Side Quest 1 : Nat 1 at Gilt Coffer, part 1

With my head soaring through the air, I glimpse faint will-o’-the-wisps scattering their magical lanterns across the field. They zigzag swiftly through the darkness as we’re all hurled upward, flung toward a galaxy of stars. Fleeting images of a blurred life flicker through my mind. Just ahead, my guildmates launch upward too, gliding beside me, our bodies weightless for a heartbeat. Damn, it ended too soon! It can’t be that I have nothing worth remembering as I spiral through the night sky.

If I think back, everything was wrong from the start. We received the sidequest a couple of days earlier. We divided the research and supply tasks, mapped out meeting and escape points, and scheduled the attack by synchronizing cooldown timers. After exhaustive reviews, I was convinced the plan was foolproof, especially with the racetrack map in our possession.

Seriously, if you all know how I am... why keep humoring me?

I was expecting someone to object. I’ve planned missions before, and everyone always agreed I’m crazy. But this time, they all nodded and said it was a good idea. Even our strategist didn’t think it was that bad at the time… and that was the beginning of the end: the moment everyone had the terrible idea to support mine. With the plan seemingly accepted, we moved forward—ready or not.

Finally, the day of our heist dawned. After days of feverish planning, we assembled at the Gilt Coffer stables, unease churning beneath forced bravado. Forty-five magical beasts waited within, their guttural cries echoing our anxiety. Our nerves felt taut; every exchanged glance revealed fear and expectation as we recalled the plan: steal the entire prize pool—the betting gold from corrupt nobles and every beast in the arena, all purchased with dirty money. Confronted by that living museum of oddities, doubts gnawed at us.

"Forty-five beasts?" Spredna juggled daggers. "We’ll fit them in two pockets, right?"

I watched him bite down on a four-leaf clover, his sarcasm clear from his smirk and the slick way he switched daggers from hand to hand.

“Dear lizard strategist, how valuable is the loot we’re dealing with here?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the incredulous look the fae was giving me, making me rethink my life choices.

The question took a while to reach our mage, who stood motionless, captivated by the variety of the creatures. Lyra—our friendly half-owl barbarian—snapped him out of his trance with a light smack to his forehead, leaving him rubbing his head and bracing for a migraine.

“Well, we’ve got creatures ranging from Class C to SS. We could assume that, depending on how wild they are, the blue-flame Lumbromites could fetch around 500 to 700 gold. But if we’re talking star-beaked Garraveloxes or technomagical Shadowtrotters—No! Look at that crystal umbranea spider! Judging by the translucence of its abdomen, it must—wait, WHAT?! They have an SS-class Duskless with five astral splicer extensions!”

Caneky kept talking, his eyes locked on the caged beasts, clearly entranced by the collection. Meanwhile, his amphitere familiar paced restlessly in jealousy near the cages.

"We lost him," Lisian said, clutching her staff. "The spider eats him."

"Fifty gold on the Lumbromite," the fae said.

“Perfect. Here’s mine.” Lisian shook her coin pouch, disturbing a few Nightspawns.

“Should I knock them out now?” asked Lyra, gripping her weapon with both hands.

“Not yet,” our merfolk paladin said nervously, placing a hand on Lyra’s shoulder, unsure whether she meant the beasts or us.

“Hey, hold up,” I said, dragging our warlock from the SS pen. "Twenty on the spider."

"No one betting I survive?!" Caneky grumbled.

"That’s your win condition," said the fae, pointing a dagger. "Ronin, minimum bet’s fifty."

"Edna, you made me pay last time Lyra broke the mausoleum door."

"And worth it!" Lyra hooted. The door-ram had earned a pentakill.

A flash of metal drew my attention. Our artificer grabbed a dagger by the blade, using the hilt to tilt my chin up. His eyes, sharply focused and impossible to read, studied me while his turquoise braids fell across his leather armor. Despite myself, I always linger on his smug smile.

“Well, boss? Cat got your tongue?”

Damn it, he got me again.

“Nah. Then I’d probably bite mine,” I replied, coughing lightly and scratching my chin.

I still remember that time I cleared my throat near him. They haven’t let me live down the purr.

“I know it looks bad, but it’s noob-proof. Worse stuff has happened, and we’re still standing,” I said, giving two thumbs up.

“I’m really not sure this plan is all that solid,” said our worried paladin, who might not look very sharp at first glance—but that’s only because of his dull shark eyes and the slow way he speaks to keep his sharp teeth from slurring everything.

“We can always improve on our specialty,” the floral druid added with a shrug.

“Running away dramatically?” Caneky followed up with dry irony.

Lyra hooted with laughter, puffing her chest feathers… and then slammed her giant axe into the ground.

“NO! Charge with laughter and die with grace!” she shouted, raising her weapon high, startling all the beasts with a fierce battle ululation.

“Please, someone calm her down before we die in a stampede. My wallet can’t handle another repair bill,” Caneky muttered, petting his amphitere’s crest.

“Ooff! The broken dragon speaks,” Lyra shot back, feathers fluffing as she laughed.

“Hey! I’ve told you a thousand times—I’m not a dragon, I’m a lizardfolk. Why is that so hard to remember?” Caneky pressed his thumbs into his temples.

“Oh? Our deepest apologies, your no-dragon majesty. Didn’t you say I should call you...” I said, strumming a chord on my lute, “Lizard-lord?”

Everyone burst out laughing—everyone except Caneky and Quetza, his familiar. In sync, both showed their mood: Caneky scowled, and Quetza puffed thin smoke from his nostrils, leaving a trail across the stable path.

“But you’re covered in scales,” Itzamune pointed out, tilting his head.

“Predominantly,” Caneky muttered, just as we were leaving the stables and heard the caretakers approaching.

“And you don’t have ears,” added Lisian, also mulling it over.

“Exaggeration,” he snapped, irritated.

“And your eyes are sharp,” Edna said, eyeing him curiously, then glancing at me with smug confidence.

Caneky bared his teeth in rage, and a drop of acidic saliva sizzled as it hit the floor. His anger spread to his amphitere, who let out a flame-filled hock.

“HA! I knew it! Pay up!” Edna barked, demanding the payoff from an old bet as his hands worked the lock.

“His familiar isn’t direct proof of what he is, so I’m not giving you a coin until we get solid evidence he’s a dragon,” I replied, scanning the area to make sure no one was approaching the betting house.

I may spit poison and have a crown of membranes, but I told you: I’M-NOT-A-DRAGON!” the warlock insisted, watching the artificer work.

“But you can do everything dragons can... and vice versa, right?”

Caneky’s silence betrayed him, and Edna’s gaze slid back to me just as the lock clicked open, his smug grin claiming victory.

“Aw, man. I had money riding on you. What kind of joke is this?” I groaned, dropping five gold coins into the fae’s hand. “You’re the living image of a dinosaur with back problems who learned magic in his free time! All that wisdom—and you waste it.”

“I’m not a dragon! Dragons are overrated,” Caneky grumbled while feeding Quetza a berry. “For the record, he’s an amphitere, not a dragon. Their traits are—”

Lisian wrapped his mouth shut with a vine, and Quetza tried in vain to free his jaws.

“Thanks, darling,” the druid said with a wink as Itzamune snorted with laughter. “Now, if you could get to your part of the plan, that’d be lovely.”

“Here we go again,” Lyra ululated, knowing full well that Caneky couldn’t disobey Lisian—not because of her diva attitude or his passive demeanor, but because of the passive necrotic damage from her spore bursts when she’s mad.

Meanwhile, Edna hid an unusually tender smile, tilting his head so his asymmetric bangs would cover his expression, keeping his thoughts unreadable to everyone else.

After closing the door behind us, I gave the stealth signal, shifting us into position for the next phase. Our whispered laughter still hung in the air, but it was time to focus—despite our best efforts, status effects didn’t matter if we were all trying not to laugh at Lyra’s armor clanking like a crate of porcelain being kicked down the stairs.

“This is how I walk,” she always said proudly, making sure everyone heard her coming.

The sound of steel screeching as Lyra’s armor plates clashed with each step made her look like a fat chicken dancing down the hall. Meanwhile, even from down the corridor, the creatures inside the stables grew restless. Focus sharpened as the next phase approached: we needed to hide until the money was deposited so we could return it to its rightful owners, but our presence was already drawing attention, setting us up for the chaos that was about to unfold.

Soon, the corridor clock chimed and the employees opened the gate as usual. In a heartbeat, our careful waiting ended, and we were abruptly shifted into the next stage of the plan.

“What the hell?! Wasn’t the race supposed to start before brunch?” Lisian shouted, closing the door in a panic.

“That’s the schedule!” I answered, desperate.

“They might’ve changed it for the mounts,” Itzamune said, pointing at a race poster on the notification board.

We all turned to look, dumbfounded, but Caneky confirmed:

“Oh, right. Creatures like the Duskless and the Umbranea are light-sensitive, so the Nightamer probably requested a time change—which benefits the betting house, too, since it keeps the event exclusive.”

The sound of collective facepalms echoed—except for Itzamune, whose palm hit a moment later after seeing the rest of us do it.

“You had one job, damn lizard,” I muttered, dragging my hand down my face.