The only option Ryan had left was the tavern beneath the messy inn. Though he thought he'd given up on ale, he desperately needed it to calm his mind.

The tavern was bursting with patrons, as was typical at night. For the last three days, Ryan had tried to ignore the noise, simply walking upstairs to his room and putting a pillow over his head to block it out. But today was different; today, he'd sit and drink.

He'd barely taken his seat when the minstrel's music caught his ears. It was a song about a man plagued by various problems: chased by demons, exiled by the gods, and left to rot. A man who gave up everything because he couldn't afford to fight against his oppressors.

The song told how the man rose up to fight when he no longer had anything to lose. Of course, the man lost, but his actions sparked something in the hearts of other mortals—the realization that they could rise up against others, that they could stand up against demons and gods.

The minstrel's rendition struck more chords in Ryan than he'd have liked. As he continued to nurse his ale, he couldn't tell if it was because of how drunk he was or because he just needed something to cling to, but he couldn't help comparing the story to his own situation.

Maybe he wasn't so different from that man—heck, he might even be that man at this point. He couldn't help but let out a dark chuckle as he continued to nurse his ale. He raised the tankard for another swig, only to realize it was empty. Normally, it would be time to go upstairs and get some sleep, but not tonight. He motioned for Carl to bring another tankard.

"Rough day, huh?" Carl said as he swapped the empty tankard for a filled one.

"Yeah," Ryan replied.

"Well, take it easy on the ale. You've got work tomorrow," Carl said as he left the table to attend to other patrons.

Ryan let out a low chuckle. Work? He'd be lucky if he still had a shop by the end of the week.

"Sitting by himself and laughing at nothing... Where have I seen this before?"

Ryan turned around to see who spoke. It turned out to be an adventurer, probably close to his age, with a tired but cheerful expression.

His first impulse was to snap at the man and push him away, but on a night like this, it was best to have someone to talk to.

"Can I help you?" Ryan asked with a neutral tone.

The man, feigning ignorance to what Ryan just said, continued on.

"Ah, I remember... I'm going to hazard a guess it's either you're in love and it isn't quite as rosy as you hoped, or you're in trouble. Personally, I try to avoid ladies when I can—too much trouble and very little payoff. They come into your life and try to control everything you do..."

The man paused before taking a seat beside Ryan.

"However, looking at you, it doesn't seem like a problem with the missus, so it's probably the latter. Come on, lay it on me, man," the man said.

"You're killing my buzz, man. Can't you find someone else to disturb with all that chattering?" Ryan said with a dejected sigh as he took another swig.

A small smile played on the mystery man's face.

"I can see that we started out on the wrong foot. Name's Frenkie, I'm a Rogue class," the man—Frenkie—said, offering a handshake, which he eventually lowered when Ryan didn't move to complete it.

Ryan stared at Frenkie like he was a catalyst for one of his potions. Was the man a spy? Was this a trap from someone? His head was already aching from all the ale he'd downed, and now he'd have to worsen his headache trying to figure out this adventurer's angle.

Of course, there was the possibility that he was just an adventurer looking for someone to buy him some ale. There were many freeloaders like that in the tavern; heck, Ryan sometimes had to do things like that to get some ale when he couldn't afford it.

Veron's balls, he hated schemes. Taking a leap of faith, he motioned for Carl to bring another tankard for Frenkie. Carl brought it and left without a word, which was a little weird, but Ryan chalked it up to Carl being busy with other patrons.

"Ah, a man with a kind heart. I appreciate the tankard, brother," Frenkie said while taking a long swig from the tankard.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Yeah, it's fine," Ryan said, hoping the adventurer would leave him alone after getting what he assumed he was after.

"So, where were we? What's troubling you, brother?" Frenkie asked.

Ryan let out a long sigh, hoping the adventurer would get the hint, but he just kept staring at Ryan, waiting for him to start talking.

Seeing no easy way out of this, Ryan started to recount his tale of woes to Frenkie, the adventurer nodding here and there. The more he spoke, the clearer the situation became to Ryan. He couldn't believe how stupid he'd been, making decisions that no sane person would have.

"So, to summarize, you just picked a fight with one of the most respected franchises in this part of the Eternal Realm?" Frenkie asked rhetorically.

"When you put it like that, it does sound stupid..." Ryan said dejectedly.

"Actually, I was going to congratulate you on having a big pair of clangers. I don't think anyone has ever survived going against them, but wow, you must really be stupid or have a plan for ages," Frenkie said.

"Nah, I'm just that stupid. Besides, it isn't a good way to start a business, forcing partnerships. That's just plain wrong," Ryan sighed.

"Well, that's how life works. People don't get that far up the ladder by being goody-two-shoes. Most times, you have to be willing to get your hands dirty to rise to the top," Frenkie said.

"Not me. If I get to the top, I'm gonna do it the right way. No way I'm soiling my legacy," Ryan said with conviction.

"Legacy? You'll be lucky to have a business a week from now. It's either you play the game their way or you lose. There's no way you're beating a cheater by playing by the books, especially when they can bend the rules," Frenkie said.

"Well, a man can try," Ryan said.

"At least tell me you have a strategy, an ace up your sleeve, some wildcard—something, anything," Frenkie asked with an eagerness that Ryan found weird.

In fact, their entire interaction was ringing alarm bells in his head. But he couldn't really tell if that was just his banging headache or his intuition trying to tell him that something was off with Frenkie's whole act. So he decided to play it safe for the time being.

"To be honest, I don't really have anything planned out," Ryan said.

"A shame. I was really looking forward to someone standing up to those vultures. Oh well. I do, however, believe I can get something to turn the tide in your favor," Frenkie said with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

Ryan's eyes cleared as soon as he heard the beginnings of an offer, the merchant in him tempted by the prospects.

"And what might that be?" Ryan asked.

"Let's just say that I have an artifact ring that belongs to the legendary merchant sarinth, and for a few coins, I'd be willing to part with it." Frenkie said.

And there it was, the end of this meaningless charade. The Rogue had dropped a pitch that Ryan was finding hard to resist—an artifact ring belonging to the legendary merchant Sarinth, a merchant that made the Looters Heaven look like baby merchants. Ryan was skeptical, given who the information was coming from, but he was too interested to pass it up.

"How much would it cost?" Ryan asked.

"Fifty gold coins only," Frenkie said with a relaxed posture.

"I'll give you ten. There's no way we even know if it's valuable. Plus, have you even used it?" Ryan said.

"Thirty-five gold, and no, I haven't used it, but I'm sure the ring is legit," Frenkie responded.

"Twenty gold, last offer, and why didn't you try to use it?" Ryan said.

"Twenty-five, take it or leave it, and no thanks. That ring is most likely booby-trapped to the point that it would be foolish to try and open it," Frenkie said.

"Twenty-five, and you pay for today's drinks," Ryan said.

"Deal," Frenkie said, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like "this dummy" or something like that.

At this point, Ryan was way too wasted to give a rat's piss what Frenkie said.

Ryan counted the coins from his sales earlier that day, struggling to keep his hands steady as he counted, but he managed.

As soon as he finished counting the coins, Frenkie pulled up what seemed to be a worn-out, beaten and battered ring with a green emerald stone out of nowhere. This was something adventurers could apparently do; Ryan had no idea how they managed it, and nobody else could put a finger on it.

As soon as they made the exchange, Frenkie stood up with a broad smile on his face.

"Well, it sure has been nice doing business with you, Mr...?"

"Ryan. Ryan Lionheart. Nice doing business with you, Mr. Frenkie."

With a mock salute and smile, Frenkie left for the counter, where he most likely cleared the bill before leaving the inn.

Ryan was left staring at the ring. He could barely make out the inscriptions on the ring as his mind was blurry, and he was probably drunker than he'd ever been.

Had he been scammed? Had he struck gold? Was this all a figment of his imagination? Ryan couldn't care less at this point. All he could do was stand up and begin to walk unsteadily up the stairs. After the third step, he had to sit down on the staircase to catch his breath.

He wasn't really out of breath; he was just nauseous and needed a minute.

"Look at him..."

"A little success and he's already spending it all on ale..."

"I thought he was a reasonable fellow..."

"I heard Looters Heaven are coming after him..."

"If they're coming after him, he stands no chance..."

"Too bad, he just got on his feet..."

"I couldn't even imagine what would be going through his head..."

These were all snippets of conversations he could hear as soon as he'd started his journey up the stairs. He had half a mind to turn back and scream at the patrons talking smack about him, but he knew deep down that they were right. A little bit of money, and he was back to his old habits.

He couldn't help but let out a sigh before pulling himself up and wobbling as he climbed the steps drunkenly to his room. When he finally got there, he flung open the door with so much force he was surprised it didn't fly off its hinges.

He closed it with equally as much force and stared at the little space he'd had as his home since turning eighteen and leaving the orphanage. It was terrible—the bed was rickety, he had a makeshift table, and it was really cramped. What annoyed him at this point were the empty potion bottles scattered on the bed. As he didn't have the strength to clear those up, he just curled up on the floor and passed out.