The Warden of The Witches

The Day of the Incident

One month ago, at 12:10 in the afternoon, in the Lower district.

The Oak Tavern, which should have been open for business, had its doors tightly shut, sealed with two overlapping strips.

"...No, why are they only targeting us? We're not the only ones selling the mixed alcohol." the innkeeper stood behind the bar, angrily pounding the table. "Closing down and arresting people in the middle of the night, how are we supposed to continue running our business after this!?"

"Yeah, that woman, she's so aloof, even in the police force, completely disregarding the rules." The obese man sitting at the bar let out a belch, reeking of alcohol.

He had already drunk quite a bit, and when he lifted his glass, his hand involuntarily shook, causing the strong liquor to spill onto his hand.

He noticed his wet hand and subconsciously wiping it with the sleeve of his uniform.

A mounted police uniform.

"That woman just wants to drive us to our deaths! I've heard before, those werewolves, when they kill, they'll cut pieces of flesh off the victim, torturing them for amusement. These inhumane monsters should be locked up from birth!"

The proprietress was still muttering through gritted teeth.

"How could they let a werewolf become a police officer? This world has truly gone mad!"

"Ah, if it weren't for the chief always protecting her, how could she stay in the police force?" the man swayed his glass in agreement.

"Could it be that she slept her way to the top?" The innkeeper sneered.

The man didn't respond, but the innkeeper's words stirred up some unpleasant memories for him.

"...Women like you have a tough time making it in the police force, but it's different if you have a patron to support you."

At that time, he leaned in beside the expressionless Veronica and whispered,

"You've probably heard, my father is Anthony Rowton, the senator. I'm not exaggerating, take a good look at this pocket watch..."

He took out an exquisitely crafted rose gold pocket watch and held it up in front of Veronica, speaking incessantly.

"Look at the harpy emblem on it, this is the crest of our Rowton family. My father is the head of the Rowton family, and I am his only son... You understand what I mean, right? I'm also a notable figure in Silver City.

I can dine and rest at the Crown Hotel in the city center, and it's all on credit. You've probably never been there, right? How about tonight..."

Fueled by the alcohol, he reached out his hand towards Veronica's shoulder.

But at that moment, Veronica's hand shot up like lightning, gripping his wrist with such force that he involuntarily gasped for breath.

"So, you want me to be your mistress?" Veronica looked at him coldly and bluntly asked him.

"No, it's not like that..." He felt the obvious hostility and began to sweat.

"I believe you're the senator's son, otherwise I can't imagine you'd have the guts to drink alcohol while on duty."

Veronica's voice turned icy as she smelled the alcohol on him.

"But there are two things I hope you remember. First, I detest drunkards.

Second, I detest physical contact with others. If you dare to lay a hand on me again... I might overreact and crush your hand!"

At this moment, he suddenly felt Veronica began exerting force. A sharp pain shot through his wrist, causing him to involuntarily cry out.

...It's so vivid in my mind, and my wrist hurts when I think about it.

Damn it, she's really an ungrateful bitch. If her face wasn't somewhat decent, who would give her such an opportunity?

Thinking this, he drank another large gulp of alcohol in frustration.

It's been a few days since he touched a woman. Why not take a stroll in Firework Alley tonight?

After all, he could use the authority of the mounted police without spending a dime...

The alcohol surged, making him feel even more lightheaded and dizzy, as if his head was soaked in warm water.

The proprietress watched as the most expensive bottle of liquor in the shop quickly disappear into his mouth, as if it was flowing into an abyss without end, causing her a twinge of pain in his feeling.

"I have to ask, can you really help me settle this matter?" the proprietress asked, her face filled with suspicion.

This man vowed to her that he could resolve the case of their tavern, and get her husband released. That's why she did as he said, took the money out, and even let him freely drink in the shop.

Honestly, a few days of her husband being detained is no big deal, but if they can't find a way to clear their name in the case of the fake alcohol being sold in the tavern, the business won't be able to continue.

"If I say I can, then I can. Why do you keep questioning? Don't you trust me?" The man replied irritably, forcefully placing his glass down. The remaining liquid splashed out, and the alcohol was making him unusually agitated.

"Who knows? Even if you deceive me, I have no place to argue." The proprietress was not one to back down.

Her fiery temperament was evident in her frequent confrontations with drunks in the tavern. The man's demeanor held no sway over her.

This troublesome woman...

Frustrated, the man fumbled around for a while. The alcohol made it hard for him to recall where he had stashed the pocket watch.

After a while, he finally pulled out the gold pocket watch and held it up for the proprietress to see. "Look carefully. This is the emblem of the Rowton family! Anthony Rowton, the senator, do you know him?

That's my father... I have connections. So Helping you with such a small matter is nothing."

The proprietress scrutinized the pocket watch, still somewhat skeptical.

She didn't know much about senators and such, but the gold watch did seem quite valuable...

Perhaps this police officer in front of her really did have some connections.

"Alright," the proprietress sighed in relief, placing an envelope on the bar and pushing it towards him. "I've put the money here. Make sure you handle this for me."

With a dark expression, the man took the envelope, struggling a few times before managing to fit it into his pocket.

What bad luck, encountering such a woman. She didn't know how to be polite when entrusting someone to do things.

When he collected money from other shops, didn't those commoners all nod and bow to him?

He didn't actually need the money; he just enjoyed the feeling of being high and mighty. This dull public position was only worth praising for this small pleasure.

Speaking of this, the women in Firework Alley are the same. Clearly, they should be grateful when he generously offers his favor, but just because he didn't pay, they're in a rush to finish. No decency at all...

Now that he's had his fill of alcohol, he might as well go for a stroll... Wait, it seems it's about time to return the gun.

That damn place seems to be in the opposite direction... Damn it, couldn't they have placed it next to the police station...

The man's gaze wandered, stopping at the proprietress ample bosom.

"What are you looking at?" The proprietress immediately noticed his gaze and gave him a wary glare.

"Well..." The man suddenly had an idea and grinning widely. "I've received the money. Let's talk about the remaining reward."

Driven by the alcohol, he reached out and grabbed the proprietress hand.