Not a few minutes after Bonehead had fully cleared his core of all the holy energy that had invaded it, Esmerelda had come to find them in the graveyard and told them that she and Jass had found the perfect tavern for their Party and then brought them to it.
Pushing open the double doors of the Golden Horseshoe, Deacon, Sam, Esmerelda, and Bonehead stepped inside together, uncaring about how their mud-stained boots were staining the front entrance of the tavern's polished wooden floor, as after their first few steps, all the mud on the floor and on their boots vanished.
When walking through the double doors of the tavern, they were immediately hit with warmth, causing them to turn to its source – the grand hearth on the far wall. Tearing their gaze away from the grand hearth and towards some of the waitresses carrying serving trays stacked with food and ale, the four of them began to hold back their drool at the sight of food after not having eaten a decent meal for so long.
As Deacon's eyes swept the room, he took notice of the two and a half dozen long tables crammed to the brim with patrons, just below or at the same racial level as them. He also noticed that there was a bar going the full length of the left wall and was packed with patrons as well as servers. Above the bar was a mounted golden horseshoe that was larger than his own chestplate, and carved just beneath the horseshoe was the name of the tavern: The Golden Horseshoe.
Sam slowed to take it all in, his mouth pulling faintly open. "So, this is the Golden Horseshoe" he muttered under his breath in disbelief. "Practically all the journals I've read about my family members climbing the Tower all mention this place." Turning to face Esmerelda, he said, "I can't believe you found it out of all the other taverns."
Esmerelda only gave a small, knowing smile to Sam. "My mother used to tell me about this place and how to find it," she said while brushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek as she sidestepped away from a waitress needing to get between the four of them. "Said she and her Party celebrated their very first Floor Five clear right here. She said the food here was amazing." She said before gesturing to a group of undead with their own table off to the side with her chin. "And they even serve undead food as well."
Unlike his two friends, who looked to be far too fascinated with the tavern, Deacon immediately felt the weight of the stares belonging to the other patrons pressing on them; he could count at least 30 to 40 different Identifies striking him at once.
He kept his voice low, his eyes still moving. "We're not here for reminiscing about stories, guys," he muttered under his breath to his team. "Jass should've secured us a table by now."
"Right." Bonehead's jaw clicked faintly as he adjusted his hood, scanning the room with those hollow sockets that still managed to convey amusement. "We just gotta find the loudest table with someone pinned to the ground, and she's probably there."
That actually drew a dry snort from Deacon as he shifted forward, weaving around two groups of drunk cadets arguing over whose pizza and drink belonged to whom.
He scanned the rows of tables again, looking for any sign of Jass, and it wasn't until his eyes landed on a raised hand in the corner of the tavern that, just a couple of meters in front of the raised hand, had a sign saying: "Private Tables".
There.
Waving them down with an unbothered grin and already seated at a sturdy oak table shoved into the far right corner near the window was Jass. She had one boot kicked up onto the chair across from her and three empty mugs already stacked beside her.
Esmerelda let out a sigh of exasperation. "Of course she's already drinking before we even arrive…"
"At least she saved us the trouble of finding the table ourselves," Deacon muttered, angling them toward her. "We can only hope that what she's drinking is Honey Mead, the stuff we normally drink, and not whatever the hell everyone else is drinking halfway into their mugs and passing out right after."
The four of them quickly moved across the maze-like setup of the tables within the tavern, ignoring the lingering stares, the scraping of chairs, and the mutterings of other cadets sizing them up for the competition that was being hosted by the Iron Scale Guild.
Their staring didn't matter to them.
What truly mattered was regrouping, filling their stomachs, and then heading upstairs to the Party Room Jass and Esmerelda had reserved earlier so they could go over their strategy for Floor Six and effectively "lock in" so they could win the competition.
Almost seconds after the thought settled, their eyes were dragged toward a commotion near the center row of booths. A robust-looking woman, her hair tied back beneath a stained chef's cap, stood with one leg planted firmly on the throat of some unlucky bastard who was sprawled across the floor. The woman's eyepatch caught the light as she pressed down harder, drawing out a pained wheeze from the pinned man. The white of her chef's outfit was smeared with splatters of grease and broth, though she seemed not to care about it as she pinned down the drunken patron.
The four of them exchanged quick shrugs before crossing the now short distance between them and the table Jass sat at.
As they neared, the eyepatched woman's gaze snapped toward them and extended one thick, calloused hand to bar their path, not a word spoken yet. Up close, they could see the faint burn marks crawling up her arm, and the muscles in her forearm twitching as though daring them to test her patience.
"You got business with the girl?" she asked with annoyance lacing her tone that was easily carried over the noisy tavern.
"Yes, Ma'am," Esmerelda answered without hesitation, her voice chipper as if greeting an old friend and a smile growing on her face. "We're in the same Party, Mrs. Gretchen. Oh, and my mom wanted me to tell you; Hello!"
At the sound of her name and the greeting, the woman, now identified as Mrs. Gretchen, let out a grunt in return as she lowered her raised arm that was blocking their path.
Without another word, Mrs. Gretchen pulled her foot off the pinned man's neck, grabbed hold of him by the scruff of his collar, and dragged him upright with the ease of a bodybuilder tossing a kilogram sack of flour over their back. The drunken and previously pinned patron flailed weakly, muttering some half-baked protest before Gretchen started hauling him toward the front doors, and the seated patrons in her way moved aside in order not to get in her way.
"Don't come back 'til you learn some manners," she barked out.
Deacon, now trailing at the rear of their group, slowed just long enough to catch sight of Mrs. Gretchen hurling a man clean through the tavern's double doors. The tavern doors lingered open long enough for everyone inside to see the drunken, kicked-out patron hit the cobblestone road with a wet smack that earned a few laughs from nearby patrons before the doors swung shut again.
Gretchen dusted off her hand before turning back to the bar as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened; only stopping for a brief moment, and cleaned the table to grab a wet rag on the side of a bit filled with clean water and use it to clean her hands with.
Deacon couldn't help but let out a smirk before settling down at the table with the rest of his Party.
Injecting mana into the crossed-out music insignia in the middle of the table, four booth-like walls emerged from the ground and surrounded them and their table – blocking off all sound and sight around them, yet a few seconds after the walls were fully extended, they turned translucent, but only on their side. "Took you long enough," she said while her boots were still propped up on the chair opposite her and her mugs were being pushed aside by Esmerelda. "Were there any issues with your healing?"
"Nah, it was just a pain in the ass trying to find a place in the graveyard," Bonehead chimed in before settling in first. After pulling out the seat Jass was using as a foot rest, he fell into it and let out a long, exaggerated groan.
"You know, Jass," he muttered, pulling his hood lower as he sat, "if every time we meet up you've got a bodyguard throwing someone through a door, I'm going to start assuming you're the problem."
Jass only shrugged, reaching for the fresh mug that had somehow appeared at her side. "What can I say? I've got that kind of charm."
Now that everyone was settled in, the table hummed faintly, and a pale-blue screen flickered into existence just above the center. A neat list of meals and drinks scrolled down in glowing script, the prices tucked neatly beside each name. Deacon skimmed the categories with his arms folded while Bonehead leaned forward like a starving beggar eyeing the different types of Calcium Dishes they offered, muttering the names of dishes under his nonexistent breath.
The menu even had a section marked with a faint skull icon, food and drink safe for the undead, which made Esmerelda grin and nudge Bonehead with her elbow.
It didn't take long before they were all poking at the screen, stacking up more orders than they probably needed. Steaks, dumplings, smoked fish, bowls of thick stew, sweet rolls dripping with honey glaze, calcium bread, phantom meat pies, and tankards of honey mead large enough to get a dwarf drunk… well, perhaps just a half-dwarf.
By the time the order was finalized, the total sat fat and heavy at just under five hundred credits. They dumped the bill on Deacon without hesitation, and with a low sigh, he pulled out his manaphone from his Spatial Sling Bag and tapped it against the screen. A sharp chime from both the screen and his manaphone confirmed the payment.
Even though technically he had well over a million credits to his name due to the findings he and his Party made from Floor Three, he had yet to cash in his gold and artifacts and was currently using his reserve savings to pay for their meal. And judging by the message from the bank, he needed to go find the nearest one to put more money into it.
With their order locked in, the talk turned from food to what they found in the castles they explored. Jass leaned her chair back until it thudded against the wall, fishing out a folded packet of papers from her Spatial Sling Bag. She tossed them onto the table with a lazy flick, the pages splaying open to reveal photos, and many maps scrawled with neat handwriting, troop markers scattered across ink-drawn fields.
"Found this tucked away in a hidden chamber," Jass said, jerking her chin toward the images. "Looks like the humans were planning to choke the undead from three flanks, and a main army will be charging through the middle with some sort of big guy leading them."
Sam slid his manaphone on the table that was showing the army map he took a photo of, tapping a circle inked in red on the parchment. "And here, this marks their command. These are the main figures. With this, we could join the undead army and easily take advantage of this knowledge to gank these positions before anyone else can."
Deacon reached into his coat, pulling free his own stack of photos. He laid them flat beside Jass's, and Esmerelda leaned forward, pointing to the crooked scrawl of the undead's maps.
"This is their counterplay," she said quietly. "Not just defense. They're pushing for the capital here, but they're using the terrain, and the fact about how difficult it is to manuever within the mountainous region they reside in to their advantage–" She traced a line with her finger, "– so that they can then funnel the humans into choke points and use it to do something, but we don't know what."
Bonehead gave a dry chuckle, his skull tilting as he looked at the overlapping maps. "Well, guess we've got the cheat sheets. All that's left now is putting it to use and coming up with different plans of action when we actually learn what we need to do for Floor Six."
"Agreed," Deacon nodded in agreement. "We also need to consider the fact that other teams could have gotten the very same maps as we have or even other bits of information and decide to fuck up the whole board for everyone."
"On that thought, we also don't know how large the floor will be, nor the number of people there would be in an instance, but considering that it's a linked quest around war, it's probably–"
Before Jass could continue, the booth wall to Deacon's left rumbled and began sinking back into the floor, and standing just behind where the wall was seconds ago was Mrs. Gretchen herself.
Balanced across her left arm was a tray so large it looked like she'd ripped a table, and it was stacked high with steaming dishes and frothing tankards.
Gretchen eyed the group with that same hard look as before, then set the tray down with a heavy thunk that rattled the table as well as their seats "Eat. And don't waste it," she muttered, before turning on her heel to vanish back toward the kitchen without waiting for thanks.