Chapter 286: Chapter 282: Debt Repayment

The evening came much too soon. 

Or at least too soon for me to process all that had happened. And it wasn’t just the skills. The whole comeback, the oath thing, and the spar with Deckard came back to me, weighing on my mind as I lay there on the infirmary bed, thinking about my life and where it had led me.

No big revelations there.

Just a girl who was unlucky and did her best to survive in another world.

“Come on, Korra’leigh,” Idleaf whined as I walked slowly towards the barracks gate. The healers had reminded her about the Drunken Filly Party as soon as she showed up at the infirmary, and she had been pestering me to go ever since.

Understandable. For eight months, Idleaf didn’t get to enjoy it. And she loved music and dancing - something I wasn’t good at. I always felt more like a piece of wood thrown onto the dance floor, stiff, clumsy, clueless of the right moves. However, my hope was that with [Dancer’s Stride] at Tier V, I would be better than ever before. Or at least that I wouldn’t embarrass myself.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” I said back to the impatient rascal. Despite everything I’d been through - the encampment of tens of thousands of people, the ancient battle - I couldn’t help but feel a little nervous, thus dragging my feet.

“Hi. You’re not going to the Drunken Filly?” Idleaf asked the guards at the barracks gate excitedly. The poor guys looked at each other and sighed. 

“We’re on duty.”

“Can’t leave our post.”

“They’re protecting this place while we go have fun, Idleaf,” I explained to the spirit bouncing around them.

“Oh. Oh - that’s quite honorable.”

“I-I . . . it is,” one of the guards stammered, surprised at Idleaf’s view of their suffering. After all, the tavern where all their buddies hung out was just across the street. “Although we’d rather come with you, gals.”

“We hear you’re paying for everyone, Grey.”

“Only one round. And to those I hit with my might on the training grounds,” I corrected them.

“Might?”

“And how will you know who you hit? I would venture to say, for example, that I felt a tickle on the back of my neck at the time.”

The moment my brain processed the information, I broke out in a cold sweat. There may have only been about two dozen guards on the training grounds at the time, but I had no way of knowing who exactly they were. Without any way for me to prove otherwise, anyone in the barracks could claim that I had hit them with my might.

“Deckard’s gonna kill me.”

Both guys laughed, and Idleaf with them, though she had no idea why. And neither did I. Getting my hide flogged didn’t seem so funny to me.

“I wish it were that easy to say what the women really think. She says no, but she means yes. Anyway . . . since we’re stuck here, we’ll give you a little advice,” the taller guardsman said with a roguish smile and looked at the other.

“Look for Lieutenant Blaine before you start paying for shots.”

My ears perked up, my mind in overdrive. “He was there, with Rhys, getting everyone in line.”

“Yeah,” the tall one grinned. “And he knows the faces of all the boys and girls like the back of his hand.”

“That’s a great tip, guys,” I said, glad I wasn’t about to pay for everyone in the Drunken Filly. I’d be paying off Deckard for who knows how long. 

“A drink on me? When given the chance, of course.”

Both guys grinned. “The kind of woman I like - minus the hairy bits. No offense.”

“Don’t mind him. I’m Mur, and this is Walil.”

“Wal, if you will.”

“I’ll remember you both. And thanks again,” I said, and made my way across the street to the tavern, the front of which bore a large sign with the name of the establishment and a depiction of a mare with its legs entwined, its windows shining out into the starry blackness of the night.

All thoughts of beelining it back were gone in an instant when Idleaf didn’t even bother to go through the door and just popped into the tavern. Not something I could do, and so, like any ordinary being, I used the door.

The entire tavern fell silent as soon as I stepped inside. But it wasn’t the silence I remembered from the last time - the one that made me feel so out of place and on the edge. It only took a moment for everyone to look at the newcomer and confirm that it was indeed me. After all, my arrival was heralded by the very presence of Idleaf, the rascal in question, already bouncing happily among the regulars.

“At last,” came from the tables, and as if that was the signal, everyone resumed talking - some of them at me.

“Good thing you didn’t get cold feet.”

“I thought I was going to get drunk using my own coins before we get to see your ass, Grey.”

Ignoring the remarks, I looked around the tavern, my eyes searching for Blaine. Even though my outer domain was large enough to encompass the entire room, for some reason, most likely enchantment, it just didn’t work here. I found the man I was looking for sitting in the back with Deckard and a woman I didn’t know. 

I’d have to be blind not to see how awfully close she was clinging to my mentor.

Making my way to them, however, was harder than I thought. So many people were trying to drag me to the bar, while Idleaf, on the other hand, was begging me to join her on the dance floor.

“Couldn’t you sit by the entrance?”

“Hello to you too,” Blaine replied with a grin and beer foam on his lips. “Interesting that you want me to make your life easier when you’re only making mine harder.”

Sure, he could have been referring to the whole thing with the past and Eleaden, but in this case, I was sure it was the little incident on the training grounds. And since there was no doubt who was in the wrong, I lowered my ears. “Sorry about that. It wasn’t intentional.”

“Tits, I hope not.”

My ears perked up this time. “Just . . . tits?!”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you, or Palemoon, not mentioning Traiana’s name.”

“Besides, we had a little talk with her after you fell asleep,” Deckard added, enjoying the presence of the woman in his arms.

“You didn’t hurt her, did you?” I said, rubbing my nose in a tease.

My mentor grinned back. “Unlike you and me, she knows how to hold back, Little Beast.”

“Anyway, we thought it would be a good idea to unlearn using her name in that particular swearing. You know, in case we have the pleasure of meeting her.”

That was surprisingly insightful of Blaine - and Deckard. “You think you will?”

Both men laughed.

“One never knows with you, Little Beast. How long has it been since you came to Castiana, trembling like a leaf, startled by every shadow - ten months? And look at you now, making the city’s strongest fighters shit their pants.”

Blaine nodded and finished his mug, handing it to the waitress. “Who knows, today we’re dealing with the aftermath of your presence. Tomorrow it could be a dragon on your tail.”

My body moved on its own as the waitress stumbled and was about to fall over with the tray of empty mugs.

“S-sorry, I’m not used to these shoes,” she stammered, grateful for my rescue.

[Slave: lvl 76]

My gaze traveled down to her feet, and a small pang of envy struck my heart. She was wearing a nice pair of Timberland boots. Not something to wear to the bar, but who was I to judge that? Instead of lamenting my lack of shoes, I ought to be happy for her that someone in my shoes - so to speak - found a place like this and didn’t end up among the companions.

“That’s why I don’t wear them,” I said, wiggling my toes.

The former slave, now a waitress, smiled weakly, tense. “A-actually, I’m surprised no one here is wearing boots.”

“Thalia, move your ass! I’ve already tapped a beer for table six,” came from the bar, at which the waitress excused herself and disappeared into the crowd.

“Tits, she didn’t even take my order,” wailed Deckard, almost finished with his beer.

“I’ve never seen her here before,” Blane remarked, his eyes following the woman for a moment. “Must be her first night here.”

I couldn’t comment on that. There were no waitresses here the last time I was here, but that was eight months ago. What caught my eye were her boots. Or rather, her remark about other people’s footwear. I didn’t really pay attention to it, because at first glance everyone was wearing some. But after a moment’s observation, I noticed that the guards’ “shoes” were missing soles.

“What’s with the shoeless shoes?” I eventually asked when I found Blaine wearing the same ones.

“Foot guards. Did you forget? Freedom for the feet,” he replied before grinning and leaning over to the woman on Deckard’s lap. “You know this is the gal behind all that.”

Her eyes widened. “Shit. Really?”

A simple nod would have to do, as I didn’t know whether to be proud or embarrassed. Besides, she was a stranger to me.

“Then maybe you can convince Deckard. He spends weeks with his feet in shoes, and when he takes them off - let me tell you, despite all the anti-stink enchantment, it’s not exactly something that turns me on.”

Who was this woman, exactly? A hooker? A companion? Or just Deckard’s lady friend - with benefits? Either way, if he wanted me to know, he’d have introduced me to her by now. And since it was none of my business, it was better to keep my nose out of it. Otherwise I might get hit in it again.

On the other hand, it made me wonder why Deckard, as [Void Walker], someone whose fighting style depended on walking, wore boots.

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“Defense and protection.” The way he said it made me startled that my thoughts were blatantly obvious once again, but he seemed to be responding to the woman. “You don’t have to be afraid of stepping into something unpleasant.”

I shuddered at the memory of wading barefoot through the mixture of mud, blood, and guts on the battlefield. 

“Or kicking hard,” he added. “Though now . . . it’s worth considering.”

“What?” the woman stared, mouth agape, “I’ve . . . I’ve asked you so many times . . .”

“Times have changed.”

He was talking about the system, his bottlenecks, and the fact that he was no longer limited by the number of skills. Well, the limits were still there, but not as restrictive.

“Well, I can tell. I haven’t seen you this excited in a long time . . . maybe we should move to my place.”

Deckard smiled. “Not a bad idea, but . . . first. I owe this gal a drink.”

He did. But what it reminded me of was why I came to them in the first place. “Blaine, do you remember who was at the training grounds? You know, when I used my might.”

“I was wondering whatever you were going to ask,” he chuckled. “As a matter of fact, I do.”

“And . . . ?

“Don’t worry. They already have the names on the bar.”

“And my coins,” Deckard added, getting up from the table. “Come on, let’s see what a shot of Dragon Fart will do for you.”

For all my bad luck, I couldn’t have asked for better people to meet here on Eleaden. And so, with my heart fluttering with a mixture of gratitude, joy, and jitters, I mouthed a silent thank you to Blaine and shot after Deckard. The man was already making his way to the bar.

“Thal, two Dragon Farts.”

“Thal?” Only now, hearing the bartender’s name for the first time in eight months, did my brain connect the two, my gaze inevitably finding the waitress as she scurried from table to table.

“I know, a fucking name match-up,” a well-groomed woman in a neatly pressed uniform grunted as she set two shots in front of us. She may have sounded annoyed, but her grin told a different story. “A little confusing, but it adds to the fun. Besides, my fault. The name is Birthalia - I like Thal better. Anyway, good to see you again - and your misty friend,” she nodded to Idleaf, swaying across the dance floor to the rhythm of the band’s music. “I have to say, things have been pretty boring around here without you.”

“That’s what Thal says about everyone.”

“Can’t I, Deckard? I care about my customers,” she grinned back, unfazed by his remark, serving gals and guys from the barracks while she talked to us. “The more the merrier.”

“And more coins for the tavern.”

Come to think of it, every time I came here, it was to celebrate stuff. In other words, to spend some money. And with a bunch of other people on my tail.

“True, but what other tavern in the city can boast of having started a new trend?”

“You don’t mean . . . ?”

“Freedom for the feet? Yes, I mean exactly that.”

“And it’s a trend?” I could hardly believe I was even asking that. It was just something I shouted while drunk.

“Quite popular, I might add.”

“Not with cobblers, as I recall.”

“At first. But not everyone has the balls to go barefoot while looking for the perks. I’m guilty of that myself. It’s no fun having dirty feet all the time.”

True. “You can get used to it,” I pointed out.

The bartender smiled. “That much is obvious. Then I guess it comes down to a question of preference. Anyway, after the initial whining about the loss of business, the cobblers saw an opportunity. After so many years, they came up with new types of shoes, new enchantments, and now they’re having a run with their boots outside the walls of Castiana. Balls. Have you seen the streets? They’re cleaner than ever, which makes people happier - especially terrans - and willing to spend more coins - just a moment . . .” She broke off to attend to someone else.

“Is that true, Deckard?”

“Well, as far as I can tell. I spent most of my time in the depths of Fallen’s Cry. Anyway, enough of that. To your return among us living in the present, Little Beast,” he raised his shot, and I did the same.

“It’s great to be back.”

To loud cheers from the rest of the bar, Deckard and I downed a shot of Dragon Fart. 

And as always, the drink lived up to its name. Despite my best efforts not to catch a whiff of it, the smell got into my nose as I swallowed the drink. My snout wrinkled under the stench of the old nasty fart. 

It wasn’t until a few heartbeats later that a pleasant warmth spread through my mouth and throat. What I remembered coming after didn’t. No burning pain, no loss of taste on my tongue, no system notification of my poisoning. All that remained was a pleasant warmth in my body and a strange bittersweet taste that I couldn’t associate with anything I remembered except the Dragon Fart itself.

To humor the regulars, I growled loudly and slammed the empty glass down on the bar. 

“Nicely done,” Thal, the bartender, praised me while Deckard patted me on the back.

“So, how does it sit with you?”

“It tastes good. Warms my guts, but that’s about it,” I said, a hint of disappointment in my voice.

He laughed. “Welcome to the club.”

“Your [Constitution] is that high?” If 100 points of [Constitution] was the minimum to handle Dragon Fart, 200 points must have been where the drink stopped being an issue. 

“Why the surprise? I am fighting in close contact with the enemy. I have to be able to take a few hits. You’re the one whose stats are more ridiculous in that regard.”

The undeniable truth. “So what do you do to get drunk? Is there anything stronger?”

“Balls!” Thal laughed, her attention back on us for a moment. “See, you’re fun to have around. But no, Dragon Fart is the strongest thing we have here. After all, most of the boys and girls here can’t take more than one shot. If you need something stronger, I recommend visiting an alchemist or the Enchanted Bee; their honey brews are strong and reasonably priced. And if you don’t mind spending some coins, which I’m told you’re not exactly flush with, you can try the Fabulous Beard.”

Recommending other taverns and inns was certainly not what I would have expected from a bartender. However, I appreciated it. Unfortunately, it didn’t help me in my current predicament.

“There will always be something stronger to poison yourself with, Little Beast,” Deckard remarked, a hint of a but and thus hope in his voice. “Like this, for instance.”

He placed a small white potion on the bar in front of him.

“And what’s that?” There was no label on it. 

“The much cheaper way to get drunk than going to the Fabulous Beard - though I’d recommend trying the drinks there at least once. They’re good. Thal could tell you. She used to work there. Anyway, Drunkard’s Poison - officially known as the “Bane of the Constitution”.

“This will reduce my [Constitution]?

“Unfortunately, no. Only some aspects, such as [Resistance]. You’ll still have to deal with your massive [Constitution] . . .”

“That means I have to drink a shit ton before I get drunk.”

“But you will get drunk,” Deckard smiled, pushing the potion towards me and patting my shoulder. “It lasts for twelve hours. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have matters to attend to.”

Right, the woman, now giggling at some joke of Blaine’s at the table.

Not really daring to imagine a thing, I look at the potion. A poison, basically. Nothing new to me; if anything, it just reminded me of Sage and my own poison. No matter how much of it I inhaled, apart from the strong smell of apples, no system notification popped up. 

“Well, down the hatch, I guess.”

Downing the potion, I looked around at the eager crowd. “So who’s first? What’s it going to be?”

Thankfully, Blaine wasn’t lying, and Thal had a list of people I owed an apology to in the form of a drink. It was more than I expected, almost thirty people, and that was without the City Lord, the Lieutenants, or even Rayden.

“Next!” I shouted when I was three quarters of the way through the list, the Drunkard’s Poison doing its work.

“Me,” a woman’s voice tickled my ears, a familiar voice at that. 

“Hazel?” I rubbed my eyes, not sure if the potion wasn’t doing its job too well. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for that drink with the Guardian of Idleaf.”

“I mean, sure. I just didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Honestly, taverns aren’t places I frequent, but . . .” the librarian’s gaze traveled to the dance floor, her eyes sparkling with delight. “I just danced with the spirit of the World Tree, and now I’m going to have a drink with her guardian.”

Being with people I knew, and who knew me, it was easy to forget how extraordinary such a thing must have seemed to those around me, people like her who had grown up on Eleaden and the legends that had been passed down through the ages. I understood her, though. I, too, had once been a fan.

“So, Hazel, what’s it going to be? I think Dragon Fart is a bit much.”

“Gentleman’s Promise,” Hazel said without hesitation, her choice already made. The name of the drink didn’t ring a bell. Basilisk’s Kiss, Ogre’s Piss, Eye Splatter, I’ve had them all, but not this caramel-sweet concoction. Pretty clever of the librarian, if I do say so myself. The large glass containing the mixture of light pink and blue liquor took a while to drink, giving us time to chat.

Quite a welcome change of pace, actually.

 

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