Entering the inn, it wasn't an overly large establishment, Damien noted. He admired the glossy smooth floor, so smooth one would have thought it was made of glass. He looked around, taking in the low-backed chairs arranged around the equally low round tables in a five-to-one setting. There were enough chairs to seat almost a hundred people without being overcrowded.

  A dozen feet to his left, the floor was raised into a meter-tall stage. Damien noted, with eyebrows raised, the dozens of runes etched into the stage floor and ceiling. And while his knowledge of runes was basically nonexistent, he was still able to identify ones meant to amplify sound and project light.

  A few patrons were in attendance, sipping into their half-finished drinks while their 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. Damien could have chosen to listen in on their conversations, but he wasn't really interested.

  The counter, a long piece of thing made up of common wood and reinforced with stability and a few runes Damien couldn't identify. A man who looked to be in his mid-twenties stood behind it, his hands working through a few cups with a surprisingly clean napkin.

  Approaching the counter. Damien took a seat and nodded at the barman in greeting.

  "Good day, haven't seen your face before," The barman returned the greeting while he picked up another cup to clean.

  "My first time in the city," Damien replied while he glanced around the room.

  "You come for the pilgrimage?"

  "No," Damien shook his head. "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. Tarim challenged chosen Ymal to a duel set two days from now." The man answered.

  "......," Damien raised an eyebrow.

  Seeing the lack of recognition, the barman's eyes narrowed at Damien, and then like something finally snapped, he grunted and then began nodding.

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

  Not seeing any reason to lie, Damien nodded.

  "That explains it," the man nodded. "Tarim's a warlord from far away. He 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 begin raiding caravans coming in and out of the city, trying to crash the city's economy. It's been going on for weeks now. The Chosen, in retaliation, sent 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. He threw the heads of a patrol squad at the city gates, with a challenge for the chosen, in front of heavy traffic at the gate, says to fight him warrior to warrior," the man finished.

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

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

  Out of curiosity, Damien asked. "Aren't you worried about your chosen? That he might lose."

  "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 tier soon," The barman answered with obvious pride.

  Damien just nodded. Becoming a lord at age thirty-four was impressive, but he'd seen young scions doing that in their twenties, so maybe not that impressive.

  "Oh, I'm sorry," The barman's eyes suddenly widened with an embarrassed expression. "I forgot to take your order."

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

  The man brought out three bottles.

  "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 one bottle on the leftmost side that was filled with brown liquid.

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  He then pointed to another bottle in the middle, this one with a purple liquid inside a bottle that was no different from the container used by alchemist 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 finally pointed to the last bottle. This one looked medium-sized and was filled with some sort of 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 found that highly doubtful.

  Smiling, Damien 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 before nodding, and then he bent down. When he came back up, he was holding a single bottle, and this one was filled with black liquid. "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 body 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 just agreed.

  The man poured the alcohol into a tiny shotglass and then handed it over to Damien.

  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 barman 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 complete sheet-white face. "Desert lord protect us," the man whispered in terror.

  "What?" Damien frowned.

  "You just drank a glass and still look as if you simply took a cup of water," the man 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, now did he?

  "Even the chosen couldn't drink that much without reacting," the man choked, and then dread 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 side of the establishment.

  At that time, Damien knew 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 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 stared them in the eye.

  Ever since the foreign young man stepped into the inn, Salur could tell something was off about him. It wasn't hard to figure out that he wasn't from the city, nor around the nearby environs, either.

  Shoulder-length grey hair on a face that looked still in its early twenties, and when he looked at their table, Salur also noted the eerily matching grey eyes.

  The man was trying to play off as ordinary, but any soldier worth his weapon could spot the way he carried himself. Confidence in the way he walked combined with a height that was rare in a city like this. He was wearing baggy desert clothes, but Salur could practically see through it into the powerful build hidden within.

  He watched the man as he 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 have instantly drawn attention from his companions on the table. He didn't want that yet.

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

  Salur didn't want to raise a false alarm, so he simply shrugged."I like the hair."

  Kars could tell he was lying, but he didn't pry any further. Salur 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 we at the gate were 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 our heads that might be 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, but he did nothing.

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