It’s NUTS!

Wolfgang turns to Amber. “Yeah, so Amber, I’d like to procure a weapon of finesse. And if I recall correctly, you recommended the Ironclad shop.”

Amber nods. “Yes, monsieur. Oui, oui. If you want a repair or daggers of any kind, we have to go to the Ironclad. I think they can also match a nice heft to your stature—maybe ivory, or a bejeweled handle for the finesse weapon. So we have to go there.”

“Excellent ideas,” Wolfgang replies. “I’m not sure if I need the rapier bejeweled for this part of my adventure, but I’m sure we can make a refined version later on. How far would this Ironclad be, by foot or by carriage, Miss Ablaze?”

Amber answers easily, “Of course, monsieur. It’s a 15-minute walk. I think we should walk—it’s about the same time as getting a carriage, driving there, and paying. As long as we don’t forget to pay, of course. So, I’d suggest a little walk.”

Daiki quietly says, “Sorry.”

Wolfgang looks toward him. “Splendid, Miss Ablaze. Am I correct to understand that the weather cleared?”

Amber shrugs. “Well, I’m not suffering from a little bit of rain, but I can understand. Maybe you don’t want your impeccable feathers to get wet. I will check.” She stands, walks out of the room, and heads toward the front of the building—not the back.

It takes her some time to get there. As she reaches the front door, Montgomery calls out: “Excuse me, miss, I thought you would not take this door without Mr. Rüppelshammer.” She opens it anyway and sees rain still pouring down.

“Monsieur, I thought it was only about getting in,” she mutters. “If you also mind me getting out, I will, of course, return.” She closes the door again and walks back to Wolfgang. “It is raining anyway, so it doesn’t matter. By the way, Mr. Montgomery does not like me—he only allows me in when I’m with you, so this is very annoying. But it is still raining, monsieur, so wear whatever you prefer.”

“You act surprised,” Wolfgang says.

Amber blinks. “Excuse me?”

Wolfgang turns to Daiki. “My apologies, Mr. Daiki. Were we interrupting you?”

Daiki shakes his head. “I just wondered why I was looking into my special weather forecasting thing when you were going to send someone outside to check the weather anyway. I had to do a little magical spell to check today’s forecast. But I don’t mind.” He pauses. “The real question I had was: why walk or take a carriage if you have wings to fly?”

Wolfgang smiles slightly. “I’d like your reasoning, and I’d like to explore more of your magical skills. As for my travel method—not all companions can fly across the city. It might raise attention. So I prefer to take a carriage, or go by foot for shorter distances.”

Daiki raises an eyebrow. “But everyone sees you have wings. Wouldn’t they just be like, ‘Oh, it’s a big bird, yay,’ and carry on with their day?”

“To be frank,” Wolfgang says, “most people will not judge me as a bird of any kind, but acknowledge me as part of the folk community of this great kingdom.”

Daiki nods. “I was just wondering. Feel free to go—I’ll wait here with Ash and think of a plan for tonight, perhaps.”

Wolfgang glances around. “Anyone else need something from the shop? Miss Ashira? Mr. Masaki?”

Daiki shrugs. “I don’t know. No?”

Masaki speaks up. “Rüppelshammer-sama, I’m all clear. I don’t need any other weapons or rations.”

Wolfgang turns to Ashira. “About you, Miss Ashira?”

Daiki echoes, “Need anything?”

Wolfgang nods. “Excellent.”

Amber grins. “Except, of course, for six sugar cubes—because I saw you take them from the—”

“I’ve got those already,” Ash says. “They were free here, right?”

Amber finishes, “—door. Of course. Against you.”

Wolfgang adjusts his posture. “Let me please get my travel coat. We’ll meet in three minutes at the front door, Miss Ablaze.”

Amber adds, “If you mean by front door the inside of the front door—yes. Outside, I might need a bit more time, because I have to walk all around the building.”

---

The path takes Wolfgang and Amber straight through the center, and the surroundings shift into elegant, well-kept neighborhoods. Grand buildings rise around them—homes of the noble and wealthy, each with more space, more refinement, and touches of greenery. Small parks break up the urban sprawl with manicured trees and quiet corners. It’s beautiful here.

As they continue, the towering structure of the Dawnbringers Cathedral comes into view. Its presence dominates the skyline, crowned with multiple spires that reach into the sky. Somewhere in one of those towers, though it’s impossible to tell which, hangs the Cloister Bell—a city landmark tied to its earliest clerics. They’ve all heard of it before, a relic of the city’s spiritual beginnings.

Crossing the main plaza, they pass a wide-open space often used for public gatherings—festivals, announcements, performances. It’s a place that hums with the memory of countless voices.

Eventually, they reach the southern part of the inner city, where power and protection converge. Here stands the Manor of Lord Weiss, the headquarters of the Mage Guard, and finally, their destination: the Ironclad Armory.

The armory is impressive. Its exterior is decorated with armor displays and a striking sign reading Ironclad—the letters forged from what looks like interlocking chains. The front door stands open, in line with the shop’s open-door policy, welcoming any who pass by.

Amber steps inside first. She doesn’t know the current owner—this isn’t one of her usual contacts—but that doesn’t stop her. “Oui, oui, oui,” she hums softly as she enters.

Wolfgang follows closely behind her.

The interior of Ironclad is as polished as its exterior. A wide counter stretches across the shop—not for drinks, but to separate customers from the wares and the attendant behind it. A purple-skinned tiefling stands there, his horns curling upward, watching them with practiced calm. Tieflings are a common sight in this city, but this one commands attention.

Weapons line the walls—flails, maces, rapiers, longswords, greatswords. Armor too, both leather and metal, hangs neatly on racks. The whole space feels curated, but practical.

The tiefling greets them with a warm, professional tone. “Ah, good day. How can I help you?”

Amber steps forward and gently closes the open door behind her. She doesn’t like the idea of leaving it wide open for everyone to see who comes and goes. “Bonjour, monsieur,” she says with a small smile. “We are new clients here, my dear.”

The tiefling smiles back. “Welcome, welcome.”

Amber steps forward with a charming smile. “Merci, my dear friend here would like to acquire a finesse weapon,” she says, gesturing toward Wolfgang.

Wolfgang offers a polite nod. “Thank you for your introductions, Miss Ablaze,” he says, then turns to browse. Amber, meanwhile, takes up a position at the door—arms crossed, back straight, exuding authority. She stands like a sentinel, quietly observing, letting Wolfgang lead the exchange.

The shop is empty of other customers. Weapons and armor fill the space—bows hang beside swords, with gear grouped roughly between a weapon section and an armor section. The tiefling shopkeeper introduces himself with a courteous bow. “Call me Morgan. Morgan Morningstar.”

“A splendid name for one who holds Ironclad Armory,” Wolfgang replies smoothly. “I’m looking for a melee weapon—something martial, with finesse.”

Morgan nods. “Would you like it decorative, or do you expect to use it in battle?”

“Functional, but refined,” Wolfgang replies. “Please show me your wares—rapier, scimitar, dagger, short sword… something sharp.”

Morgan disappears briefly into the back and returns with a box. He opens it to reveal an ornate rapier, inlaid with rubies and sapphires. “One of our finest,” he says. “Handmade, sharpened this morning.”

Wolfgang lifts the weapon, testing its balance with care. “The balance of this rapier is exquisite,” he murmurs, making a practiced sweep in front of him—pointed just near Amber, though she stands well out of range.

Amber approaches the counter, glancing at the weapon. “It is very beautiful, but very… Eichler. Could you show us something for comparison? Just to understand the range of your wares.”

“Of course,” Morgan replies, “but I must take this piece with me—it’s quite valuable.”

Amber steps back again, clearly uneasy. She murmurs to herself about not trusting a shopkeeper who brings out his shiniest piece first.

Wolfgang plays with the rapier, pointing it directly at Amber, who’s still standing in front of the door, in the back of the shop. Amber raises a brow. “Monsieur Wolfgang, pointing a weapon at me? Not professional.”

“This is extremely professional. No harm intended,” Wolfgang replies coolly.

Wolfgang hands the rapier back. “It’s functional and ceremonial. It would suit my estate—but perhaps not the road.” Morgan nods and secures the weapon in its case.

Morgan returns shortly with another case. This time, he opens it to reveal a silvered short sword. “Less decorative. Still of the highest quality. Sharpened this morning.”

Wolfgang tests its weight. Amber watches closely from her post, doing her own mental calculations. Both of them estimate the value—around 110 gold pieces, give or take, considering shop markup.

“It reminds me of home,” Wolfgang muses. “Our elite troops carried silvered weapons for hunting creatures of the night.”

“Yes,” Amber adds. “It’s common knowledge—lycanthropes, undead, moon-touched beasts.”

Morgan nods approvingly. “Indeed. You have good instincts.”

Wolfgang considers the short sword. “A weapon of great finesse. And much less conspicuous.”

Amber, half-joking, gestures to a javelin on her back. “If you want something strong, I have one right here. It reaches closer than your rapier.” She draws it from her back, pointing it at Wolfgang as a playful pay-back. 

“Oh, Miss Ablaze,” Wolfgang grins. “Such a danger to my identity. Are you attacking me?”

“Please,” Morgan interrupts, stern now. “Do not play with the weapons. It gives the wrong impression of the store.”

Amber folds her arms. “Monsieur, I keep the doors closed. No one sees us but you.”

“I do,” Morgan retorts. “And I have my own respectability to maintain.”

“As long as we pay you,” Amber shrugs, “there’s no damage.”

“You have not paid me,” Morgan replies curtly.

Wolfgang offers a nod of apology. “Thank you, Mr. Morningstar.”

Morgan’s tone softens. “If you’d like to handle it more, feel free. But the one you’re holding isn’t mine.”

Amber responds, “Bien sûr, monsieur.”

“Please, Miss Ablaze,” Wolfgang adds gently.

Morgan inclines his head. “Thank you very much.”

Wolfgang scans the shop’s display with interest. “What else do you have on display, if I may inquire?”

The shopkeeper, Mr. Morningstar, nods. “Looking for something more short-ranged?”

“Exactly.”

He disappears briefly, then returns. “I might have something like a dagger.”

Wolfgang’s eyes light up. “Do you have a kian? A small, single-edged knife. We wear it tucked into our kilt hose.”

“I think I’ve got something close,” Morningstar says, vanishing again. He soon reappears with a small box. Inside lies a sleek, curved dagger, set with tiny gems and a purplish glow along the blade’s edge.

“How about this one?”

Wolfgang tests the weight. “It’s lighter… What are these stones? Black? Purple?”

“Purple tint in the metal. Not magical, just the alloy.”

“And the price?”

“105 gold. A bargain.”

Amber, nearby, snorts. “We nearly paid that for a short sword. This is a tiny dagger.”

“Would you mind if I take a look?” she asks Wolfgang.

“Please,” he says, handing it over.

Amber examines it with a critical eye. “Too small. Decent grip. But this isn’t worth 105 gold.”

“The gems raise the price,” Morningstar explains.

Wolfgang shakes his head. “Aesthetic is fine, but I don’t want to lose a bejeweled blade in the field.”

“I’ll bring something simpler.”

He returns with a plain, leather-wrapped dagger. No gems. No glow.

“This one?”

Wolfgang tests it. Balanced, unremarkable, but solid. “How much?”

“40 gold.”

Wolfgang arches a brow. “Still steep for something so plain.”

Morningstar stiffens. “This is our lowest price. We serve elite clientele.”

Wolfgang remains composed. “You could’ve earned new customers today. Instead, we walk.”

“Fine,” the shopkeeper relents. “30 gold.”

Amber scoffs. “I’ve seen better for half that.”

Wolfgang hands the dagger back. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Morningstar.”

“You might prefer the Stone and Steel down the road,” Morningstar offers with thinly veiled sarcasm.

“Very kind of you,” Wolfgang replies.

Amber holds the door dramatically, lets him through, and slams it shut. “Never coming back here.”

Wolfgang sighs. “Your recommendation was well-meant, I’m sure.”

“Oui, désolé,” Amber says. “I heard good things, but clearly, not about the pricing.”

---

Daiki sits near the back of the inn, absentmindedly crunching on what he thinks might be a biscuit. “I don’t even know what a biscuit is,” he murmurs to Ashira with a half-smile. “I think it’s just… processed food? But crunchy.” He shrugs, content to wait and chat as the rain drums gently outside.

The downpour continues, steady and rhythmic. A thought sparks in his mind — the towels. Everyone at the inn hates wet footprints and soggy clothes. So, in his usual straightforward way, Daiki strips down and heads out the back door, leaving his damp clothes behind.

He steps into the garden — a quiet, hidden spot behind the inn, normally meant for leisurely strolls on sunny days. Now, it’s slick with rain and empty. Daiki doesn’t notice, nor care, that some guest rooms overlook the garden. He simply raises his face to the sky, arms relaxed, soaking in the rain like a tree drinking through its roots.

The scent of wet stone and earth fills the air. “Sometimes the city is too much,” he mutters, eyes closed. “This… this is better.” Ash joins Daiki, unphased by his naked exterior, splashing with her feet in the puddles that are forming in the tiny square of the Fishing Kingfisher.

Unaware of how wildly inappropriate this might seem to others, Daiki simply enjoys his “free shower,” already looking forward to drying off with one of the inn’s luxuriously pine-scented towels.

---

Masaki, wanting to make good use of the downtime, decides to dig into what he can about Boris Conley — the man they’re hoping to confront tonight. He’s hesitant, though. “We can’t just yell ‘halt, you’re under arrest’ without something to go on,” he mutters, recalling Ashira’s claims that Conley’s a criminal tied to the Nightquill Syndicate. Masaki knows a bit about that past, but nothing recent. Time to change that.

As a Red Cloak, he has access to certain records, so he makes his way to the Major Guard Keep — about a 15-minute walk. There, he heads into the file room and makes a formal request for Conley’s records. The clerk disappears behind a gate, and Masaki waits. It takes nearly 20 minutes before she returns with a file.

Boris Conley, it turns out, has done time — mostly for illegal import and export of magical weapons and drugs. He was, in fact, a known member of the now-defunct Nightquill Syndicate. But the records show he’s kept clean for a while now. No active charges. Nothing the Guard can move on, legally speaking.

Masaki flips through the documents, absorbing what he can, hoping it might offer some justification later — or at least a few good questions.

---

As the rain pours down outside, the party arrives at the sturdy stone structure known as Stone and Steel. One side of the building is open-air, with a roof supported by pillars over a working forge—coal glowing hot, an anvil resting unused. On the opposite side is a well-maintained shop with a sign of an anvil struck by a hammer. A warm light glows from within.

Amber calls out, “Bonjour! Anybody home? We are customers.”

A friendly voice answers, “Oh yes, yes, of course—please come in. It’s rainy outside, you should hurry.”

Inside, they are greeted by a human woman, muscular and strong, her arms thick from years of work at the forge. Though clearly experienced, she has a surprisingly youthful voice. She introduces herself: “Yes, my name’s Denara Steelhammer. How can I help you?”

Amber, charmed, responds with polite greetings. She asks boldly, “We’re looking for some kind of… piercing weapon—what do you have for sale, madame?”

Denara offers a variety of finely crafted weapons. Wolfgang inquires about something sharp, with finesse—a rapier, perhaps, or a dagger.

She places a rapier on the counter. “How about this one?”

Wolfgang lifts it delicately with two fingers, testing the balance and weight. It’s a good weapon—solid, functional, though not exquisite.

“How much?” he asks.

“Thirty gold pieces,” Denara replies.

Wolfgang assesses the value—it’s a fair price, perhaps even a slight deal.

Then comes a display of daggers. Denara presents three: one finely honed with extra cutting power, one curved and compact, and a standard dagger.

Wolfgang assumes the +1 is out of his price range and examines the curved one. Denara explains: “That one’s five gold pieces. The regular dagger is three.”

While Wolfgang considers his budget, Amber studies his face. She notices some doubt, some hesitation—typical of Wolfgang, who often internalizes his thoughts. She suspects it’s not just about price; perhaps it’s pride, or indecision about style.

She scans the shop again, looking for a practical yet refined weapon for Wolfgang. Her eyes land on a short sword—elegant curves on the hilt, nothing flashy, but refined. “That one,” she says, “How much?”

“Twenty gold pieces,” Denara answers.

Amber examines it. She figures its real value is closer to 15 gold, making this still a decent offer. She hands it to Wolfgang. “What do you think? Disregard the price—just the feel.”

Wolfgang, unaccustomed to short swords, gives it a thoughtful appraisal. He suspects it’s worth more than the price suggests—possibly a bargain.

Still, he’s not entirely convinced. He proposes a different idea: “Miss Steelhammer, would you be able to take a dagger—this curved one here—and decorate it with an agate I provide? Engrave my name on it as well?”

Denara nods thoughtfully. “Just the hilt? Engraving your name, and fitting in the agate? Yes, I can do that. It would be seven gold pieces total. I can have it ready by the end of the afternoon.”

Before Wolfgang can object, Amber slams seven gold coins on the counter. “Sold.”

Wolfgang protests, “I cannot accept your money—”

Amber cuts him off with a smile. “You pay me later. Consider it a discount.” She’s clearly just happy that a decision’s finally been made.

They agree to return later in the day. Denara assures them the sheath is included. Wolfgang will provide the agate, and the engraving will read Wolfgang Rüppelshammer.

As they prepare to leave, Wolfgang thanks Denara sincerely. “If you need a recommendation, we’ll speak highly of you.”

“Please do,” Denara says warmly. “And visit again.”

Amber grins. “We’ll make sure more people come to you before they go to Mr. Morningstar.”

Wolfgang, ever curious, asks, “Your name—Steelhammer—is that a family tradition?”

Denara laughs. “Pure coincidence, honestly. But it fits, doesn’t it?”

---

About an hour or two passes before anyone returns. During that time, Daiki stands in the small garden behind the house, soaked from the rain. It’s still early spring—the first week of the second month—so the garden isn’t in full bloom yet.

Daiki exhales deeply, looking around at the sparse plants. “Maybe I can help nature a little bit,” he muses. With a soft gesture, he begins using his magic to tend to the forgotten corners of the garden. Greenery thickens, flowers bloom a little earlier than they should, and the whole space starts to feel more like summer than spring.

He stays there quietly, admiring the changes, enjoying the moment—completely naked.

About an hour in, the back door creaks open.

“Uh, excuse me,” Montgomery says, hesitating at the sight before him. “I love what you’ve done to the garden—really—but… I’ve had some complaints. You’re standing naked while our guests can see you.”

Daiki turns, startled. “Oh! Sorry! I didn’t realize people could see me. I thought you didn’t like wet clothes inside, so… I prevented the wet clothes.”

“That is correct,” Montgomery nods. “It’s not so much the clothes themselves—more the wetness on the floors. But also, it’s… not ideal having naked people in the backyard.”

Daiki gestures toward the door. “That’s why I brought a towel! Did you see it?”

“I did,” Montgomery says. “But still, we’re in the middle of the city now. It’s a little different here. Could you maybe put something on?”

“Wait, I have an idea.” Daiki uses his magic again, coaxing vines and wisteria flowers to wrap around his body—covering just enough. “Is this okay?”

“Yes, that’s already a lot better,” Montgomery says, then glances toward Ashira. “Could you maybe do something for her as well? I mean, the view isn’t bad, but still…”

“But she’s dressed,” Daiki points out. “She didn’t undress.”

“Oh. Then never mind,” Montgomery mutters.

Daiki adds a bit more foliage anyway. “Okay, fine. Is this better?”

“That’ll do for now.”

Daiki sighs. “This city can be so draining.” He walks back inside.

Ashira, noticing Montgomery’s presence, follows Daiki’s lead. If they were alone, she might not bother, but with someone watching, she uses Prestidigitation to clean and dry herself too.

They both head back into Meeting Room Three.

Ashira helps herself to tea, adding several sugar cubes to her cup. “Is there still a teapot around?”

“Yes,” Montgomery replies. “Isaac comes by every hour or so to refresh it.”

Ashira nods and sips her overly sweet tea while Daiki awkwardly gets dressed again, mumbling to himself, “Okay… pants first… then shoes… okay… then shirt…” It’s clear he’s not quite used to dressing in a formal or orderly way.

Eventually, he finishes and they wait quietly for the others to return.

Around the same time, Masaki arrives back—shortly followed by Wolfgang and Amber. The walk hadn’t been long, but Masaki had to wait for information. Unfortunately, what he learns is not as helpful as he had hoped.

---

In the lobby, Wolfgang approaches Masaki with a friendly offer. He sets up a dragon chess board. “I’ll try to explain the rules or just play a match with Mr. Masaki,” he says with a smile.

Daiki, a bit confused, looks around. “Wait… where are we supposed to go?”

Amber shrugs. “That’s up to you. I think we’ve  got plans for the night, and now it’s the afternoon..”

Daiki frowns. “Oh, so we’re not staying together? Oh.”

Amber replies without missing a beat, “If you want to pay for your room or stay in this lobby, be our guest.”

“No, wait,” Daiki mutters. “How does Ash say it again? Snooty?”

Ash grins. “Yes, Daiki, that’s what we call it—way too snooty. Let’s go to the park.”

“That was it! Thank you, Ash,” Daiki nods. “Back to the garden, I just dried up, and now I’m getting wet again,” he sighs. He and Ash move outside, headed toward the park.

Ashira, before leaving, calls back: “Let’s meet at the pub later. Come on, Daiki, let’s not stay at this snooty place. We have to go through the back door anyway. Bye!”

“Bye,” Daiki echoes.

Wolfgang raises an eyebrow. “Miss Ablaze… what is ‘snooty’? That word hasn’t enriched my vocabulary yet.”

Amber turns. “Snooty means… you’re snobby. High-class. Looking down on others with less money. It’s a word for elite types who think they’re better than everyone else.”

“But why do you need another word for that?” Wolfgang asks.

Amber shrugs. “Don’t ask me. It’s their language. It’s something the poor—or at least not-rich—people say. But it’s none of your concern. Enjoy your bowl of whatever you’re eating.”

Wolfgang doesn’t miss a beat. “It’s a delicious overnight oat with jam and fruit, thank you. Now, back to dragon chess.”

Masaki, not proficient but curious, sits down to learn. Wolfgang, far more experienced, offers guidance through their first match.

The results? Wolfgang wins, but not easily. Masaki catches on fast.

They go again.

This time, Masaki nearly wins. He makes a clever move that surprises even Wolfgang, but the latter manages a narrow victory with a strategic sacrifice. “You have a talent for dragon chess,” Wolfgang notes, thoughtfully considering Masaki’s sharp instincts.

They agree to one more game. “Shall we raise the stakes?” Wolfgang teases.

“No, no,” Masaki responds. “Just a friendly match.”

The third round is quicker—Wolfgang begins to read Masaki’s play more easily. Masaki takes more risks, but Wolfgang counters them with practiced precision.

Masaki sighs after the third game: “Of course, with those vulture-like eyes, you see right through me.”

---

The rain falls steadily as Daiki and Ashira wander into a quiet green space just a few blocks from the inn—Margrove Park. It’s a modest spot nestled between city streets, not very large, but peaceful. A few trees stand scattered across the grass, their branches just beginning to bud. It’s early spring, and the canopy overhead is still thin, offering little shelter from the drizzle.

Daiki lets out a breath. “So… what shall we do to kill time? Waiting takes forever.” He glances up through the rain, then back to the wet earth beneath their feet. 

“Maybe I could make some music? It’s a more natural place, kind of fitting.” Says Ash. A pause. “Though… my instruments don’t like getting wet.”

He scans the park and spots a tall tree that looks promising. “Maybe if I stand under that one—if it had more leaves?”

With a quiet smile, he walks over and places a hand on the trunk. Magic pulses gently beneath his fingertips as he guides energy up through the bark. A branch stretches outward, its leaves thickening into a soft, broad canopy. Soon, a sheltered space opens beneath it, just big enough for the two of them to stay dry.

Ashira smiles warmly. “Thank you, Daiki. This is perfect.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, clearly pleased with the little pocket of calm they’ve created.

Ash thinks for a moment, considering what instrument to use. The wooden lion-shaped lyre isn’t ideal for the weather, but it’s all she has. Cradling it close, she steps beneath the tree and begins to play.

The music that flows from her fingers is soft, organic, and quiet—each note seeming to fall in rhythm with the gentle patter of rain on the newly grown leaves. The melody is thoughtful, delicate, as if pulled from the air itself. It winds around them like the breeze, wrapping them in warmth despite the gray sky.

There aren’t many people in the park, but the few who pass by slow their steps. They turn their heads toward the sound, drawn in. Some stop for a moment, letting the music settle in their bones. A few small coins fall gently into the grass nearby—six silver, three copper glinting faintly in the dim light.

Daiki crouches and gathers them quietly, not wanting to interrupt her playing. He settles down at the base of the tree, listening in stillness. This isn’t the kind of music she played at the Chubby Angel—not bold or showy. It’s something older, quieter. Something familiar.

It reminds him of the first time he heard her—before she was part of the group, before anything had really started. Back when her songs felt like stories the wind had been waiting to tell.

---

In the meantime, back at Stone & Steel, Wolfgang steps forward to collect the newly-forged dagger, Amber closely behind him. He holds it carefully, examining the craftsmanship with reverence. “I appreciate the quality. I appreciate how ‘Count Wolfgang Rüppelshammer’ is engraved in the blade,” he murmurs. “And the eye gate at the top of the hilt… still balanced perfectly.”

The blade gleams, polished to a shine brighter than before—clearly cleaned and tended to with special care. It almost looks too fine to be used, something that could just as easily sit behind glass.

“Again, my dear Miss Stonehammer,” Wolfgang says with practiced grace, “I appreciate your refined work. I will be ambassador to your qualities.”

Amber leans slightly toward the counter. “Maybe I’ll be back when I need a better sword or something.”

She’s told she’s always welcome—there’s no shortage of beautiful craftsmanship in this place.

They head back toward the Fishing Kingfisher. Along the way, Wolfgang glances over at Amber. “You procured some healing equipment as well, right?”

“A healer’s kit,” she confirms. “Five gold pieces, but it’s fine. Consider it my service to the group.”

Wolfgang pauses, then tilts his head. “Tonight—do I have a dinner invitation with Lord Weiss? Or should I arrive after?”

He hasn’t contacted the man yet—Weiss has no idea he’s coming.

“Maybe Montgomery can send a message,” Amber suggests.

Montgomery agrees, and a message is sent. Wolfgang, ever particular, dictates, “My dear Isaac, please inform Lord Weiss that I am willing to spend the night together sharing stories of galore and inquiring about advice on adventuring and party nuance. Deliver this with my seal.”

Amber flicks a copper piece into the messenger’s hand. “Merci, Isaac.”

As the boy dashes out into the street, cloak pulled tight, Wolfgang turns to Amber again. “Miss Ablaze, I’m appreciative of your partial procurement of my dagger. Why are you not paying for this service as well?”

Amber smiles thinly. “Let’s just say we have a special little bargain. He arranged some things. It’s very convenient to have eyes in other places. If we need anything… he’s someone who won’t be questioned. Very handy.”

Wolfgang raises an eyebrow. “And you’ll assure us this won’t get us into trouble?”

“I don’t see why it would,” she says evenly. “He has a mother to care for. These are just little tasks—nothing illegal. We’re supporting him and his mother. Of course.”

“And the services you require of him?” Wolfgang presses.

“No no no no no,” Amber says quickly, her tone still composed. “What do you think of me, monsieur? I would never endanger a boy.”

“Splendid. I suppose you’d also say you wouldn’t endanger your employer?”

“Of course.”

“Merci.”

“Of course.”

About half an hour later, Isaac returns, letter in hand. The message is clear—Lord Weiss will be alone tonight. His partner is away, and Wolfgang is welcome to visit after dinner.

Wolfgang’s eyes gleam with satisfaction. “Most splendid evening,” he says, already planning the jewelry he’ll wear.

---

Rain falls steadily as Ash and Daiki linger outside, debating their next move.

Ash shrugs. “I’ll stay back. Let you all handle it. The confrontation with Boris Conley… I think you’re better suited for it.”

“You’re not coming?” Daiki asks.

Ash tilts their head. “If he sees me, it might escalate. But I’ll be nearby—just out of sight. I know, I know… hard to hide brilliance, but I’ll do my best.”

Daiki frowns. “Can’t you shift your look, like at the Chubby Angel?”

“That was a stage presence,” Ash replies, matter-of-fact. “Not a disguise. This is me.”

Still uncertain, Daiki mutters, “I don’t know. You looked different.”

Ash chuckles. “That’s the performance. But this isn’t the stage.”

“Okay, so you’re staying hidden?”

“I’ll be around. Just… not visible. I trust Amber and Wolfgang to handle him.”

Daiki hesitates. “I thought Wolfgang wasn’t joining either.”

“Then it’s just Amber. She can handle herself. Sleaziest man I’ve met, Boris… maybe not the worst, but close.”

Daiki nods reluctantly. “So we’re just sending Amber?”

“She’s fiery,” Ash says. “And capable.”

Daiki shivers slightly. “I just… get such bad vibes from him. Do we need to get rid of him?”

Ash answers without pause, voice low. “The world would be better off without him. I’m fine waiting and ending it quietly if needed. But I don’t think the others would go for that.”

“Not kill him,” Daiki says, “but maybe… the plants could take him. Bury him. No one would notice.”

Ash nods, unfazed. “That works too. It’s mercy. Mercy for us.”

Daiki wrestles with his conscience. “It’s confusing. Like this afternoon, I tried to be normal, even Montgomery said I couldn’t just stand around naked because others might see.”

Ash smiles. “You are naked under your clothes. People just don’t notice. Same logic applies.”

Daiki laughs softly, then sobers. “So we talk to him, maybe get info. And if not…”

“Plan B,” Ash says. “B for bury.”

Daiki blinks. “Bury? Oh. Not berry. Right.”

“Yeah. Let’s see what’s near the pub. Maybe some good roots.”

They pause, considering their options.

Ash sighs. “We can vote. See what the others want. Or we can just leave. Go to the forest. Meet the goblin.”

“Bait,” Daiki recalls. “Or whatever his name was. I think that’s a better path.”

“They may be ugly,” Ash says, “but they’re honest.”

“I don’t think they’re ugly. They’re beautiful in their own way,” Daiki replies.

Ash smiles. “You’re very wise.”

They decide to return to the Fishing Kingfisher to share their change of plans. The rain hasn’t stopped, but neither of them hesitates.

As they approach the windows, Daiki peers inside, trying to catch someone’s attention. He waves enthusiastically.

Inside, a quiet moment playing dragon chess is interrupted as Wolfgang’s eye catches the motion outside. A high note from Ash’s pan flute accompanies the sight—delicate and mischievous.

Wolfgang sits back. “Amber. I believe your… acquaintances are gesturing.”

Amber, watching the fire, glances up. “I’m not sure if that’s meant for me. They seem to want us outside.”

Wolfgang stands with a nod. “Shall we go, then? It appears they await.”

Amber closes her journal and rises. “Lead the way, monsieur.”

They prepare to exit, Wolfgang politely excusing himself from the game. “It was a pleasure,” he says to Masaki. “We’ll play again soon.”

Outside, Daiki frowns. “Ash, I’m waving and they’re just… talking. Oh wait, he’s waving now. What kind of wave is that?”

Ash narrows their eyes. “I think… maybe it means ‘come in’?”

“But we’re not allowed in,” Daiki says, remembering the rules.

Still, they push the door open and step inside, soaked from the rain.

They’re met immediately by Montgomery, firm but calm. “I believe we had an agreement.”

Ash keeps playing their pan flute. Daiki gestures toward Wolfgang.

From the back, Wolfgang motions for them to wait. “Just a moment,” he murmurs to Amber. “We’ll retrieve them.”

Montgomery intercepts Wolfgang briefly, lowering his voice. “A word, Count. The bill—it’s… building. Perhaps later today?”

Wolfgang nods coolly. “The end of my stay may be tomorrow morning. I’ll settle it then.”

Montgomery bows slightly. “Of course. Thank you.”

---

Amber, arms crossed, stands in the rain with a frustrated sigh. Masaki admits he couldn’t find anything on Boris Conley’s current activities. “He served his time,” he explains, “no criminal record since. Maybe he bettered his life. We could still talk to him.”

Ashira scoffs. “Bettered his life? That guy’s as rotten as they come.”

Masaki nods slightly. “Of course, but I can’t go in there myself. I’m a red cloak—he’ll run the moment he sees me. I’m not the best option for approaching him.”

Ashira raises an eyebrow. “So take off the red cloak. That’s the only difference between you as a red cloak and you as a civilian, right?”

Masaki protests. “It’s my uniform. I won’t take it off.”

Daiki tries to lift the mood. “Masaki-san is capable of asking him questions. I was going to come too, but now no one wants to go. And Ash says he only lies, so why should we bother?”

“We don’t know that,” Masaki counters. “Ashira isn’t telling us what she knows, so we need to ask Boris ourselves.”

Ashira flicks her fingers. “I’m basing my opinion on experience, darling. I have a seventh sense for lies.”

Daiki pauses. “What’s your sixth sense then?”

“Musicality.”

Amber tries to steer things back. “Fine, if no one joins, I’ll go alone—after I drop Wolfgang off at Lord Weiss’s manor.”

“But you need me for Plan B,” Daiki interjects.

“What is Plan B?” Amber asks.

“Ash and I came up with it,” Daiki says, grinning. “It’s really good.”

Wolfgang frowns. “Must we discuss this in the street while it’s pouring?”

Amber groans. “If Boris has information we need, I won’t ignore the lead.”

Ash shrugs. “If he has it, he won’t give it.”

Daiki mutters: “Plan B is… well, maybe the city would be better off if Boris just disappeared.”

Masaki cuts in sharply. “Are you talking about murder?”

“No, just… asking the plants to take him under the ground,” Daiki replies.

Amber looks horrified. “That’s still murder.”

Wolfgang states firmly, “We will not condone such actions.”

Ash adds, “It’s like removing one sick tree so the healthy ones can thrive.”

Amber pushes back. “We’re not doing Plan B. I’ll talk to the guy.”

Daiki perks up. “What about Plan D? Plan Daiki?”

“What is Plan D?” Ash asks.

“I don’t know yet.”

Amber snaps. “You named it without knowing what it is? Mon dieu, plant boy.”

Eventually, they reach consensus—Amber, Ashira, and Daiki will go question Boris. Wolfgang encourages Daiki to join. Amber glares at Wolfgang. “Don’t make me do this.”

Wolfgang smirks. “Miss Ablaze, don’t leave me this way.”

They prepare to escort Wolfgang to Lord Weiss’s manor first. Wolfgang insists he doesn’t need escorting, but Amber insists. Wolfgang relents. “If it makes you feel better, escort me. Then go to the pub.”

In the carriage, Amber makes sure she’s seated directly in front of Wolfgang, a knowing smile on her face. “You made me go with them. Now you go with them too.”

Wolfgang sighs. “I’d like to enjoy this trip in silence.”

Ashira laughs. “With me around? Not a chance,” she says, playing a soft melody on her lyre.

Wolfgang groans. “Oh my god.”

Eventually, they arrive at Lord Weiss’s manor. The group prepares to split—Amber escorts Wolfgang, then she, Ashira, and Daiki will head to the Old Peanut Pub.

Wolfgang steps out, elegant and composed. “Please, don’t be followed,” he says with a nod. “And good luck.”

---

The tavern is warm and crowded, a stark contrast to the cold outside. As the group steps in, the heat and the smell hit them. Inside, it’s bustling—mostly humans and tieflings, many looking rough around the edges. Some tieflings have broken horns, and more than a few patrons are missing teeth.

Amber scans the room. “Do I see Henry?”

She spots him behind the bar. “Come on, you guys. Let’s get a drink,” she says, walking over. “Bonsoir, Henry—again.”

Henry, having just served someone, looks up. “Ah yeah, saw you earlier today. What can I get you?”

“Oui, oui. Two ales. Daiki, you want a glass of water or whatever? You don’t want alcohol, right?”

“Just water, please,” Daiki replies.

Henry grabs a mug and dips it into a questionable barrel behind him. The water looks murky, possibly dishwater. “Just water. There you go.”

Amber hands over the copper. “One’s on me. Let’s raise our glass. Salut! This is a toast!”

Daiki frowns. “What is this… toast?”

Ash groans. “This is torture…”

Amber smirks. “You wanted the ale this morning. Bad decision. Thought it was all fine.”

“Torture,” Daiki repeats, nose wrinkling.

“I’m not talking about the ale, dear,” Ash mutters.

“Boohoo,” Amber snaps. “Put your emotional issues aside. We’re on the job.”

Daiki sniffs the mug. “Water smells weird here.”

Amber nods. “Oui. Not that great.”

The group glances around. There’s no staff picking up glasses, just cluttered tables and occasional crashes as cups fall. Daiki winces, realizing, “Oh crap—I’m barefoot.”

“Yeah,” Amber replies. “You have to walk carefully.”

He tiptoes around broken glass, setting his mug down on a nearby table. “Is this what they call the peanut challenge?” he asks Ash, leaning in.

She looks at him sharply. “No. Don’t. Really—don’t.”

But it’s too late. A voice from behind them calls out, “Did someone say PEANUT CHALLENGE?”

Several others cheer. “One Peanut! One of the pigs! One chance to prove you’re NUTS!”

Henry lifts a square table from behind the bar, heaving it into the center of the room. A crowd gathers. The energy shifts. Someone joins. Then another. A red tiefling. A large human with missing teeth. A thick, purple tiefling. A goblin. “We got Snakebrain!” someone yells. “Anyone else?”

Daiki leans to Ashira. “Should we join?”

“No. No.”

Amber steps forward.

“Okay. Good luck, Miss Ablaze,” he says.

Amber grits her teeth. “Stupid Henry shouted my name. Fuck. Anyways—I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna do it.”

The tavern roars with noise, tension, and the smell of something vaguely burnt. A crude challenge is underway—something to do with peanuts, strength, pride, and gut-wrenching liquor.

A large tiefling steps up first, his voice booming, “I’m going first!” He slams a hammer down on a comically oversized peanut. It cracks. He stuffs the pieces into his mouth, struggles to swallow, coughs violently, then grabs his mug of rotgut and chugs it down. Cheers erupt. Coins and even a tooth clink onto the table. The betting has begun.

Amber, sharp-tongued and fiery as ever, raises an eyebrow. “Call me Fireball. Or something. Just don’t.” She flicks a copper piece onto the table.

“Silver or tooth,” the announcer barks.

Amber curses and replaces it. “Fine. Silver.”

Daiki watches all this, visibly rattled. “When do we proceed to plan B?” he murmurs.

Ash, thinking fast, offers, “Maybe we just find the guy ourselves. While they’re distracted.”

Amber scoffs. “You two are idiots. I’m stuck in a sock party with morons.”

The next contestant cracks the peanut easily and completes the round flawlessly. Then it’s Amber’s turn.

She grabs the hammer, swings. Nothing. The peanut remains intact. The crowd goes silent.

“Eat it whole! Eat it whole!” the chant builds.

She groans, mutters a curse, and stuffs the whole thing in her mouth. Her throat works hard, but she swallows it down. The crowd erupts. “Down your drink!” they scream.

Amber gulps the mug of rotgut, managing to keep it down. Barely.

Across the table, the others fare worse—choking, coughing, failing to drink. The goblin turns red. One guy misses the peanut entirely. It’s a mess.

Henry declares round two: spicier, saltier, harder.

Daiki, growing bored, whispers to Ash, “Let’s find Boris Conley.”

“On it,” she replies. They both scan the room. Their eyes dart through the crowd, but Boris isn’t here. Ash confirms it. “He’s not around.”

Back at the table, Fireball faces round two. She tightens her grip on the hammer. With a single, clean strike, she splits the peanut. The crowd chants again. She eats it whole, swallows without issue, then grabs her mug—but this time the drink hits her hard. She coughs, barely keeps it in. From now on, she’s at a disadvantage. But she’s not alone—everyone else has messed up too.

In the raucous chaos of the tavern, a skinny tiefling named Red grabs the hammer and cracks a peanut with satisfying precision. He tosses it in his mouth, swallows it whole, then grabs his drink—but chokes. He vomits immediately, spewing up peanuts and booze to the roaring chants of onlookers. Unfazed, he takes another turn, smashes the next peanut, struggles to swallow, but manages to keep it down with the drink. He’s still in.

Ash quickly scans the room for any Mage Guard or signs of the Clovis Major—nothing. With a quiet gesture and practiced stealth, she weaves an enchantment unnoticed on Red.

Red takes another drink, but midway through, collapses backward. Unconscious. The crowd explodes. “Snailbrain is out too!”

Daiki jumps in with a grin, shouting, “Go, Fireball!”

Three contenders remain. The pot grows. Wisp, a former champion, tries and fails to crack his peanut, still gagging on his last drink. He swallows with effort, grabs his drink—and pukes it all out. Wisp is done.

Quick steps up. He smashes his peanut with force, swallows with effort, nearly gags, but muscles through. He lets out a monstrous burp. The room turns to Amber.

She slams the hammer—crack! The yellow crowd goes silent, then erupts. She downs the drink, a little struggle, but finishes. The cheers grow wild.

It’s down to Amber and Quick.

Quick goes again. He slams the peanut so hard the table creaks. Swallows. Barely holds it. But makes it.

Amber steps away briefly as the crowd chants “Fireball!” Her rage simmers, flickers into flame, Super Saiyan style. She returns, eyes glowing.

She lifts the hammer, brings it down—hit! But this peanut is brutal. She tries to swallow, but it sticks—hard. Four points of piercing pain hit her throat. She gasps and grabs the drink. Tries. Fails. She ducks under the table, trying to spare Daiki and Ashira the sight. Her body heaves, rage mixing with shame. The stench is a potent blend of bile and scorched earth.

The crowd roars, some in victory, others in solidarity. The winner—Quick—scratches “QMK” into the battered table. He’s hoisted up by his comrades, still chanting his name.

Amber, flushed and smoking, watches from below as the tavern pulses with drunken triumph.

The crowd begins to settle, still buzzing with post-game energy as Quick returns the hammer to the bar. Laughter and shouts drift across the room, the game clearly more about bravado than victory—an endurance test soaked in cheap rotgut and pride. There’s no prize, just street cred. But it’s fun.

At Amber’s feet, the goblin—just coming to—groans. Her vomit has splashed across his boots. He stares at it, disoriented, then mumbles, “I have to go home.”

“Oh no, you have to wash the puke off your feet,” Amber chuckles, patting the bench beside her.

The goblin sits with a thud at the table where Amber, Ash, and Daiki now gather. “I suck at this game.”

“Me too. I mean, I came second. Not the winner,” Amber shrugs, slumping back.

“I wasn’t last. I won from one,” the goblin says proudly.

“You did a great job. What’s your name?” she asks.

“I am Snailbrain.”

“No way,” Daiki says, smirking.

Ash leans in with a smile. “Nice to meet you, Snailbrain. You fought well.”

“Nice to meet you too. Thank you.”

“Ew, you two smell,” Daiki blurts.

“We all smell here,” Snailbrain says with a resigned wave.

“So what brings a goblin like you here?” Daiki asks.

“Have fun. Cheap beer.”

“I just needed to go out for a second,” Snailbrain adds, softer.

Amber narrows her eyes. “Out from where? This isn’t going out. This is a stupid pub.”

“It’s not that stupid. I just needed some time for myself. But… you’re right. I should go.”

“Is someone bothering you?” she asks.

“No. Maybe. A little. But no.”

Amber leans in. “We will rough this person up for you. Just tell me why.”

“No, don’t do that. That’s not a good idea.”

“You saw me, I came in second in the Fireball!”

“Undeniable, yeah… but still not a good idea.”

“Snailbrain, why won’t you tell me? We’re friends now.”

“Yeah… that’s true. But I don’t think she’d like that.”

“She?” Amber presses.

“I can’t—I just need to go. I need to go.”

“You want another drink or not?” Amber asks, not letting up.