Time had passed since the last attack on Belentedor. Ahrden could not tell how much, but a large part of it was filled with grieving and rebuilding. Not long after the battle, it was made known that it was the Velintenal nation who had attacked. It was an unsuccessful attempt to take the capital and afterwards concur the nation. Not their first and surely not their last.
The rebuilding took long, but the emotional wounds needed even more time. Ahrden never stopped blaming himself for what happened. His role in society changed a little after the battle, but not for long. People tend to forget fast just how much you did in the battle when you used arcane to achieve those feats. Ahrden didn't mind that much; he didn't fight to be liked or accepted.
Similarly, to every significant battle that seemed to make life itself stop, life went on in the Valley. The minor skirmishes resumed. Smaller battles, clashes between nations and secret assassinations dotted the seasons as they passed. These continuous deaths made it easier to bear these horrendous massacres, but not by helping the ones left behind heal but by making them numb to the agony.
Ahrden returned to his class, his devotion only growing over time. He kept relentlessly bettering himself, swearing never to fail again. Only Felinda remained in his life as a bastion to retreat to. He still had a few encounters with Sophie, but they were scarce and irregular, mostly only bumping into each other by pure chance. He was never able to connect with Berton on a deeper level, but Ahrden only had the potion-maker besides him so the loss of his teacher touched him deeply. Maybe he was never able to fully appreciate what the old man had given him. Or maybe his loss made it more evident that he only had Felinda now.
Ahrden had been through many highs and many lows in his life, but this pit of darkness just never seemed to end. As he was leaning over the book he was studying, he couldn't force his mind to focus on the intricate side-effects of a certain elixir. He violently pushed the tome off the table, with a spell, before he could stop himself. He sighed, stood up and walked over to the book to pick it up. Midway there, he stopped himself and changed directions to instead go to the bookshelf on the other side of the room. He stopped before it and started scanning the books on it with eager eyes to find something different.
Among the many books that Ahrden had read and learnt, there were relatively few that had nothing to do with arcane or something relating to it. The one his eyes finally fell upon was one such exception. He took it off the shelf, brought it back to his table, and dove into it. The book was about the history of ale in the Valley, and everything one needed to know about it. Ahrden was not a big drinker, but he occasionally did visit the local pub to show his face, and he even socialized a little on special occasions. Berton used to encourage him to do it more and even joined him a few times. Felinda was also glad when upon her asking, Ahrden could say that he had been down there in the past weeks.
One thing however, always bothered Ahrden, besides the fact that there were people there; and it was the ale. The one that the best pub in Belentedor served was utter rubbish, and the rest were just worse. He never voiced his opinion to the others because he didn't want to further decrease the number of people who tolerated him at their tables. Berton had strongly agreed with him on both the quality of the ale and how he shouldn't voice his opinion. It didn't take long for Ahrden to find out that they were not alone in this because, through his heightened hearing, Ahrden could hear others complain about it too. Thus, he was not surprised when this was reinforced in the history book that he now read; it stated that the Polenteus nation was notorious for their inferior ale.
Throughout the book, it was strongly emphasized that the Valley was hopelessly deprived of good ale at all places but one, which was Merktin. The Nethedral nation as a whole was famous for its excellent ale, but in the capital lived a family who ran a pub called the Wooden Jug, which made the very best among the many. The book elaborated how fiercely the nation kept the recipe of their beverage a secret, not allowing the outsiders to have even a sip from it. Afraid that others could copy their famous drink upon tasting it, no member of the other nations have been known to even taste the one that was served in the Wooden Jug. It was rumoured that there were battles fought only to obtain a barrel of the drink. The author of the book argued that although the ale at the Wooden Jug was indeed superb, it could have been replicated by others to a relatively high degree if they were allowed to examine it. The replicas wouldn't be the same, the author was quick to point it out, but it would be many levels above the ones that the other nations were drinking now.
Ahrden closed the book and stared in front of him. Mind racing, he slightly pushed the curtain aside with his power and saw that the sun was already setting outside. He let the curtain fall back to its place and continued staring ahead of him, think hard whether it was worth the risk. He abruptly stood up and decided that he will not accept the fact that he would have to drink what his nation could muster for the rest of his life, when he had the power to change it. If he succeeded, it would surely be something no one in the capital would forget as easily since the improved taste of the ale would serve as a constant reminder for all. Ahrden wondered what it would be like if he heard his name while eavesdropping, and instead of only hearing bad things, something good was mentioned.
He got up, paced a few times in the small study he loved. He then put on a pair of light boots and took out a map that showed the Nethedral nation. He had ventured into it numerous times, but he never went too close to the capital; Merktin. Not out of fear but because there was nothing he wanted from there. Not anymore. Ahrden located the closest he'd gotten to it and what direction he needed to go from there, then teleported.
The sun had long gone down by the time Ahrden saw the lights of Merktin. He teleported whenever he could along the way, but the nation's territory was huge although it still dwarfed next to the Velintenal nation. Nethedral was the only nation besides Polenteus to oppose the Velintenal nation. Despite their common enemy, their shared values and their long borders, the Nethedral and Polenteus nations were never able to put aside their differences to join forces. The origins of their disputes that prevented them from forming an alliance were long lost over the decades, but the intensity only strengthened over time. It was not often that the two nations went to war against each other, but it was not unprecedented either. Aid against the Velintenal threat was something they had never given to each other.
It was already dark, and Ahrden felt relieved to have finally arrived at Merktin. Knowing that now was the busiest time for a pub he could have just teleported back to his cosy study, to then return right to the edge of the capital tomorrow at noon, but curiosity kept him going. Not wanting to prolong the wait to savour what real ale tasted like, he came out of the shadows and started walking. He went clear from the guards who stood at the gate of the capital, and with two quick teleportation, he was already on the streets.
Despite the hostile environment, Ahrden felt confident enough to walk down the streets of Merktin, passing members of the Nethedral nation as he went. If he was afraid, what he was planning to do next would have been clearly out of the question. Ahrden didn't hide with spells, and instead tried to look as average as he could, so he wouldn't draw any attention. The method seemed to work because no one stopped him as he walked down the streets looking for the Wooden Jug. It was interesting to see the houses he walked by because they were built with an entirely different style and architectural methods. The capital was rather big; based on this first impression, it was probably bigger than his own, but it still wasn't hard for Ahrden to locate the main square. There he stopped for a moment, gathering some power to him and heightening his hearing with it. As he searched for the pub, he quickly located a noisy group not far from where he stood. Deciding that listening in on them was a good point to start his search Ahrden started walking towards the group when someone came up to him.
'Hey kid, can I help you? I don't seem to recognize you, which is rare for me,' the voice came from behind him.
When Ahrden turned around, he saw a broad-shouldered tall warrior clad in leather armour reinforced by mail in certain areas and carried an incredibly long sword on his belt. He had a long beard and looked friendly but suspicious. Ahrden knew he would see through all his attempted lies since he had no point of reference to craft his story around, but he still wanted to at least try something.
'I'm waiting for my father. Look, he had just arrived,' Ahrden said, pointing behind the stern warrior.
Suspiciously, but the man turned, and Ahrden cast the spell he had already prepared. It was one he had never used before, but it was among the easier ones. He fed a great deal of energy into the spell and cast it with precision. When the blue arcane seeped into the soldier, he fell asleep immediately. Just before he would collapse to the ground, Ahrden grabbed him with another spell and held him upright as if the guard was still standing. In this manner, he walked to edge of the square, bringing the sleeping soldier with him. Since it was already late at night, not many people were on the streets, but Ahrden was still lucky to have no one around while he reached the houses lining of the square. There he placed the warrior to the ground with his back against the wall of a house, in a way as someone would sit for a quick nap. Satisfied with his work, Ahrden continued his walk towards where the noisy group had gone, since they had already disappeared from earshot.
Ahrden felt that the group had stopped as he neared them and, he became increasingly confident that what he was approaching was indeed a pub. All he needed to hope now was that it was the one he sought. Being so close to the main square meant that the location was good, which further supported the notion that this might just be the famous pub, but Ahrden tried not to get his hopes too high. He passed a few other citizens as he walked, but most of them walked in an unsure way, and they were in no shape to even suspect that he was from a different nation.
The group had already gone in when Ahrden finally saw the pub, and the enormous nameplate that gently rocked in the mild night breeze made it abundantly clear that he had come to the right place. Looking around, he saw a woman who leaned down towards his kid to tell him something, after which the kid ran away and into a nearby house. The woman straightened and walked into the pub, leaving Ahrden alone. Taking a deep breath, he walked across the small square in front of the pub and entered the building.
The noise, the smell and the heat immediately hit Ahrden in the face, all of which he welcomed. The noise drew the attention away from him, the scent was not terrible, more like pure and fresh ale, while the heat he appreciated after the chilly outside temperature. As expected, no one noticed him, and everyone remained occupied with their immediate company and their drinks. The interior was completely made out of wood, just like all the jugs he saw in the hands and tables. Oddly enough, Ahrden felt the environment to be a lot more welcoming than what his own nation's pub could offer, without knowing a single person in here.
Ahrden continued his walk towards the counter, and as he did, he tried not to stare too much at the others, yet he still couldn't help but notice an absolutely stunning young woman sitting by a table with his friends. Just as Ahrden looked at her, she raised her head and looked directly into Ahrden's eyes. He immediately looked away, cursing himself for the deed, yet the gaze of that girl made it all worth it. Ahrden felt touched by those eyes in a way he never before had, completely forgetting the reason he had come.
Just as Ahrden walked up to the counter, his reason for being here came back to him. He patiently waited for the bartender to notice him, and when he did, he ordered an ale in the most general way he could. When he finished his order, the bartender nodded and was about to take off a wooden jug from the shelf when he looked behind Ahrden and decided against it, hurrying to the other end of the counter. Without even needing the aid of his arcane senses, Ahrden felt trouble coming.
'Now what the hell do you think you are doing here boy?!' the booming voice came from behind Ahrden. 'I can recognize the smell of every nation, and you reek of Polenteus filth.'
Ahrden turned around and saw a broad-shouldered, battle-hardened, tall warrior standing halfway between him and the door with two similar warriors behind him. They were clad in metal armour from top to bottom, and all carried two-handed broad swords. At Belentedor, the security was among the most important things too, but Ahrden had never seen anyone in such armour to be in the pub. The leader who had spoken to him had taken his helmet off and tossed it onto a table, revealing his furious expression that radiated from his head that looked like it was about to explode.
The sheer amount of hate that he was receiving at that moment surprised Ahrden to his core. He knew that the two nations were adversaries, but this felt too much for him. The idea which came to his mind was born in the moment, and he couldn't let it just go.
'Why aren't we allies? You all sit in your beautiful pubs drinking your delicious ale while we sit in our dreadful taverns drinking our abysmal ale, and at the mere sight of each other, we jump at the other's neck while the Velintenal nation is working hard to wipe out both of our nations at the first chance they can.'
Utter silence was everywhere.
'I came here to have a great ale for the first time in my life, not to kill the men and take your women,' Ahrden said this before he could stop himself, causing his face to turn red while he exercised a huge amount of self-restrain not to look towards where the stunning young woman was. 'If you insist, we can fight today, but tomorrow we should work together on forging an alliance rather than slaughtering each other to make King Malitez's job that much easier.'
'We can take on both your sorry nations and that bastard king you twat,' the soldier shot back.
'Come on now, old man. Malitez has more soldiers than you have trees, and you can't even take me on from my sorry nation, so what hope do you have against our armies?
The pub as a whole erupted at Ahrden's offence. The lead soldier raised his hand, which made the pub slowly quiet down, although with much reluctance.
'Where is all this confidence coming from? What are you boy? You are frailer than a potion maker and you wear what monk or a teacher might.'
Laughter erupted anew, but Ahrden patiently waited for the crowd to quiet down. He knew he had the winning hand but didn't feel the pot large enough.
'I'm a mage. Old man.'
One or two drunk individuals broke into a hysterical laughter, but all the rest remained silent, unable to even blink. They all heard the stories about magi. While they didn't have a single mage among them, they also suspected that the Polenteus nation had no magi either. Yet, they could still not rule it out that there might be one among the enemy nation. If what Ahrden said was true and their neighbouring nation was able to hide away a mage, then the situation was a completely different one.
On top of that, Ahrden had already encountered soldiers from their nation against whom he had used his power. At the time, everyone had disregarded what the beaten soldiers said; now the memory of those stories started creeping into the minds of the assembled.
'Do you expect me to believe you? You are no more than a fragile rogue who managed to sneak into our city.'
'To then walk into your tavern and order an ale?' Ahrden asked.
This puzzled the warrior.
'What do you plan to accomplish here? You don't even have armour on.'
'Neither do you.'
Before the warrior could respond, Ahrden teleported right before him and placed his open palm on his cold metal breastplate. Faster than a heartbeat, Ahrden fed his power into it, seeking all the leather straps and metal hinges that were keeping it all together, and when he could feel them, he severed them all and pushed them outwards, then teleported back to the counter.
When Ahrden materialized at the counter, he felt a shuriken flying towards him through the air with incredible speed, obviously sent his way before he even went back to his original location. He reached out with his power and stopped it at half an arm's length from his face. At the same time, every component of the warrior's armour exploded outwards, flying in every direction. Ahrden paid no mind to that; he just looked up towards where the shuriken came from and saw the same young woman whom he had noticed upon walking in, to be the one to throw the deadly weapon at him.
Rogue… Interesting… Ahrden thought. He reached out with his right hand and brought the weapon closer by levitating it above his palm. He moved it around, floating the shuriken and making it spin in the air.
After the initial noise that the colliding armour pieces made died down complete silence fell on the tavern. Only suppressed gasps spread through the crowd as they comprehended the events and saw the foreign boy levitate that shuriken. No one attacked, no one moved. All eyes were on Ahrden.
Ahrden fed the metal with arcane and watched it heat up, first turning to red, then a glowing white. People around him gulped at the feat, but Ahrden was even more amazed that the metal didn't melt and held its form after putting so much power into it. He straightened his palm and, to everyone's shock, sent the shuriken back towards the rogue. Despite the sudden attack and the unnatural speed, the young woman was able to move away from it even though Ahrden shot it in a way that even if she didn't, it still would have hit the wall of the pub. After the shuriken was embedded deep into the wood, which sizzled as the metal burned it, Ahrden turned back towards the warrior and spoke before letting anyone else react to the events.
'If I'm correct, that counts as being naked for a warrior,' Ahrden said to the stunned audience.
The warrior bellowed, drew his sword that he still had on him then charged at Ahrden while the two soldiers flanking him were about to do the same too. Ahrden teleported behind the leader just between the two other warriors and placed his hands on both of their breastplates. This time he fed each with an immense burst of power that sent both soldiers flying backwards into the two sides of the door that painfully creaked upon impact. The warrior at the front whirled around and in a sweeping arch, brought his sword down upon Ahrden, who held out his palms and pushed the soldier backwards. He did so in an even manner which made the man slide backwards on his feet rather than sending him flying across the floor. The tip of the sword just missed Ahrden coming down in front of him, but he didn't even flinch.
When the astounded warrior straightened, everyone seemed to have moved together. Chairs fell back as everyone got to their feet, drawing swords, daggers, axes and even bows. Just before Ahrden was about to be swarmed, he shouted with his enhanced voice that sounded deafening in the confined space.
'Did I not come to the honourable nation of Nethedral. The people who pride themselves for their noble ways? You all dare to intervene an honourable duel that was initiated by an esteemed but naked warrior? Is there no honour here either? I came here to have a taste of your wonderous ale and took no offence in being challenged to a duel, but if you all break the sacred rules, I'll end you all.'
The peaceful silence that followed was a very fragile one, which would crumble at the wrong kind of push. Fortunately for Ahrden, the warrior in question made the decision for everyone. When he charged at Ahrden with a war cry, he not only acknowledged that this indeed was a duel but also that he wished the others not to intervene.
Ahrden didn't just want to defeat the warrior; that he could easily do. He wanted to humiliate him while showing that he did all that without breaking a sweat, proving that the threat about ending them all was not just empty talk. He cast his own spell in the most subtle way possible and spread the arcane mist around him and the warrior making it as transparent as possible. No one seemed to notice it since the fog was not visible, but Ahrden could feel everything in it, and the warrior's movement did become a bit sluggish.
Clasping his hands behind his back, Ahrden waited for the nearing warrior and dodged his first attack with empowered swiftness and predictive thinking. He did the same with the next and that one that followed that. Despite the many years of experience, the warrior could never connect a single blow, and he didn't understand the reason behind it. Combined with the warrior's slower movement and his heightened body Ahrden still needed to use his arcane to occasionally push the blade further from him when it came closer than he wished it. He danced circles around the warrior, not once attacking him. The frustrated warrior's rage only grew after the many failed attempts making his blows deadlier, but less accurate.
When Ahrden felt that he had played with the warrior long enough, he didn't dodge away from the next strike but rather slowly stopped the sword as it neared him. When the edge of the blade was almost touching his head, he completely halted the weapon and watched as the warrior struggled to force it down on him. When he saw that for whatever reason he couldn't, the warrior tried to yank it free from the invisible power that had a hold on it. With a sweep of his left wrist, Ahrden weakened the blade just above the hilt, to the point it broke off after a bigger yank from its wielder.
The surprised warrior lost his footing and tumbled backwards, but Ahrden caught him with his next spell that he had already used in a similarly hostile situation against the master rogue at the Grand Challenge. The warrior never hit the floor and instead slowly ascended from the ground in a gentle manner. The warrior furiously kicked and punched at the air, but all proved futile as he helplessly floated in front of everyone, unable to do anything.
'I hope my ale is ready,' Ahrden said as he turned around, not even wasting another word on the warrior.
To his biggest surprise, a wooden jug was on the counter waiting for him. When Ahrden walked towards the counter, the whole pub was motionless; no one moved, talked or even breathed. When Ahrden reached the counter, the tavern remained silent and motionless. The furious warrior, trapped in the spell, kept violently protesting, but his voice could not escape the arcane bubble. Ahrden lifted the heavy wooden jug to his mouth and tasted the ale.
It was superb. Phenomenal. Out of this world. His lowered standards might have been the reason, but he thought this beverage to be out of this realm. He turned around and addressed the crowd.
'Sublime. Exquisite,' Ahrden couldn't help but take another sip. 'Now. We are obviously going to try and replicate this, but sadly I know that we will not come anywhere close to what this liquid pleasure tastes like. Before you all lose your mind again, you really shouldn't be jealous that we'll no longer drink the piss of an ox, but rather something more worthy of us. You all should take pride in knowing that you were the ones to lift us out from that hole we have been suffering in. And on that note, you should think about what I said earlier regarding our common enemy and the mindless hate towards each other. The day nears when either you or we will receive the dreaded news that the other nation no longer exists anymore. That day will be too late to understand the truth to what I'm saying.'
Ahrden teleported onto the table of the stunning rogue and swiftly called the still red shuriken to him. The agile young woman didn't hesitate to jump onto the table and leap at him with two drawn daggers, but her sweeping strike hit nothing but air. Ahrden was standing back at the counter with a shield around himself. The fragile peace had shattered and mayhem ruled the tavern now, but the arcane shield held and Ahrden cared only about the cooling weapon that floated above his palm.
'This is truly incredible. Master craftsmanship alone cannot achieve this; there is magic in it,' Ahrden said, genuinely amazed.
An axe, thrown at him from the other side of the pub, embedded into the shield. An arrow was fired too, and it met the same fate. The sound of battle raged as people pushed themselves towards Ahrden with drawn weapons. Despite being the first to attack, the rogue only stood on the table with eyes glued to Ahrden. He looked up at her. By then, many swords, axes and daggers were cleaving at his shield, and the sound in the pub was deafening. Ahrden reached out with his power and opened a brief tunnel between him and the beautiful rogue that carried his voice.
'Mind if I take this? I'll bring it back. I promise.' Ahrden said, indicating at the shuriken.
He smiled after seeing the stunned expression of the rogue then teleported away. With the magical shield gone, the soldiers all fell forward, piling onto each other, and the floating warrior fell on the floor with a loud thud. At first the noise only increased in Ahrden's absence, but it all suddenly subsided when the pub door slammed opened, hitting one of the still stunned soldier whom Ahrden had thrown at its side.
'Everyone, move! We are under attack! The general is out, hit by a sleeping dart.'
'You found the dart?' the rogue with the shuriken asked, putting things together quickly.
'No… But it could have been removed,' the puzzled soldier said, unsure why no one took him seriously.
'We are not under attack. It was the mage…' the rogue said, and she had to touch her cheek to be certain that she didn't only imagine her face turning red.
--
Ahrden materialized in front of the pub he often visited. In one hand, he held the wooden jug in the other, he levitated the slowly cooling shuriken. He started towards the familiar door bracing himself for the smell that would welcome him in there. Both hands being occupied, he opened the door with a spell. It might have been the adrenaline surging in his veins, or he was just overly excited, but he put a little too much force into it as the door slammed open. In itself, it wouldn't have drawn everyone's attention to it, but the fact that immediately afterwards no one came through it made most heads slowly turn towards it.
When Ahrden entered, the initial mean grunts started, but then they quickly died off at the recognition of the wooden jug. The glowing foreign weapon that floated in his other hand confirmed the initial theories of the people present and soon not a single disapproving sound could be heard. As Ahrden walked, whispers started spreading and the sound of amazed gasps grew in the pub.
Ahrden walked up to the counter and turned around to address everyone. Before doing so, he took another large gulp from the ale, knowing this to be his last, then lowered it.
'I've just come from our neighbouring friends, and they were kind enough to give us a jug of their fines ale for us to be able to better ours. I'm not sure if you have heard of the place called Wooden Jug, but their ale stands above all the ales in the Valley.'
Ahrden turned around, placed the heavy jug on the counter, and looked sternly at Kostell, the bartender who also owned the pub.
'Didn't want to say it before, but what you serve tastes worse than what I piss out afterwards. Here is the goal. Replicate it the best you can because I lied about the Nethedrals giving this to me freely, and I don't want to anger them any further.'
As Ahrden was walking out, someone started slowly clapping, and others joined in. Approving shouts came in his direction and he was right at the door when someone asked.
'How did you do it?'
Ahrden turned around and looked at the strict hunter called Belet who had asked the question.
'What is my class?'
Not waiting for the hunter to process things, Ahrden smiled and walked out.