City of Commerce — Bellmare, Kingdom of Ceirth,
Blackstone Inn, 
Late Summer, Dio'rj, 1402 Year Cycle

Groups of adventurers thronged the dimly lit tavern.

There were a handful of customers sitting at the few round tables, mostly men. The atmosphere suited the kind of people who constantly put themselves in dangerous situations.

And as one might expect from the rowdy people of their profession, the place was filled with sounds of gossiping.

The disgusting stench of stale sweat and cheap booze did nothing to stop one group of adventurers from gluttonously drinking down their beer and reciting their various heroic and blood-pumping adventures to their acquaintances.

Though, surprisingly, there were exceptions as well.

A four-man party sitting two round tables away from the bunch—who were having a boisterous conversation—silently sipped their ale.

From their sour expression, it could be reasoned they did not do well on their recent mission and thus were not in the mood for boasting.

The interior of the tavern was spacious. The first floor was a pub with a bar in the back. Behind the bar were three built-in shelves lined with bottles. The door to the side of the bar led to the kitchen.

In the corner of the pub was a stairway that wrapped around on itself partway up. The second and third floors were an inn.

Almost all the windows were closed, giving the indoors dim lighting. Those who were used to the bright light outside wouldn't be able to adjust immediately, but for these adventurers, who were already adapted to fighting monsters at night, it posed no problem.

 

The tavern was lulled into silence when the door to the tavern was slammed open.

—A man entered the tavern.

All the eyes were on the man, many aggressively appraising him.

He was a handsome man with olive skin, black eyes, and hair still black as a night untouched by the gray shadows of dawn.

He wore indigo silk tunic, his pants tight fawnskin adorned with a belt of silver.

A golden sword could be seen dangling on his hip.

Unperturbed by the dangerous glares directed his way, the man walked towards the innkeeeper with a calm glide.

 

The innkeeper standing there at the back was wearing a grimy apron. He had a big chest and his sleeves were rolled up; revealing thick vascular forearms.  

 

This man with a mop in one hand, who seemed more like a hired thug than the innkeeper, had been openly observing the raven-haired newcomer.

 

"You need a room, eh? How many nights?" his gruff voice boomed.

"Three nights would do."

 

The bouncer-looking owner answered crudely:

"...one-star ranking, huh? It'll be three coppers for a single room. Food is oatmeal—well, some days it's leftover loaf instead of oatmeal—and vegetables. If you want more than that, meaning meat, you gonna have to pay two coppers extra."

"Good enough. I only require a single room. And add the extra two coppers to the total amount as well," the man said.

"Three nights is fifteen coppers—up front, naturally." The innkeeper stuck out his hand.

"Here you go," the man said as he casually pulled a leather pouch from his pocket, took out a silver coin, and dropped it into the innkeeper's rough hand.

The innkeeper stuffed it into his pocket without a word, and when he brought his hand out again, it was clutching a few copper pieces. "Okay, then, five coppers is your change."

 

He dropped the coins into man's hand and set a key on the counter with a ka-ching. "Up the stairs and first on your right. Put your luggage in the chests built into the beds. I don't think I have to tell you, but don't go near other people's rooms for no reason. If somebody thinks you're up to something, there'll be trouble."

 

"Worry not."

Once the man was gone, a loud conversation began.

"So who's that guy?"
 "How would I know?"
"Maybe he's a spellcaster?"
"But he carried a sword with him?" "There's no need to rush to conclusions. We need to confirm it first before we decide on how to treat that guy."

The conversations being had conveyed confusion, and curiosity.

Actually, everyone had already concluded that the newcomer was not a typical adventurer. The first tip-off was his impressive clothing. Silk tunics and pants, with jewels embedded in them, did not come cheap.

And more importantly, it was his calm demeanor that caught their interest. Being stared at by a dozen seasoned veterans was enough for a normal grown man's leg to go weak.

But certainly — that man was not normal — despite their glares, he had remained unfazed.

"So who's going to test him?" Everyone at this inn was friendly with one another but, of course, they were also rivals. If a new guy showed up, they would all want to know how strong he was, so someone had to take the risk and spar with the man.

"I will do it," a man sitting in the corner said. He was burly with brown hair peeking from under his helmet and had a wiry mustache.

"You sure, Kruz?"

"Yeah, due to the recent lack of missions, I am getting quite out of shape. Need to crack a bone or two to get this rust off me."

"Fine, then. We'll leave him to you."

The wooden door gently clapped shut.

The only furnishings in the room were one small desk and two simple wooden beds with chests built in. Since the shutters were open, sunlight and air from outside came indirectly.

Malazan looked around the room and sighed.

'Ah, it's not like I have the luxury to be disappointed.' He knew he was at an inn on the outskirts of the city and couldn't expect much, but this setup still managed to put him off guard.

"Your arrival was not well met." A disembodied voice echoed in the room.

"A new tiger has encroached upon their den, so, of course, they would feel endangered. Though little do they know it's a dragon instead." Malazan laughed as he looked up at the ceiling to find a cloud of darkness looming over him.

 

As if alive, the cloud descended on the floor with a slight fa-thud and the darkness went away.

In its place, a figure could be seen standing. Unlike Malazan, the man was hardly handsome with his oddly colored hair and freckled face.

He wore a tunic of mottled dark gray cotton, thin but cut for easy movement, pants of the same material, a harness with a score of throwing weapons, most of which the men of today's era won't even recognize.

His very presence seemed to reek of bloodlust.

"Do you want me to kill them?" Cloven asked as he threateningly waved a blade around.

It was fairly short, thin, slightly curved blade made of mithril and held by a grip wrapped in high-cost, onyx goat leather.

The razor-sharp point made this dark weapon a perfect choice if one wished to puncture his enemies to death with ruthless speed and precision, which perfectly suited an assassin like him.

Malazan googled. He stared intently at Cloven.

"What is it?" Cloven asked while avoiding eye contact.

"Sometimes I wonder," Malazan said, "whether there's anything inside that skull of yours or not. I already told you we must not attract too much attention onto us, lest we are rendered unable to fulfill our plan. And so, killing all of our potential acquaintances is the very opposite of not inviting unwanted attention."

"So what do we do now?" 
"Rise up in ranks. Enough so that we are looked upon with admiration, and a bit of fear would also do us no harm. Our first step is to gain a reputation in this city as adventurers."
 "We?" Cloven asked.
"Yes, we. Sooner or later, I will be asked to join a party, and refusal won't be in my favor. A two-men is conspicuous, but a lone man more so." Malazan stood up and closed the stutters. The light that came in through the gaps in the shutters was not enough to banish the room's darkness completely, but for anyone spying on them, this room would probably be too dark to see much of anything.

"I see. How do we do it? Creating a party with you, I mean."
"Just make your entrance tomorrow morning. I will cover it up by saying you are my comrade at the guild."
"Then, what about my class?"
"Register as a rogue," Malazan said as he put his hand against his chin, adopting a ruminating stance.

A party made up of a rogue and warrior would earn people's scorn unless they moved up to at least three-star ranking. Until then, trouble would come after them on regular basis.

We need to hurry up, huh?

Malazan smiled wolfishly to himself.

 

Hmm, so I need to make an example out of this guy, huh?

 

A burly and cheaply armored adventurer was standing in front of him, blocking his way to the exit door. The man smelled like onions and looked like the kind of guy one wouldn't want to mess with.

 

"So what do you want?" Malazan asked.

"Eh? Whatcha think? I want you to pay for the beer glass that you threw onto the floor." The man named Kruz said as he looked at Malazan with a threatening gaze.

Looking down on the wooden floor, Malazan could see the residue of the intentionally splattered beer and shattered pieces of its container. This man was honestly looking for a fight with him, that much he could conclude.

He looked around to see the members of Kruz's party either smiling nastily or staring at him.

Neither the innkeeper nor any of the customers went to intervene. At a glance, it seemed like they either didn't care or were looking on in amusement as if something interesting had started, but there were a few people with sharp gazes mixed in, watching his every move.

—And then.

"Hah! Ha-ha-ha!"

—Malazan burst out laughing.

"...What?"

"You're a fool," Malazan said. "A buffoon performing for men who are too afraid to put themselves at risk."

"You...shut the fuck up." A dangerous glint appeared in the man's eyes in response to Malazan's taunting.

"Shutting the fuck up is not in my nature, alas. Of course, you don't have to listen. Now, you might think otherwise, but that wouldn't matter because I couldn't give a damn."

Before the man could react, Malazan rammed his fingers through his visor and grabbed the nosepiece. He yanked the man forward and twisted.

The man slammed into the ground with a grunt. Malazan drew a knife from Kruz's belt and held it to the man's eye, his knee resting on the side of Kurz's helmet, holding it in place.

"Do you yield?" Malazan asked.

 

The man's breaths were labored. "I give up! Forgive me!"

"Sure, you're forgiven." Malazan released him and stood, brushing the dust from the leg of his breeches. He didn't offer to help the man stand.

All men were silent, frozen in surprise and fear.

"Just make sure you pay the innkeeper for that beer," Malazan said.

"O-of course. We will take care of that. U-uhh, we’re sorry on our friend's behalf." They all apologized as they backed away several steps. 

It looks like I am going to have a lot of fun during my stay here.