"Stop bein' so noisy! We'll pay ye back when we've got the coin, alright!?" one of the dwarves barked, waving his stubby hand dismissively toward the frantic innkeeper.
"My tables! My chairs! My—my entire floor!" the innkeeper wailed, running both hands through his messy hair as he stared in horror at the wrecked room.
Ale dripped from the ceiling, plates were shattered across the floor, and one dwarf was trying to fix a table leg using a hammer made from another broken chair.
"Relax, ye soft-handed fool! We're cleanin' it up!" one dwarf said while stacking broken plates into a pile that somehow made the mess worse.
"Cleanin' up!? That's not cleaning—that's ruining it twice!" the innkeeper shouted, pointing at another dwarf who was sweeping crumbs under a rug.
The dwarves burst into hearty laughter, some patting each other on the back, others chugging the remaining ale from half-empty mugs.
"Aye, the man's got spirit at least! If all innkeeps were like him, every night would be a fine night!" one said, raising his tankard proudly.
Dragkon stood in the middle of the chaos, arms crossed, shaking his head with a grin beneath his thick beard.
"Hah! Aye, I've missed this kind of madness. Still," he said, his tone shifting slightly as his gaze landed on Razan,
"it looks like fortune's smilin' upon us today."
Razan looked confused for a second. "Fortune?"
"Aye," Dragkon replied, his voice filled with that familiar confident tone.
"An opportunity's finally shown itself, and it's one a greenhorn like you could put to good use."
Razan blinked before sighing, scratching the back of his head.
"Well… the thing is, the elder didn't give me a crystal at all since I ranked F during the test yesterday."
"What!?" Dragkon bellowed, nearly choking on his own breath as he stared at Razan in disbelief.
"Ye're tellin' me the old coot didn't give ye anythin'? Not even a bloody crystal?"
His thick brows furrowed deeply as his booming voice caught the attention of a few nearby dwarves.
"That's what I've been saying," Razan replied, his tone calm but laced with mild annoyance as he gave a lazy shrug.
Dragkon rubbed his beard, his fingers combing through the thick strands as his eyes darted left and right, clearly deep in thought.
"Hrm… F rank, ye say… no crystal, ye say…" he muttered under his breath, pacing a few steps back and forth.
.
.
.
A few dwarves exchanged looks, whispering things like "that's rough" and "poor lad, no crystal, no coin."
.
.
.
Then suddenly—Dragkon's eyes lit up.
*snap!
"Aha!"
he exclaimed, snapping his fingers as a grin crawled across his face.
"I've got an idea, lad!"
Razan raised a brow.
"And that would be…?"
"Since we, the Dwarfvran," Dragkon said, proudly thumping his chest before pointing his thumb at himself, "are already a battle-hardened race—aye, forged in the fires of war and ale alike—ye can trust us on this one."
He jabbed a thumb toward the group of dwarves behind him, who puffed their chests proudly.
"We'll accept the contracts for ye."
Razan blinked. "You'll what?"
"We'll accept 'em under our name," Dragkon continued, grinning wide enough to show the golden tooth buried in his beard.
"But ye, lad, ye'll be the one to complete the jobs. Do the fightin', earn the glory, and prove yer worth."
Razan crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes. "So basically, I do all the dirty work while you guys sit back and watch?"
"Essentially!" Dragkon barked with no shame, then raised an index finger as if about to deliver something profound.
"But hear me out, boy—we'll be the ones providin' ye the supplies, the knowledge, and most importantly…"
His grin widened as his tone dropped to something serious, almost heavy.
"The weapons."
The word "weapons" immediately caught Razan's attention, his eyes narrowing slightly as interest flickered across his face.
For a brief moment, his earlier fatigue vanished, replaced by curiosity and a spark of excitement.
Weapons—crafted by dwarves no less.
He knew enough from the stories and fiction he'd read back on Earth to understand what that meant.
Dwarves were the undisputed masters of craftsmanship, their creations said to rival the power of gods themselves.
If these dwarves were anything like those legends, then anything forged by their hands would be worth more than gold.
A grin tugged at the corner of Razan's lips.
"Mhm… deal," he finally said, his tone firm but carrying a hint of anticipation.
He extended his hand toward Dragkon without hesitation.
"Hah!" Dragkon roared heartily, gripping Razan's hand in a rough, iron-like handshake that almost crushed his bones.
"That's the spirit, lad! Remember this moment well—mark it deep into yer skull!"
He gave Razan's arm another vigorous shake, his laughter booming across the street.
"For this'll be the most important day o' yer life, I guarantee it!"
Razan let out a short chuckle, matching the dwarf's enthusiasm with a confident smirk.
"Hah, I hope you're right, old man."
"Old man!?" Dragkon barked out another laugh, releasing Razan's hand and slapping his back hard enough to make him stumble forward.
"Careful what ye call me, boy! Where I'm from, that's fightin' talk!"
"Then I'll make sure to remember that too," Razan shot back with a grin, rubbing his shoulder as the dwarves around them burst into laughter.
For the first time since arriving in Vrynn, Razan felt something different stirring inside him—
not fear,
not confusion,
but purpose.
And so, just like that, Razan and the group of dwarves finally exited the inn—though not without enduring a few more earfuls from the furious innkeeper.
"Ye better pay back every single coin for this mess, ye bearded gremlins!" the innkeeper shouted, waving his arms as he pointed at the broken tables and spilled ale.
"Aye, aye! We'll pay ye back once we make some gold!" Dragkon shouted over his shoulder, clearly unbothered as he led the others out.
A few of the dwarves muttered promises that no one, including themselves, really believed.
Once they stepped outside, the noise of the morning streets met them—the faint chatter of merchants setting up their stalls, the clatter of carts, and the smell of baked bread mixing with the crisp morning air.
The sun was rising above the city walls, washing the cobblestone streets in golden light.
Razan took a slow breath, closing his eyes as the cool air brushed past his face.
After all the chaos and confusion that had happened since the world's end, this—just this small moment—felt grounding.
He exhaled deeply before speaking,
"Now then…"
His eyes opened, gaze steady as he looked down the bustling road ahead.
"Where is that Adventurer's Hall?"