Dain came down the stairwell to the Guild’s tavern already swollen to full morning noise. Tables thudded with drinking adventurers, the automaton cook behind a counter clanged its skillets hard, and there—on a long side table near the job board—sat Anisa and Yasmin alongside the failure four.

  Five of them wore the same expression: drunk-faced delight. He wasn’t surprised Yasmin was the only one sitting ramrod-straight with a hand near her lady’s cup, whispering reminders about decorum and elegance that were all being cheerfully ignored.

  “Braskir ale!” Anisa declared, cheeks pink as she raised her cup. “Braskir ale is the best ale in the world!”

  That drew a chorus from nearby adventurers with their mugs raised, throats raised higher. Somewhere in the corner a man banged the table with his knife in approval.

  Dain allowed himself a small smile. If a town wanted love, it only needed a good morning tavern.

  Kargun spotted him coming over and waved big, almost falling off the chair as he did. “Oy! Boss! In with ye! We’re playin’ Dust on the Ledger, we are, so come set yer cheek at the debtor’s table!”

  He blinked. Of course they were. He was going to suggest playing Dust on the Ledger himself so he could interrogate them secretly, but now he didn’t even have to do anything.

  Sliding onto the chair next to Yasmin and Rena, he immediately gave the mountain of untouched breakfast plates a once-over, and then he decided he was here for the hot poached eggs first and the cold truths second.

  Gods, I’m hungry.

  While he ate his breakfast of leeks and eggs, the others kept the drinking game rolling. Dust on the Ledger had simple rules: each player took turns declaring something they’d done in their past, or something that had happened to them in the past. If someone else claimed the same experience, the first player had to drink alone; if no one did, then everyone else had to drink. The last one standing—or at least sitting upright—won the right to rob the rest of the table blind while they slept off the alcohol.

  It was a crude miner’s game, but it was efficient at breaking the ice. He’d first read about it in The Tales of Seeker Orland, where adventurers in the first tavern he visited bonded over confessions and intoxication in equal measure.

  A brilliant social contraption.

  Get your companions to talk about themselves, spill their guts in front of an audience, and make them thank you for it by the end of the night.

  Of course, one could lie—claim they’d experienced something so ridiculously unique that basically forces everyone else to drink—but like most drinking games, it ran off a code of honor. Cheating at Dust on the Ledger was like forging the signatures in a prayer book to the gods.

  Dain ate. The leek-and-egg fry came out properly with iron-kissed edges and a soft, runny center, salt balanced by a lemon preserve. Honestly, he was too busy stuffing his mouth to join the current rounds, so he listened closely instead.

  Ilvaren flicked her hair and declared, “Dust on the ledger, but never have I ever been thrown from a fourth-story balcony once for killing the wrong baron’s son.”

  Kargun’s hand shot up. So did Sahlir. Rena raised her hand halfway, thought about it real hard with her eyes rolling up to the corners, then lowered it with a helpless laugh. Regardless, killing the wrong baron’s son wasn’t a unique experience for Ilvaren, so she grumbled and tossed her shot back, drinking alone.

  Rena’s turn. She tapped the rim of her cup with her spoon. “Dust on the ledger, but never have I ever… uh… set my own apron on fire because the living stew wanted to gallop out of the pot.”

  Surprisingly, Ilvaren, Kargun, and Sahlir all raised their hands.

  “Ye set fires wi’ stew?” Kargun said, delighted.

  “Only sometimes,” Rena replied.

  “I’ve burned an apron before,” Anisa said. “Does that count?”

  “I think it counts,” Dain chimed in.

  “Drink, human!” Sahlir said, so Rena drank. Sahlir went next while Rena struggled to guzzle down what appeared to be her sixth shot already, judging by the empty glasses in front of her. “Dust on ledger, never have ever sell relic and charge ten times price!”

  Anisa’s eyes slid to Dain. Yasmin’s eyes were already on Dain. He smiled with only his teeth and raised a hand mid-bite.

  “I used to be a relic merchant,” he said. “Buying low and selling high without your customer knowing is simple practice.”

  “Drink!” Ilvaren sang, and Sahlir looked delighted to be drinking again.

  So the turns went around and around, again and again, with nobody claiming an experience unique enough that everybody else had to drink.

  Kargun’s ‘never have I ever fallen asleep swingin’ a pick and woke in a different tunnel,’ ended with Rena raising her hand, so he drank alone. Ilvaren’s ‘never have I ever used my reflection in a pawned silver plate to cut my hair in a prison wagon,’ ended with Sahlir and Kargun raising his hand, so she drank alone. Rena’s ‘never have I ever napped inside a barrel of onions’ sent Ilvaren and Kargun into simultaneous fits. Apparently that was a shared history.

  Dain ate and took small sips.

  The easiest way to get everyone else to drink is to just say something really, really, really specific, but I guess they’re just not that bright. Or they’re not really trying to win.

  When the turn came to Anisa, though, she lifted her chin and said, “Dust on the Ledger, but… uh, never have I ever… dismissed two dukes and a bishop from my father’s audience hall because they complained about the smell of the rams I was keeping at the time.”

  The table went quiet.

  Then everyone laughed at the same time, raising their glasses in unison. Everyone drank, including Dain, because of course she was the only one who could’ve had that kind of experience.

  To win and not drink, you have to share something deeply personal—and most likely something deeply embarrassing—about yourself.

  So you basically lose anyways.

  Yasmin’s turn came after. Very reluctantly, and still looking like she’d rather be guarding her lady than playing a tavern game, she fidgeted where she sat and eventually muttered, “Dust on the ledger, never have I… ever… traveled without a weapon?”

  It was probably the lamest confession Dain had ever heard. Predictably, all of the failure four raised their hands, snickering and goading Yasmin to take a big, heavy drink. She didn’t look irritated exactly, but the faint tightening at the corner of her mouth said she was keeping score against the failure four themselves.

  And now Kargun, who’d clearly tipped from merry to molten, slammed his mug down. “Aye, to hell wi’ the silly turns,” he slurred, squinting at the others like the room owed him something. “Dust on the ledger, is it? Fine, then—never have I e’er watched me own family crushed in a collapse durin’ the war. The beams split, the powder cracked, an’ the pit swallowed the whole Flintvein shaft. Never have I dragged three brothers to the light just to bury ‘em the same week. Never have I gone adventurin’ tae make the coin tae open that mine again, tae swing the picks in me father’s name. That’s me dust, right there. Anyone gon’ raise their hands?”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  It was so sudden and heavy that even the tavern noise around them seemed to falter. Dain froze mid-bite, watching the dwarf’s hand tremble just slightly as he gripped his cup. The words weren’t rehearsed or embellished—they just slipped out like they were the most natural thing Kargun could’ve said at this moment.

  Nobody raised a hand.

  … Which meant Kargun looked around, red-eyed and grinning crookedly. “Ha! Thought so. Go on then, ye sorry lot—drink! Dust on the ledger!”

  They all obeyed. Cups lifted, throats burned, and for a moment the clamor returned, rough and uneasy. Dain drank too, the liquor warming him just enough to mask the knot in his chest.

  Then Sahlir leaned forward, and it was his turn again. “Dust on ledger, never have ever watch monsters of sands tear apart my tribe in Karakhun Mountains,” he said flatly. “Never have ever left home to wander for relics, and one day, I gather enough to return and arm every tribesmen left so no monsters eat us again. Any of you felt that before?”

  Once again, no hands rose. Sahlir laughed and pointed at Ilvaren and Kargun’s glasses, shouting “drink, drink,” at the top of his lungs.

  So they did once again. Everyone drank.

  “Your turn, Re—” Kargun burped, “ —na. Ye gon’ drink again or what?”

  Rena hiccuped into her cup like it was a pillow. “Dust on the ledger,” she mumbled, words slurring together, “never have I… ever lost a husband and two daughters to the war. Lost my tavern along with them. Been wandering ever since with a pack on my back hoping to save enough coin to open again where the sign used to hang. Any drinkers here?”

  She peered at their silence, then immediately threw on a drunken smile that climbed much higher than Dain thought she could manage.

  “That’s my dust,” she slurred, poking Ilvaren’s arm with her elbow. “Your turn, Illy.”

  Ilvaren slapped her empty glass down and immediately leaned forward, grinning like a cut. “Uhh… dust on the ledger… never have I ever sailed across the sea because I was bored outta my mind in the forest. The village sings pacifism and bottles every dark thought like it’s fine cordial, but that shit gets boring after thirty, forty years, so—hic—I crossed over to Obric and decided to be as violent as possible for the next twenty years. You fuckers can relate or not? Dwarf? You drinking?”

  Kargun snorted into his foam. “Ye’re a mad bitch, is what ye are.”

  Sahlir blinked. “What is ‘bitch’?”

  “A word for a woman you shouldn’t annoy when she has knives,” Rena answered.

  “Nobody asked you, porter,” Ilvaren snapped and twirled a strand of hair. “Well? Drinks? Are any of you gonna drink, or are you gonna—hic—tuck your tails between your legs and run?”

  And then it devolved from bickering into a full-tilt squabble. Ilvaren called Kargun a stone-slug in boots, Kargun barked back that she was a knife with legs, and Sahlir asked, dead serious, if knives had legs—and Dain watched them all with an easy, merchant’s amusement.

  … None of them are the one-eyed in disguise.

  He just had to be cautious with the four of them, which was why he’d wanted to play Dust on the Ledger. The game was a cheap hinge to swing people open, and… well, they certainly were reckless, and they certainly were carefree, but their hearts were simple and plain: they were just common adventurers trying to do right by their dead, their tribes, and their dreams.

  He could tell none of them were lying. None of them were. They hadn’t destroyed Corvalenne, and they weren’t pretending to be stupid to get closer to him and make him let his guard down.

  Maybe he’d just been overly paranoid, but…

  Now, he could let out the smallest breath of relief.

  “Your turn,” Ilvaren said suddenly, slapping him on the back.

  “Aye! Talk, boss—who in the pits are ye, an’ why’s there an eye in yer arm spittin’ wind?” Kargun jabbed.

  “Speak,” Sahlir added plainly.

  Dain considered, drumming his fingers on the table for a second—then he glanced around to see if anybody might be overhearing, or even watching them outright, before picking a story where he absolutely wouldn’t have to drink.

  Time to take a calculated risk.

  “Dust on the ledger, never have I ever watched my hometown destroyed twice,” he said casually—quietly as well so nobody past their table could possibly hear him. “Never have I ever then contacted a cursed god, nearly gotten a princess killed repeatedly by dragging her into danger, and set myself to hunt a one-eyed cult trying to start a war.”

  Silence thudded once more.

  Then the failure four cackled in unison, lifted their cups, and drank hard.

  Dain grinned as he returned to his breakfast. Even a blind man could tell they were all far too drunk out of their minds already to comprehend what he’d just said, but his confession, too, was the final nail in the coffin. If any of them were the one-eyed he was hunting, they would’ve absolutely sobered up the moment they realized he was the one hunting them. Hell, they probably would've lunged at him across the table the moment he mentioned a 'one-eyed cult', because there'd be no reason for them to wait for him to dig himself into a deeper pit.

  That he was still alive right now meant none of them really were—

  “Ow,” he hissed, wincing as Yasmin’s elbow found his ribs.

  “Revealing my lady’s identity for a tavern game?” she hissed back.

  “They shared their stories,” he murmured. “Common courtesy demands we share a little, too.”

  “Your courtesy is diseased.”

  “Well, don’t blame me. That’s just how the game is played. Besides, look at them. Do they look like they heard a single thing I just said.”

  Yasmin turned and glanced at the shit-faced adventurers. Her lady, too, was one of them, mumbling incoherently as Sahlir, Ilvaren, and Kargun cheered at her to drink an extra cup of ale just for fun.

  "Fair point," she muttered. "But what about that 'cursed god' thing? What're you talking about?"

  Dain looked at Yasmin sternly. As he'd expected, only Yasmin was sober enough to have heard that... and her reaction, more curious than judgemental, told him it might just be okay to tell her more about it in the future. It'd be far more convenient for him if at least one person in the party knew his secret, so then he'd be able to pair up with them whenever he had to 'do something' out of sight, but not invite suspicion when he needed someone to corroborate his story.

  Yasmin's a decent fighter, doesn't get drunk, and isn't after fame or riches. She also knows I can get relics even though she hasn't seen my Altar in a while, but she hasn't pressed me about it, which means she respects my want for secrecy. She probably won't pressure me until I decide to tell her myself.

  Maybe she's the right person to tell.

  But not now.

  A crisp snap cracked the air. All six of them immediately turned to Rena, who’d conjured a cloudy glass orb into her palm and raised it in front of her face.

  “What’s that?” Anisa slurred, blinking.

  “A Reality Bubble relic,” Rena said cheerily, setting the orb down. “It captures all sights and sounds in a particular moment. You can play the stored memory back later, but only once before it shatters, so I keep a few on me all the time. It's just a hobby of mine to capture things I'd like to remember for a while... and it is part of a porter's duties to keep track of the party's activities. Wanna see the image I just captured of Sahlir almost throwing up his ale?"

  Ilvaren, Kargun, and Sahlir rolled their eyes in chorus. “Don’t mind her, human,” Ilvaren said. “She whips out her bubbles all the time. The porter hoards her moments like a magpie hoards shine.”

  Dain, however, had a smile tugging on the corner of his lips. “That’s a fun relic. I’ve seen one before.”

  “Oh my.” Rena brightened. “I thought they were relatively rare relics. What'd you see?”

  “Orland killing a sunmane lion.”

  “Nice.”

  Then Anisa clapped, nearly toppling her cup. “Yasmin’s turn! She hasn’t won a turn even once.”

  Yasmin sat up straight and immediately tried to decline her turn, but Ilvaren started crowing, and Kargun and Sahlir started cheering for her to say something about herself. When she turned to Dain and pleaded for help quietly, he whistled and looked away, counting the number of requests on the job board.

  So many requests.

  I wonder how many we can clear for more money and training before next week’s scorpion extermination request.

  Yasmin kicked him under the table, but he held his yelp in and ignored her. Now—with no help from either him or her shit-faced lady—she laced her fingers, drew a breath, and thought really, really hard about the story she wanted to tell.

  Eventually, she got one.

  “... Dust on the ledger, never have I ever stolen a heavy jar of cookies from my lady’s house in the middle of the night because I was hungry,” she said. “I hid in a storage room to eat them, but then I heard someone coming, so I panicked, left the jar open on a crate, and promised I’d return it to its shelf the next morning. But I was busy with cleaning duties the next morning, and by nightfall, I’d completely forgotten about the jar, so by the time the head steward entered the storage room the week after, ants had already infested the entire place. My lord assumed my lady had done it, so he punished her, and I was too afraid to correct him.”

  And when Yasmin finished her painfully specific confession, the table fell into a brief, stunned silence. Anisa’s brows climbed, then drew into a prim, offended line, as if she still remembered that punishment in retrospect.

  But Yasmin, utterly oblivious to her lady’s tipsy anger, smiled with rare satisfaction when nobody raised their hand.

  “Aha!” she said. “Now everyone has to drink but me.”

  here with 20 advanced chapters, and the link to the Discord server is , which has exclusive daily facts about the world, galleries of the maps, and announcement channels where readers may get early access to new stories!

  follow/favorite/rating! It'll help me out a ton!