The commotion at the Death’s Friend Inn finally subsided when the Black Paws were defeated by a swordswoman and humiliated by a fighter. The two stood side-by-side amidst the mess left by the confrontation.

  Havoc gazed at her old weapon, Salazar’s Blade.

  The sword had been a gift from the Black Paw, which was why she had given it to the thugs when their leader demanded it. But then they attacked her, triggering the game’s system to mark them as potential Player Killers. This incurred one of the most dreaded penalties in the game: the chance to lose items upon death, a chance that became a reality as soon as Julie entered the tavern.

  "That’s a beautiful sword," the female fighter commented, examining the weapon from hilt to tip.

  "Thank you," Havoc replied.

  Julie pointed toward a table at the back of the establishment, but as they started to walk, three players rose from a nearby table and blocked their path. The one in front, a knight in heavy armor, opened his mouth to speak, but stuttered for a few seconds before managing to say:

  "Júlia, I... uh... I’m a huge fan of yours. C-can I take a picture with you?"

  Beside him stood a priestess, who was trembling and clutching her staff as if it could fly away at any moment. The rogue next to her didn't even blink.

  The fighter turned to Havoc, who wasn't sure what she was expected to do.

  "Do you mind?" Julie asked.

  Havoc rubbed the back of her neck to hide her embarrassment. "No, of course not."

  Julie approached the trio of fans. The knight jumped with joy upon seeing his request granted, though nervousness still made him stammer, only now he was smiling, as were the priestess and even the rogue, whose expression demonstrated pure happiness.

  However, the fan demands didn't stop with the three; other groups of players noticed the professional’s good nature and seized the opportunity to bother her. In less than a minute, a crowd had formed, spreading over the tables of the inn.

  Meanwhile, the staff cleaned up the chaos from the earlier fight. Havoc grew increasingly uncomfortable with every fan that approached. The discomfort quickly turned into irritation.

  Julie had saved her life, but waiting for twenty minutes felt like too much. She decided to relax and re-evaluate the situation. The fighter was one of her inspirations, a talent of international standing, so she opted to wait by moving to the table Julie had suggested moments ago.

  The satisfied fans returned to their seats, but for every one who stepped away, two entered the line, and more people kept pouring into the inn. After ten minutes, Havoc’s mind was already wandering to random topics, her unfocused gaze fixed on a wooden pillar in the inn.

  "Hello," someone said. "The place is packed... may I sit with you?"

  Havoc turned her head for a quick look at the man who had come to bother her; it was just a druid.

  "Sure," she mumbled, clearly uninterested.

  Her body froze when his image was processed by her brain. For a moment, she looked back at the crowd around Julie. Slowly, she turned her face back toward the presumptuous druid, who had already plopped down on the bench across from her.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked in a friendly tone, as if they were old acquaintances.

  "What are YOU doing here?" Havoc retorted.

  The druid stretched his arm out and pointed toward Julie; his sudden movement almost knocked the tray out of a vampire-waiter who was rushing between the tables.

  "My sincerest apologies," said Ragnar.

  Havoc expected to hear the vampire curse him out, but when he stopped, stared at the unkempt man, and slowly walked toward their table, she feared what was coming next.

  "It's you..." the vampire-waiter murmured.

  No, no, no! Please don't tell me he stole beer from this inn too. Havoc was already picturing the worst-case scenario, but her jaw dropped when the vampire knelt in front of Ragnar, as if he were a saint.

  What the hell is this?

  "It's you! It's you! Oh, great Druid! You don't know how grateful I am to you, sir. Your unholy sunscreen now allows me to travel to Skyspear without needing to fear the evil rays of the Sun. Now I can see my daughter every weekend."

  All that was missing was for the vampire to cry. But for Havoc, the best part was seeing Ragnar's dumbfounded expression in the face of the situation.

  "You don't need to thank me like this, my friend. Just buy my products; that is enough gratification for me."

  "But you don't understand how important this is. My little girl is only forty years old." Tears streamed from his eyes as he finished speaking.

  The tavern’s attention turned to the vampire kneeling on the floor. Not far from where they were, amid the cluster of players, Julie craned her neck to see what was happening in their corner of the tavern. And when she saw the person involved, she announced to her fans, "That’s all for today, everyone. Thank you for your support. Don’t forget to follow me on social media, and until next time."

  She finished by blowing a kiss to the fans who hadn't been attended. The most fanatic tried to follow her to the table she was heading toward, but they were stopped by a group of admirers loyal to her every word.

  Julie advanced toward the table. When she stopped in front of them, she inquired, "You’re late, sir." Then turned for an instant to Havoc: "Sorry for the delay."

  Ragnar gave the vampire a few comforting pats on the back and then helped him up. When the weeping man walked away, Ragnar turned back to Julie.

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  "A druid is never late, much less early; we always arrive at the exact moment we’re needed."

  Ragnar's words made Julie narrow her eyes.

  "First: I got the reference; second: if the 'exact moment' is an hour after we agreed, then I suppose I must agree with you."

  The fighter nudged the druid so she could sit at the table, placing her directly across from Havoc, who was staring at them with wide eyes.

  "You two know each other?"

  They exchanged glances, waiting for the other to speak up. And their answers came out at the same time.

  "We... used to..." the druid began.

  "No!" Julie cut him off, raising her voice and slamming a hand on the table. "He's just a fan, a really annoying one."

  Havoc looked at Ragnar, waiting for him to confirm her words, but his response was a shrug followed by a few words, "She's not wrong. I've always been a fan." His playful expression suddenly turned surprised. "You're not with the Black Paw anymore?"

  The swordswoman shook her head. "I was kicked out because of you."

  Ragnar prepared to justify himself, but when he opened his mouth, Havoc spoke her mind, "But that's all in the past. Your betrayal actually ended up opening my eyes. Zed was a jerk. That guild has no future while he's in charge." She huffed. "You know what? Screw it, I'm not part of it anymore, so I'll tell you the truth: the Black Paw only seems strong because it's part of a powerful alliance, led by an influential guild called Rose Thorn. But how did they get Wolf's Lair Fortress? Well, it was taken by that alliance, then it was handed over to Zed on a silver platter because at the time, the Black Paw was the only guild in the alliance that didn't control a territory."

  The druid managed a small smile and scratched the back of his neck. "I kind of figured something like that ever since I met their leader in person."

  Julie looked from one to the other, her face etched with confusion. "You two know each other?"

  Havoc relaxed in her chair and crossed her arms. "He and his friends stole all the iron from my old guild."

  "Is that right?" Julie feigned that he hadn't told her that story on the night of their memorable weekend.

  "Mhm," Havoc muttered, annoyed by the memory of the whole drama. "In the end, I took the blame, even when it became clear that our leader was the one truly responsible for the security breach that allowed the heist."

  Julie shook her head. "I know very well what it's like to be in a guild with a megalomaniac leader, one of those truly egocentric types," she finished, casting a pointed glance at the druid. Then, she suddenly flinched as something hit her shin. "Ouch!"

  "My bad, I just wanted to adjust my posture. I didn't mean to kick your leg," Ragnar said.

  The fighter reacted by giving him an accusing glare. Fortunately for both of them, Havoc remained oblivious to the relationship between the two, too excited to be sitting at the same table as a high-level professional player.

  She had to restrain herself from seeming like a crazy fan. Deep down, she wanted to flood her with personal and professional questions, not to mention the number of compliments she wished to pay and the advices she wanted to get from someone so experienced.

  Julie, on the other hand, was grateful that the girl and the other tavern patrons weren't bothering her with that kind of thing. At that moment, she decided to bring up what truly mattered. Julie opened her inventory, selected a notebook, took it into her hands, and tossed it onto the table.

  "This is the report from the NPC who witnessed the village massacre."

  Ragnar leaned forward and pulled the object closer. With his right hand, he opened the notebook while scratching his chin, then began to read. The two girls looked at each other. Julie offered a friendly smile that made Havoc self-conscious, forcing her to turn her face toward the stage where the band of bards and knights was playing an exciting melody.

  "So... Havoc, where are you from?" Julie asked.

  Hearing her pronounce her codename brought about a bittersweet feeling. "Santa Catarina..."

  Julie's already radiant face grew even more enthusiastic. "Don't tell me you're from Floripa too."

  She shook her head. "No, Blumenau." As she finished her answer, something about the fighter's comment caught her attention. Havoc decided to question her: "Also from Floripa? Aren't you living in S?o Paulo now that you play for the Red Crows?"

  Julie froze for a few seconds, making Havoc worry that she had overstepped with her inquisitive questions. But a sequence of muffled grunts caught her attention.

  She turned toward the grunts and found Ragnar stifling a laugh, his left hand over his mouth, while his right turned the page of the notebook, his eyes fixed on the paper.

  "I got confused. Actually, I’m still adapting to the change. Dark Age was my home for years. It was where I grew as a professional. You never forget your first team," Julie finally said, trying to downplay the fact that she had mentioned Floripa because the druid sitting to her right lived there.

  Since this was Jlia, the player who had won the Brazilian Championship and even competed in a World Championship semi-final, Havoc didn't suspect the blunder. In fact, this confusion made her feel more at ease in Julie's presence. And just as she let her guard down, a loud thud made her jump out of her chair.

  "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Ragnar said, holding the book he had just slammed shut.

  She merely huffed.

  "My idea was to go to the sanctuary to have a conversation with the spirit," Ragnar tried to tell Julie without giving away his secret to the swordswoman while she wasn't part of his guild. "But I think we'd better hurry to Torino Village."

  "That was my plan, but will a low-level druid like you be of any use?" Julie teased.

  Ragnar relaxed his shoulders. "My damage output may be low, but I can help with my healing, and I can also trap the cult's henchmen with my roots."

  "His avatar might be weak," Havoc began. "But he defeated me twice... so I doubt a group of level 30 or 40 NPCs could defeat you two together."

  "Would you like to come with us?" Julie asked, straightening up in her chair.

  "O-of course!" The swordswoman could hardly believe she had been invited by her to join an adventure.

  "The more, the merrier," said Ragnar, who immediately opened his friends list and announced: "Look at that, what a pleasant coincidence, the three stooges are online."

  "Three stooges?" Julie asked.

  "Those friends of yours?" Havoc wanted to know.

  "Them," Ragnar said, then turned to his beloved: "One of them is a decent hunter, a real character; the other is a grumpy knight who reminds me a lot of Chris; and the third is a slightly crazy assassin."

  "Understood," Julie said as she got up from the table. "Invite as many friends as you want, but I don't want to see any crazy fans or psychos in my group."

  "Relax, they are all grown-ups." Ragnar was already regretting his words.

  "Shall we go? We don't have time to waste."

  The druid and the swordswoman stood up. Julie took the lead, walking out of the tavern, and once again, a group of players rose from a table to ask her something, "Can I take a picture?" one asked while following her toward the exit.

  She accepted, somewhat reluctantly. The photo was taken, and the inevitable happened: since part of the clientele had entered after the confrontation with the Black Paws, they didn't know that the fighter had asked everyone to leave her alone so she could meet with her friends without being interrupted every minute.

  More than twenty players took advantage of the good will she showed the fan to rush up and beg for photos, videos, or to bombard her with questions.

  "Not now, guys, sorry, I'm leaving," she replied to the crowd that had amassed in front of her.

  However, one fan placed himself between the three of them and the establishment's exit.

  "Please, just a quick clip," he pleaded.

  "Not now!" Julie scowled at him.

  "But—"

  Havoc rolled up her sleeves, walked determinedly toward him, grabbed him by the jacket, and shoved him out of the inn.

  "She already said no, get lost!"

  The fan made a face, flipped the bird to the three of them, and walked away.

  Julie turned to Ragnar and said, "I like her."