Leaving the audience with the Supre Commander to Dean, Tiamat stepped out into the dwarf city streets. At first, the dwarves who noticed him gave wary or curious glances, but the mont their eyes shifted to the two following behind—Colton and Rohaim—they quickly looked away and instead greeted them warmly.
"Oh! Thunderblade! I thought you'd left!"
"Haha, had so business and ca back. Nothing serious happened while I was gone, I hope?"
"Serious? Not at all! With the Quagoa wiped out, it's only a matter of reclaiming our lost cities now. How's your blade? Shall I give it a polish?"
"I only left three days ago. I'd be embarrassed if my edge dulled in that short a ti. Haha!"
"That so? Well, if it ever wears, bring it to and I'll sharpen it myself! Hahaha! Till then, we'll et in the tavern—our hero deserves a feast, on !"
"I'll hold you to that!"
Colton's easy smile and chatter blended smoothly with the bustle of the streets. He returned greetings, joked, and left laughter in his wake. Rohaim, on the other hand, barely waved in acknowledgnt. His eyes never stopped scanning the crowds, every muscle taut with unease.
That fool Colton! Does he expect alone to guard this one?
His jaw clenched. True, there was no imdiate threat here. The dwarves all knew them as saviors; none would dare harm a companion of Thunderblade. But safety was never guaranteed. One careless mishap, one stray incident—if the boy before them were to be hurt…
Rohaim's blood ran cold. Dean's promise of punishnt rang in his ears. The man would make good on every word. Life would remain, yes, but it would be a life of agony and terror. No one doubted the horrors lurking in the depths of the Tob Great Forest.
So Rohaim watched, every nerve sharpened, swearing silently: Nothing will happen. Nothing can happen.
Tiamat, anwhile, strolled as though on holiday, utterly unbothered. He drank in the sights and sounds of the city—the thick smoke from forges, the heat of hamr on steel, the boisterous voices mingling with laughter and clamor.
Complicated… but I like it, he mused.
It had been a long ti since he'd walked through the heart of a living, bustling crowd.
In the old world, stepping outside ant smog and poisonous air. To find clean, vibrant places, you needed wealth and standing—shopping districts reserved for the middle and upper classes. His family hadn't been rich, but they were comfortable enough that his childhood held occasional visits to such spaces, modest but satisfying.
All of that ended with the accident. Afterward, there were no outings, no fresh air. Only survival, clinging to machines, his body crippled and confined. Virtual worlds replaced reality—Yggdrasil beca life itself.
Even then, among thousands of avatars, there had been no real sense of presence. Sensory dampening, the hollow echo of simulated touch, the absence of genuine air and earth—it was always a joy tempered by longing.
Now, every mont was different. New, exhilarating, endlessly fresh. This world never dulled. The joy was so sharp he wanted to savor it every day, forever.
As that thought settled, he turned his head—pure chance—and his eyes fell on his companions: Colton, laughing with dwarves, and Rohaim, tense and watchful at his side.
The nas Thunderblade and Sky Tempest might have sounded like nothing more than ridiculous DQN nicknas, yet in this world, they were genuine titles, highly respected among adventurers. Seeing them walk behind him, treating him with such regard, Tiamat found himself recalling his earlier attitude.
Wait… wasn't I acting rather arrogant back there?
He was well over two hundred years old, yet ti had never truly sunk in; ntally, he was still in his late twenties. That was why Dean's respectful speech and solemn politeness had felt so uncomfortable.
But sowhere along the way, that discomfort faded. Now he accepted their honorifics and courtesy as if it were natural. Despite the youthful face he wore, he unconsciously began taking such treatnt for granted.
It struck him especially during his recent interactions. Dean, the others, even the dwarven Supre Commander—all had treated him as a matter of course.
Is it because of the na? Sohow they're treating as if I were one of their guildmates, or even an NPC bound to .
Dragon's Dream was one of the organizations created by Shinshi—the Twelve. According to Ea, it had originally been bait, an external front to lure back defectors from Shinshi. Over 150 years, its role shifted: should dangerous players appear in this world, Dragon's Dream would act as a tempting lure to draw them out.
Even so, that alone made it one of the greatest organizations by human standards. He knew this well enough. Judging by what he'd seen, their strength was no bluff. The younger two looked mid–30s in level, while the older man might well be close to 50. Considering Ea had explained that most common folk never reached level 10, and that even most adventurers fell below 20, they truly were among the rarest of the strong.
And yet… to Tiamat, they were still just part of an external organization, created by Shinshi. By extension, they were his. Everything belonging to Shinshi was his to command—including Dragon's Dream and its mbers.
A good change… maybe?
He tilted his head. As a guildmaster's mindset, it was correct. But here, in a world more real than reality itself, what attitude should he carry? He had no answer.
Still, part of him whispered: Why worry at all? In this fragile yet beautiful world, he held overwhelming power and influence. What did he have to fear? That quiet arrogance bled through despite himself.
He pushed the thought aside. For now, he would enjoy this world. He had already given Ea her orders. Until he gathered more information, this would be both a reprieve and a ga. He'd slept through two centuries—his true enjoynt began now.
"Hey, Colton! Big mug, the best brew—on the house if you stop in!"
"Oh, but Malon the innkeep already promised a round too…"
"Colton! Hahaha, forgive us, sir, but we're on duty right now…"
At the interruption, Tiamat turned his head. A burly dwarf with a great beard was leaning from a tavern window, holding out a brimming tankard. The sign above the door had The Leaky Cask scrawled across it in crooked letters.
The dwarf's face fell when he heard the excuse.
"Duty, eh? What kind of duty? Don't tell the Quagoa are back again?"
"No, nothing like that. We're guarding this gentleman."
"Guarding, huh? …Hmm."
The dwarf's eyes road over Tiamat, stroking his beard as if weighing him up. Then he grinned wide.
"Oi, lad! Ever been inside a tavern?"
"…A tavern?"
"Yeah. A place that turns a boy into a man. So? Care for a drink?"
His grin was all provocation, daring him. Rohaim looked ready to explode with protests, but Tiamat's intrigued expression froze the words in his throat.
"A man, you say… Do you at least serve good liquor?"
"Oho! That's right, our food might not suit human bellies, but our ale? Nothing finer! Co on, boy—step inside. We'll make a real man of you yet!"
With a booming "Kuhahaha!" the dwarf tipped back his mug, foam spilling as he poured the frothing ale into his wide mouth. Gulp, gulp—his Adam's apple bobbed furiously, the sound of swallowing loud enough to shake the air. Finally, with a satisfied "Khuh!" he exhaled, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and grinned.
Unconsciously, Tiamat swallowed hard. The sight of such hearty drinking made him crave sothing too—especially beer.
"How about it? Care for a drink?"
"A tavern… I wonder if that's really alright?"
"Um, Tite-sama, you're in the middle of sightseeing. Perhaps it'd be better to visit a tavern later? You haven't even seen all the streets yet, and stopping by a bar already might be a bit much."
Rohaim was sweating bullets. A tavern? That was practically an accident waiting to happen. If they went in there, trouble was guaranteed. His keen mage's brain was blaring alarms—This will blow up! Danger ahead!
Colton, on the other hand, seed positively delighted at the idea, being the type who would happily follow his stomach anywhere. But Rohaim knew better: taverns, and especially alcohol, were the very breeding ground of accidents. Sure, Tite had absurd abilities, so it wasn't like he'd actually get drunk—but what if he did? And what if, in that drunken state, he did sothing ridiculous? Then both Rohaim and Colton would be dragged straight into disaster.
That could not be allowed! He had to stop this, no matter what. Yet, regardless of Rohaim's anxiety, Tiamat's expression clearly showed he was intrigued.
"Alcohol, you say… Do you have beer?"
"Beer? Of course we do! Just last year we brewed a special dark stout from premium barley grown on the Belarus Plains. Aged in oak casks, mind you! We can't chill it, but who cares? The barrel's still sealed—untouched! And my rooftop's got a decent view. Bit cluttered, but we can clear it up for you. Co on, it'll be worth your while!"
The dwarf, seeing Tiamat's wavering interest, poured oil on the fire, stoking his curiosity even further. With another hearty laugh and another gulp of ale, he sealed the deal.
Sightseeing was fine and all—but the lure of a "special dark stout" was stronger.
A premium beer from another world… aged in oak casks…
He rembered his first beer back on Earth: bitter, fizzy water that didn't taste particularly good. Later, as an adult, he'd grown to enjoy that bitterness—but after the accident, alcohol had beco forbidden to him altogether. Even soda with a trace of alcohol was impossible.
In Shinshi, he'd recently tried beer again. It was leagues apart from the ones in his old life: crisp, refreshing, perfect alongside potato chips. Maybe it was because he'd drunk it after waking from 200 years of slumber, but it had been subli.
And now? Beer brewed in this world with rare ingredients? He wanted it. No—he needed it.
Sightseeing was one thing, but seeing, eating, and drinking was another. To enjoy it all was the true way to savor this world.
"Very well… If you'll serve that beer, I'll co along."
"As much as you like! Now that I've said it aloud, I can't resist either. Guess I'll be cracking that cask open tonight! Co, co—let clear the rooftop for you!"
The dwarf's face and mug disappeared from the window with a clatter as he slamd the shutters shut. Monts later, a ruckus of banging and crashing ca from above—furniture being shoved aside, by the sound of it.
Before the noise had even settled, Tiamat was already pushing open the door to the tavern, The Leaky Cask, without hesitation.
Colton, practically drooling, hurried after him—only to yelp as Rohaim smacked him on the back of the head.
"Special dwarven dark stout… gulp Ow! What was that for!?"
"Swallowing your spit at a ti like this?! The situation's dood already… We're finished."
Rohaim's expression was bleak. A tavern. Who could have guessed such a trap lay in wait? He cursed the dwarf who'd extended the invitation. The fellow had probably only ant to repay a debt of gratitude to the city's saviors—but still, this was the last kind of "favor" they needed.
And yet, what choice did he have?
At least Tite was a high priest. Even if he did get drunk, surely he could cleanse himself with a spell. And surely no drunkards would dare pick a fight with them—heroes of the city.
Clinging to that fragile hope, Rohaim followed them into The Leaky Cask, his face twisted in despair.
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