The Bartender of the Nest (1)
The ashen corpse disintegrated into a shimmering dust, scattering into the air.
A subtle thrill coursed through Dalen’s body, drawn in through his fingertips.
At the edge of this long-forgotten sensation, a translucent notification window appeared where the corpse had vanished.
[You have retrieved the corpse of the dark sorcerer who stalked the witch. You inherit their abilities.]
[Inheritance Reward: Intelligence +2, Magic +1, Key to the Gates of Hell (C)]
“Tsk.”
Dalen clicked his tongue.
Facing the embarrassing moments of one’s past is never a pleasant task.
Especially for Dalen, whose exceptional intelligence allowed him to recall every scene from his past with vivid clarity.
He remembered the time wasted, entranced by the witch’s beauty on the monitor.
In one playthrough, he had followed the witch as a paladin character, only to fail. In the next, he tried again as a dark sorcerer.
“What a fool. I should’ve built some rapport! A witch and a paladin are sworn enemies—how could that ever work?”
The lines he had once recited flashed through his mind as he stared at the monitor reflecting his character’s cold, lifeless body.
After pouring an entire playthrough into the dark sorcerer character, Dalen discovered that the witch was already spoken for.
“Perhaps it was for the best.”
Had he not encountered the witch’s half-vampire lover and been drained of blood, he might have spent two or three more playthroughs chasing her.
Dalen shook his head. Past mistakes were best left in the past.
As was his habit, he adjusted the sword, axe, and dagger at his waist and straightened his disheveled armor straps before opening his status window.
――――――――
Name: Dalen
Level: 20
[Strength: 34] [Dexterity: 28] [Stamina: 31]
[Senses: 24] [Intelligence: 28] [Magic: 27]
Skills: Dehaman’s Armored Combat (D), Night Vision (E), Leap (E), Flame Arrow (D), Raphantella’s Crushing Sword (C), Hegaleus’s Rain of Fire (C), Shooting Lightning (D), Curse Ward’s Seal (D), Leredonara’s Secret Sword (B), Sacred Flame’s Ember (C), Crimson Dragon’s Blood (A), Key to the Gates of Hell (C)
――――――――
Finally, he had reached level 20.
After slaying Cheongrin, clearing out the minions in its dragon lair, and sweeping through the rebels of the Tsar Kingdom of Revivach and the avengers just moments ago, he had leveled up.
Dalen invested his newly acquired points into dexterity, bringing it close to 30.
His proficiency with Flame Arrow was nearing its peak, and next in line would likely be the Crushing Sword or Shooting Lightning.
“To think I’ve even acquired the power of a dark sorcerer.”
As he scanned his skill list, his eyes lingered on the Key to the Gates of Hell, nestled beside Dragon’s Blood.
[Key to the Gates of Hell (C)]
A fundamental spell of dark magic. It opens the gates of hell in exchange for a sacrifice, with the size of the gate depending on the value of the sacrifice. Dark sorcerers who have contracts with demons or evil gods can open the gate with lesser sacrifices by borrowing their power.
Proficiency 1%
Normally, this power couldn’t coexist with skills imbued with holy energy.
But the inheritor’s option disregarded compatibility, as always, forcing the dark sorcerer’s power into his domain.
Had it not been for the complete dragon’s blood, merely allowing these two powers to coexist would have strained his body.
“Come to think of it, the proficiency of Dragon’s Blood hasn’t increased at all.”
Dalen stroked his chin.
The regenerative factor of Dragon’s Blood and his stamina stat had been integrated into his domain’s power, and it had been nearly two months since he acquired the Crimson Dragon’s Blood.
Typically, some proficiency increase would be expected by now. However, the proficiency of Dragon’s Blood remained at 1%, the same as when he first obtained it.
“It’s not just because it’s an A-rank skill.”
Skills classified as B-rank or higher fall into the realm of mystery.
Without a comparable A-rank skill, he couldn’t be certain, but considering Leredonara’s Secret Sword, a B-rank skill, was also a mysterious power, this wasn’t a normal situation.
There were two potential causes.
One was the current state of suppressing the power with a holy sword.
Or, more fundamentally, the inability to fully control the power itself could be the issue.
“I’ll find a solution soon enough.”
Dalen rummaged through the tattered remains of the dark sorcerer’s corpse before standing up.
He had left the main headquarters of the Paladin Order in a hurry to the labyrinth city to address this very issue.
Falcion was a city where the most superhumans gathered across the continent.
In a metropolis of millions, there were bound to be a few who concealed their true identities, but the person he sought was undoubtedly one of the most enigmatic.
Merely revealing that he knew this person’s identity would entail considerable risk.
However, the danger of not controlling Dragon’s Blood outweighed the risk of confronting this individual sooner rather than later.
“Ugh. You really turned that mouthy bastard into a complete rag, didn’t you?”
A pained voice interrupted his thoughts. Dalen turned his head.
A knight, collapsed in a pool of blood, was speaking to him.
“You’re still here?”
“Of course. Heh, I once fought a giant single-handedly in my prime.”
The knight laughed, coughing up blood. He was in a state where he wouldn’t last much longer if left alone.
The axe, charged with electricity, had sliced through his left shoulder to his chest, electrocuting his entire body in the process.
The special bullets from Bjorn had torn through his half-charred body, leaving it in shambles.
It was a wonder he hadn’t died instantly.
The mere fact that he clung to life indicated his extraordinary resilience.
Dalen approached and rifled through the knight’s belongings.
The broken longsword, snapped while trying to block the axe, lay discarded, while he pocketed a fine-looking dagger and a pouch of gold coins.
“You had a regeneration potion.”
He pulled out a couple of bottles filled with red liquid from deep within the knight’s coat. The knight let out a blood-tinged chuckle.
“Heh, if I’d drunk it, you’d have killed me on the spot, right? I wanted to live a bit longer.”
“Indeed.”
“Heh, you… like, cough! You…”
The knight’s words trailed off. Dalen looked up to meet his eyes.
Eyes already devoid of life. His unfocused pupils gazed up at the starry sky.
“Tsk tsk. Serves you right, you imperialist bastard.”
Bjorn, who had been gathering grenades and guns, commented. Though he said it served him right, his expression wasn’t particularly joyful.
The group cleared away the decaying remains and the bodies of the two avengers before settling back down to sleep.
The campfire crackled as if nothing had happened.
A week later.
Two men, a dragon, and a demon arrived at the labyrinth city.
After unloading their belongings at an inn, they headed straight for the back alleys of the Bronze District.
The narrow, winding alleyways stretched out like a spider’s web.
The dirt paths, devoid of paving stones, were filthy with refuse and waste, while in the dark shadows, rats and unknown insects feasted.
In the alleys beyond the patrols of the guards, people with unfocused eyes wandered aimlessly.
Their clothes were little more than rags. Their hair was tangled, and their faces were dirty with needle marks and other unidentifiable traces.
Their half-open eyes would momentarily sharpen when someone passed by, quickly assessing whether the person was prey or predator.
Of course, the towering warrior, nearly two meters tall, and the dwarf, half his size but solidly built, were always the predators.
The dwarf, navigating the tangled alleys as if they were his own home, stopped at a certain point and took a deep breath.
“What do you plan to do?”
“About what?”
“The Crow’s Nest. That bartender is still there. Even if we want to track down Sienna’s whereabouts, as long as he’s guarding the place, it won’t be easy to search the Nest.”
Bjorn spoke with a hint of tension in his voice.
It was a stark contrast to the dwarf who had recently unleashed a hail of bullets on dozens of undead.
“What’s the big deal? We just go in and ask.”
“Ask him? That’s not going to work. How do we know he’s not the reason Sienna disappeared? He was suspicious even when he kept his mouth shut. Maybe he knew all along and was hiding it.”
The dwarf rattled off his words like a machine gun. Dalen scratched his chin.
While the instinctive wariness seemed excessive, it wasn’t entirely unfounded. Seeing Dalen’s lack of response, the dwarf clicked his tongue and revised his plan.
”…Tsk. Well, he’s also the one who probably knows Sienna’s whereabouts best. Let’s do this.”
“How?”
“Since it’s been a while since you’ve been in the city, let’s disguise ourselves as customers and sneak in. We’ll pretend we know nothing and ask about Sienna’s whereabouts. If he doesn’t answer properly or things go south, we’ll just chop him down with an axe.”
”…”
[Crow’s Nest]
[Business Hours: Temporarily Closed]
A familiar sign hung on the door of the well-known tavern, though the message was unfamiliar.
Jingle—
Dalen opened the door. Inside, the neatly arranged tables and chairs looked just as they always had.
The shelves were still crammed with bottles, and the magical stone lights on the ceiling cast their usual soft glow.
Yet, for weeks now, the bar had been devoid of customers, leaving a subtle chill in the air.
Dalen settled into his usual spot at the bar, raising a hand to the bartender he knew all too well.
“A Melond Highlander, please.”
Bourbon, who had been polishing a glass, paused and glanced at Dalen. Dalen met his gaze.
After a moment of silence, the bartender set the glass down.
Clink. Pour.
Ice clattered into a clear glass, and a light amber liquid filled the empty space.
A dwarf, hesitantly taking a seat, placed his order.
“A strong beer, please.”
”…”
“If not, anything will do. Just give me what he’s having.”
The dwarf stammered, his ears turning pale. Dalen sighed quietly. Undercover, huh?
As Bourbon prepared another drink, Dalen studied his silent face. A chiseled jaw, pronounced eyebrows, a slightly vacant yet stoic expression.
Regulars at the Crow’s Nest knew Bourbon as the bartender who never spoke. And in a place like this, silence was a virtue.
For patrons who poured out their secrets over drinks, a tight-lipped bartender was the best kind of confidant.
Moreover, he was an excellent bartender.
The Crow’s Nest was popular not just for its information but also as a bar, largely thanks to him.
Clack.
Dalen downed his drink in one go and set the glass back down. Bourbon served the dwarf and resumed polishing glasses, as he always did after serving a customer.
Dalen tapped the glass with his fingertips a couple of times before speaking.
“I have a request, Kylebercus Arburn.”
“Uh, pfft!”
The dwarf spluttered, spraying his drink. At the same time, the bartender’s hands froze.
Bourbon’s eyes, lifted from the glass, were not their usual deep brown.
[Where did you hear that name?]
The words filled the bar with a commanding presence.
[Forget it.]
The single, enchanted word pressed down on the room with overwhelming force.
Thud, crash!
The dwarf’s eyes rolled back as he collapsed onto the floor, overwhelmed by the power of the command.
Tap. Tap.
Dalen drummed his fingers on the bar.
Tiny flames flickered at his fingertips, leaving charred marks on the table.
His vertically slit eyes met the bartender’s gaze head-on.
In his eyes, a dark red flame flickered. The holy sword, now silent, had ceased its vibration.
Bourbon placed both hands on the table.
[Ah, I thought you seemed familiar. A Red Spear, was it?]
His eyes, a mix of curiosity, caution, and mild boredom, were also vertically slit like Dalen’s.
The dragon, with eyes gleaming in a vivid green, spoke to the human with dragon’s blood.
[I’ve lived a long time, even for an immortal, but it’s my first time seeing a human with pure dragon blood.]