After the capital summoned us, we expected a war council. Or a secret dungeon. Or maybe another lich.
Instead, we got a delay.
A glorified messenger with glowing scrolls met us halfway through the mountain pass and informed us that the royal court was "reorganizing the administrative reception of summoned assets."
Translation: they weren't ready for us.
So we were told to wait. For a week.
Thus began the first real break I've had since getting yeeted into a magical dimension full of gods, goblins, and girls with swords taller than me.
And so we stopped in Veridale—a riverside town famous for three things: a thermal bathhouse, a barley-and-cheese pie no sane stomach should attempt, and its annual "Festival of Glimmers."
It was cute. Cozy.
Which meant it would go horribly wrong.
There wasn't much else to do while the capital got its scrolls in a row, so when someone mentioned the local hot springs, Iria was already halfway there. I followed—reluctantly—telling myself that boiling in a mineral bath counted as strategic recuperation.
The bathhouse was big enough to count as a dungeon entrance. A natural hot spring fed into carved stone pools, complete with enchanted steam vents that smelled like lilac and judgment.
"Separate wings," Iria said, already marching into the women's side.
"Don't take your sword into the water this time," I called after her.
She didn't respond.
Velis floated past me, carrying scrolls. Into a bath.
I blinked. "You're not seriously—"
"They're water-resistant," she said. "Unlike some of us."
"I'm very water-resistant."
"You're 40% tea and poor decisions."
I tried to relax. I did.
But the moment I closed my eyes, someone sat next to me.
"Ah," said a deep, gravelly voice, "you've got the slouch of a man between disasters."
I cracked an eye open.
A large man in a silken robe sat shoulder-to-shoulder with me, sipping a glowing blue drink. He radiated both power and extreme midlife crisis energy.
"I was a summoned hero once, too," he said.
"Oh?"
"Back in the day. Saved a kingdom. Married a wind goddess. Learned to juggle the nine sins."
"...Right."
"Your aura's interesting. Got that 'cosmic hiccup' flavor. Do you scream during teleportation?"
"More than once."
He nodded knowingly and left.
I sat there, contemplating my existence and whether bathhouse hallucinations were covered by my guild benefits.
Meanwhile, on the other side...
"I heard she broke a lich with her sword!"
"Does she speak to her blade?"
"Can she lift that thing with one hand?"
Iria, in a towel, stood on a small stool surrounded by awestruck locals.
She was reciting battle hymns.
From memory.
One woman was weeping.
Velis was two pools away, in the shallow end, surrounded by scrolls sealed in floating orbs.
Steam curled around her as she marked notes on thermal leyline fluctuations.
Someone offered her fruit.
She declined on the grounds that the peach was "casting suspicious shadows."
Day 2: The Festival Begins
The town square was alive with color. Banners. Magically dancing lights. A floating lantern parade that moved against the wind.
I should've been suspicious the moment someone offered me a pie.
"You're our last entry!" chirped the festival organizer.
"I'm not qualified for—"
"You're perfect! You're from out of town, vaguely magical, and kind of skinny. That's the pie trifecta!"
So I sat at a long table, facing a man named Grolch who looked like he ate bricks for snacks.
The whistle blew.
Grolch inhaled his first pie like a reverse catapult.
I panicked.
Two pies in, I regretted everything.
Four pies in, I hallucinated the artifact whispering, "End your suffering."
Grolch got a crust lodged in his throat on pie six.
I won.
I was carried out on a cart by cheering children and a sentient spoon.
I was still digesting regret and crust when Velis disappeared into the nearest tent, eyes locked on a glowing scoreboard like it owed her money. The quizmaster didn't know it yet, but his day was already over.
The quiz tent was enchanted—floating screens, glowing sigils, and a little orb that said "Correct!" whenever someone buzzed in.
Velis stepped in like a bloodhound entering a steakhouse.
She didn't even sit.
The first question appeared.
What is the capital of—
Buzz. "Eronis."
"Correct!"
Second question.
What spell—
Buzz. "Voltaic Shroud, third-tier, two-syllable variant."
"Correct!"
By the fourth question, the other contestants hadn't finished blinking.
By the seventh, the announcer begged her to give someone else a turn.
"I am," she said, "just not willingly."
By question ten, she was banned.
Official reason: "Disrupting the educational environment."
Unofficial reason: she ruined everyone's day.
The quiz tent let out a gentle buzz of intellectual ruin. Meanwhile, a louder cheer erupted from the dueling grounds. I turned just in time to see Iria knock a man flat with one elegant pivot. She hadn't even unsheathed a real weapon yet.
The mock dueling tournament was meant to be a show. Wooden armor, foam swords, staged clashes.
Iria read none of the memos.
She entered with perfect posture, wearing only the padded tunic they provided.
Her first opponent was twice her size.
She downed him in five seconds with a shoulder check and a spin that shattered his sword.
The next was a rogue. Agile. Clever.
She disarmed him mid-dash, caught the sword, and used it to sweep his legs.
By match five, the audience was in love.
By match eight, they were worshipping her.
Children began carving mini versions of Edelbrecht. A merchant asked to name a pancake after her.
She bowed after every victory and thanked her opponent "for the honor of the trial."
The last guy forfeited before the bell.
By sundown, the crowd was singing songs about us—poorly rhymed, slightly exaggerated songs, but heartfelt all the same. We slipped away before anyone could name a statue after Iria and found a quiet hill above the lantern-lit town, for something rarer than loot: rest.
We camped on a quiet hill just outside town, overlooking the glimmering lanterns floating above Veridale.
For once, there were no liches. No portals. No divine letters calling me a loser.
Just warmth. Food. And the three of us.
Iria poked the fire, still wrapped in her festival cape.
"I do not often enjoy civilian recognition," she said. "But today... I felt something true in it. Not just ceremony. Something earned."
Velis stared at the flames.
"I suppose people like us are allowed to enjoy moments," she said. "Even if they're inefficient."
"You were banned from trivia."
"It was a rigged format."
I smiled.
We fell into a silence that wasn't awkward. Just... comfortable.
"I never thought I'd make it this far," I admitted. "Not alive, anyway."
Velis looked at me, then back at the fire.
"You're unpredictable," she said softly. "Which is probably why entropy hasn't eaten you yet."
"I think that was heartfelt," I said.
"I regret it already."
The Next Morning
We left Veridale with full stomachs, lighter hearts, and a few new titles:
Kaname the Piebringer
Iria the Storm of Honor
Velis the Academic Menace
As we crossed the final bridge, I spotted something.
A flicker in the crowd.
Someone bumping into a merchant. A pouch vanishing. A blur of a cloak.
They were gone before I could point.
But the merchant found a coin on the ground—black steel, etched with a familiar sigil.
Velis stepped closer.
"That's not local."
"It's a warning," Iria said.
I sighed.
"So much for the day off."