Chapter 8 – The Vote at Golden Ash

[Golden Ash Tavern]

Hushwind was the nearest town to the Amethyst Deep, and the Golden Ash was one of its two taverns.

Its rival served miserable liquor to a perpetual crowd of laborers, drifters, and other people near the bottom of society. At the Golden Ash, every cup held rich, full-bodied wine.

The higher prices meant that almost every patron was an adventurer of some ability.

Today, however, those adventurers had clustered along the right side of the room. The four people seated alone on the left looked as if they had reserved half the tavern for themselves.

They were Silverthorn Company, a Diamond-rank adventuring party whose every member stood above LV50.

The company was not known for bullying others. Anyone with eyes could see that something was wrong among them, and no one wished to test their luck.

The other patrons nursed their drinks with a mixture of fear and curiosity, hoping to overhear enough gossip to enliven the next several days.

The most conspicuous member of Silverthorn Company was Garrick, a Half-Dragon who stood seven and a half feet tall. Even seated, he towered over ordinary people. Reinforced heavy armor made him look like a section of city wall.

In battle, that was exactly what he became. Again and again, Garrick had held back waves of enemies and created safe openings for his companions to attack.

His only shortcoming was that he had failed to inherit his Dragonkin mother’s breath weapon. If he could unleash one while pinning an enemy in place, even a Beastfolk warlord might fall before realizing what had happened.

At the moment, however, the words emerging from the Half-Dragon sounded anything but brave.

“We’re finished. We may not be able to stay anywhere in the Kingdom of Concord after this.

“Boss, this mission is impossible anyway. We should flee to the Western Isles while no one expects it. Once we enter that dungeon, we’ll lose our last chance to run.”

Clang!

A blade enhanced with Sharpness struck Garrick’s breastplate and bounced onto the table. Nyx, the party’s shadow-walker, toyed with two more blades between her fingers.

The Elf had slit the throats of countless monsters with her throwing knives. Now she stared at the party’s frontliner as if he were a pile of Goblin dung.

“Have you forgotten that two days on a riverboat nearly made you vomit up your stomach? You want to cross the sea to the isles? You’ll die halfway there.

“Besides, we haven’t even begun the mission. If we succeed, we get a city!”

Nyx’s eyes shone at the word city. No one knew why a proper Elf was so fascinated by the idea of owning a human settlement.

“We have to succeed first!” Garrick protested. “The duke says we must bring her back unharmed, but she’s already been missing for half a month.

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“You all know what happens to adventurers who get trapped in the Amethyst Deep without dying. There are the Parasitic Trees on the Fifth Stratum and the Tentacle Nest on the Ninth. Even if we rescue someone from those places, their mind is ruined. Do you think the duke will call that unharmed?

“The best possibility is that roaming Beastfolk caught her and kept her as stored meat. By now, they’ve probably removed most of her arms and legs. And we still have to pray despair hasn’t broken her mind.

“This mission is almost impossible! When the duke comes to punish us, Nyx can escape with Shadow Step. The other three of us will be beaten to death!”

Garrick had good reason to fear Duke Alaric St. Clair. Ten years earlier, when those at the table had been no more than Gold- and Silver-rank adventurers, Alaric had already been an LV70 powerhouse at the pinnacle of humanity.

All four members of Silverthorn Company were now in their fifties, apparently only a dozen or so levels below the duke. In practice, the four of them together would barely suffice as a warm-up for a max-level veteran like Alaric.

The difference between levels grew more pronounced near the top. A man who had remained at max level for years was also bound to possess a great many highly developed skills. Without them, Alaric could never have held the imperial border for so long.

“Enough, Garrick.” Captain Nolan finally interrupted before his warrior could preach any more defeatism.

“There’s still a chance we can bring her back. We can’t fix a destroyed mind, but if she’s lost a few limbs, a bottle of Restoration Elixir will handle it.

“The risk is enormous, but so is the reward. We can’t abandon the mission before we even find her. We’ll gamble. If we rescue her and discover her mind is gone, I’ll face the duke alone. The rest of you can use that opportunity to escape.”

Nolan knew Garrick was telling the truth. Ten years ago, he too would have fled without hesitation. They could have hidden in the Western Isles or among the Elves or Dwarves, beyond even Duke Alaric’s reach.

That was no longer possible.

Conflict between the Kingdom of Concord and the Veiled Empire had brought both countries to the edge of open war. Neither the Elves nor the Dwarves would casually admit a foreign high-level combatant under such circumstances.

The Western Isles were their only refuge. Nolan was human, so fleeing into the Veiled Empire to become a Vampire’s blood servant was hardly an option.

The isles offered little safety of their own. The mists farther west expanded every year, swallowing island after island. The slavers who ruled the region were desperate.

If a Diamond-rank adventurer arrived with nowhere else to go, they would use that weakness to force him into the defense against the mist. The death rate in that work was far worse than dungeon exploration.

After weighing the choices, Nolan preferred to gamble. Perhaps they would rescue the duke’s daughter unharmed. Perhaps they would save only a mindless shell, but the duke would choose not to kill them outright.

Silverthorn Company was not a dictatorship, however. The whole party would decide.

“Same rule as always. We vote. I say we enter the dungeon.”

“I want to rule a city!” Nyx cast her vote in favor.

“I still think we should run now,” Garrick said. The Half-Dragon had no interest in gambling.

“Ivan Netz?”

All three turned toward the fourth member of the party, who had remained silent while working on something beneath the table.

The Halfling was so short that the table’s edge nearly swallowed him. When he did not speak, his presence was easy to overlook. As the party’s primary offensive mage, however, his opinion mattered as much as anyone’s.

“Finally got it out!”

Ivan flung a warped, depleted Mana Crystal onto the table. He immediately produced a fresh B-grade crystal and clicked it into an empty socket in his abdomen.

Mana surged from the room and entered his body through the crystal. The violent current washed through every nerve and synapse, hurling him into a blissful daze.

“Ohhh.”

The Halfling mage’s moan of pleasure carried across the entire tavern. Every patron turned to stare.

Nyx clenched the blades in her hand to keep herself from sending one into her humiliating companion’s neck.

“Mana-addled idiot...”

Across the table, the Archmage’s eyes had rolled back, and drool had begun to escape the corner of his mouth. Nolan felt the weary despair of a man responsible for an impossible group.

“We can’t delay the mission. We’ll count that as two votes to one. Garrick, carry Ivan. Nyx and I will be enough for the upper strata.”

Garrick sighed. He did not argue further, but he held out one hand toward Nolan.

“What?”

“Magic Resistance Potion. Have you forgotten the time he cast Mana Burst at point-blank range while riding on my back? He almost killed both of us.”

“...”