My initial plan was as simple as a crowbar: to walk into the tavern, introduce myself, and ask the bartender about my future opponent in the grand finale, Officer Loari Tempai. Then, using this as a pretext, I would have lingered in the establishment and, a little later, probed the slightly intoxicated fleet officers for the information I needed. I had pulled off something similar recently in a similar tavern, "Quiet Harbor," only I hadn't achieved the desired result then.
But as I took the first step to cross the square, the slightly open tavern door swung wide open. Two figures appeared in the doorway. One was clearly either a bartender or the owner of the place. A broad-shouldered man, no longer in his youth, with a hefty beard. He was wearing a characteristic thin leather apron, and a towel folded several times was thrown over his left shoulder. The other, however, was very similar to me at the moment. He was wearing the cheapest cloak, identical in color to the one I was wearing, and his hood was also lowered down to his eyes. At first, I thought the cloaked figure was just one of the local beggars, but the first gestures and poses suggested that the bartender was clearly in a subordinate position in this pair. More precisely, in the role of a petitioner.
Stepping into the nearest shadow, I turned to Shadow Affinity and froze, trying not even to breathe. Because, upon closer inspection of the "pauper," I recognized one of Seguna's priest's henchmen. The wind shifted at the right time, and I caught a few words:
"Tomorrow! I promise! I will have everything by tomorrow! You saw the preparations! We have a big celebration today. I'll get paid well. I'll give everything back. Tomorrow. I swear by Kamo."
The response from the priest's assistant was quiet, and I didn't catch it.
"Please..." Desperation was becoming more and more evident in the bartender's voice. "The officers will start arriving soon. And I wouldn't want them to see you..."
I didn't notice the blow, but the bartender doubled over as if from a solid hit to the solar plexus. The figure in the cloak bent down and whispered something in the bar owner's ear, then straightened up and, jumping off the porch, disappeared into the shadows of the alleyways. The bartender, with difficulty, straightened up, leaned on the door frame, and gasped heavily, recovering.
This scene showed me that I was a bit mistaken in thinking that the group guarding the true Altar of Seguna was neutral to local affairs. No, judging by what I saw, they are the biggest sharks here, at the top of the "food chain" in the slums of Tries. And they are perfectly aware of their power and use it without the slightest doubt or hesitation.
I was a bit lucky that I came out to this square from the bell tower. If I had come from the slums' side, the priest's assistant might have noticed me.
In a mere couple of moments, a new plan ripened in my head. Pulling my hood down almost to my nose, I intensified the darkness under my cloak with Illusion magic. Moreover, before releasing the stream of illusory twilight, I passed it through my Affinity with Shadow.
Life in any slum is hard. It's often dangerous to be in plain sight and light as you can provoke the guards unnecessarily. But complete darkness is also not safe for you - who knows what or who can lurk in it? Your best friend in the slums is shadow. And those locals who have lived here all their life can sense shadow manifestations even without any Affinity. Not all of them, of course, but the most successful and lucky ones can for sure.
Thanks to my cheap cloak, I almost merged with the house wall along which I was walking. My steps were silent, and the intensifying rain hindered a casual passerby from discerning my silhouette even from five steps away. Recent vivid memories of the "non-happening future" prompted me to a different solution, reminding me that the "past me" was not just a Mithril fighter but also a scout and liquidator in the human army.
Engrossed in his worries, the bartender noticed me only when I was already standing at arm's length from him. He tried to peer into the semi-darkness of my hood, but seeing only chaotically moving shadows there, he turned green:
"I asked Shayan, not today..."
The owner of the establishment, like me, was a Bronze, but he was not prepared, and I struck well, with a punch enhanced by an Aura of Acceleration. So, the tavern owner didn't notice the difference between my punch and the one recently received from the Steel priest's assistant. The burly-looking man folded for the second time in a couple of minutes, falling onto the porch and gasping for air.
Stepping over the body trying to inhale, I found myself in a relatively well-lit room. "Oars Up" made quite a pleasant impression from the inside. If this tavern were located somewhere in the port area, it wouldn't have been without patrons there, either. Six massive tables in the center were now pushed together, and three attractive waitresses were laying out cold snacks on them. Seeing me, the girls were frightened and pressed against the wall, but after I showed my empty palms and stretched out my hands in a peaceful gesture, they immediately returned to work. Behind the massive, clearly much-experienced, long counter stood a young man of about eighteen. The lad's appearance left no doubt that he was the son or some other close relative of the establishment's owner. The youth had clearly seen what happened at the door and was now looking at me like a rabbit at a python.
"Your elder talks too much." I clarified, infusing my voice with a tone of sly mockery.
"But we're all booked up today, we..." The younger bartender started to say, but I interrupted him immediately.
"And is that table taken?" My hand pointed to a solitary table in the darkest corner, barely visible unless you looked closely.
"No." Quiet as a mouse, the boy behind the bar squeaked, easily spotting the gleam of my sharp blade, sparkling with Discharge, hidden under the cloak. "It's not taken."
"Correct answer." I nodded, extinguished the magic, and tucked the dagger back into my belt.
Moving in the dim light and keeping an eye on the faintest change in the candlelight, I slid along the wall like a shadow of a snake and took a seat at the inconspicuous solitary table facing the rest of the hall. The waitresses and the younger bartender immediately pretended I didn't exist at all. They even made a point of not glancing in my direction too often. At least three minutes passed before the owner finally got up, caught his breath, and approached me. He stood by the table and waited in respectful and somewhat servile silence. He clearly heard my words, "Your elder talks too much," and didn't intend to make the same mistake again. My dagger flashed in my hand, slipped between my fingers like a fish, and made a small notch on the table's edge.
"Firstly, I know about the fleet's men celebration." The bartender flinched. A new notch appeared on the tabletop. "Secondly, I won't interfere." Again, a flash of metal. "Thirdly, I'm a shadow, an empty space, I'm not here. Drinks appear on my table, but for your girls, your son," from how the owner flinched, I guessed their relationship correctly, "and for you personally, the table is empty." I waited for a silent nod from the bartender before continuing. "That door behind the bar – it's a back entrance, right?" The innkeeper nodded in confirmation. "Furthermore, if the officers get curious, you know what to tell them... Answer!"
"Yes! But, Master, when they get drunk as pigs, I'm afraid they..."
"When they get that drunk, I won't be here anymore." The bartender clearly liked these words of mine, he even cheered up a little. "Next, dim that lamp by half and turn that one to face the other direction. That's it."
"You mentioned drinks on your table, Master." Gathering some courage, the owner of the establishment asked me.
"The same thing you prepared for the officers. I'll be fine with that. Note, the drinks you prepared for the beginning of their party, not the ones you'll be serving them when they can't stand on their feet anymore."
Nodding silently, the bartender hurried behind the bar, trying not to look in my direction. In less than a minute, as if by magic, a large mug appeared on my table. The youngest and prettiest of the waitresses brought it; more accurately, she placed it on the table as if she were just casually passing by. Interestingly, I was expecting a good wine, but they brought beer. Remembering that neither in Tries, nor in Unudo, nor on other southeast islands had I managed to try any good foamy beer, I approached the mug with a fair amount of apprehension.
After taking the first gulp and even savoring it, I immediately poured the second one into myself, this time half the mug at once. After that, I croaked with pleasure and looked at the innkeeper with a considerable amount of respect. To my great surprise, they knew how to brew beer in "Oars Up," and they did it very well. Not dwarven porter or Deytran pilsner, of course, but this local sort, which vaguely reminded me of German bock, was really good! So much so that before the waitress could return to her main job for the day, I knocked twice with the already empty mug on the table, demanding a refill.
I was not in a hurry with the second mug, enjoying every sip. Only sitting in a dark corner of an ancient tavern located in the slums did I realize how much I missed tasty beer. Every sip of bock awakened in me new and new flashes of memories from the "memory of the future" about the time spent with Dice. Yes, the future god of wine could teach anyone to appreciate the taste of alcoholic drinks. With each memory of Dice, I understood more and more clearly that I needed to avoid my old friend in this Cycle. And if fate still brings us together, then I should not drink or smoke anything with him under any circumstances. After all, no one in both worlds can find adventures for himself as Dice can. It's fine for him - he always comes out of these stories with profit and a slightly drunken smile on his good-natured face. The same cannot be said about his companions, who, as has happened repeatedly, died not the easiest of deaths.
The first naval officers began to arrive at "Oars Up" when my second mug was not yet a third empty. The navy came in a large group of seven, and four were already tipsy. The host welcomed them warmly and quickly seated them at the pushed-together tables.
Since in Tries, you could become an officer only if you had at least a Steel rank, the newly arrived, of course, noticed my silhouette in the dark corner immediately. One of the naval officers called the bartender over, nodded in my direction, and asked something. After that, having heard the answer, he visibly relaxed and waved his hand to the others, suggesting they wet their whistles.
If the owner had taken me for a common bandit, he would have just needed to nod in my direction disapprovingly, and the heated sailors would have thrown me out of the tavern in seconds. But, since the bartender was convinced he was dealing not with some simple robber but a man from the retinue of the priest of Seguna, he preferred to calm his guests, feeding them some pre-cooked lie. And his story was apparently good, as the officers immediately lost interest in me.
No more than five minutes passed since the arrival of the first group of the navy when the officers began to approach in a continuous stream. And in the end, a little more than three dozen people crammed into the tavern. They were all united not only by their mid-ranking officer titles but also by age. As it seemed to me, there was no one older than thirty sitting at the table. But the spread in ranks was much higher, from Steel to Sapphire. True, there was only one Sapphire, but even that surprised me, as such a low title with such a high rank was something unusual. However, this mini-mystery was solved quite quickly. The holder of the highest rank at the officers' table was from the truth-tellers, who, moreover, do not know how to and do not like to hold their tongues. And such a set of "qualities" does not contribute to rapid career growth in any army or fleet.
There was almost no room left at the tables pushed together in the center of the tavern, or rather, only the chair in the middle was free. Apparently, it was reserved for the man of the hour. No sooner had I thought about this than the tavern door swung open, and a tall man in ceremonial clothes walked in. All the sailors immediately fell silent and turned to him. A brief, slightly tense silence was broken as soon as the entrant raised a captain's amulet over his head and hung it on his chest. This gesture was met with joyful cries of support and the clinking of full mugs against each other. A few sailors stood up and carried the newly minted captain to the vacant seat. Immediately, the Sapphire officer stood up from the table, raised a full mug above his head, and shouted:
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"Let's drink to the brave fleet of Tries and a new ship in it!" Taking a sip from his mug and drinking at least half, the Sapphire took a deep breath and, without a pause, raised a second toast. "Let's drink to Thang Chhong, who became the captain of this ship today!"
Sitting in my corner, I was glad to be hidden in the shadows, and no one could see how my cheeks had paled, and my eyes shone. I recognized this newly minted captain of the Tries fleet. It was he, sitting two tables away from me, who, just a few days ago, was telling his companion about his plan to become a captain quickly. It was he who, metaphorically describing his intent, hinted that he knew how to seize the "Blood Wave." And he did. He stepped over fifteen other lives to satisfy his ambitions. He erased fifteen lives from existence and now sits at the table, looking completely happy.
That it was Thang Chhong who organized the burning of Cristo and the other former galley slaves, I now had no doubt. Observing this man being honored by other officers, I understood more clearly that he felt no guilt. His speeches often claimed that only the citizens of Tries were people and everyone else was no more than garbage, unworthy of being called human.
Draining everything left in my mug in one gulp, I gently tapped on the table twice. It didn't take three breaths before a passing waitress, seemingly casually, left a new mug full of the frothy drink on my table.
Despite having confirmed my suspicions, I wasn't in a hurry to leave the tavern. Yes, I had learned the name of the organizer of the murder of Cristo and the other former slaves, but that wasn't enough for me. I wanted to find out if he had accomplices and, if so, to know their names. For example, did this companion of Thang Chhong, with whom he had discussed his scheme and offered to become his assistant on the new ship, participate in all this? Or the security officer who burned everyone - was he in the dark, or was he part of it? And if he was part of it, it wouldn't hurt to know his name.
The celebration picked up momentum with each passing minute, and beer flowed like a river. Getting a person of Steel rank or higher drunk is not an easy task. But if you try and down about five liters, even the increased resistance of a body enhanced by a developed Core will begin to give way. And the officers were guzzling beer like there was no tomorrow, and those who arrived first had their first dozen mugs within an hour of the start of the drinking.
As it often happens, the more people drank, the more their company broke up into smaller groups. After about an hour and a half, there were no fewer than five such groups of interests at the pushed-together tables. This division would have continued if one of the officers hadn't stood up and shouted at the top of his lungs:
"Owner!"
"Yes, Master!"
"Where are the women for entertainment? Why don't I hear joyous female laughter in response to my sparkling jokes?! These drunken brutes can't appreciate the subtlety of my humor! Bring us damn... merry women!"
"Yes!" Almost all officers immediately supported this demand.
This statement clearly wasn't a surprise for the establishment's owner. He gave only one order to his junior, and within five minutes, scantily clad women started entering the hall. Apparently, they were invited not from the slums, as they looked neat and clean. The female company loosened the officers' tongues even more than the alcohol. Their conversations became more frank, and even small quarrels and disputes on raised tones began to flare up.
"Captain!" One of the officers stood up, throwing the lady of the night sitting on his lap onto the floor. "I've been sitting on the 'Blessing of Elai' as a second-deck officer for too long. Take me as a first mate on your 'Wave'! You know I'm an excellent officer! You still have to recruit a crew, and you won't find a better first mate than me!"
"Already found one." Thang Chhong immediately snapped back at this request.
"And who is that?"
"Heng Bao!"
"He's good, yes." The unexpected contender admitted, sat back down, but didn't calm down and continued. "But Bao has been on distant patrol on the 'Retribution of Kamo' for a week now and won't be in town for at least a month! And I'm already here! How will you assemble a crew without a first mate?"
"I'll manage." The newly baked captain replied curtly.
From this brief dialogue, I inferred that Thang Chhong's comrade might not have been involved in his plan. Simply because he was already at sea at the time of the fire in the port. However, he could have helped in drawing up the plan and participated in preliminary agreements, but these were no more than conjectures. I was not going to take revenge on a man for something he might not have done, and I crossed this Heng Bao off my mental list.
Gradually, the officers' feast turned into a general drinking party with elements of debauchery, which was, in principle, inevitable, considering how much they drank. At the same time, I increasingly began to notice the irritated officers' glances directed towards my corner. It was time to leave, so as not to run into the drunken aggression of the sailors. I did not manage to find out everything I would have liked, but I found out the most important thing: the name of the one who organized it all.
But barely standing from the table and taking a step towards the bar to leave the tavern through the back door, I witnessed another intriguing scene. One of the youngest officers, staggering like a willow branch in the wind, approached the sullen-looking Sapphire, laid a hand on his shoulder, and, raising his mug above his head, roared:
"Let's drink to Hadjir Kechik!" Most officers not occupied with women looked perplexedly in the speaker's direction. "If not for him, Chhong would never see captainship and his ship! It was Hadjir who burned those losers, thus settling the selling of the 'Bloody Wave'!"
The young officer had barely finished these words when the Sapphire brushed his hand off his shoulder, abruptly stood up, and landed a straight right punch to his chin. From the impact, the one making the toast flew to the wall, where he lost consciousness. The Sapphire approached the unconscious body, kicked it, and said spitefully, with an evident bitterness in his throat:
"When I went on duty that evening, I knew there were people from the 'Bloody Wave' in that barracks, and that's it! Nobody explained more. How was I to know there were innocent former slaves in there? I thought they were keeping captive pirates from the galley! And when they also hit my patrol assistant, I acted according to the instructions! I thought I was burning pirate scum... but killed those who had broken out of their chains..."
Having finished, the Sapphire swayed, fell onto the nearest stool, and gulped down a whole mug of beer. From the impression I had of this Hadjir Kechik, I don't think he was lying now, acting out a scene. He's too honest and straightforward and is also drunk to near-unconsciousness to play this well. And he has no reason to act. Meaning, the one whose hands directly killed Cristo and the rest, I can also scratch off my vengeance list. This Hadjir was played in the dark, and he, too, is a victim in his own way.
Casting a glance at the newly minted captain, I saw him smiling. His drunken, relaxed smile was full of vanity and superiority. He clearly took pride, even reveled in being a captain at such a young age, unlike the other officers drinking in this tavern now. I don't think he regrets his actions for even a moment. My fists clenched involuntarily. I was very tempted to grab a knife from the bar, walk up to this scum, and, driving the blade into his throat, list the names of those he killed while he himself dies. Only the understanding that it wouldn't work, and I'd be seized before I even approached him, stopped me at that moment. Passing by the bar, instead of a knife, I grabbed a full mug and, nodding at the junior bartender, slipped through the slightly open door.
The back door of the tavern led to a narrow, dirty alley. Along the chipped, heavily scratched walls were numerous awnings under which the poorest inhabitants of the slums usually huddled and slept. Now, these awnings were empty. None of the regular dwellers wanted to catch the eye of the off-duty officers, rightly assuming that they would be kicked at best and, at worst, they could be hit by some combat spell.
Exiting through the door, I found myself on a tall, L-shaped porch. The rain clouds hadn't gone away, and the nighttime streets of Tries were hidden by almost impenetrable darkness. I wanted to down my beer in one go, leave the empty mug on the porch, and disappear into the night as if I had never been there. But my plans were disrupted by three officers fervently discussing something, simultaneously relieving themselves on the dirty walls. They stood in such a way that it was impossible to slip out of the alley unnoticed.
As the officers had their backs to the exit, I silently descended, where I immediately crouched down, leaning against the wall so that the L-shaped bend of the porch hid me from the alley. A random, ownerless awning shielded me from any curious attention from above.
Having finished their business, the trio of officers, loudly discussing the merits of some lady, ascended the porch back into the tavern. But I didn't even manage to get up when another pair came out in their place. Apparently, the fleet officers were too lazy to use the establishment's restroom, or perhaps someone had already thrown up in there, but they started coming out to this alley to relieve themselves.
After the second pair, another three descended the shaky porch steps, and then more, and so on. The amount of beer consumed was making itself known, and there was not a minute when at least two officers weren't standing in the alley with their pants down. Theoretically, I could slip past the particularly drunk ones unnoticed, but in practice, I didn't risk it, preferring to sit in my improvised shelter. Especially since I had a mug of good beer in my hands. Of course, the disgusting smell around was bothersome, but if you didn't activate the Auras and covered your nose with your sleeve, you could put up with it.
I sat behind the porch for probably more than an hour - until many of the officers, apparently, didn't drink to blackout and began to go out to relieve themselves much less. All this time, anger and irritation boiled inside me. Every time I closed my eyes or turned my gaze to the dark wall, the face of Thang Chhong immediately appeared before my inner eye. The satisfied expression of the winner who got everything he wanted. The newly minted captain was not concerned about the deaths of others. I'm sure if things were to rewind a week back, he would, without the slightest doubt, repeat his plan.
All the while I was sitting under someone's awning, avoiding casual glances, I wondered whether Thang Chhong could have implemented his entire plan alone or if he actually had voluntary helpers. In theory, putting myself in his place, I could probably have managed by myself. Substitute the documents here, make the order there, time it with the duty schedule so that the head of the guard would be the straightforward-as-a-stick Hadjir Kechik. Of course, it would have been easier with helpers, but I would have coped alone. Moreover, despite my attitude towards him, I had to admit that the newly appointed captain of the "Blood Wave" was clearly a smart, cool-headed, and calculating man. Therefore, following Occam's razor principle, I left only one name on my list - Thang Chhong.
Just as it seemed that I had a chance to slip out of the alley unnoticed, the door of the black entrance squeaked annoyingly again.
"Anyway, congratulations," a voice echoed from the porch. "But I won't stay for the second part of the celebration. My ship sets out for patrol tomorrow, and I need to be on board by noon."
"Alright. Do you mind if I walk you to the corner? There's something to discuss." The second voice belonged to the man of the hour.
"You've got your eye on the boatswain's mate from the 'Staff of Sundbad,' am I right?" The first one descended the stairs and started trudging through puddles.
"I want to gather the best of the young and hot on the 'Wave!' He fits the bill."
"Do you want me to talk to him and drop a line about the transfer?"
"Just have a chat with him. I'll handle the formalities…"
My teeth gritted involuntarily. This Thang Chhong was one of those who didn't waste time, using even a drinking spree in honor of his captaincy for his own purposes, poaching the needed people from other fleet ships. Honestly, I would have admired such an approach if the blood of Cristo and fifteen other innocent people wasn't on his hands.
Having escorted his interlocutor to the alley's exit, the "Blood Wave" captain did not immediately return to the tavern. Swinging and whistling a melody popular among Tries sailors, he passed the porch where I was hiding. He took two steps, turned around, and, dropping his pants, started watering the old wall. For an instant, just a moment, Seguna's disk appeared from behind the clouds and illuminated his back. It barely lit up, but it was enough for me to see the sailor's dagger hanging on his belt.
Everything happened quickly after that.
Silently rising to my feet, I took one step forward. My right palm slid onto the hilt of the man's dagger. An instant later, the sharp, tempered wootz blade sank its full length into its owner's neck, right between the second and third vertebrae. Catching the falling body, I lowered it under one of the awnings and covered it with a rag. Then, I removed the sandals from the legs sticking out from under the awning and tossed the rich footwear onto the nearest roof. Examining my handiwork with a critical eye, I was satisfied. Only by getting up close and lifting the rag could one realize that a naval officer's dead body lay under the awning, not a sleeping local slum dweller. I didn't think the remaining sailors in the tavern would investigate. Most likely, if they saw the legs sticking out into the alley, they'd merely trip over them rather than figure out to whom they belonged.
Yes, even the current I have killed before. From pirates on Gnur, to the indirect killing of two earthlings in the first group trial. It's all true, but it was different then... Now, I've killed cold-bloodedly, calculatingly. I struck from behind rather than winning in battle. So why doesn't my conscience gnaw at me now? Why is my gaze steady? Why do I only regret that this scum died so quickly?
Yet, there's no joy in me either. No satisfaction from revenge exacted. I'm just calm, like a person who's done a dirty but necessary job. A job you won't take pride in but won't bury deep in your soul, either.
"Gaze of Kamo" - a new entry, glowing with Ruby, runs through my Core as if confirming that I did everything right.