Chapter 116: The Punch

Chapter 116: Chapter 116: The Punch

POV Switch: Cheeky

Cheeky walked through the streets of Silverbrook, her footsteps carrying her forward with hesitant uncertainty.

Her hood was pulled low, the fabric covering her head. Her cloak covered her hair, the strands hidden from view. Her ears, the pointed tips concealed. Her face, the features obscured. She was hiding, her body tense. She was scared, her heart pounding.

She didn’t know where she was going, her destination unclear. She didn’t know where the water vendors were, their location unknown. She didn’t know anything, her mind a blank slate.

She was too shy to ask.

She had been shy her whole life, the trait ingrained in her very being. She had been quiet, her voice rarely heard. She had been obedient, her will rarely expressed. She had been a good elf, the role expected of her.

But now she was free, her chains broken. Now she was trying to be different, her spirit awakening. Now she was trying to be better, her soul reaching for something more.

It was hard, the struggle constant.

She kept walking, her footsteps slow. Her steps were slow, the pace hesitant. Her eyes were down, the gaze fixed on the ground. She didn’t look at anyone, her gaze averted. She didn’t talk to anyone, her voice silent.

She just walked, her feet carrying her forward.

She passed a stall selling water, the structure laden with barrels. She stopped, her footsteps coming to a halt. She looked at the vendor, her eyes meeting hers. An old woman with a kind face, her expression warm.

Cheeky opened her mouth, her lips parting. She was about to speak, her voice ready. She was about to ask for water, her request prepared.

Then she closed her mouth, her lips pressing together.

She couldn’t do it, her courage failing. She couldn’t speak, her voice silent. She was too shy, her inhibition too strong.

She kept walking, her footsteps resuming.

She walked for a few more minutes, the time passing slowly. She passed more stalls, the structures lining the street. More vendors, their voices calling out. More people, their forms moving through the crowds.

She still couldn’t ask, her voice trapped.

She sighed, a long, frustrated sound. She looked at the sky, her eyes fixed on the clouds. At the clouds, the white and gray masses drifting. At the sun, the bright orb hanging in the distance.

Then she saw something.

A crowd, the mass of people gathered together.

A large crowd, their numbers vast. They were gathered in a plaza, the open space filled. They were watching something, their eyes fixed. They were talking, their voices low. They were whispering, their words secretive.

Cheeky walked toward the crowd, her steps hesitant. She was curious, her mind wondering. She was nervous, her body tense. She was scared, her heart pounding.

She reached the edge of the crowd, her form stopping. She looked through the gaps, her eyes peering. She saw something.

Paul.

He was standing in the middle of the plaza, his form still. His hands were raised, his palms open. His expression was calm, his features unreadable.

Surrounding him were city guards, their forms imposing. Their weapons were drawn, the blades gleaming. Their faces were angry, their expressions fierce. They were ready to attack, their bodies tense.

And in front of Paul, there was a woman.

She was beautiful, her features striking. Tall, her height towering. Slender, her body lean. Long blonde hair, the strands flowing. Bright blue eyes, the color vivid. Perfect skin, the complexion flawless. Perfect smile, the expression arrogant.

She wore fine clothes, the fabric luxurious. Silk, the material smooth. Jewels, the gems sparkling. Gold, the metal gleaming. She looked like a noble, her appearance speaking of wealth and status.

She was speaking, her voice loud.

"I am Lady Ashworth!" she shouted, her voice carrying. "Daughter of the owner of this city! I can have anything I want! Anything!"

Paul looked at her, his eyes cold. Dead.

"And I want you," she said, her voice commanding. "I want you to be mine. I want you to fall in love with me. I want you to worship me."

Paul didn’t answer, his silence speaking volumes.

"I am beautiful," she continued, her voice confident. "I am rich. I am powerful. You should be grateful. You should be honored. You should be on your knees."

Paul still didn’t answer, his expression unchanged.

Lady Ashworth’s face twisted with anger, her features contorting. Her eyes narrowed, her pupils contracting. Her lips pressed together, her mouth a thin line.

"Say yes," she demanded, her voice sharp. "Say you love me. Say you want me. Say you’ll be mine."

Paul looked at her, his eyes cold. Dead.

"No," he said, his voice flat.

Lady Ashworth blinked, her expression shocked. "What?"

"No. I will never be with someone like you."

Lady Ashworth’s face went red, the color flooding her cheeks. Her hands were shaking, her fingers trembling. Her body was trembling, her form shaking.

"How dare you!" she shouted, her voice high. "How dare you reject me! I am Lady Ashworth! I am the daughter of the owner of this city!"

"I don’t care."

"I can have you killed!"

"I don’t care."

"I can have you tortured!"

"I don’t care."

Lady Ashworth screamed, a loud, piercing sound. Her face was a mess, her features twisted. Her eyes were wild, her pupils dilated.

"If you don’t say yes," she said, her voice desperate, "I will slap you. In front of everyone. I will humiliate you. I will make you regret ever rejecting me."

Paul looked at her, his expression blank.

"Okay," he said, his voice flat.

Lady Ashworth blinked, her expression confused. "What?"

"Okay. Slap me. I don’t care."

Lady Ashworth stared at him, her mouth open. Her eyes were wide, her pupils dilated.

"You... you don’t care?"

"I don’t care."

"I’m going to humiliate you!"

"I don’t care."

"I’m going to make you regret this!"

"I don’t care."

Lady Ashworth screamed again, her voice rising. She raised her hand, her arm swinging. She was about to slap him, her palm open.

Paul didn’t flinch, his body still. He didn’t move, his posture unchanged. He didn’t care, his expression blank.

He looked at the guards, his eyes moving over their forms. At their drawn weapons, the blades gleaming. At their angry faces, the expressions fierce.

"How long is this shit going to take?" he asked, his voice tired.

The guards didn’t respond, their silence answering.

Lady Ashworth’s hand was inches from his face, the palm reaching.

Then Cheeky moved.

She didn’t think, her mind blank. She didn’t plan, her thoughts empty. She didn’t hesitate, her will firm.

She just moved, her body reacting.

She pushed through the crowd, her form weaving. She ran toward Lady Ashworth, her steps quick. She pulled back her fist, her arm cocking. She punched, her fist flying.

The punch connected with Lady Ashworth’s face, the impact thunderous.

The impact was thunderous, the sound echoing. Lady Ashworth flew backward, her body tumbling. She crashed through the crowd, her form scattering people. She hit the ground, the impact heavy. She rolled, her body spinning. She stopped, her form still.

She didn’t get up, her body unmoving.

The crowd stared, their mouths open. Their eyes were wide, their pupils dilated.

The guards stared, their weapons still drawn. Their faces were shocked, their expressions frozen.

Paul stared, his expression surprised. Then amused, his lips curving.

Cheeky stood there, her form still. Her fist was still extended, her arm outstretched. Her hood had fallen, the fabric dropping. Her ears were exposed, the pointed tips visible. Her face was visible, the features clear.

She was an elf, her race evident. And she had just punched a noble, her action irreversible.