The Lofty Pleasures Inn sat at the edge of the city like an unwashed jewel—loud, smoky, and bursting with the scent of charred meat and sweat-soaked celebration. The kind of place where titles were worth less than ale, and secrets flowed freer than water.
Manuel Stunner stepped in first, his boots echoing softly against the worn wooden floor. Beside him, Adolph Li adjusted his cloak, the edges dusty from travel. They were dressed as commoners—threadbare tunics, mud-speckled boots, and cloaks faded from sun and rain. But it was an illusion that wouldn't fool a careful eye. Power still clung to them like the faint aftertaste of spice—subtle, but unmistakable.
The room was alive with movement and noise. Laughter crashed into curses. Tankards clinked and spilled. Someone belched loudly in the corner while another hollered for more duck. The roasted bird's smell swirled through the room, heavy with grease and smoke. Beneath that, a less pleasant stench lingered—sour breath, damp clothes, and perfumes so pungent they stung the air like wasps.
Manuel Stunner winced, his nostrils twitching. His eyes scanned the crowd with thinly veiled disgust. A man wearing what could only be described as a patchwork circus of colours danced on a table, his feet dangerously close to knocking over a plate. Another nearby clutched a lover too closely, their laughter bordering on wild.
Manuel's lips parted. A reprimand was rising in his throat.
Adolph's hand found his arm, firm but calm. "Don't," he murmured, voice low.
Manuel Stunner turned to him, his jaw tight.
"I know you are the hand of the king, Manuel, and I get that you're not used to places like this. But They don't expect someone like you to be here," Adolph Li said gently. "This place isn't meant for dignity. It's meant for forgetting—bills, masters, lost children. Let them have that."
A long breath passed through Manuel's nose. Slowly, he gave a nod. The weight in his shoulders shifted—not completely relaxed, but less coiled. He followed Adolph Li to an empty table near the back, away from the rowdy areas but close enough to listen.
The table was sticky. A dark stain spread across its centre like an old wound, and the smell rising from it made Manuel's stomach turn.
Adolph Li said nothing.
A tired attendant appeared from between the tables, carrying a bucket sloshing with murky water and a rag that had seen too many battles. She gave them a quick once-over—lingering on Manuel's posture, the way he held his chin—and the non-committal stance, she looked away and scrubbed the table down with quick, practiced strokes, then she dashed away to drop off the washing basin and the rag.
Neither of the two men spoke until she returned, having dropped off her bucket and caught her breath. "What can I get you, sirs?" she asked, with a smile that never quite reached her eyes. Her gaze shifted again between them—too clean, too composed. Something didn't fit.
"A bottle of soju milk. And some alligator cheese," Manuel said, not bothering to glance at the menu chalked on the far wall.
Adolph Li cleared his throat. "That's a palace meal," he said quietly, yet pointedly. "This isn't a banquet hall. Are you trying to feed every eye in here with suspicion?"
Manuel's brows furrowed, but he heard the truth. He had the coin—his belt was heavy with it—but coin made noise in places like this. The wrong kind.
He gave a subtle nod. "Make it roasted duck. And a bowl of western rice."
The waitress blinked. "You sure? We just pulled a fresh wheel of alligator cheese from the cellar, and the milk's still warm. Rare stuff."
"We're sure," Adolph Li said. His tone ended the discussion.
She shrugged and turned away, disappointment trailing behind her like a sigh.
The inn returned to its rhythm. Mugs clattered. Dice tumbled across wooden floors. In a nearby booth, a group leaned close over their drinks, whispering about something they probably shouldn't be.
Then, from a table near the hearth, a voice rang out—loud, theatrical.
"I tell you! The Scarlet Raven has awakened! Risen from the underworld itself! And he's here to strike down the Black Dragon!"
Heads turned. Not because they believed it, but because the speaker was none other than Leny the Trader—a man with more stories than silver, and a tongue greased with ale and mischief. His audience, a mix of drunkards and curious ears, chuckled and leaned in.
"The Black Dragon kneels to no one!" a younger voice protested. "He is Region 32! A system of justice! Not just a man—he's a movement!"
"Justice doesn't mean invincible, boy," Leny countered. "The Raven's no ordinary beast. Only one soul could stop him—and not with swords or fire. The Archmage. But she's vanished, see. Gone like wind before a storm."
The moment opened like a curtain. Manuel Stunner leaned forward slightly, casual. "Too bad there's no way to summon her."
Adolph Li glanced sideways at him, a spark of approval behind his calm eyes.
Leny the trader paused. His gaze drifted from his half-empty mug to Manuel's face. He stood and ambled over, dropping his mug onto their table with a thud. The message was clear.
Manuel raised a brow. "You want a refill?"
Adolph Li was already motioning to the barkeep.
Moments later, the mug was filled—frothy, golden, sloshing over the rim. Leny the trader took a slow, exaggerated sip. Then another. He smacked his lips like a satisfied bard.
"There's a way to summon her," he said finally, wiping foam from his beard. "Through the priestesses."
Manuel Stunner tilted his head. "But there are none left."
"Oh, there's one. Maybe more." Leny took another gulp. "Your Emperor made sure most vanished—couldn't keep his belt buckled, could he? But I know one. Lives in Duke City. Right here in this region."
Manuel Stunner frowned, feigning disbelief. "That close to the capital? Impossible."
"If it's impossible, then I'm drunk." Leny smirked, pushing his half-empty mug forward again. "Which I might be. But I still know what I know."
Manuel Stunner smiled thinly. "I hope you choke on that beer."
But his hand rose, and the bartender was called once more.