For a long second, neither moved, the noise of the nobles around Liam dulling into background static. Deacon lifted two fingers, set them just above the bridge of his nose, and gave a sharp little nudge outward toward the CFMT Tower rising over the clustered rooftops of a couple of saloons and apartment buildings to their left.
To anyone other than the two of them, it could have been mistaken as a guy scratching his nose. But not to the either of them.
He didn't wait for a response from Liam; instead, he lowered his hand and, with a faint shake of his head, Deacon broke the stare, turning his back to Liam and resuming his walk toward the bathhouse.
Unbeknownst to him, Liam's gaze lingered on Deacon's form, following his back until he vanished into the Golden Horseshoe's bathhouse; the exchange between the two being unnoticed by those around the both of them.
Only then, after Deacon disappeared, did Liam shift, letting his focus return to the noble nearest him, who was one of the many smiling and babbling in front of him.
"…Judging by what my team has gathered from Floor Five," Liam said smoothly, his tone slipping back into the practiced confidence expected of him, "it does appear we may be facing a full-scale war scenario. And should you wish to join us, our numbers are pressing well into the forties as we speak. Which, of course, as you know, once we reach 45, we'll be at maximum capacity."
The noblewoman before him, who was a part of their generation, listened intently, her eyes wide, almost shining at his words as she leaned closer to him subconsciously. Liam's expression didn't falter as he could practically see hearts form in her eyes; instead, they softened just slightly as he leaned closer to her, lowering his voice enough that the other nobles craned in to catch the words.
"My team would be most pleased to welcome the constructs you devise to support us in battle, Lady Sakar." His mouth curved faintly at the corners and gave her and everyone surrounding him who saw it a full blast of the charisma he was exuding.
"My grandfather often spoke most highly of your esteemed house head, Lord Briggs Sakar – your great-grandfather. The pivotal role he played when events first unfolded cannot be overstated. His Eagle Sentries and patrolling constructs were utterly invaluable once they broke through into Floor Thirty-Eight."
As those words reached the Sakar scion's ears, her composure cracked almost entirely; her cheeks tinged with the faintest blush as her hands brushed back the heavy, rope-like strands of her dark brown hair from off the front of her ears and off her mage robes to be behind her ears on the back of her robes.
"T-Thank you, Lord Ross," she stammered, her voice faltering in the same breath she tried to steady it.
Liam's response was a knowing wink.
"B-But," the Sakar scion stuttered out with a growing blush on her face before she remembered her noble etiquette training and grounded herself before leaning closer to him and whispering. "Will the scion of House Heart be in your group?"
She then hurriedly said. "But it is not, although I have…" she stammered off for a few seconds before her voice returned to being audible. "It's just the rumors of them trying to reach a higher station than Viscount, an Earl, and with now being a part of your Party… I am fearful of him using his House Artifact on me…"
Liam didn't respond immediately; instead, he looked at her and the people around him thoughtfully for a few seconds before responding. "No, Jeremiah Heart is not a part of my Party. He is the head of another Party; the Noble Alliance."
"Besides, I never really understood why people were so fearful of their House Artifact," Liam smirked as he leaned away from the Sakar scion and raised his head and voice to be audible to those around him and those lurking in the background. "After all, in order to disable their House Artifact, the Heart of the Devout, you simply need to-"
***
Exiting the Golden Horseshoe bathhouse now fully cleaned, Deacon adjusted the strap of his Spatial Sling Bag as he stepped out into the street with a glass bottle of milk in hand. His armor sat comfortably against him.
Initially, he'd been a little hesitant when the woman at the front counter suggested that he consider the armor cleaning and enchantment tuning service they offered; as the last thing he wanted was someone messing up the layers of runes etched into his gear and or the material it lay on, but it turned out to be worth it.
The armor he now wore looked as though it were brand new, both in appearance and durability. The leather of his armor gleamed like it had been re-dyed and was now supple once again, instead of looking bleached out and thin. The metal plates on his chestpiece and sleeves had been polished back to their original shine.
And the enchantments? The self-repair enchantments that were sewn into his boots, gloves, and cloak had been sputtering on their last legs, judging by the holes still showing. But now, as he flexed his hands and looked at his boots and cloak, they were just as good as new as he could sense the rejuvenated self-repair enchantments on them.
By the time he drained the last of the milk, the bottle gave a hollow little clink. He slid it into the return slot of the vending machine by the exiting bathhouse door, waited for the small rattle of change to trickle from within, and pulled out the 25 credits it spat into the tray. A neat little reward for recycling. He flicked the coins into his Spatial Sling Bag and adjusted the strap across his shoulder.
With that done, he set his eyes on the CFMT Tower rising over the rooftops. Exhaling hot air from his nose into the somewhat chilly night, Deacon steadied himself before vaulting the wooden fence that bordered the Golden Horseshoe's property and the Main Street sidewalk.
Without slowing, he angled himself toward the fountain square and continued on.
Arriving in front of the CFMT Tower, Deacon gave the base area outside the entrance a quick scan before stepping up to the barred, mana-infused steel doors. As he pushed the gate open, he ignored the low, yet audible hum as he entered through the Identifier Ward and numerous mana logging wards and protections – something that they added from Floor Five and onwards due to Floor Five's Town being the first ever town to be funded after Floor Zero.
Oh, it's actually quite packed right now, Deacon noted to himself as he reached the communications network floor of the tower.
From the outside, the place had looked nearly empty. But given what he was currently seeing, the inside was anything but.
The lobby and the first two flights of stairs were clogged with adventurers packed shoulder to shoulder, with their own Party sigils displayed on their robes and armor, and occasionally a couple with their banners out in the open.
Dozens were already queuing in long lines that snaked toward the raised communications dais at the center, each person waiting their turn to connect their manaphones to the latticework panel and get reception onto their manaphones and or potentially download the Floor Maps for Floor Five and below.
Sucks they don't know you only need one person from a Party to do it, Deacon thought, sliding his hand down the banister as he edged past a couple of groups. All it takes is one, and you just link up to the rest of your Party's – it was why, after we finished eating, Sam volunteered to do it after I gave the favor and connected them to Floor One's and Two's signals.
"You, ingrates, move out of our way!" A shrill voice shouted in front of him, causing him to look up at where the shrill voice came from.
A group of five elves was stepping over and pushing aside the people in their path as they tried to descend the tower with their banner from Floor Four stretched proudly across their backs like they wanted everyone to see.
"Elves," Deacon muttered under his breath as he sidestepped around them, catching one of their sneers. "And they wonder why everyone else finds them a pain in the ass to deal with those poles up their asses."
He hadn't meant it loud enough to carry, but a couple of adventurers near the wall stifled their laughs, shoulders shaking. Behind him, he caught the muffled growl of the elf who had shouted earlier.
Stopping mid-stride, Deacon half-turned to see a long, green-haired, female elf with her lips peeled back over her teeth like she was looking to bite a chunk of his throat off, as she reached for her wooden wand at her hip that wasn't covered by her robes.
[Elf Lv 9]
…
[Elf Lv 10]
However, the only thing keeping her from lunging was the slightly shorter, green-haired elf beside her as he grabbed her shoulder and kept her in place.
"Not now, Seet'ha," the male elf muttered, low and firm, yanking the furious green-haired elf back into the center of their group. His grip on her arm was tight, almost a vice. Once she was contained, he leaned close to her ear – yet in the sudden hush of everyone in the CFMT Tower, along with practically everyone's Perception stats, his whisper to her carried clear as day:
"We'll deal with the human dog later."
Seet'ha's jaw clenched, her teeth flashing once more at him before she forced herself to swallow down her retorts and choice words at Deacon, as he was no longer looking at them and was making his way towards the next flight of stairs.
Her eyes, though, stayed locked on Deacon's back, as if she had the ability to incinerate him to death. However, due to her innate nature affinity, the most she could do was glower at him with as much hatred as she could muster as he moved up the steps without so much as a pause.
Letting out yet another sneer and letting out a muffled growl as she was being led by her Party leader, she looked away from Deacon and continued with her Party down the CFMT Tower without any assistance.
Deacon rolled his eyes at the dramatics of the elven team, the hushed gossipings of the teams below, and instead tuned in to the whistling and cheering from the others about how the elves were swallowing their pride and finally leaving.
Empty threats, he boredly mused to himself. This had been the same song and dance he'd been hearing since he'd enrolled at the Academy of Beginnings. He only stopped to get a good look at their faces just in case he caught sight of them again, as afterwards, he just went on to ignore them and be on his way to the top of the tower.
He never truly believed he was in danger, not with so many eyes on him, and the elves' Party Leader knew it too. The moment they struck, everyone else would pounce. Not out of loyalty to Deacon, no, they most probably didn't even know who he was; but with the sheer number of humans, witches, undead, and other races who'd been slighted by elves over the years, this would be their chance at a little payback.
By the time he reached the final landing, his hand brushed the steel lip of the doorway, and he stepped forward, and just as his right foot passed through the doorway and stepped onto the grated flooring, the world stilled.
In an instant, the stairwell that was constantly humming with chatter and noise vanished.
Turning back around in alarm, he saw that the doorway behind him had vanished like it had never existed, and he now found himself inside a massive purple cube-like area.
Deacon immediately squared his shoulders and heightened his senses to their maximum as he braced himself to be attacked.
Then a voice rolled out from nowhere, "Your habit of irritating people hasn't changed in the slightest, Deacon."