wait..."
He disappeared into the back room.
Moments later, he returned carrying a green-glass bottle that glowed faintly with an ominous light.
"I was gifted this years ago by a rich noble bastard friend of mine," Ellias explained. "Never thought it'd come in handy. Now go serve that customer. And don't screw this up."
Amon laughed nervously.
"Why do you sound like I'll die if I spill this?"
"Because you probably will."
'Great. Love that for me.'
Back at the table, Amon carefully poured the drink into a glass and placed it in front of the mysterious woman.
She showed no reaction and simply began sipping silently while the world continued spinning around her.
Two hours later, the tavern had finally emptied out.
Except for her. And she was drunk.
Like, swaying from side to side while humming to herself, completely drunk.
Leon leaned closer and whispered, "Hey, Amon... tell her we're closing."
Amon blinked.
"Why me?"
Mr. Ellias chimed in from behind the counter, not even bothering to hide.
"You served her. You tell her."
"Cowards," Amon muttered.
He approached the table like a man walking toward his own funeral.
"Ma'am, we're, uh, closing now. If it's not too much trouble, could you... you know... head home?"
The woman slowly lifted her hooded head, revealing a tiny, drunken smile.
"Boy~ Help me get to my car~ I can't walk."
Her voice was dangerously sweet. The kind of sweetness that made your spine shiver.
And her appearance?
Well, let's just say that when she leaned against him, Amon experienced both joy and regret at the same time. Her rather striking figure and the overpowering scent of basilisk liquor were not a particularly good combination.
"I'll get you there safely, ma'am," he said, helping her stand.
She clung to his arm, giggling like a schoolgirl and humming a song that may or may not have been a war chant.
Together, they stumbled toward the main road.
At the edge of the street stood a sleek, black luxury mana-car, with glowing runes pulsing along its frame.
'Never thought I'd get to see such a luxurious mana-car in this area.'
Although its design was similar to the cars from his previous life, this one resembled a vintage British automobile from the nineteenth century.
The driver's door opened, and a tall woman wearing a black suit stepped out. Her expression was stone-cold and professional.
"Looks like your ride's here," Amon said, relieved that he could finally go home.
But, of course, fate wasn't done screwing with him.
"Wait~"
The drunken powerhouse spoke.
She rummaged through her cloak and pulled out a golden ticket that shimmered beneath the streetlight.
"Here. A reward for helping me~" she said, pressing it into his hand with a giggle. "That's a pass to Arcadia Academy. Use it well."
Before he could ask literally anything, the suited woman helped her into the car, gave Amon a polite nod, and drove away as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
Amon stood there, frozen.
Holding a golden ticket that could change his life.
"...What the actual hell just happened?"
He looked down at the ticket again, blinking several times.
A free pass...
To the most elite academy in the kingdom...
Handed to him by a drunk goddess of death.
And here he had thought his night was going to end with nothing more than mop duty.
"Well," he said, carefully tucking the ticket into his pocket, "I guess getting drunk people home is character development."
And with that, Amon walked off into the night.
Tired, confused, and slightly flustered.
But hey, that was just another day in his bizarre life.
Yet, somewhere deep inside him, a strange feeling began to stir.
A spark of something unfamiliar.
Little did Amon know that the golden ticket in his pocket was more than just an admission pass to an academy.
It was the beginning of a journey that would change his life forever.