Chapter 26 – The Mirage of Dustville
Chapter 26 – The Mirage of Dustville
Tyler wiped the blood and black slime off his face with a disgusted groan. The lingering scent of burnt hide and innards clung to him like an oily curse.
“Yeah… I’m not doing this again,” he muttered.
Milo, a few feet away, chuckled while shaking sand from his shell. “How was it? Being inside an elephant?”
Tyler shot him a tired glare. “It was claustrophobic. Muscle walls contracting around me. Every time I swung my blade just to breathe, I got sprayed with something I really don’t want to talk about. I could barely see or breathe. The air was so rancid I almost puked.”
The massive corpse of Gorrum the Juggernaut shimmered and dissolved into glowing particles, fading into the desert wind.
Tyler, despite everything, looked at the new skill with some excitement — until he read the details.
“Thirty PE? And it only lasts ten seconds? What can I even do in ten seconds?!” he growled.
He rubbed his armour clean with the edge of his cloak, grumbling.
Milo tilted his head. “Hey Tyler… have you ever wondered why we don’t get any bones or meat as drops?”
Tyler blinked. “What? We were supposed to get bones and meat?”
“Yeah. That’s how it worked in the original game.”
“Weird… we haven’t gotten a single bone. Maybe it’s a level thing?”
“Possible. But we just killed a Level 100 monster. Still no bones. It’s odd.”
“Eh, what would we even use them for?”
Milo smiled. “Well… bone juice. If we had a cauldron— like the one back at the mansion— we could brew it. It’s an alternative levelling method. Safer.”
Tyler made a face. “Yeah, sounds boring. I’d rather fight mobs. No offense to your alchemist fantasy.”
They continued down the slope, following the dusty trail that wound into the heart of the desert. Soon the craggy rock formations gave way to open dunes and sunbaked roads. Ahead, nestled like a fossil in the sand, was the town of Dustville.
Though not sprawling in size, Dustville stood out because of one thing — a massive colosseum-style Arena, carved of red stone and decorated with spiked banners.
Cheers, roaring applause, and the clang of metal rang from inside as Tyler and Milo passed it. There was a loud groan and rumbling noises as if there was an earthquake.
“Now that sounds like my kind of place,” Tyler said, glancing longingly.
“Focus,” Milo said, dragging him along. “We have a mission.”
They wandered through the winding streets in search of the mercenary guild — but there were no signs, no maps, no clear direction. When they tried asking shopkeepers and pedestrians, they were met with dodged glances, vague answers, or complete silence.
Eventually, Tyler led them to the busiest-looking shop on the main strip — a large, sand-swept Drinks Bar with wooden walls and a swinging sign etched with the symbol of a drinking horn.
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Inside, the air was dry, thick with pipe smoke and tension. Eyes turned immediately as they stepped in. Conversations dropped. Dozens of rough, scarred NPCs — many looking more like raiders than townsfolk — watched them closely.
Tyler ignored them and approached the bartender, a lean, horse-racoon hybrid with a twisted goatee and dark bronze skin. His nametag read [Farnak].
Tyler scanned the drink menu and said, “Two coconut waters.”
Farnak blinked, then shrugged. “Ten gold each.”
The drinks arrived almost immediately. Milo chugged his without hesitation, parched from the desert trek. Tyler sipped his, watching the room.
The other patrons gave off mixed signals — some seemed amused, others annoyed, a few downright hostile.
Tyler leaned closer to Farnak. “So, Mister… can you tell me where the Mercenary Guild is?”
The bartender froze mid-polish.
Then he glanced behind him, then at the room.
“Why do you ask?” he said cautiously.
“I have business with them. A matter of coin.”
Farnak paused, then said flatly, “There is no mercenary guild here. You’ve got the wrong town.”
Tyler raised an eyebrow. He slipped a pouch onto the bar — 100 gold. Way more than the drink cost.
“Keep it. Tip.”
Farnak hesitated. Then, nodding stiffly, he turned his back and began to prepare something.
After a few minutes, he returned with a glass filled with a faint pink drink that sparkled faintly.
“Our specialty— The Paradise Drink. People travel miles to taste it. It’s already paid for.”
Tyler sniffed it. It smelled of lavender and citrus. He took a sip — sweet like honey, smooth like silk. It was, quite honestly, divine.
Milo stared with envy. So did several nearby patrons nursing bland brews.
Tyler then noticed a napkin folded under the drink.
Carefully, he lifted it and read the handwritten note hidden beneath.
[Note: Danger! You’re surrounded. Run. Far. Now.]
As he finished reading, he felt a tap on his shoulder.
He looked up.
A burly guy with tattered armour, sand-coloured tattoos, and a scar across his lip smiled devilishly.
“You askin’ about the mercenary guild?” he said. “Name’s Trevor. I can take you there.”
Tyler kept calm. “Yes, please.”
Trevor nodded toward his booth and led Tyler and Milo to a side table. Others in the bar subtly shifted, their attention zeroing in on the newcomers.
“So, King Wing sent you, huh?”
Tyler nodded.
Trevor chuckled darkly. “You know that bird has enemies?”
“Yes. And?”
“And things don’t end well for his messengers. Especially when they come sniffin’ around our town.”
“I’m not his subordinate,” Tyler said. “This is a transaction.”
Trevor laughed, a dry, wheezing sound. “Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.”
Then, without a signal, it happened.
Every patron in the bar sprang to action.
Blades drawn. Chairs overturned. The whole room exploded into violence.
Tyler barely had time to unsheathe his sword as the first thug lunged at him.
Metal clanged. Screams rang out. Milo ducked behind barrels while casting [Freeze Core] to slow advancing foes. Tyler spun, slashing through attackers, slicing weapons from hands and cutting through limbs.
The chaos lasted only minutes. But when the dust settled, the attackers had either fled or lay groaning on the floor.
Only one remained — webbed to the wall with thick, glistening silk from Tyler’s spiderweb skill combo.
The man looked terrified, frozen in fear.
Tyler approached, wiping blood from his blade.
“You talk, you live. What’s going on with the mercenaries?”
The man nodded frantically. “We’re not… real mercenaries. The guild’s fake. It was all a front!”
Tyler frowned. “Explain.”
“We used to pretend as we split into two groups. One group as dune bandits. The other as ‘mercenaries’. We’d collect fees from merchants to protect them from bandits. Then abandon them mid-route. The ‘bandits’— our mates— would rob them. Easy money.”
“Let me guess. That stopped working.”
“People caught on. So we dropped the act. Now we just take what we want. We collect heavy taxes from every merchant and shop here. Say it’s for protection— but it’s just us, threatening them.”
Tyler stared at him, disgusted.
“You’re all parasites. Is that why none of you showed up in Shindo?”
“Hey! We were paid by the rebellion to stay out of their way. We’re neutral.”
“Neutral? You mean corrupt.”
The man sneered. “You can’t stop us.”
Tyler smirked. “King Wing ordered me to either bring back mercenary reinforcements— or recover double the commission fee.”
The man laughed nervously. “That’s not gonna happen.”
Tyler drew his sword, letting the tip rest against the webbing near the man’s neck.
“Then tell me— who exactly is going to stop me?”