Chương 63: Chapter 61 – Pivot.

Alric arrived at the adventurers' guild without incident. Normally he would have gone to reception, but he bypassed it instead. The receptionist looked up as he passed, followed him with his eyes for a moment, then returned to his ledger and said nothing. The scratching of his quill resumed almost immediately, having clearly decided that intervening meant more work. Alric approached the guild master's office, Vale following close behind.

The stone floor here was worn smoother than the rest of the hall, polished dull by decades of boots belonging to people who had learned, often painfully, where they were allowed to walk. He knocked once, then opened the door. The adventurers had a habit of surprising Alric. This time, it was Pavise, standing in his small clothes with his breastplate laid out on the desk. A cloth moved slowly over the metal, producing a soft, rhythmic rasp that suggested long familiarity with both armour and routine.

Pavise looked up. They locked eyes. For a moment neither of them moved. Alric quietly closed the door again and stood there, hand still on the latch, giving both of them time to agree that this was not a thing that had happened. He glanced at Vale. Vale appeared entirely unaware of the situation, his attention fixed somewhere down the corridor.

From inside the office came the sound of metal being set aside and a chair shifting its weight across the floor, the sort of movement that implied careful dignity rather than haste.

"Come in." Alric opened the door again, slower this time. Pavise now wore a tunic. The breastplate had been pushed aside, still catching light along one edge, as if mildly resentful at being interrupted mid-polish. He did not meet Alric's eye as he gestured to a chair. Alric sat. The chair creaked once under his weight. Vale took the other chair beside him and folded his hands. Pavise studied Vale for a long moment.

"Clerk?" he asked. Alric nodded. Pavise hesitated.

"Do I need mine?" Alric shrugged. Pavise leaned back and knocked once against the wall behind him. The sound travelled through stone before fading, having delivered its message to wherever such messages went.

"He'll be here in a moment," he said. The words were casual, but the pause that followed suggested they were not idle. They waited. Somewhere deeper in the building, a door opened and closed, followed by footsteps that approached, stopped, reconsidered, and then resumed with greater certainty. When the door opened, Pavise's clerk entered. The former healer paused just long enough to take in the arrangement of the room, then stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and sat in the last available seat.

The chair legs scraped faintly as he settled, a sound that carried the resignation of a man who had learned not to ask questions too early. Alric drew a breath.

"I've done you a few favours now," he said.

"I need to ask one in return." The words sat in the room. Pavise nodded once, slowly, and gestured for him to continue.

"My warehouse was attacked last night," Alric said.

"One of my staff was attacked as well." Pavise did not interrupt. His fingers rested flat against the arm of the chair, unmoving, as though he had placed them there deliberately to stop himself doing something else.

"So," he said eventually, "you need security?" He glanced briefly at Vale, then back to Alric.

"Not exactly." Alric paused.

"It's pretty clear both the Tavern Keepers' and the Innkeepers' Guilds were involved. Different people. Different clothing. Different attacks." Pavise tilted his head slightly, listening. The room was otherwise still, as if aware that anything louder would be inappropriate.

"I'm not interested in deciding which group did what," Alric continued.

"I'm interested in stopping it." A draft slipped through the edges of the window frame, stirring the cloth draped over the breastplate. No one spoke.

"I'd like to sell beer to the Adventurers' Guild at cost, plus labour," Alric said.

"I'd like you to do the same." Vale turned sharply in his chair, the movement abrupt enough to draw the eye, though not enough to interrupt.

"I want to hit back." Pavise nodded, slowly. His gaze drifted to the far wall and stayed there, as if the stone had something useful to say on the matter.

"If I don't do something like this," Alric said after a moment, "it won't end. Eventually people will die." Another nod. Slower this time. The silence stretched. Pavise's clerk adjusted his posture by a fraction, then went still again, having apparently decided that this was not a moment for movement. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

"We could call it a festival," the former healer turned clerk said at last. Pavise raised a brow and considered the idea without speaking. A distant cheer rose briefly from somewhere in the guild hall below, then faded, having achieved whatever purpose it had set out to accomplish.

"Goodwill never hurts," Pavise said eventually.

"The Adventurers' Spring Festival?"

"The name doesn't matter to me," Alric said.

"Call it what you like." Pavise sat back and stared at the wall again. His fingers rested against the chair's worn edge, tracing a shallow groove left by others before him, most of whom had probably also thought they were making sensible decisions at the time.

"Costs are complicated," he said finally.

"But I need you. I've already burned bridges with the innkeepers. They fed us garbage beer for years, and this hits them again." He paused.

"Very well. I agree. On conditions." He looked at Alric.

"Security is part of the cost."

"I'll defer to you," Alric said.

"You're the professional there." Pavise nodded.

"Get me a list of the high-rankers we have in town." He said to his own clerk who nodded. The clerk stood and left, the door closing softly behind him, as though trying not to be noticed. Pavise leaned back and looked at both Alric and Vale.

"This is why clerks unsettle me," he said.

"I'd rather have a good, clean fight any day. You fight dirty Alric." Alric shrugged. Vale had not stopped looking alarmed, though he had at least stopped looking surprised. The clerk returned and handed Pavise a single page. The paper was creased from being folded and unfolded too often, a sure sign of relevance.

"Gryphons Beak," Pavise said after reading.

"We'll rotate teams. One for your warehouse, one for you. If you're at the warehouse, that covers both." Alric nodded. Pavise stood and extended his hand. Alric took it, feeling the calloused grip and the steady pressure behind it, the sort of handshake that made no attempt at subtlety. The rest of the meeting passed quietly.

When Alric left, Vale walked beside him, four heavily armed adventurers falling in behind them, packs shifting and leather creaking as they moved with the comfortable confidence of people who expected to be needed.

"You know," Vale said after a while, "I never imagined I'd have such a ruthless boss. It's refreshing." He nodded faintly, as though confirming something to himself. Alric shrugged. Vale often seemed to finish his thoughts somewhere Alric could not see. As they neared the gate, something occurred to him.

"We need to make a stop." They turned off the main road and soon stood before the White Dove Inn. The sign above the door swayed slightly, tapping once against its bracket in a manner that suggested long familiarity with wind. Alric asked the adventurers to wait outside. They took up position without comment, clearly regarding this as well within the bounds of normal work.

"Welcome to the—Alric! It's been ages," Ruth said brightly. Alric smiled despite himself.

"I need to speak to your father. It's urgent." He tilted his head toward Vale, using him as the excuse to keep it short. Ruth nodded, curiosity plain on her face, and pointed him toward the dining room. Inside, the warmth of the room pressed in immediately, carrying the smell of stew and old wood. Alric was surprised to see Berrin seated with another innkeeper.

Both men looked up at once, then shifted slightly apart as Alric approached, as though instinct had informed them that this was not a conversation meant to be shared.

"Good to see you, Berrin," Alric said.

"Do you have a moment?" Berrin hesitated, then glanced at the other man.

"If this is about the guilds, Denner can be trusted," he said.

"He owes me enough to know when to keep his mouth shut." The other man inclined his head.

"Denner. Proprietor of the Three Barrels."

"Alric," he replied.

"Sometimes called the brewer." Alric took a breath, then another. Somewhere in the street, a cart rumbled past, as a shout went unanswered.

"Both guilds attacked last night, my warehouse" Alric paused.

"And my staff." The words sat between them. The fire popped once and settled, having made its contribution.

"I don't know which group did what," he continued.

"And I don't think it matters. I'm going to hit back." Berrin's shoulders dropped slightly, as if a weight had finally been given a name. Denner stared at the table, fingers pressed flat against the wood.

"Berrin," Alric said after a moment, "you need to stay out of this. Keep your nose clean. Claim you know nothing. You have a family to think of." Berrin nodded slowly.

"We've endured long winters," he said.

"I appreciate you thinking of me." He hesitated.

"What does this look like? So I can prepare."

"I'm selling beer to the adventurers at cost," Alric said.

"They'll sell it the same way." Both men winced as if punched.

"We'll manage," Berrin said quietly.

"Soup. Shorter hours." There was a long pause, a noise like someone dropping something could be heard in the street. Alric was about to turn to leave when Denner spoke up.

"I don't have family," All three men looked at him.

"I want in." Alric studied him for a long moment.

"Why?"

"The cider hurt us," Denner said.

"The guild did nothing. You at least tried. I know you made it. I know it wasn't malice." He exhaled.

"I don't think you want to sink us. The guild didn't care either way."

"You'd have to sell beer at cost," Alric said. Denner smiled faintly.

"Food's still mine?"

"Just the beer."

"I'll strike the colours, then," Denner said.

"The guild mostly charged fees anyway." He paused.

"There are others who aren't in guilds you know?"

"I'll find them," Alric said.

"I'm only going after the guilds."

"I'll get you a list."

"Put it on the back of delivery slips," Alric said.

"Send it with the carters." Denner offered his hand. Alric took it.

"You might regret this," Alric said. Denner shrugged. On the road back toward the warehouse, Vale was smiling.

"You are the most ruthless, calculated gremlin I've ever met," he said.

"Best boss I could have asked for." Alric had no answer. He focused on the road ahead as the heavy, uneven footsteps of his escort followed behind him, keeping time without instruction. Meanwhile, elsewhere in the city:"With respect, I'm in the bakers' guild," a shopkeeper said to a customer.

"We've nothing to do with beer. I heard the taverns tried to start the fire." A carter hauling charcoal stopped for the third time by concerned citizens and set the cart handle down.

"I'm headed to the crafters' quarter," he said.

"Not the warehouses." In another tavern, a woman said, "My sister says she drank some well water yesterday, and it tasted clean." Those nearby regarded her with scepticism. After a moment, they shook their heads and returned to their drinks, the murmur of conversation closing gently over the idea.