A beautiful name, Yoran, like a graceful orchid. But it wasn’t a name you’d usually give to a child. Still, I couldn’t think of anything better to call her at the moment.
Yoran and I sat outside the gambling hall, watching gamblers scatter and curious onlookers gather to gawk at the commotion.
I kept my mouth shut.
Because I wasn’t in good shape, there was a high chance I’d end up killing someone needlessly in front of Yoran. So I stayed quiet and waited.
Before long, both the Lecher and the Drunk showed up at the entrance, covered in blood, glaring at the bystanders.
While the Drunk wiped his blood-soaked shoes on the ground, the Lecher barked at the onlookers.
“...Get lost before I kill every single one of you. You think this is a show?”
I looked up at them from where I sat.
“No way. Nothing happened.”
The Drunk didn’t say a word.
Then they plopped down beside me and started regulating their breath, eyes fixed on the dispersing crowd. The smell of blood wafted into my nose—couldn’t be helped. The Lecher had only a few tears in his clothes from glancing blows, but the Drunk had internal injuries even before this fight, so he looked a little worse for wear.
The Lecher turned to ask,
“What’s the kid’s name?”
Suddenly, the Drunk extended his hand and called out to a young woman in the crowd.
“You there. Come over here.”