CHAPTER 37: THE OLD ASSASSIN'S TAVERN

The next morning, Caius and Sereth resumed their descent deeper into the mountain. The concealment ward Sereth had cast over their alcove faded quietly before they left, leaving no sign they’d spent the night there. True to form, their four shadow-tails were still lingering somewhere in the dark behind them, keeping their assigned distance.

Caius had long since stopped minding. Sereth knew they were there, and since the dark elves were sticking strictly to observation, there was no harm done.

After several hours of steady walking, Sereth broke the silence. "Tomorrow morning, we're taking a detour. There's an old friend I want to visit before we head back to the clan."

Caius looked over. "Your friend lives down here?"

"He does. Used to be one of the clan's top assassins."

Caius's eyebrows rose. "An assassin?"

"One of the best."

"What happened to him?"

"He retired," Sereth said, a faint hint of fondness warming his tone. "Now he runs an old tavern."

Caius stared at him for a second. "An assassin traded a blade for a taproom?"

"His killing days are behind him," Sereth said, not breaking pace. "These days, he prefers trade and pouring drinks."

"Does he still fight?"

"If he has to." Sereth glanced sideways. "Don't mistake retirement for weakness, Caius."

"Understood."

The following morning, their route shifted toward the fringes of the Queen Mother’s domain—a volatile borderland where the tunnels grew thick with danger. Sereth explained that his friend’s establishment served as more than just a roadside stop; it was a vital trading post. Independent hunters and scouts brought their kills there to sell carcasses, cores, and valuable parts before hauling them deeper into clan territory.

For hunters operating in the grim outer tunnels, it was a lifeline. They could unload their harvest, restock provisions, and head straight back out without making the grueling trek all the way to the inner settlement.

"So your friend buys up the beasts?" Caius asked as they walked.

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"Anything worth selling."

"Even ferals?"

"Especially ferals. The more dangerous the creature, the more valuable its harvest," Sereth replied. "The clan has endless uses for them."

Caius thought about the spider cores he’d been stocking away. If the tavern bought those materials, the creatures he’d been shooting weren't just nuisances; they were walking currency.

Then the air changed.

Caius caught it first—a heavy, drifting smell of smoke, sharp-edged with the stench of burning chitin and charred flesh.

Sereth instantly halted.

"What is it?" Caius murmured.

Faintly, over the rumble of distant stone, came the unmistakable sounds of chaotic violence: the ringing clash of steel, the sharp snap of arcane discharges, and the frantic, skittering screeches of a feral swarm.

Sereth’s expression hardened into ice. "The tavern."

They broke into a run.

The tunnel spat them out into a massive, jagged cavern, and the full horror of the scene laid itself bare.

The tavern was built against the far wall—a fortress of thick, dark stone and heavy timber, flanked by storage sheds and reinforced processing yards. But it was completely overrun.

Dozens of massive feral spiders surged across the floor, backed by a writhing tide of smaller abominations. Wave after wave slammed into the barricades. Dark elf defenders rained down arrows and spells from fortified walls, blue-white gales of ice freezing solid chunks of the vanguard, though the horde just kept coming.

Caius stared, chest tight. "There are too many."

"The Queen Mother's territory is right on the other side of this ridge," Sereth said, his hand sliding to the hilt of his curved blade. The relaxed traveler was gone in a heartbeat, replaced by a veteran weapon of war. "Stay close. I'm cutting a path through the swarm."

Caius reached for his warbow automatically, checking his string and reaching for his quiver.

Sereth unbuckled his own quiver and handed it straight to the boy.

Caius blinked, holding up his hands. "Your quiver?"

"You're a better shot than I am," Sereth said curtly, his eyes locked on the fray. "Take it. You'll need the depth."

Caius secured the extra quiver beside his own, doubling his payload. He had more than enough ammunition to stay back and rain death from above.

"Pick off the large brutes first," Sereth ordered, stepping toward the edge of the drop. "Once the heavy hitters are down, cover my flank."

"Got it."

Caius drew an arrow, his gaze snapping across the chaotic battlefield. Several massive ferals were already battering their way toward the tavern's main doors.

He raised his warbow, anchored the string, and activated Far Sight.

The roaring cavern slowed to a crawl in his vision. The chaos stripped away, leaving only the glowing, pulsing mana cores beneath the beasts' thick chitin.

He scanned the surging tide until he found it—a colossal brute leading the charge, its core burning far brighter than the rest as it smashed aside the smaller spiders in its path.

Caius tracked it. The beast twisted, changing course toward a weaker section of the defensive wall.

Caius adjusted his lead, breathing out a steady, controlled sigh.

The instant the monster cleared a cluster of smaller spiders, he let go.

Snap.

The bowstring sang. The arrow blurred across the cavern, a streak of lethal intent aimed straight at the brute's blind spot.

And Caius didn't miss.

The shaft hit home, driving straight into its vital point.