In Vino Veritas

The Half-Full Mug stood on a street paved with uneven stones.

Oil lanterns hung from hooks on the wooden walls of the buildings, casting dim light over dark puddles and the shadows of stray cats that slipped into the alleys. That district of the Middle Ring was neither especially poor nor rich — houses had two floors, curtains faded with age but no holes in the roofs. In the distance, the bells of a chapel rang out the end of the last work shift.

The tavern occupied an entire corner, its ground floor built of stone, the upper floor of wood. The sign over the door showed a half-painted mug, as if someone had forgotten to finish the job, and the door swung constantly with the steady flow of men coming and going, laughing loudly or arguing between gulps of drink.

Inside, the air was warm and damp. The walls were layered with soot from lanterns and the kitchen chimney, and the low ceiling made the atmosphere thicker, heavy with the smell of cheap wine, roasted meat, and sweat. Rough-hewn benches surrounded tables stained by years of spilled beer and barely-contained brawls. At one end, a long counter of dark wood held bottles of varying shapes, some so dust-covered it seemed no one had touched them in years.

Behind the counter stood the tavern-keeper, a stout man bald on top, with a brown beard hanging down to his chest. His belly strained against a stained apron, and his rolled-up sleeves revealed strong arms hardened by years of serving — and throwing out — drunks.

His small eyes followed every patron with a mix of calculation and resignation, the look of a man who had seen every kind of trouble begin inside those walls.

At a table near the window, a drunk mercenary slept on his side, helmet fallen to the floor, head resting on folded arms. His breath stank of liquor and mingled with the tobacco smoke drifting from a group of dice players. His sword, still sheathed, hung crooked on his belt. Every so often, he gave a loud hiccup before mumbling something about a “miserable senator.”

It was into this scene that Daniel, Sallustia, Lais, and Gupta entered.

“I’ve seen worse places” remarked the traveler from another world, glancing around. He adjusted the overcoat he had picked up at Fort Tinuso, trying to look less like a foreigner in this district than he did in his usual disguise as a minor nobleman.

“These people don’t care about appearances” Sallustia commented, her expression clearly disagreeing with Grace’s assessment of the establishment.

The paladin-slave looked even more severe than usual. She walked with her back straight, a gray cape draped from her shoulders, her cold eyes gauging the threat level of the men at each table. Daniel noticed how the mercenaries quickly looked away from her. Something in the way she moved made it clear she was not someone worth provoking.

Sallustia didn’t need to try to look intimidating. She simply was.

Gupta, on the other hand, strangely seemed to fit right in. Perhaps it was the years he had spent as a soldier before turning to the intellectual pursuits of alchemical arts.

The poisoner dropped into the nearest chair, waved at the tavern-keeper, and shouted:

“Three mugs of the cheapest!”

The fat man behind the counter frowned, then began filling the cups with a dexterity that suggested years of practice.

“Remember the plan” Daniel murmured as he sat at the table. “We need information, not a collective hangover.”

“Information requires trust, master de Lio” Gupta argued, already downing the first mug. “And trust is born over a paid drink.”

With that, he swallowed half that horse-piss the tavern-keeper sold disguised as beer in a single gulp, then made a theatrical grimace — not as good as Thanatos would have made, and not as convincing. Though in his case, the disgust was real.

“By the gods… this stuff could burn a hole straight through your stomach!”

Lais sat beside him, apparently having grown closer to the alchemist since the last job they had shared. She watched the room with an impatient expression. Her fingers tapped the tabletop, and Daniel suspected she was mentally calculating how many thaumaturgic runes it would take to turn the Half-Full Mug into a pile of ashes.

***

While Gupta mingled with the mercenaries to gather rumors, Daniel and Sallustia kept their distance from the bar.

The tavern sounds — laughter, the clatter of coins, dice rolls, and a heated but hushed argument — were enough to mask the voices of a master thief and an experienced bodyguard used to discretion around her employers.

“We shouldn’t be here” she said bluntly. “Yesterday was already far too dangerous.”

Daniel looked at her.

“Why do I feel like I’ve heard this same warning from you before? And why do I feel like my answer will be the same? We’re out of time! If we want to stop a catastrophe, we need every lead. And now this man… Vega, hunting us. We need to know exactly who he is, and there’s no better place than this dive.”

“Leads can cost lives.”

“I know!” His voice came out sharper than intended. Grace took a slow breath before continuing. “But I’ve been in this world long enough to learn one thing: there’s no such thing as safety while the fate of the Empire hangs in the balance. If the Princeps didn’t trust me, he wouldn’t have given me the title of Custos.”

Sallustia kept her eyes steady but said nothing for a moment.

“And besides…” Daniel pressed on, taking advantage of the silence. “I don’t understand why you take everything so personally. From the first day in Arx Noctis you treated me with disdain. There’s never been any familiarity between us.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

“I’m just following my orders.”

The coldness of the reply stung Daniel more than he cared to admit.

“Then if the mission is so important, you shouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice me. I know your job is to be a bodyguard, but even I’m a pawn in all this.”

Sallustia’s fists clenched.

“You wouldn’t understand.” Tension rippled through her shoulders, though her voice stayed controlled. “I cannot fail the Princeps.”

Something in the rigid way she said it unsettled the traveler from another world. Grace wanted to ask more, but a crash interrupted the conversation.

Gupta had climbed onto a chair, his fourth mug nearly empty, and was delivering a speech to a group of bewildered mercenaries.

“…and that’s when Senator Prebito said: ‘Bring me all the agitators! And bring me a roast turkey too!’” He banged the mug on the table for emphasis, splashing beer across the men’s faces. “Because no one, absolutely no one, stages a decent rebellion against the Senate on an empty stomach!”

“What is he doing?” Daniel muttered, burying his face in his hands.

“Losing his composure” his bodyguard answered grimly.

The drunk mercenary at the window table lifted his head, eyes squinting at Zanma.

“Prebito…?” he slurred. “You… you’re with those agitators from yesterday, aren’t you? Parasites getting paid with the good people’s money of Castra Devana while leaving other war merchants like us broke and jobless!”

“Paid?” Zanma laughed, stumbling as he stepped down from the chair. “Ah, my friend, we’re as well paid as this drink is delicious!”

The alchemist drained the rest of the sour beer and burped.

“This isn’t a place for rabble-rousers!” the tavern-keeper shouted, brandishing a wooden spoon used to stir the cauldrons, visibly offended by the poisoner’s earlier remark.

“Rabble-rousers?” Daniel raised his hands. “Wait, my good man, it’s not what you…”

But it was too late.

The drunken mercenary lurched to his feet, half-drawing his sword, and someone shouted “Get them!” before Grace could finish explaining.

A damned day for Thanatos to have stayed behind. The jester had been left too shaken by the previous day’s fighting to take part in tonight’s mission.

The chaos exploded like a powder keg.

Tables overturned, mugs flew, someone swung a chair at Gupta but missed and hit another patron instead — who retaliated with a punch. Within seconds, half the tavern was in a full-scale brawl.

Daniel ducked and weaved through the melee, trying to reach the alchemist and shut him up before he revealed more than he should. Gupta, however, seemed to find the entire thing hilarious, counting flying chairs while loudly dictating an obviously improvised plan to kidnap the First Citizen.

The traveler from another world raised an eyebrow. Maybe this would even work in their favor — make it look like Prebito’s own men were stirring trouble in the city.

Lais, leaning against the wall, was already tracing runes in quick gestures, her eyes shining with dangerous delight.

“One more step and I’ll blow this entire place sky-high” she warned as a man collapsed at her feet, blood running from a bottle-cut scalp.

“No one is blowing up anything!” Daniel shouted, dodging a punch. “Sallustia!”

The paladin-slave was already moving. She summoned her sword but kept the blade to blunt strikes, wielding it like a staff. Each blow was precise — one to the ribs, another to the legs — dropping mercenaries without killing them.

“Exit! Now!” she ordered, clearing a path with military efficiency.

Daniel finally grabbed Gupta, who was still laughing at something only he found funny, and together they ran after Sallustia. Lais came last, grumbling when the paladin stopped her from incinerating a particularly persistent group of pursuers.

They burst out the tavern’s side door, the cold night air slamming against their sweat-soaked faces. Behind them the chaos roared on — shouts, curses, the tavern-keeper bellowing in outrage.

“Never again” Daniel panted, stopping in a quieter alley, staring at Zanma, who was trying to stay upright against a wall. “I’m never letting you gather intel again.”

“But I —” Gupta pointed to himself, offended, before staggering two awkward steps toward the Custos Tecit and lifting a wobbly finger. “I almost got valuable information!”

“You almost got us blown up, that’s what” Sallustia shot back, cleaning her blade before dissipating it.

“We could have blown it all up if someone weren’t such a killjoy” Lais muttered, disappointed, glaring at the paladin-slave.

The group moved on down the narrow street, leaving the Half-Full Mug behind. No concrete information about Vega.

On their path, there was no place left for safe conversations — or for drinks.