Durge awoke early from the knocking at his door. Groggily, he opened it with eyes half-shut and was met with Ryder, fully equipped to travel.

“Yeah yeah, give me a moment,” Durge said, pushing past Ryder.

He donned his gear after using the outhouse and well behind the inn. The shield felt odd to carry but he slung it over his shoulder. He looked like a proper warrior, only without the armor to go with it.

“Leave Kincaid’s helmet in my room, my bed isn’t spoiled like yours is,” Ryder said.

Durge laughed, putting the beast’s helm in the chest, “I think you just insulted yourself.”

Durge tossed his key on the front counter and exited the inn.

“Safe travels,” Skel said from behind his ledger.

They stopped by the Delicate Drink; Ryder paid for breakfast with the rest of his coins while Durge bought fresh ingredients for the travels. Durge emptied his coin bag for a small wedge of cheese, fresh carrots, and bread.

“Didn’t you get food at the Guild store?” Ryder asked.

“I’d rather not break my teeth on hardtack until we’re in desperate need of it. Only a damn orc can eat those stones.”

The duo exited out of the west gates, passing through the ministerial and governmental buildings of the city. The commonfolk were dressed ornately in dresses, suits, and the occasional steel-plate from head to toe.

Banners flapped proudly in the wind on the early summer day, displaying the various guilds, factions, and historic emblems of the past.

Ryder struggled when carrying the camp supplies and his bow, but he pressed on, even if he had to take the occasional water break.

“Lighter than Sindara’s,” he said, catching his breath.

“And you want me to wear a full steel outfit when we journey,” Durge mocked.

“You only equip it when we’re near our objective.”

“And who’s gonna carry it? You?”

“No,” Ryder swiftly said. “Our horse… one day.”

“You can’t buy a cheap horse with silver, can you?”

“Durge… silver wouldn’t even buy you a wooden one. Mother once spent almost 1,000 gold on this white mare that arrived at the port.”

“What happened to it?” Durge asked.

Ryder shrugged, “Either sold or gifted it. She always thought everything was a tool to gain an advantage.”

“Poor horse,” Durge muttered.

Later in the day, Ryder and Durge stumbled upon a large body of water blocking their path. The rising sun shimmered and sparkled on the calm lake.

“This must be Lake Cherry,” Ryder said.

“We could always go for a swim,” Durge added.

“Trust me, the water won’t be as nice as Locria’s.”

Durge gave a yapping motion with his hand and started taking his boots off. After one foot was placed in the water, an icy chill ran through his entire body. With a sour expression, he grimaced and placed his foot back on land.

“Feels great,” Durge said, biting his teeth.

“The only thing it’s good for is waking up,” Ryder added.

The duo walked around the lake’s western bank, eyeing the serene wildlife while trudging through the forests. Herons and swallows surrounded the edges, hunting small fish and bugs.

They followed the northern river, hoping to see the mountain Skel described, but dusk quickly approached. Fireflies twinkled through the woods and the crickets started to play their serenading songs. Ryder made camp while Durge collected firewood.

The sheets of canvas and support rods created the triangular tents; the rope was lashed over them and tied to the stakes planted in the ground. Wool blankets were laid for the bedding of both of them but when furnishing his tent, Ryder put two pillows in his own while he gave Durge only one.

Durge was placing a circle of stones around the pile of sticks. With a quick flick of the flint striker on a small clump of dead leaves and bark, the fire grew into a comfortable blaze.

“This is what adventuring is all about,” Durge said.

“More so than killing slimes and collecting gold?”

“That’s just the dessert of it all. The main course is that it’s freeing,” Durge leaned back and gazed at the heavenly sky above.

“I’m glad we took on another quest. I had my doubts but this is a lot better without Sindara and Hadic.”

“Who?” Durge sarcastically asked.

Together they ate their supper by the fire, feeling refreshed and relaxed at last. Durge was drifting to sleep but Ryder was gripped by anxiety and took out his bow.

50 steps away from the designated tree, Ryder planted his feet, nocked the red-fletched arrow, and pulled the bowstring. No finger tabs. No wrist guard. Gods, what am I doing? Just aim for the knot on the tree. Just aim for the knot on the tree. It’s okay if you fuck up, you’re practicing. An arrow in that tree is all you need.

Ryder steadily exhaled as he let loose his arrow.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The arrow stuck firmly into the oak.

He pulled another arrow from his quiver, inhaled, nocked, held his breath as he focused on his target, and steadily exhaled as he let loose his three fingers.

Eventually, 12 more arrows pierced into the tree before he decided to collect them and go to sleep.

Although it wasn’t a hard feat, Durge was still impressed at the rhythmic drills Ryder was able to accomplish. He never cared for archery but seeing the string of the bow snap back into place as the arrow reached its target was always satisfying.

The following morning, they awoke to mosquito bites and drizzling rain. The low mist and cloud cover blocked any view of the mountain, but they hoped to be near it soon enough.

Through damp clothes and squishy boots, Ryder still found a way to keep his mind occupied. Durge on the other hand, usually left his mind hollow to make the days go by faster.

When Ryder caught up to Durge’s pace, he recited one of the sections in the researcher’s journal from the last quest.

“And after the Era of Panic occurred, every newborn started acquiring powers, which only caused more problems on the planet, but eventually we got better once the stars stood still and the skies returned to normal.”

“—And then our nation stopped hunting mages and we all lived happily ever after. Rye, even I know this. And I couldn’t care.”

“But what if we gained the ability to perform the arcane? No user can cast immediately from the womb like before… or unless they’re an Unyielding. But every mage knows they’re a mage, even when they don’t cast.”

“Do you think you’re a mage?” Durge side-eyed.

Ryder sighed, “No, I don’t. But say we were and weren’t confined by our bloodlines.”

“So we can be any school of magic and have any type of spells?”

Ryder nodded.

Durge hummed while his thoughts processed.

Ryder already had his mind made up before he asked the hypothetical, “I think I’d want to be an enchanter. I don’t know how they do it but being able to enhance any piece of equipment and give it a magical ability seems mystical.”

“There’s not much to choose from. Either hurt people, heal people, or enchant items.”

“There’s plenty more! Merrigold told me about how there’s all sorts in the Academy! Some can cast creatures, some can manipulate people’s emotions, some manipulate magic to craft new spells…” Ryder had an epiphany when he talked aloud, “By depths below! The Academy must’ve found another school of magic!”

Durge squinted his eyes and was almost scared of Ryder’s excitement.

“Back at Rock Hollow! Arkao had the ability to reanimate corpses, and that researcher took his body back to study at the Academy. Scary to think that someone born today could have that same power.”

“Scary to think that you’re so fascinated by this. Promise you won’t raise me back from my grave.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Ryder laughed.

“Is there a spell in that manipulating emotion school that makes people lust over me?”

Ryder shook his head, “How typical.”

Following the river, the scorching sun evaporated the mist, and the mountain came into view on the horizon. A large Marian banner swayed from atop a cliff, indicating that Drupeton was near.

“Maybe we’re lucky and the slimes took over the village already,” Durge said, heaving at the top of a hill.

Ryder was spilling his waterskin over his face, “Only you would be that lucky. Then we wouldn’t get paid.”

“We can just loot their remains.”

“If they haven’t been absorbed already.”

After an arduous trek up the hills, they reached the lands of Drupeton. A sizable town with many residents who were not so different from the ones in Maria. The first building they discovered was a rustic stable and office with a sign that read Courier.

They entered the office and were greeted by a man who was frantically drawing routes along a map.

“I’m sorry I can’t help you right now, we have a caravan coming through town and I’m too busy to deal with any personal letters at the moment.”

Ryder slightly smiled, “We’re not here for—”

“And yes yes, I know that parcels are delivering slow at the moment but trust me when I say we’re doing our best to recover. Between goblins, ghouls, bandits, and the entire damn country falling apart, I’m surprised to see our town still standing.”

Durge was getting a headache, “Where’s the—”

“And I know what you’re thinking, ‘Mr. Carowin must not be grateful to have our beloved Mayor Rainier save us from these slimes!’ But damn these adventurers he keeps paying. It’s every damn week he finds some new expedition to spend our gold on.”

As the man dipped his quill in ink, he looked up and noticed the two men clad in armor and weapons. “...He’ll be at the Hangover Hostel.”

Ryder and Durge quickly exited the office and continued down the thoroughfare; a general store, a glassmith, a barber, a tavern, a jail, and an abundance of white tents scoured the fields until they reached the base of the looming mountain.

The duo found the two-story building at the end of the street. It was freshly coated with white paint while a red sign displayed the name of the establishment. When entering the hostel, the smell of cherries and pink clouds of smoke wafted through the air.

Immediately they became light-headed, they asked around the slothful inhabitants about the whereabouts of the mayor and they deduced it to be on the second story in a private room. They knocked on the door but there was no reply.

Ryder carefully twisted the doorknob open. The room was revealed to be covered in sleeping citizens, all naked and dazed in an entanglement of flesh.

“Rainier, you here?” Durge exclaimed, covering his nose.

The mass of bodies twisted and turned, obviously perturbed by the noise.

Durge asked once again and some light movement was shown. A dark-skinned elf was nudging an individual within the pile.

The individual groaned and sat up, smacking his lips and squinting at the duo in the doorway. Upon seeing the sword and shield on Durge, the dwarf’s behavior shifted to that of a professional government official, only without the shirt and pants.

“Be just a moment lads, If you’d kindly wait on the balcony,” he said.

Fresh air filled their lungs on the balcony, they leaned against the guard railing, coughing and holding their heads.

“What are they inhaling in there?” Ryder asked with a hacking cough.

“Stems. They must grow it here if everyone has a pipe full of it,” Durge said.

After a moment of waiting in the sun, the mayor introduced himself. A dwarven male with a beardless chin, oiled hair, and a brown suit. He was accompanied by two elves wrapped around his arms.

“It is always a joyous occasion when adventurers join us. Please, follow me to the tavern so we may discuss business!”

They arrived at a tavern called The Motherlode. Inside was dim and smokey like the hostel. Mayor Rainier threw off his companions and ordered three great plates overflowing with food. Legs of poultry, mashed potatoes, peas, and bread rolls were presented to them by a barmaid with a dour expression.

“So, Clay-Ranks, where do you both hail from?” Rainier asked, spitting his food onto them.

“Maria,” Durge said bluntly.

“And why haven’t I seen you here or by our beautiful lake, huh?”

“Because this place—” Durge was quickly cut off by Ryder.

“—Because we’ve previously been working in Locria, as deckhands.”

Rainier wiped his butter-covered mouth with his sleeve, “Sad business it is. Damn foreigners and tourists are too scared to dock there now. Our profits haven’t been the same since!”

Durge feasted greatly while Ryder nibbled on his roll.

“And what’s this business with slimes?” Ryder asked.

The mayor looked utterly confused, “Slimes? What slimes?”

Ryder showed him the quest note; Rainier looked as if it was the first time he heard about slimes in the area. Whether he remembered or was fainting the idea, he grabbed the quest note with greasy fingers and explained the situation.

“Right right, those damn slimes, y’know. They absorb our crops and make the land unusable for an entire season! As mayor, I can no longer stand idle by and watch our farmers deal with such a plague! That is why I have hired you two to slay 40 slimes! The glassmith will keep track of your progress, let’s show the bastards why they shan’t dwell on my lands!”

Durge choked on his ale, spitting it back into the mug.

“Take as much time as you need, my fellow companions. I wish I could join you all on the hunt, but alas, Drupeton requires me.” He sauntered out the entranceway, returning to his elven concubines.

Ryder slammed his head against the table, the dishes clattering on impact, “We should’ve paid Skel another day to hold our room.”

Durge sat up and belched, “No time to waste. We have slimes to slay.”

“We have to find that glassmaker first,” Ryder said, rubbing the red mark on his forehead.