Solo Strategy

By the time our boat docked at the fishing pier in the suburb of Beziu with the first rays of the sun, I had once again adjusted my plans, optimizing the logistics of my route a bit.

I decided to change my approach: first, I would use Sundbad's Gates to reach Pentapolis, specifically the city of Feyst. From there, I would head to the Great Patanga Swamps. This route change was simple to explain: firstly, Feyst was west of Deytran, and secondly, the swamps lay even further in the same direction, closer to the sunset. Moreover, while the ripple from the Gate transition dissipated—about a day and a half for me—I would have enough time to find the True Altars of the Night Mistress in the city dedicated to the deity of Festivities and Wine Drinking. Besides, by splitting the Gate transition into two parts, I could save some money. And sensible saving, as everyone knows, never hurt anyone.

After paying the boatman, I stepped onto the pier, adjusted the straps of my backpack for comfort, slung Striking Whisper over my shoulder, and headed towards the town.

The gates of Beziu were already open, and, as usual, a considerable crowd had gathered: merchants, peasants, craftsmen, and other travelers waiting their turn to enter the city walls. Ignoring this bustling throng, I put on an expression of indifference with a slight touch of arrogance and walked straight to the gates.

After crossing the First Wall, my Guild Sign, for some reason, changed color on its own and now gleamed with an opal hue. So, such audacity and decisiveness didn't particularly offend anyone.

Being on the Precious Coil of the Spiral, I had the right to bypass the line into the city even without displaying the Nobility brooch, which I took advantage of. Moreover, I didn't inconvenience anyone or cause any significant delays; I simply approached the gate, tossed a silver coin to the decurion, and, brushing off the scribe, calmly entered Beziu.

Since Arien had been generous in preparing me for the journey, I didn't need to visit shops or jostle in the market for anything essential—I headed straight to the central square. Due to my new, much higher status, even the street beggars didn't dare to approach me with requests, and certainly none risked tugging on my clothes as they might have in the past. Pushy merchants and barkers also behaved much more modestly: now, upon seeing me, they preferred to bow respectfully rather than pester me with their offers, as they did during my last visit. So, I reached the center without any hindrance in about ten minutes, no more.

After rinsing my face in the city fountain, I solemnly bowed toward the Temple of the Pantheon—not out of desire, but because it was customary here. Having fulfilled this formality, I ascended the temple steps and had barely passed under the entrance arch when I noticed that quite a few people had gathered to use the Gates of Sundbad today.

Of course, I could have requested a meeting with the Chief Keeper of the Gates and, citing my unusual Guild Sign, demanded passage out of turn. But I wasn't in a hurry—there was plenty to do in the city. So, I simply waited until one of the junior priests of the God of Paths approached me. When he introduced himself, I spoke:

"Raven Alexandrite, Opal rank, sheriff of the Tunnellers' Guild. I want to travel to Feyst."

"Just a moment, sir," the young acolyte bowed politely but noticeably wearily. "Please wait, I'll check." And he leisurely walked away, leaving me to wait.

The young man indeed returned quite quickly. He opened a notebook—which I noticed was produced in one of the Ainuminati's factories—and, after consulting some entries, reported:

"The nearest window to Feyst is in four hours, Om Raven. Unfortunately, the Gates of the Pentapolis' cities are almost always overloaded." With clearly rehearsed regret, he spread his hands.

"I know," I brushed off his attempt to justify himself, as he wasn't to blame. "Reserve this window for me."

Before the young man could say a word, I handed him a hefty pouch:

"Here's the deposit. A hundred gold for the reservation."

Of course, I had counted the money in advance, anticipating that dealing with the Gates to Pentapolis might lead to such a situation, and I decided not to leave it to chance.

"If you are interested, master, the window to Sun City opens in an hour," the young man babbled, glancing inside the pouch.

"Feyst," I said with a slight emphasis. "I need to go to Feyst."

"My apologies," the junior servant bowed deeply. "Then we'll expect you half an hour before noon."

"I'll be," I replied curtly and, turning sharply, left the temple.

Only after descending the temple steps did I realize I had forgotten to ask the acolyte about the city theater. However, it wasn't a big problem. I waved over one of the barefoot boys—the kind that were swarming around the central square like mad—and tossed him a copper coin.

"I heard there's a theater in your city. Take me there, and you'll get four more."

"Of course, master!" the boy exclaimed cheerfully, his eyes lighting up as he eyed my cotta.

He immediately took off and led me, apparently cutting straight, through some narrow streets and shabby alleys. If it had been dark or my rank at least three steps lower, I might have suspected something was amiss—who knows, he might have been trying to lure me into a trap. But under the current circumstances, I had nothing to worry about.

Beziu, of course, was a large town by local standards, but even here, street bandits wouldn't dare mess with a tunneller of Opal rank. Especially not one clad in full armor and carrying an impressive-looking spear on his shoulder. So, even when the boy turned towards the city's slums, not a shadow of concern crossed my face.

'And this thing they proudly call a theater?' I thought, having stopped by a very unimpressive two-story building. A dirty, askew staircase led to its battered doors.

On the top step sat a middle-aged woman, dressed like a simple kitchen maid, with disheveled, greasy hair. What distinguished her from typical kitchen staff was the bow of some string instrument peeking over her shoulder and her Bronze rank.

"Is this the theater?" I asked, ascending a couple of steps, unabashedly scrutinizing the woman.

She seemed so lost in her thoughts that she only noticed me when she heard my question.

"The performance won't start until sunset," she waved me off, but noticing my Sign, she added, "Master."

"Which guild does this theater belong to?" I inquired, ignoring her obvious reluctance to talk to me.

"The magnificent Singing Mountains Guild oversees this place, blessed by Sino himself!" she declared proudly, lifting her chin, almost like reciting blank verse.

Oh, man... But then again, what else did I expect from a minstrel? Pathos and exaggeration were integral to their speech.

"Raven. Raven Alexandrite. Sheriff of the Tunnellers' Guild," I introduced myself and bowed with exaggerated theatricality, like a musketeer before a fair lady. Only my gymnast skills saved me from tumbling down that rickety staircase.

"Merandela the Sweet-Voiced!" she proclaimed with dignity, trying to mimic my greeting. However, the grandeur of the name clearly didn't align with her coordination: she wobbled, narrowly avoiding a fall only by clutching the doorframe.

"Merandela," I began.

"The Sweet-Voiced!" she immediately corrected me, undaunted by my higher rank.

"The Sweet-Voiced, of course," I said, barely holding back laughter. "Tell me, O favored by the gaze of Sino himself, does your guild offer travelers on the Road of Sundbad the opportunity to undergo the Song of the Heart ritual?"

"Oh!" the minstrel brightened up. "We often travel the roads of Sundbad ourselves. Just a year ago, I settled in this dirty, shabby town, and if it weren't for the talent of our leader, the great singer Tobarus, the Voice of the Winds, I would never have..."

She kept talking for about two minutes, and I realized that if I didn't stop her, she would go on until sunset. So, I coughed and interrupted:

"You tell such fascinating stories; I could listen for hours, but..." I spread my hands in a gesture of incredible regret. "I still wanted to hear the answer to my question."

"Huh?" Her eyes cleared, she thought for a moment, then asked, "What was your question?"

"About the Song of the Heart ritual."

"Oh! Right!" She fidgeted, wiped her palms on her dress for some reason, glanced at the door, and babbled, "Master Tobarus will only be here by evening, but if you, Om... Raven, don't want to wait, I can perform the ritual in question myself."

Her eyes darted around as if she feared someone was eavesdropping.

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"You?" As far as I remembered, the ritual leader had to be at least Steel, and she was only Bronze.

"Yes! I can handle it!" she replied with too much confidence. "In my years of roaming around Ain, I've been to all sorts of places! And before becoming a minstrel, I was a novice in one of Ishid's minor temples for two years."

So, if she wasn't lying, she had a certain talent for ritual magic. Because without it, ordinary people weren't even accepted as novices in Ishid's temples. In that case, she could indeed handle the Song of the Heart ritual—after all, it wasn't particularly complicated.

"For just ten gold, I'll prepare everything—and in one hour, I'll be ready to perform the ritual!" the woman rattled off like a machine gun.

I knew minstrels were shameless... but this much?!

"Merandela..."

"The Sweet-Voiced!"

"The Sweet-Voiced," I agreed again. "Have you lost your mind?!" I suddenly barked right in her face. "In four hours, I'll be in Feyst, and there, in any of the truly legendary guilds, they'll perform this ritual for no more than five gold!"

"Fine, I agree to five." Without arguing or even flinching at my shout, the minstrel nodded easily.

"Four!"

"Agreed!"

She agreed too quickly. Clearly a catch. But what was it? She had to understand: if she botched the ritual, an Opal-ranked sheriff would have every right to take her head off.

Maybe this "theater" was a front for the Thieves' or Assassins' Guild, and when I returned in an hour, they'd be waiting to rob me? Hard to believe. Sure, if I were an ordinary traveler, even on the Precious Coil, such a scenario might be plausible. But robbing a sheriff of the Great Guild? You'd have to be out of your mind.

Probably the most sensible option was to shrug it off and leave. I could undergo the ritual I needed in Feyst. After all, in the city dedicated to the god of Festivities, the best minstrels from all over Ain had gathered. But wandering around the city for four hours until the portal opened wasn't appealing either. Although, my "wasn't appealing" was a weak argument if there was a real risk of being robbed. During the Song of the Heart ritual, I would enter a meditative trance, and even a Copper-ranked kid could rob me blind.

Noticing my hesitation and apparently sensing I was leaning towards refusal, Merandela spoke again:

"If you wish, sir, I'll prepare everything, and we'll perform the ritual in the city temple at the statue of Ishid. I'll arrange it with the priests!"

Now, I finally understood. This unscrupulous lady would probably swipe the necessary ingredients from her guild's storeroom, of course, not paying a copper for them, and after performing the ritual, she'd just pocket my four gold. And judging by her shabby appearance, she could clearly use the money. That's why she was fussing and even willing to do it below market price. Her offer dispelled my doubts: in the temple, no one would dare to rob me.

"Deal, Merandela," I said, already descending the flimsy stairs of the local theater.

"The Sweet-Voiced!" the swindler shouted after me.

"The Sweet-Voiced," I threw back over my shoulder without turning around.

Easily finding the street leading to the city center, I set off in search of a place to eat, whistling one of those catchy Earth tunes. After checking out a few taverns, I settled on one from which the most appetizing smells wafted my way.

After a leisurely and hearty breakfast, I even felt a bit drowsy—a couple of sleepless nights were taking their toll. I nearly dozed off right at the table but managed to shake myself awake and left the tavern with about ten minutes to spare before the time set by the cunning minstrel.

As I approached the temple, I didn't immediately recognize Merandela standing in the middle of the marble steps. In the past hour, she had clearly tidied herself up: taken a bath, combed her hair, and changed into a clean, white toga. If not for the massive necklace with the emblem of the minstrels' guild, she could easily have been mistaken for one of the Pantheon's priestesses. She also looked much younger than I initially thought—at first, I guessed she was slightly over forty, but now I would put her at around thirty at most.

"Om Raven," the minstrel bowed gracefully, resembling a priestess in that moment even more. "Everything is ready; we're just waiting for you."

"Merandela," I returned the bow with a provocative smile.

"The Swee..." she began, but stopped herself, blushing slightly and gesturing invitingly with her hand. "Please, the ritual site is prepared."

Noting to myself that she was at least a decent actress, I followed her. The minstrel hadn't lied: everything was ready for the ritual. As soon as we entered, three acolytes lit the incense. Merandela herself, taking a bowl from one of the servants, drank from it and then handed it to me. Taking a large gulp, I recognized the faint taste of herbs familiar from my interactions with Dice. The bowl clearly contained a potent mix of mind-altering plants.

The servants helped me remove my armor, gambeson, and shirt, leaving me bare to the waist. Then Merandela began circling around with brushes in her hands: moving away, then approaching, and each time she touched my bare body with a brush, one of the acolytes brought a bowl to my lips. If I wanted to, thanks to my enhanced mental defense, I could resist the effect of the herbs mixed in the bowl—but that would definitely disrupt the ritual, so I just let my mind drift.

Not even ten minutes passed before I blacked out and found myself in some strange place. My body, of course, was still in the temple, but my consciousness had flown somewhere far away...

"Master!" Merandela shook me awake.

I couldn't say how long I was in this altered state of mind. I simply didn't know—where my consciousness was during the ritual, time flowed almost perpendicularly to the main stream...

"Of universal entropy," I finished my thought aloud.

"What? Never mind." The minstrel quickly dismissed it and shoved a foul-smelling candle under my nose.

As soon as I inhaled the scent, it jolted my brain no worse than a strong dose of ammonia, and my consciousness returned to a relatively normal state.

"How are you?" Merandela leaned over me, breathing heavily, large drops of sweat rolling down her temples.

"Well... a great singer I'll never be," the phrase I uttered seemed inexplicably funny to me, and I barely held back from bursting into loud laughter. "And a musician. And poetry is not for me either. And even if a bear did pass by my ears[1], it didn't change anything..."

"Master, please inhale the candle's aroma again," the swindler insisted.

Obediently, I breathed in, and a clear ringing in my head dispelled the excessive mirth.

"Everything's fine," I said much more firmly. "I learned all I wanted."

"I'm very sorry that Sino deprived you of talent," the minstrel said with seemingly sincere sympathy.

"Ha… I'll survive," I said, getting to my feet. As soon as I stood up, I swayed so much that I would have fallen if one of Ishid's servants hadn't supported me.

"Sir, you need to lie down and keep inhaling the aroma of tartana."

Not knowing what tartana was, I nodded in agreement, allowing myself to be led off the ritual platform and laid on a bare cot in one of the temple cells.

"Master," as soon as Ishid's servants stepped back, Merandela leaned over me.

"I remember," I nodded, pulling out four prepared gold coins from my belt.

"Thank you," the minstrel beamed with a satisfied smile as she accepted the money. "Can I do anything else..."

"Get lost. Just disappear," I growled. She had leaned over again, and her chest brushed against my elbow. Apparently, the bowl I drank from contained some particularly potent aphrodisiac—my body reacted unmistakably to that touch, and my mind filled with indecent images.

"But..."

"Leave, or I'll pin you to the wall, lift your toga, and..."

"I wouldn't mind," she whispered sensually, pressing her body against mine.

Ah... right... she drank from that bowl too. But I never liked drunken bedroom antics on Earth, and I wasn't about to break that principle now.

"Go away. I understand, but no," I said with difficulty, feeling how each word took effort.

"But..."

Sitting up abruptly, I grabbed her by the waist and literally threw her out of the cell. Then, collapsing back onto the cot, I tossed a silver coin to Ishid's acolyte and weakly requested:

"No one is to disturb me for two hours."

Apparently sensing my mood, the acolyte quickly nodded, placed the foul-smelling candle by my head, and left, closing the door tightly behind him.

For another five minutes, I heard loud arguments—Merandela was demanding to be let in. But, thank the gods, the acolyte held firm; otherwise, I would have definitely lost control and caused a real bacchanalia within these sacred walls.

About an hour and a half passed, and my thoughts finally settled. Perhaps my four Talent Stars in Mental played a role, or maybe the tartan-scented candle had an effect—but the excitement subsided, and my mind became clear.

After performing some breathing exercises, I began to recall what I had "seen" during the Song of the Heart ritual.

My words about not becoming a singer were true: only two Talent Stars in that skill. Composing music was the same. My musical ear was slightly better—a whole Star higher, but even that was, apparently, thanks to the Adamantium Body. Instrument playing skills... dismal: the best was with string instruments—two and a half Stars. Poetry—a total disaster, just one Star. I didn't excel in most other areas either. But then, to my great surprise, I discovered—in one Talent I had a whole four Stars. The Orator Talent.

Perhaps Larindel's words about me being a talented storyteller were not just flattery but a well-deserved assessment.

Before leaving the Pantheon temple, I didn't forget to fully dress and take my spear. Then, I sincerely thanked the servant of Ishid—after all, he had been guarding the cell the whole time—and gave him ten silvers. I didn't regret the spent coins: the lad performed a real feat by keeping the singer from entering my room.

As soon as I walked out of the temple gates, I immediately noticed Merandela sitting on the marble steps. She looked unwell: her hair a mess, her hands slightly trembling. I could have walked past her, and perhaps she wouldn't have noticed. But I still sat down next to her and said:

"Thank you."

"Ah?!" she focused on me with difficulty. "Om Raven. Forgive me, I'm so ashamed... I don't even know what came over me... Well, I do, but still, I behaved inappropriately."

"It's all right," I smoothed her disheveled hair with my hand and stood up. "Nothing happened, after all."

"Yes, but..." she stood up and looked me in the eyes. "I should be the one thanking you."

"Consider yourself thanked. And now, Merandela the Sweet-Voiced, I hope you'll apologize to the young acolyte whose toga you tore."

"Did I really tear it?" she covered her mouth in slight horror.

"A bit," I nodded. "Ten copper coins should cover the repair."

"Thank you..."

"Farewell, Merandela..."

"The Sweet-Voiced!"

"Yes, yes," I waved her off and descended the temple steps.

Still, raising my Mental up to four wasn't in vain! Otherwise, I probably wouldn't have resisted when Merandela pressed her rather ample chest against me. Besides, having spent a lot of time in the Last Cycle alongside Dice, I had participated in such orgies that even the most uninhibited porn studios on Earth would have refused to film. So, I had a pretty good idea of what I could have gotten up to in that cell, especially since I was under the influence of a whole bunch of mind-altering and liberating herbs.

For a while, I feared the minstrel might follow me, but she seemed to decide to heed my words. Bowing her head low, Merandela trudged up the temple steps. Hopefully, to apologize to the young acolyte whose toga she had torn not long ago.

Sighing with considerable relief, I headed toward the Tunnellers' Guild branch.

I still had some time left before the appointment with the Sundbad's priest, and I felt like checking how the Guild Book would behave after its creator's Echo nearly destroyed me by interfering with the ritual conducted by Arien.

In the temple, I didn't dare touch Ishid's altar, but the Book wasn't an altar, after all, so I hoped everything would go fine.

To my relief, my hopes were partially justified. Partially—because, on the one hand, I wasn't struck by lightning from the sky when I touched the Book, but on the other—I didn't receive any "apologies" from Ishid's Echo for nearly killing me either.

I didn't linger at the Tunnellers' Guild, not even glancing at the Notice Board. I just touched the Book, realized it was indifferent to me, and immediately left the branch. I knew it wasn't very polite to leave so quickly from the Guild where I was listed as sheriff, but the Gates of Sundbad were already waiting for me…

[1] Translator's note: "A bear tramped on my ear" is an idiom that means being tone-deaf specifically or, sometimes, lacking skills to be a musician in general. Apparently, there's no suitable replacement for it in English, hence I had to keep the original (the rephrased version of the idiom).