Hollow Crown: SSS-Ranked Godslayer’s Rise

The first thing they did after slipping out of the quiet alley was to look for food. Their stomachs had been grumbling for hours, and the faint aroma of grilled meat drifting across the street was enough to pull them along.

"There," Ethan pointed toward a sturdy, timber-framed tavern with a painted sign of a boar's head. Its windows glowed warmly with firelight, and laughter spilled into the night air.

Inside, the place was already bustling. Adventurers fresh from the field clanked mugs of ale, mercenaries shouted across tables, and locals tucked into hearty meals while swapping gossip. The air was heavy with the smell of roasted meat, spiced stews, and fresh bread, undercut by the faint tang of sweat and ale.

As Ethan and Lirael entered, a few heads turned. Her cloak hood was still lowered, and the bloodstains on her maid uniform drew more than a few curious glances. Ethan, however, walked in as if he owned the place, guiding her confidently toward an empty table by the wall.

A young waiter hurried over, a tray balanced expertly on one hand.

"What'll it be tonight, sir, madam?" he asked with a polite bow, though his eyes flickered toward Lirael's strange attire.

"Roast boar, bread, and whatever stew you've got simmering in that pot," Ethan said casually. He glanced at Lirael. "And bring her something sweet with honey. She's earned it."

Lirael blinked at him, surprised by the last part, then quickly looked away as a faint warmth rose to her cheeks.

"...And some ale," she added softly, trying not to smile.

When the food came, it was simple but satisfying: thick cuts of roasted meat, glazed with herbs; steaming bowls of vegetable stew rich with bone broth; crusty bread still warm from the oven; and for Lirael, a small bowl of sweetened curd with honey drizzled on top.

They ate eagerly, conversation flowing in between bites. Ethan recounted their day's events in his dry, amused tone, while Lirael filled in her side with sharp remarks and the occasional complaint.

"You know," she said while tearing off a piece of bread, "this is the first proper meal I've had in over a week. My body almost forgot what real food tastes like."

"Then keep eating," Ethan smirked, taking a long drink of ale. "We'll need your strength. Besides, you look happier when you're chewing."

She glared at him, cheeks puffed out with stew, then huffed and returned to her food.

By the time they pushed their empty plates away and paid the coins, both of them felt lighter. The noise of the tavern followed them back outside into the cool evening air.

"So?" Lirael stretched her arms with a content sigh. "What now?"

"Now," Ethan replied without hesitation, "we find a proper inn. With a bath. I need one badly."

Lirael looked down at herself — her uniform was streaked with dried blood and grime, the once-crisp fabric tattered from travel and battle. Her expression soured.

"...Me too. And my clothes…" she murmured, almost embarrassed.

Ethan chuckled. "Relax. We've got three more sets of your uniform packed. You'll survive."

They didn't have to search long. Just a few streets away stood a stone-and-wood inn with lanterns glowing warmly at the entrance, its carved sign swinging gently in the night breeze. The building looked clean, well-kept, and busy enough to promise safety.

Inside, the reception desk was manned by a stout innkeeper with sharp eyes. He greeted them with a professional smile, though the moment his gaze slid over Lirael's ruined attire, his brow rose slightly.

Ethan leaned casually against the counter. "Do you have baths here?"

The innkeeper nodded. "Of course. Separate for men and women. Heated with enchanted stones. Finest in this district."

Both Ethan's and Lirael's eyes lit up immediately. "Perfect," Ethan said. "Then give us a room with a double bed."

The innkeeper's pen stilled halfway over the ledger. His brows arched higher, and slowly, his eyes shifted toward Lirael.

Her face was already turning red, and under the weight of the man's knowing look, it deepened to crimson. "I-It's not like that!" she blurted out, waving her hands slightly.

Ethan only smirked at her embarrassment, enjoying every second of it.

The innkeeper's lips curled into the faintest of smirks as he slid a key across the counter. "Enjoy your stay," he said, voice heavy with implication.

Muffled chuckles came from a pair of adventurers seated nearby who had overheard the exchange. Lirael quickly snatched the key and stormed toward the stairs, her ears bright red. Ethan followed at an unhurried pace, clearly entertained.

Their room was simple but clean: a polished wooden floor, a sturdy wardrobe, a round table with two chairs, and most importantly, a large double bed covered with fresh linen. Ethan tossed his pack into the corner, loosening his gear. Lirael tried not to look at the bed, though her gaze flickered toward it now and then before she busied herself unpacking.

After a moment, Ethan held out one of her fresh uniforms. "Here. Don't take forever in the bath."

"Hmph! I don't need you to tell me that," she snapped, snatching the folded clothes from his hands. Her embarrassment lingered, but her eagerness for a proper bath betrayed her. She turned on her heel and marched toward the door.

"Don't slip on the way there," Ethan called after her, grinning.

Without turning back, Lirael gave a sharp little "hmph!" and all but ran toward the women's bath, clutching her uniform like treasure.

Ethan watched her go, shaking his head with a faint chuckle before heading to the men's side himself. A hot soak after days of grime — that was exactly what they both needed.

---

Ethan eased himself into the steaming bath, the water rising slowly over his shoulders. Heat sank into his muscles, and with it, days of fatigue melted away. He leaned back against the smooth stone edge, exhaling a long breath.

Around him, the men's side of the bath was alive with chatter. A group of mercenaries compared scars, slapping each other on the back while boasting about monsters slain. Two younger adventurers argued over which tavern girl smiled at them first. The air was thick with steam, the scent of soap, and the laughter of men who lived for danger but relished these rare moments of comfort.

Ethan only half-listened, letting their noise fade into the background. He closed his eyes, allowing himself the rare luxury of silence inside his head. After scrubbing clean, he finally rose, water dripping down his frame, and dressed himself in a plain civilian tunic and trousers he had brought along. They were simple but comfortable, a welcome change from armor and bloodstains.

He padded quietly back through the inn's hallways, nodding absently at the receptionist, who was still smirking faintly as if recalling the earlier double-bed request. Ethan ignored it, climbed the stairs, and unlocked his room.

The moment he sank into the bed, his body all but sighed with relief. The mattress was soft, the sheets crisp and freshly laundered. He sprawled out, arms spread wide, savoring the unfamiliar comfort. For the first time in days, he let his guard relax.

A few minutes later, a gentle knock sounded at the door.

"Come in," he called lazily.

The door creaked open. Lirael stepped inside.

She had changed into her freshly laundered maid uniform — the black dress hugged her frame neatly, the white apron tied with practiced precision. Her stockings traced her legs in perfect symmetry, ending just above polished shoes and crisp white socks. Around her slender neck gleamed the golden choker, catching the lamplight and drawing the eye to the delicate curve of her collarbones.

Her damp blue hair framed her face in soft strands, still glistening faintly from the bath. The rich color only deepened the brightness of her eyes — ocean blue, luminous and alive, as if a shard of the sea itself rested within them.

For a moment, Ethan simply stared. His smirk faded into stillness, his eyes following every detail without shame.

"W-What?" Lirael fidgeted under his gaze, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her apron. The longer he looked, the redder her ears became. "D-Don't look at me like that… You've already seen me before."

"Yeah," Ethan finally said, his voice low and amused. "That was a week ago. A long week." He shifted slightly on the bed, his eyes narrowing with playful intent. "Now come here. My pillow's been missing for far too long."

Her lips parted, as if to protest. "I–I… no, I—"

"I won't listen to excuses," Ethan cut her off, his tone final.

For a moment she hesitated, her steps small and uncertain as she crossed the room. Each pace seemed weighed down with nerves, her hands twisting in front of her apron. When she finally came within reach, Ethan's patience ended.

In a blur of motion, his hand shot out, fast as lightning.

Before Lirael could even gasp, she was pulled firmly into his arms.