Show Me Your Stats!-Chapter 85

"......Alright. I suppose there's nothing wrong with sharing a drink and some grievances."

"That’s the spirit. Come on then—I know a place that serves good liquor."

Hera beckoned and led the way. As Ayra followed behind, she recalled how, when Janus had moved to attack Hera, the little pebble had leapt forward to stop him. What would’ve happened if it hadn’t intervened? Judging by Hera’s stats, it probably wouldn’t have ended easily.

But the fallout would’ve been severe. I wouldn’t be sitting here, having a chat with her like this.

Lost in thought, Ayra glanced down just in time to see the pebble peeking out from her hand, smugly shrugging its tiny arms. Then, before she could grab it, it scurried right back onto her hand and vanished.

Are you planning to keep everything to yourself forever?

As Ayra glared after it, Hera stopped walking. The place looked like a typical tavern from the outside. But the moment Hera opened the door, several bald men inside turned toward them with menacing expressions. Their smooth heads gleamed ominously in the light. Then, as one, they stood up and bowed in a deep ninety-degree angle.

Hera waved them off like this kind of reverence was routine.

"Alright, alright. I’ve got a guest to talk with, so bring out some drinks and clear the room."

"Yes, Boss!"

Boss...? Ayra had only ever read that title in novels. This was the first time she’d heard it used in real life. The bald-headed toughs quickly placed bottles, glasses, and a few snacks on the table before shuffling out without a word. Once they were alone, Hera gave a sly, shameless grin.

"So, what should I call you? My Lady? Ayra?"

"Just Ayra is fine."

Dropping the formalities, Ayra sat down at the table. With a pop, Hera uncorked a bottle and poured the clear liquor into Ayra’s glass. A sharp waft of alcohol—typical of Solar spirits—hit her immediately. One sip and you could be knocked flat. Still, refusing wasn’t really an option, so Ayra clinked glasses and took a cautious sip.

She held back a cough that instinctively rose to her throat. Meanwhile, Hera downed three shots in a row before tearing a bun in half and handing it over. Ayra took a bite, swallowed, and asked the question that had been on her mind, her voice slightly hoarse.

"So, when did you realize I was the lord?"

"I knew from the first time we met at the tavern."

"So you approached me on purpose, huh?"

"Sure did. One of my kids who works in your castle’s a decent sketch artist. I had him draw your portrait. After that, I kept an eye on you."

She said this with a hint of admiration—but when she brought up Janus, a shadow briefly passed over her face. She may not have known he was a dragon, but she clearly knew he was dangerous. Her expression soured as she took another swig and set the glass down with a thunk.

"Alright. I won’t waste time with formalities. You’re a busy woman. If you’ll grant me one request, I’ll make # Nоvеlight # sure you never have to worry about thugs or gang scum again."

So far, this was all within Ayra’s expectations. Hera was absurdly powerful for a human and had complete control over the slums and backstreets. If she was offering help, it meant she truly wanted something in return.

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"And what exactly is this request?"

Ayra’s face was calm, but her mind was whirring. Money? A title? Land? A request to legalize drug trade or prostitution? But what came out of Hera’s mouth was none of those things—and it was spoken with startling sincerity.

"Let me get married."

Hera's life had been anything but kind.

Her mother had died of childbed fever giving birth to her. Her father was killed by a ma-beast when she was six. That kind of tragedy wasn’t rare among farmers. Now orphaned, six-year-old Hera was sold as a slave to a wealthy farmer. The money went straight into the pockets of some distant relatives.

As a slave, she nearly froze to death, was beaten, starved, and abused. Her small body endured torment after torment—but she gritted her teeth and survived.

A year later, she found an opportunity and ran. She collapsed while wandering through the mountains and was picked up by a roaming mercenary. He saved her life, then used her for chores. She was beaten often, kicked frequently—but it was still better than the farm.

Living off scraps from his meals, she grew fast. By age eight, she was holding a dagger. She learned to gut ma-beasts and extract their magic stones. Clumsy at first, she quickly improved, and eventually began hunting small beasts herself. Her prey grew larger and deadlier.

Eventually, she realized something incredible—she had a natural talent for combat. Daggers, wooden swords, greatswords—it didn’t matter. Whatever weapon she touched became an extension of her will.

When the mercenary was torn apart by a beast years later, Hera naturally became independent. Before long, her name was known far and wide—no beast could survive her blade.

She spent over a decade killing monsters, then grew bored and began to travel—from East to West, South to North. Even the northern mountain range, where unknown beasts still roamed, didn’t faze her. That’s what finally brought her to Solar.

At first, it was just a resting point. But the scenery pleased her, and after roughing up a few loudmouths, she found herself being called “Boss.” It was amusing, and she stayed.

Then, one day, Hera met her first love—someone she’d never encountered, even in her thirties.

It was Wolf, hanging the hand-painted sign on his freshly opened bun shop.

"......You could’ve just said you wanted to marry Wolf. Why the whole life story?"

Ayra’s face soured. Hera beamed proudly, gushing about how handsome and sweet Wolf was, then sighed deeply.

"Wolf isn't just your average bun shop owner."

If not that, then what? A retired mage in disguise? But Ayra had seen his stat window—it was utterly ordinary.

"He’s the son of a prominent local figure—someone deeply respected by the townsfolk."

That explained it. Ayra nodded, suddenly understanding Hera’s request.

"Sounds like his family’s devout."

A “respected local figure” held all sorts of implications—wealthy, probably xenophobic, and no doubt fanatical followers of Morunka. Hera scoffed.

"Devout? No—fanatics. Wolf’s siblings all married people whose ancestors lived in Solar for generations. They were born here, baptized in the temple, attend dawn prayers every single day. Perfect little rich devotees."

Compared to them, Hera was the epitome of an outsider. She looked like a hunter, was literally a back-alley boss, and clearly didn’t worship Morunka. No matter how you looked at it, Wolf’s family would never approve.

"So Wolf himself isn’t that devout, I’m guessing?"

"What’re you talking about? You’ve seen his shop sign, right? That’s three of Morunka’s holy flowers with a leaf at the bottom."

Ayra blinked, startled by the revelation. Wait—that smiling four-leaf clover... wasn’t a clover? It was flowers with a leaf? That explained the flower petals in the soup buns...

Even so, despite being so devout, Wolf had fallen for an outsider and nonbeliever like Hera. His feelings must be genuine.

"We’re both getting older. I want to settle down, have kids. Build a home with someone I love."

Ayra tilted her head, puzzled. Even after checking Hera’s stat window again, the numbers were absurdly high for a human. With that strength, she could crush any opposition and marry Wolf anyway. As Ayra glanced at her muscular arms, Hera caught her gaze and smiled bitterly.

"Wolf’s the kind of guy who’s never even kicked a stray dog for stealing food. He’s never left Solar in his life. He loves his neighbors and this land with all his heart."

Hera had wandered through a world of cruelty and malice. Meeting someone like Wolf had been a shock. How could anyone be so... good?

"But his family? Not the same. I guarantee they’d fight tooth and nail—and if we actually got married, they’d stone him to death. Literally. It’s happened before."

Ayra understood her concern. Faith could turn seemingly normal people into saints—or monsters. What Hera wanted wasn’t just marriage—she didn’t want the man she loved to suffer because of her.

"So basically, you want a wedding the family will accept, huh."

"Exactly. I’m not subtle—I can’t play games. So I need you, Ayra. Say something to them. Convince them."

She looked at Ayra with a plea in her eyes. You can do it. I know you can. The message was loud and clear.