Chapter 13: A Moment of Celebration

“With this, I therefore conclude that, as a client of an unofficial request…” The merchant raised his mug of ale dramatically.

“Do we have to go through this little speech every time?” Lucian muttered, swirling the ale in his own mug as he watched their client stand on the table like a self-important town crier.

“It’s only for unofficial requests,” Raven whispered back. Her own mug had far more empty space in it compared to Lucian’s. “Once we start taking requests from the Quest Board, we just cash it in at the front desk. No theatrics required.”

“I declare myself satisfied!” Their client finished his speech, hoisting his mug even higher. The entire guild erupted in cheers, applause, and the clatter of mugs clinking together in celebration. Music filled the hall, played by a band of slimy, curvaceous creatures expertly stroking their peculiar instruments. The bar and kitchen were in full overdrive, sending out waves of food, drinks, potions, and anything else a drunken adventurer could think to demand.

The guild was packed beyond capacity. Tables were full, and many stood squeezed in the spaces between, perched on the balcony, or crowding the hall’s enormous window. Some even spilled outside, preferring fresh air to the congested chaos inside. But who could blame them?

This wasn’t just any party. This was history in the making. A celebration not just for a rookie party completing their first job—but for something no one had ever thought possible. Someone from the guild had slain a Master Beast. And a low-level someone at that.

“To the Dan-gow!” a patron bellowed, raising his mug. “May its hands and horns make for the finest wall mounts the guild has ever seen!”

More cheers, more drinks raised. Even the merchant, who clearly wasn’t a seasoned drinker, tried to keep up—spilling half his ale in the process.

Then, suddenly, he dropped down into his seat and leaned in close to Raven, ale sloshing in every direction. “I need to tell you something.” His voice was conspiratorial, like he was about to share a world-shattering secret.

Raven tilted her head and polished off the last of her drink before humoring him. “Alright, what is it?”

The merchant waggled a finger at her. “When your drunk friend passed out on this very table, I thought I’d hired the wrong group.”

She blinked, then laughed, standing up and pointing across the table. “Nope. That was me. I think you wanna talk to him.”

Lucian barely reacted. Despite the revelry around him, he sat in silence, brooding over his drink, his usual sharp wit dulled by something heavier than exhaustion. Somewhere in the chaos, someone had raised a toast in Hugh’s name. Or maybe they hadn’t. Maybe Lucian just wished they had. His thoughts clung to the man who’d handed him a Reviving Stone without hesitation. The man who never got a second chance. It didn’t feel like a win—it felt like surviving. And survival, he was learning, didn’t always feel good.

The merchant, however, couldn’t care less. He swaggered toward Lucian, a confidence in his step that he definitely wouldn’t have if he were sober. “Listen, let me tell you something,” he slurred, plopping down into Raven’s now vacant seat.

Lucian barely glanced at him. “I’m listening,” he said, though it was half-hearted at best. Between the thundering music, the clamor of celebration, and the weight pressing down on his mind, actually listening was the last thing he wanted to do.

“I know I sent you to get my stuff,” the merchant continued, swaying slightly. “But because of that, a member of your party met a… regrettable end.”

Lucian’s stomach twisted. Oh gods, I don’t want to think about that right now. “It’s fine, sir. It’s part of the job. We take on requests knowing we might not come back.” He tried to sound steady, but he doubted the merchant even heard him—he was too busy rummaging through his pockets. Yep. He definitely didn’t hear a word I said.

Finally, the merchant pulled out a neatly rolled piece of parchment, tied with a red ribbon, along with a small key. He held them out with an exaggerated flourish. “I know it’s not much, but… my estate… the one here in Provera.”

Oh? Is this finally happening? Am I getting my just compensation after all this? I didn’t know he felt that sorry, but hey, I wouldn’t mind a nice place in town.

“I found something inside, and I want you to have it,” the merchant added.

Oh, you son of a… Lucian sighed, taking the parchment and key with as much grace as he could muster. “Thank you. I appreciate this small token.” Keeping up a polite face is getting harder and harder with this guy.

“I think you’ll find it very useful,” the merchant said, nodding sagely. “Considering the feats you’ve accomplished."

“I surely will.”

“It’s just a shame your friend won’t be with you to experience it.”

“Pretty sad.”

“He was so verbose. I liked the way he talked. He just knew how to make people feel at ease.”

“He sure did.”

Then the merchant started sobbing. Loudly.

Lucian barely noticed. His mind had already drifted elsewhere, thoughts spiraling in a way that the drunken wailing beside him didn’t even register. It wasn’t until Raven returned—balancing two mugs of ale in each hand—that someone actually addressed the scene unfolding.

“I think you’ve had enough, don’t you?” she said, plucking the ale from the merchant’s grasp. “Maybe you should head back to your room and sleep the rest of the day off, yeah?”

The merchant sniffed, nodding as if coming to a grand realization. “That’s right. Must’ve been the alcohol getting me all riled up.” He wobbled as he stood, shuffled out of his seat, and faced the pair once more—after getting jostled one too many times by the surging crowd.

“If you’ll excuse me,” he said with a clumsy bow. “May we engage in business again soon. I hope you make good use of your reward, Mr. Nyx!”

And with that, he was swept into the sea of revelers.

Raven watched him go, then turned to Lucian. “He kinda reminds me of Hugh with all that formal speakin’—and that ‘Mr. Nyx’ shtick.” She set the mugs onto the table, pushing one toward Lucian. “Such a shame that he’s gone.”

“Yeah.” Lucian’s voice was distant, detached. He was completely out of place in a setting like this. “Carl was a good Enchanter. I was starting to like the enchantments in that little book of his.”

Raven froze. “Are you serious?” She shot him a sharp look. “His name was Hugh, not Carl! I literally said it a few seconds ago.”

“Oh, please. It’s hard to hear anything with all this noise,” Lucian said dismissively. He picked up the mug Raven had passed him and frowned. “Wait… Did you just give me the merchant’s mug?!”

“Oh no, you’re not getting off that easy.” Raven turned to him fully, arms crossed. “Did you ever call him by his name? Even once?”

“Of course I did!” Lucian scoffed. “What? Do you think I’m that cold and uncaring?”

“No. But you are a jerk and an ass from time to time.”

“Those are the same thing.”

“Point is, you can’t convince me you didn’t see him as just…” she gestured vaguely, “…a walking enchantment station.”

Their conversation was far from private. Despite the noise filling the guild, plenty of eyes and ears lingered on them. The fact that people were still hanging around their table—despite the congestion—was proof enough.

Damn it, can’t she shut up for once? We can’t afford a bad look right now. Lucian blurted out the first excuse he could think of. “I just… have trouble remembering names unless I see a person’s face, alright?”

To his relief, some people actually seemed to buy it. One particularly shiny-headed man in the crowd nodded sagely—refracting light into Lucian’s eyes every time he dipped his head.

Raven, however, wasn’t convinced. She eyed him for a moment before shrugging. “Whatever. He knew what he was getting into. Adventuring’s dangerous.”

Lucian reached for one of the many mugs on the table.

SMACK.

“Don’t touch my ale,” Raven said, slapping his hand away without even looking.

“Still drowning your sorrows in booze, I see.” A woman’s voice rang out over the noise of the guild.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Raven spat out her drink, choking mid-swallow as she bolted upright. A blonde woman in a bright red dress strode forward. More accurately, the crowd parted for her—whether by choice or because she forced it was anyone’s guess.

Her stride oozed confidence, shoulders swaying as if the dozen people crammed on either side of her didn’t exist. A small pink hat perched perfectly atop her updo, bouncing slightly with each step. Golden bangles stacked up both of her long, sleeved wrists, each one adorned with colorful jewels. They jingled with every motion, a sound that intensified when she slammed her hand onto the table and grinned at Raven.

Raven, however, didn’t grin back. She simply stared, eyes hard. “Been a while since I’ve seen you around, Vivienne,” she said coolly. “Thought you’d be in a ditch by now. Preferably dead.”

“You thought wrong.” Vivienne’s smirk never wavered. “But I don’t blame you for thinking that way, considering all your previous party members ended up dead. Guess you wouldn’t know what it’s like to be part of a competent team.”

Lucian exhaled sharply. “Hey,” he muttered. “Rude.”

Vivienne turned to him with that same smug grin. “Hello there, Mr. Nyx. I don’t believe we’ve met.” She extended her hand—only to grab Lucian’s unwilling finger and shake it as if he had offered it himself. “Vivienne Caddel. Best Brawler in the guild.”

Lucian stared at her, unimpressed. No way she’s a Brawler. “Lucian Nyx, Blacksmith,” he replied flatly.

Vivienne’s grin widened. “So, how much do you really know about your little jinx of a party member?” She tilted her head toward Raven. “Other than the fact that she’s an alcoholic?”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” Raven cut in. “I’m just dealing with the loss of a dear friend. So, would you lay off?”

Liar.

Vivienne laughed. “Another one died?” she tapped her chin in mock thought, then glanced toward the guild’s entrance before turning back to Raven. “I should have known. But I’ll grant you your wish, dear. I’ll lay off—for now. Only because your other friends are here to see you.”

Lucian raised an eyebrow. “Other friends?” He turned to Raven, smirking. “Didn’t know people actually wanted to be your friend.”

“Would you lay off?” Raven jabbed him in the ribs. “But yeah, what do you mean by ‘other friends’?”

Before Vivienne could respond, a booming voice cut through the noise of the guild. “Miss Vespertine! We are looking for Miss Vespertine! Please come forward, Miss Vespertine!”

A group of uniformed men stood in the center of the guild, just below the dining area. The moment Raven spotted them, she ducked her head.

“Crap! It’s the BoP,” she whispered.

Lucian blinked. “The hell is the BoP?”

“The Bank of Provera,” Raven muttered. “Now shut up and pretend I’m not here.”

Before Lucian could ask any follow-ups, the lead officer in the group spoke up. “We know you’re here, Miss Vespertine,” he called out. “We know you wouldn’t miss a celebration in your name. Please, we just want to talk. Nothing more.”

“Over here!” Vivienne shouted, pointing straight at Raven.

“You bi—” Raven hissed, only to be cut off by the officer again.

“Please, Miss Vespertine,” he said, in a tone that made it clear he had no intention of leaving without her. “We just need confirmation that you intend to pay your debt.”

Raven groaned. “Ugh, fine. Hold on, I’m coming down.” She stood up, rolling her shoulders. “None of you touch my booze.”

As soon as she walked off, Vivienne slid into her seat beside Lucian, flashing a knowing smirk. “You didn’t know about her debt, huh?” she asked.

Lucian took a slow sip of his ale. “Not really. We don’t talk much, she and I.”

Vivienne shrugged. “Not surprised she doesn’t want to talk. Hard to tell people about yourself when you’re drowning in failure.” She reached for one of Raven’s mugs, then immediately put it back down, nose wrinkling.

Lucian’s eyes flicked toward Raven as she spoke with the uniformed men below. “Did her past party members really die? All of them?”

“Absolutely! And get this—” Vivienne leaned in, lowering her voice just enough to make it sound like a juicy secret. “It happened twice. Both times, she was the only one who returned to the guild. No one knows why. No one knows how. But word got around. People learned to stay away from her.” Her eyes glinted. “So why don’t you?”

Lucian knew exactly where this was going, but he needed time to craft a polite rejection. “What do you mean?” he asked, playing dumb.

Vivienne grinned. “Why not leave her behind and join my party instead?” She tapped the table. “We could use a Blacksmith like you.”

Lucian arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t there other Blacksmiths in the guild?”

“None that have ever beaten a Master Beast befo—”

“Ahem.”

A voice behind Vivienne cut her off.

A tall, muscular man stood there, arms crossed. He had fair skin, a sharp gaze, and his dark hair was tied back in a neat manbun. His voice was rough, laced with an accent Lucian couldn’t quite place—European? Eurasian?

The man’s eyes locked onto Vivienne. “Don’t you think it’s a little low, Miss Vivienne, to be poaching Miss Raven’s party members while we’re literally celebrating her victory?”

“Psh, why are you always here to ruin my fun?” Vivienne huffed.

The man smirked and pointed at his strikingly blue eyes, tattooed fingers tapping just below them. “These eyes see everything, remember?”

Vivienne rolled her own in response before standing up. Without another word, she strutted away, the crowd parting effortlessly to give her a clear path. Lucian watched her go, brow furrowing as he caught sight of the high heels she wore. “Those can’t be practical,” he muttered.

A burst of laughter erupted from the man across from him. “Isn’t that right?” He grinned wide as he dropped into the seat opposite Lucian. “I keep telling her that one day, those heels are going to trip her up mid-combat. But does she listen? No. Instead, she asks me, ‘Who are you to tell me what to do?’”

“Sounds like a lot to deal with.” Lucian took a sip from his drink.

The man shrugged, still smiling. “It is. But it’s a price worth paying to keep her in my party. She’s pretty strong, you know. Well, at least for most people.”

The slight brag, combined with the sheer confidence he exuded, made Lucian raise an eyebrow. “And who, exactly, are you?”

“Ah! Apologies, apologies!” The man sprang to his feet, extending a firm hand. His grin never wavered. Now that he was up close, Lucian could see the faded scars crisscrossing his bare chest and abdomen—some even trailing up his arms, though they were partially covered by the thick fur pelt draped over his back. His hands, calloused and rough like sandpaper, clasped Lucian’s in a grip that felt just shy of crushing. “Not used to people not knowing me, you know?” he laughed.

Lucian let out a fake chuckle. “Still don’t know who you are.”

“Ah, right. Again, apologies.” The man sat back down, placing both hands on his lap as he leaned forward, studying Lucian’s face. “I am Levy Gorsky.” He paused, clearly expecting a reaction.

Lucian blinked. “Yeah, not a clue.”

Levy stared at him for a beat, then let out a booming laugh and suddenly hoisted Lucian up by the shoulders. “I love this man!” He shook him back and forth like a proud father, drawing cheers and laughter from the surrounding crowd. After a few overly enthusiastic shakes, he set Lucian back down with a hearty pat on the back.

“Forgive me,” Levy said, still chuckling. “It’s just rare to meet someone who isn’t star-struck by the mere mention of my name. You, my friend, are refreshing.”

“Who touched this mug?”

Raven reappeared at the table, eyes narrowing as she scanned the drinks. Then she looked up—just in time to see Lucian being set down by Levy. “Oh, hey, Levy.” She didn’t even sound surprised. “Where’s the witch?”

Levy smiled at her, then turned back to Lucian. “Another refreshing person to be around.” He nodded. “You must mean Vivienne, yes? I sent her away. She was being too bothersome.”

Lucian squinted. “You know this guy?”

“Everyone in the guild knows him.” Raven took her seat, grabbing a fresh mug. “He’s Levy Gorsky. Leader of Team 7. Number one in the guild rankings. But what else would you expect from Provera’s best Beast Hunter?”

“I don’t know if I can call myself the best anymore,” Levy mused. “After all, not even I have slain a Master Beast—but you two…”

“Please, that was a fluke,” Raven scoffed.

“Fluke or not, the results inspire, yes?” Levy gestured toward the mounted Dan-gow’s hands and horns.

Raven leaned back, lifting her mug again with a smug grin. “See?” she said. “Someone agrees with me.”

Lucian, however, took a sip and muttered under his breath, “Speak for yourself. I want to kill them all.”

Silence.

The entire guild froze. The music stopped. Conversations halted. Every head turned toward him, as if some unseen force had just passed through the hall.

Lucian blinked. “What?”

Levy leaned in, resting an elbow on the table—nearly tipping it over in the process. “Ignoring the possible consequences… You do realize how impossible that sounds, yes?”

“That’s what she said about killing the Dan-gow,” Lucian gestured toward Raven. “And look where we are now.”

“Killing one is a miracle. But killing all of them?” Levy’s voice held something unreadable—caution, intrigue, maybe even respect. He was about to say more when Lucian cut him off.

“Two.”

Levy’s head tilted slightly. “Two?”

“That was the second Master Beast I killed,” Lucian clarified.

A cacophony of shouts erupted from the crowd. Some accused him of lying, saying he was just boasting to inflate his reputation. Others cheered him on, because—really—who were they to doubt him after what they had already seen?

Levy, however, remained quiet, watching him intently. Then, he asked the only question that mattered. “And do you have proof of this?”

Lucian smirked and reached into his [Inventory]. With a flick of his wrist, he materialized his Master Shield and placed it on the table.

“Made this from what I got off the first one.”

“Bring out more ale!” someone shouted toward the bar—only to be met with a hard glare from the woman behind the counter. He quickly mouthed a sorry, but his grin remained as waitstaff doubled their efforts, carrying out more booze and food to keep the party going.

Levy even joined in, lifting Lucian as if he weighed nothing and bouncing him on his broad shoulder. “This man is truly incredible!” he roared, much to the delight of the crowd before finally setting Lucian back down.

The only person not celebrating, oddly enough, was Raven. She buried her face in her hands, exhaled deeply, then turned to Lucian with a look of exasperation. “You’re going to get me killed one of these days,” she muttered. Then, with a resigned sigh, she leaned back in her seat. “But hey, more Master Beasts killed means more Gold, and I just gave mine away.”

Lucian raised an eyebrow. “You talking about those debt collectors?”

“Yeah.” Raven groaned.

“Just how much do you owe them, anyway?”

“Too much now, thanks to the interest,” she muttered darkly.

Levy, who had been watching, suddenly leaned forward with an amused chuckle. “Ah, yes. I have heard of your famous debt—said to be greater than even the guild’s own.” He grinned. “Why don’t I help you out? Join my party for a few days, do some jobs with us. The EXP and Gold you’ll earn will definitely help, yes?”

Raven blinked. “What? Wh-Why are you doing this?”

Levy shrugged. “Think of it as an apology on Vivienne’s behalf. The time she spent antagonizing you deserves some balance, no? And, well… adding you to my party will surely drive her crazy.”

Raven clapped at that alone. She turned to Lucian. “So, are you in?”

Lucian considered it, but something was still nagging at his mind. “I… I might take a break for a bit. You go on ahead.”

“Yay! Thanks, bestie!” Raven grinned, wrapping him in a quick hug.

Ugh. I remember how much I hate that nickname. He watched as Levy added Raven to his party, the celebration continuing around them. With her out of the way, I can finally think clearly.

He opened his [Inventory] and checked on his most prized possession—the Master Core. Then, he scrolled to his [Field Skills].

[Field Skills]

[Crafting]

Nothing. No matter what he did, nothing new popped up. How the hell do I get more crafting recipes?! The system stayed silent. No tutorial, no hint, not even a snarky error message. Just blank slots and a tauntingly empty [Crafting] screen. Lucian clenched his fists. He’d earned this victory. Fought tooth and nail for it. And yet the world still held its secrets like it was daring him to break them.