GameDev Reincarnated into His Own Creation

Vol 2 - Chapter 16.2: Breakpoint Behemoth

A server approached them immediately, her movements efficient as she placed three mugs of water before them without being asked.

"Today's offerings are mutton stew, roast chicken, or fish pie. All served with bread and seasonal vegetables. What'll it be?" Her delivery was clipped and professional, not unfriendly but certainly not the warm banter of Elnor's tavern staff.

Vel quickly calculated the prices listed on a slate board behind the counter. His funds would cover their meals, but just barely. He'd have to be more careful with expenses until they reached Lona.

"I'll have the stew," he decided, choosing the most economical option.

"Chicken for me," said Celia.

Vel glanced at Hileya, noticing she hadn't ordered anything for herself. She must be hungry after the long journey, but she's still trying to maintain her servant role. That wouldn't do—not when they were traveling together like this.

"And another stew," Vel called out to the server.

Vel watched as their meals arrived, steam rising from the hearty portions. Despite choosing the least expensive option, the stew looked substantial, chunks of meat and root vegetables floating in a rich broth. He took a spoonful, savoring the warmth and flavor after days of travel rations.

"This is exactly what I needed," Celia sighed contentedly, tearing into her chicken with surprising enthusiasm.

Hileya ate more delicately, but Vel noticed her spoon returning to the bowl with increasing frequency. She must have been just as hungry as they were.

The calm meal was interrupted by a heavy hand landing on Hileya's shoulder. A broad-shouldered man with a flushed face and alcohol-reeking breath loomed over her.

"Haven't seen you serving here before, pretty one," he slurred, leaning uncomfortably close to Hileya's pointed ear. "Bring another round for my table and maybe something special for me after your shift?"

Hileya stiffened, her spoon frozen halfway to her mouth. "Sir, I'm not—"

"Don't be shy now." The man's fingers pressed into her shoulder. "I pay well for good service." His other hand reached down to stroke her hair.

Vel set his spoon down, muscles tensing as he prepared to rise, but before he could move, Celia was already on her feet.

"Remove your hand before I remove it for you," Celia stated, her voice cutting through the ambient noise with chilling clarity.

The man blinked in confusion, turning to face this unexpected interruption. "Mind your business, girl. I'm just talking to the serving wench."

"She is not a serving wench," Celia replied, her stance shifting subtly into the fighting position Vel recognized from their training. "She is our companion, and you are making a mistake."

The man scoffed. "What are you going to do about it? You're barely tall enough to reach my—"

In one fluid motion, Celia's hand shot out, gripping the man's wrist and twisting it at an angle that made him gasp. With her other hand, she applied pressure to a point near his elbow that Vel had never seen her use before.

"Gods above!" the man yelped, immediately releasing Hileya and dropping to one knee.

Vel stood up and stepped closer to the man, a smile spreading across his face. It was a polite expression, carefully measured to appear friendly while his eyes remained cold and calculating.

"Sir, it seems you might have made a mistake," Vel said with forced pleasantness. "This is our friend, and we are customers just like yourself. Maybe you've had too much to drink and this is just a misunderstanding, how about we pretend this never happened?"

The man's face contorted with anger as he struggled against Celia's hold. "You little—I don't take orders from children!"

Something shifted in Vel's expression then. His smile remained fixed in place, but it transformed into something altogether different—no longer a social courtesy but a predator's display of teeth. His eyes narrowed slightly, and though he added no magical enhancement, something in his gaze conveyed the absolute certainty that he could inflict harm if provoked further.

The man flinched visibly, his protest dying in his throat as he met Vel's gaze. Whatever he saw there made him pale beneath his alcohol-induced flush. He jerked his arm free from Celia's loosening grip and took a stumbling step backward.

"No harm meant," he mumbled, averting his eyes and rubbing his wrist. "Just a mistake."

Without another word, the man retreated to the far corner of the inn, his companion snickering but still throwing observing eyes toward Vel's group.

Vel returned to his seat, exhaling slowly to release the tension built up in his shoulders. He noticed Hileya's fingers self-consciously adjusting her hair to better cover her half-elven ears, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and discomfort.

Celia slid back onto the bench across from them, her movements fluid and controlled. She glanced around the inn before leaning forward.

"That was unnecessary," she said quietly. "I had it handled."

"I know you had," Vel said, picking up his spoon. "Just wanted to ensure the message got across."

Hileya kept her gaze fixed on her stew. "Thank you both," she whispered.

Of course this would happen, Vel thought, stirring his stew with deliberate slowness. At least we avoided the classic bandits-on-the-road scenario, only to walk straight into the drunk-harassing-women-at-the-tavern cliché.

He could practically hear Kenji's voice from their old development meetings: "Players love these moments! It gives them a chance to be heroic!" The junior programmer had always been obsessed with what he called "genre expectations," arguing that familiar tropes made players feel comfortable in the world.

Vel had pushed back then, insisting their writing team move beyond lazy plot devices. "Come up with something original," he'd told them repeatedly. The response was always the same dismissive shrug: "Players don't notice these details as long as the story's compelling."

Maybe this world hasn't fully evolved past the tropes we originally designed, Vel mused, watching Hileya slowly regain her composure. Or maybe Kenji was right, and I'm the only one bothered by recycled scenarios.

Another sigh escaped him as he took another spoonful of stew. Even in this new world—his creation made manifest—he couldn't escape the storytelling conventions that had plagued their development process.

At least Celia handled it well, he admitted, acknowledging that some clichés existed because they reflected genuine human behavior patterns.

Looking around, he noticed several patrons watching their table with newfound interest. In a town built on military discipline and association, they'd just drawn unwanted attention. The drunk man was now muttering to his companions, occasionally throwing dark glances their way.

"We should finish quickly," Vel murmured. "One wrong move could upset the wrong group of people."

Celia nodded slightly, understanding his concern without needing elaboration.

"Better to stay invisible until we reach Lona," Vel added, his appetite diminishing as he calculated the potential complications.

Vel stepped outside the inn, squinting against the afternoon sun. The cobblestone streets of Everfront remained as orderly as ever, but after the confrontation inside, the military precision of the town felt more oppressive than impressive.

"Let's head back to the stagecoach," he suggested, noticing how Hileya kept her gaze downcast, still affected by the encounter.