Zachary Scott
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Chapter 98 - Finally Clean
🕑 Added 2024-10-14 18:21:09 +0000 UTCThe tavern's common room was bustling with activity when I finally emerged, slip space practically bulging with all my new and exciting loot. The room smelled like cooking meat, soup, and just a touch of sour, sweaty townspeople. The sound was loud and cheerful as dozens of separate groups laughed, ate, and silverware clattered on plates.
After the horrors of Beastden, I had to admit I was enjoying being back in a busy city. I knew danger was still out there, and very likely closer than I realized. But for today? Today I was bursting at the seams with loot, trophies, and a brand new guild hall. Things could certainly be worse.
I swept my eyes over the room, looking for any sign of Lyria, the escaped slaves, or maybe even a chance spotting of Minara, Perch, Kass, or Bloody Steve.
There was a rowdy group of tomte guards by the entrance all dressed in plate and tunics bearing the gray and yellow shining gemstone insignia of Thrask. They were playing some kind of card game I hadn't seen before. The cards were made of circular wooden discs that clicked as they slammed them down and slid them around the table.
There were adventurers dressed like they were about to head out on hunts or they had just returned. There were crafters who seemed to be bartering or trading advice. There were even some children, who were mostly level 1 and Wood ranked, but seemed happy enough as they scurried between tables or hung on the legs of their parents.
I didn’t see any familiar faces, which made me wonder what the hell was taking them so long. I was relatively sure I had more loot to claim than the rest of them. I was also pretty sure it was safe to assume I was the only one who discovered I was a Dimensional Guild Master and had to take time meeting my owlbear butler.
But I guessed they were probably still sleeping. Chances were, they'd been nearing collapse by the time we made it here, and desperately needed to recover.
Not that I was complaining, of course. Only needing a single hour of sleep per day was an incredibly useful boon that was going to keep on paying dividends over time. I just needed to make sure I used the time wisely.
Thinking about sleep reminded me to check the hunger level on my cursed bedroll. If I ever somehow forgot that for too long, the bedroll would awaken, supposedly eat everything in sight, and then gradually grow into a Diamond Rank monster. In other words, I needed to make sure I never forgot to feed it dark mana, infested mana, or whatever “soul burn” was.
[Hunger 7%]
Not bad at all.
When I was done for the day, I would cautiously experiment with releasing some more dark mana into my body. I still believed I would be able to find a way to master the corruption lurking inside my core, but I knew it was dangerous. If I let too much free or failed to control it, the dark mana would control me.
“Move, asshole,” a woman muttered, shoving her way past me as I partially blocked the doorway from the personal spaces.
“Yeah, sorry,” I muttered, distracted as I went over my still-large to-do list now that I was back in Thrask.
I needed to refresh the illusion on my helmet, collect the trophy token I had earned in my guild hall, visit the adventurer's guild to claim any points and rewards I might have earned from my accomplishments, decide what kind of corestone to put in my newly vacated second class slot, sell the pile of valuable gemstones I earned from one of the dungeon diver reward chests, go on a shopping spree with my earnings, investigate this whole Aspirant's Guild thing, have everybody meet Hoot, and, of course, take a bath. At some point, I might even want to look into acquiring hardwood for Hoot’s guild tasks so he could furnish the guild hall.
It was quite the list. Instead of daunting me, it excited me. Almost every single thing I needed to do had the potential to increase my power. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't already addicted to the feeling of growth and progression.
I pursed my lips in thought for a few seconds, then decided to start with a bath. Like the other taverns I'd visited, this one had a complimentary washroom, which I had to share with a rowdy trio of geonites who stood in the bath with their arms raised as if in ritual. The magma-like cracks between their rocky skin sizzled constantly and filled the room with steam, turning it into a sauna.
I set aside my filthy clothes, considered keeping them, and then tossed them in a trash crate in the corner of the washroom. The water was so hot that it nearly burned me as I slipped in past the geonites, but I hardly cared. I soaped my skin within an inch of its life. Then I washed my hair with my back to the group, just on the off chance they might recognize me by my face as Seraphel.
Once I was blissfully clean, I slipped my helmet back on and dressed in my new outfit, relishing the feel of the soft fabric as I admired myself in the foggy mirror. I still looked a little silly with my illusioned helmet and drew the occasional side eye of curiosity. But now I thought I gave off more of an eccentric, well-to-do adventurer vibe instead of a mentally unstable vagabond.
I'd call that an improvement.
I tilted the helmet back and used one of the supplied razors to take care of my face's attempt at growing a beard.
When I stepped back into the common room, I was finally clean-shaven, smelling great, well-dressed, and feeling utterly refreshed.
With no sign of my friends, I wandered toward an ongoing game of Vice.
I noticed most of the ten or so people watching the games were holding coins and mentioning bets. I hung back at first, surveying the state of the game and making my own judgment on who was winning. At first glance, the younger girl with glasses looked like she was losing. Her opponent seemed to have a terrain advantage with her pieces covering key areas. But after watching a couple of her moves and reading her facial expression, I began to suspect she was laying a trap.
“Can I still bet?” I asked a blonde woman who I had seen accepting money from a few others. She was blonde with a surly expression and held a pad of paper she was using to take notes.
“You want to bet on him, you're going to get shit odds,” she said, gesturing to the guy who looked like he was winning. “Game’s practically over already, and she’s screwed.”
“Then I'll bet on her. What would the odds be?”
“Two to one,” she said.
“Fair enough.” I held up a silver coin, which the woman snatched, as if hoping to collect it before I could change my mind.
A few nearby onlookers snickered at my bet. One shook his head, giving me a side-eyed glance. “If you wanted to throw your money away, could've tried my pocket first.”
Ignoring him, I kept my eyes on the board.
The game didn't go much longer before the girl with the glasses made her plan clear to everyone else. It only took a few quick moves to spring the trap she had been leading her unwitting opponent into. Move by move, more onlookers and finally her opponent caught on.
When her opponent realized, his hand froze as he was about to place a piece on the board. He sat back, scowled, and then let out a low groan.
“Concede?” the girl asked.
He gave a sour twist of his lips, wasted a minute surveying the board, and then finally waved a hand in surrender. “Alright then. You win.”
Many of the onlookers let out annoyed breaths or berated the man for throwing away what they had believed was an easy win.
I smiled and collected two silver in winnings from the blonde. I had never been much of a gambler, but that had felt less like a gamble and more like a certainty.
If I was allowed to place bets mid-game like that, I imagined I could win at much better than a fifty-fifty rate.
I ended up finding a chair and settling in to watch and occasionally gamble on game after game of Vice. Some matches were simple punching matches between what I took to be relatively unskilled opponents. A few were more subtle, with feints, traps, and mind games. Without any of the entertainment I was used to from Earth, it was a welcome distraction to watch a game of skill play out while knowing nobody's life was on the line.
Better yet, I was able to place wagers with observers who seemed a lot less perceptive about the game. Often, I could bet on someone who appeared to be losing and get good odds. I didn't win every bet, but I won more than my share.
With some bolder bets, I suspected I could even learn to really pull a quick profit betting this way. But even taking few risks and keeping my bets small over two hours had turned my initial silver coin into thirty.
Lyria finally emerged after another few games. Her hair was wet, and she had taken off her plate armor, but her clothing was still dirty and torn. She rubbed her eyes as if she had only recently woken, ran a hand through her red hair, and approached me.
Her forehead scrunched up at the sight of me.
I got up from my chair since I had no active bets. “Finally,” I said. “Did you get your beauty sleep?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Sorry. Once I finished looting, I realized how damn tired I was. I assumed you'd be happy enough on your own for a bit. Looks like I wasn't wrong.”
“Oh, yeah. I had fun. And I've got some awesome stuff to show you.”
“It looks like you… bought new clothes?” she said, plucking the fabric of my coat with an amused twist to her lips. “And you bathed. Good. You were starting to smell.”
“Right back at you. And these are clothes of self-repair. Cool, right? You guys won't have to see my ass again if my pants catch on fire.”
“Damn,” Lyria said. “That's a shame.”
“Get any good loot?” I asked.
“Yeah. I got a 'Vortex Ring' that lets me catch the wind and store it for later. I'm pretty sure I'll be able to use it with my abilities to unleash a really powerful version of one of my spells after it's charged.”
“Oh, wow,” I said. “That does sound useful.” I lifted her hand and studied the ring on her finger. “This one?” I asked, touching the green metal ring on her forefinger. Patterns like wind were engraved into the metal, and a green gemstone was on top.
“Yeah,” she said, pulling her hand back a little too quickly. “I also got this,” she said. She produced a satchel and pulled it open, showing me a collection of rations like the one I earned from my dungeon diver token.
“Nice,” I said. “Self-preserving?” I asked.
“You got some, too?” she said.
I nodded.
Lyria was smiling now but trying to hide it.
“What?” I asked. “Did you get something even better than the ring?”
“Maybe,” she said.
“Let's see it.”
“Not here,” she said. “I don't know if you're aware, but it's considered unwise to flash valuables in crowded spaces. Maybe Mr. Iron Rank doesn't worry about things like that now, but I'm still Wood, in case you've forgotten.”
“If somebody tried to take your stuff, I'd box them in with some Mana Shields until they begged forgiveness. If they refused, I'd send Pebble or Caterpriest in to convince them to be sorry.”
“And you think your weird little summoned friends would intimidate anyone? Or were you hoping to make them laugh themselves into submission?”
“I won't tell Pebble or Caterpriest you called them weird. They’re both very sensitive and wouldn't appreciate it.”
Lyria rolled her eyes. “So are we going to use your personal space or mine?”
“Mine,” I said. “I've got a little surprise for you, too.”
“Oh, yeah?” she asked. “What is it? Did you expand your broom closet to the size of a regular old closet?”
“Not exactly,” I said. “Just a second, though. I promised I'd bring food. Are you hungry?”
Lyria narrowed her eyes. “Promised who, Pebble? Because I'm pretty sure rocks don't need to eat, Brynn.”
“Are you hungry?” I asked again, ignoring her attempts to probe for clues.
“A little.”
“Perfect.” I went to the counter and ordered a small feast of meatballs, sweetmeats, exotic Erosian vegetables, breads, and a pitcher of a sweet drink that reminded me of apple juice. The whole spread only cost me two silver, which I happily used my gambling winnings to cover.
While we waited for the food, we passed the time by talking.
For once, the conversation wasn't about life-or-death events, gods, or even loot. Lyria talked about her childhood in the outer ring frontier towns, her protective father, and the kids who had always teased her for having a crafter for a father. Children in the frontiers apparently looked down on crafters and thought only guards and adventurers were worthy of praise.
For my part, I talked about my family, which was something I hadn't thought about much since arriving. The exception, of course, was when the burned man claimed he knew my sister. For some reason, I didn't feel like sharing that with Lyria. It felt good to talk about lighter things for a change, and I didn't want to bring that kind of weight to the conversation. Instead, I mostly talked about things like the vacations we used to take. That had prompted several very interested questions from Lyria about Earth. It still seemed as though she didn't completely believe Earth was another realm and not just a distant place on Eros beyond the outer rings.
The food eventually came out steaming and smelling delicious on a large wooden platter, which we were told to return when we were done. My days of waiting tables back in high school came in handy as I balanced the tray through the busy tavern common room and wound my way down the hall toward the personal space door.
I pulled out the key, awkwardly balancing the platter in one hand as I worked the key in the lock. “Okay,” I said. “Prepare to be amazed.”
“Somehow, I really don't think I—oh,” she breathed.
The door swung open to reveal my guild hall in all its empty but impressive glory. Lyria's eyes went wide as she took in the massive space, the stone pillars, and the high ceiling with its crossed wooden beams.
Comments
Scott Walker
I mean, getting trapped with Pebble and Caterpriest just guilts you into stopping attacking really
Ben Bass
TYFTC! Brynn playing the odds and not even trying and making 30 silver from gambling. I think that is a tidy little sum considering what he was able to buy with 2 silver. I d wonder how things could be if Brynn does trap someone in mana shields with pebble and Caterpriest - I mean how fast can pebble bounce around, that could start dealing a decent amount of damage or pain, and the constant healing of Caterpriest would be disgusting and prolong the torture.
