The scent of woodsmoke and fresh-baked bread replaced the coppery smell of blood and death. After a tense, silent journey, they arrived at the town of Lavior Blue, a quiet village nestled in the shadow of a colossal, blue-hued mountain. It was a stark contrast to the corrupted forest they had just escaped. The people here moved with a sense of peace that Liriel had forgotten existed, and for a moment, Rohan felt a sense of relief wash over him.
They found a small, cozy tavern and settled in. Liriel, still bruised and battered, sat in silence. He then slammed a heavy hand on the table. "It's beer time, you c*nts," he announced, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. He ordered eight mugs of the strongest ale the tavern had, and when they arrived, he took a long, deep gulp, the liquid seeming to soothe his battered body. Rohan, with the heavy beam rifle resting on the table beside him, watched, a silent observer in a world he was now a part of.
"Rohan," Lyra said, her voice a soft, gentle whisper. "Can you show me the equipment? The beam rifle?"
Rohan, surprised by her request, nodded. He picked up the rifle and handed it to her. She held it in her hands, her eyes wide with professional, nerdy excitement. She closed her eyes for a moment, her face a mask of intense focus. She then opened them, her eyes sparkling with a wicked glee.
"It's real!" she said, her voice filled with a childlike wonder. "It's new! I've never seen anything like it." Lyra, a Lore Hunter, had a passive skill that allowed her to read an item's description simply by holding it. She looked at the rifle, and a line of text, appeared out of nowhere.
Ascended Item: Behemoth's Respite.
This weapon, forged from the crystallized rage of an Ascended Behemoth, fires a single beam of pure light. Its power is unparalleled, but its use comes at a cost. It can be fired once per day, and its destructive force is such that it can cause a permanent change in the landscape.
Lyra gasped. "It's real, Liriel. The ascended equipment. It definitely wasn't in the game. But it's real."
Liriel ignored her "boring talks," as he thought of them. For him, it was just another tantrum from his companion after she saw a new piece of equipment.
The tavern was bustling with the low hum of conversation and the clinking of mugs. A group of players, their faces a mix of desperation and hope, were crowded around a table in the corner. They were playing a game of poker, their faces a mix of intense focus and reckless abandon. In the center of it all was a girl with a mischievous glint in her eyes and a deck of cards in her hand.
She was young, with a wild cascade of black hair and a smirk that seemed permanently etched on her face. Her clothes were a mismatched collection of leather and silk, a clear sign of a traveler who lived by her wits. She laughed as she won a pot, her eyes sparkling with a wicked glee.
"You should know better than to bet against me, nya," she said, her voice a low, husky purr. "I always win."
The players around her, a group of burly warriors and a few nervous-looking mages, grumbled. She was a master of the game, a gambler who played with a kind of reckless grace that was mesmerizing to watch.
Rohan watched her, a flicker of professional awe in his eyes. He had seen her type before in the game. She was a Gambler. Some people in the game gambled their equipment or currency to get double, but it always ended in loss.
Liriel, now drunk, finally spoke. "Hey, pu*sy," he said. "I have a bet for you."
The burly bartender, wiping a glass, leaned in and said, "You're climbing the wrong tree, young man. She's Mizuki the Mischievous."
Liriel ignored him. "No one can handle beer like Brutus," he said, his words slurring together. "He was my only drinking partner. Can your p*ssy handle it?" He gestured to the full mugs on their table. "I'll bet you a hundred gold pieces that I can drink more than you."
Mizuki laughed, a low, purring sound. She sauntered over, her tail swishing behind her. "I always win, nya. I'll accept your bet." She then looked at Rohan, her eyes lingering on the Behemoth's Respite, the weapon of immense power on the table. "But on one condition," she purred. "If I win, you give me your beam rifle."
Liriel's cruel smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, sober fury. "Bet, it was useless in the NPC's hands anyway," he muttered, his eyes still fixed on Mizuki.
Rohan, who had been a silent observer for so long, finally spoke. "We.." he said, his voice quiet but firm. "We shouldn't... gamble."
"You heard him!" Lyra's voice was a cracked whisper, laced with desperation. "Liriel, you can't! That's not just some random piece of loot. That's a legend! A lore-lover's dream. It's a one-of-a-kind artifact! You can't just lose it in some dumbass bet!"
"Shut up, women! It's not like you contributed in the fight or anything to help get that artifact," Liriel snapped, his voice thick with ale. Lyra fell silent, a hurt look on her face.
Liriel then looked at Rohan. "Come on, NPC, it's not like I'll lose. Man up sometimes, don't be a bitch."
"Bu-but..." Rohan stammered, still trying to voice his objections.
Before Rohan could finish, Liriel snatched the Behemoth's Respite beam rifle from his hands. He was clearly not in his right mind, his grief and drunkenness fueling his arrogance.
Mizuki looked at the weapon, her eyes sparkling. "Alright, pretty boy, let's see what nya got," she purred. "If I win, I'll get nyat gun, and if you win, let's see..."
"You'll lick my boots, saying this pu*sy can't handle Lord Liriel's greatness," Liriel declared with a drunken swagger.
Mizuki's smirk widened. "Alright, bring it nyon," she said, her tail giving a confident flick.
They sat at a small table, and the waiter started bringing one mug after another. Liriel was still confident in his victory, and the tavern crowd cheered. But something was not right. After ten mugs, Liriel started to show weakness, his movements becoming clumsy, his face a deep crimson. The catperson, however, was unfazed.
"It's still too early for you to drink, don't nya think?" Mizuki taunted, a playful glint in her eyes. "Your momma is waiting with milk right about now."
Liriel's anger flared. "Oi, oi! I see you acting well and fine, but I know your facade won't last, pu*sy."
The jugs kept piling on, but Mizuki's face was a mask of placid indifference. The crowd, sensing a spectacle, was completely absorbed, their cheers and murmurs rising with each empty jug. When the number of jugs reached thirty, Liriel's impression of confidence began to wobble.
"So..." he slurred, pointing a shaky finger at Mizuki. "How are you holding up, pu***sy?" A cruel, drunken smirk came on his face. "Is it w*t yet?"
Then, without another word, he dropped to the table, out cold.
Mizuki, still unfazed, looked down at Liriel. "A man with a big mouth, pitiful," she said, and took the gun from his hand. The crowd erupted in laughter, and the waiter, shaking his head, leaned in. "I warned this idiot, but he wouldn't listen. Must be a C-grade hero."
Another man joined him. "His party must be as useless as him."
Lyra, holding her anger in, was just about to lash out when Rohan suddenly spoke. "Stop," he said, his voice quiet but firm. "Stop insulting my friend. That guy... no matter what kind of guy he is, he is a real, breathing hero, a much better person than all of you retards can ever be."
Mizuki, seeing the fire in his eyes, found him interesting. "So what? It didn't erase the fact nya that he made a fool of himself. Come on, kid, get that loser and get nyost."
Rohan held his ground. "First of all, you're also a kid. And second, we don't want anything to do with you."
"Yeah, yeah, get nyo..." Mizuki's words cut off when she spotted something in Rohan's pouch. Her eyes, with their feline pupils, widened in shock. "Hey, errand boy, is that the Sylvan Potion Pouch? The one which can hold an infinite number of potions?"
The crowd started whispering. "Is it true?" "That legendary potion actually exists?"
"May... maybe it is, maybe it isn't," Rohan stammered, trying to sound tough. "What's it to you?"
Mizuki's smirk returned. "Hey, kid, what do you say we have another match? If you win, you get this bad boy back," she said, gesturing to the gun. "And if you lose, I get that potion."
"N-no. Why would I do something as foolish as that? I don't want to be related to you in any way," Rohan said, his voice filled with a desperate resolve.
Lyra, who was holding Liriel, pulled on Rohan's shirt, tears in her eyes. "Can you do it, please?"
Rohan was confused. Did she want him to risk that artifact for their pride?
"I know that idiot lost, and now the right to that weapon is gone," Lyra said, her voice a cracked whisper. "But I know that dumbo will cry his heart out when he comes to his senses alone, suffering somewhere, blaming himself."
Rohan, who had been a silent observer for so long, turned to her. "Let... let that buffoon cry. Why should I care? He should get a lesson for acting out like that. Crying for losing is pathetic."
"It's not just that," Lyra said, tears streaming down her face. "Brutus, our friend, he gave his life away for Liriel to defeat behemoth. If Liriel would have been in his sound mi-"
Her words were cut off by Rohan, who turned back to Mizuki, his face a stoic mask of determination. "Hey, pu*sy, the deal is on."