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the end, the trio decided to forgo the "local customs" of the Dragonspire Empire.
It wasn't that they lacked curiosity, but rather that they were unfamiliar with the territory. Caution was the In better part of valor—especially when "local customs" implied brothels.
This reasoning received unanimous approval. Instead, they settled for a nearby tavern.
The establishment was run by Dragonspire locals and packed to the rafters. The three found a corner spot at the counter and ordered large mugs of the local brew.
The beer had a deep amber hue. It tasted bitter upon the first sip but left a fragrant, malty aftertaste. Caelan, not a heavy drinker in either of his lives, estimated the alcohol content to be below thirty percent—strong, but manageable.
"How are you two preparing for this year's Academy Tournament?" Caelan asked, casually opening a topic. "Do you have confidence in taking first place?"
"There isn't much to prepare for. We've both been stuck at the Fifth Circle bottleneck for a long time," Cassius said, shaking his head. "Everyone is a first-year student, and few have made a name for themselves yet, so it's hard to gauge the competition. We'll just do our best."
Victor took a massive gulp of beer and wiped his mouth. "I think Cassius and I are definitely among the top seeds. But since we primarily cultivate martial arts, the rules screw us over. We aren't allowed to bring weapons. If we were, I'd be absolutely confident in securing a top-three spot."
Caelan blinked. "The competition doesn't allow weapons?"
"It's a balancing strategy," Cassius explained. "At close range, a Martial Master has too much of an advantage against a Mage. Without weapons, the playing field is leveled slightly."
"Leveled? It's rigged," Victor grumbled. "That rule was set years ago specifically to target the Moonwatch Empire. Everyone knows we focus on martial arts. In the early competitions, we crushed them. Since the other empires couldn't win, they ganged up and changed the rules."
Victor slammed his mug down. "Now, the proportion of martial artists worldwide exceeds fifty percent—even Dragonspire and Frostpeak are catching up to us. Yet the higher-ups still cater to those self-righteous mages. Don't they understand that dual cultivation of martial arts and magic is the future?"
Cassius nodded in agreement.
Caelan raised his hand. "Hey. Don't forget I'm primarily a mage."
The two looked at him and said in unison, "Just stick to making your games, Illusion God."
They chatted and boasted for a while longer, but a rising commotion behind them soon drew their attention.
At first, they ignored it—it was a tavern, after all. But as the noise from the rest of the room died down, the source of the disturbance became obvious.
Victor turned to look, then nudged Caelan with his elbow. "Caelan. They're playing your game."
Caelan followed Victor's gaze. Two men were sitting at a table near the high platform, playing Crimson Fortress. One of them looked familiar; Caelan searched his mind palace and realized it was the customer who had bought the game at the checkpoint waiting hall earlier that afternoon.
The buyer was half-playing, half-showing off to the surrounding audience. He wore a smug expression, explaining the plot as if educating a room full of country bumpkins.
Naturally, this arrogance rubbed some locals the wrong way.
"What's there to be proud of?" a bystander scoffed. "It's just an Illusion Game. My son's classmate has one. It's called 'Picking Mushrooms' or something. It's much more fun than yours."
The player immediately sneered. "What 'Picking Mushrooms'? That's Super Mario! And this game isn't some plumber jumping around. This is Crimson Fortress. It depicts the history of the Abyssal Invasion of Sevenstone City."
"Sevenstone City was invaded by the Abyss? When did that happen?" someone asked.
"I don't know. Never heard of it."
"Where is Sevenstone City? Why haven't I heard of it?"
The young man playing the game faltered. He didn't know the history either, so he simply pulled out the game's instruction manual runestone and projected the text.
"Something from over a thousand years ago? Who remembers that?"
"Twenty thousand people died! You don't think that's a big deal?"
"Compared to other Abyssal Invasions? No, actually, that's a pretty low casualty count."
The tavern erupted into a heated debate about history and lore.
"It seems even the locals haven't heard much about this specific event," Victor whispered. "Caelan, where did you dig this up?"
Caelan couldn't exactly say he found a vaguely similar plot and shoehorned it into the game's code. "I stumbled upon it by chance in an old library book," he lied smoothly.
Suddenly, a drunken young man stumbled out of the crowd. He swayed toward the table and stammered, "You... you... how much did you buy this for?"
The player glanced up. "What? You want to buy one too? You'll have to try your luck at the southeastern border station. Maybe that Illusionist seller is still there."
"Sell... sell this to me," the drunk demanded. "How about it?"
The player replied without turning his head, clearly trying to price-gouge. "Sure. Five Gold Crowns."
"That... that expensive?"
A bystander intervened. "Hey, don't listen to him. There's a merchant in the East City selling these for fifty silver marks."
Both the player and the drunk froze.
"Fifty silver marks?" they exclaimed in unison.
The player was shocked because he had bought it for five silver marks and realized the local merchants were marking it up tenfold.
The drunk was furious because this kid was trying to sell it to him for five Gold Crowns—a hundred times the original price.
Caelan and his friends were equally stunned.
"Caelan," Cassius whispered. "What was the wholesale price you sold to those merchants?"
"4.5 silver marks," Caelan replied blankly.
He felt a physical ache in his chest. He was making pennies while these merchants were making a killing.
"Holy crap," Victor hissed. "I want to get into this business."
Before Caelan could reply, chaos erupted.
The drunken man suddenly lunged forward, snatched the engraved runestone off the table, and bolted for the door.
The tavern went silent.
It wasn't until the thief had disappeared into the night that the two players snapped out of their stupor.
"Damn it! He actually robbed us!" the owner screamed. "I'll chase him! You go report to the guards!"
They rushed out in pursuit.
The tavern immediately recovered, filling with laughter and discussion about the absurdity of the event.
"I don't get it," Victor said, looking confused. "Do people really rob others for something worth five silver marks?"
"In the drunk's mind," Caelan said expressionlessly, "that thing was worth fifty silver marks. Or maybe even five Gold Crowns."
"Even fifty silver marks isn't worth a robbery charge, is it? Isn't robbery a minimum three-year sentence?"
"Dragonspire's laws aren't that severe," Cassius noted.
"Robbery is three years here too," Caelan corrected. "But the definition is vague. This might be judged as simple theft... regardless, snatching a runestone in front of a hundred witnesses? I don't even know how to comment on that level of stupidity."
The three sat in silence for a moment.
Then, they burst into laughter. They unanimously agreed that excessive drinking harmed not only the liver but also the brain.
"Let's drink less tonight," Caelan concluded, putting down his mug.
PLZ THROW POWERSTONES