I could feel the room's collective opinion of me shifting in real time. Half the adventurers were staring at Lyralei with the kind of appreciation usually reserved for fine art or expensive alcohol. The other half were looking at me with expressions ranging from suspicion to outright hostility. My team had already disappeared, well I guess they are my former team now.
"Well," said a gruff voice from the bar, "this should be interesting."
A heavily armored man stood up—the kind of guy who probably described himself as a "veteran adventurer" and had the scars to prove it. He approached with the swagger of someone who'd never met a problem he couldn't solve through intimidation.
"You mind explaining why you brought one of them into our guild hall?" he asked, jerking his thumb at Lyralei.
"Professional consultation," I replied evenly. "Spider extermination job led to diplomatic complications."
"Diplomatic complications." He spat. "That's what we're calling it now? You know what I think? I think you're collaborating with the enemy."
"Enemy?" I raised an eyebrow. "Pretty sure elves are just people with pointy ears who live in trees. When did they become the enemy?"
"When they started price-gouging our water supply, for starters."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. Apparently this was a popular sentiment.
"Hear me out," the veteran continued, warming to his theme. "This elf shows up right after you complete a major quest. Convenient timing, don't you think? Maybe she's here to recruit you for their side. Maybe this whole 'rescue' was staged."
I looked around the room. More heads were nodding. The crowd was buying it.
"Or," I said, "maybe I'm just good at my job and she has information about a bigger problem that affects everyone. But hey, what do I know? I'm just the guy who's killed more monsters this week than most of you have killed in your careers."
That got their attention. Nothing shuts up fantasy tough guys quite like having their competence questioned in public.
"You want to test that theory?" the veteran asked, hand moving to his sword hilt.
"Actually," Captain Steelheart's voice cut through the tension like a blade, "I'd like to hear what our guests have to say."
She'd appeared beside us without me noticing, still in her silver armor, still radiating that particular kind of authority that made people reconsider their life choices.
"Captain," the veteran said, suddenly a lot less confident.
"Marcus," she replied coolly. "I believe you were about to explain why you think threatening a guild member and a diplomatic visitor is a good use of your time."
Marcus mumbled something about just asking questions and retreated to his table.
"Now then," Captain Steelheart said, turning to Lyralei, "what brings the Silverleaf Clan to our humble establishment?"
***
The negotiation that followed was a masterclass in diplomatic double-speak. Lyralei explained the dragon situation in terms that made it sound like a regional crisis affecting trade relations. Captain Steelheart asked pointed questions about elf water-pricing policies. I mostly stood there feeling like a translator at a peace treaty. And wondering, isn't the tone of our story getting a bit more complicated and serious for...
[System Notice: Please just focus on your role begging digitally]
At the end we agreed to help the elves, for this dragon matter.
"Perfect. A fighter, a diplomat combat elf, and a guy with questionable life choices. We're like a really dysfunctional adventuring party."
"Fantastic. Just what I always wanted."
***
The journey to the Silverleaf territory took us through some genuinely beautiful countryside. Rolling hills, ancient forests, and the kind of pristine wilderness that suggested either powerful environmental protection laws or a shortage of industrialization.
We'd been traveling for about three hours when we encountered our first road hazard: a group of goblins had set up what appeared to be a toll booth.
"Halt!" squeaked their leader, a goblin wearing what looked like a traffic cone as a helmet. "You pay toll or no pass!"
[My goblins will be intelligent feom now on.]
"How much?" I asked, genuinely curious about goblin economics the author made.
"Five gold! Each!"
Captain Steelheart started reaching for her spear. "Highway robbery—"
"Wait," I said. "I want to see where this goes. You guys accept credit?"
The goblin leader looked confused. "What is credit?"
"Never mind. Counter-offer: how about we don't kill you, and you let us pass for free?"
The goblins huddled together for a whispered conference. After about thirty seconds, their leader turned back to us.
"Deal!" he said brightly. "Have nice day!"
They scattered into the underbrush with remarkable efficiency.
"That was... anticlimactic," Captain Steelheart observed.
"Most conflicts are, if you approach them reasonably," I said. "Besides, they're probably just trying to make a living. No point in murdering people over a toll dispute."
Lyralei looked impressed. "Most humans would have simply attacked."
"Most humans are idiots. Present company excluded, obviously."
Captain Steelheart snorted. "Obviously."
We continued down the road, and I found myself noticing the way my companions interacted. There was definitely some tension there—not romantic rivalry, exactly, but the kind of careful politeness that suggested complicated history.
"So," I said as we walked, "how long have you two known each other?"
"We've... met before," Captain Steelheart said carefully.
"During trade negotiations," Lyralei added. "Several years ago."
"Negotiations that went well, I assume?"
They exchanged a look that could have powered a small city.
"Define 'well,'" Captain Steelheart said.
"Nobody died," Lyralei said.
"That time."
"It was one diplomatic incident."
"You set fire to the treaty documents."
"That was an accident!"
"You said 'burn in hell, warmongering humans' while doing it."
"I was... emotional."
I looked back and forth between them. "This is going to make the journey interesting, isn't it?"
About an hour later, we ran into actual trouble. A pack of goblins—different from the toll collectors, these ones armed with real weapons and attitudes to match—had taken position in a narrow pass between two hills.
"Ambush," Captain Steelheart said, drawing her spear.
"Finally," I said, drawing my sword. "Some honest violence to break the tension."
The goblins charged with the kind of wild enthusiasm that suggested they either had a brilliant plan or no plan at all. Given that they were goblins, I was betting on the latter.