That night, I was going after money — even if it cost me my life. Or, you know, the few hit points I had left.
The night dropped over the village like a thick velvet blanket, muffling the last sounds of life. I already knew what I was going to do. Slipped through the shadows between the alleys, every step carefully placed on the damp gravel until I got there: the tavern.
The back door of the tavern was like a shared secret between me and Lina — even if she didn't know it yet.
The wood was damp, smelling of stale beer and firewood smoke soaked deep into the grain. I placed my hand on the knob carefully, like I was cracking open someone's diary. The rusty metal squealed, a polite little warning, but I twisted harder until the latch gave way with a satisfying click.
That's when I stepped in.
Inside, the tavern was another world — stuffy, warm, and buzzing. The gloom was broken by the flickering flames of oil lamps clinging to crooked iron mounts on the walls. The smell of roasted meat, spilled ale, and burnt wood created the kind of alchemy only a rundown village tavern could summon.
There were stacked crates, barrels stamped with half-faded transport brands, and dirty rags hanging like makeshift curtains between the back and the main room.
The wooden floor creaked under my silent steps. I could hear voices laughing on the other side of the wall. The tune of a badly tuned flute mingled with the laughter — the sound of a night lived by people who had already drowned their broken hearts and betrayals in cheap drinks.
I passed a pile of crates and turned into a narrow corridor that led… somewhere. That's when I pulled back a thick linen curtain — and almost tripped over destiny.
"AAAAH!"
Lina.
She jumped back, wide-eyed, holding a dish towel to her chest like it was a shield. She wore the usual waitress uniform, but there was something that made her stand out — the vest clung to her waist like it had been sculpted there, and her red hair, messily tied, had rebel strands dancing around her freckled face.
"What… How did you get in here?!"
I put a finger to my lips, smiling. "Shh… This is my secret entrance."
She gave a nervous laugh but didn't step back. "You're insane."
"My therapist used to say that all the time."
She looked confused — not surprising. She didn't exactly know what a therapist was. But she gave that little laugh people do when they don't get the joke but want to pretend they did.
"I need something that… catches fire easily," I said, leaning an elbow on the makeshift counter in the storage room, looking her straight in the eyes.
She froze mid-fold, narrowing her eyes like she was trying to figure out if I'd actually said what she thought I said. "What do you mean, 'catches fire easily'?"
"Easy. Quick. Strong." I paused, choosing my words like a true professional. "I'm going back. To the cave."
The smile she'd had since I showed up disappeared instantly. "You're kidding."
"I never joke about things that can kill me," I said, coating my voice with just the right touch of irony.
She crossed her arms, hugging her elbows.
"The spider's still there?"
"Yep. But this time, I'm ready."
Lina shook her head and turned away. For a moment, I thought that was it. Conversation over. The muffled sounds of the tavern kept going — clinking glasses, voices tangled in alcohol. But in here, the air had thickened. Yeast, smoke, and the sweet rot of fruit filled every corner.
"You're going back there… why?" she asked, still not facing me.
"Honestly? I need money. In this world, I'm nobody without coin. Actually, I'm nobody in any world."
Silence.
"Hey, don't look like that," I said. "Look, I promise — if I make it back in one piece, maybe I'll share a little something with you from what I dig up."
She chuckled and walked to a little hatch that led to a narrow staircase.
"Follow me."
We went down together.
The basement was damp and messy, full of wooden barrels marked with faded numbers, dusty glass bottles, and soaked cloths hanging from ropes. A pungent smell of raw alcohol hit my nose like a slap from reality.
"It's not exactly legal to sell this stuff, so…" She crouched and pulled a dark bottle from a hidden compartment between two barrels. "We call it 'Dragon's Throat.' Fermented with black root, burnt sugar, and some other ingredients it's better not to ask about."
She handed me the bottle — with hesitation.
| Analyzing item... |
| ITEM REGISTERED: Dragon's Throat
| CATEGORY: Fermented Beverage / Flammable
| CLASSIFICATION: Alchemical – Grade C
| ORIGIN: Handmade, Ashveil Tavern (Basement)
| SYSTEM NOTE: Item added to Common Items Almanac.
| NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: Improvised Combustion I
Now we're talking. All I wanted in that moment was to set that damned spider on fire.
"You said you weren't going to help me," I said, trying not to smile.
"Yeah, well… I'm really bad at saying 'no' when someone says they're off to fight a giant spider."
So I gave her a tight hug — nearly dropped the bottle.
"Thanks, Lina. Seriously."
"Try to come back in one piece," she said, half awkward, half sincere.
"No doubt, kitten." I flashed a grin.
Then I ran out the back door of the tavern like a rat sprinting from the light. The cold night air bit at my arms the moment the wind caught up to me, but I didn't care.
I had a bottle wrapped in an old rag pressed to my chest — Lina's gift — and all my junk packed tight in the backpack on my back.
The trail to the forest didn't seem so threatening anymore. Now I knew what was out there.
I walked in the dark for a while, the only sounds being the forest watching me. A rustle here, a crack there — all quiet whispers reminding me I didn't belong. But if there's one thing I've learned in life, it's this: the best outcomes never come from safe decisions.
In fact, the bigger the risk, the better the reward.
Once I felt far enough from the village, I stopped. Took a piece of linen cloth from my bag, soaked it with the gift Lina gave me — Dragon's Throat, subtle name — and wrapped it around the tip of a dry stick. Then I used my freshly acquired magic to toss a tiny fireball and light the flame.
And boom — a torch. Off I went.
"What should I name the spider I'm about to obliterate?" I thought to myself, getting closer to the cave. I could see its entrance lit faintly by moonlight filtering through the trees.
"I hereby name her Clotilde. Lady Spider Clotilde!"
UPDATING ALMANAC...
| NAME: Rift Guardian Spider > Clotilde
| SPECIES: Aracnidae Ignavus
| LEVEL: 5
| TYPE: Beastly Monster / Territorial Guardian
| RANK: B (Regionally Dangerous)
That made me laugh — the system actually updated the spider's name. Everything was going right. I was honestly starting to feel excited.
The cave entrance looked smaller than I remembered.
I held the Dragon's Throat bottle like I was showing off the Holy Grail. The difference? This "Holy Grail" smelled like mildew and bottled death.
But I pretended it was a divine relic.
Sometimes, confidence is just a good lie you tell yourself.
"Lady Clotilde," I murmured with mock bravado. "I brought you a little gift."