Two days later.
The tavern near the Pe'cha Subjugator Alliance was already packed, even though the sun still hung high outside. The air inside was thick with the smell of roasted meat, spilled ale, and sweat. Wooden tables were crowded with subjugators in worn armor and travel-stained cloaks, laughing loudly, arguing over contracts, or simply eating like men who had survived another day.
A bard stood near the center, one foot resting on a stool as he strummed his guitar. The tune was bright, fast, and easy to follow. His voice carried clearly above the chatter.
"Raise your cups and hear the tale,
Of steel that sang through blood and gale,
When darkness rose and hope grew thin,
A blade of light cut deep within!"
A few subjugators nearby began tapping their mugs against the tables, catching the rhythm.
The bard grinned and continued, louder this time.
"Oh Maybelle, Keeper of the West!
A mighty paladin who never fear beast!
When demons roared and pillars stood,
You carved your name in fire and blood!"
More voices joined in.
At a large table near the middle, a broad-shouldered man slammed his mug down and stood up. His sheathed sword fell on the floor, but it didn't bother him.
Mr. Brunken.
"Sing it louder, you drunkards!" he barked, already half laughing.
The crowd cheered and followed.
"Oh, swing that blade, don't hesitate!
Not even Tenebry can twist your fate!
Hilvarg fell with a single cry,
His cursed head sent rolling by!"
Laughter and cheers erupted.
Someone whistled. Another slammed a chair in excitement.
The bard leaned into the next verse, fingers moving quickly across the strings.
"In the War of Regression's flame,
Where heroes bled and none the same,
She stood alone where others fled,
And struck the pillar—Hilvarg dead!"
The entire tavern roared now.
Even those who didn't know the full story joined in the chorus, carried by the rhythm.
Mr. Brunken raised his mug high.
"Again!"
And they did.
"Oh, Maybelle, Keeper of the West!
The demon's fear, the kingdom's crest!
One swing, one strike, no second call,
A falling head… the end of all!"
Mugs clashed. Ale spilled. Boots stomped against the wooden floor in uneven rhythm.
For a moment, the tavern felt like a battlefield of its own—only louder, and far less deadly.
Then—
BANG!
The tavern door slammed open so hard it struck the wall and bounced back with a loud crack.
The music cut off mid-note.
The bard's fingers froze on the strings.
Mugs paused halfway to lips. Conversations died instantly. Every head in the room turned toward the entrance.
Ulon stood there, filling the doorway.
Behind him came Maddy, arms folded and brows slightly drawn; Petra, stepping in quietly with her usual careful gaze; Shalotte, who nearly tripped on the threshold before catching himself at the last second; Kiel, slipping in with a quick glance around the room; and finally—
Klaus.
Last as always. Hands in his pockets. Expression unreadable. Moving like he had all the time in the world.
But something was different.
They looked… tired.
Not just from travel. There was weight in their eyes, something unspoken that lingered behind their usual rhythm.
Mr. Brunken noticed immediately.
He let out a low whistle, "Well, well… the mighty Shieldbreaker is here."
A grin spread across his face, though his eyes were sharp.
"Judging by those faces," he continued, "looks like your mission failed."
A few chuckles rose from nearby tables.
"It's alright," Brunken added, waving his mug. "Everybody fails. Especially with a Class S mission. You can't keep a perfect record forever."
Maddy stepped forward, already annoyed.
"We didn't fail, old man."
Her voice cut cleanly through the room.
"In fact, we finished the mission."
She raised two fingers.
"And we killed not one—but two sand wyrms."
A brief silence followed.
Then—
"Oi, don't tell me the slouch died," someone from the back called out.
A lanky subjugator leaned back in his chair with a mock sigh.
"Poor guy. All he ever did was slack off."
He stretched lazily.
"If you need someone to fill his spot, I'm available."
Another man, leaner and dressed like a scout, raised his hand.
"Pick me."
A third voice joined in.
"No, me."
Then another.
"Hey, I can sleep better than him too."
Laughter spread across the tavern as more voices piled on, turning it into a competition.
Kiel smirked slightly, glancing toward the back.
"They're really eager to replace you."
Klaus finally stepped fully inside.
"Don't kill me off just yet," he said calmly. "I'm not that easy to die, you know."
A collective groan filled the room.
"Aww…"
Ulon snorted and walked further in.
"Well," he said loudly, "what he said was actually true. He's harder to die."
Everyone leaned in slightly.
"He got swallowed by a wyrm."
The room went quiet.
Then Ulon added with a grin,
"But in the end, the wyrm died of food poisoning."
The tavern exploded in laughter.
Even the bard slapped his knee.
Mr. Brunken nearly spilled his drink.
"That's the slouch we know!"
Klaus gave a faint smile, completely unbothered.
Meanwhile, Shalotte laughed a bit too hard and almost lost his balance again, grabbing Petra's sleeve.
"S-sorry…"
"It's fine," Petra said softly, though she steadied him carefully.
Brunken wiped his mouth and looked back at the group, his grin slowly fading.
"Still," he said, his tone shifting slightly, "if the mission's done and Slouch is alive…"
His eyes narrowed.
"Why do you all look like you just came from a funeral?"
The laughter around the tavern quieted.
A few people exchanged glances.
Then Brunken's gaze sharpened.
"…Don't tell me it was Shane."
The name alone changed the air.
Murmurs spread across the room.
Maddy clicked her tongue.
"No," she said firmly. "Boss is fine."
She looked away slightly.
"He went straight to the Alliance to file the report. Told us to rest first."
A female subjugator nearby leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.
"Then what's with the mood, Maddy?"
Maddy let out a long breath.
"Spending days with idiots," she said flatly, "is exhausting."
There was a brief pause—
Then several female subjugators nodded at the same time.
"Fair."
"Understandable."
"Very relatable."
Ulon pointed at them.
"Hey!"
Kiel chuckled quietly.
Klaus simply walked past them all and went upstairs.
Ulon sighed, then waved a hand dismissively.
"Alright, alright. We're heading upstairs."
Then he turned toward the tavern owner behind the counter and raised his voice.
"Boss! Put everything on my tab!"
The tavern froze for half a second—
Then erupted.
Cheers. Whistles. Mugs slammed against tables.
"That's what I'm talking about!"
"Ulon, you're a saint!"
"I always liked you!"
Ulon waved them off like it was nothing.
"Just enjoy it, guys."
He turned away, heading toward the stairs with the others.
But as he stepped onto the first step, his grin faded slightly.
His voice dropped, low enough that only he could hear it.
"…Might not get to enjoy this again once the war starts."
For a brief moment, the noise behind him felt distant.
Then he shook his head and climbed up.
And just like that—
The laughter downstairs continued.