The tavern in Liran Town welcomed an unusual group of guests tonight.

Hailing from a nearby border garrison, they’d paid handsomely to reserve the entire establishment.

Boisterous and lively, they differed from ordinary drunkards— their chatter revolved not just around women and coin.

Mostly, it centered on curiosity and admiration for the man they surrounded.

Tales of knights had long spread across the continent; legends of Valiant Heroes were countless.

In every such story, the protagonist seemed to have a trusted second-in-command.

Usually a Mage.

And these Mages often carried labels like "mysterious," "erudite," and "wise."

But after meeting Richard Jetri—one of the living legends of this era—and speaking with him, these soldiers (raised on knightly tales since childhood) discovered the most famous Sage of their time wasn’t as unapproachable as they’d imagined.

He was even more down-to-earth than the Mages in their own regiment.

He cracked bawdy jokes with the troops and rolled up his sleeves to lend a hand.

His speech lacked aristocratic elegance but remained courteous—a far cry from the haughty nobles they knew.

Like now.

Jetri sat at the heart of the raucous tavern, surrounded by rugged border soldiers.

He’d drunk heavily; his thoughts swam.

He rarely indulged like this. Yet humans were creatures of feeling. Jetri wasn’t purely rational—he often wished to follow his heart.

But reason usually won.

Tonight, however, reason felt unnecessary.

Some soldiers were younger than him, others older. Yet all bore the same mark: faces weathered by border winds and sand.

"Lord Jetri," one called out, "they say you and Lord Vya met under amusing circumstances?"

"Yeah! Didn’t divine inspiration guide you? Which god was it again?"

"Tell us the story!"

Flushed with drink, Jetri chuckled. "Divine signs? Nonsense. But meeting Vya... that *was* interesting—"

"Go on!"

"Tell us!"

"Alright, alright," Jetri downed a gulp of cheap brandy. "Truth is, I was nobody special back then. Never dreamed I’d sit here bragging to you lot after graduating from Brave Academy."

"I met Vya during our first year. Oh, let me tell you—our Valiant Hero was *the* heartthrob. Handsome, kind... tsk tsk. Girls chased him from the borderlands all the way to Liran Town! Mages, knights, rogues—you name it."

The soldiers roared with laughter.

"How’d we meet? Well, he got swarmed by admirers one day and asked me, ‘Fellow student, could you help?’ Good gods! Vya was the Academy’s idol. How could I refuse?"

"I said, ‘Sure, but... I doubt I’ll be much help.’ He just smiled: ‘No worries. Just pretend we know each other?’"

"Of course I agreed. He sat beside me while I crammed for finals. Pulled his hat low, slumped on the table—*asleep*. You’d never guess he was the Sword Hero!"

"Guess what happened next? A *flood* of girls came running. Never seen so many beauties in my life—I froze! One asked, ‘Have you seen Pandragon?’ I shook my head. Off they rushed again."

"Honestly? I’d hide too. Facing that many girls? My knees’d buckle faster than fighting that Succubus again!"

Jetri drained another swig, throat burning.

His tale grew grander, embellished with artistic flair. But their real adventures needed no exaggeration.

Ordinary braggarts claimed to slay dragons. For them, dragons were mere yardsticks for measuring strength.

Jetri’s head throbbed, but the tavern’s energy soared.

Drunk past decorum, soldiers draped arms over Jetri’s shoulders. They stumbled back to the garrison, singing off-key, weaving through moonlit streets.

They’d likely oversleep tomorrow. Whether they’d get leave remained doubtful.

Jetri clung to a thread of sobriety. He shepherded everyone to their commander before staggering toward his cabin.

The walk blurred. Dizziness churned his stomach. Each step swayed violently.

*Am I going to vomit...?*

*Victoria’s purification spell could fix this...*

That final thought propelled him to Princess Victoria’s door.

He knocked.

"Jetri?" Her voice held surprise and concern.

The moment she opened the door, Jetri tumbled inward.

Victoria caught him, staggering under his weight.

The stench of alcohol hit her.

"Vi... Victoria... purification... please..." His senses dulled. He didn’t register collapsing into her arms. His eyelids fluttered shut.

Seeing a familiar face, his tension snapped. Consciousness slipped away.

"Eh? Eh—!" Victoria instinctively began the purification chant, then halted mid-breath.

She gazed at Jetri’s furrowed brow, his face pale against her shoulder.

Night pressed silent against the window. All creatures seemed asleep.

Victoria bit her lip. Hesitated.

She patted his shoulder gently. "Jetri?"

No response.

Carefully, she carried him to the bed.

Peeking outside like a thief, she scanned the empty corridor. Only cold wind whispered through the hall.

The chill didn’t sober her.

She shut the door softly.

Leaning against it, she stared at Jetri’s sleeping form. Swallowed hard.

*Nervous.*

*Her heart hammered against her ribs.*

Why hadn’t she just purified him? Why did that sudden impulse seize her?

She crept closer. Her lake-blue eyes wide, body trembling slightly. She reached out, poking his cheek.

*If you wake now, I’ll say the bed’s better for healing.*

She rehearsed the excuse silently.

Jetri didn’t stir.

*What if you’re faking? If you stay quiet... I’ll take it as permission.*

Her thoughts raced.

Her fingers drifted upward.

Resting on his lips.

Jetri turned his head slightly in his sleep.

Victoria jerked back like a startled cat.

Mind blank, apology trembling on her tongue. She watched him, terrified.

But it was just a reflex.

She exhaled shakily. Her chest rose and fell.

"My head... aches..." Jetri mumbled, eyes closed. "Vic...toria..."

"I didn’t—I wasn’t—just let me—" Victoria’s emotions yo-yoed like those new Toverian thrill-rides young Mages adored.

Silence followed his murmur.

Victoria leaned closer. "Richard? Chad? *Cha-cha*? *De-de*?"

She confirmed his deep sleep.

*Gods be thanked.*

Her pulse thundered.

*What if... what if I...*

*Tell him purification works slower than natural rest...*

*No—say I cast it, but he’s still out. Is lying wrong...?*

*Though what I’m doing isn’t exactly noble either...*

She wrestled with guilt.

But never once considered purifying him and sending him home.