Although it was just a single, brief word, it instantly turned all of Harold’s heat into cold sweat. Paul followed the boss’s gaze behind them in surprise, not understanding how the usually wild and unrestrained boss could suddenly become like this, as if he had suffered some great shock—his whole body seemed to shrink, almost retreating into the shadows beside the bar, yet his pair of gloomy eyes remained fixed on a distant corner. It seemed that a few people had just taken seats over there; their faces were unclear, but they didn’t look like locals—at least, not the so-called elite of Cyprius’s upper society. Why would they provoke such a strong reaction from the boss?

Elliot, with his rough and careless nature, didn’t sense anything amiss at all. He continued to drink heartily, glass after glass, occasionally making crude and vulgar jokes with the barmaids, showing not a trace of a noble’s bearing.

“Boss, what’s wrong?” Paul picked up his glass, using it to cover his mouth as he quietly asked.

Taking a deep breath, Harold struggled to steady his emotions. He hadn’t expected this group to actually come to Cyprius—was it by chance, or were they here on purpose? Could it be related to what he had done that day? His heart, which had just calmed a little, began pounding wildly again. He absolutely couldn’t lose his composure now; if the other side noticed anything, the three of them might never leave here. Fortunately, the other party had never seen his face or heard his voice. As long as he kept calm, they should be able to get away. Their senses were too sharp—he didn’t dare stay any longer; it was too risky. But if he left now, he was afraid it would arouse suspicion. With no time to think further, he downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, then casually tilted the bottle, spilling it on himself. Tilting his head, he gave Paul a look. Harold staggered to his feet.

Receiving Harold’s signal, Paul didn’t know exactly what was happening, but he knew his boss was always sharp and clever—there must be a reason for this. He slapped the still-drinking Elliot. “Let’s go, the boss is drunk.” At the same time, he winked. Elliot was momentarily stunned, about to speak, but seeing Paul’s meaningful glance, he swallowed his words, tossed a handful of gold shields onto the bar, and, feigning drunkenness, supported the drooping Harold as they staggered toward the door.

As his gaze fell on the three across from him, the middle-aged knight’s extraordinarily keen senses immediately picked up on something. Although there wasn’t the slightest trace of necromancy about the three, his intuition still told him something was off. He slowly stood up, intending to head toward the door.

“Sir, what’s wrong?” Seeing the middle-aged knight rise, the other attendants were all taken aback.

“It’s nothing, maybe it’s just my imagination. I just feel like those three up ahead might be a problem, as if they’re connected to the target we’re searching for.” The middle-aged knight also felt his intuition might be off. Those guys were clearly just the scions of some noble families in Cyprius—how could they be connected to the ones he was tracking? But that wasn’t reason enough to stop him from checking; he wasn’t one to give up easily.

“Sir, let me go take a look.” The burly knight flashed ahead of the middle-aged knight, striding steadily toward the door.

The moment the middle-aged knight stood up, Harold knew that things wouldn’t end peacefully tonight. The other party’s senses were so sharp that even with all his concealment, he hadn’t completely escaped their notice. But seeing that it was the burly knight coming over, Harold relaxed a little. It seemed the other side hadn’t pinpointed the problem yet—otherwise, they would have swarmed over to seize him already. This was his only chance.

He took a deep breath, his expression unchanged, still feigning drunkenness, his swaying body leaning on Paul’s thin frame, making the other stagger as well. He still didn’t dare reveal his strength, but worried the other side might have noticed something. If he didn’t make some preparations, he might not even have a chance to fight back if attacked. It was a tough choice, but Harold gave up on preparing in just an instant. With the opponent’s strength, even if he tried, he’d likely end up dead in the street—better to relax and take a gamble. With a subtle gesture of his left hand, he signaled the horse-faced youth, who was still a bit dazed, to get ready. Seeing his boss’s secret sign, the horse-faced youth immediately became alert. It was a gesture used only among the three close friends, a signal for danger. The horse-faced youth’s wary gaze quickly fell on a figure following behind them.

Chapter 9: The Rose Lounge (2)