On a rainy night, the Late Owlbear Tavern glowed warmly against the dark streets. Inside, a group of young mercenaries sat near the entrance, laughing and talking. Five of them were seated, and one stood, telling a story that caught everyone's attention.
A young man with brown hair and brown eyes stood proudly. A sword rested on his back, and small scars marked his face. He spoke loudly, his words slurring with drink.
"Our last hunt was a success!" he said, holding his mug high. "Those beasts didn't stand a chance against the mighty Helson Adventures!" He grinned and shook his head. "And the Half-Beast we found? A great catch. Their hearts could fetch a shiny coin."
Sitting across from him, a woman with long grayish hair and a bow resting on her back rolled her eyes. "You know, if you weren't so loud and rushed, we could've caught the Half-Beast child too."
"Don't be too hard on him, Milanda," said a deep voice from beside her. An orc, his broad frame barely fitting in the chair, leaned back with a grin. "Let Gareth have his moment."
Milanda shot him a look, but her tone softened. "You spoil him too much, Obdal."
Obdal chuckled, clearly enjoying the banter. "Someone's gotta keep the boy in check."
A cloaked figure beside them spoke next, his voice calm and measured. "It was Helson who saved you from that spell the Half-Beast cast. Don't forget that."
A young mage, sitting quietly next to him, looked up nervously. "I... I didn't do much. I just helped counter the spell..." She stuttered a little, but there was a shy warmth in her words.
Gareth, still grinning, lifted his mug again. "Either way, we did it as a team! First D-rank mission, and we got two Half-Beast hearts as a bonus!"
"Yeah, sure, Gareth," Obdal laughed. "Whatever you say."
Milanda's tone shifted as she spoke again. "One of them got away, though. The child. We could've sold them, maybe."
Gareth scoffed. "A kid? You think their heart would be worth anything? We couldn't even do anything with it."
Milanda raised an eyebrow. "I heard the Half-Beast kids from the Tiger or Lion tribes are good fighters. Could've made us a lot of coin."
Kayla, the mage, spoke up softly. "But... wasn't the one we killed from the Turtle Tribe?"
"Yeah, it was," Milanda replied. "The Turtle Tribe's known for inventions, but they're not warriors. They wouldn't last long against us."
Helson, the one who had mostly been quiet, finally spoke. "What's done is done. Let's just drink and celebrate our victory."
Gareth raised his mug again. "Exactly! Let's drink until we pass out!"
The others laughed and followed his lead, raising their mugs high and cheering.
In the distance, at the bar table, sat a brown cloaked individual sipping a shot of what seemed to be a vodka-like drink. The man with dark purple hair and dark crystal blue eyes listened closely to the conversation the group was having.
He listened closely to what the loud and drunk group was talking about until he heard another conversation near him. Three heavily armored knights sat with mugs in hand, laughing loudly as they spoke among themselves.
The first knight, Calmor, had a brown beard and a rough face, his armor dented from years of use. He slammed his mug down on the table.
"Hah, that fucker deserved to be locked up in the cell," Calmor growled, his voice thick with disdain.
"Watch your tongue, Calmor," warned the second knight, Wilson, his voice calm but stern. "Even off-duty, we still need to be mindful of our words."
"Yeah, listen to Wilson, Calmor," the third knight, Vamos, chimed in. He was bald, with a deep scar running down his face. "You're always the first to start trouble."
"Trouble?" Calmor scoffed, shaking his head. "That fucker killed High-Priest Poliath Hall, remember? He deserves whatever's coming to him."
Wilson and Vamos exchanged a glance, the weight of the discussion settling in the air. A brief silence followed, broken only by the occasional clink of mugs.
"You know, I've heard whispers," Wilson said, lowering his voice, "Some of the priests are saying the kid has demonic powers in his blood. His eyes.." he paused, making sure no one was listening too closely, "They say they can paralyze a person from the fear alone."
"Isn't it true? One of the priests who saw him was paralyzed by just a glance," Vamos added, his voice almost hesitant, as if unsure if he wanted to continue. "I think the kid's name was.. what was it? Han something."
"Han Arakiad?" Calmor guessed, furrowing his brow.
"No, not that," Vamos shook his head. "It's scarier, I think."
"Han Araknid?" Calmor tried again, but Vamos simply shook his head.
Before he could continue, Wilson leaned forward, his voice quiet but certain. "I think it's Van Arracthia."
The other two knights blinked, the name settling uneasily between them.
"That's the one," Calmor muttered, his face darkening. "Van Arracthia… from the fallen Aracthia family."
The mention of the Aracthia name seemed to put a sour taste in the air, and for a moment, none of the knights spoke.
"You know," Wilson began slowly, his voice carrying an edge of sympathy, "It's a tragic story. His family was once noble, but now…" He trailed off, eyes flicking to the wooden table. "No one's quite sure what happened, but there's a lot of bad blood."
"Bad blood?" Calmor scoffed. "He killed one of ours! Poliath Hall was a pillar of the church. The council gave him a chance to redeem himself, but now he's as good as dead."
Vamos nodded, his brow furrowed. "Yeah, I heard they're already preparing for the execution in three days. Don't think they'll waste any more time on him."
"Three days?!" Calmor said, incredulous. "Why the hell is the council giving him so much time? What's the hold-up?"
Wilson shrugged. "The council's trying to cover their tracks. They're handling the paperwork, sweeping things under the rug. They've been trying to keep this quiet."
The knights exchanged looks, their expressions shifting from one of confusion to knowing discomfort.
"It's a damn mess," Vamos muttered, taking a long gulp from his mug. "But either way, the kid's as good as dead."
Calmor grinned, raising his mug. "Hell yeah. No matter what, he's finished. To the Paladins of Galoh!" he declared, slamming the mug back down.
The other knights followed suit, joining him in a rowdy toast.
But the mood was somber now. The conversation, once filled with excitement and bravado, had become laced with unease.
The cloaked man, leaning casually against the bar, asked the barkeep for another shot. As the drink was poured, he used his mana to sharpen his hearing, hoping to catch more details from the conversation happening at the table.
Just as he focused in, the barkeep, a weathered old man, glanced over at him. "You know, kid, it's not wise to eavesdrop on people's business."
The cloaked man looked up, a bit caught off guard. "Oh, you noticed?"
The barkeep didn't look up from his glass, but his voice was calm, steady. "I've seen your type before. Always poking your nose where it doesn't belong."
The cloaked man gave a half-smirk. "Not like I'm doing anything wrong. Just... listening."
The barkeep set down the glass, finally meeting the man's eyes. "Couldn't stop you even if I wanted to. But you should know, kid... It's better to live a quiet life, one that doesn't stir the pot."
There was a pause, the tension hanging between them for a moment. The cloaked man took a long sip from his mug, his expression unreadable. "Some of us don't get that luxury."
The barkeep's eyes softened slightly, but he said nothing. He went back to cleaning glasses, the weight of his words lingering in the air.
The cloaked man let out a small chuckle. "Yeah... maybe not."
Ashton shrugged, swirling the empty shot glass in his hand. "Guess it fits." He tapped his finger on the table, then asked, "Ronald, do you have any rooms free for three days? Preferably a room with a window."
Ronald stopped cleaning and set the mug down, narrowing his eyes. "Three days? You sure about that?" He crossed his arms. "And a window too, at that... what are you planning, Mr. Ashton?"
With a smirk, Ashton replied, "Just some traveling. And some stargazing."He paused for a moment before adding, "You know, I'm just someone who likes to see the stars, Mr. Ronald."
Ronald studied him for a moment, then sighed. "If that's your wish, I have a room like that. Each night'll cost one silver coin. If you want to stay longer, it'll be seven copper coins for the extra day."
Ashton smiled easily. "That'll be wonderful, Mr. Ronald. I'd like to book it for tonight and stay until the eighth of Auracht."
Ronald looked at him for a long moment and said, "You know, a quiet life would suit you... But who am I to judge?"He picked up the mug again, wiping it absently. "Three days, pay up front."
Ashton reached into his cloak and pulled out three silver coins, setting them neatly on the counter. Ronald took the coins, weighed them in his hand, then handed over a small, worn key engraved with "B1."
"I hope you come back safe," Ronald muttered.
Ashton took the key, turning it in his hand. The metal was cold and a little rough, the engraving faint from years of use. With a small, lazy smile, he replied, "Don't worry. I always survive."
With that, Ashton stood up, slipping the key into his pocket, and made his way toward the stairwell. The tavern was still lively, and with each step, Ashton caught fragments of different conversations. But he decided that two conversations were enough — he remembered Ronald's warning.
He ended the Mana Hearing spell with a silent thought and climbed the creaky stairs. As Ashton ascended, a sharp pain stabbed through his head. Blood trickled from his ears, signs of a ruptured eardrum. But he paid it no mind and kept moving, steady and unflinching, until he reached the second floor.
He glanced around. Simple wooden doors lined the hall, each marked with a faded letter and number from A1 to A5. Finally, at the far end of the corridor, near the stairs leading to the third floor, he spotted his bedroom, B1.
As he made his way down the hall, Ashton reached into his cloak and pulled out a small vial of pills. Without hesitation, he swallowed one. Within seconds, the bleeding in his ears slowed, then stopped, leaving only a faint ringing behind.
He continued to his door, unlocking it with the worn key. The room was small, but enough, a rough wooden wardrobe, a narrow bed fit for one, a plain table and chair, and a single window with a small potted plant resting on the sill.
After locking the door behind him, Ashton moved to the window, examining the plant closely. Its red flower petals, dark green branches, and faint metallic aroma were unmistakable. It's a Blood Flower.
After recognizing the Blood Flower, a plant commonly used to ward off dark spirits. Ashton turned away from the window and made his way to the table. He pulled a small, weathered book from inside his tunic, its edges frayed from use. Settling into the chair, he flipped it open and began to write, quietly recording the events of the day in quick, practiced strokes.
Minutes slipped by in silence. When he finished, Ashton set down the book and, with a soft sigh, removed his cloak, draping it over the back of the chair.
For a moment, he simply stood there, the weight of the day pressing down on him. Then, with a faint smile, he turned toward the narrow bed. Without ceremony, he slumped forward, face-first into the mattress. The worn sheets and lumpy pillow embraced him like an old friend, and within moments, Ashton drifted into sleep.