NTR: Minor Villain Wants to Be the Main Villain - Chapter 78

Chapter 78: Unexpected Guests!

In a dimly lit tavern on the outskirts of the sect—a place with a reputation as shady as a drunk elder at a disciplinary hearing—three cloaked figures huddled at a corner table.

The flickering lantern light struggled to penetrate their heavy black robes, casting long shadows that seemed to whisper, “Definitely up to no good.”

The largest of the three, a hulking figure whose mere presence screamed “don’t mess with me unless you’re suicidal,” was busy chugging beer after beer like his life depended on it.

The wooden mugs disappeared into the abyss of his hood with alarming speed, each empty vessel hitting the table with a satisfying thunk.

Meanwhile, the other two figures were far more vigilant, their eyes darting around the room, sizing up the patrons. The woman, her voice sharp and tinged with annoyance, leaned forward slightly.

“Half these idiots are outsiders,” she muttered, her cat ears twitching under her hood. “Did we screw up and pick the wrong tavern, or is this place just that popular with the riffraff?”

If anyone dared to peek beneath her hood—which would be a bold, possibly suicidal move—they’d catch a glimpse of a sleek tail flicking in irritation.

The aura she exuded was enough to deter even the drunkest of fools from getting too curious, a fact proven by the unconscious man slumped against the bar, his head suspiciously aligned with her earlier trajectory.

The third member snorted.

“Does it matter? If they’re in here, they’re either too drunk to care or too stupid to matter. Keep your claws in, kitty.”

The woman shot him a glare so intense it could’ve peeled paint off the walls.

“Say that again, and I’ll shove this claw where the sun doesn’t shine.”

She hissed, her voice dripping with menace.

The big guy slammed another empty mug on the table, wiping his hood with a massive hand.

“Relax, both of you,” he rumbled, his voice like gravel. “We’re here for the intel, not a catfight. Besides,” he added with a burp that shook the table, “if anyone’s got a problem, they can talk to me.”

The barmaid cautiously approached with another tray of beers, the tension simmered, leaving the trio to brood in their cloaked glory while the rest of the tavern remained blissfully unaware—or wisely pretended not to notice.

The third figure, Rainer, let out an exaggerated sigh, running a gloved hand through his fiery red hair, though he kept his hood securely in place.

His piercing blue eyes glinted under the shadow of his cloak, giving the impression that, at any moment, the entire tavern might fall to its knees in worship if he so much as flashed a smirk. And honestly? He wouldn’t mind.

“I am sure this is the place. The locals say this is the only tavern he frequents, even if his visits are… erratic.”

“By locals, you mean the lonely housewives you’ve been shagging, right? Don’t think I didn’t notice how ‘thorough’ your investigations have been, you sly bastard.”

Galore, the massive beer-guzzling brute, interjected with a booming laugh

Rainer shot him a glare sharp enough to cut through steel, but Galore was unfazed, downing another mug of beer like it was water.

“Ha! Don’t play innocent now.”

Galore continued, slamming the empty mug onto the table with enough force to rattle the cutlery.

“You’re betrothed to the princess, for crying out loud, and you’re still making house calls? What a champ. The stamina you must have!”

The woman in the group groaned, rolling her eyes so hard it looked like they might get stuck in the back of her head.

“Seriously, Galore? Could you be any louder? You’re one laugh away from announcing to the entire tavern that we’re here on some shady mission.”

But Galore wasn’t done. He leaned back in his chair, grinning like a wolf, and gave Rainer a hearty slap on the back. A slap that, for a lesser man, would’ve rearranged his entire skeleton.

“Don’t worry, Rainer. I’m not judging. If anything, I’m impressed. Must be nice to be a walking wet dream, huh? Meanwhile, I’m out here drinking my weight in beer and scaring people off with my good looks.”

Daphne’s jaw clenched so tightly you could practically hear her teeth grinding.

Oh, how she hated Rainer’s smugness.

Sure, he was devastatingly handsome, ridiculously capable, and the only person who could protect the princess properly—but did he have to be such an insufferable ass about it?

“Life is small, Galore.”

Rainer declared, swirling his beer like it was a fine wine and not the watered-down swill the tavern served.

His grin was annoyingly charming, the kind that made housewives swoon and husbands want to throw punches.

“Don’t be so uptight. Learn to enjoy it. I swore I would enjoy life fully, and guess what? I am enjoying it fully.”

Daphne resisted the urge to roll her eyes so hard she’d sprain something.

“Not everyone is like you, Sir Rainer…”

She said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She sipped her beer, glaring at him over the rim of her mug.

“Some people—like my princess—prefer to live with dignity, maybe even a little peace and quiet. You know, without your constant hazzle.”

Rainer smirked, not even pretending to be offended.

“What does a slave know about freedom?”

Daphne nearly spat out her beer.

“Excuse me?!”

Her voice was dangerously low, the kind that made lesser men wet themselves. But before she could unleash a tirade that would scorch the smug right off his face, Rainer’s piercing blue eyes zeroed in on the tavern’s entrance.

“There,” he said casually, propping his elbow on the table and taking a long, leisurely sip of his drink. “Him. He looks different.”

Galore squinted at the newcomer, his thick brows furrowing in confusion.

“Who, him? He looks like a regular-ass guard—tiny but, I guess, sturdy?”

He tilted his head like he was sizing up a particularly questionable cut of meat.

“Honestly, he’s kinda ugly. Like, knights might be overrated, but at least they don’t look like they’ve been smacked in the face with a frying pan.”

Daphne shot Galore a glare that could curdle milk.

“Are you serious right now? Stop judging people’s faces, you oversized keg. Besides, Rainer’s got this freaky knack for being right about things. It’s like he’s clairvoyant, or just annoyingly lucky. Either way, I’m not doubting him.”

Galore rolled his eyes and took another gulp of beer.

“Fine, whatever. But he doesn’t look different to me. Hell, if anything, he’s blending in so well he’s practically wallpaper. You sure you’re not just fucking with us, you pompous bastard?”

His gaze flicked to Rainer, still skeptical.

Rainer smirked, the kind of smirk that made Daphne want to punch him in his stupid, smug face.

“For your untrained eyes, maybe. But to me? That guy’s like a glowing neon sign in a room full of dull rocks. The difference is as stark as a virgin at a brothel. That’s the young master’s personal guard, no doubt about it.”

He grabbed two of Galore’s untouched beer glasses like a man on a mission. Galore let out an indignant squawk.

“Hey, those are mine, you shiny-haired thief!”

“Shut up, Galore,” Rainer said, already halfway to the target. “This is our chance.”

As Rainer sauntered off, Daphne leaned toward Galore.

“You think he’s going over there to acquire some info?”

Galore snorted, his beer sloshing in his mug.

“Info? Please. That man’s brain is a den of horny raccoons. He’s already planning how to seduce the guy’s wife. Mark my words.”

And sure enough, as Rainer approached, his thoughts weren’t on strategy or even the mission. Oh no. His laser focus was elsewhere.

‘Bro, this guy’s got a wife that’s a total bombshell. I must possess her.’

…

A day later, Artis strolled through the palace corridors, his steps light but his thoughts heavy with mischief.

It had been a while since he’d graced this place with his presence, and oh, what a place it was—grand, opulent, and just begging for some chaos.

‘Gotta keep things smooth for no.’

He mused.

‘Play nice with the young master and his family… at least until the men are pushing daisies and the women are warming my bed. Heh, heh, heh.’

The sinister laugh echoed in his head like a villain twirling his imaginary mustache. Outwardly, though, his face was a mask of serene politeness.

No need to tip off the palace spies or overzealous guards who were probably itching for an excuse to skewer someone.

The hallways were crawling with people who seemed far too alert for Artis’s liking.

‘Geez, did they install paranoia along with those extra guards? Well, it must be the result of that incident.’

He kept his cool, reminding himself that the inner rooms, where the young master resided, would be far more private—and far more interesting.

Yes, indeed it was going to be an interesting day as Artis was about to bumb into someone that could force him to think before he speaks.