Damien had a weird kind of relationship with bars. It wasn't his fault or anything—he wasn't going to admit to it even if it was—but bars, inns, and all the other sorts of drinking establishments just seemed to have the occasional spectacle whenever he was around.

  It was either something broke, somebody screamed—for some reason—and panicked, or a fight would start. One time a bar had even lit up in a blaze of fire while he'd been in the midst of a drinking duel.

  Till today, nobody knew what had been the cause.

  The inn he entered wasn't an overly large establishment, Damien noted as he stepped inside. It had a glossy smooth wooden floor which, shockingly, was clean and near spotless, with no liquids from questionable origins that he could see or smell. Warm white light poured down from glow orbs in the ceiling, and the place smelled of warm food and hot beer. Honestly, it was better than most bars he'd been to, at least in cleanliness.

  He looked around, taking in the low-backed chairs arranged around equally low round tables in a five-to-one setting. There were enough chairs to seat roughly almost a hundred people, an above average capacity compared to the ones he was used to.

  To one side, the smooth floor rose into a foot-tall stage equipped with dozens of runes etched onto the surface and the ceiling above it. His knowledge of runes was basically nonexistent, but even he could still identify the ones meant to amplify sound and project light.

  There were a few people already in attendance, sipping on their half-finished drinks while conversations flowed. He reckoned they were probably workers on their breaks. More eye-catching, though, was the group of soldiers sitting close to the corner at his left, already more than halfway through their drinks. He almost listened in on their conversation before he caught himself, again reminding himself that nobody knew him here. There was no need for paranoia. So with a little bit more effort, he forced a lid on it.

  A man stood behind the counter when he approached, hands deep as he worked through a few glasses with again, a surprisingly clean napkin. Damien took a seat and nodded at the barman in greeting.

  "Good day, haven't seen your face before," The barman returned the greeting as he dropped a dry glass and picked up another one.

  "My first time in the city," Damien nodded.

  "You come for the pilgrimage?"

  "No, just sightseeing. Why do you ask?"

  "Been having them pilgrims coming in for weeks now, wanting to witness the Chosen make his announcement."

  "Announcement?"

  "There's been skirmishes between the city guards and warlord Tarim's sand vipers out in the desert. Tarim challenged the Chosen to a duel set two days from now."

  Damien remained quiet, which prompted the man to look up from the glass he was focused on, turning sharp brown eyes on him. He probably saw the lack of recognition because he grunted with a nod.

  "Ahh, I see now. You ain't the occasional desert wanderer with aspirations to one day see Tashin, are you? Not from this continent, I reckon?"

  Damien saw no reason to lie, so he nodded.

  "That explains it," the man nodded and then explained. "Tarim's a warlord from the other side of the continent. Came around one day and decided he wanted ownership of the area; of course, the Chosen wasn't gonna allow that, so the warlord sent his goons to raid caravans coming in and out of the city, trying to crash the city's economy. It's been going on for weeks now, I think. Anyways, the Chosen, in retaliation, sent out a few of the cult's executioners. They destroyed one of Tarim's camps, which led, again, to another retaliation from the warlord, this time with his hands doing the deed; Personally caught and butchered a patrol squad and threw their heads at the gates in broad daylight for all to see, and then in his great stupidity, went and challenged the Chosen to a one on one duel, in front of all the people at the gate to see."

  The man finished with a shake of his head, like he felt pity for said Warlord.

  "Seems this place is going to be getting interesting soon," Damien commented.

  "The Chosen's supposed to announce his reply in two days."

  Damien grunted. While this would have been fun to watch, he simply wanted to get what he wanted and get the hell out of here, fast, before Fate decided it needed to put him right in the middle of this brewing conflict. Out of curiosity, though, he asked. "Aren't you worried about your Chosen? That he might lose."

  The man snorted, not one of derision, Damien quickly understood. He wasn't worried about the fate of his leader. "Ymal's Chosen for a reason. He became a Lord realm wielder so young at age thirty-four. Rumour's been circulating that he's closing in on Monarch soon. No way some barbarian's gonna off him."

  Damien nodded. Becoming a lord at age thirty-four, while impressive, was not some top feat. He'd seen young scions doing that in their twenties, so maybe not that impressive.

  "Aye, my apologies, sir!" The man's eyes suddenly widened as he hastily put down the glass in his hand. "I forgot to take your order."

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  "No offense taken," Damien waved it off. "What do you have?"

  Three bottles were brought before him.

  "Stock's been low these hard times because of the raids, so there's not much. We have the scal wine, brown sand scorpion venom mixed with white wine. Hits like a cart at full speed," He pointed to a bottle on the leftmost side filled with brown liquid. It looked like someone had liquified sand and poured it into a bottle.

  The next was in the middle, a purple liquid substance inside a bottle that was no different from the containers used by alchemists to store their potions.

  "We also have rustleaf wine. One gulp and you're knocked out cold. I'd advise you to take it watered down."

  He finished it up by pointing his finger at a bottle filled with a strange green liquid.

  "Heaven's touch. Once taken, you're sure to feel the touch of the heavens on you," Damien smiled at the terrible naming sense, and then what he said next raised both of Damien's eyebrows. "People have gotten enlightenment just from drinking this."

  Damien doubted that very much.

  Smiling, he raised his hands to stall the man. "As much as I like the crafty sales pitch, I'm not looking for the drinks you sell to your everyday customers. Give me the really hot stuff."

  The barman looked at him for a moment, seemingly contemplating, before he nodded. He bent down, disappearing into the other side of the table, and when he came back up, he was holding a single bottle, and this one was filled with sloshing black liquid, with pinpricks of light sprinkled within.

  "Dark wine. Strong stuff. Not for people under the adept stage," he said with an air of danger.

  With a weary sigh, Damien smiled. "I've seen this done a dozen times. A customer walks in and asks for something extra special, and then you give them something not too heavy, but heavy enough to satisfy them." He locked eyes with the man. "Try again."

  "People be asking for heavy things their bodies can't take," the man shrugged. "Heard stories of young merchant scions dying because they wanted to take some of the good stuff."

  And without the fanfare that came with the unveiling of the previous bottles, he brought forward another bottle from the shelf behind him. Within it was a liquid that looked almost like water, with only a closer look telling the contrary.

  "Won't sell this to you without evidence that you can handle it. I can't have the city shutting down the establishment just because you couldn't handle a small sip," he stared back at Damien. "One sip is all you'll get, and if you can't handle that, you take the black wine. Agreed?"

  Damien didn't want to argue, so he nodded.

  A moment later, he was handed a shot glass filled with sloshing clear liquid.

  Collecting it, Damien took the glass and without flourish, he downed the whole thing in one full gulp. Done, he looked back at the barman.

  "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to play me."

  The man looked surprised. "Not gonna lie, I was expecting a reaction, but we're gonna see if you can handle another shot," He poured another and handed it to Damien.

  After finishing, Damien looked at the barman, who now had a completely sheet-white face. "Desert lord protect us," he whispered.

  "What?" Damien frowned.

  "You just drank a glass and still look as if you simply took a cup of water," he mumbled, shock slowly turning to fear.

  "It wasn't that heavy," Damien shrugged. He didn't understand why the man was so terrified. He didn't collapse, did he? That should have counted for a positive, right?

  "Even the chosen couldn't drink that much without reacting," he choked out, and resignation finally sank in as Damien realized his error.

  "Hey, it's not so bad," he said in an attempt to calm the man, an attempt which failed badly.

  "What are you?!"

  With his senses, Damien already knew the few patrons within were now looking over, even the group of soldiers having their drinks on the other end.

  Damien realized his anonymity was now on a ticking clock. He decided it was time to leave.

  "I'll find my way out," He mumbled, and then stood up, fast-tracking his way back out of the bar, leaving the barman standing there, looking like someone had just murdered his mother in front of him.

  ***

  Salur wouldn't count himself as an overly observant person, but one would have to be blind not to spot strange when strange stares him straight in the eye.

  Ever since the foreign young man had stepped into the inn, Salur could tell something was off about him. There was no explainable reason, just something that pinged his senses, senses which had been honed for years to pick out criminals and their sort.

  Shoulder-length grey hair on a face that still looked in the early twenties. When he looked over at their table, Salur also noted the eerily matching grey eyes. It wasn't hard to figure out that he wasn't from the city, nor from around the environs, either.

  The man was trying to play off as ordinary, but any soldier worth his weapon could spot the way he carried himself; Confidence no ordinary man could ever achieve combined with a height that was rare to see in a city like this. He was wearing baggy desert clothes, but Salur could see through them into the powerful build hidden within.

  This was somebody with power, powers they were trying and failing to hide.

  He watched as the man approached the bar and struck up a conversation with the barman.

  With the conversations going on at his table, he couldn't hear what both of them were talking about from across the room, and attempting to enhance his hearing would most likely have drawn attention from his companions at the table. He didn't want that yet.

  "Salur," He turned at the call of his name, looking over at Kars who sat beside him. "I noticed you've been distracted by the new arrival." Kars nodded at the strange man "What's wrong?"

  Unwilling to raise a false alarm, he shrugged. "I like the hair."

  Kars could tell he was lying, but he didn't pry any further, which Salur appreciated. Still, he decided then to leave the strange man alone for now and concentrate on his table.

  Taking a drink, he tuned in to his companions.

  "...was at the gate when it happened; He just walked up and threw the heads at our feet. I nearly wet myself thinking I was gonna be next. I've never come close to death like that before."

  "The Chosen's gonna take care of him soon."

  "I hope so, or it's gonna be our heads rolling next."

  "Your newest wife would not like that, as she might have to start looking for a new money maker again."

  They all laughed at that.

  Suddenly, a shout, practically a wail, jolted them. "What are you?!"

  Looking over at the side, he spotted the barman looking at the strange man with mad terror in his eyes. Salur's hands tightened as the man subtly turned his head, taking in the already alert room. Thankfully he did nothing.

  With a mumbled word at the barman that Salur couldn't hear, the stranger stood up and left.

  "What was all that about?" One of the soldiers at his table asked.

  "No idea."

  The others went back to their conversations, leaving Salur, whose attention was looking between the inn's entrance and the barman.

  While Kars looked between Salur and the inn's entrance.