Viper's Den (8)
The inn was packed with customers late into the night, buzzing like a city that never slept. Monster enthusiasts who'd come from afar to see the Monster Zoo, travelers passing through Rosens, locals stopping by for a bath and coffee. All sorts had flooded in, making it genuinely hectic.
Food kept pouring out of the kitchen nonstop, carried to every corner of the hall by half-elves and waitstaff. Some guests, finding no seats in the hall, ate in the guest rooms. It was total chaos.
"Ah... this is bad..."
Idi muttered to herself as she hurried past me, drenched in sweat.
"What's the big deal?"
"There are customers waiting outside too... and it's so cold..."
"Can't be helped. They'll have to wait."
Lines forming outside to get into the inn happened almost every day. But we couldn't just let them stand around inside waiting either—the hall was already full, no room to squeeze in more. Still, dinner crowds came and went in waves, so seats would open up soon enough.
I scanned the hall and headed to the bathhouse. It was much the same story there. The first-floor bath was lit up bright, filled with laughter and splashing water. The second-floor lounge and rooftop were just as lively, lights blazing, turning the whole inn and bathhouse area as bright as midday.
On the rooftop, Rowell was swamped making coffee, no time to breathe. I'd assigned two half-elves to help him, but he had to handle the brewing himself. He also kept an eye on the cafe and popped through dimensional gates to the coffee plantation to supervise the golems.
Golems were perfect for simple labor, but they were dumb as rocks—if left alone, they'd strip the coffee plants bare, leaves and branches included, after picking the beans. Mideronde had flat-out refused to use golems, so Rowell shuttled back and forth between cafe and farm out of necessity. Yet he never complained, always handling everything with his refined, composed demeanor.
"Business is booming again today. You're working hard."
"Good evening, Master. It's a good problem to have when the cafe does well."
Rowell greeted me with a smile. Half his face was a melted ruin from burns, but his expression remained dignified and gentle. Having served in noble houses probably accounted for that air of distinction he carried.
"Care for a cup?"
"Sure."
I sat, and Rowell deftly prepared the coffee. Brown grounds mixed with white milk powder and sugar, hot water stirred in—and just like that, our inn's pride, Maximum Coffee, was ready.
"This hits the spot every time."
"Thank you."
Sipping the coffee, I took in the rooftop cafe. Tables glowed under bright lights, packed with people chatting over their drinks. Aterugar's flameless lights warded off the chilly rooftop breeze, so everyone lounged in the bathhouse's short-sleeve shirts and shorts.
Savoring the coffee and watching the crowd, I mulled over my earlier talk with Pelle by the riverbank. Move for the inn and the staff, she'd said. Right. Since retiring, I'd poured everything into this place, and what kept it running to this day was me and the employees. The inn and staff would always be a huge part of my life. Working for them was the same as working for myself.
So, between watching the royal palace drama unfold or stepping in—which served the inn, the staff, and me best? Given the palace mess, Elua's state, and the kingdom's power players, something was bound to blow. Civil war, war with Bakomore, or an assassination on Elua. Nothing minor, and whatever happened would hit the inn hard.
Obviously, intervening was better. But where to start? Elua hadn't killed the previous king—that much was clear. No one would care, though. Factions gunning for her throne would spin it as guilt anyway. No proof she did it, but none she didn't either.
Elua had zero intention of stepping down. Hell, now that she was queen, she wanted to do it right. Bakomore and the noble council were set in stone—no surprises there. The big wildcard was Gobert. What made him bolt to frontline command? What did the old king tell him? Or did he kill the king? Without answers, the board was impossible to read.
Time for a visit to his command post, then. He'd welcome me as a guest if I just showed up. Lucia region? Better to ride the Hell Horse at dawn tomorrow.
"Next group, come on in!!"
Marim's voice called out to the waiting customers from the inn side.
* * * *
Back at the inn, one wave of guests had cleared out, and a fresh batch was filing in. A group of burly men who looked like travelers claimed several tables. Dressed lightly for the road, with sharp, killer glares—not your average tourists. Drifters, maybe mercenaries or hunters.
But their seating was odd. They left one wall-side table empty and ringed it protectively. What the hell? Reserving space for their boss? From the inn's perspective, as long as they ordered by headcount, it didn't matter... but who were these guys? Their outfits gave no clues.
One tell, though: identical scars on their left wrists, peeking from under sleeves. Legion soldiers. Legionnaires shared a few physical traits, that wrist scar chief among them. Roll up a sleeve, and you'd see another on the forearm. Shield calluses from training in tight shield-wall advances, ironclad phalanxes pushing forward. Nearly every legionnaire outside special forces had them.
Lambert's arms had borne the same marks when I'd seen him in the bathhouse. Legionnaires visiting the inn wasn't weird—could be retirees or on leave. But ten showing up together for "leave," sitting in that precise formation? They weren't here to relax.
That clicked it all into place. Gobert was here.
"Brother Bertrand...!"
A familiar voice called out. A pale, innocent-looking young man with big puppy-dog black eyes grinned wide at me. Dressed like any common citizen, no one would peg him as frontline commander and the kingdom's number-two prince.
"Gobert, you rascal."
"Brother!"
Gobert lumbered over and pulled me into a bear hug.
"How've you been?"
"Good. Was just thinking of dropping by to see your face."
Patting his back, I spotted Kamei by the door. She met my eyes but offered no nod or greeting, stoic as ever. I peeled Gobert off and jerked my chin at her.
"Why'd you bring that monster?"
"Kamei's my guard captain. Took her to the front with me. Oh, you knew I was commanding there, right?"
"Of course. Sit... you eaten?"
"Nope. Heard the food here's amazing, so I starved myself on purpose!"
"Ha. Alright."
Gobert and I took a table the legionnaires had left open. Kamei loomed by the door, glaring at entrants like a threat.
"Can't you get your guard captain out of here? She's killing business standing like that."
"Ah, right. Sorry."
Gobert waved her over; she slipped out without a word. I called Pelle over, told her to bring food and drinks, price no object.
Gobert eyed Pelle's horns and whispered low.
"Brother... isn't that a demon? Why's a demon here...? Weren't they all wiped out?"
"Demon King snuck noncombatants out a back door when we hit the castle. She's a survivor. Useful, so I hired her on."
"Oh, got it."
Gobert scanned the hall with fresh curiosity.
"I was shocked when I heard you'd settled here and opened an inn. Thought you'd stick around the palace."
"Another day there and I'd have died of stress."
"Fair. The palace never suited you anyway. Must be nice living free, doing what you want."
"You say that like you're some prisoner. Who shoved you into frontline command?"
Right on cue, staff brought food and beer to the table.