Summary Archibold Stormblood, the greatest hero of Visseria, has spent his 221-year life training and fighting. Now that the Mad King is dead and the Demon Lord is defeated, all he wants is a well-deserved vacation spent as a humble tavern keeper and brewmaster. But despite his best efforts at avoiding conflict, trouble has a way of finding itself back into his life. Will he be able to hide his true identity and maintain his peaceful existence running the Tipsy Pelican Tavern with his beautiful tavern staff, or will he be sucked into the struggles of the world once more? (The series has been newly rewritten with an updated magic system and original art.) Table of Contents Chapter 1: Welcome to the Tipsy Pelican Tavern (Arc 1) Chapter 2: The Greatest Hero of Our Time Chapter 3: Dragons and Slaves Chapter 4: Would Not Speak Ill of My Master Chapter 5: Bad Luck and Trouble Read the latest updates on RoyalRoad.com!
Chapter 1: Welcome to the Tipsy Pelican Tavern (Arc 1) It was becoming a busy night at the Tipsy Pelican Tavern, and that was an unusual occurrence. It had been a year since we opened, and I could count the number of eventful evenings on a single hand. In fact, I could count the number of nightly guests on a single hand. But the city’s Tournament of Heroes had just ended, and after leaving the arena, the people of Meritas were in good spirits and the mood for a drink. The tournament was a major event in the city. It drew the best fighters from across the duchy to compete in one-on-one matches in the city’s grand arena. Thousands of citizens and visitors gathered to see them fight. Understandably, the tournament’s results were the talk of the tavern, and at one particular table, an argument had broken out over which of the Rules of Ruin had ended the final match. “It was Rule Forty-Six. Must have been,” said one man with a foam mustache gained from the mug of ale in his hand. “Rule Forty-Six is Bane’s Blade, you fool!” the man’s friend said. He was the oldest but a fast talker, especially when it came to arguments. “Did you see a blade in Galston’s hand when he delivered the final blow?” “Bah, I can’t remember all their names, but I’m sure of the rule’s number.” “Well,” said the older man. “I don’t know about the number, but it was Hellion Hand, I say. Did you not see the speed of his strike?” “Both of you are wrong,” the third man said. His name was Amberly, the largest of the three builders at the table. He had arms the size of tree trunks and a beard that could put pirate lords to shame. “Galston used Rule Sixty-Six, Saffron Spear. The same spell the Stormblood killed the Demon Lord with.” I smiled to myself. They were in fact all wrong. Galston had cast Rule Seventeen, Paralyzing Palm in the final duel, and the Stormblood had not used any of Celeru’s Seventy-Seven Rules of Ruin during his battle against the Demon Lord. But I had no leg in the matter, so I simply asked, “More Honeydew Lager, boys?” “Ah, Master Arch! You have impeccable timing,” Bran said, raising his large wooden mug that was emptied of the golden liquid, but his mustache still held at least a mouthful. He wasn’t quite as immense as Amberly, but he too looked oversized on my wooden chairs. Both Amberly and Dalian also opted for refills after quickly downing what was left in their mugs. “A full pour is the best pour,” Dalian said as I filled his mug after finishing Amberly’s. He had a couple of decades on Bran and Amberly, but he often outdrank both. “Best to keep them mugs empty then,” I said with my best tavern keeper smile. “Aye!” Amberly said and clinked his mug with his two friends. “Another empty over here, Master Arch!” said a woman’s voice. I turned to find Elsa sitting slumped behind the bar, clearly already intoxicated, with one hand outstretched, gripping a mug. I walked over and filled her mug only halfway. “Hey,” she said, lifting her head from her arm to take a look at the contents of the mug. “That’s not nearly full.” “You’re supposed to be helping me with the customers,” I said. “Not becoming one,” A female customer on the other end of the bar turned to me as she heard my voice. I could not see her eyes as they were blocked by a white veil. She wore the robes of the White Church, and at her side, there was a sheathed sword leaned against the bar. I had pegged her as a white templar. This was her third time visiting this week. I held the woman’s gaze, or at least where her gaze would have been if I could see her eyes. She turned away and sipped on the glass of red wine she had ordered earlier in the night. “I need energy if I’m going to work,” Elsa said and took a big gulp from her mug. “So eat something,” I said, taking my eyes off the templar. “I already did.” She lifted her mug at me again. I looked down and saw it was empty. “Good gods, woman, how do you drink so fast?” She looked at me with a sudden seriousness that nearly made me take a step backward. Elsa had the type of beauty that could stop a weak heart. And with her violet eyes trained on me, my heart was getting adequately tested. “Alcoholism is a skill that one must train for many years to master,” she said with mock sincerity. “Perhaps, I will teach you one day.” “At least pour your own booze,” I said, putting the pitcher in front of her. “Maybe you’ll get in the habit and start pouring for the customers too.” “As you command, Heru,” she said and pulled a strap of her dress that had fallen back over her shoulder. I had to tell my eyes twice to look away before she could notice that I was staring. I let out a small sigh, annoyed at myself, and rubbed my head. Despite my age, I still had the body of a 19-year-old, and since losing my powers, I was starting to feel the effects of my youth. All the effects. It was a problem that was becoming both irksome and bewildering. “If you don’t mind, I’ll buy her a drink,” said a broad-shouldered young man. I hadn’t seen him around before. This was probably his first night at the tavern. I immediately put on my tavern keeper face and smiled politely. “Of course, sir. Elsa would be happy to take your order.” I refilled my pitcher at the bar tap and headed to the two new patrons who had just entered the tavern. Despite Elsa’s perfunctory skills as a barmaid, she attracted many patrons who were eager to spend money to impress her. Better yet, her liver seemed to be more robust than the Demon Lord’s soul. And so Elsa and I came to a mutually beneficial arrangement. She got to drink what she wanted while making a small wage, and I got a busy tavern. As I passed by the builders to show the new patrons to a table, I overheard the men continuing their argument over Galston’s Tournament. “Hellion Hand doesn’t increase the caster’s speed,” Amberly was saying. “Therefore, it had to be Saffron Spear. He moved lightning fast.” “I still say it was Rule Forty-Six,” Bran said and took a big pull from his mug. “I swear I heard him name the number as he called the rule. Perhaps Rule Forty-Six is Saffron Spear.” “No, it’s sixty-six!” Amberly shot back. “It’s the one the Stormblood used it against the Demon L-“ “If it had been Saffron Spear, the entire arena would have been destroyed,” said a new voice. A woman’s voice—it was the templar sitting at the bar. “And,” the templar continued. “It is not known which spells Archibold Stormblood conjured in his clash against the Demon Lord since there were none to witness it.” My ears perked up at this. Whoever this lady was, she was sharp and knew her lore. The builders at the table eyed her. They glanced over her robes and sword and were undoubtedly wondering what a white templar was doing in a tavern, as I did. Nonetheless, they did not say anything in return as she was wearing the whites and carrying a sword. Everyone knew church templars were dangerous folk to be involved with, and they’d not risk speaking to one. Not yet, anyway. The night was still young, and the ale had only just begun to flow. Bran finished his second mug and began waving for a third. I quickly hopped over. “Mmm…” Bran hummed as he finished a deep swig of his newly filled mug, leaving a new film of foam on his bushy mustache. “This must be the best honey beer I’ve had in the city. You must tell me how it’s brewed, Master Arch.” “It’s honeydew beer, Bran. And it’s a trade secret, I’m afraid.” I gave him a humble smile that hid the pride I felt underneath. I’d spent months working on it. The latest iteration was my best batch yet. “I’ll have some of that,” said a young man with his mug raised at a table beside the builders. I reached him swiftly and filled his mug. He put it to his lips and took a sip. “My, this is awfully cold,” the young man said. “You must pay a mage a bright coin to chill this brew, Master Arch.” I nodded. “Worth the cost, I’d say.” This was a lie. I cooled my own brew. The young man nodded in return, looking over at the table of burly men who had been discussing the tournament. He seemed a little eager, adjusting his fine linen tunic. “Ahem,” he coughed. “If you men would like to know which of Celeru’s Rules of Ruin Galston used in the tournament, I’d be happy to ask him. He happens to be a friend of my father.” The builders said nothing. Bran drank his drink with a big smile on his face as if he hadn’t heard the boy. Amberly murmured an intelligible joke to Dalian, who burst out laughing. The young man was a lordling called Herwin. He had come to the tavern on and off over the months, but recently he was in regular attendance for reasons only the gods know why. This was no place for nobles—namely because commoners generally found nobles to be a load of stuck up arseholes during most interactions and thusly avoided them, and in turn, nobles tended to be a load of stuck up arseholes who avoided mixing with those of the lower social classes. But Herwin seemed bent on becoming part of the tavern’s slowly growing regular crew. I had had no quibbles about it, a nobleman’s coin was good as anyone else’s. If anything, their coins tended to come with better shines and larger sizes. Just the other night, Herwin had bought the whole tavern a round of drinks with a silver shimmer. He’d gotten the same response from the men as he was getting now. Which is to say, he got no response. “Ahem,” Herwin coughed again, his mouth quivering as if battling his nerves. “I could even ask Galston to come by the tavern tomorrow night if anyone would be interested in meeting-“ “You’re friends with Galston the Gallant?” Amberly said suddenly, looking at the boy. “Err… yes… As I just mentioned-” Herwin said. “Gods, why didn’t you say so earlier!” Amberly said, standing now and making his way to Herwin to clink his mug. “Cheers!” Bran was now also suddenly standing next to the boy. “I’m Bran, and you are?” “Herwin…” the young man said, now looking uncertain about the sudden attention. “Herwin! Good name!” Amberly laughed and threw a big beefy arm around the boy. “So you’re bringing Galston tomorrow night, ey? It’ll be a riot.” “Ah… Well…” Herwin said. “I’ll need to ask my father…” “How about tomorrow night at sundown?” Bran said with a big friendly grin on his face. “We’re carpenters, you see,” Dalian said. He’d joined the group. “Got work on the city walls before then.” “Ah, I see… I’m not sure-“ “Excellent!” Bran said. “Master Arch, get this man a shot of brandy. On my tab!” I smiled and headed behind the bar, poured four shots, and handed one each to the newly formed group. “On the house,” I said. “There you go!” Amberly said. “You’ve got to come here more often, Herwin! Master Arch is never this kind to us.” Herwin smiled shakily, likely thinking that he had come five nights out of seven for the past month. “To Herwin and Master Arch!” Bran said, raising his shot. Amberly and Herwin held their glasses to Bran’s, then they each swallowed them in one swoop. Herwin coughed violently, and Amberly rumbled a laugh, slapping the lordling on the back, which only made the young man cough more. Bran grabbed his beer and chugged it too. Dalian just grinned toothily as his cheeks turned pink. I smiled. The night at the Tipsy Pelican had finally begun. The doors banged open and three figures entered. My smile dropped. I recognized the three men instantly, and they spelled trouble. The man at the front and the leader of the little pack was called Mideon. He had come by three nights prior and tried to take Elsa home with him. Forcibly. She had declined at first. Then he had grabbed her arm and tried to drag her out of the tavern. Elsa did not like that one bit and split one of my tables with Mideon’s back. The problem now was that he had returned with two pals. Bran twitched his eyebrow at me to let me know if I gave the signal, he, Amberly, and Dalian would send them packing. But the real problem was that Mideon was the son of a somebody. Somebody who could cause a lot of trouble for a tavern keeper. And that wasn’t all. There was also the fact that Elsa refused to take help from anyone. The first week I’d hired her, some pervert grabbed a handful. When I took him by the arm, Elsa pushed me off of him and told me not to get involved. Then she broke the pervert’s nose. The next week, it happened again with a different pervert, and again I tried to throw him out. She pushed me off of him, threw him through the window, then quit on the spot since I had “interfered.” It took two more weeks for her to return and ask for her job back. But she demanded that I promise I would ‘mind my own business,’ which I found ironic since the tavern and everything within it was literally my business, even if customers inside my business were thrown through the window and out of my business. But I relented. Things had been fine since then. Elsa was a strong young woman that could fend for herself, but I wasn’t sure it would be true tonight. The two men that Mideon had brought with him were nearly Amberly’s size, but not quite. More problematically, one of them seemed to be emitting aura. “Sir Mideon!” I said, meeting the three men before they could get further into the tavern. “Good to see you again. Unfortunately, we’re entirely full. I believe the Grand Taphouse is open down the street if you are in need of a drink.” “Where is Elsa?” Mideon hissed as he scanned the room. There was heavy liquor on his breath. His eyes stopped when he reached the bar and a malicious grin appeared on his face. “Elsa is busy,” I said in a monotone. “Elsa!” Mideon screamed. “Elsa! You’re coming with me tonight!” The whole tavern went silent. I let out a small groan. Now things were going to get ugly. “You bastard,” Elsa said from behind the bar, an opened bottle of brandy in her hand. “How dare you show yourself here again!” Wait… was she drinking that by herself? Directly from the bottle? I squinted. Was that the good brandy she had opened? Who told her to open that!? “My gods, you look sensual tonight,” Mideon said, running his beady eyes up and down her body. “What’s this about?” said the broad-shouldered young man she’d been speaking with. I sincerely hoped he had purchased the brandy for her. Both he and Elsa stepped up to Mideon and his men, while the rest of the tavern seemed to separate from their path, pushing up against the tavern’s walls. Even Bran and Amberly did not make a move now that they realized Mideon was here for Elsa. They’d been coming to the Tipsy Pelican long enough to know not to get involved with Elsa’s “business.” Unfortunately, Herwin was passed out between them. It would have been good to have the lordling as a witness if something happened. Mideon’s father was the ward superintendent, but Herwin’s father was a bonafide baron—an actual noble. His word would mean something if things really took a turn for the worse. “You better walk out of here while you still have two working legs,” Elsa said. Her cheeks were a little red, which was not a good sign. I had never seen Elsa vomit or collapse from alcohol no matter how much she consumed, but when her cheeks were red, it was a sign she could fall into a nasty and violent mood with sudden ease. Most people made the mistake of being blinded by the beauty and missing the building danger in her darkening eyes and drunken complexion. Mideon had done just that three nights before, and it looked as if he still hadn’t learned his lesson. “I’m not going anywhere without you, baby,” Mideon said. “I’m taking you home tonight, Elsa. We’ll go together, all four of us and have some fun. You’d-“ “How dare you insult this lady’s honor!” The broad-shouldered young man said and threw out a protective arm between Mideon and Elsa that lightly brushed her leg. “I challenge you to a-“ He didn’t get to finish his sentence because Elsa took his arm, draped it over her shoulder, and threw him through the table beside her. The wooden legs snapped under the force of the throw, and the table split in two. I sighed heavily. It was one of my nicer tables with fine engravings in the wood. Bran and Amberly, who in the past had each gone through a table themselves for the same protective action, shook their heads in empathy at the young man. Mideon and his two men looked at Elsa with their mouths hung open. In whatever way they had expected things to go, it wasn’t this. “Sorry about that,” Elsa said lightly to Mideon. “Now that the interference is gone, what were you saying?” Mideon was still open-mouthed. “Elsa…” I said with warning in my voice. “Please be more mindful of my furniture.” She shot me a glare like I was going to be next to go through a table. “Why don’t you all take this outside, where there are no tables?” I suggested. “This isn’t the tavern’s business, after all.” “Fine,” Elsa spat. “That’ll give us more room for a proper brawl.”
Chapter 2: The Greatest Hero of Our Time The night was late, but summer had just begun, and a warm breeze swept through the street. Most of the Kerrytown neighborhood customers and residents had gone home for the night. Those left were mostly in the taverns and pubs that lined both sides of the cobblestone street. Muffled voices of laughter and conversation could be heard from their doors. If it had been earlier and the street busier, I doubted that Mideon would have agreed to such a public dispute with Elsa. He was the son of the ward’s superintendent, which would let him get away with harassing the barmaid of a relatively newly opened tavern, assuming he didn’t make a villain out of himself in front of a street full of witnesses. But at the moment, it was only the Tipsy Pelican’s customers and Mideon’s two men standing on the street. The witnesses would be the same had he confronted Elsa in the tavern, and other than Herwin, they were mostly comprised of builders and dock workers and handymen—not the type of people who had much standing in the eyes of the nobility. However, Herwin had finally woken up, which I was glad to see. Someone had pulled up a seat for the broad-shouldered young man that Elsa had split a table with and handed him a mug of Honeydew Lager for good measure. He was sipping it with a dazed look as he watched the confrontation. The white templar stood at his side, her expression unreadable behind her veil. “This is your last chance to come with me voluntarily,” Mideon said. “You assaulted me last time. It’s the least you could do.” I wasn’t sure how the idiot figured any of the others would allow Mideon to take Elsa away if he did succeed in immobilizing her, but the guy clearly wasn’t very bright. Then I noticed the aura I had sensed earlier growing rapidly from one of his men. So maybe he wasn’t as dumb as I thought. Still dumb as a brick. But maybe not as dumb as a rock. The man with the aura was a caster if not a full-blown mage. Depending on his ability, he could easily put down a tavern full of people. Well… assuming no one in the tavern knew magic. And there was at least one person who did—the templar, I mean. “Enough of your dribble, you pointy-nosed bastard,” Elsa snapped. “Are you going to fight, or are you going to keep whining?” That was the thing about Elsa, when she was angry, her tongue was sharper than a spear point. It was clear from Mideon’s expression that he was self-conscious about his strangely-shaped nose. “You bitch!” Mideon and his two men leaped forward at once, with Mideon leading the charge. And Mideon fell first. That was expected for anyone watching. The balance of his body was all wrong. Head and arms forward, fingers spread, torso and legs behind him. He rushed face-first right into Elsa’s closed fist and landed on the ground with a thud. Next, his two men raced toward her. They seemed to fare slightly better. The first man pulled his fist back for a punch upon seeing Mideon fall. The plan to capture the woman had turned into a fistfight. The second man, the mage, was right beside him, he had his hand raised. It was unclear what he was going to do until his hand began to glow with red aura. He was casting a spell. Things were looking bad until the unbelievable happened. The first man with the balled fist tripped on a raised cobblestone in the road. Or perhaps it was his knee that buckled. It wasn’t clear from the angle of the spectators, but his left leg twisted suddenly just as he began to launch his fist forward. The result was that he pivoted sideways on the leg that could no longer hold his weight. Instead of hitting Elsa, his fist smacked into the cheek of the unsuspecting mage who had all his attention on the beauty. Elsa blinked as both of them toppled over, a whole two paces away from her. The mage was knocked out cold, but the first guy stood again, hopping on one leg while clutching the other. Something indeed had happened to his left knee. But as he was groping his knee, Elsa slammed her fist into his jaw. The motion was smooth and swift and graceful as a royal dancer. He flew back, his jaw leading the flight, and landed neatly on the cobblestone road between his two sleeping friends. There was a long moment of silence. Then someone began to clap. Then everyone from the tavern was whooping, jumping up and down. Elsa glanced at them with a radiant smile as she rubbed her shoulder. “Time to celebrate!” she said, raising her fist victoriously in the air to enthusiastic cheering. Celebrate? What were we celebrating? Mideon and his idiots would undoubtedly return another night with even more men after being embarrassed so badly. “First rounds on the house!” Elsa exclaimed as she led the pack back into the tavern like a prophet among her loyal followers. “On the house!?” I said. She didn’t hear me. There was nothing to be done about it now. Everyone was too caught up in the moment. The good news was there would undoubtedly be more purchases after a fight and a free round of drinks. Which was exactly what happened. Which was why the rest of the night was a complete disaster. Bran bought the second round and Herwin the third and fourth and fifth. Before I knew it, every person in the tavern was buying a round of drinks, and a dozen people meant a dozen rounds. I knew most of them couldn’t afford such expenditures, so I only charged them half price. The price decrease was discovered as one of them settled their bill, which led to a furor of more drinks bought. By the time the sun rose, Herwin was hunched over in a corner, puking into a bucket, and Bran was dancing with the templar. She, for the first time since she’d been coming to the tavern, had drunk a second glass of wine, which was apparently enough to put her on an even footing with Bran, who by then was on his tenth round. And all of this was still manageable… right up until Elsa shoved into my hands the unfinished half of the good brandy she opened and drank earlier in the night. “What?” I said dumbly. “You’re not drinking,” she said. “Someone’s got to be the adult.” “Not tonight. We’re celebrating!” she said. Then she wrapped her arm into mine and took the first pull from the bottle. She handed it over to me. I sighed and took a gulp. Then the whole tavern cheered. I guess they didn’t see me drinking much. One drink led to two and that led to three. And before I knew it, I’d finished the second half of the bottle of brandy. I don’t know how things ended. I awoke on some chairs that had been lined up against a wall. I looked around and saw the tavern empty of the guests. Elsa was sprawled out on the bar, her feet resting over spilled mugs and bottles. For a moment I thought she had finally died from alcohol poisoning, but then I saw her chest moving up and down as she breathed. I stared a few moments longer than were necessary before I pulled my eyes away. “Damn nineteen-year-old body,” I muttered as I sat up. “You’re awake. I’ve been waiting for you.” I jumped as I saw the templar sitting a few chairs away. “Oh, it’s you,” I said. “Nearly scared me half to death.” She had taken off the head mantle of her robes, and I could now see her face. She was younger than I had expected. Perhaps my apparent age or a little older. Twenty-two or twenty-one. Her hair was long and dark blonde and her eyes were bright blue and piercing. They were staring into me as if taking an account of my soul. “I doubt that to be possible, Master Archibold,” the templar said. “Uh… it’s Arch. Just Arch. Not short for anything.” A cold sweat was forming on my back. “I have come a long way to speak with you.” “With me?” I took a furtive glance at Elsa. She was still passed out on the bar. “I am a Templar of the Order of the White Church.” “That’s quite the mouthful.” “I have come to ask for your assistance in a grave matter.” “Me? Assistance?” “Of course. You are Archibold Stormblood, the Greatest Hero of Our Time.”
Chapter 3: Dragons and Slaves I took another glance at Elsa. She was still sleeping, right? I didn't want her overhearing this conversation. "Sorry, I think you have the wrong guy," I said. The templar shook her head. "I was not certain until tonight when I saw you incapacitate that mage-" "Uh… why don't we talk somewhere more private," I said. I motioned her to follow me into the cold storage room. I had to keep my hands on the walls to keep myself from stumbling. Damn Elsa for getting me drunk. I was going to suffer the rest of the next day now. I closed the door behind me after the templar entered. "What's your name?" I said. "Cassia Hightower." "Alright, Cassia. Listen closely. I'm not who you think I am. I'm just a tavern owner. Not some hero of legend." "I almost believed it," Cassia said. "But then I saw what you did to the mage." "What did I do?" "You disabled his leg." "The mage stumbled," I said. "They'd been drinking before they showed up at the tavern." "How did you know he was a mage?" Cassia asked. "Uhhh..." "You would only know that if you could sense his halos." "Well… you said he was a mage, so I'm just assuming you know what you're talking about." "You shot a pebble from your hand into the back of his knee." Damn, she got me. "Fine," I said. "So I'm a little stronger than I look. Doesn't make me the Stormblood." "The strength and precision required for such a feat are significant," Cassia said. "But not only did you manage to hit his knee from thirty paces away with a small rock, you did so without anyone noticing. Moreover, you hit the exact location and angle to cause him to turn and incapacitate a moving target with his fist. Most people would be hard-pressed to land a punch at someone moving at a fast speed with their own fist. You made someone else do it with a pebble. This proves to me that you are the Stormblood." I opened my mouth to make a retort, but I had nothing to say. "Archibold-don, I have come to you with great need." The don honorific was reserved for the highest honors that weren't nobility. I squirmed a little just hearing the word. It reminded me of war. "The White Church recently discovered that an elder dragon has awakened in the northern lands of Visseria," Cassia continued. "As it begins to hunt and increasing the territory of its hunting grounds, the dragon will inevitably attack the neighboring kingdom of Lareinti. Hundreds of thousands of people are-" "Stop, stop, just stop." I held up my hand. Cassia looked at me, a small wrinkle forming above her brows. "Sorry, but I'm not leaving on some quest. Not anytime soon, anyway." "Then you admit you are Archibold Stormblood?" Damn. She really got me. "Sure." "Then you must help us. You are the hero-" I held up my hand again. "No, I don't." "But-" "I don't care," I said. "I'm 221 years old, Miss Hightower. Do you know how many of those years I've spent training and fighting?" "No..." she said with uncertainty. "Just about all of them. I'm tired, and I'm… well... I'm on vacation," I said with a grin. Cassia looked around. "Running a tavern, serving drunkards?" "Drunks are as human as the religious. They just attend a different type of house, little templar." "Of course," Cassia said, going a little pink. It suddenly made me notice that she was, in fact, very pretty. She had a fair complexion, beautiful piercing eyes, and her lips looked soft and pink... Damn nineteen-year-old body, this not the time for that! Good gods, it was as if my powers had been entirely replaced with youthful lust. What an awful trade. "But the people of Lareinti are in need of your aid," Cassia said, pushing forward. "They will die if the elder dragon comes upon their kingdom. It has not awakened in three thousand years. When it discovers a city of people in its territory, it will destroy them." "So tell them to leave. Or find some young hero who has a name to prove. I don't know. It's not my problem." Cassia looked at me as if she could not believe my words. I guess she wasn't getting the hero she had expected. That's what lore and legend did to a man. "How did you find me, anyway?" I asked. "High Lord Emdark informed me you had headed to Meritas to open a tavern." "That traitorous long-eared elf bastard!" I spat. "I told him to keep his mouth shut!" Cassia looked like I had just damned Celeru himself. "He did not give me your location until I informed him of the impending threat of the-" "Elder dragon, yeah yeah, I heard you the first time," I said. "I'm sorry, Miss Hightower. But I'm going to have to pass on this one. I'm sure you'll be able to find some hot-headed fool to deal with it." I stood to leave the room. "But, you must-" "I must?" I said, turning back to her. "Why must I?" "Because… the lives. People will die if you don't-" "And what about my life? Why is it that I am always the one that has to risk everything? Have I not done enough? The Mad King Alberon's armies are in the dust. The Demon Lord Izirath is no more. How much do I have to give until it is enough?" "Y-yes, of course," Cassia stammered. "You have done many great services-" "And what service have you given, Cassia? Why is it always my turn? What will you do for all those lives? What sacrifice will you make?" "Me?" Cassia's eyes were growing brighter, and the color rose in her cheeks. Her expression was filled with innocence and a desire to do the right thing. But that only annoyed me further. "Yes, you, Cassia," I said. "What is your sacrifice?" "I would if I had the power-" "You have the power to sacrifice for me." Cassia swallowed and shakily said, "W-what will you have me do?" "How about be my slave for the next two centuries. That's how long I've spent toiling for the people of Visseria." "Your slave?" She said. Her voice rose. "You heard correctly. You'll have to do anything I ask. Anything at all. In return, I'll save the people of Lareinti. Hundreds of thousands of lives did you say? A fair trade, don't you think?" She took a step backward. "I couldn't… why should I-" I shrugged. "That's fine. I guess all those people will just have to die then." I gave her my best malicious smile. She shuddered. Templar or not, she was still too young and idealistic to face the realities of the world. It would send her packing, and next time the White Church would think twice about sending a brat to sway me. I'd be damned to risk my neck for those righteous bastards again. "Guess that's that then," I said and turned to the door. "I accept." I paused in disbelief with my hand on the door handle. Then I thought better of it. She was calling my bluff. I turned back around and found her stripping her clothes. There were tears in her eyes. "This is what you want is it?" she said, shaking. "Well you can have me! I'll be your slave. I don't know if I'll live for two centuries, but by Celeru, I swear-" "Stop stop!" I exclaimed catching her wrist before she could remove another garment. "Good Celeru, what is wrong with you?" "I'm agreeing to your terms! If it means you'll save Lareinti, being your slave is a small price to pay for its safety!" Tears were flowing freely from her eyes now, but there was also a hard-set determination in them. That snapped me out of it. "Damn you," I muttered after a moment. "I can never win with your type." I sighed and let her go and hopped onto one of the cold barrels of honeydew beer in the room. This put me a few heads taller than her, and I looked down at her with a smile. "Very well, then. Do you know the Spell of Seeing? I assume it's something a templar would know." "Yes, of course," she said, rubbing away the tears. "So apply it." She looked at me as if unsure what I was getting at, but she did as I asked, and her eyes began to glow with a thin blue aura. She ran her gaze across my face, then down my body, and stopped. The breath caught in her throat, and she stared at me as if she was looking into my innards. Then she shot her widened eyes back to my own as if they held an accusation. Or a question. Or both. I was still smiling. "You see? Even if I wanted to go, I'd have no chance against an elder dragon."
Chapter 4: Would Not Speak Ill of My Master “Your gates…” Cassia said, her voice quivering. “They’re gone.” I smiled. Then I too cast the Spell of Seeing. I channeled aura into my eyes and I saw the energies emanating from Cassia. Each of the body’s senses can interpret aura when properly tuned. The Spell of Seeing heightened a spellcaster’s abilities to discern aura via their eyes. When I looked at Cassia, I saw several rings of light spinning around her heart. Among spellcasters, these were called halos and were the primary source of one’s magic. Cassia’s rings appeared dimly thin, which was expected because she was not actively calling on them. Most people, even non-mages had halos. And the best mages could often see a person’s halo even without the Spell of Seeing. What was harder to see were the Gates of Awakening, and that was the primary purpose of the spell. I raised my brows. “Impressive,” I said. “You have two gates open. That would make you far stronger than I.” “I don’t understand… this can’t be possible. It was said you opened the Eighth Gate of Awakening.” I shrugged. I’d actually hit the Ninth Gate before I lost everything, but there was no reason to tell her that. “But…” Her eyes ran up and down my body once more. “But none are open… all your gates are closed. I-I don’t understand.” I looked down at my hands. “It’s a strange thing to be aging again. I opened the Gate of Life when I was eighteen years old and I stopped getting older.” I rubbed my chin. “I can feel new whiskers coming in now. A few more years and maybe people will stop calling me a babyface.” I chuckled. She didn’t seem to find it funny. “How could this have happened?” she asked. “And why would I tell you?” She didn’t know what to say to this. Instead, she asked, “Can they be opened again?” “Sure. Gates can always be opened.” “You mean-“ “Yup. The old fashioned way. Last time I got to the seventh gate in eighteen years. Then it took me about another century to figure out another. I’m guessing it’ll be about the same if I were to do it again. Not that I have any intention of doing so.” Cassia stumbled backward, her shocked gaze dropping to the floor. I could see goosebumps on her skin. If they had arisen from what I said or the chilled room, I wasn’t sure. “You’ll reach the third gate faster than me at this point,” I said. “You’ve already opened Breath and Spirit, haven’t you? Most people spend their entire lives just to open Breath. You’re a prodigy by most standards. I bet the Church is very happy with you.” The Gate of Breath and the Gate of Spirit were the first two of the Twelve Gates of Awakening. The gates were also sometimes called the Twelve Gates of Ascension because those who reached the twelfth gate would become a god, though such an act had never been recorded except for Celeru and his disciples if you believed in that sort of thing. Each gate gave the awakener an enormous boost to their abilities. The Gate of Breath made the awakened physically stronger, so much so that they seldom grew tired. The Gate of Spirit gave the awakened incredible mental dexterity and focus. Of course, one had to call on that power to activate it. Cassia certainly was not calling on it at this moment as she stared at the floor, looking lost and dumbstruck. “My abilities cannot be compared to yours,” Cassia said. “I stand no chance against an elder dragon. But your gates are closed. All of them…” she was mumbling to herself now. “Those people. What can I do? They’ll be dead in five years.” “Wait, five years?” I said. “Or seven. The historians are uncertain. Legend tells it that awakened dragons go through a resting phase before hunting begins. Even the most recent records are from a thousand years ago. It is hard to say how accurate they are.” “Good gods, girl. That’s plenty of time. Just evacuate the city.” “The Lareintians are unwilling,” Cassia said. “The king refuses to move his kingdom and give up his lands.” “Then he deserves to die by dragon fire.” Cassia frowned, looking down. “But what about his people? They are innocents, yet they must obey the will of their king.” “Maybe you should find someone to kill the king. Sounds easier.” Cassia looked up at me, shock returning to her features. Apparently, I was doing a lot of shocking in this conversation. “That is murder,” she said. “Never claimed it wasn’t,” I said. “But so is killing a dragon that is committing no other crime besides following its nature. And from what you’ve described, I’m thinking I like the dragon more than the Lareintian king.” She shook her head, looking defeated and unsure of what to say. “Hey, cheer up, the good news is you don’t have to be anyone’s slave. By the way, you should really put your clothes back on.” At that moment, the door opened, and Charm stepped in, carrying a crate of cleaned mugs from the night. Her youthful face looked at me then looked at the barely-clothed templar. I had no idea how to explain the situation, though I had a feeling if I did explain it, it still wouldn’t make me look too good. “Ah,” Charm said simply, yet the expression in her half-lidded eyes were anything but simple. If I did not know her so well, I would have easily missed the slight arch of her left eyebrow. She turned around and let the door swing closed behind her before I could say a word. I looked back at Cassia. “That was my uh… cook,” I said, as an offer of explanation. She did not seem to have noticed the impropriety of the situation. “What am I to do now?” I shrugged. “Find another hero. I can’t be the only option for the Church.” “All elder dragons are of the Ninth Gate. What humans have gone that far? Even you only reached the Eighth.” I scratched my nose. “Thought I did alright.” “Of course, I did not mean to suggest otherwise. You killed the Demon Lord Izirath of the Eleventh Gate. No one thought it possible, but you did it. Do you see why it must be you to help us?” “Hmm… even if I wanted to, I doubt elder dragons are very vulnerable against pebble-tossers. That’s all I’m good for nowadays, I’m afraid.” Cassia looked numb, her hopes dashed. “It’s late,” I said. “You can use one of our vacant bedrooms upstairs.” “I couldn’t trouble you-” “Oh, really?” I gave her a look. “Asking me to risk my life to fight a freaking dragon is fine, but taking one of my empty rooms is too much to ask?” Cassia flushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“ “It’s fine. Hurry up and put your clothes back on before someone else steps in and gets the wrong idea. I’m going to get an earful from Charm later.” Cassia got dressed quickly, and I led her out of the storage room and up the stairs to the second floor of the tavern. “The place used to be an inn,” I said. “There are plenty of rooms. Take your pick other than the first three. Just watch out for Elsa. Sometimes she’ll wander into a room randomly and pass out. Even if there’s already someone in the bed. We unfortunately don’t have any locks. The previous owner removed them when the property was sold. The toilet is at the end of the hall, but if you want a bath, you’ll need to wait until the morning. Charm already turned off the stoves. “ “Thank you,” Cassia said. She gave me a short bow. I watched her walk down the hall and enter one of the rooms. Then I entered my own, the first one from the stairs. I sat on the bed and let myself fall back against the mattress. An elder dragon. When would it ever end? The entire world shouldn’t depend solely on one person. Maybe once. Maybe even twice. Hell, maybe even thrice. But every damn time? That was too much. Too much to take on. Too much to bear. Even a hero needs a vacation every now and then. I laid down and felt the room spin as I closed my eyes. The brandy wasn’t nearly finished with me. Drunkenness was still a strange sensation to me, even though I had been experiencing it on and off for the better part of the year. When my gates had been open, poisons, including alcohol, had no effect on me. Now I had the tolerance of any other nineteen-year-old boy. Not a moment after I pulled the blanket over my head, desperate for sleep to stop the room from spinning, a small knock sounded at my door. For a second, I thought Cassia was back to cajole me further. Then there was a split second of irrationality where I thought it might be Elsa entering the wrong room again. But if it were Elsa, she wouldn’t have knocked. Charm stepped in. The girl looked about Cassia’s age, or perhaps closer to mine as she was a bit shorter and scrawnier than the templar, but the light in her eyes was even older than my own. Her hair that was once fiery red was now a shade closer to pink. She drew it into two pigtails, one at each side. She wore a blank expression today just as she had for the past year. She was still in a sulk. I was beginning to get irritated by it, but I supposed that was the point. Which made me more resolute to not show her that it was bothering me. “Master,” she said. “Charm has finished with the dishes and wiped down the tables. Is there anything else Master needs of Charm?” There was a slight accent in her voice that was foreign and, I’ve been told, adorable to those who had not yet gotten used to it. It did not belong to anyone else I’d ever met despite my extensive travels. “You didn’t have to do that. I could have helped you with it in the morning.” She nodded then asked her question again, “Is there anything else Master needs of Charm?” “Nope, have a good night,” I said. She nodded again and turned to close the door. “Oh, wait—uh… that girl, you know…” She turned back to look at me. “It wasn’t what it looked like…” I began. “What does Master think it looked like?” “Uh… well… I mean… uh…” Whatever it looked like, it didn’t look good. “Like Master was coercing a young maiden of the Church for his evil pleasures?” Charm said. “Ah, it might have looked like that, but that’s not-“ “Master does not need to explain himself to Charm. Charm is well aware of his… personality.” “What! Why did the word ‘personality’ sound like an insult?” “No, of course not, Master,” Charm said, her voice flat and without inflection. “Charm would not speak ill of her master. Perhaps Master’s conscience is making its own interpretations.” My mouth hung open, speechless. Good gods, how did Charm jumble me up so easily? Worse, I could tell that she was enjoying herself for once. “What I’m trying to say is I was only trying to make a point to her, and she took it seriously, which is why she uh… got undressed.” “Is that so?” Charm said. “Charm was not aware that Church templars got undressed when they take a point seriously.” “What? No… that’s not what I meant….” I was losing this bout of banter badly. The only way out was to be serious. “She wanted me to kill an elder dragon.” Charm’s half-lidded gaze suddenly intensified. “Will Master do it?” “No, of course not,” I said. “My gates are closed. Plus, I’m on vacation. We are on vacation. Taking a break. Someone else will deal with it.” Charm said nothing to this. Then when I did not continue, she asked, “Was there anything else, Master?” “No,” I said with a sigh. “Have a good night.” She nodded once more and closed the door. I lay back down and closed my eyes, willing myself to sleep.