Gunnar eyed the weapon with a grin, but shook his head.

“This should go to the armory with the rest,” he said.

Hank shook his head. “We are of agreement. Kohli betrayed you. This one is yours.”

Gunnar took the blunderbuss.

Enchanted Blunderbuss

Item Class: Range, Magic-based

Quality: Epic

Base Damage: 25

Weight: 9

Durability: 16

Requirements: 10 Mana per shot

Description: This magic-enhanced weapon fires Arcane Spellshot, which can be crafted or purchased from local vendors. Degree of damage depends on the strength of the Spellshot. At base level, it is nothing incredible, but the weapon holds the opportunity to become a much more powerful weapon in the right hands.

Gunnar stowed the new weapon in his Inventory, making a mental note to find out more about Spellshot.

“Thanks, Hank.”

The kobold nodded with a grin and scurried off.

Once the coins were distributed and the other items were put away for the time being, the faction members gathered around the place where the enemy bodies had been. Once all the loot had been taken, they had slowly started to vanish from sight. Which was a relief, because they already had plenty to clean up.

Furin came over bearing a literal wine skin and Hank carried a crate filled with mugs. Furin poured and handed the first drink to Gunnar.

He sniffed it, and the pungent smell instantly cleared his sinuses.

Cork chuckled. “One of Furin’s own concoctions. It’ll burn the hair off your chest, but it gets the job done.”

“Very good,” Gunnar said.

Once the others had theirs, he raised his mug in the air.

“To the future!”

***

Gunnar managed to polish off two mugs of Furin’s wine, but by the end of the second, he started to feel queasy. He was not sure if it was an upset stomach, or simply the game’s version of intoxication, but it was enough to make him switch to water. Knowing Pantheon, they’d make wine hangovers real too, and that was the last thing he needed.

The rest of the group did not seem to share in his hesitation, though. The mugs kept filling, and Furin seemed to have a rather impressive store for a hobo. Hank led the group in several more rounds of toasts. Luda mourned her goblin lover’s death by drinking mugs very quickly and challenging anyone near to ax-throwing contests. Em hung close to her, participating in several challenges. An act, Gunnar had to admit, which made him feel even more foolish for not having trusted Em.

He’d feared she was simply using him to impress the higher-ups in the Nighthawks—and sure, maybe it had started with that—but she’d gone far beyond the call of duty at this point. And it wasn’t even just about Gunnar either. Em genuinely seemed to care about these people.

As things got rowdier, Gunnar retreated to the edge of the group, where he noticed Sheira also hanging back.

Sheira shook her head as he neared.

“What?” Gunnar asked.

“When you asked for help with a quest last night, I didn’t expect it to lead to this.”

One of the hobos had started pounding on a small hand drum, and several of the Cryptids started some sort of circle dance, which consisted mostly of staggering and stumbling and clutching one another’s shoulders to keep from keeling over.

There was a slight smile at the edge of Sheira’s lips.

“They’re all right, aren’t they?” Gunnar said.

The Maldan woman nodded.

“But not enough to join?” Gunnar prodded.

Sheira raised an eyebrow.

“We’ve got seventeen members, and there’s eighteen of us here. I haven’t checked the logs, but I know that one is you.”

Sheira shrugged. “I’m pretty used to going my own way. Never did like being tied down. Here or anywhere else. These people have one another. You’ve got Em. Even the Crypt Keeper’s got her dead. But me… not sure I fit.”

“I consider you a friend,” Gunnar said. “And the others will grow to like you. You were a part of this as much as anyone else.”

“Maybe… but I don’t especially like being beholden to anybody. Not even people I don’t mind.”

“Beholden?”

“Expectations,” Sheira said. “Requirements. Obligations.”

Gunnar nodded. “We could use a trainer. What about something—I dunno—freelance?”

“Freelance?” Sheira asked skeptically. “I think you mean mercenary.”

“We can call it whatever you want.”

“I don’t want to get pinned down here.”

“You can leave whenever you’d like. You’ll be compensated for your help. Today and going forward.”

Sheira nodded, holding up a small coin purse. “They made sure of that.”

“You won’t get a share of the general spoils or anything, unless you participate in a quest or something like you did today, and you’ll have to pay if you want to stay here. Or eat too.”

“Are you trying to convince me?” she asked with a chuckle.

Gunnar paused. “It’d… only be fair to the others.”

Sheira smirked. “Only joking. That sounds fair. I got my own place sorted out. But I’ll try out being a mercenary. I might jump in on a quest when I feel like it, but don’t plan anything around me.”

“Fair enough.”

Sheira stuck out her hand, and he shook it.

“Got one more question for you,” Gunnar said.

“Yeah?”

“I wanna learn dark magic, any chance you could help me out?”

“There’s plenty of magic aspects. You sure about that?”

Gunnar nodded.

“On top of it being illegal in Thailen, dark magic is really hard, really slow to advance. Honestly, I think that choice may have hurt me during my trial.”

“Trials are over. I’d like to at least try.”

Sheira shrugged. “Tomorrow morning, then. Meet me at the rooftop where we had our first quest.”

“Ah, yes, good memories.”

The Maldan woman clapped him on the shoulder. “You’ve come a long way, kid.”

With that, Sheira slipped away from the group and left through the entrance outside the city.

The celebration was reaching a lull. Most people were sitting casually and slowly sipping their drinks in small groups. A few had passed out on the chamber floor. It was the moment when things would fade out unless someone revved things up again.

The ax throwing had petered out, and now that Sheira was gone, Em made her way over to him.

“You haven’t drank much,” Em noted.

Gunnar nodded. “I don’t like to lose control.”

That had always been true, but that conviction had only been intensified given the circumstances that had landed him in Grid Eight, and consequently in this game. The thought reminded him that there was a lot he did not know about that night. An NPC that looked like Alex Keynes had found him in the game. She had been looking for him, for one reason or another. And now, she was gone, and the mystery remained.

He did not know what was going on. He was not sure anymore that he had actually killed anyone. But the memory was there.

And that did not sit well with him either.

“You all right?” Em asked.

“Er, yeah, sorry. It’s been a long day.”

“You can say that again. Between this and Dravingdel’s party—not to mention your little slave ship encounter—you’ve kept me busy.”

“You weren’t at the slave ship encounter.”

“Not that you could see.”

“Wait… what?”

“I didn’t get involved, but I was sent to keep an eye on you. Leilani didn’t think you’d pull it off. I thought you’d find a way. And with this crypt quest too, I think it’s safe to say you’ve made an impression.”

Gunnar smiled. “It hasn’t been without help... er, why have you helped me so much? I mean, I trust you, but—”

“You didn’t always.”

“I do now. But I still don’t get it.”

Em drew near. They were not touching, but he could feel her warmth beside him.

“The start of this game tries to pit us all against one another,” she said. “But you were bound and determined to work with other people. You should have left Kohli—and me—to Angus’s ceremonies. You could have run off and completed the crypt quest and gone on with things, and you would have been rewarded for it. But you didn’t.”

Gunnar gestured around. “I got a better reward in the end. Allies.”

“You thought longer term from the beginning. Not just about the guilds and the trials and all the starter shit. So I started thinking that way too. I don’t know if it was luck, or what. But it’s panning out pretty well.”

Em smiled at him, and Gunnar couldn’t stop thinking about those lips pressing against his own, like they had back in Dravingdel’s library.

But she patted him on the chest and backed away.

“Speaking of long term. We really need to meet with Leilani.”

“Now?” Gunnar asked.

“You’ve kept her waiting for a while now. You’re still interested in the Nighthawks, right?”

“Yeah, but you’re sure they’re still interested in me?”

“Uh yeah. Killing Benton was a big deal. By the way, I didn’t tell Leilani what you said about not being a good fit for the guild.”

“Thanks for that.”

“But she doesn’t love being kept waiting. So yeah, we should probably go see her tonight.”

Gunnar nodded.

The party had pretty much died down now. Hank the Kobold had completely passed out, still clutching his mug to his chest. Several others were out too, and more looked close.

Em and Gunnar slipped away from the crowd and made their way toward the front entrance of the crypt. Or at least that was the way Gunnar thought of it, since it was the first one he’d ever used.

They emerged in a narrow alley near the western ends of the city, and Gunnar marked the location on his MiniNav.

Hoods drawn, they hurried through the streets, still brimming with nightlife. When Gunnar caught sight of a small Red Cloak patrol, he nearly froze, but Em tugged on his arm and kept him moving.

“Don’t make us look like someone they should care about,” she said.

And he hurried after her. With each street, they passed into busier and more affluent sections of Thailen.

He didn’t pay much attention to the clopping of horses behind them. There were dozens of them around the city.

Em paused and turned around, and the clopping stopped.

A sleek black carriage door swung open, and Em led the way inside.

The door closed behind them, and the carriage continued on. Em and Gunnar took a seat upon the cushioned bench and peered through the dark at the figure seated across from them.

To Gunnar’s surprise, a gruff voice spoke.

“You’re the one I’ve been waiting around three days for?”

“Three days?” Gunnar asked.