Chapter 171: The Berserker’s Brawl

Chapter 171: Chapter 171: The Berserker’s Brawl

Chapter 171: The Berserker’s Brawl

Draven left the quiet, glowing branches of the Elven canopy far behind. He descended the massive mechanical lifts, plunging back into the oppressive, roaring heat of the Stoneheart City.

Lyra was safely hidden in the upper gardens, utilizing Estella’s smuggled Holy Star Crystal to brew the necessary antidote.

Draven had a few hours before the purifying elixir was ready. He needed to use that time to gauge the current political tension among the Dwarven populace.

He moved away from the heavily fortified military sector. He headed straight into the sprawling commercial district. The best place to gather unverified rumors and track civilian panic was always the bottom of a mug.

The streets here were packed. Dwarven miners, merchants, and off-duty guards bumped shoulders in the narrow stone corridors.

Draven kept his head down. He adjusted his heavy iron chainmail and played the role of the tired, middle-aged human guard named Haldor.

He finally spotted a massive, highly popular tavern built directly into the side of a cavern wall. A glowing neon rune above the door read ’The Iron Keg’. Loud, boisterous shouting and the heavy thud of wooden mugs echoed from inside.

It was the perfect place to listen to loose lips. Draven walked toward the heavy oak doors.

A towering, heavily armored Dwarven bouncer suddenly stepped directly into his path.

The bouncer was a mountain of a Dwarf. He wore a pristine, highly polished set of thick iron plate armor. His dark beard was neatly trimmed and tucked into his chest plate. He stood with his back perfectly straight, his massive arms crossed tightly over his chest.

"Halt," the bouncer commanded. His voice was deep, resonant, and entirely devoid of emotion.

Draven stopped. He looked up at the massive guard. "I just finished a double patrol shift. I want a drink."

"Access denied," the bouncer replied flatly.

"The current patron density inside this establishment exceeds optimal spacing parameters. Entry is currently prohibited."

Draven frowned slightly. He looked past the bouncer. The tavern was crowded, but there was clearly still standing room near the back wall.

"There is plenty of space by the hearth," Draven pointed out.

"Negative," the bouncer countered immediately.

"The interior volume of this room is precisely four thousand cubic feet. There are currently ninety-two patrons inside. This leaves an unacceptable margin of movement. In the event of a sudden hostile ambush, there is insufficient room to effectively deploy a defensive shield wall."

Draven stared at the bouncer.

"A shield wall," Draven repeated slowly. "Inside a tavern."

"Correct," the bouncer nodded seriously.

"Furthermore, the localized concentration of highly flammable dwarven ale constitutes a severe fire hazard. Intoxication reduces muscular reaction time by exactly forty percent. The entire building is a lethal trap. Therefore, you may not enter."

Draven went completely still. A faint, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his scarred lips.

There was only one person in the entire world who would calculate the defensive viability of a crowded bar.

"Embrace the poor, embrace the weak," Draven said quietly.

The bouncer stopped scanning the street. He looked directly down at the human guard. His rigid, unblinking expression did not change in the slightest.

"Embrace the dying as they speak," the bouncer replied in the exact same monotonous tone. "Though our fingers drip with a crimson flood. The Embracing Hands wash clean the blood."

The massive Dwarf dropped his arms and let out a very faint, almost imperceptible sigh.

"It is good to see you," Aegon said.

"How are you, Cap? This body belongs to a bouncer named Dargoth. It is highly inefficient. My center of gravity is completely skewed, and the local armor offers terrible joint mobility."

"I am fine! You are doing a great job guarding the door," Draven noted dryly.

"I am not guarding the door to keep people out," Aegon corrected him.

"I am guarding the door to prevent the city watch from seeing what is happening inside."

Before Draven could ask what he meant, a terrifying sound erupted from the tavern.

CRASH!

A heavy wooden chair shattered against the front window.

"The structural integrity of the main support beams is currently under severe kinetic stress," Aegon explained perfectly calmly.

"My partner is currently dismantling the interior."

Draven did not wait for another explanation. He pushed past Aegon and shoved the heavy oak doors open.

The inside of The Iron Keg was a zone of total chaos. Splintered wood covered the stone floor. Heavy barrels of ale were completely smashed, spilling frothy brown liquid everywhere.

Half a dozen rugged, soot-covered Dwarven miners were groaning in pain on the ground, nursing broken noses and cracked ribs.

Standing in the dead center of the ruined tavern was a very short, highly muscular Dwarven woman. She wore thick leather armor. She had a wildly braided, fiery red beard hanging from her chin.

She was currently holding a massive, jagged table leg in her right hand.

It was Reina.

"Call me a delicate little flower one more time!" Reina roared at the top of her lungs, her face flushed red with sheer, unfiltered rage.

"We were just trying to be polite!" a terrified miner yelled from the floor, holding his hands up in surrender.

"You have a very luscious beard!"

"Luscious?!" Reina screamed.

She raised the heavy table leg to deliver a crushing blow. Another miner, desperate to save his friend, grabbed a heavy wooden stool and charged at Reina from behind.

Draven stepped fully into the room. He locked his gray eyes on the charging miner. He extended a single finger from the shadows of his cloak.

He unleashed a microscopic pulse of [Vector Manipulation], directly reversing the friction beneath the miner’s heavy boots.

SWISH!

The charging miner lost his footing instantly. He flew forward, completely missing Reina, and slammed face-first into a stone pillar.

THUD!

The entire tavern fell dead silent. Reina spun around, her chest heaving, her grip tightening on her makeshift weapon. She glared at the middle-aged human guard standing in the doorway.

"You’re being quite the character, Reina!" Draven said calmly, stepping over a broken barrel.

Reina froze. Her furious expression melted away into sheer, overwhelming relief. She dropped the heavy wooden table leg.

CLATTER.

"How did you get in? Wait!" Reina said. She aggressively wiped the sweat from her forehead and stomped over to Draven.

"Captain," Reina groaned loudly, gesturing wildly to her own face.

"Look at me! Look at this! I am a Berserker named Helga! I am three feet tall! And I have a beard! An actual, braided beard! It is incredibly itchy!"

"It suits you," Draven replied completely deadpan.

"Do not test me right now," Reina warned, pointing a thick, muscular finger at his chest.

"Do you have any idea what just happened? I walked into this tavern to find a quiet place to think. I sat down at a table. And these idiots walked over and started flirting with me!"

Aegon stepped inside the tavern and carefully closed the door behind him to block the view from the street.

"They offered to buy her a premium pint of magma-ale," Aegon provided helpful context. "It is a traditional Dwarven courtship ritual."

"They tried to touch my braids!" Reina yelled, her voice echoing off the stone walls. "I am going to freeze this entire simulation to the core and shatter it!"

"You will stand down," Draven ordered sharply.

His voice cut through the comedic chaos instantly. The authority in his tone forced Reina to take a deep breath and compose herself. Aegon stood perfectly still, awaiting his orders.

"The King Level Beast has set a massive trap," Draven explained quietly, making sure the groaning miners on the floor could not hear him.

"Lord Lionel poisoned the Elven aqueducts. Forge-King Thorgar is currently building heavy siege weapons in the lower vaults. The entire city is standing on a powder keg."

Reina frowned, the anger fading into serious focus. "Where are the others?"

"Lucien is securing Lionel’s communications network," Draven listed.

"Cole and Bram are in the Great Forge stalling the weapon production. Estella and Lyra are in the upper canopy brewing the antidote."

"And us?" Aegon asked.

"You two are the heavy frontline," Draven said, looking at his Vanguard and his Berserker.

"If Lyra fails to purify the water in time, or if Lionel forces Thorgar’s hand early, the civil war will begin before we can expose the traitor. If that happens, a massive army of Dwarves will march up the mountain to burn the tree."

Draven pointed toward the heavy oak doors of the tavern.

"You will move to the massive stone gates connecting the Stoneheart City to the Root District," Draven ordered.

"You will lock down that chokepoint. If the Dwarven military tries to march upward, you hold the line. You do not let a single siege weapon pass through those gates."

Aegon slammed his massive, armored fist against his chest plate in a rigid salute.

"Understood."

"Finally," Reina muttered, cracking her thick knuckles. "Something I can actually hit."

"Wait for my signal," Draven commanded, turning to leave the ruined tavern.

"I am heading back up to the canopy to find Natalie and Nyx. Once the snipers and assassins are in position, we begin the operation."