It turned out Saber wanted to take herself, me, and Jack out for dinner and a stroll around town.
"For team-bonding," she explained.
I was sure I had blushed. "That's not what a triple date means!" I shouted, my voice almost squeaking.
"Wait, then what's a triple date?"
"That's like three couples dating at the same time," I said. After that mini emotional roller-coaster my heart just went through, I decided to plop into bed to recuperate. Saber followed me into my room.
"Oh. Well," she said. "I suppose it could mean both."
No, no it doesn't! A triple date is NOT three friends hanging out!
"Anyways," she continued, "I feel like Jack's been left out as the new member. I just want to make sure he feels included."
"Huh. I suppose I could see that." But…perhaps Jack preferred it that way? After all, he had just lost his previous team. Maybe he needed more time before he'd be ready to bond with others again. "I mean, I'd be down," I finally said. Saber's suggestion seemed like a kind thing to do.
We made sure to grab Jack the one time we saw him in the afternoon, before he had a chance to disappear off by his lone assassin self.
Saber found Mr. Atlas upstairs in his room, downing a glass of brandy. "Mr. Atlas, want to join us too?"
"What for?"
"We're getting dinner, maybe at the steakhouse."
He gave a slight nod. “Mhm.”
"And then we'll probably visit the local museum."
"Oh, that's right," Mr. Atlas suddenly said. "I have work at night. How unfortunate. See you tomorrow."
Well, OK then.
Saber led Jack and me to the Eat Cow Tavern, a heavily-built wooden cabin at the outer rim of Ring Two, about a 10-minute walk away. A waiter with a pair of bat-like wings came and helped seat us at a table lit by lamplight. I tried not to stare, but he was the first person I had seen with abnormal physiology. I remembered that at the beginning, I had almost grown wings myself before opting to become a mage instead.
Saber and I split a dry-aged ribeye. Jack ordered chicken.
"Do you drink?" Saber asked him.
"I used to," he said. "But not tonight. Pretty sure death games are best played sober."
"Well, it'll be a couple months until the next challenge. But do what makes you the most comfortable."
Saber ordered red wine. Our steak came, and it was the most flavorful beef I had eaten in my life. The barely-crisped crust concealed its juicy interior, and the richness of the meat brought me close to shivers. Frankly, I was glad to have split it with Saber. Flavor concentrated so heavily in the steak, you'd be sated after a few bites. It was like how someone wouldn't eat an entire pound of chocolate bars by themself.
The strangers in the tavern chatted around us. Someone mentioned she reached level 3 after two seasonal challenges. She said her third ability was a game-changer, but did not elaborate.
Night fell by the time we went back outside. The wind blew coolly, billowing my new coat from the belt-down like a badass cape. My attention heightened in the darkness, in a refreshing way that woke me up to my senses. After a short walk through the streets, we arrived at the museum, a large cube-shaped building painted completely red. We went inside.
Paintings and sketches lined the walls of the first few rooms. Most were decent, but nothing too impressive. To be fair, you wouldn't get many da-Vincies from a small town of a thousand people.
"Look at that," Saber pointed out. She had found a shallot taped to the wall. It was a temporary exhibit piece.
We progressed inward, exploring the chambers of the museum. We found carved wooden statues of the little golems that ran down the lanes. We found a miniature model of the three-lane arena. The biggest chamber was dedicated to displaying magical artifacts. Or rather, mundane replicas of them. Placards under the displays detailed what the real version of each item did.
I examined a jagged longsword made of purple metal. WiltShard, the placard said. +10 Physical Damage. Upon damaging a target, applies "Wilting" for 5 seconds, causing all healing to be cut by half. Requires attunement.
Apparently, as a note-board on the wall explained, many combat-oriented magical items required "attunement," which meant forming a personal bond with the items. The process tended to be simple, such as holding onto an item for an hour. Or in WiltShard's case, you had to stain its edge with a single drop of your blood. Any player could attune to a max of three items at once.
Another item was a white mask, decorated with gold and ruby. Mask of Lost Shadows. +15 Arcana Points. Causes the wearer's magical attacks to also corrode their targets, dealing 10% max HP as damage over 5 seconds.
Mask of Lost Shadows
Jack came up and looked at it too. "Sounds like it hurts."
We came to a third item. Tear of Dionysus. Instantly replenishes 50% of your missing HP and 100% of your missing Mana. Another consumable item was kept next to it. Ultima Elixir. Allows the user a single use of their ultimate technique.
“Ultimate technique?” I wondered.
Near us, a guy in a white tee aimed his phone at Wiltshard’s placard. He snapped a picture or two. Smart. I’d be down to do the same for knowledge’s sake, had my phone — and Saber’s and Jack’s — not been long dead. It impressed me how Tee-guy still had battery left to spare.
"Hey, you!" a lady in a pine-green dress shouted at Tee-guy. "Taking pictures is against the rules." Stern displeasure barbed her voice.
"Oh yeah, right," the guy said. He put his phone away.
"Delete the picture," the lady ordered. She looked a little older than Saber, and the detailed, subtle embroidery on her dress screamed money. She wore her silver hair in a bob haircut.
"I did," the guy said.
"No you didn't," the lady insisted.
"I promise, I did."
"Give me your phone."
"No, the crap? Mind your own business!"
The lady reached toward Tee-guy's pocket, where he put his phone. He swatted her hand away.
"You touched me!" the lady shrieked in a deeply offended tone.
Saber approached the pair. "Ma'am, ma'am. Please calm down."
A museum staff in a dress shirt hurried toward us. A metal tag on her said "CURATOR".
The silver-haired lady stared at the curator, then at Saber, then at the Tee-guy. "He took a picture of the display," she complained.
Saber put her hands up defensively. "I know. It's alright."
"Yeah, geez," Tee-guy said. "Nothing to worry about," he told the curator. Then, he proceeded to walk away.
"Come back here –" the silver-haired lady demanded.
"Oh no, nuh-uh," Tee-guy said. "You best stay your ass away from me."
As the lady began to give chase, Saber clasped a hand on her shoulder.
"Ma'am, please –" Saber said.
The lady snapped her finger. A silver, translucent great-sword materialized in front of her, floating in the air. With a flick of her wrist, the sword shot forward at Tee-guy. The blade grazed by his leg, then buried its tip into the nearby wall. Tee-guy's phone hung upon the blade, pierced through the center like a kebab.
Oh no, oh crap. Why did people have to be like this?!
Tee-guy looked at the lady in bewilderment. A trickle of fresh blood ran down his leg.
"Everyone, out!" the curator shouted. "All of you, go to the front door, get out of the building. Now."
We complied. Tee-guy gave the silver-haired lady a thousand dirty stares on the way.
Once we were outside in the streets, the curator turned to talk to us.
"What's your name?" she asked Tee-guy.
"Josh," he said.
"Josh, I am placing a restraining order on you for your behavior. You are not welcome within 100 meters of the museum, or 100 meters of Ms. Fink here," she gestured at the silver-haired lady. "I will be filing a notice to the Guard's Guild. Everyone else, I apologize for the inconvenience. Feel free to enjoy the rest of your night."
"What?!" Saber and Josh said one right after the other. But then Josh threw his hands up into the air, in resignation.
"Alright, fine," he said. And he began to leave, but stopped when Saber paced toward him.
"No, it's not fine!" Saber said, eyes trained on the curator. "How is this fair? You were there, weren't you? You saw, he was the one that was attacked! His leg is still bleeding!"
"Taking pictures is against the rules," the curator said. "That's the end of the discussion. Thank you."
"Is this not injustice?" Saber asked the museum staff, speaking loudly to conceal the quiver in her voice. "You castigate innocent faults, yet excuse bloodshed! All because you know that lady, and her name? Where is your honor in this?"
"Saber," Jack hissed. "Stay out of it."
Fink smiled at the curator. "Explain your decision to them, sweetie."
"I am just doing my job," the curator said evenly.
Fink sighed. "Alright, allow me then." She pointed to Saber. "You must be new. I am Laura Fink, Regent of the Combat Institute of Silvercreek, Headmaster of the Division of Expedition. Don't blame our friendly museum staff for taking my side."
Dang it! This woman, right here, was our boss? Or rather, what was likely our boss's boss's boss…
"Please have the museum repeal the restraining orders," Saber said to Fink. "You know this isn't right."
"Please shut your mouth," Jack whispered to Saber.
Fink cocked a smirk at Saber's demand. "Oh? I can have it repealed. But do follow up your words with action, you who speak of honor. Win a duel against me, and I will grant your request. First to half health?"
"First to half health," Saber agreed. She drew her blade and took on a battle stance. "Just the two of us, and upon our honor. Ready yourself."
Fink motioned for the curator to back off. Three translucent, silver blades materialized around Fink, orbiting her in intricate, airborne weaves. Their surfaces were polished like mirrors, and they reflected the lamplight of the streets. I froze in cold sweat, watching wordlessly as the two combatants paced about. Jack dragged me away by the arm. Josh the Tee-guy stayed too, and watched dumbfoundedly with us.
With a wave of her hands, Fink launched all three floating swords toward Saber. In response, Saber charged ahead in a zigzag. She dodged the swords as they shot past her, and she flawlessly altered her direction as the swords circled around to strike her again. She'd feint pivots left and right, causing the aim of Fink's flying blades to falter. Her footsteps pelted upon the stone road like a rapid, erratic dance. Soon, she had closed the gap between herself and Fink.
Saber grasped her sword with both hands and wound it back, in preparation of a horizontal cut. A golden radiance, accompanied by arcs of lightning, engulfed her weapon.
"Second level skill," Saber announced. "Smite."
It turned out Saber wanted to take herself, me, and Jack out for dinner and a stroll around town.
"For team-bonding," she explained.
I was sure I had blushed. "That's not what a triple date means!" I shouted, my voice almost squeaking.
"Wait, then what's a triple date?"
"That's like three couples dating at the same time," I said. After that mini emotional roller-coaster my heart just went through, I decided to plop into bed to recuperate. Saber followed me into my room.
"Oh. Well," she said. "I suppose it could mean both."
No, no it doesn't! A triple date is NOT three friends hanging out!
"Anyways," she continued, "I feel like Jack's been left out as the new member. I just want to make sure he feels included."
"Huh. I suppose I could see that." But…perhaps Jack preferred it that way? After all, he had just lost his previous team. Maybe he needed more time before he'd be ready to bond with others again. "I mean, I'd be down," I finally said. Saber's suggestion seemed like a kind thing to do.
We made sure to grab Jack the one time we saw him in the afternoon, before he had a chance to disappear off by his lone assassin self.
Saber found Mr. Atlas upstairs in his room, downing a glass of brandy. "Mr. Atlas, want to join us too?"
"What for?"
"We're getting dinner, maybe at the steakhouse."
He gave a slight nod. “Mhm.”
"And then we'll probably visit the local museum."
"Oh, that's right," Mr. Atlas suddenly said. "I have work at night. How unfortunate. See you tomorrow."
Well, OK then.
Saber led Jack and me to the Eat Cow Tavern, a heavily-built wooden cabin at the outer rim of Ring Two, about a 10-minute walk away. A waiter with a pair of bat-like wings came and helped seat us at a table lit by lamplight. I tried not to stare, but he was the first person I had seen with abnormal physiology. I remembered that at the beginning, I had almost grown wings myself before opting to become a mage instead.
Saber and I split a dry-aged ribeye. Jack ordered chicken.
"Do you drink?" Saber asked him.
"I used to," he said. "But not tonight. Pretty sure death games are best played sober."
"Well, it'll be a couple months until the next challenge. But do what makes you the most comfortable."
Saber ordered red wine. Our steak came, and it was the most flavorful beef I had eaten in my life. The barely-crisped crust concealed its juicy interior, and the richness of the meat brought me close to shivers. Frankly, I was glad to have split it with Saber. Flavor concentrated so heavily in the steak, you'd be sated after a few bites. It was like how someone wouldn't eat an entire pound of chocolate bars by themself.
The strangers in the tavern chatted around us. Someone mentioned she reached level 3 after two seasonal challenges. She said her third ability was a game-changer, but did not elaborate.
Night fell by the time we went back outside. The wind blew coolly, billowing my new coat from the belt-down like a badass cape. My attention heightened in the darkness, in a refreshing way that woke me up to my senses. After a short walk through the streets, we arrived at the museum, a large cube-shaped building painted completely red. We went inside.
Paintings and sketches lined the walls of the first few rooms. Most were decent, but nothing too impressive. To be fair, you wouldn't get many da-Vincies from a small town of a thousand people.
"Look at that," Saber pointed out. She had found a shallot taped to the wall. It was a temporary exhibit piece.
We progressed inward, exploring the chambers of the museum. We found carved wooden statues of the little golems that ran down the lanes. We found a miniature model of the three-lane arena. The biggest chamber was dedicated to displaying magical artifacts. Or rather, mundane replicas of them. Placards under the displays detailed what the real version of each item did.
I examined a jagged longsword made of purple metal. WiltShard, the placard said. +10 Physical Damage. Upon damaging a target, applies "Wilting" for 5 seconds, causing all healing to be cut by half. Requires attunement.
Apparently, as a note-board on the wall explained, many combat-oriented magical items required "attunement," which meant forming a personal bond with the items. The process tended to be simple, such as holding onto an item for an hour. Or in WiltShard's case, you had to stain its edge with a single drop of your blood. Any player could attune to a max of three items at once.
Another item was a white mask, decorated with gold and ruby. Mask of Lost Shadows. +15 Arcana Points. Causes the wearer's magical attacks to also corrode their targets, dealing 10% max HP as damage over 5 seconds.
Mask of Lost Shadows
Jack came up and looked at it too. "Sounds like it hurts."
We came to a third item. Tear of Dionysus. Instantly replenishes 50% of your missing HP and 100% of your missing Mana. Another consumable item was kept next to it. Ultima Elixir. Allows the user a single use of their ultimate technique.
“Ultimate technique?” I wondered.
Near us, a guy in a white tee aimed his phone at Wiltshard’s placard. He snapped a picture or two. Smart. I’d be down to do the same for knowledge’s sake, had my phone — and Saber’s and Jack’s — not been long dead. It impressed me how Tee-guy still had battery left to spare.
"Hey, you!" a lady in a pine-green dress shouted at Tee-guy. "Taking pictures is against the rules." Stern displeasure barbed her voice.
"Oh yeah, right," the guy said. He put his phone away.
"Delete the picture," the lady ordered. She looked a little older than Saber, and the detailed, subtle embroidery on her dress screamed money. She wore her silver hair in a bob haircut.
"I did," the guy said.
"No you didn't," the lady insisted.
"I promise, I did."
"Give me your phone."
"No, the crap? Mind your own business!"
The lady reached toward Tee-guy's pocket, where he put his phone. He swatted her hand away.
"You touched me!" the lady shrieked in a deeply offended tone.
Saber approached the pair. "Ma'am, ma'am. Please calm down."
A museum staff in a dress shirt hurried toward us. A metal tag on her said "CURATOR".
The silver-haired lady stared at the curator, then at Saber, then at the Tee-guy. "He took a picture of the display," she complained.
Saber put her hands up defensively. "I know. It's alright."
"Yeah, geez," Tee-guy said. "Nothing to worry about," he told the curator. Then, he proceeded to walk away.
"Come back here –" the silver-haired lady demanded.
"Oh no, nuh-uh," Tee-guy said. "You best stay your ass away from me."
As the lady began to give chase, Saber clasped a hand on her shoulder.
"Ma'am, please –" Saber said.
The lady snapped her finger. A silver, translucent great-sword materialized in front of her, floating in the air. With a flick of her wrist, the sword shot forward at Tee-guy. The blade grazed by his leg, then buried its tip into the nearby wall. Tee-guy's phone hung upon the blade, pierced through the center like a kebab.
Oh no, oh crap. Why did people have to be like this?!
Tee-guy looked at the lady in bewilderment. A trickle of fresh blood ran down his leg.
"Everyone, out!" the curator shouted. "All of you, go to the front door, get out of the building. Now."
We complied. Tee-guy gave the silver-haired lady a thousand dirty stares on the way.
Once we were outside in the streets, the curator turned to talk to us.
"What's your name?" she asked Tee-guy.
"Josh," he said.
"Josh, I am placing a restraining order on you for your behavior. You are not welcome within 100 meters of the museum, or 100 meters of Ms. Fink here," she gestured at the silver-haired lady. "I will be filing a notice to the Guard's Guild. Everyone else, I apologize for the inconvenience. Feel free to enjoy the rest of your night."
"What?!" Saber and Josh said one right after the other. But then Josh threw his hands up into the air, in resignation.
"Alright, fine," he said. And he began to leave, but stopped when Saber paced toward him.
"No, it's not fine!" Saber said, eyes trained on the curator. "How is this fair? You were there, weren't you? You saw, he was the one that was attacked! His leg is still bleeding!"
"Taking pictures is against the rules," the curator said. "That's the end of the discussion. Thank you."
"Is this not injustice?" Saber asked the museum staff, speaking loudly to conceal the quiver in her voice. "You castigate innocent faults, yet excuse bloodshed! All because you know that lady, and her name? Where is your honor in this?"
"Saber," Jack hissed. "Stay out of it."
Fink smiled at the curator. "Explain your decision to them, sweetie."
"I am just doing my job," the curator said evenly.
Fink sighed. "Alright, allow me then." She pointed to Saber. "You must be new. I am Laura Fink, Regent of the Combat Institute of Silvercreek, Headmaster of the Division of Expedition. Don't blame our friendly museum staff for taking my side."
Dang it! This woman, right here, was our boss? Or rather, what was likely our boss's boss's boss…
"Please have the museum repeal the restraining orders," Saber said to Fink. "You know this isn't right."
"Please shut your mouth," Jack whispered to Saber.
Fink cocked a smirk at Saber's demand. "Oh? I can have it repealed. But do follow up your words with action, you who speak of honor. Win a duel against me, and I will grant your request. First to half health?"
"First to half health," Saber agreed. She drew her blade and took on a battle stance. "Just the two of us, and upon our honor. Ready yourself."
Fink motioned for the curator to back off. Three translucent, silver blades materialized around Fink, orbiting her in intricate, airborne weaves. Their surfaces were polished like mirrors, and they reflected the lamplight of the streets. I froze in cold sweat, watching wordlessly as the two combatants paced about. Jack dragged me away by the arm. Josh the Tee-guy stayed too, and watched dumbfoundedly with us.
With a wave of her hands, Fink launched all three floating swords toward Saber. In response, Saber charged ahead in a zigzag. She dodged the swords as they shot past her, and she flawlessly altered her direction as the swords circled around to strike her again. She'd feint pivots left and right, causing the aim of Fink's flying blades to falter. Her footsteps pelted upon the stone road like a rapid, erratic dance. Soon, she had closed the gap between herself and Fink.
Saber grasped her sword with both hands and wound it back, in preparation of a horizontal cut. A golden radiance, accompanied by arcs of lightning, engulfed her weapon.
"Second level skill," Saber announced. "Smite."
