Inside Boulder's Tavern, the team found themselves huddled around their favorite corner table, each member gripping a wooden mug that mirrored the rustic charm of the keg before them.
It had taken Boulder a considerable amount of time to recognize them. Between their disheveled appearance, the lingering scent, and an almost seven-month absence, it was no small feat for their favorite bartender to reconcile Gary and his companions' abysmal state.
Even then, Boulder hesitated before begrudgingly offering them a table. As always, the persuasive power of gold, no matter how grimy the coins might be, proved irresistible.
Silently, the team stared into the amber liquid before them, allowing their weary bodies to melt into the rough frame of the wooden bench. None dared to shatter the silence; their minds were burdened with thoughts far beyond idle chatter.
"Hah..." Edwin, the first to break the stillness, raised his cup to his lips. The cool, comforting liquid caressed his tongue, parched as the desert dunes, and he savored the velvety foam.
Gary's mouth watered involuntarily. His companions mirrored his sentiment, their expressions a testament to growing desire.
A satisfying smack of lips and a contented moan later, the others followed suit, emptying their mugs with somber fulfillment. Even the usually reserved Gabriel joined in, a rare departure for the devout young man.
With a deft pour, another round was dispensed from the keg, and the party indulged once more.
"This—this is exactly what I needed," Edwin sighed appreciatively.
"Need a refill?" Alfred offered.
"Please."
"Mine too," Gary added, sliding his empty mug toward Alfred.
"Mhm."
For the third time, fresh pale liquid filled their cups. Gary drained his in a single, long gulp, only stopping when the mug had been fully upturned.
What could he say? The taste was exquisite, buzz delightful. Dear Lord, the buzz... it was almost enough to forget their pressing problems.
And the best part: it wasn't coming out of his own pocket.
He cast an appreciative glance between Alfred and the mug before placing it down on the warped table, his expression a mixture of gratitude and resignation.
"So...are we ready to talk about it?"
A knowing look passed among the party, followed by collective sighs of exhaustion.
"Sure, why not," Brandus said, raising his glass mockingly before downing the contents. "Who wants to start?"
Gary shook his head, well aware that it wasn't going to be him who initiated the conversation. The moment he uttered a word, they would be reminded of the person who might have planned the entire trip.
'And we certainly wouldn't want that, would we?' he mused, patiently waiting for someone else to take the lead. His money was on Edwin, judging by the subtle shift in the archer's posture.
"Okay, look. I'm not going to claim I was right. Did I have a bad feeling? Yes," Edwin admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "But I can't blame any of you. None of us could have anticipated that."
His words opened the floodgates.
"Isn't it just our luck? Of course, it had to happen to us."
"Seriously, what kind of absurd luck does it take to resurrect the literal dem- mmph!"
Shasa's disbelief was cut short as Gary clamped his hand across her mouth.
"Could you leave that part out?!" he hissed, scanning the room for potential eavesdroppers. "You're lucky this place is quieter than a morgue. Do you really want that little tidbit spreading?"
An indignant retort hung on Shasa's lips but remained unspoken. Her fiery eyes dulled as anger transformed into reluctant acceptance, and she pushed Gary back across the table.
"Fine, you're right."
'Damn right I am,' Gary thought, savoring the small victory.
"But come on. It's not our fault he wasn't dead. I blame whoever had the bright idea of stuffing a living calamity into a ball without even leaving a warning sign." She argued.
"Exactly. A simple 'Danger: Demon King inside. Do not open,' would have sufficed. Add some red paint and a couple of exclamation marks, and this wouldn't have been a problem in the first place!"
None of this even delved into the fact that sealing something was a far greater endeavor than simply killing it. That particular point was hotly debated among the agitated team.
A seal was essentially a cage, and similar logic applied. Any old sword could kill a tiger, but constructing a perfect enclosure while it's attempting to rip your face off was an entirely different challenge.
As a history enthusiast, Gary was especially bewildered. From all the texts and manuscripts about the Heroes, it was a known fact that they were competent. With the acclaimed tactician and leader, Arthur, and the genius sorcerer Emyr, it was baffling to think they had made such a grave error in judgment.
The party continued to vent their frustrations to each other, a heated discussion that might have gone on indefinitely if Brandus hadn't tapped his fingers against the booth.
"We can argue about this later. But no matter how much we want to complain, the truth is, we did... cause a problem."
Shasa buried her face in her hands, witnessing what could only be described as the understatement of the century. "What do you want us to do about it? Stuffing him back in isn't an option, and we can't make it back there even if we tried."
"But we have to do something," Brandus retorted with steel in his voice. "We can't just walk away and pretend everything is fine. It isn't, and we can't ignore it. I promise you, in a few months, we won't have a choice."
His words weighed heavily on the others, though Brandus seemed either oblivious to their sinking spirits or deliberately chose to overlook them. "Now, let's brainstorm some ideas."
"Should we report it?"
"The church!" Gabriel exclaimed, a bright smile lighting up his face as he jumped off the bench, delighted by his own suggestion.
Unfortunately, his enthusiasm wasn't contagious. The others remained unconvinced.
"And risk facing a trial? I'll pass." Gary waved a dismissive hand, refusing to entertain the idea. Many people adored the Goddess, but those inducted into her order were an entirely different matter. Gabriel might be enthusiastic, but his zealotry often turned a blind eye to minor crimes. Stealing, lying— even murder —could be forgiven.
But their leniency vanished when heresy was involved.
Rumors circulated in the Rochan countryside about the punishments the Church meted out for such transgressions. Impalement, torture, trials by holy fire— each town had a gruesome tale.
Yet they all shared a common thread: No priest allowed a cultist to escape until they renounced any belief in another god. The Church's renowned healing abilities did little to suppress whispers of such deeds.
The thought sent shivers down Gary's spine. It was enough to keep him from even considering the idea.
He might not practice forbidden rites, but the treatment meted out wouldn't be far off. His actions had resurrected the Church's greatest enemy, and no priest of light would let such a sin go unpunished.
More suggestions floated around the table as the afternoon waned.
The guild, different noble houses, and the local authorities were all mentioned as potential ways to pass on their knowledge.
But all of them had one key problem: suspicion. Knowing these details would throw doubt on the party.
Some didn't mind this. Gabriel and Brandes either felt no punishment would come, or the price of leaving everyone uninformed was greater than admitting the truth.
However, this was not the case for most. Their minds spun, refusing to accept honesty as the sole option.
This was no surprise. It was more a miracle that one-third of an adventurer party would be willing to risk themselves.
It was true— adventurers were often risk-takers. Many viewed their profession as madness for willingly fighting a monster with nothing but a sword bought from the local blacksmith. Yet, beneath their seemingly reckless actions hid a potent motivation: greed.
Sure, you could get torn limb from limb. But then again... those noblewomen did have a great love for their minotaur-hide handbags.
This economic truth kept the adventurer guild full of new recruits. The somber reality also ensured an open position in the member records, with many a young man's name scratched out.
Accidents were bound to happen in a field so mired by danger. Even a 'veteran' team of ten years would fall to a mistake. The latest excursion was proof, yet no spell or potion could fix the damage brought.
Frustration began to ebb its way into their tone as nothing meaningful was offered.
"Alright— so we can't talk to the nobles. The guild is out," Brandus listlessly spoke, dull eyes reciting a scribbled mess from a borrowed handkerchief. "Not the church. Local authorities... we can ignore that one. An anonymous tip will be either ignored or thought to be a joke, so that leaves us with..."
Nothing.
Brandus let out an awkward cough, failing to come up with another option.
He feared they would fall into another round of silence before a small voice rose from the table.
His fear of silence was quickly replaced... by a fear of what would come out of Gary's mouth as he gazed at the straight posture and curled lips: both telltale signs of an infamous plot brewing.
"Maybe... we should consider the 'running away' option."