Throne of Blood

Chapter One: The Drinkerode（2）

“It smells bad,” the girl muttered after sipping her juice. Maxwell didn’t know whom she was referring to. The juice surely couldn’t smell bad, so she must have meant the pervasive alcohol stench was unpleasant.

“If you dislike the smell of alcohol, you should leave. This place isn’t for you,” Maxwell said, which was unusual for him. He typically wouldn’t have bothered with the people around him, just drinking on his own. But today, this girl’s attitude irked him, and he decided to scare her a bit.

The girl didn’t respond, just continued drinking her juice. Maxwell wasn’t particularly interested in her but took another look.

Removing the scarf revealed the girl’s young face, confirming Maxwell’s initial thought to call her a child without any sense of discord.

After a while, her glass was empty. Maxwell thought she would leave, but instead, he found her gaze fixed on him again, making him uncomfortable. Her look was the same as when he first noticed her.

“Kid, finish your drink and get out. This isn’t a place for you,” Maxwell said, hoping to make her leave. Her gaze made him uneasy.

“Your name is Maxwell Reed, right?” the girl suddenly said, startling Maxwell—he didn’t recognize her, and he was sure he was a nobody; he couldn’t understand why she would know his name and seek him out.

He began to recall if he had caused any trouble but couldn’t think of any significant conflicts over the past year, mostly just occasional verbal spats, and he was always more sober than his dates, taking precautions, never inviting trouble.

“Who are you?” he asked the girl.

“I need your help with something,” she replied.

“I asked who you are,” Maxwell didn’t want her to divert the conversation.

“Sophie,” the girl answered.

“Who are you, where did you hear my name? What do you want with me?” Maxwell threw his questions at her.

“I need your help with something,” she repeated her initial statement.

“What is it? If you don’t explain, I can’t help you,” Maxwell said, though even a clear explanation might not have prompted his assistance. He had grown accustomed to ease and would avoid trouble if possible.

“If I explain, you might not believe me,” the girl said, irritating Maxwell who felt she was being deliberately mysterious. He began to think she was just playing some cool game. “But since you’ll find out eventually, there’s no harm in saying it,” she added.

“Do you know you’re involved in a battle?” she asked.

“Battle? What are you talking about?” Maxwell was utterly bewildered by this unfamiliar term.

“Many are involved. They fight each other for a throne. Only one can win the throne,” she explained.

“I told you, you can’t get drunk on juice,” Maxwell laughed, dismissing her fantastical words as mere delusion.

“I said you might not believe if I explained,” Sophie maintained her calm tone despite Maxwell’s scoffing. “You have no idea of the danger you’re in, wasting your life here.”

“The dangers here are no worse than the thugs around. As for my life, I’ll live it my way, and it’s none of your business,” Maxwell was

dismissive. “If you’re just here to fantasize, don’t bother me. Go home, kid.”

Sophie looked at Maxwell one last time before leaving the bar without a word.

After some time, Maxwell, trembling, leaned against a wall as he staggered out of the bar.

He seemed to have drunk more than usual today. He didn’t know why—was it because of the girl? He certainly didn’t know her or find her particularly interesting. The girl had spoken some inexplicable things he had no intention of believing or troubling himself about. Sure, the girl was a bit unusual, but he thought he wouldn’t see her again and would soon forget her presence.

Why had he drunk so much more than usual then? Was it because the girl mentioned he was wasting his life? It seemed so. Yet someone else had often told him the same without ever stirring him. Why did this stranger’s words lead him to drink so much more? He couldn’t figure it out and didn’t bother to think further, collapsing onto the hotel bed.

Darkness surrounded him, no light visible.

Maxwell wandered aimlessly, not knowing which direction was his to take, so he just wandered. Hadn’t he always walked this way?

After a while, Maxwell suddenly heard an unusual sound growing closer—a metallic collision, clear and steady, creating an inexplicable unease.

He found the frequency of this sound similar to footsteps. Was someone approaching him?

He tried to escape the sound by speeding up, but the sound drew nearer. He turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, yet the sound continued to close in. No matter how he changed directions, he couldn’t shake off this eerie noise. Turning again, he froze in place.

The sound ceased, and a figure in black armor stood before him, wielding a sword.

He tried to run but found his legs wouldn’t move; fear gripped him as he forced his legs to move, but he fell seated on the ground the next moment.

He awkwardly moved backward as the figure raised the sword...