Chương 83: A Hearth and a Deed

Conversations in the Adventurer's Hall died mid-sentence, heads turning to see the mud-caked Kamari leading his team across the floor like a general returning from a long war. Jorik followed close behind, his face still pale from the healing, and the vast collection of groveback shells across his arms landed on Felicity's counter with a resonant thud that put an end to the remaining ambient noise of the hall. Kamari dropped a second pile of bloodied shell plates beside Jorik's stack.

Amina followed, placing a smaller assortment with care, before Bryon added his contribution with newly regenerated fingers. The hoard grew with every member. Even Corinne, beaming through her exhaustion, hefted a plate nearly as large as her torso. She set it down with a grunt, the impact loud in the silence of the room.

Cal watched from the periphery as recognition spread through the room in a ripple of whispers, veteran adventurers leaning forward in their seats with narrowed eyes to scrutinize the distinctive scutes while a woman at a nearby table let out a low whistle.

"That's groveback shell."

"High E-tier."

"They brought down an E-tier tort!" Felicity kept her professional composure for exactly three heartbeats before one dark eyebrow rose, though she quickly schooled her features back into neutrality and snapped her fingers to summon a clerk.

"Process this." A large ledger hit the counter as the clerk nodded. The quartermaster looked at Cal.

"Silverbloom contract?" He unfolded the preservation cloths, revealing delicate argent blossoms that shimmered under the hall's lights. A sealed jar of cinder-sand joined them, the coarse grains visible through the glass. The quartermaster examined the flowers critically.

"Clean harvest. No stem damage." She noted the approval in her ledger.

"Forty silver for the blooms, eight silver for the sand." He was too tired to negotiate. Coins clinked as she counted them out and slid the payment across the varnished surface. Corinne stepped up beside Cal, practically vibrating with excitement, and produced a cloth bundle which she opened to reveal the sets of yellowish goblin claws.

"We slew twelve feral goblins!" Felicity twitched her lips with the ghost of a smile.

"Well done, Hearthsong. That's seventy-five silver for the contract, and I can give you another sixty for the other kills. But supply on claws has been flush since—" she glanced at Cal, "— someone flooded the market recently. We're only buying them for ten copper apiece. Is that acceptable?" Corinne agreed, and the quartermaster pushed the coins over, then reached beneath the counter to produce a grey runic slate.

"Ready for your oath?" Corinne lit up.

"Definitely!" Leaving the counter, Cal cataloged the room's waitstaff positions, table placement, and the flow of foot traffic. He intercepted a young serving girl near a support pillar.

"A moment." He kept his tone low and conversational, pressing a gold coin into her palm and closing her fingers around it before she could react.

"I need a favor. Please help me serve a round for the entire hall, starting with the veterans and working your way out. I want everyone in here to have a fresh drink before the oath finishes." The girl's eyes widened at the value of the coin.

"That's... sir, that's generous."

"It's important. This is her moment, and it needs to be done right." Understanding dawned on the server's face, and she nodded, tucking the coin away before moving with purpose toward the bar and spreading word to the other staff. Cal followed and grabbed a wooden tray laden with mugs of ale, joining the servers who were moving like a well-drilled unit through the hall. He wove between tables quickly, setting down two mugs for a pair of grizzled adventurers.

They gave him knowing smirks before turning their attention back to the counter where Felicity's formal intonation began the ritual.

"Before the eyes of the Guild…" Corinne replied faintly enough Cal couldn't hear it. He was already moving again, swapping his empty tray for a full one and assessing the remaining tables. Will there be enough time? He and the servers picked up the pace, deliveries of alcohol and its clinking pewter spreading through the room with increasing speed. His friend's voice rose, gaining strength with each word.

"…my mind's light to this mark, and my life's own spark to seal this bond." The final section of tables. A server placed the last mugs down on the far side of the hall just as Cal turned from the bar, two fresh drinks gripped in his hands. He positioned himself near Corinne as her voice rang out, clear and unwavering.

"In the service of my contract, I will not waver." Conviction blazed in her eyes.

"My contract is my honor, and my honor is my life." The purple light flared for a heartbeat before it faded, and the badge completed. When Corinne lifted her hand the bronze surface bore the emblem of Vireth's End: a sitka spruce with a hair-thin outline of pale mist winding the base of the tree. Cal stepped forward and pressed a mug into Corinne's startled hands, giving the second to Felicity, who accepted it with a look of amusement that grew into a sincere smile.

She raised her mug high, her voice carrying in the expectant silence of the hall.

"Hail to the Initiate: Corinne!"

"HAIL!" Sound crashed through the room as every patron surged to their feet. Fresh cups were raised high in a unified roar that rattled the monster trophies on the walls and sloshed ale over rims. Fists pounded on tables thunderously. Cal was surprised at the reception until he realized they weren't just cheering a newly minted Initiate. These adventurers have watched her grow up at the inn, serving their tables and listening to their tales. They're cheering for one of their own.

The Juice Maiden stood in shock, her eyes wide and shimmering as she looked at the sea of toasting tankards and the grinning faces of hardened warriors who had seen a hundred Initiates come and go. She laughed and hoisted her own drink. The hall drank as one. When Corinne lowered her mug, her cheeks flushed and her smile incandescent, a salt-and-pepper veteran from a corner table called out.

"So, Initiate. What's yer tale?" Her smile widened, and she clambered onto a stool.

"You want to hear how we took down an E-tier groveback tortoise?" Encouraging shouts and table thumping greeted her question.

"Alright." She spread her arms and raised her voice.

"We were tracking feral goblins along the eastern creek beds. Standard culling contract, right? Eight confirmed kills, quick silver, in and out. But when we engaged the pack, one of them bolted and ran straight to a groveback that was sunning itself by the water." She paused for effect.

"The tort woke up pissed. It charged while Kamari held the line in the creek bed. Jorik and Bryon struck from the flanks, but it was like hitting a stone wall. Jaws snapped down and Bryon lost half a hand before anyone could react." Her voice dropped.

"Took three of his fingers clean off…" A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. A hush fell over the crowd.

"That's when Amina—" Corinne gestured to the quiet ranger, who ducked her head.

"—put a powerful arrow into its neck that should have dropped it! But the wound only fueled its fury." A few adventurers winced in sympathy.

"The beast whipped its head around to catch Jorik with its beak, launching him clear out of the stream where he hit a tree and slumped out cold." A cynical voice called from a back table.

"So half yer vets were out the fight and yuh couldn't damage th' beastie. Sounds like a wipe t' me, lass. How'd a couple a F-tier rookies finish an enraged tort?" Her eyes flashed, and she pointed directly at Cal, who stood leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.

"Finish it? You should have seen him." Cal felt every eye in the hall turn toward him.

"He was flying!" Her voice rose with the thrill of the memory.

"He cleared the entire creek in a single leap, landing on the beast's back where he ran across the moss-slick shell like it was a cobblestone road, weaving between the saplings without breaking stride." She mimed the motion with her hands.

"Then he launched himself into the air and did this—this… spinning-jump-thing! And his whole body just caught fire, like it did in the finals! He came down like a meteor and drove his spear straight through the wound Amina had made!" Corinne slammed her fist into her palm.

"Pierced the spine. The tort was dead before it knew it." A wave of chuckles went through the hall.

"A meteor?" Someone from the back shouted.

"Did he have dragons on his shoulders and lightning in his pockets, too? That's a fine tale for the bards, lass, but we're adventurers here. We know what a real E-tier kill looks like, and it ain't that pretty." The enthusiasm on her face faltered for a second as she surveyed the doubtful expressions. She was losing them. But her smile returned, savvy as ever, and she raised her mug high, voice piercing the rising tide of skepticism.

"Tall tale or not, the shell is on the counter and the contract is paid! That only happens with a team that knows its business. So let's hear it for Kamari and his crew!" That was a sentiment everyone could get behind. A roar of approval finally shook the rafters as mugs were raised in a genuine salute to the veteran and his party. Amid the noise, Cal caught his eye from across the room. The leader stood near the back wall, smiling at the praise. Slowly, Kamari lifted his mug in a private toast aimed only at Cal.

He dipped his chin in return, accepting the gesture. As Corinne continued to entertain the crowd, his attention drifted to Amina, who leaned against the far wall beside her unstrung bow. The weapon was a work of art: the dark wood polished to a deep sheen and the curve of the limbs both elegant and deadly. The sight pulled a recent conversation to the forefront of his mind. During the walk back from the creek, Cal watched the way she carried her bow reverently.

"That arrow you fired… how did you do that? I've never seen anyone charge Stamina before—I didn't think it was possible." Amina glanced at him before focusing on the path ahead.

"The sinew is from a silverback hemlock prowler, a rare variant, and the wood is from a storm-cured sapling."

"Storm-cured?"

"A young tree struck by Mana-touched lightning." She tapped the dark wood with one finger, eyes averted.

"The raw electricity fused the grain. Both the sinew and the wood can conduct and store Stamina. It's the material. The material makes it stronger." Cal had frowned, turning the information over.

"Is it inscribed with runes, too? To amplify the effect?"

"Some special arrows are." Amina pulled one from her quiver, showing him the faint glyph etched into the shaft just below the arrowhead.

"A simple rune, to help it draw the Stamina from the bowstring on release." She stowed the projectile and gave a dry laugh, her gaze dropping to her boots.

"To inscribe the bow itself would cost more than a house." She shrugged, a small, self-conscious gesture.

"Someday." He reflected on his new understanding. The very materials of the world were a tier of power in themselves, a source of strength that stood alongside Skills and enchantments. And they weren't cheap. It was just another mountain of resources to climb on the long road of the Sovereign Path. Movement in his peripheral vision pulled him back to the present, where Felicity had stepped away from the celebrating crowd and was gesturing him over with a discreet wave.

"Cal. A moment." He made his way down the counter to her, noting that the celebratory smile she'd worn for the toast had softened into something more sympathetic. She slid a stiff parchment envelope across the polished wood.

"This came for you." The good mood drained from Cal as he picked up the envelope and broke the seal. Cal read the document, his eyes tracking over dense blocks of text stamped with the Chancellery's elaborate emblem of a quill and scroll, noting the header: NOTICE OF PROPERTY TRANSFER & ASSESSMENT. Below it, the Chancellery had deployed enough qualifiers and subclauses to make a tax attorney weep. His lips pinched together as he parsed the core message buried in the legalese.

The empire had graciously applied the Post-Mortem Asset Consolidation Mandate (Imperial Decree 47-C) to his situation, which translated to a simple reality where Rufan's debts—four years of unpaid property taxes and compounded penalties—were now his problem. The line items stung. Sixteen gold for the arrears, plus three more in penalties. The Chancellery even tacked on an extra coin to fund its road budget, apparently. Twenty gold total. Due within the month. What a racket.

In the end, even on another world taxes were unavoidable. He folded the letter and tucked it into his belt pouch.

"Bad news?" Felicity was carefully neutral.

"A bill." Cal met her eyes.

"For a house I didn't ask for." She studied him for a long moment.

"You planning to sell it? I know a few people who might be interested in the lot, even if the structure is a teardown." Cal shook his head.

"I'm not sure yet. I'll let you know." She nodded, accepting his answer without pushing. He turned away from the counter, finding an unobtrusive spot in the back to watch as the celebration continued. Corinne had become the heart of the room, perched on her stool while she recounted the feral goblin ambush and her first kill, holding a circle of people captivated. He remained there as one story bled into the next, letting her soak in the attention she had earned.

The hours slipped by, the crowd slowly thinned, and the initial roar of the toasting softened to a contented murmur. At last, her voice growing hoarse, Corinne slid off the stool, accepted a final clap on the shoulder from an old adventurer, and made her way to the threshold where he awaited. They stepped out into the cool air of second dusk. The streets of Deadfall were quiet, while the rune lamps provided inconsistent light across the cobblestones.

Corinne walked beside him, her steps light despite the exhaustion that had to be weighing on her.

"Today was the best day of my life, Cal." He glanced at her, seeing the runelight catch her face and illuminate the joy there.

"Thank you." Her voice was soft.

"For everything. The training. The encouragement. The toast." She looked up at him.

"You didn't have to do that."

"You earned it, Corinne." She smiled.

"Still. It meant something." They walked in comfortable silence until the warm glow of the Hearthsong Inn came into view. The front door swung open just as they reached it, revealing Cassia silhouetted against the light, her face etched with a mother's relief and pride. Cal saw Corinne safely into her embrace, bid them both a good night, then turned toward the solitude of his own room. The next morning arrived with the dawn and first light filtering through the narrow window of his rented room.

Cal rose, washed, and dressed in his clothes and armor, eyeing the letter from the Chancellery that sat on the small table beside his bed. Picking it up, he folded it carefully and tucked the parchment away before leaving the inn to walk through the waking streets of Deadfall, heading toward the residential quarter where the Caldorn house stood. The estate came into view after a ten-minute walk. He stood at the edge of the ramshackle lot, his eyes cataloging the damage.

Sandwiched between larger homes, the two-story house stood as a monument to decay. Weeds sprouted from the rotting thatch of the patchy woven-root roof, while paint curled from the window frames in brittle strips to expose weathered grey wood. A single shutter hung askew on a rusted hinge. In the narrow space against the wall, a rain barrel had split, its staves warped and dry. He stepped up to the door, its surface splintered and bleached by years of sun and rain.

He turned the handle and pushed, unsurprised that it wasn't locked. The hinges protested as the wood groaned open, revealing the dark interior. Stale air, mildew, and thick dust assaulted him the moment the door opened. He crossed the threshold, eyes adjusting to the dim light. A low ceiling compressed the small main room, which was dominated by a grimy kitchen hearth blackened with old soot. To the side, a spiral staircase wound up to the second floor and down into a basement.

A small countertop near the hearth featured several runes that had once pulsed with convenience; now they lay dark, save for one cracked symbol that fizzled with faint sparks. The scent of scorched metal hung in the stillness. In the corner, a dusty carpentry table sat half-covered by a stained tarp, and a few pieces of broken furniture with faded upholstery were scattered across the floor. He walked to the mantle and looked down at the cold stones. This is where Meriel taught Thal how to cook her people's food.

Cal blinked back a tear, the memories bittersweet. He turned to the workbench in the corner and moved the tarp aside, sending dust billowing into the air. Beneath it, the surface was scarred and stained but the construction was solid, built with mortise and tenon joints so that every piece fit snuggly. Rufan built this himself. He saw a sober Rufan, his hands sure and steady as he planed a board while a younger Thal, no more than eight, stood at his side watching with wonder in his eyes.

"If the foundation is strong, the rest will hold. Remember that." Cal ran his hand across the workbench's surface, feeling the grain beneath his fingers. The house was a ruin, the taxes were a burden, and the memories were a minefield, but the bones were good and remained worth saving. He slowly rolled up his sleeves.