Night had fallen, casting the town square in a warm glow from crystal lamps and mana torches cast by mages spread among the town square. The townsfolk, gathered outside the imposing town hall, shifted nervously on their feet. The air crackled with tense anticipation, interrupted only by the occasional cough or the rustle of a nervous child shifting in their parent's arms. All eyes were fixed on the distant horizon, where a portion of the Iron Guard and the rest of the adventurers left to pursue the retreating horde of goblins.

Suddenly, a commotion broke the tense silence. Adventurers at the edge of the square began shouting, their voices rising in jubilant celebration. "They've returned! The Guild Master and the Iron Guards are back!"

The crowd surged forward, a wave of excitement sweeping through them. Cheers and cries of relief echoed through the night as the adventurers made way for the returning heroes. The Iron Guards, their armor gleaming under the moonlight, marched into the square like imposing figures of iron and muscle. Following them was the Guild Master, her tall and imposing figure, along with the adventurers who had accompanied them on their dangerous chase.

"People of Greenfield!" she boomed, her voice ringing with authority yet laced with warmth. "The goblin threat has been mopped up! The Iron Guard, with the assistance of the brave adventurers who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with them, have driven the filthy creatures back beyond the borders of our kingdom!"

The tension that had gripped the townsfolk for hours evaporated, replaced by a sense of immense relief and gratitude, and a thunderous roar of cheers erupted from the crowd, a wave of pure, unadulterated joy washing over the town square.

The Guild Master raised her hand in silence, a gesture that was met with a gradual quieting of the crowd. "Tonight," she declared, her voice carrying over the hushed whispers, "we celebrate! A grand feast will be held in honor of our valiant defenders, the Iron Guard, and the courageous adventurers who fought with undying bravery! All expenses shall be covered by the guild as a token of our deepest gratitude. Let us raise our voices in merriment and raise a glass to these heroes who have secured our safety!"

The crowd erupted in another wave of cheers, louder and more enthusiastic than before. The adventurers, their faces glowing with pride and relief, pounded each other on their backs, sharing stories of their exploits in hushed tones. The townsfolk, their faces beaming with gratitude, mingled with the heroes of the day, expressing their heartfelt thanks for their bravery.

The taverns so hastily shuttered earlier had flung their doors wide, their windows glowing a warm welcome with flickering crystal lamps. The scent of hastily roasted beef and simmering stew spilled out from homes onto the cobblestone streets, mingling with the heady aroma of ale that freely flowed from overflowing kegs.

A flurry of activity pulsed through the square. Men and women streamed out of their homes, carrying whatever furniture they could muster—chairs, benches, even sturdy crates. Laughter echoed as they jostled for prime positions, transforming the square into a makeshift banquet hall. Children, with their fear forgotten, danced between the bustling adults, their excited squeals adding to the festive air.

Women hurried back and forth with wicker baskets overflowing with freshly baked bread and glistening pastries. The local bakery, having sprung back into action, was doing a roaring trade. The aroma of warm bread and sweet, glazed pies mixed with the scent of roasting meat, creating a symphony of delicious smells that sent stomachs rumbling and mouths watering.

Inside the butcher shops, however, a different kind of celebration unfolded. The butchers worked tirelessly, expertly carving up cuts of meat for the hungry adventurers.

Cassandra, the Guild Master, watched the scene unfold before her with a smile playing on her lips. It was a rare sight to see her stoic features soften, but the genuine gratitude and celebration radiating from the townsfolk was truly heartwarming. Her cold demeanor, honed through years of battling monstrous threats, seemed to melt away in the face of such heartfelt celebration.

Her gaze swept across the crowd, searching for a specific group—the young adventurers who had first encountered the goblin horde. She needed to speak with them, particularly the young man who had managed to hold the horde back, allowing the Iron Guard enough time to arrive.

Spotting Ramset and her party huddled around a table laden with food, Cassandra made her way towards them. Ramset, still clad in her dusty armor, sat beside Kyle without a care in the world, and Tanya was a bit teary-eyed from her first quest, delicately nibbling on a slice of pie.

Ramset was mid-conversation with Kyle, their hushed tones indicating a serious discussion. Tanya, ever the observer, seemed to be lost in her own thoughts, taking occasional breaks from her pie to steal glances at the bustling crowd.

Cassandra noticed the absence of the young man she was looking for. She cleared her throat, her voice cutting through the lively chatter. Ramset and Kyle turned their heads towards the source of the sound.

"Ramset," Cassandra said. "It's good to see you safe."

Ramset, momentarily taken aback by the Guild Master's presence, quickly rose to her feet. "Cassandra," she stammered, a touch of surprise evident in her voice. "I, uh, wasn't expecting to see you here."

"I think I owe him a proper introduction," Cassandra laughed. "There's someone in your party I need to speak with."

Ramset and Kyle exchanged a confused glance before answering, "You mean Ivan?"

Cassandra's lips revealed a smile. "Yes," she replied. "It seems our young friend played a much bigger role in this victory than anyone initially realized."

Ramset's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "What do you mean?" she blurted out, completely forgetting that it was Ivan who saved her life during the battle.

"While you and your party were running away from the horde," she explained, "the young man managed to single-handedly eliminate a sizable chunk of the goblin horde before they even reached you."

Ramset's jaw clenched. A low, frustrated sound escaped her lips—a "tch" that spoke volumes about the turmoil brewing inside her. Here she was, an experienced adventurer who'd been studying and been tutored for years, and some rookie with a strange weapon had managed to outshine her in battle.

In her mind's eye, she conjured an image of Ivan, his usual cocky grin plastered across his face, waving his "strange weapon" around like an overjoyed child in a sugar rush playing with sticks. The weapon Cassandra had mentioned—it couldn't possibly be that effective, could it?

Noticing Ramset's speechless reaction, Cassandra raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong, Ramset?"

Ramset shook her head, forcing a smile. "No, it's just," she mumbled. "He's such a complete jerk," she muttered, "always teasing, always disappearing on random occasions, and always bringing random things out of nowhere."

Then, noise erupted from the other side of the table, momentarily stealing Cassandra's attention. There, amidst the throng of celebrating adventurers, stood Ivan, his face a mask of bewilderment as he weaved through the crowd. He stopped short upon spotting Cassandra perched on a crate next to Ramset's party, a goblet of ale clutched loosely in her hand.

"Woah, hold on a minute," Ivan blurted, pushing his way through the last few bodies separating him from the table. "Why is the Guild Master sitting with you guys?"

Cassandra's smile widened, the amusement in her eyes crinkling the corners. "Ah, Ivan! There you are," she boomed, her voice surprisingly jovial. "Just having a little chat with your party members here."

Ivan eyed Cassandra with suspicion. He couldn't help but steal a glance at the half-empty goblet in her hand. A sinking feeling began to form in his gut. Back in his world, he had only once tried drinking beer during his father's birthday party when he was ten years old. The taste had been bitter and unpleasant, and his father and his colleagues had laughed at him for not enjoying it. And it was enough to make him swear off alcohol ever since.

"Uh, right," he stammered, trying to formulate a hasty escape plan. "Just… checking in, you know? Making sure everyone's alright." He flashed a strained grin at Ramset and Kyle, who were staring at him with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.

Cassandra chuckled, a sound far too lighthearted for the imposing Guild Master Ivan was used to. "Well, then," she said, her voice thick with amusement. "And how about you, young hero? Strong enough for a celebratory drink?"

Ivan's heart lurched. She offered him a drink. There was no way he was going to fall for that one. He couldn't risk revealing who he really was or the fact that alcohol, in any quantity, made him act… unpredictable, to say the least. It's time to think fast.

"Actually," he began, forcing a sheepish smile. "I think I'm still young enough to pass on the alcohol for now, and I almost forgot I left something important back at the rig. Urgent business, you know?" He gestured vaguely towards the distance, hoping to make a quick getaway.

Ramset, however, wasn't buying it for a second. Here was her golden opportunity! Ivan's constant teasing finally had a consequence, and she wasn't going to let him weasel out of this one.

"Hold on a second," Ramset interjected. She stood up and grabbed Ivan by the shoulder, with a sly glint in her eyes. "The Guild Master's right, Ivan. You look like you could use a drink." Her voice was filled with mischief as she dragged him back towards a seat.

Ivan shot Ramset a fearful glance. The betrayal! He silently pleaded with her eyes, hoping she wouldn't expose him. But Ramset, reveling in her newfound power, simply smirked.

"Don't worry, Cassandra," she said, turning back to the Guild Master and completely ignoring Ivan's desperate expression. "He's old enough. In fact, he's practically an adult here. Sixteen is the drinking age, right, Ivan?"

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"The nerve of this woman!" Ivan thought to himself. "Ramset, you traitor!" He couldn't believe she would use his own paranoia against him. But before he could form a coherent argument, Cassandra clapped her hands and let out a hearty laugh.

"Excellent!" she boomed, reaching for a nearby pitcher of ale. "The more, the merrier! Here you go, Ivan," she said, pouring a generous amount of beer into a spare cup and shoving it towards Ivan.

Ivan stared at the overflowing cup, then back at Ramset's smug face. He was trapped. With a resigned sigh, he hesitantly reached for the cup, muttering a silent curse under his breath. He shot another glare at Ramset, who simply stuck her tongue out at him in a childish victory dance.

"Enjoy the festivities, Ivan," Cassandra said, oblivious to the silent battle raging between the two.

Ivan forced a smile, the cup feeling heavy in his hand. This was not how he envisioned spending his celebratory evening. He stole another glance at Ramset, who was barely containing her laughter. He knew then that his night was about to take a turn for the worse, all thanks to Ramset's thirst for revenge. He took a small, tentative sip of the ale, feeling the strong, bitter liquid burn his throat on its way down. Ivan's face contorted in discomfort as he tried to mask his reaction. However, Ramset's mischievous grin only grew wider as she watched him struggle.

Her cruel expression only made him more determined to finish the drink, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing him fail. Ivan took a deep breath, steadied himself, and forced himself to take another sip, the bitter ale burning a fiery path down his throat. His face remained a mask of forced cheer, but internally, he was waging a war against his taste buds. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to spit it out, but the image of Ramset's smug grin fueled his resolve. He wouldn't let her win.

Sip by agonizing sip, Ivan persevered. The world around him began to lose its sharp edges, the festive lights blurring at the corners of his vision. The ale, though unpleasant, wasn't strong enough to completely incapacitate him, not yet.

Cassandra, meanwhile, watched the display with a hint of amusement. She had expected a dramatic rejection, a sputtering cough, maybe even a full-blown tantrum. But Ivan's quiet stubbornness surprised her. She thought he was probably a young man of unexpected tenacity, judging by how quickly he finished the goblet. But she was drunk enough to not notice that Ivan's face was turning an alarming shade of red, a sign that he was struggling to keep the ale down.

Ivan gulped down the last of the ale, the bitter aftertaste lingering on his tongue like a bad memory. A cheer erupted from somewhere in the crowd, momentarily distracting him. He gave a shaky nod towards Ramset, a silent vow forming in his mind. He wouldn't let her see him sweat—not literally, at least.

But the world was starting to tilt on its axis. The once-vibrant lights of the square seemed to dim, blurring at the edges. The lively chatter and laughter transformed into a dull roar. His head felt like it was filled with cotton, and his thoughts were sluggish and slow.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Ramset's voice sounded far away, tinged with amusement. Ivan tried to formulate a witty retort to mask the growing unease churning in his stomach. The words, however, refused to cooperate. They were stuck somewhere between his brain and his lips, a tangled mess of syllables.

Then a wave of nausea washed over him, so sudden and intense that it stole his breath. He lurched forward as his vision started swimming. He needed air—fresh air, anything to clear the fog clouding his mind. Panic, cold and sharp, clawed at his throat. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't how beer in his world worked. Back there, it took minutes for it to kick in—not a few sips.

He stumbled to his feet, and his legs felt like cooked pasta noodles, weak and unsteady. The ground seemed to rise up to meet him, and the cobblestones morphed into a treacherous, shifting landscape. He swayed precariously while instinctively reaching out for support.

"Woah, there," Kyle's voice cut through the haze, a concerned edge to it. "Easy there, Ivan. You okay?"

Ivan attempted to speak to assure Kyle on the other side of the table that he was fine, but his tongue felt thick and clumsy. He managed a weak groan, raising his hand in a feeble attempt to signal that he needed a moment to regain his composure.

A slow smile creased Cassandra's brow as she watched Ivan take a shaky step back, his face contorting in a peculiar mix of discomfort. "That was a bit too quick, wasn't it, lad?" she rumbled, her voice laced with growing concern. Unlike the sputtering coughs or playful protests she'd anticipated, Ivan remained silent.

A horrible realization dawned on Cassandra. Her gaze darted towards the two pitchers on the table—one filled with the light, local ale she'd intended to serve, the other a hefty stein of Dwarven brew, a potent concoction known to floor even the most seasoned drinkers. A shiver ran down her spine. In her inebriated state, she'd grabbed the wrong one entirely.

"Gods above," she muttered, a wave of concern washing over her. "I… I believe I may have served you something a tad stronger than intended, young man."

Ramset, who had been busy enjoying Ivan's struggle, finally registered the shift in the atmosphere as she spoke.

"You… you gave him dwarven ale?" Ramset laughed and clapped Ivan on the back, causing him to hiccup and stutter. "

"I think he might need some water," Ramset suggested, her voice laced with amusement as she tried to restrain her laughter. She glanced at Kyle, hoping for some confirmation of her observation.

Kyle, however, only gave Ramset a disapproving shake of his head. "Water won't help," he said, his voice low and concerned. "His legs are completely numb. He's way past needing water."

Ramset's smug smile faltered. This wasn't quite the revenge she had envisioned. She looked back at Ivan, his face flushed a deep red and his head lolling drunkenly to one side.

Sensing the shift in the atmosphere, Cassandra, the Guild Master, spoke up. "Kyle, Ramset, perhaps you should take him to the nearest tavern or inn? He needs a place to sleep it off."

Ramset stared at Ivan, his face now the color of a poorly cooked beet, then felt a surge of something unexpected bubbling up inside her—dread. Sure, she’d gotten him good, but this wasn't the kind of victory she had envisioned. He looked seriously green around the gills, with his head hanging lower than a scolded puppy’s. "Maybe putting Dwarven Ale beside the normal ale wasn't the best prank after all."

"Ugh, fine," she grumbled, rolling her eyes. The smug satisfaction she'd felt just moments ago had curdled into something resembling—dare she say it—guilt?

"But only because the Guild Master suggested it," she tacked on defensively, crossing her arms in a huff. There was no way she'd admit this was anything other than pure concern for a fellow adventurer in distress, caused entirely by her own actions.

"But if he throws up on me, I'm dropping him in the nearest ditch," she added with an annoyed huff.

-

Ivan woke up the next morning with a pounding headache; his memories were still fuzzy from the night before. As he stumbled out of bed, he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't quite right. "Wait a minute, where am I?" he muttered to himself as he tried to gather his thoughts. The room was unfamiliar, and Ivan had no recollection of how he got there. He glanced at the floor, which was littered with Cheetos bags, a bucket of melted ice cream, and the handgun he carried during his first quest.

"Oh God! " he thought as the realization hit him that he couldn't remember a single thing from the night before. He couldn't recall anything after that first cup of ale, his mind drawing a complete blank. Ivan's heart raced as he frantically tried to piece together any shred of memory, but it was all a blur. He knew he was in deep trouble, and the anxiety began to gnaw at him as he frantically tried to recall even a single moment from the celebration. This is bad—really bad! Ivan's stomach churned with unease as he struggled to make sense of the current situation.

"Thank God I'm still wearing his clothes," he thought, relieved that at least he hadn't lost everything. He lost his armor but was still wearing his white shirt and black cargo pants. then noticed a strange noise coming from outside the room. He attempted to stand up, but he lost his balance and stumbled, feeling extremely wobbly. As he steadied himself against the wall, he still felt the muscle aches from when he fought the goblins. This added to his discomfort.

Pushing the door open with a groan, Ivan found himself in a common room of sorts. A crackling fire cast a warm glow across a worn table where four figures sat engaged in conversation. Relief washed over him as he recognized his companions: Elara, the elf with her blonde hair; Eldarion, the perpetually inebriated mage with his wild beard and teary eyes; and Gareth. Across from them sat the Guild Master, Cassandra, with her silver hair glinting in the firelight.

They all turned towards him, their expressions a mix of surprise and amusement. Gareth was the first to speak, a hint of concern creasing his brow.

"Ah, Ivan, have you finally decided to grace us with your presence?"

Ivan mumbled a greeting, his voice hoarse and sluggish. His gaze darted nervously towards Cassandra, whose imposing figure seemed to fill the room. A slow, unsettling smile played on her lips.

"What are you guys here?" Ivan asked, his words trailing off as he struggled to keep his eyes open with his hand scrached around his belly. He joined them at the table, settling into the chair with a heavy sigh. He dragged a hand across his face, trying to scrub away the cobwebs clinging to his thoughts.

"I heard that she ordered a feast to celebrate her victory in pushing the goblins out of the kingdom's borders," Gareth replied, gesturing towards Cassandra. "We were just having a chat with my sister,"

Ivan gave her an awkward five-second glance. His voice was weak and sluggish, and his response took a while to register as he struggled to take in Gareth's answer and said, "You never told me that you have a sister, nor is she actually the guild master."

Cassandra smirked upon hearing Ivan's confusion, knowing that her true identity was still a mystery to many. She then stood up and approached Ivan, still processing the new information.

Ivan noticed a shadow creeping across Cassandra's face as she leaned in close to him. The guild master's presence loomed over him, making him monetarily forget his initial shock and confusion. "You also never told me that you were actually a champoin, though from the way you carry yourself from the horde, it's not entirely surprising."

Ivan felt a cold sweat prickle his skin beneath his shirt. He swallowed hard, and his throat suddenly dried. Cassandra's keen eyes held a knowing glint that sent shivers down his spine. He stole a nervous glance at Gareth, demanding answers.

Gareth sensed Ivan's mounting panic as he glanced back at him. "I told Cassandra everything," he confessed. "She noticed that I was hiding something, so she made Eldarion drunk so she could extract information from him."

"Your secret is still safe with us, young champion." Cassandra spoke, leaning closer to Ivan and tapping him by the shoulder.

A booming laugh erupted from Eldarion, the old mage. Wiping a tear from his eye, he hiccupped and wheezed, "Aye, everything! By the time we got here, you were already using your fancy tricks, conjuring those… uh, what did you call them again?"

Eldarion scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Cheetos! And that fancy bucket of what looked like… hmm… snow with… colorful… bits?"

Ivan's face turned pink with embarrassment. The memories of the previous night flooded back into his head like a torrent of humiliation. He remembered summoning endless bags of Cheetos, a giant bowl of ice cream he'd shared with everyone (including a very confused Ramset and Kyle), and babbling incoherently about "fridges" and "night vision goggles."

Gareth sighed, shaking his head slightly. "See, Ivan? By the time we found you, you were surrounded by empty snack bags and… questionable artifacts you summoned." He gestured towards the handgun lying forgotten on the floor inside his room.

They knew about his "gadgets" but thankfully hadn't recognized the threat of a handgun among them. He sighed, realizing the extent of his embarrassing behavior and the potential danger he had unknowingly put himself in.

Eldarion chuckled, clapping Ivan on the back with surprising strength. "Don't worry, lad! We all have our secrets. Those two youngsters (he was referring to Ramset and Kyle) probably misunderstood your magical abilities as a unique spell or a foreign spell."

"Where are they now?" Ivan asked, feeling a sense of unease creeping back.

Eldarion's smile faded slightly as he replied, "They left after you passed out. They're probably still asleep in the next room. But don't worry, they won't be a problem for now."