Night fell quietly over Lion City.

By the time darkness fully settled, the NPC workers had finally completed the construction of the tavern.

The building stood proudly near the central square, its wooden exterior illuminated by torches mounted along the walls.

Warm light spilled out through the open doors, accompanied by the sound of laughter, chatter, and clinking mugs.

The city's mood shifted almost instantly.

Team members gathered inside, eager to relax after days of tension and constant vigilance. For many of them, this was the first real place of leisure since arriving in the desert.

Drinks were freely available—no payment required—which alone was enough to lift everyone's spirits.

At least, at first.

The moment the drinks touched their lips, expressions began to change.

The so-called beer served by the tavern was… terrible.

It was murky, brownish in color, with a strange thickness to it. The smell was sharp and unpleasant, stinging the nose before the drink even reached the mouth.

Some members grimaced openly after their first sip, while others forced themselves to swallow, faces twisted in quiet agony.

Still, no one truly complained.

It was either this, or slowly lose their sanity under the endless desert sun.

Ethan and Hanss sat together at one of the tavern's rough wooden tables, holding the same drinks as everyone else.

Ethan lifted his mug, took a single sip, and immediately set it down.

That was enough.

The taste was bitter, oddly sour, and carried a pungent aftertaste that lingered far longer than it should have. It felt wrong in every possible way.

Hanss didn't fare much better. He took one sip, coughed lightly, then stared into his mug with visible regret.

"I might've made a mistake approving this tavern," Hanss muttered.

Ethan let out a small breath of amusement. "At least morale improved… briefly."

Hanss leaned back in his chair, exhaling deeply. "How long does this event last again?"

Ethan glanced at his event panel, which hovered faintly in his peripheral vision. "Roughly two to three months."

Hanss froze for a moment, then sighed heavily.

Two to three months in this place was a long time—especially if this tavern was their only source of alcohol.

Hanss wasn't particularly addicted to drinking. He could survive without it.

But many members of the team relied on it as a way to unwind, to release stress after battles and near-death encounters.

If the drinks stayed this bad, morale could slowly crumble.

They might not complain out loud, but desperation has a way of breaking people quietly.

Hanss stared into his mug again. "Maybe… the region affects the drinks themselves."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

Ethan looked around the tavern, paying closer attention to the bottles lined up behind the counter.

They were labeled as beer by the system, but the liquid inside looked nothing like the beer he remembered.

Cloudy. Brownish. Thick.

"I think the ingredients are the problem," Ethan said. "This beer probably comes from plants that grow naturally in the desert."

Hanss frowned. "So… if we moved the city, would we get better beer?"

Ethan leaned back in his chair, resting his arm against the backrest. "We don't need to move."

Hanss glanced at him.

"We just invade," Ethan continued calmly. "Take their resources. If we control regions with better ingredients, the tavern might start serving better drinks."

Hanss chuckled softly. "That's… surprisingly convincing."

There was no guarantee Ethan was right. The system didn't clearly explain how tavern quality scaled with territory.

Still, at the moment, there were no alternatives. The team members drank what they had, grimacing but enduring it all the same.

Suddenly, the tavern door swung open.

One of the team members rushed inside, moving quickly through the crowd. His eyes locked onto Ethan and Hanss immediately, and he headed straight for their table.

Both men turned to face him.

"What's wrong?" Hanss asked.

"There's a group of visitors at the northern gate," the man reported.

Hanss raised an eyebrow. "Visitors?"

Ethan's expression sharpened. "Are they from an allied guild?"

"No," the man replied. "They came from the northeast."

Ethan fell silent.

Northeast.

His thoughts immediately drifted to Lotus City.

So they didn't just send a message. They came themselves.

Without hesitation, Ethan stood up. Hanss followed suit, and the two of them left the tavern alongside the messenger.

The laughter and noise faded behind them as they made their way through the streets toward the northern gate.

Torches lined the walls, casting long shadows as they walked. Guards straightened as Ethan passed, quickly opening a path for him.

The gate slowly opened.

Ethan stepped forward, Hanss at his side.

Ten people stood in the open space beyond the gate. They were well-organized, standing in formation. At the very front stood a woman with calm eyes and confident posture.

Ethan stopped at a safe distance—not too close, not too far.

He didn't recognize any of them. They weren't part of the Eastern Alliance either.

"Are you the one who sent me a message earlier today?" Ethan asked.

"Yes," the woman replied. "My name is Lyra. I'm the leader of the Red Javelin Guild."

Red Javelin?

I've never heard of that guild before.

"There's no guild called Red Javelin in the eastern plains," Ethan said. "Are you from the central region? Or the west?"

"We're from the northern lands," Lyra answered.

The north.

Snow-covered terrain. Sparse cities. Harsh conditions.

I didn't expect a guild to survive there.

For a moment, silence hung between them. Ethan observed Lyra carefully. Her posture was steady, her expression composed.

She didn't look like someone here to provoke a fight.

"You've traveled quite far," Ethan finally said. "You wouldn't come all this way without a reason."

Lyra nodded. "You're right."

She took a slow breath before continuing.

"We're asking for your protection."

The words were direct—almost blunt.

Lyra began explaining her situation. Since Ethan's initial invasion, many other players had followed the same path.

Some succeeded. Others failed. Chaos spread rapidly across the world.

For Lotus City, the threat came from a neighboring city controlled by an enemy team. Red Javelin wasn't a large guild.

They lacked numbers, influence, and the strength needed to resist an invasion.

Lyra was painfully aware of that.

"We're not strong," she admitted. "But I believe one thing."

She looked Ethan straight in the eye.

"If you help us, we'll join your alliance—even though we're from the north."

Hanss stiffened slightly.

Lyra continued. "Not just us. I'll personally convince other northern guilds to join as well."

Ethan didn't respond immediately.

The offer was tempting. Additional cities. New regions. Northern alliances. All of it could greatly strengthen LionArk's influence.

But trust was fragile.

What if this is a trap?

What if they're baiting us into overextending?

One wrong decision could cost him everything he'd built.

Hanss stepped closer and spoke quietly. "What she's offering is valuable. But none of us know Red Javelin. There's no guarantee."

Ethan nodded slowly.

He knew exactly what needed to be done if he was going to help them.

"I'll help you," Ethan said at last, "but only if you do one thing for me."

Lyra's eyes sharpened. "What is it?"

Ethan smiled faintly and pointed directly at her.

"You stay in Lion City until I'm done helping you," he said. "And your guild will hand over all of your resources."

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