Chương 40: Front Door

"Whaaat? You got a Slipstep cloak?" Alis said, a pout already forming.

"Where's mine? All I got was a horse!" The streets of Wardenhal felt busier than ever before. With the mines reopening, the whole town had been rejuvenated. Getting to the market was an obstacle course, every step to avoid getting jostled by the crowd.

"Actually, the baron gave me one of those as well," Joel admitted sheepishly.

"Give me your share of the silver back," Alis teased, lunging for his pouch. Joel pulled his hand away.

"No, no, no. You said it yourself. I earned it fair and square."

"That was before I knew you had a magic cloak!" Joel shrugged.

"You didn't ask."

"Well, you're paying for the honey cakes."

"Okay."

"And the flatbreads!"

"Okay, okay! After we get to Thadd's first." He could hardly contain his excitement. Thadd had sent word to the castle, informing Joel that Gorum had travelled back to see him. As much as he appreciated his new friends, Gorum reminded him of home. Maybe it was because he was related to Prum, a friendly NPC in the early access days. Maybe it was because Gorum looked after him like a grouchy grandpa. Maybe it was because the Berrygood Lodge was the first place he ended up.

"Speaking about rewards though," Alis said, her tone turning serious.

"You think the baron kept his word about Wirbald? That he lowered his sentence?" Joel remembered the baron's sorrowful stare.

"I think so. I hope so. But who knows how long Wirbald's sentence was." He thought of the folded parchment, the former guildmaster's parting gift. It hadn't left his pocket since he wasn't sure what else to do with the page of vellum. He looked towards Alis. It couldn't hurt to ask at this point.

"Hey, Alis, so I was given something else."

"What? Another magic item?" she joked.

"Before they took Wirbald, he gave me something." Joel took the page out, unfolding it.

"It's all scribbles to me but maybe you can make something out?" He passed the parchment to her. The half-elf raised her brow as she wiped her blonde bangs for a proper look. She stopped in the middle of the street to study it. Then Alis turned, brow still arched, to cast a glance at Joel.

"This is a page of his spellbook formulas." She waved it in the air at Joel's face.

"The writing's rough. He likely doesn't get much practice anymore."

"You can read it?" She shook her head and handed the parchment back.

"Nothing more than the first few lines. The rest of the page is composed of a more complex cipher." She continued to head down the street after some of the locals yelled at her to get moving. The young Freewalker silenced them all with a glare.

"Well, what do those lines say?" Joel asked as he looked over chicken scratch symbols.

"It's the formula for a basic shielding spell. No different from what you saw me or Wirbald use."

"I didn't see Wirbald use fire magic though."

"What each of our shields were composed of are different, but their foundational principles are the same. That's why I can puzzle together the first few lines of the equation."

"Right. Totally." He didn't get it at all.

"Say, you think you could teach me this stuff?"

"Sure, but only on the road when I'm bored," she said, looking back at him with a smile.

"No promises on what you learn though. I only know the basics myself. Also, I know you can summon a magical hand but Wirbald knows more about magic than I do." Joel knew what she meant. Wirbald had assessed him as an empty person — a person with trace or no magical spirit within them. That didn't explain why he could cast [Mana Hand] or had an MP bar in his [Status] screen.

He could even test the theory further by gaining some spells through the [Homebrew] feature, though he'd promised himself that he'd focus on maximizing his ability scores. If he could learn naturally from Alis, it would be all the better.

"I'll appreciate anything you can teach me," Joel said, noticing that Alis had started walking briskly, almost skipping. He folded the parchment back into his pocket. A magic shield would be awesome, especially if it was even a fraction of what Wirbald was capable of.

"So that's how strong guildmasters are, huh? People like Wirbald?"

"Even stronger. Wirbald was far from his ideal condition. All guildmasters are Tier 1s, each one an elite adventurer who has done countless missions. Most guilds only have a handful of Tier 1s."

"So they're the strongest in the guild." It was no different with player guilds in the early access days of First Fantasy — the highest levelled players were in charge.

"Not necessarily. There's exceptions with the—" Joel's stomach plummeted when he followed her gaze. A dense crowd sat in front of the Thadd's store and muttered amongst each other, like people gathered around a car crash. Once they pushed through the crowd, the source of the commotion came into view. The front windows of Thadd's and Hottor's shops had been smashed; glass sprayed across the street. Some of their merchandise, jewelry and fruit, was dumped alongside broken stools and small tables.

Splotches of blood stained the busted door, hanging off its bottom hinge, that led into Thadd's store. Both of them dashed into the fruit shop, wand and fists ready. Gorum sat lurched over Thadd, who was collapsed on his side. The inside of the shop was a mess, splattered fruit and toppled over display stands, but it was nothing compared to their state. Blood poured from a gash above the elderly half-orc's brow, leaking over his eye.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Thadd was worse, much worse. Joel had to recognize the merchant by his clothes and hair. Sickeningly, the merchant's eyes had swollen shut, and his purpling face was caked red in blood. He gasped raggedly, each heave a choke. Joel rushed forward to Gorum's side.

"Gorum! What happened!?"

"Lad, ya here." Gorum tried to blink the blood from his eye.

"These men were taking the dwarf next door. Thadd went to talk them down and they beat him for it." He cradled Thadd's head carefully.

"I tried to stop them, but they wouldn't stop hittin' him." Alis summoned a globule of flame, sending the light to investigate the room further. Satisfied and jaw clenched, she brought the floating flame back to the others.

"Where'd they take Hottor?" she asked, emerald eyes turning hard. Her voice was measured and terse.

"S-south… Ale's Worth… tavern," Thadd choked out, spitting blood.

"With me, Joel." Alis marched for the door.

"Wait—" But she'd already gone outside. Joel placed a hand on Gorum and Thadd, channeling his [Lay On Hands]. The warm light stopped Gorum's bleeding and eased Thadd's breathing. He felt guilty for only using 5 percent, but who knew how badly Hottor might be hurt. Gorum grunted in surprise at the healing.

"Sorry, I should've got here sooner," Joel muttered darkly as his hands curled into fists. The half-orc shook his head and placed a grateful hand on Joel's shoulder.

"No apologies for this. I'm glad to see ya nonetheless." Cutting off any response, Gorum waved him out.

"Go on, follow ya friend. I'll be here with young Thadd." Joel left the wrecked shop to the peering stares of the outside crowd. Alis was nowhere to be found.

"Has someone called the guards?" he shouted out. A few people nodded dumbly back.

"Where'd my companion go?" A child, still holding his mother's hand, pointed across the market plaza. Joel broke off into a sprint, searching for the mage as he ran past the throng of booths and people. He cursed, realizing how impossible it would be to find her. The only way to regroup was going to be meeting her where her temper would ultimately lead her. Despite asking the locals, he had to question three different people to wrest the directions to the Ale's Worth tavern.

It was clear the first two knew exactly where the tavern was, but refused to give him specific directions. The last person, a half-drunk belligerent, had to be bribed with a silver coin to tell him to head near the town's edge and look for a broken red sign on top of a building. The entire town had become a blur as he raced down its cobbled streets. Even at his frantic pace, he could discern when he'd arrived at Wardenhal's outskirts.

The buildings became ramshackle; there were no more whitewashed walls and the crowds became distinctly sparse. A mounting clamor ahead brought Joel to a sudden stop. The noise turned into louder hubbub. He could hear the clink of loose spearheads and drawn blades. Trusting his instincts, Joel turned into a tidy alleyway, kneeling behind a barrel cast within a nearby building's shadow.

"We hafta find the bastard!" yelled an approaching voice.

"I can't believe they'd gut Bort like that. It's inconceivable!" shouted a raspier voice.

"Yah! Whatever that means!" yelled someone else. Another man responded.

"Got lucky is all. Using a spear like that. Ambushed him like a coward too." Joel watched the mob pass, all hard men with murder in their eyes. Every one of them was armed to the teeth. Others in the street had done the same as him — getting out of their way.

"Come on, he couldn't gone far!" shouted a scarred man, a heavy club in his hand. He waved to the rabble behind him.

"This way!" Joel knew they weren't searching for him. He hadn't stabbed anyone recently, but he hid further into the alleyway. After all, the last thing he needed was more trouble. Taking a solid minute, he waited for the aggrieved mob to pass by.

"What was that…? A gang war or something?" he muttered as he finally stepped out of the alleyway. It appeared like they'd been approaching from the direction he was heading. Hopefully Alis would be alright. The thought made him sprint a little faster down the street. If the town was changing earlier, it had completely transformed now — the streets had become cramped as the air turned stale, and the boarded windows contradicted the unhinged doors.

Perhaps more notably, townsfolk here kept their eyes glued to the street as if a glance would invite a challenge. It didn't take long to find the dilapidated structure that could be mistaken for a tavern, a red sign hanging for its life above a surprisingly sturdy door. A handprint of fresh blood stained the doorframe. He suppressed the instinctual fear that it was Alis', remembering what the recent stabbing the mob had mentioned. It didn't seem like she was inside; it was too quiet.

"Joel. Over here," Alis whispered loudly, impatiently waving from further down the street, around a building's corner.

"Here!"

"I see you, I see you." Joel hurried over to join her.

"What happened?"

"I was about to run in there," she said with her arms crossed.

"But then a horde of them came barreling out of there."

"And you got spooked?" It was his turn to tease. She scowled.

"No. I wanted to ensure that we rescued Hottor safely. Less people, more safety."

"So that's the plan? Just you and me rescuing Hottor? Shouldn't we get the others? Or the guards?"

"There might not be enough time. Who knows when they'll all come back," Alis said, glancing at the tavern's door before turning back to him.

"You didn't have half as many questions when we were in the mines." That felt like a completely different situation but he didn't bother voicing that.

"Alright, alright. Then how do we do this? I imagine you all usually have some strategies for these situations."

"Siv and I used to pretend he was hurt," she said, her voice pitching to a falsetto.

"And poor me didn't know what to do. That's not going to work with us though, so we go with Plan FD."

"FD…?" Also, he wasn't sure why that other plan wouldn't work with them.

"Front Door. We kick it in." She blinked at him.

"That doesn't seem like much of a plan."

"It's a great one. Follow me." Alis had already started confidently marching towards the door.

"Between the two of us, this shouldn't be any trouble." Joel didn't doubt that, chasing after her; he'd witnessed Alis become a living flamethrower underground. After all, no matter how tough thugs looked, fire burned all the same. At worst, he'd have to cover her back.

"I mean, helping folks is a part of a Freewalker's job description after all." Alis said, a smile plastered on her face, as she tapped her scorched wand against the door. The door burst into the tavern, blasting off of its frame. Surprised shouts erupted from within. The musky odor of reekleaf and soured ale drifted out to greet them. Alis marched in, her nose wrinkled and held high.

"Hello, gentlefolk." If the place was called the Ale's Worth tavern, it must've been the cheapest ale ever. Other than the cramped bar counter at the far end, which currently had a bleeding man laid upon it, the establishment didn't have a level table between the small crowd of bewildered thugs.

"We are searching for one named Hottor," she continued matter-of-factly.

"Please hand him over, unharmed, and we'll be about our day."

"I'm fecking bleedin' all over here," yelled the injured man on the countertop, holding his ripped up crimsoned shirt against his wound.

"What are yall gawpin' for!? Get 'em outta here before da boss hears!" Joel did a quick count as the thugs all got to their feet, each hefting a club or dagger — there were eight of them, excluding the one who was bleeding out. Between Alis and him, they wouldn't be worried about anything at all.

"So you got this, right?" Alis said, turning to him.

"What?" They were getting closer. Alis put a hand to her chin, counting the approaching thugs carefully.

"Eight. You should be able to take care of them, any self-respecting Freewalker would. Make it quick. Don't kill too many though." She stepped behind Joel, back out of the tavern's entrance.

"What?!" One of the ruffians broke from the pack and rushed forward with a dagger raised. Instead of asking what for the third time, Joel intercepted the charge and shot two crisp jabs that folded the thug face first into the door frame. And just like that, the entire room of bloodthirsty hoodlums crashed forward.