Chapter 38 - I am the real hero
Lorvayne's dusk settled heavy—sea air thickened with rum and salt spray, lanterns swinging over wet cobbles as shouts echoed from the docks.
Liam trudged beside Kael, boots grinding grit—his sword bumped his thigh, shoulder stiff from their spar.
Kael's bronze armor glinted ahead, his red hair sharp under the glow as he led them through the city's bustle.
They entered into a pub—The Salty Gull—its warped door creaking, the air inside sour with spilled ale and sailor sweat—tables bore knife scars, benches groaned under rough voices as they filed into a corner booth.
Kael dropped onto a seat, longsword propped against the wall—green eyes flicked over Liam, smirk twitching as he raised a hand. A barman shuffled over—broad with a stained apron—grunting low.
"What's it?" he asked, in a gravelly tone. Kael leaned back, bronze vambrace clinking wood. "Dark ale—two," he said, nodding at himself and Lysandra—then smirked wider at Liam. "Bring him the children's stuff, light—fits a stray," he said, green eyes glinting—trying to prick.
Liam's jaw tightened—Kael's jab stung, but he grinned faintly trying to hide his anger, and then leaned forward. "Give me the strongest stuff you've got," he said, voice rough—eyes locked on the barman, proving he wouldn't flinch—pub chatter dipped, people turned their heads to see who made the other.
Erynn tapped his shoulder, eyes wide with a frown. "You sure about that?" she asked, voice soft—staff resting close, concern threading her tone. Liam waved it off casual—hand flicking air. "Nothing, I'll handle it just fine," he said, shrugging—Kael's smirk grated, but he'd top it.
The barman grunted, trudging off. Mugs hit the table soon after—Kael's dark ale foamed brown, while Liam's black tar steamed, sharp and bitter. The acrid smell hit Liam like a punch to the gut, a noxious blend of burnt herbs and something vaguely metallic. It clawed at his throat, threatening to choke him, but he forced his face into a neutral mask, refusing to let Kael see his discomfort.
Kael's piercing gaze never wavered, his sharp eyes studying Liam as if waiting for him to flinch.
Lysandra sipped her drink calmly, Selene just sniffed hers, tail flicking, grinning at the clash.
Kael took a pull, his eyes narrowing over the rim—voice cutting in dry. "Lorvayne's bleeding ,ships are being burned, and trade is being affected. Maltheris sent a squad three nights back, goods to be transported were destroyed and lives were lost. Want my help? You have to spill every scrap you've got," he said, leaning forward—bronze glinting, demanding.
Liam sipped his tar—burn hit his throat, eyes watering faint—but he swallowed hard, steadying his voice. "You'll have to spill too, everything. Equal trade if you ask me , or you're just noise," he shot back—mug thudding wood—Kael's "real hero" bullshit chafed raw—pub lanterns swayed, tension brewing.
Kael's smirk twitched, eyes locked his—rivalry flared hot—then he nodded short. "Fine. Thirty men, fast boats, no marks, have been the same set coming in ever since Maltheris started his attacks again" he said, voice tight—ale sloshed as he set it down.
Lysandra's silver eyes flicked between—voice sharp over pub din. "Maltheris has been hitting across the borders; one town after the other but there's one thing I've noticed, with each attack, their forces grow smaller, like it's the same force perpetuating all the attacks," she said, hand on hilt—smoke curled thick.
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Selene chuckled—crimson eyes glinting—claws tapping her mug. "Talk's fun—fight's better," she said, amused—tail lashing slow.
Erynn frowned— eyes on Liam—voice soft. "I could swear I saw the same person on two different occasions" she said, dropping her mug to the table.
Kael's green eyes lingered—smirk sharp again. "My guess is Maltheris has already designated a number of troops to stir trouble in different parts while the main force prepares," he said—voice smooth, taunting—mug lifted mockingly. "But I guess your real hero hadn't thought about this, that's if he even thinks."
Liam's fist clenched as the tar burned his gut, anger spiking—he shoved up, chair scraping loud—pub heads swiveled. "Choke on your grit, I'm done here," he growled—voice thick—walking off before steel flew—boots thudded wood, out into Lorvayne's night.
The streets buzzed with chaotic energy—sailors staggered out of taverns, their laughter loud and slurred, while lanterns swayed overhead, casting flickering shadows on the cobblestones. The air was thick with the smell of salt, ale, and something faintly rotten, a mix that made Liam's stomach churn.
"Who the hell does he think he is?" Liam muttered under his breath, his voice low but sharp with irritation. He kicked at a loose stone on the ground, sending it skittering across the street. "Bringing me here just to mock me."
He shoved his hands into his pockets, scowling as a group of rowdy sailors stumbled past, nearly knocking into him. "Watch it!" he snapped, though they were too drunk to notice.
Liam cursed again, louder this time, his frustration bubbling over. "This is ridiculous. I am the summoned hero not him. He can't treat me this way and get away with it." He kicked at the ground again, the toe of his boot scuffing against the uneven cobblestones.
The lantern light flickered across his face, highlighting the tension in his jaw and the fire in his eyes. He was tired, annoyed, and more than a little fed up with Kael's jabs. But as much as he wanted to turn around and walk away, he knew he couldn't. Not yet.
He cut into a tight lane, drawn by the faint scent of jasmine smoke curling through the air and the low, sultry laughs that seemed to echo from the shadows. The narrow alley opened into a small courtyard, where a brothel rose like a forbidden jewel—*The Siren's Den*. Its red curtains fluttered in the night breeze, catching the glow of lanterns that hung from wrought-iron hooks. Music spilled out into the street, a haunting melody of strings and drums that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat.
Without hesitation, he pushed through the heavy wooden door, the hinges creaking softly. The air inside was thick with perfume, sweat, and the faint tang of spilled wine. Coins clinked loose in his pocket as he stepped further in, his eyes adjusting to the dim, golden light.
A courtesan emerged from the haze, her movements fluid and deliberate. Olive skin glowed in the candlelight, her black hair wild and untamed, framing a face adorned with kohled eyes that seemed to pierce through the shadows. She wore silk that clung to her curves like a second skin, the fabric shimmering with every step.
She closed the distance between them with a practiced grace, her fingers brushing his arm as she pressed close. Her voice was low, a purr that sent a shiver down his spine.
"Hard day, soldier?" she murmured, her breath warm against his ear. "Let me ease it for you."