Clemente was the first to react after the Cold War.
He saw the white-haired woman's raised hand stop in mid-air, a hint of hesitation flashing across her delicate face before she lowered her hand again.
But then he immediately raised his leg and kicked the drunk man in the stomach.
The woman was wearing a pair of leather boots, the hard heels sinking deep into the drunk man's soft belly as if they were being stabbed.
The drunkard's body was kicked into a shrimp shape, his buttocks flying backwards with a loud thud as he crashed into a load-bearing pillar in the tavern's lobby.
He angrily got up from the ground, about to lash out, but then he opened his mouth and vomited a mess of filth all over the ground. Immediately, a terrible smell mixed with the stench of alcohol filled the air, and the nearby drinkers covered their mouths and noses.
"You bitch, you're really ruthless!" The drunkard straightened up, his eyes wide with anger, and his muscles bulging all over.
He took a step forward and was about to rush towards the white-haired woman.
The woman remained calm and unhurried, gently extending her delicate hand and drawing a circular trajectory in the air in front of her.
With a loud crash, the drunkard's foot, which had just taken a step, suddenly slipped, and the tall, strong man immediately lost control and fell forward, landing face-first in the mud.
"Hahahaha!" His disheveled appearance caused the guests in the lobby to burst into laughter.
"Hmm?" Clemente, the tavern owner who was nearby, was a little puzzled. Just now, something white seemed to have flashed past the drunkard's feet, like... a layer of white frost, but it disappeared immediately.
How could there be frost on the floor? Am I seeing things?
The drunkard struggled to his feet again, having embarrassed himself repeatedly in front of everyone. Coupled with the hard fall, his face was now as red as a ripe apple.
"Aaaaaah!" The drunkard roared like a wild beast. He was furious and wanted to tear the white-haired woman in front of him to pieces.
But before he could make a move, a figure flashed before his eyes, and then a cold touch came from his neck.
The white-haired woman was already standing behind him, pressing a cold dagger tightly against his neck.
Feeling some liquid flowing onto his chest, the drunk man instinctively wiped it with his hand, only to find his hand covered in bright red blood. He was terrified.
"Blood! Aaaaaaah, I'm bleeding!"
"Let him go!" The drunkard's companions at the table, who had been enjoying the spectacle, couldn't sit still any longer when they saw their friend in danger and immediately surrounded him.
Seeing that things were getting out of control, Clemente yelled, "Stop it now! Or I'm calling the police!"
Upon hearing the word "police," the drunkard's companions shrank back, stopped in their tracks, and hesitated to move forward.
The white-haired woman didn't stop there; she raised her foot and kicked the drunkard in the back of his knee.
The drunkard involuntarily fell to his knees with a thud, the force on his back preventing him from straightening up—the woman had one foot on his back.
He dared not resist; the sensation on his neck told him that the cold dagger was pressed against the back of his neck.
Clemente was surprised again. The woman's dagger was crystal clear, as if it were made of crystal. Could such a thing be sharpened to such a point?
In fact, no one in the lobby saw how the white-haired woman pulled out her weapon; it was as if the dagger had suddenly appeared in her hand.
"Stop, sir!" Seeing that the woman was about to retaliate, Clemente quickly stopped her. He didn't want a murder to happen in his tavern. "This bastard has already been punished! Let him off this time!"
"Waaah! I was wrong, I was wrong!" Faced with mortal danger, the drunkard sobered up completely and begged for mercy in a panic. He was now filled with regret, realizing that he had acted foolishly in a moment of madness, all because of those bastards who had made the bet with him.
"That bastard's drunk, he's not thinking straight!"
"Beautiful lady... no, miss, do you need money? We're willing to compensate you!"
His companions also hurriedly apologized.
Clemente continued to persuade him: "Guest, our laws here are very strict, unlike other territories that allow private duels. If you are still not satisfied, you can go to the Lords Court to sue him! If you kill him without permission, even if you are an Adventurer, you will not be able to leave Alda!"
"Hmph!" The tavern owner's persuasion seemed to have worked. The woman snorted in disgust and kicked the kneeling drunkard, sending him rolling several times on the ground.
His companions rushed forward to help him up, and they helped him stagger out of the tavern. The wound on the drunkard's neck was still bleeding profusely, and they needed to find a doctor as soon as possible.
The woman picked up the cloak, and the hood once again concealed her cold and beautiful face.
"Oh!" The patrons exclaimed with lingering satisfaction, then continued with their business, still feeling a sense of regret for not having seen enough.
No one should dare to harass this lady anymore.
"Hehehe, thank you, kind lady!" Clemente smiled ingratiatingly.
Not only was she agile, but she was also incredibly strong! The tavern owner was amazed. The drunkard from earlier was burly, probably weighing over 200 pounds, yet he had been kicked away by the woman twice like a ball.
You must never anger her.
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He asked cautiously, "Are you an Adventurer?"
The woman nodded slowly.
"No wonder he's so amazing!"
Clemente pulled a thick booklet from under the counter. "You said you wanted to stay at the hotel, right? Could you tell me your name? We require registration for hotel guests here."
The woman hesitated for a moment, then whispered a name.
" Coleridge ".
"Oh, it's Lady Coleridge!" Clemente quickly wrote the name down in the register, carefully noting her gender, physical appearance, and other information.
The tavern owner then asked, "Is this your first time in Alda?"
The woman who identified herself as Coleridge frowned somewhat impatiently, but still answered, "Yes!"
"Then I must remind you that if you are from out of town and want to stay in Alda for an extended period, you need to register with the police station. They will give you a small card as proof, so please don't forget. Hehe, we are a bit strict here, sorry."
Clemente pulled out a key and handed it to the woman. "Room 6 on the second floor. Sweet dreams. Oh, by the way, would you like something to eat?"
"Need not!"
Coleridge was walking up the stairs when he suddenly stopped, turned around and asked, "Have you seen a man named Alvis? He's around fifty years old, about six feet tall, with a long white beard, and wearing a white robe. He should be in Alda right now."
"This…" Clemente thought for a moment, then shook her head and said, "I don't think I've ever met the person you described. What is your relationship with him? What does he do?"
Coleridge replied, "He was my teacher and a very knowledgeable scholar!"
" Scholar?" Clemente smiled, slapping his palm, as if he had found a clue.
"Could he be here to attend the Nature Science Forum?"