The "Gilded Flagon" was a tavern where gold flowed faster than the beer. General Valerya, having apparently decided that "sober" was for people who didn't want to conquer nations, was currently on her ninth mug of Dwarven Dragon-Fire Ale.
Julian, however, was on his third, and his liver was currently contemplating filing for emancipation.
"Sing with me, Julian!" Valerya roared, slamming her gauntlet onto the table so hard the entire row of noblemen nearby jumped. "Come on! You're supposed to be a Master Magician! Give us a tavern ballad!"
Julian, eyes glazed, swaying like a willow tree in a hurricane, grabbed a half-empty tankard like it was a microphone. He stood on his chair—precariously, and with the structural integrity of a house of cards—and cleared his throat.
"I'll sing!" Julian bellowed, his voice cracking beautifully. "A song of… fiscal responsibility!"
He began to belt out, off-key and with entirely too much passion:
"Oh, the Saintes's is pretty, her mana is bright! But keep her away, or you'll lose your rights! Don't look in the basement, don't look in the shed! Or the Blackwood heir will lose his head! HEIGH-HO, THE TAXES ARE HIGH! AND I'M TOO WEALTHY, AND TOO COOL, TO DIE!"
The noblemen in the tavern cheered, throwing coins at him. Julian bowed, his face flushed a deep, intoxicated crimson. He felt great. He felt invincible. He felt like the smartest man in the—
[URGENT SYSTEM ALERT: EMERGENCY PROTOCOL ACTIVATED!]
[QUEST: 'THE SAINTESS IS NOT A COFFEE TABLE']
[OBJECTIVE: A Royal Inspection Unit has been dispatched to your manor by order of General Valerya! Your staff is currently trying to serve them tea while Lyra is trying to turn the butler into a pile of ash! HIDE THE EVIDENCE NOW!]
[TIME REMAINING: 15 MINUTES]
[REWARD: +50 Days Lifespan, 1,000 Gold, Survival]
[PENALTY: PUBLIC EXECUTION / EVICTION FROM LIFE]
Julian's singing stopped abruptly. His eyes went wide—not the wide of a drunkard, but the wide of a man who just realized he forgot to take the roast out of the oven, and the oven is a nuclear reactor.
His face became "quite lit"—a terrifying mix of drunken joy, absolute existential horror, and a manic glint that suggested he was staring directly into the abyss of his own grave.
Fifteen minutes.
"I..." Julian wheezed, clutching his stomach. "I need to... use the privy."
"Sit down, Master Magician!" Valerya laughed, grabbing his robe and yanking him back into his seat. "The best songs happen after the tenth mug! Waiter! Another round for the Blackwood Heir!"
'She's going to kill me,' Julian thought, his soul leaving his body to go find a more comfortable afterlife. 'She sent an inspection unit. To my house. My house, where Lyra is currently—
He pulled out a small, enchanted communication mirror from his sleeve. It looked like a standard pocket mirror for grooming. Under the table, he began frantically tapping out a message in Morse code with his knuckles, his expression still frozen in that bizarre, wide-eyed "lit" stare.
TAP. TAP. TAP-TAP-TAP.
'Staff! Hide the silver-haired girl! Tell them she's an... uh... an expensive, life-sized golem! No, tell them she's an exotic lamp! TELL THEM SHE'S THE NEW CHANDELIER!'
"Julian? Why are you staring at your own reflection like you're trying to murder it?" Valerya asked, squinting at him.
"It's a... complex psychological technique," Julian lied, his voice vibrating with panic. "I am staring death in the face. It's part of the Master Magician curriculum. We call it... 'The Void Stare.'"
"You look like you've seen a ghost," Valerya chuckled, taking a massive gulp of ale.
"Worse," Julian whispered, downing his entire mug in one go to steel his nerves. "I've seen a tax audit."
He stood up, his legs shaking violently. "General, as much as I would love to continue this concert, my... my internal organs are staging a revolt. If I don't go, the consequences will be... explosive. Literally."
Valerya watched him, her golden eyes narrowing with that terrifying, predatory focus again. "You're acting weirder than usual, Jules. And you're usually pretty weird."
"It's the talent!" Julian cried, stumbling toward the exit. "It's the heavy burden of being a genius!"
He burst out of the tavern and onto the street.
'Okay, okay. The manor is three miles away. My horse is slow. If I teleport, I'll likely vomit my stomach lining onto the pavement. But I have 140 days to live, and I refuse to spend them as a headless corpse!'
He looked at his cane. He had enough mana in the battery for one, high-speed, structural-failure-inducing jump.
'Here goes nothing. If I die, please bury me with my ledgers!'