The Adventurer’s Guild. The Armor Shop. Even the Morning Lark was gone, and the rest of the industrial east side had burned up quick.

But the river that split the town had protected its west portion. Winds fluttered embers across the stream, and the fire on that shore spread at a random, leisurely pace. One could almost imagine they weren’t the seeds of a crisis that would grow and consume the other half.

Rick hurried across the bridge, Pern at his tail. “Mazevale” was a name given for its deep isolation in the woods, but in that moment the town was a labyrinth unto itself. The rows of wooden homes conspired to keep Rick’s destination concealed from him.

“We’ll take a shortcut.”

“Rick! I can’t jump across that gap.”

A small canal ran between the streets. Rick was already on the other side, inside a faint white smoke.

“Trust me.”

“I can’t do it! Not in this armor!”

She looked at Rick, and her face began to redden and flush. She placed a hand on her back-armor latch, and then her face became the sun. If she executed her (logical) (not perverted) plan then she would forever confirm the label of ‘exhibitioknight’.

Rick looked at Pern, and Pern looked at Rick. Pern and Rick locked looks, Pern looked away, and Rick gave her a look of complete clueless confusion.

Pern gave up her mystery task and sprinted, greaves pounding the ridged stone. She leapt and fell, but Rick caught and landed her like a big dry fish.

“Was that so hard?”

“Let’s. Just. Go!”

Pern knew the place Rick was searching for without having to ask. She bumped into a smoke-obscured bench, toppled into a hazed fruit stand, and nearly lost him in a surging mist, but radiant blazes lit her path as they licked the walls.

The fire was magic, so their smoke brought no harm or pain. The fire was magic, so only more water magic or a mana-rich liquid could put it out. It was thus both a blessing and a curse that this was mage arson and not a regular crime.

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“Over there,” Rick said, and the fog slightly dissipated. He was standing outside the Four-Leaf Inn. The buildings around it had all burned down to cobblestones, except for a home on the opposing corner whose edifice had already been charred black.

“Rick…”

The Four-Leaf Inn, on the other hand, had been miraculously spared. It was dirtied, yes, and there were signs that all was not well there, but the fire had yet to touch the place Rick called home.

“There’s some mysterious gunk coating the outside,” Pern said. She licked the viscousness and gagged: “Gah! Slime fluid again!”

Rick pounded the door. “Eliza! Eliza! Tim? …Tom Hawk?” Rick pounded the door, thud-thud-thud, then he punched through it.

Thud-thud thrack!

It was as though a storm had swept through the tavern. Meals left unfinished, drinks left half-empty and half-full, tables askew and chairs pulled carelessly away. The Inn’s sole occupants were houseflies.

“All gone,” Rick murmured.

“A monster attack?” Pern said. “It’s rare, but not unheard of for them to go indoors—”

Pern paled. For most Adventurers slimes were harmless… but on the Inn’s edifice there was a lot of gunk. A King Slime would certainly have been capable of dragging off and digesting an Adventurer or two, and while King Slime packs were extremely rare, that could explain all the clues.

“They probably left cause of fire!” Pern said “And if they didn’t—it’s not your fault Rick! You were kidnapped when it happened, so how could it be?”

“The fault’s probably mine,” Rick said. He went behind the counter, pawed through the bottles, and picked a hard seltzer. He poured two glasses and slid one to Pern. “Or maybe I’d split it at fifty-fifty.

“Though that might be giving myself too much credit,” Rick added after a swig and a sigh. “It’s a clever idea, and I should have expected it from someone who runs the Four-Leaf Inn so well. They’ve left to fetch some protection, that’s all that’s going on.”

“I don’t really get it, but it’s good that they’re not all slime food. And how do you know they’ve left to get help? I’ve seen the Guild list, and not a single Adventurer in Mazevale has the water skills needed to stop the blaze.”

An explosion rattled the Inn’s foundations, and Rick finished his bubbly drink. From a nearby alley, there was shouting, rapid footsteps, crackling magic, and swords smacking a gross, wet ooze.

“Ah! They really are fighting slimes! Rick!!!”

She pulled at him on the barstool but he had a very peculiar look. Like the statue of general, he didn’t budge, while holding a great deal of stoic pride.

“Go ahead and take care of them,” Rick said. “It’ll be faster that way, but I have my own score to settle first with the ‘Reaper.’”