Dent stops under the sign of a bustling open air bar. The thick scent of richly seasoned meats catches his attention as it does many passersby on the street. No doubt attributing to why it is so packed even at this time of day. Though the case for Dent's pause is the name of the bar rather than the smell.
Scorpion's Rest
"This is where Mr. Garoc wanted a letter delivered to. How fortunate." Dent raises a hand, attempting to gather wind in his palm. However, the spell breaks, making him frown. "Now if only I had the fortune of finding Aki as well. Where did she go that my tracking lost her?"
Dent adjusts the bags strapped to his back and waist while he looks around the street one more time. The important gear and sensitive items like his weapons are stored inside his personal inventory subspace.
Unlike his ex-party members, his [Inventory] is far smaller than theirs on account of his class.
Dent's ex-party member, Caor, had explained some time ago that it was probably because the lore explanation of the Samurai Warlord class required several high mobility classes to even show up, let alone unlock.
Since they were no longer in a Full-Dive game, the flavour text of various things was now a reality, Caor had reasoned.
Dent makes a fist, turning his wrist up and looking quickly through his stored belongings.
"Careful steps, Aki. It is crowded–" Dent glances to the side where a short blond man had knocked into and was now giving him a strange look. "My mistake."
The short man huffs and straightens out his vest before stomping off and disappearing into the sea of bodies.
Dent hides his face behind the inventory window, closes his eyes, and takes a breath. Even if no one else can see it, pretending his face is hidden eases the embarrassment.
"Excuse me, armoured patron," A flat voice squeaks from somewhere in front of him.
He closes the window of the inventory with a quick snap of his wrist.
"Would you perhaps be looking to dine here? If not, I ask you to not loiter."
Dent looks down to see a short, dark-skinned ratkin waitress wearing a dull yellow tunic with a white apron addressing him.
"There aren't any tables available, so if it's alright with you, I can seat you with some other patrons." She says evenly.
"Of course, my apologies. I'm here to meet a Hunter friend as well as to deliver a letter." Dent quickly pulls out the letter Garoc entrusted for delivery and shows it to the waitress.
"Hmmm…" For a flat expression, the brow she raises at him is surprisingly judgemental while she reads the back of the letter to see who it's for.
The woman's eyes widen briefly but she returns to a neutral level quickly. "I've never heard of her before."
"This is the Scorpion's Rest, is it not?"
"Yes, armoured one, but no woman by that name has ever been here." She says quickly. Under her breath, the tone of voice hardens briefly. "And you can tell those creeps at Braxton Abbey we're keeping our mouths shut."
"Braxton Abbey? Where would I need to go to find that place?"
She frowns ever so slightly, a calculating look briefly passes her face before she responds. "You misheard. There is no such place as Braxton Abbey, armoured one."
"Hm??? No, I'm certain. My wind magic couldn't have detected wrong." He suppresses his confused retort, and instead answers simply. "Of course."
The waitress flicks her tail at Dent, directing him to follow her inside the walls of the bustling bar and up a set of stairs to a more busy but enclosed section of the business.
Most every table is packed with the uniformity of the Old Guard drinking, eating, and strategizing.
At a glance and judging under a purely physical standpoint, their armour isn't much to look at. The design carries more style than substance, leaving too much open for a decently skilled opponent.
Metal plates set on a leather tabard and vest skirt over a gambeson make up the cuirass. Sharp-shouldered pauldrons sit on a gorget of a fabric-like material different to the gambeson and cover the gaps from their vambrace and light gauntlets. A simple metal band over their forearms seems to be the rerebrace, though it doesn't cover all that much.
Their legs do have full protection – cuisse, poleyn, greaves, and sabatons – for the majority that Dent can see. Although that is only for some of them. Others seem to be wearing plated ankle-banded pants and soft leather boots.
Nearly all of them, however, haven't removed their oddly shaped great helms. Rather, a small section of the front is raised so that they can eat and drink relatively comfortably. Intricate lines are carved along the surface trailing to the back and top of the head.
A shield with a two-engrailed top with a stylised compass in the shape of a silver sun makes up the heraldry, the absolute symbol of the Old Guard.
The silver sun rays straighten and meet around a hollowed centre of the compass and an unnatural light reflects from its surface, different to the gleam of the armour and the natural shine of the bar.
For all the weakness, the gentle thrumming sound that fills the floor tells Dent that their unbalanced appearance is deliberate.
No matter how incredible one's hearing is, passively applied magic isn't easily audible even with buffs. In that thread, enchantments are nearly imperceptible without actively investing time to discern something's status.
Yet packed together like this, Dent can faintly hear the mana that makes up the intricate enchantments placed on their armour without his Wind Magic enhanced senses.
Any attempts to blast them with an AOE spell would absolutely explode in his face and trying to suck out the oxygen in the space or crushing their heads with wind spheres would rapidly break and fail.
Worst case, he could rely on brute force to cut a few down, but even then, there's bound to be physical reinforcements placed on the armour.
Several Old Guard patrons shoot him inquisitive looks while others sneakily pass their hands closer to their weapons when he passes their tables.
"Here is the only Hunter dining with us today." The waitress says.
She gives a respectful introductory wave to a table in the back where only two people – a red-cloaked man with golden blond hair and a drunken tiger narithe that is facedown on the table and holding a thick mug over himself – sit.
"Hunter Julius. My name is Dent, an adventurer and a friend of Aki. We came to find you because we heard you could answer some questions in regards to the history of the Storms."
Julius nods and motions for Dent to take a seat by him. "Pleasure to meet you, Dent. This is Dener, a captain of the Old Guard as I'm sure you've guessed."
Dent accepts the seat and eyes them carefully. Despite the tiger's drunkenness, there doesn't seem to be the slightest of openings in his defenses despite being nearly unconscious from the alcohol. With or without the Old Guard armour and no great helm.
Suffice to say, Julius – who is still nursing his own drink – is far more stable and on-guard.
He glances quickly around the room once more. Five windows. The stairs leading to the lower floor, and a performer's stage in the centre that connects to a curtained backstage.
The nearest window has three large and packed tables in the way. The stairs are an option too, but it has the greatest chance of failing since it would take him through the most amount of Old Guard.
Behind the tiger narithe Dent has already forgotten the name of and to the far right is another window, but it would take him over the stage in the centre of the room.
Ultimately, he could also take a chance by going backstage and searching for an exit there, but with the amount of Old Guard present, Dent is unable to use his Wind magic to scout without alerting at least several of them.
"In the worst case scenario, my survival chances are slim and reliant solely on luck." Dent passes a hand over the strap of his bag carefully.
The tiger narithe Dener snorts and stirs but doesn't wake, instead adjusting his face to sink his cheek into the half-eaten soup.
"An adventurer…" the waitress murmurs. "Mmm, what can I get you? Or do you need some time to decide on a drink?"
"Water is fine, thank you."
She nods, bows, and takes her leave, giving privacy to the patrons with practiced speed.
"Now then!" Julius clasps his hands together.
"Before you ask your questions, might I ask about our mutual friend first?"
Dent catches himself raising a hand to point to his side and turns his palm to cover his mouth instead. He gives a short, sharp sigh before answering.
"Unfortunately, we got separated on arrival."
"Ahh, yes. I understand. With the Space Gates blocked, the only way in has become congested with extremely long lines. What's more, the recent increase in criminality on account of certain events has only made things more congested. Isn't that right?" Julius sets his mug down.
"... of course."
The two men stare deeply at each other. Behind Dent, the quiet shifting of metal against wood and padded palms finding their marks slowly sink into place.
Still, Dent doesn't back down and matches Julius' gaze without faltering.
A mug of water is set down between the two. The ratkin waitress that led Dent inside earlier frowns and steps back. "Is there a problem?"
"None at all!" Julius cracks a welcoming grin then nonchalantly raises a hand and the intense killing pressure falls away immediately.
The waitress cocks a brow, staring at them with a look that easily translates to a warning not to cause trouble before she goes on about her job.
"I believe you, friend. Only the Hunter's Guild in New Pinacca knew where I'd be heading and why."
"Some type of criminal event." Dent confirms.
"What isn't criminal here?" Julius laughs. "From the stories, Deika is a criminal den to begin with, so such details are, in my opinion, an expectation, not a surprise."
Dent shrugs and takes a swig of his drink. "Yes, I suppose it would be."
"However, I believe it best to speak in a more reliably private setting. You see, the Old Guard's presence has not been all too subtle." Julius playful covers half his face, cupping his glowingly gorgeous profile so that only Dent can see it. "Many of the patrons to this year's auctions as well as the goods are going to be otherworlders and otherworlder materials."
Dent clears his throat, closing his eyes and turning away briefly.
"You speak with certainty."
Julius nods and stands up, scooting at Dent to stand up as well. "Down your drink and follow me."
Suddenly, a thick bolt bursts through the outside wall and hits one of the Old Guard patrons.