In one smooth motion, he peeled off his shirt.The doormen's eyes widened. Rocco's torso was a tapestry of scars—claw marks from demon beasts, burn scars from magical combat, a particularly nasty one across his ribs from where a rebel knight had nearly gutted him. His physique was lean but clearly battle-hardened, every muscle defined from constant fighting."Still think we're kids?" Rocco asked mildly.The doormen exchanged glances. The right one stepped aside. "Our apologies. Welcome to the Compass."Inside, the tavern was packed. Adventurers in worn leather armor occupied most tables, their weapons propped against chairs. Merchants in finer clothes clustered near the bar, speaking in low, urgent tones. Mercenaries played dice in the corner, gold coins stacked beside crude mugs.The air smelled of ale, sweat, and roasted meat—a considerable improvement over the Cozy Rest Inn's kitchen. A massive fireplace dominated one wall, its flames casting dancing shadows across scarred wooden t

Marco assessed the situation. Throughout the tavern, mercenaries wearing crimson sashes had subtly surrounded them—blocking exits, hands resting on weapons. Rocco was still recovering from his earlier throat injury, in no condition to fight."Fine." Marco stepped toward the cleared space. "Let's get this over with.""Wait!" Rocco grabbed his arm. "You can't—""I'll be fine." Marco's tone left no room for argument. "Stay back."Louise rolled her shoulders, her muscles rippling. "Smart choice. Don't worry—I'll try not to break anything permanent."They faced each other in the makeshift arena. The crowd pressed closer, mercenaries shouting encouragement to Louise while merchants whispered bets."Rules!" the bartender called out. "No weapons! No magic! Fight ends when someone yields or can't continue! Begin!"Louise attacked immediately, her fist rocketing toward Marco's jaw. Fast—far faster than her size suggested possible. Marco barely dodged, feeling the air displacement from her punch

She launched a combination that would have overwhelmed a master martial artist—jabs, hooks, uppercuts, knee strikes, all flowing together seamlessly. Marco blocked what he could, took what he couldn't, and waited for an opening.When Louise overextended slightly on a particularly vicious hook, Marco caught her wrist and yanked her off-balance. His free hand drove into her solar plexus with all his Lionheart-enhanced strength.Louise's eyes bulged. For a moment, her Berserk state flickered. Then she headbutted him directly in the face.Marco's nose broke with a wet crack. Blood poured down his face as he stumbled backward. Louise followed relentlessly, raining blows on him like a human avalanche.Each hit drove him back further. His vision swam. His ribs screamed protest. But his bloodline kept healing, kept him conscious, kept him fighting.Finally, as Louise wound up for what she clearly intended to be a finishing blow, Marco's combat instincts—honed through countless battles in Hell

The images showed Marco trying repeatedly to escape Louise's grasp. She clung to him with surprising strength despite her injuries, her transplanted beast bloodline clearly overriding all rational thought. Eventually, exhausted and bleeding from multiple wounds, Marco simply passed out.Louise—still in the grip of bloodline-induced instinct—had apparently decided the middle of the street was a perfectly reasonable place to curl up with her new "claimed" mate and fall asleep as well.The recording ended. Silence stretched uncomfortably."So," Maggie said dryly, "to summarize: your bloodlines went haywire, you accosted him repeatedly despite his protests, he eventually passed out from exhaustion, and you decided to use him as a very uncomfortable pillow. Any questions?"Louise's hands slowly lowered from her face, revealing an expression of absolute mortification. "I... I did all that?""Yep." Maggie pocketed the crystal. "In front of forty-three of your own mercenaries, who are current

Marco chose his words carefully. "A man who can casually consume deadly poison and survive, who owns an inn that somehow stays in business despite serving lethal food... that's either extreme incompetence or deliberate cover for something else."Tucker was silent for a long moment, then laughed—but the sound was different now, less buffoonish and more genuine. "You're perceptive. I like that."He swept the gold coins into his pocket. "There is a way out. An old smuggler's tunnel beneath the town, exits three miles north in the forest. But you can't use it now—too many mercenaries patrolling. Wait for a moonless, windy night. The darkness and wind will cover your escape.""When's the next moonless night?""Three days." Tucker leaned closer, lowering his voice. "My daughter will prepare a special soup that evening—one that will make the mercenaries guarding your inn very sleepy. When you hear the wind pick up, that's your signal. The tunnel entrance is in the wine cellar, behind the thi