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The original was posted on /r/hfy by /u/kayenano on 2024-12-25 03:11:01+00:00.
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Synopsis:
Juliette Contzen is a lazy, good-for-nothing princess. Overshadowed by her siblings, she's left with little to do but nap, read … and occasionally cut the falling raindrops with her sword. Spotted one day by an astonished adventurer, he insists on grading Juliette's swordsmanship, then promptly has a mental breakdown at the result.
Soon after, Juliette is given the news that her kingdom is on the brink of bankruptcy. At threat of being married off, the lazy princess vows to do whatever it takes to maintain her current lifestyle, and taking matters into her own hands, escapes in the middle of the night in order to restore her kingdom's finances.
Tags: Comedy, Adventure, Action, Fantasy, Copious Ohohohohos.
Chapter 330: The Next Rung
Caban Oxwell didn’t fancy himself the best adventurer around.
Especially since his master didn’t. More than once, he’d suggested taking up a job behind his bar instead of waving a sword at all the things which wanted to eat him in a cave.
And maybe in another life, Caban would have accepted.
But most masters weren’t Thomas Lainsfont. And most hadn’t made the mistake of personally patting him on the shoulder.
That was all Caban needed.
He didn’t actually remember what Thomas said to him that day. And Thomas definitely couldn’t remember what was said back.
In fact, he couldn’t remember anything about Caban at all.
Which was normal.
He was just another boy in another village, rescued from another burning field of certain doom.
Except that while most village boys would pick up a wooden sword and see their vows to follow in their saviour’s footsteps end with the first fruit slime which headbutted them back, Caban persevered.
… Eventually.
It wasn’t easy. Especially not for his unsuspecting master.
Thomas had barely decided to retire before Caban showed up at his bar, worldly possessions on his back and a very unsubtle look of hope on his face.
The disappointment that Caban wasn’t there as a customer was greater than all the grief he gave him from that moment onwards. Not because Caban was a terrible student. But rather, as fate would have it, Caban proved even better at pouring drinks.
A Granholtz Sunrise with a Clocktower.
That was his specialty.
Nobody knew what the clocktower was until they ordered it, but once they saw the ice cubes towering over their drinks like a keep above its walls, all were hooked.
Even his master, and he hardly drank at all.
The day Caban decided to officially register with the guild was the only day he saw Thomas Lainsfont with a look of defeat. It was the rarest triumph for the village boy from Avinbelle, and he knew he had to take his victory all the way onto the next rung.
The Oldest Ladder was there to be climbed, after all.
That’s why–
“Here you go, buddy. A Goblin Surprise. On the house.”
Sitting on his makeshift bar counter, an orange, black and white calico sniffed at the bowl of milk on offer. The cat was right to be suspicious. It was supposedly sheep’s milk. But Caban hadn’t tried.
All he knew was that the goblins liked it more.
Recently saved by pure virtue of accidentally wandering into his neck of the woods, Pepper now only awaited his proper return to his owner.
Sadly for him and the nice girl still anxiously waiting, the reunion had to wait.
After all, these weren’t the great outdoors they were in.
These were caves. And while they were both here, Pepper needed to share Caban’s hospitality with the goblins. All of them, in fact. He was very popular. And why not?
He served the drinks.
Sticky tables. Stools which were both too tall and too short. Kegs filled with mystery liquid. Even a bubbling cauldron which would have been better if it was just the fire underneath.
Here in the cozy corner of his own cave, the young, talented prodigy of Thomas Lainsfont fulfilled the destiny which would have made his mentor nod in satisfaction. At least until it was realised this wasn’t The Singing Mule being tended to, but Caban’s very own establishment. And it was more popular.
As a result … he’d chosen the name carefully:
‘Caban’s Prison–Send Help’.
There was even a sign.
None of those present bothered to look.
Instead, a healthy gathering of goblins and hobgoblins sat around their tables, looking indistinguishable from their adventuring counterparts as they traded jests, elbows and taunts in no particular order. But although little thought seemed to be given to the slapping and tossing of the cards they toyed with, Caban didn’t need his adventurer’s instincts to see that not a single eye was wayward.
Nobody liked to lose.
Not when it came to cards. And not when it came to drinking.
The tankards were piled high. If the adventurers before him knew goblins could hold their liquor so well, the treaties never would’ve been needed. All their differences could’ve been solved with a well placed keg … over the course of maybe two minutes.
Or just a handful of seconds, given his clientele tonight.
“Ah, Bogspit,” said Caban, cheerfully painting the picture of the model barkeeper by drying a tankard with a soggy wet cloth. “How’s the young’un doing?”
Before his counter, the newly arrived goblin shook his head.
Caban offered a nod of sympathy.
“... Still haven’t learned the concept of sleep, eh? I’ve no experience in the matter, but I hear it’s the same for all new fathers. You just need to tide it over until he’s old enough to headbutt his friends instead of your sleep schedule. Then you’ll have a different set of problems to deal with.”
The goblin snorted.
A moment later, he pointed towards the shelf behind his counter.
Despite the number of drinks optimistically arranged, the goblins only ever asked for the same thing.
“Here you are,” said Caban with a flash of his easy smile. “An Adventurer’s Grog. The worst I can make it.”
Bogspit accepted his filled tankard. He gave an approving sniff of the beverage. A concoction able to sweep seasoned buccaneers off their feet until they woke up on a different ship.
He left to rejoin his fellow company a moment later.
Bogspit was Caban’s favourite. He was the most talkative.
In fact, he found most goblins a talkative bunch once an attempt at niceties was made.
Or so he liked to think. It was probably the grog.
Unfortunately, even with its magical effects at enhancing social skills, there were some things even illegal amounts of alcohol couldn’t manage to draw out.
Snatches of conversation … was surprisingly one of them.
Just not when the only other adventurer arrived.
The noise was wiped clean like snow brushed from a window. Where there was chatter and an imminent brawl, there was now silence and apprehension.
Liliane Harten, either unaware or unbothered, practically skipped her way towards the bar, the door into his little cave swinging loudly to a close behind her. She hummed as she smiled, and with a click of her finger, summoned a stool as easily as she did the magical weapons hovering by her side.
The stool was still the wrong height.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Oxwell,” said Liliane, hands clasped together in earnestness. “I know I promised to provide updates, but it’s been hectic. You wouldn’t believe it. I’ve had Guildmaster Triniard, the Seamstress Guild, Lady Meryl and even the giant rats asking me about the goblins. I know, I know–that’s no excuse. And it’s not. Well, it is. But it isn’t. But they’ve all been in my ear and now I can’t tell whose voice is whose. It’s just words, words, words, words, words …”
Caban gave his usual, easy smile … all to hide his stare as he made sure it was her.
“... Is that right?” he said with a bartender’s false chuckle. “Rough days, huh?”
“Rougher than a Hobgoblin’s Bounty. Do you know what that drink is?”
“I don’t,” admitted Caban, curious despite himself. “What is it?”
The woman smiled. It sent a shiver through him.
Liliane Harten.
Truthfully, Caban knew little of her other than her rank.
She was an A-rank adventurer. An acclaimed member of the guild. The same as his master. And yet when it came to fame, there was a world of difference between her and Thomas Lainsfont.
It was no insult, though.
After all, not all who climbed the Oldest Ladder did so by wrestling basilisks in a spilled pool of another basilisk’s stomach acid. The Adventurer’s Guild believed in merit. And only rarely was the importance of healers, druids and bards forgotten in the face of public displays of brawn.
It was more unusual for a mage to be so little known, but not everyone capable of magic threw fireballs wherever they went. Because of that and more, Caban’s first impression of her was of someone closed and guarded. But he’d sensed no hostility from her.
In fact, he still didn’t.
He just didn’t know what he sensed now.
She was a completely different person.
Her auburn hair was loose and free. And while she was by no means old, she seemed to have lost a decade in age. The bright smile she gave as she reached over to make her own drink was no different to a town girl done with both her work and the hassling of men.
She walked with a spring in her...
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