Chapter 339: Take it (2)
The streets were quieter now, the distant lanterns of Thornridge's knights swinging like errant fireflies in the darkness. Lucavion paid them no mind. Even as a group of knights rounded a distant corner, their gazes landing on him briefly, none dared stop him.
Still, as he approached the city gates, their presence grew thicker. The knights' hushed voices carried in the cold air, their armor glinting beneath the pale moonlight.
"Who… who is that?" one muttered, a trace of unease in his tone as Lucavion and Aether passed the outer walls.
Another knight shouted, his voice ringing clear in the stillness. "You there! Stop!"
Lucavion didn't stop. He didn't even look back. Aether's pace quickened to a measured canter, her form cutting through the shadows like an extension of the night itself.
More shouts followed, confused and angry, echoing across the stone walls. "Stop him!"
"Who was that?"
"Don't let him—!"
But Lucavion was already gone.
The wind tore at his cloak as Aether's hooves carried them beyond the gates and into the wild, open night. The shouts faded behind him, swallowed by the endless stretch of darkness. Thornridge shrank into the distance, its lights flickering like a dying ember on the horizon.
Lucavion's dark eyes remained fixed ahead, the faint glow of Aether's eyes casting streaks of light against the moonlit ground.
Leaving is easy when you're already a ghost.
He let the silence settle around him, his smirk lingering faintly as the wind whispered past. The blood staining his coat would wash away soon enough, but the memory of tonight—the carnage, the silence, the greed flickering in Zirkel's eyes—would linger like the last embers of a dying fire.
He ran a gloved hand through Aether's mane, her steady rhythm calming as they vanished into the night.
"Onward," he murmured softly, his voice lost to the wind.
The world stretched out before him, vast and waiting. And for now, that was enough.
*******
FOOSH! FOOSH!
Inside a forest, the river flowed with an unhurried rhythm, its surface broken only by ripples where Lucavion's pale skin met the water. Moonlight cascaded down in ribbons of silver, casting his fair body aglow, the scars etched into him a testament to battles of the past. The marks stretched across his arms, his shoulders, his chest—each one with a story buried beneath, unseen but never forgotten.
For all their quiet, rivers have a way of washing things away—blood, dirt, memories that claw too sharply at the mind.
Lucavion cupped his hands beneath the flowing current, watching the crimson streaks melt away as the water carried them off into the unknown. The silence around him was vast and all-encompassing, broken only by the occasional murmur of the river or the soft rustle of branches overhead. His clothes—washed and wrung out with precise care—hung limply from the low branches of nearby trees, their dark fabric fluttering faintly in the breeze.
"Finally, the blood is gone..." he muttered, his voice so quiet it barely brushed the air. His tone was absent, but there was something distant in it—less about the blood itself and more about what it represented. It always stains deeper than the flesh.
Lucavion sank further into the water, letting it swallow him up to his collarbones. He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the river press against him like a quiet anchor, as if the world were trying—if only for a moment—to hold him still.
Interesting, he thought suddenly, stretching his arms out beneath the surface. There was a buzz thrumming faintly under his skin, a vigor that hadn't been there before. Strength sang through his veins, sharp and potent, almost tangible enough to taste.
"Hmm..." He tilted his head back, the moonlight streaking across his features as a slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "The harvest is indeed quite much."
His fingers curled loosely, feeling the tingle of energy that lingered there—a pulse, faint yet steady, like an ember cradled beneath ash. The death mana absorbed from tonight's little spectacle… It's potent. Far more than it should be.
The carnage he'd left behind—the Elders of the Crimson Serpent Sect, the sect leader Vaelric—it hadn't been for sport. Each of their deaths had been important to him. With each blow, each last breath drawn from their lips, the death mana had flooded into him, flowing as naturally as water into a vessel.
'Now,' he reflected inwardly, 'it's on the verge of breaking through.'
The [Flame of Equinox]—his second core, a fire born of opposites—shimmered at the edge of its evolution. A breakthrough into the 4-star tier was no small thing, yet the familiar hum of progress reminded him of what came before.
'Just like with the [Devourer of Stars].' That core, his first, had shattered its boundaries in a similar way, swelling to 4-star status after a hunt not unlike this one. His mind drifted back to the power that had surged through him then, the exhilaration of breaking through limitations that others dared not approach.
Lucavion submerged himself entirely for a brief moment, letting the icy water consume him. In the darkness, his thoughts whispered like faint echoes, drifting back to the faces—twisted, desperate, enraged—of those he'd killed tonight. All of them fell so easily. The strong exist to be tested, and when they fail... Well, they are no longer strong.
Breaking the surface again with a deep inhale, Lucavion smoothed his wet hair back, the droplets tracing slow paths down his face and neck. He exhaled, letting the chill settle into him as his sharp gaze lifted toward the moon.
"Killing enemies at the peak of 4-star... no, even those who were near their limit..." He trailed off, his voice low but edged with satisfaction. "They had no idea what they were offering me."
Lucavion's gaze lingered on the moon, the pale glow a mirror of his thoughts—cold, unwavering, yet not entirely devoid of light. He ran a hand down his face, wiping the water that clung stubbornly to his skin, the weight of the night pressing faintly against his shoulders.
Killing for the sake of power alone… that's never been my way.
No, tonight's slaughter had not been indiscriminate. The Elders of the Crimson Serpent Sect, their so-called leader Vaelric—each death had been weighed, measured, and deemed inevitable. A simple truth, but truth nonetheless.
"They earned their fate," Lucavion murmured, his voice low, as if sharing a secret with the river itself.
The disciples, however, had not all met his blade. Many had been left behind, trembling in the shadows or fleeing into the night. He had allowed them to live, their lives not worth the price of his time or his blade. Their hands had been stained, yes, but not enough. Not yet.
"Karma," he thought, smirking faintly as he recalled the faint hum of Vitaliara's voice in his mind, her presence ever so vibrant again, like a flame reignited after too long in the dark.
Not so long ago, she had been as much a shadow as the ghosts that haunted him—weak, waning, her strength barely enough to sustain her. But with her recovery came the return of her powers, abilities as natural to her as breathing. One of which, as Lucavion now relied upon, was the ability to judge.
"Karma," he whispered aloud this time, savoring the weight of the word on his tongue. The concept was far more delicate than the blunt force of justice, more nuanced than morality's fickle scales. To most, life and death were binary—black and white, good and evil. But Vitaliara's gaze pierced through the haze of moral ambiguity. She could see how much a person had stained themselves in death's ink, how tightly they clung to the blood they'd spilled.
Her words came back to him from earlier that night, a faint echo in the recesses of his mind:
[Lucavion. Their karma is heavy.]
The Elders, the leader Vaelric—they had not been petty tyrants or simple misers. They were creatures steeped in death, their souls tethered to the lives they'd crushed underfoot. To Vitaliara, Guardian of Life, such men appeared as twisted masses of decay, their aura thick with the lifeblood they'd stolen.
[Those who drink deeply of death eventually drown in it,] she had once told him, her soft voice carrying the weight of centuries.
Lucavion had taken her judgment for what it was: undeniable. He trusted her instincts as he trusted his blade, and so when the time came, he delivered the sentence she'd revealed without hesitation.
"Those disciples," he muttered, eyes narrowing faintly. "Their hands are dirty, but not drenched. There's still time for them to crawl away from the edge, to choose something different."
That was the difference—choice. Lucavion knew better than anyone that the path to redemption, if one wanted to call it that, was a razor's edge. A single misstep, one decision too far, and a person could slip beyond saving. That was what the Elders had done. That was what Vaelric had done.
"They had their chances," he said quietly, brushing his fingers across the water's surface. The ripples warped the reflection of the moon, fracturing its pale glow into something almost unrecognizable. "And they threw them away."
The death mana thrummed through his body—wild, seething, alive. It wrapped around his advancing core, coaxing it forward, feeding its flames until the equilibrium between life and death burned brighter than ever.
'It's close now,' he mused, a faint gleam in his dark eyes as he focused inward. That final shackle is thin—just a little more.
Chapter 340: What are you going to do?
His thoughts were not without caution, though. Absorbing mana from those stronger than oneself was a dangerous act, a gamble of will and endurance. But as long as I win… the risks matter little.
Lucavion reached for his flask, perched neatly on a flat stone by the river's edge, and took a measured sip. The burn of alcohol slid down his throat, cleansing the residual taste of blood that still lingered at the back of his tongue. He turned his gaze toward the camp he'd made earlier—a modest fire crackling faintly beneath the trees, its glow softened by distance.
Lucavion tilted the flask slightly, watching the liquid swirl within before taking another slow sip. The alcohol bit at his tongue, sharp and unrelenting, though it didn't carry the burn he wished it would—no warmth pooling in his stomach, no dizzying haze clouding his senses.
Of course not. Regular alcohol holds no power here.
"Baaah…" He scoffed, pulling the flask away as he studied it with a faint, sardonic smile. "Nothing but a sharp taste left behind, huh?"
For someone who wasn't much of a drinker, there was still a strange satisfaction in it—like biting into something bitter after tasting too much sweetness, or the fleeting sting of cold air on a healing wound. It was a stark contrast, and it chased away the lingering metallic tang of blood that clung to his senses.
It's a shame, he thought wryly, swirling the contents idly. No matter how strong the brew, it won't touch me unless it's something special. Awakened bodies are too stubborn for that.
And his body? Well… Lucavion let out a low chuckle, his dark eyes glinting faintly in the moonlight.
"Far too different for something as ordinary as this."
The truth of it was simple. Awakened individuals, those who walked the path of mana cultivation, were no longer constrained by the limits of mortal flesh. Ordinary poisons, toxins, and vices couldn't sink their claws into a body that had transcended beyond. Their systems burned through impurities too efficiently, reducing even the strongest drinks to mere flavor and memory.
But Lucavion wasn't simply Awakened. His body carried mana that defied the natural rules, cores that spun with an equilibrium alien to most. The [Devourer of Stars] and the [Flame of Equinox]—one born of devouring light, the other balancing life and death—had altered him on a level deeper than blood or bone. He was a vessel of contradictions, and simple alcohol couldn't hope to bind itself to him.
Still… He pressed the cool metal of the flask briefly against his lips again, savoring the lingering taste. It does one thing right—it drowns out the blood.
The death mana still simmered in his veins, not chaotic, but undeniably alive, like a chorus whispering just beneath the surface of his skin. It carried the weight of those he'd slain, a weight he had long since stopped fearing. Yet sometimes, the taste of blood lingered longer than he liked—on his tongue, in his throat, seared into the back of his thoughts.
"This," he murmured, tapping the flask once before setting it back on the stone, "is as good a remedy as I'll find."
A faint rustle from behind made him glance over his shoulder. Vitaliara's ethereal form materialized at the edge of the clearing, her soft glow like a wisp of starlight drifting through the dark. Her eyes, deep and ancient, held his for a moment before she moved closer, her form delicate yet brimming with renewed strength.
[You're brooding again,] she teased gently, though her tone carried an undercurrent of something softer. [Do you doubt yourself?]
Lucavion chuckled, though the sound was low and edged with weariness. "If I doubted myself, I wouldn't have struck them down." He looked at her, his gaze sharp yet knowing. "But I won't pretend the line we tread is thin. Killing is killing, no matter how justified it seems."
[And yet, you still hesitate to call it justice,] Vitaliara murmured, stepping closer to the river's edge. Her gaze drifted across the water as if she could see the blood it had already carried away. [You call it necessary.]
"It is necessary." Lucavion's voice hardened, though not unkindly. "Justice… morality… those are luxuries people speak of when they have time to debate. When they're not clawing to survive or trying to carve something better out of this dying world."
He looked back toward the trees, the faint smoke from his campfire twisting upward to join the night sky. "Those men were beyond saving. Their karma—" he paused, his lips quirking into a half-smile, "—it weighed too much for this world to hold any longer."
Vitalaira tilted her head, her soft glow brushing against the edges of his perception. [You understand it better than most, Lucavion. Life and death are not a matter of balance. They are a matter of choice.]
Lucavion's gaze darkened faintly as he nodded, his thoughts drifting back to the Crimson Serpent Sect's broken remains. "Choice," he echoed. "They chose to carve their lives from the blood of others. And I…" He shrugged faintly, a glimmer of something sharper in his expression. "I chose to end them."
The river murmured softly, as if agreeing with him.
Vitalaira remained silent for a long moment, watching him carefully. Then, with a small nod, she stepped closer, her presence a calming force against the weight of the night. [And for those you spared?]
"They'll remember tonight," Lucavion replied simply. "Whether they use that memory to crawl back into the darkness or walk away from it… that's their choice. For now, they've earned the right to make it."
Vitalaira purred softly in approval, the faintest smile curving her lips. [You tread a dangerous path, Lucavion. But you do not tread it blindly.]
Lucavion's smirk returned, faint and sardonic, though there was an edge of something unspoken beneath it. He turned his gaze back to the moon, letting its distant light wash over him once more. "Blind or not, the path is mine to walk."
He rose from the water then, the droplets glistening faintly as they trailed down his scarred, moonlit skin. The fire from the camp crackled in the distance, its faint glow calling him back, but he lingered a moment longer by the river, listening to its song.
Perhaps it was Vitaliara's gift—her ability to see the death others carried—that allowed him to justify his actions. Or perhaps it was just him, making peace with the weight he chose to bear.
Either way, the line he walked remained his alone to tread. And tonight, at least, he walked it unflinching.
Lucavion's smirk curved faintly as he reached for the edge of the riverbank, rising fully from the water. Droplets trailed down his skin in thin rivulets, glimmering faintly in the moonlight before falling soundlessly to the earth below. His toned body, scarred and forged from countless battles, was as stark as the night itself—unapologetically real.
A voice, familiar yet tinged with indignation, broke the calm.
[Hey… give a warning before you leave.]
Lucavion turned his head slightly, not particularly surprised to see Vitaliara standing there with an uncharacteristic tension in her expression. She was perched delicately at the river's edge, her usual ethereal glow catching in the darkness like threads of starlight. Yet her eyes—her very alive eyes—were fixed squarely on him.
A faint snort escaped him as he grabbed his trousers, unfazed and uninterested in rushing. "You're late with that, Vitaliara. I'm already out of the water."
Her glow flickered ever so slightly, though her gaze remained steady. [I wouldn't need to be late if you'd act with a shred of decorum, Lucavion.]
He huffed a quiet laugh, low and edged with teasing. "Decorum?" He pulled his shirt from the branch where it hung, shaking off the moisture before draping it lazily over his shoulder. "Since when do you care for that?"
Vitalaira shifted slightly, her tail flicking behind her in what he recognized as agitation—or perhaps something closer to flustered indignation. It was a rare sight, and Lucavion didn't let it slip by unnoticed.
"Hmph."
Her voice came again, clipped and defensive. [It's not as if I want to look. It's just… unavoidable.]
He paused briefly, his sharp gaze flicking toward her sidelong, amusement glimmering in his dark eyes.
'Unavoidable, huh?'
Sure.
Lucavion pulled the shirt over his head in one smooth motion, his movements deliberate yet unhurried. Beneath the half-shadow of his damp hair, his smirk deepened, sharp and knowing.
"It's not like you don't enjoy the view, Vitaliara," he drawled lazily, his tone half-serious, half-mocking. "You peeper."
[Who—who is a peeper?!]
Her voice rose in a flustered protest, and though she tried to sound indignant, the edges of her words wavered ever so slightly. A faint glow pulsed brighter across her form, as though her very essence rebelled at his accusation.
Lucavion tilted his head, feigning deep thought as he fastened his coat. "Let's see. You're here, watching without warning, and lingering for longer than necessary. That sounds like peeping to me."
[I am not!] she shot back, her glow sparking like an ember briefly flaring to life. [You are the one wandering around shirtless in the moonlight, like you're posing for a statue.]
Lucavion chuckled, a low and quiet sound that cut through her words with maddening ease. "Posing, huh? I'll take that as a compliment."
[It wasn't!]
Her tail swished with growing vigor now, the starlit edges of her form pulsing faintly in tandem with her indignation.
Vitalaira's form glimmered faintly, her glow softening as she visibly reined in her agitation. The swishing of her tail slowed, though the occasional flick betrayed the embers of lingering indignation. She drew herself up slightly, her starlit presence settling into the calm grace she so often wore like a mantle. Her sharp eyes, however, remained fixed on Lucavion as he adjusted the fastenings of his coat.
[Now what?] she asked, her voice steady again, though her tone carried a note of quiet scrutiny. [What are you going to do?]
Lucavion paused mid-motion, the final buckle of his coat clicking into place as a smirk crept back onto his lips. He tilted his head, his gaze slipping toward her, gleaming faintly beneath the damp fall of his dark hair.
"What am I going to do?" he echoed, as though the question had never occurred to him before. His voice was slow, edged with a deliberateness that hinted at both mischief and calculation. "That is a good question."
Vitalaira narrowed her eyes slightly, waiting for an answer that, she knew by now, would not come without its own flourish.
Lucavion let the silence hang for a beat longer, his smirk deepening into something sharper—something distinctly him.
"I will need to save one final daughter before the academy."
Chapter 341: Stormhaven
The city of Stormhaven sprawled before them, a glittering jewel against the backdrop of a restless sea. Its white stone walls gleamed under the midday sun, while spires of polished marble stretched skyward, each crowned with intricate weather vanes that spun lazily in the salty breeze. Below, the city buzzed with life—a cacophony of ship horns, hawkers' cries, and the rhythmic pounding of waves against the pier.
A young man adjusted his clothes as the carriage came to a halt at the eastern gate, where the scent of brine and fish mingled with the faint aroma of spices drifting from nearby warehouses. Beside him a young woman leaned slightly out of the window, her eyes wide as they drank in the sight of the bustling metropolis.
"Brother," she said, her voice hushed. "This city is… enormous."
"Stormhaven," The young man replied, stepping down from the carriage. His boots crunched on the cobblestones as he surveyed the gates, wide enough to allow entire caravans to pass through. "The largest port city in the empire and a place where fortunes are made—or ruined."
The streets of Stormhaven were a vibrant tapestry of activity, reflecting its position as a cornerstone of trade and adventure. Stalls lined the cobblestone streets, selling everything from exotic spices and rare jewels to enchanted trinkets and mundane goods. A pair of street performers juggled flaming torches near a fountain depicting a ship helmed by a robed figure, said to be the city's mythical founder, a sea-warrior blessed by the ocean itself.
As the young man and his companion stepped away from their carriage, they were immediately swept into the bustling tide of city life. Sailors with sun-worn faces argued boisterously over dice games, while merchants barked their prices with persuasive fervor. The air was a heady mix of salt, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of freshly forged weapons displayed outside smithies.
The young woman clutched her brother's arm as a cart laden with barrels trundled past, its driver cursing at a street vendor who had allowed a stray chicken to dart into its path.
"Watch your step here," the young man advised, his voice calm but firm. "Stormhaven's streets have their charm, but they're as dangerous as its seas."
Her wide-eyed gaze swept over the crowd. "Is it always this… chaotic?"
He chuckled. "This is just the outer district. Wait until we reach the markets near the Docks District. That's where Stormhaven truly comes alive."
The two passed a row of opulent buildings flanking the main street—wealthy merchants' homes with carved facades and gilded windows that gleamed in the sun. Servants hurried about their tasks under the watchful eyes of their masters, many of whom lounged on balconies, sipping wine as they surveyed the bustling city below. These were the elite of Stormhaven, aristocrats who thrived off the city's unending commerce and trade.
In stark contrast, the common folk were loud and boisterous, their conversations peppered with salty humor and sharp barbs. Sailors shouted bawdy songs as they hauled goods, their voices cutting through the clamor of hawkers peddling wares. A young boy darted between the crowd, clutching a coin purse he had pilfered from an oblivious merchant. He vanished into an alley before the merchant could even notice.
"Charming," the young woman murmured, wrinkling her nose.
"They call it the jewel of the east for a reason," her brother said with a wry smile. "But like any jewel, it has its rough edges."
As they turned a corner, the harbor came into view—a sprawling expanse of docks and piers teeming with activity. Ships of every size and origin were moored, their flags and sails a kaleidoscope of colors. The mighty vessels of the Arcanis Empire's navy, their hulls reinforced with enchanted metal, dwarfed the merchant ships nearby. Workers scurried along the piers, loading and unloading crates stamped with sigils from faraway lands.
At the center of it all stood the grandiose Stormspire Citadel, a towering fortress of white stone overlooking the harbor. Its ramparts bristled with cannons, and banners bearing the crest of the Thaddeus family—a sea serpent coiled around a trident—fluttered proudly in the breeze.
"The Thaddeus Duchy's power is unmistakable," the young man remarked, nodding toward the citadel. "They control not only the navy but the lifeblood of trade itself. Without them, the empire would crumble."
"And the people?" the young woman asked, her voice soft. "Do they respect their duke?"
"Respect him?" He paused, considering his words. "They fear him. Duke Thaddeus is said to be as unyielding as the sea itself. But fear has kept Stormhaven prosperous for centuries. The duchy's navy is unmatched, and their grip on trade is ironclad."
They paused near a bustling tavern called the Silver Tide, its wooden sign swinging gently in the breeze. Laughter and the clink of mugs spilled out onto the street, mingling with the raucous sea shanties sung by a group of sailors gathered around its entrance.
"This city has everything," the young man mused. "Opportunity, danger, wealth, and ruin. If you're bold enough, Stormhaven will make you a legend."
"And if you're not?" she asked.
He smiled faintly. "Then it will swallow you whole."
With that, they stepped into the tavern, the door creaking shut behind them as the city of Stormhaven continued its unrelenting symphony outside.
The heavy door of the Silver Tide swung open with a creak, and the young man and his sister stepped into the bustling tavern. Warmth and noise engulfed them immediately, a sharp contrast to the salty breeze outside. The scent of roasted meats, spilled ale, and sweat mingled with the ever-present brine of Stormhaven. Lanterns swung from the wooden beams above, casting flickering shadows across the room.
The tavern was packed with adventurers, mercenaries, and sailors, their laughter and boisterous chatter echoing against the stone walls. At one table, a burly man slammed a fistful of coins onto a weathered map, barking something about a kraken sighting. Nearby, a group of armored warriors clinked their tankards, toasting their survival after battling what sounded like an entire fleet of sea serpents.
"Looks like this is the right place," the young man muttered, scanning the room.
His sister stayed close behind him, her gaze flitting nervously between the crowd. "It's... loud," she said, her voice barely audible above the din.
The young man chuckled as they stepped further into the tavern, weaving through the maze of tables filled with rowdy patrons. "Didn't I tell you before? Places like these are best for gathering information," he said, glancing over his shoulder at his sister.
Lianne frowned slightly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "It's a bit… overwhelming."
"You'll get used to it," he replied with a grin. "Now, let's find a seat."
The pair approached the bar, where the bartender—a broad-shouldered man with a thick beard streaked with gray—was wiping down the counter. His sharp eyes flicked over them briefly before he resumed his work.
"Two meals, whatever's fresh," the young man said, sliding a silver coin across the counter with practiced ease. "And some news to go with it."
The bartender glanced at the coin, then pocketed it in a smooth motion. "You're looking for news, huh? You must've heard about the Duke's recent declaration."
The young man nodded as he leaned casually against the bar. "The Duke's recruiting adventurers, right?"
"That's right," the bartender confirmed, reaching under the counter to retrieve two pewter mugs. "An expedition team's being formed soon. The Duke's calling for every able sword and spellcaster willing to risk their necks. Seems like the monsters on the sea routes are getting bolder by the day, and the merchants are losing patience."
Lianne tilted her head, curiosity piqued. "Why not send the knights? Isn't that what they're for?"
The bartender let out a dry chuckle as he filled the mugs with frothy ale. "Kid, are you new to the job? Do you think knights are expendable like adventurers?"
She blinked, taken aback. "I… hadn't thought about it that way."
"Knights are valuable," the bartender continued, setting the mugs on the counter with a thud. "Trained for years, equipped with the finest gear. Sure, they handle their share of monster hunts, but sending them out en masse to clear the sea routes? That's a waste of resources. Adventurers, on the other hand…" He smirked. "You lot are cheaper, plentiful, and just as willing to die for gold."
The young man raised an eyebrow. "Blunt, but not wrong."
The bartender shrugged as he began assembling their meals. "It's the way of things. That's why Stormhaven's crawling with your kind—gold's a strong motivator, and there's plenty of it to be had if you're brave or desperate enough."
"Any details on this expedition?" the young man asked, his tone casual but probing.
"Not much yet," the bartender admitted. "They're still gathering forces, but Captain Edran's in charge. He'll be organizing the teams down at the harbor in the next few days. If you're serious about it, that's where you'll want to go."
The bartender slid two plates onto the counter—thick slabs of roasted meat with crusty bread and a small bowl of stewed vegetables. "Here. Enjoy. And if you survive the expedition, come back for a round on me."
The young man chuckled, picking up the plates. "Appreciate it."
As they moved to a small table near the corner of the room, Lianne's brow furrowed in thought. "So, the Duke really does rely on adventurers for this kind of thing."
"He has to," her brother replied, setting her plate down in front of her. "The navy's for war, the knights are for defense, and the adventurers…" He gestured broadly at the room, where laughter and arguments mingled with the clink of tankards. "We're the ones who deal with everything in between."
Lianne nodded slowly, her gaze drifting to the other patrons. "Do you think we'll be ready for something like this?"
"We'll be fine," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "We're not going into this blind. We'll scout, plan, and take it one step at a time. Besides…" He smirked. "The reward's worth it."
Her lips quirked into a tentative smile. "If you say so."
SWOOSH!
But as they were eating their meals suddenly something happened.
CREAK!
Something flew and hit the ground.