Chapter 500: Celebration? [Bonus - ]

Chapter 500: Celebration? [Bonus Chapter]

Across the room, near the far corner where the former border-wall veterans clustered, two figures visibly choked.

Lupina’s bushy silver tail, which had been resting lazily over the back of her wooden stool, went rigid as a steel spear.

Her pointed wolf ears flattened completely back against her silver hair, her eyes widening until the white rings around her irises were fully visible.

Beside her, Morrighan’s dark obsidian-horned head snapped up from her wooden bowl of stew.

The demonic caster’s jaw went totally slack with a massive bead of sweat rolling down the pale, elegant slope of her throat.

They swallowed their saliva in unison and the sound was like two dry stones clicking together.

Back on the Unmovable Wall, before Silas had won them and brought them under his banner, both Lupina and Morrighan had been Heroes.

But within the absurdly stacked hierarchy of Blessed Land, where there were too many strong women including a dragon they were simply heavy troops.

They lived in the barracks and it was comfortable... luxurious, even, compared to their two prior arrangements but the Keep?

The Keep was the sanctum.

The Keep had private baths and a lot of people in it where they could learn from and grow stronger and most importantly... the Keep was where Silas slept.

It was where his scent lingered in the hallways so living there didn’t just make you an elite soldier... it put you within arm’s reach of the Lord while the rest of the territory was a bit further away..

It was an upgrade beyond measure.

"MOVE INTO THE KEEP?!" Brida’s voice cracked into a desperate feral shriek.

She practically launched herself over the bench with her boots skidding across the grease-slick floor as she closed the distance to Silas in three violent strides.

"My Lord! That’s... that’s an inner sanctum commission! You can’t just throw that out there like extra mutton! Are you serious?!"

"Dead serious," Silas smirked, not yielding an inch of ground as the towering woman loomed in front of him.

"What about the squad going north?!" Sarah shouted, scrambling to her feet with her knuckles white against the tabletop. "Who goes to the ice trench?! If they’re with you, do they get points for the monsters they kill out there?!"

"I am selecting the northern strike team personally," Silas answered, his voice firm and decisive. "It will be a lightweight rapid-response unit tailored for the extreme terrain as the rest of the garrison stays behind to secure Blessed Land’s borders, maintain the watch, and continue the mining operations in the other mines. Every beast you put down while we are gone, every crate of high-grade alloy you log with Thora’s foundry... it all counts. When I step back through those gates, the girl at the top of the board takes the room next to mine."

"HOOOOOOOOO-AH!"

The barracks detonated.

All the women threw their heads back and screamed with a wild hungry fervor that sounded more like a pack of starved winter drakes than disciplined infantry.

Mugs were slammed, fists were pumped toward the vaulted ceiling, and even the normally quiet dwarven craftswomen began furiously scribbling on their cuffs, calculating how many shifts of rock-drilling it would take to out-score someone like Brida.

Before Silas could take another step toward the exit, a shadow fell over him from behind.

CRACK-THUD!

A massive armor-plated arm... thick with sculpted divine muscles and smelling like pork grease hooked around his neck like an iron crane.

"GWAHAHAHAHAHA!"

Thor’s booming laugh hit him dead in the ear, nearly rattling his teeth in their sockets.

The God of Thunder dragged him backward against her unyielding chest with her wild blonde locks spilling over his shoulder as she brandished a foaming wooden flagon the size of an oil barrel in his face.

"Running away so soon, Silas?!" Thor bellowed, her storm-blue eyes flashing with drunken ecstasy. "You swung the pickaxe like a true master of the earth all morning, you filled the carts until the axles screamed, and now you try to slip out the back like a thief in the night?! Not in this hall! A great harvest demands a great flood! Drink with your warriors, Silas! Drink until the rafters spin!"

"Thor, wait—" Silas grunted, trying to lever his arm between his collar and her bicep. "I still have manifests to review with—"

"DRINK! DRINK! DRINK! DRINK!" the women roared in a deafening unified chant, slamming their tankards in rhythm.

"You heard the vanguard!" Thor grinned wildly, her bicep tightening as she hauled him bodily toward the central long table. "No decrees until you’ve downed your share! A lord who starves his throat while his soldiers drown theirs is no king at all!"

CREAK!

The barracks doors swung open once more, and this time, two more figures stepped through the steam.

Eluned drifted into the hall, her emerald-green silk robes swaying gracefully around her calves, looking entirely too serene for the chaos of the mess hall.

Beside her, the Princess hurried in, her cheeks still sporting a delicate rosy flush from the hot springs with her eyes darting nervously around the screaming crowd while the obsidian bird clung securely to her shoulder pauldron.

"Oh, my..." the Princess murmured, her small hands coming up to cover her mouth. "Are they... always this energetic after a shift?"

"Only when they smell blood and fresh meat, little bluebird," Eluned purred, stepping smoothly into the hall.

Before either of them could take three paces, Brida and Helen materialized out of the smoke, grabbing the Princess by her silk sleeves and Eluned by her green sashes with boisterous whoops.

"The royal guest is here! And the tree lady!" Brida hollered, steering them toward the long benches. "Get ’em a flagon! Nobody leaves this room sober tonight! Lord’s orders!"

"I never issued that order—" Silas called out from the head of the table, though his voice was instantly swallowed by a fresh wave of cheers.

Within minutes, the barracks had reached a fever pitch.

Trestle tables were dragged together, forming a massive continuous wooden ring around the central roasting hearth.

Enormous platters of spicy, pepper-crusted spirit boar, mountain tubers roasted in marrow butter, and heaps of smoked river trout were hauled from the kitchens on heavy iron trays.

The Princess sat wedged precariously between Helen and Brenda, her delicate royal skirts tucked beneath her knees.

In front of her sat a carved horn flagon brimming with golden mead.

"Come on, Your Highness!" Brenda urged, leaning over with a flushed, freckled grin. "One sip for the first goblin! Two sips for the diamond cave!"

The Princess looked at the dark amber liquid and was a bit hesitant.

’I drank a whole lot of it last night but should I do so again?’

Back home, she sipped thimble-sized crystal glasses of diluted elderberry wine at formal banquets while courtiers watched their posture.

But looking around at the women laughing, shouting, and trading scars under the warm firelight... she felt that same strange intoxicating fire bloom in her chest once again.

’Let’s just enjoy everything Blessed Land has to offer!’

She gripped the horn with both hands, brought it to her lips, and took a massive reckless gulp.

GULP! GULP! COUGH!

"Whoa!" The Princess gasped, slamming the horn down, her azure eyes watering instantly as a fiery spiced warmth exploded straight down her throat and into her stomach. "It’s... it burns! But it’s so sweet!"

"THAT’S THE SPIRIT!" the girls screamed, pounding the table until the platters rattled!

Across the table, Eluned was not faring much better.

The ancient Goddess, who normally carried herself with the untouchable divine grace of an eternal forest deity, had already drained three flagons of heavy floral berry wine.

Her porcelain cheeks had turned the brilliant, incandescent shade of a ripe summer peach.

Her emerald eyes were half-lidded, and brimming with a loose uninhibited glaze as she leaned her upper body heavily against Silas’s left arm.

"Silas..." Eluned whined softly, her voice slurred into sweet melodic mush as her slender fingers lazily traced the silver embroidery on his lapel. "The roots... the roots in the cellar are humming... did you know that? They’re humming because you’re so warm... you should come down to the roots and let me wrap you up... like a little acorn..."

"You’re completely hammered, Elu," Silas muttered dryly, though he kept his arm steady so the swaying goddess wouldn’t slide off the bench and crack her head on the stone.

’Or rather, crack the stone with her head.’

"I am not hammered," Eluned pouted, her lower lip protruding in an adorable exaggerated pout that looked thoroughly undignified for a primordial spirit. "I am... deeply attuned to the soil’s fermentation... there is a difference..."

"GWAHAHAHA! She’s down for the count!" Thor bellowed from Silas’s right, slamming an empty flagon into the wood.

The God of Thunder had already consumed enough roasted pork to feed an entire squadron, but her storm-blue eyes were burning with hunger.

’At this rate, we’ll have to multiply our hunting.’

Thor was going to finish their reserves of food!

She leaned across the table, thrusting a thick calloused finger straight into Silas’s chest.

"You’ve been sipping that watered-down barley swill all night, Silas!" Thor accused with her wild blonde mane shaking as she grinned. "You think you can hide behind your calm face?! I see you! You haven’t swayed an inch! So you have high alcohol resistance huh?!"

Silas blinked, maintaining a perfectly serene innocent expression.

’It’s not like she’s wrong.’

The moment the fermented mash crossed his tongue, his Mythic Gold Core... acting on instinctual self-preservation naturally circulated a thin microscopic film of mana through his liver and bloodstream.

The alcohol was broken down into basic moisture and inert vapor within milliseconds of entering his stomach.

He could drink fifty gallons of pure grain alcohol and walk a straight line across a tightrope without his pulse jumping a single beat.

’I hate it a bit...’

Naturally, he had zero intention of telling her that.

"I simply possess a dignified tolerance, Thor," Silas replied smoothly, raising his horn with a relaxed shrug. "A lord must remain composed, even while his warriors drown themselves."

"LIES!" Thor roared, slapping her thigh with concussive force. "I challenge you! A true warrior’s trial! The strongest spirit in the territory!"

CLANG-RATTLE!

Right on cue, the pantry doors swung open with a violent shriek of iron hinges.

Stomping into the hall like an armored badger on a warpath was Thora.

The dwarven forge master had completely discarded her soot-stained apron, now dressed in a clean dark leather tunic with steel-reinforced cuffs.

Her beautiful face was flushed with pride, and held securely in both hands was a massive dark stoneware jug sealed with black pitch and wrapped in glowing blue cooling runes.

"Step aside! Make way for the master’s private stock!" Thora shouted, her boots thudding against the floorboards as she approached the central table.

She slammed the stoneware jug onto the oak with a hollow thud that made the grease in the platters jump.

"What is that?!" Brida asked, leaning over the table with her eyes squinting at the glowing blue runes.

"This," Thora grinned savagely, wiping her nose with the back of her wrist, "is Blessed Drink 2.0... I took the fermented mash of the deep-basin frost-berries as well as some of Eluned’s berries, filtered it through a pulverized star-iron gravel bed, and distilled it four times using the high-temperature steam exhaust from the primary foundry furnaces. It’s ninety-two percent pure spiritual alcohol or so... One drop will strip the rust off an iron wagon wheel and three swallows will put an earth-drake into a coma!"

Thor’s eyes ignited with pure unholy fire.

"POUR IT!"

"Don’t say I didn’t warn you, giantess!" Thora cackled, drawing a heavy belt dagger and slicing the wax seal with a crisp shik.

She popped the wooden cork.

FZZZZZZT.

A thick pale vapor hissed out of the neck of the jug as the air within three feet of the opening dropped by ten degrees while simultaneously smelling like it could ignite if someone struck a flint.

Thora filled two massive polished horn flagons to the brim.

The liquid inside wasn’t amber or brown... it was a clear shimmering cerulean blue that seemed to swirl with its own internal current.

Thor grabbed her horn with both hands, her massive muscles coiling.

"To the victor, Silas! No magic! No divine purification! Pure mortal grit!"

"Pure mortal grit," Silas agreed, taking up his flagon with an easy confident grip.

"THREE! TWO! ONE! CHUG!"

GLUG! GLUG! GLUG! GLUG!

Both of them tipped their horns back simultaneously.