Dragon's Tale 21

I wasn’t expecting much when I walked downstairs to the main hall of the trading outpost we were currently in, but what I had found managed to disappoint even those meager expectations. Rough furniture was haphazardly thrown around, each damaged enough to suggest that bar fights were a common pastime. The thick layer of smoke that filled the room not exactly helped to enhance the mood of the room. 

I let my gaze drag lazily around the room, noticing some curious eyes that were far too interested in my looks. One of them, a large man with several tribal tattoos covering his arms and half of his face, had a great dose of anger in his face. I didn’t even bother to keep eye contact with her, instead of meeting with the eyes of the waitress that was standing behind the bar. 

“May I have a tankard of ale and some food, sweetheart,” I said, letting my gaze dip down, devouring the sight of her body. She was wearing a tight bodice with a generous cleavage, and while her skirt was long enough to cover her knees, it was also tight enough to hint at the beauty of her toned legs. Combined with her honey-blonde hair, her shining blue eyes, and deliciously plump body, she was a tasty sample. 

Of course, I didn’t take it as an example of my charm when she giggled playfully before started filling my tankard. Her beauty was clearly a part of the service here, and considering she was still happy and cheerful, the trading post had enough muscle to dissuade anyone that felt like being too enthusiastic with their attention. 

I noticed her expression suddenly stiffening before I heard the stomping footsteps closing in. I shifted in my chair to look the other way, but I didn’t stand up, not even when the tattooed big guy stood in front of me, doing his best to look menacing as he grabbed his dagger, three other men just a step behind him. I looked at him lazily, my smirk just wide enough to stroke his anger further. 

“So, you’re finally awake,” he said with a gruff voice. 

“I know you, how?” I answered, followed by an amused chuckle. I wasn’t afraid of them, simply because they were standing too close together. All I needed was to push the big guy back, and all four would be tangled together at least for a moment, which would be a deadly mistake in any kind of battle. 

“You owe me a nice beating because of the bitches that was carrying you like a pathetic carcass,” he said gruffly as he leaned forward, our faces separated by inches. “I didn’t hurt them because they were women, and they have better uses, but for you, I have more interesting plans.” 

People at the bar were watching us in lazy amusement until the tattooed man pulled his dagger. Silence ruled the room for a moment, suggesting that while barfights were common here, real combat was much rarer. 

Still, I couldn’t help but frown as I blocked his arm before his swing could pick up speed. My assailant had reached his dagger too quickly. Something wasn’t right. 

So, I made sure to keep an eye on my surroundings even as I pushed him back, forcing him to tangle with his friends. “Feeling a bit cowardly, big guy?” I stated rather than following up, even as I spread a thin layer of magic from my body, as little as I could manage, to establish a connection with the runic protection scheme I left back in my room. It was clearly a distraction, and there was only one reason to distract me. 

My instincts turned out to be right, because it wasn’t only my own magic that I could feel from the protective wards. Foreign magic was trying to penetrate the outer layer, quite skillfully I might add. Unfortunately for my mystery assailant, even before my Ascension, my runic wards were unrivaled. Now that they were backed up with the boundless powers of a Sorcerer, it was impossible for them to penetrate it in just a moment. 

Secure in the knowledge that my room was protected, I punched one of the goons before dodging the punch of another one, intentionally stretching the encounter. It was becoming clear that whoever wanted to enter my room had either bribed or manipulated the four idiots that were attacking me. And considering they hadn’t tried anything when I was in the room, they had to know I was the dangerous one, something a casual observer wouldn’t know since I was unconscious when we first arrived at the trading post. 

My mysterious opponent struck again, I reasoned. I didn’t push to finish the combat immediately, because I wanted to present them with a better target, forcing them to spend their cards. The more I revealed about my opponents, the better. “Come on, big guy, you can do better,” I called even as I grabbed the wrist of one of the goons, and with a practiced twist, forced his arm off its shoulder-socket. 

The goon let out a cry loud enough to make my ears ring, while the other three dashed toward me, trying to drown me in numbers. However, as I ducked and weaved through the punches, I noticed a small man, wearing furs and carrying a bow, moved closer to the fight with a practiced intent. I expected him to put that bow to use, or join the battle with a dagger, trying to ambush me. 

Which was why I was rather surprised when he used the distraction of the barmaid to reach over my drink and flick his ring. A few drops of clear liquid easily slipped into my drink without anyone else —except me— realizing it. 

I felt myself chill. Not because of the possibility of being poisoned, but by the rather impressive skill my prospective assassin had displayed. And not just the skills itself, but the effort it would have taken to communicate with an Assassin and direct him to a trading post in the middle of nowhere. We had been in this trading post just for a few days, and the fact that they were able to arrange such a thing proved their information-gathering capabilities as well as their reach. 

Despite the realization, however, I continued to fight in a flashy manner, not alerting my professional observers that I had long noticed their ploy. “How does it feel to be the punching bag,” I shouted loudly as I punched my tattooed assailant once more, and he collapsed. 

Before he could stand up, the guards arrived and grabbed him, as well as his three friends. One of the guards turned toward me, probably to subject me to the same treatment, but he stopped when the barmaid waved her hand. 

“It’s nice to exercise before eating,” I said after I took my seat at the bar, smiling at the blonde barmaid. 

She giggled. “It was a good show, but it’s good to see you moving around. When your friends brought you here, you were no different than dead.” 

I shrugged. “I’m a good fighter, but sometimes, I miscalculate,” I explained as I touched my temple, implying that my unconsciousness was about a physical injury, likely a concussion. From the corner of my eye, I could see the hunter that poisoned my drink watching me carefully. After the fight, he wasn’t the only one that was watching me, but he was the only one that was watching me with an icy gaze. 

I brought the tankard to my lips, taking a fake-sip while I dragged my finger on the bottom of the tankard. I put it down the moment the rune was completed, helping me to channel my magic into the tankard without being obvious. The subtle glow was a bit annoying, but I put the tankard back on the bar before it started glowing, hiding it from the view. 

“Even the best have their off-days, I suppose,” she said flirtatiously, complete with a wink. “Luckily, today is not one of them.” 

“I suppose not,” I answered even as I slowly filled the tankard with my magic, using it to separate the poison from the drink, and collecting it on the bottom. Only after the poison was secured and the drink was safe, I took a long sip, tricking my would-be-assassin that his ploy was successful. 

Even as I savored the bitter taste of the ale, I continued analyzing the poison. Except for the rare conditions, it was hard to identify poisons easily. Even if one was familiar with the exact poison that had been used, several different spells were required to make sure the identification was correct. 

Hence, I was surprised when I was able to recognize it easily. 

It was the Nectar of Pluto! 

It took everything I had to suppress my panic, not because of the potential effects of the poison —though they were rather scary— but the implications it carried. 

Nectar of Pluto was a special poison designed to deal with particularly troublesome mages without mobilizing a large team. It was effective, because once ingested, it directly attached itself to the target’s magic, completely spreading into it in a few minutes, before it started to erode it. I doubted that it would be effective against me after my Ascension —a Sorcerer’s magic wasn’t easy to manipulate— but before that, I wouldn’t survive. I know that, because my grandfather had poisoned me with it before I left for school in another crazy lesson of his. 

However, the real problem was the source of it. Nectar of Neptune was a substance that was strictly controlled by the Temple of Pluto, and it was only used after a high-level approval. Someone on the at least governor or senator level needed to approve it personally to requisition it for their needs. Even for them, a couple of dosages every year was the limit. 

Excellent, I thought panickedly, though I kept my gaze straight. My enemies were willing to waste some very precious resources to deal with me —or worse, they had an abundance of a restricted substance like Nectar of Pluto, which was even worse than the alternative. 

I needed to act, I decided. Luckily, my excuse to act was standing in front of me, watching me with shining blue eyes. “So,” I whispered playfully even as I turned my best smile toward the barmaid. “Is there compensation for proper display of heroics?” I asked. 

“You’re very forward,” she whispered back, but smiling nonetheless. “Aren’t your lady friends enough to fulfill your beastly desires?” 

“Evidenced by the fact that they are sleeping in my room, exhausted, while I’m trying to find a nice way to spend my time, evidently not,” I answered back.

“Bullshit,” she whispered back, but she still giggled. “There’s no way you can put these two down and still look for more. Are you sure it was you that exhausted them, and they didn’t fell asleep from boredom?” 

“It sounds like a challenge,” I said even as I let the presence of my magic blanket her tight, the slight pressure enhancing her arousal further —not that I needed to work too hard, she was fighting with her own arousal since she had watched me methodically beat down four men with nothing more than my fists. The trick with my magical aura was just overkill. 

She pulled back like nothing had been said, but made a point of winking at me. It was a subtle thing, one that avoided the attention of most of the crowd, but not the assassin that was watching us with a sharp gaze. Luckily, I didn’t care about it. 

Instead, I watched the sexy barmaid run around, making a show of business, while I made a show of finishing two-thirds of the tankard, convincing my assassin that I had been properly poisoned, and all he needed was to wait for a few minutes for his success. 

Upstairs, someone else was still trying to break through my wards methodically, but with very little success. 

“Harold, we’re out of spices, I’m going to the basement to get a new batch,” the barmaid explained to the sleepy guard that was standing next to the bar. The guard nodded after looking at the empty urn, but he missed earlier when the barmaid had dipped the same urn into the garbage, getting rid of the extra. 

“Do you need any help reaching it, Elva?” said the guard, but his bored tone suggested that it was the last thing he wanted. His loss, my gain. 

“No, after the fight, we have a mess. It’s for the best if you stay here,” the barmaid —whose name was Elva, as I just learned— while walked out and took the stairs toward the lower level. I waited a minute, just enough to make it less suspicious for the rest of the patrons while also convincing my assassin that I was looking for a quick lay, I continued, still carrying my tankard with me. 

It might be a ploy, but I was excited about what awaited me downstairs.