Worthy Weapons

As the throne room doors swung shut, the murmurs of the nobility echoed behind them.

Gus stomped alongside Marcus, his expression grim, his voice clipped.

“Just so you know: I’m still pissed at you.”

Marcus shot him a sideways glance but stayed silent, and for the first time his smile didn’t look confident, only uncertain.

Then Captain Jathiran stepped from the shadow of a pillar arch.

His gaze slid over them with disdain, lips curled into a mocking grin.

“Humans… pitiful worms who believe they can play at being heroes. Your bloated words won’t last longer than the next sunset.”

Marcus’ eyes flashed. 

He took a step forward, fists clenched, but Gus grabbed his arm roughly.

“Leave it. He isn’t worth it.”

Jathiran gave them one last contemptuous look before turning on his heel and vanishing between the pillars, while the guards pushed them onward toward the guest quarters.

The guards led them through several corridors until they stopped before a wooden door.

“Your quarters,” one of them growled.

The room was surprisingly spacious: two beds with fresh linen sheets, a low table with candles, and jugs of water and bowls of grapes by the window.

Marcus immediately dropped onto the nearest bed, hands folded behind his head. “Not bad.”

Gus remained standing at first, eyeing the room and the two servants who entered at that moment, carrying a tray with steaming bowls, bread, and wine.

The smell of roasted vegetables and herbs filled the air.

“Man, guess they don’t hate us that much after all!” Marcus sat up, snatched the wine jug without hesitation, filled two cups to the brim, and held one out to Gus.

“Bottoms up or you’re a pussy!”

Gus hesitated a moment.

“…They’re only treating us like this because YOU promised we’d defeat the fucking Demon King!”

Marcus gave him wide puppy eyes, still holding out the cup.

Finally Gus sighed, took it, and clinked cups with him. “Well then… cheers, you bastard.”

“Ahem, more bread,” Marcus called a moment later, and the servants exchanged confused glances but obeyed.

“And another jug of wine!” added Gus, now grinning again.

And so it went for a long while: they let themselves be waited on, downed cup after cup, and at some point they started the first drinking games.

The guards outside the door groaned audibly as the shouts and laughter carried through the wood late into the night.

---

The next morning, a glaring shaft of sunlight fell through the window. 

Marcus squinted, groaned, and pulled the blanket over his head.

“Ugh… what a wild dream…” he muttered.

Beside him Gus rolled over, groped blindly for the water jug on the floor, and realized with dismay that it was empty.

“That was the craziest Fantastical Fantasy Festival ever!”

Marcus snickered sleepily. “And those elf girls… damn…”

The door banged open.

Two tall figures stepped inside: guards, faces hard as stone, silver armor gleaming in the morning light.

For a moment Marcus and Gus just stared at them with bleary eyes.

Then they blinked.

“…Dude,” Marcus whispered. “That wasn’t a dream, was it?”

Gus rubbed his temples. “Ah, fuck.”

“Up,” ordered one of the guards.

“Do you guys have something like coffee in this world? That’d be awesome before we...” Marcus was cut off as the mattress was flipped in a single motion and he tumbled unceremoniously to the floor.

They were herded from the room and into a side bath: a basin of white stone, water so clear you could see straight to the bottom.

Marcus sank in with a long sigh. “Okay… this is actually great.”

Gus splashed water on his face and muttered, “Yeah… almost as good as coffee.”

But no sooner were they dry and dressed again than they were marched onward.

Through several corridors they went, until heavy doors swung open to reveal an armory.

It was as large as a small hall, its walls lined with racks, shelves, and crates.

Swords, spears, and bows gleamed in the lamplight.

A faint shimmer radiated from a separate table, where several gemstones and small orbs rested, glowing faintly as if from within.

And there stood Caeriel, arms crossed, brow furrowed, eyes stern.

“Well, here you are, mighty heroes.” She snorted, looking them up and down.

“Do you even realize how ridiculous you looked in the throne room yesterday? Tch… and now I have to babysit you. Unbelievable.”

Marcus and Gus exchanged a quick glance.

“So that means… you’ll be coming with us?”

Caeriel stepped forward, arms still crossed. “Yes. By order of the King. Or rather...” her gaze flicked toward the doorway, where she clearly imagined Jathiran’s smirk still lingering, “...by the Captain’s suggestion. According to him, I failed to protect the Princess, so now this is my punishment. Watching you two blunder around until you get yourselves killed. Or until I’m ordered to kill you myself if you try to run.”

Her eyes narrowed, and for a moment it wasn’t clear whether she was more angry at them, Jathiran, or herself.

“Don’t think for a second that I wanted this.”

The two swallowed, then nodded.

"Now pick something out... if you can even handle it.”

Marcus wandered from rack to rack, tried a dagger, hefted a sword, then set it down immediately. “This thing weighs a ton! How’s anyone supposed to fight with it?”

Caeriel snorted. “With training. Something you clearly lack, mighty hero.”

“I’m more of the… uh… tactical type,” Marcus muttered, hastily putting the sword back. 

His gaze finally landed on the table with the gems. “And those? They look pretty damn cool.”

Caeriel followed his eyes, then sighed. “Staff gems. They focus and amplify a mage’s staff. But only if you know how to wield them. It takes years of training to...”

“I’ll take one!” he blurted, snatching up a red-glowing gemstone and weighing it in his hand.

One of the quartermasters grimaced, and Caeriel pressed her palm to her forehead.

“…And which staff do you plan to use that with?”

“With my own, of course! Should still be in the Golf…” he shot back.

Caeriel opened her mouth, then shut it again, shaking her head. “Fine. Your funeral.”

Meanwhile Gus strolled along the weapon racks.

Broadswords, halberds, longbows.

He stopped at a pair of plain-looking daggers, picked them up, weighed them and gave them a quick spin.

“Hmm. Feels about right.”

Caeriel gave a curt nod. “At least you’re making a sensible choice. Daggers are deadly... if you know how to use them…”

“Hey, don’t underestimate me.” Gus grinned, tucking the blades into his belt. “And they look pretty cool too!”

Caeriel rolled her eyes and turned back to them.

“Good. Your choices are made. Now follow me. You have permission to get back your belongings."

Afterward she led them through more corridors, until they reached a massive wooden gate inscribed with runes.

Two guards pushed the doors open with a groan, revealing a vast storage hall.

And in the middle stood the old Golf, surrounded by rows of crates and barrels.

Gus’ eyes lit up as he strode toward it.

Beside the car sat a chest with their confiscated belongings.

Marcus dove in immediately, rummaged around, and triumphantly pulled out his phone, them checked the display.

Battery: 1%.

“Oh, come on.”

No sooner had he spoken than the screen flickered and went dark for good.

“…damned festival videos,” he muttered.

Gus fished his own phone from the chest, the screen glowing bright.

Battery: 26%.

“Ha! I’m still good.” With a wide grin he held it up, snapped it beside his face, and yanked Caeriel into the frame without warning.

Click.

“Oops, flash was still on...”

In a heartbeat, his own dagger was pressed against his throat.

Caeriel hissed, eyes blazing:

“What did you do? A blinding spell!? Undo it. Now!”

Gus forced a nervous laugh, sweat running down his temple.

“Relax, it’s just a picture, just a picture! Look!”

Slowly he held the phone up to her face and her grip loosened, while she lowered the dagger.

The faintest glimmer of awe flickered in her eyes as she saw her own likeness on the glowing glass.

“What… is this?”

“Just a picture, nothing more.” Gus grinned. “Faster than any painting.”

But as she looked closer, realizing the flash had caught her mid-breath with flared nostrils and half-lidded eyes, her face went crimson.

“I...I never permitted this! Destroy it at once!”

Her voice was sharp, but the blush gave her away.

“Fine, fine!” He switched off the phone, and tucked it away.

Then he crouched by the car, popped the hood, and gave the engine a practiced glance.

“Hmm. Oil’s good… gas about three-quarters full. Should get us, what, two hundred and fifty kilometers?” He shut the hood with a bang and looked at Caeriel.

“Will that do?”

She regarded him coolly. “I don’t know your measures. But on foot, it takes two days to reach the Demon’s territory.”

Gus nodded with satisfaction. “So plenty for a round trip for all of us. Perfect.”

She raised an eyebrow, still wary, eyes fixed on the vehicle.

“All of us? I’m not setting foot in that… contraption.”

Gus folded his arms. “Seriously? You’d rather walk two days straight?”

Caeriel pressed her lips together, silent.

“In this ride, we’re faster, safer, and we can haul supplies. Obvious win.”

Marcus bobbed his head eagerly. “Plus it’s got heated seats!”

Caeriel shot him a critical look.

Then she exhaled sharply, spun on her heel, and marched toward the door.

“We’ll talk about that tomorrow. We meet at dawn. At the city gates.”

---

The next morning the groan of the engine echoed across the square as servants loaded supplies into the Golf’s trunk.

Dried meat, water skins, blankets.

An elf tossed a battered beer funnel aside in disgust to make room.

“Not the funnel!” Marcus wailed. “I built that myself!”

A curious crowd had gathered, while in the distance Captain Jathiran watched their departure with a stern gaze, whispering with his subordinates.

Caeriel stood by the car, arms folded, shadows under her eyes as if she hadn’t slept a wink. 

She muttered quietly, almost to herself:

“By the gods… why did I ever agree to this…”

“You won’t regret it. And hey…” Gus swung open the passenger door. “You get to ride shotgun.”

Caeriel blinked at him, as if he’d just offered her the crown of the realm.

She hesitated for a moment, then climbed in, back straight as if she were mounting a horse.

“Dude, seriously!?” Marcus gawked. “What about me? Bros before hoes?”

Gus grinned smugly. “Ladies first, my dear Marcus. Where are your manners?”

Marcus muttered under his breath, crammed himself onto the backseat, and pulled his hat low over his face.

With a lurch, the old Golf rolled out onto the King’s Road, dust rising as the towers of the elven city slowly vanished behind them.

Before them lay the open road, and an adventure whose outcome none of them could yet imagine.