Menu no. 7 - Wait? What is this?!

The faint scent of incense lingered in the guild’s infirmary. Sister Arietta, her veil slightly shifting as she bent over her patient, examined Grendol’s wound with sharp eyes. Her hands moved with the practiced grace of someone who had treated countless adventurers before, though her brow furrowed with worry.

“This poison runs deep,” she muttered, uncorking a vial and dipping her fingers into a thick, herbal salve. She spread it across the wound with slow precision, her lips moving in a quiet prayer as though words alone could draw out the venom. Grendol winced but endured in silence, his face pale and damp with sweat.

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours as the sister worked. Finally, she leaned back, sighing softly.

“I’ve managed to draw most of it out,” she said, wiping her hands on a cloth. “But not all. The residue clings stubbornly to his veins. It will take time—and rest—for his body to expel the remainder. He must not overexert himself.”

Her voice left no room for argument, and though Grendol tried to sit up, she pressed him back down with surprising firmness.

“I suggest to rest here in the guild tonight,” she insisted.

I stepped forward, hesitant but certain. “He can use my room. It’ll be quieter than on the hall. At least he won’t be woken by noise here.”

Sister Arietta regarded me with a small nod of approval, then turned back to the battered half-elf adventurer. “Very well. But only if you promise to stay put.”

Grendol gave a faint nod. His breathing was shallow, his body trembling from exhaustion. As his party helped him up the stairs, I couldn’t shake the sight of his drained expression—it was as though the poison had stolen not just his strength, but a part of his very spirit.

Once he was laid down on the bed, I lingered at the doorway. 

"Is- is there any water? I am thirsty." Grendoll Speak quietly.

My gaze drifted to the small glass bottle on my shelf.

a Cold brew i made.

The batch I had steeped overnight—bitter, dark, and potent. I had nearly forgotten about it, but now, seeing Grendol so frail, the thought struck me: coffee had always been more than a drink. Back home, it was stamina in a cup, a remedy for exhaustion. If there was ever a time to test its worth in this world, it was now.

I poured the inky liquid into a cup and brought it to his bedside.

“Here,” I said softly. “Drink this. It won’t cure poison, but it might help your body push through the fatigue.”

"Thank you Daiki. You always kind to us." Someone on his party laid his hand to my shoulder. 

Grendol stared at the cup, bewildered. His lips parted as if to protest, but then he gave a small shrug and sipped. His face twisted at the bitter taste, yet he drank every drop, as though desperate for anything that might ease his weakness.

Satisfied, we left him to rest and returned downstairs to the guild hall. The heavy air of worry finally began to ease. The dwarf’s labored breathing had quieted, his body resting against the sheets. At least for now, he was safe.

The rest of his companions stood in the hall, their figures gathered beneath the warm glow of lantern light. One after another, they bowed their heads toward me, toward Alisa, and toward the guild staff who had rushed to their aid.

“Thank you,” said the swordsman, her voice carrying the sharp discipline of someone raised in a noble house. Hers name is Ilya feel-Vaelgarde, though there was something distant in his eyes, as if she carried the weight of exile. Her gratitude was formal, restrained, yet genuine.

Beside her loomed a broad-shouldered beastkin with untamed energy brimming in his every gesture. Rufus Varkal Talhaqiyah, the party’s front guard, grinned as he slapped his chest with an open hand. “If not for you lot, Grendoll might’ve never made it past tonight. I owe you one—hell, we all do!” His voice boomed, filling the hall with raw, showing his big fang.

Leaning casually in the shadows was Haruka Rin, the assassin. The dog-shaped mask she always wore hid her expression, but her silence spoke volumes. She gave only the faintest nod, arms crossed, as if words were a luxury she seldom spent. I never saw her face.

Next is Nazeera Al-Morwen, their healer, stood a little apart, her delicate hands clasped together as though in prayer. There was a soft sadness about her, a kind of loneliness that lingered in her eyes. “You’ve given us more than medicine tonight,” she whispered. She also have a small bird companion fluttered down to her shoulder as if to echo her sentiment. I think it is kinda like robin bird species?

And then there was Vanguard Mark Lancelot—the party’s archer, calm and composed, yet with a mischievous glint in his gaze. “Guess Drachenfall isn’t such a hopeless pit after all,” he said, a dry chuckle escaping him. His eyes, however, didn’t linger on me but drifted elsewhere, toward a certain familiar figure. The rivalry in his stare was sharp enough to cut steel.

Finally, the dwarf who now slept upstairs—Grendoll Dzagoev. The pack carrier, the craftsman, the one who had nearly been lost to poison. His absence at their side was a weight the whole party carried in silence.

Oathbound Party was no band of heroes born from privilege, but outcasts who had lost their homes and names. Cast adrift by fate, they found one another in the shadows of exile. What bound them was not blood, but a shared vow—to keep walking forward, no matter how heavy the world turned against them.

That is what Arumi said to me on the other day.  Besides, their reputation is knowingly good on Drachenfall.

Whoaa, . . . for a fleeting second, Drachenfall felt less like a ruin of shadows and more like a place where people—no matter how scarred, exiled, or broken—could still stand together.

For a brief moment, I allowed myself to relax—chatting idly with other adventurers, losing myself in the noise of camaraderie.

But then—

BANG!

The upstairs door slammed open with such force the entire hall went silent. Every head turned toward the staircase. My heart lurched. Without thinking, I bolted up the steps, his party close at my heels.

What we found left me speechless.

Grendol stood tall—no longer pale, no longer trembling. His chest rose with steady, powerful breaths. His eyes gleamed with vigor as though he had just returned from victory, not a defeat.

“Grendol?!” Nazeera, his party’s mage, rushed to him, eyes wide with disbelief. She touched his arm as though afraid he would collapse again. “This . . .  this doesn’t make sense! The poison—your wounds—you shouldn’t even be standing yet!”

Grendol only laughed, a booming sound that filled the room. He clasped my hand tightly, his grip strong and alive.

“It was you, Mika,” he said, his eyes alight with gratitude. “The moment I drank your water, the fog lifted. My blood burned with fire again. I feel like I could face that beast right now and finish what I started!”

He made to step past us, his hand reaching for his weapon, but Nazeera and the others blocked him at once.

“Don’t be reckless,” she snapped. “You may feel strong, but your body still needs rest!”

For a moment, I thought he might argue. But at last, Grendol exhaled, relenting to his companions’ pleas. He gave me one last nod of thanks, then sat back down, his energy still radiating like heat from a forge.

Grendol’s hand was heavy, rough with calluses, yet the warmth in his grip carried more gratitude than words could.

“Thank you, Daiki,” he said, voice still a little hoarse, but steady. His smile stretched beneath the weary lines on his face, and for the first time since he collapsed, it wasn’t strained.

I chuckled awkwardly, scratching the back of my head. “Ah . . . it was nothing, really.”

“By the way Mika, . . . What was that drink you gave to Grendoll? Is there any magic” Rufus demanded, tail flicking.

“I’ve never seen poison clear out that fast,” Nazeera added, suspicion soft but curious.
Even Haruka, who barely spoke a word, tilted his mask at me as if expecting an answer.

The rest of Oathbound crowded around me—Rufus thumping my shoulder so hard my knees nearly buckled, they look at me with curious eye!

I raised my hands nervously, ready to explain—

The doors burst open with a slam.

“GRRRRENDOLL!!”

Kazuha’s voice rang through the hall like a war horn, with Tiara puffing behind him. They skidded to a halt when they saw the dwarf sitting upright, color restored to his cheeks.

“ . . . You’re fine?” Tiara blinked in disbelief.
Grendol blinked back at them. “Well . . . better than fine, actually.”

Kazuha spun on his heel, pointing a dramatic finger at Asuna.

“You see?! I told you your eyes were playing tricks! You made us sprint all the way here for nothing!”

“Wha—hey! Don’t blame me!” Asuna sputtered, waving her arms. “He looked half-dead when I saw him!”

Tiara crossed her arms, sighing. “Honestly, you two… we could’ve at least checked before barging in like lunatics.”

The hall, tense only a moment ago, broke into laughter. Even Vanguard chuckled under his breath, while Rufus nearly doubled over.

I couldn’t help smiling too. Somehow, between Grendol’s recovery and Kazuha’s chaotic entrance, the guild suddenly felt a little lighter.