Chapter 237: A Reunion of Brothers [II]

“Let me take this one, Stone,” Drunkard said quickly, stepping forward and cutting off DragonBlade before he could speak.

“According to the quest description in Dominion,” he began, his tone shifting into the familiar rhythm of someone who enjoyed holding the floor, “this Wraith-Bird is still a fledgling, less than six months old. Every morning around ten it flies out of the Valley of the Undead and heads for a ghost tree near Stele Spring. That’s where it steals Ghost-Bamboo fruit. It usually sticks around for about thirty minutes, and that’s our window. If we bring it down during that time, we can secure the Black-Wraith Feather.”

Now that he had everyone’s attention, Drunkard slipped completely into his element. He spoke with animated gestures, his hands moving through the air as if he were presenting a grand tactical briefing instead of a half-crazy hunting plan.

“Based on the fights we’ve had with it over the past few days, we’ve pegged the thing as a high-tier Golden boss, probably somewhere in the mid-thirties. The problem isn’t its raw damage. Its real trick is the debuffs. The bird keeps hammering your stats and piling on negative status effects. On paper its attack power isn’t that terrifying, which is why we’ve been able to stand our ground against it. The real headache comes when it realizes the fight isn’t going its way. The moment that happens, it takes off. And that bird is ridiculously fast. Every time we nearly had it cornered, it slipped right out of our hands.”

He paused, his expression shifting into something halfway between admiration and annoyance.

“If Fate’s Trial actually pulls this off,” he continued, jerking a thumb vaguely toward the back of the group, “our numbers say he’s got a real shot at unlocking a Unique Hidden Class.”

Drunkard let out a long, dramatic sigh that could have come straight from a stage play.

“That guy… he’s never been able to beat me at anything before. But if he finishes a Hidden Quest and ends up with a Hidden Class… I swear I’ll never hear the end of it. For once in my life, I might actually lose face.”

Marcus watched him with a faint smile. “So what’s the catch this time?”

He had known these two long enough to recognize the signs. Whenever Drunkard sounded this invested, there was almost always a bet lurking somewhere behind the story.

DragonBlade snorted and shot Drunkard an irritated look before answering.

“He made a bet with Fate,” DragonBlade said, shooting Drunkard an irritated glance. “First one to reach level fifty gets to challenge the other to a duel. The loser buys the winner’s drinks for a full week.”

It was exactly the sort of bet Drunkard loved to make. High stakes, ridiculous consequences, and a very real chance that someone else would end up paying his bar tab.

“Stone, you’ve got to help me out here,” Drunkard said immediately, turning toward Marcus with a look of exaggerated despair. “You have to look out for your poor little bro. You can’t let Fate overtake me. That guy is something else. If I lose, he’ll drink me straight into the poorhouse. I’m not even joking.”

Marcus folded his arms and studied him for a moment. Anyone who didn’t know Drunkard might have believed the performance. The man sounded like someone who had exactly three coins left to his name.

But right in the middle of the act, Drunkard suddenly stopped.

His expression shifted. He blinked, tilting his head slightly as he gave Marcus a slow, careful look from head to toe.

“Hold on a second, Stone,” he said slowly, dropping the dramatics. “How do you know so much about the Valley of the Undead? We haven’t even found the entrance yet, much less mapped the place out. Don’t tell me you’ve actually been there already?”

“Don’t start inventing conspiracies,” Marcus replied easily. “That place is basically a death trap for anyone under level fifty. I just happened to read some lore entries about it.”

Drunkard immediately shook his head, a grin spreading across his face.

“Nice try. But I know you too well for that,” he said, circling Marcus with exaggerated scrutiny. “Remember who you’re talking to. I’m the Tactical Drunkard. You think I’m some random newbie you can brush off with a vague explanation?”

He stopped behind Marcus and rapped his knuckles against the massive shield strapped to his back.

“Forget the lore. Just answer one question,” he said, “What level are you now?”

Marcus raised a foot as if preparing to kick him. “You claim to know me so well, yet you still have to ask?”

Drunkard hopped backward instantly, adopting a posture of righteous outrage.

“I knew it!” he declared triumphantly. “You’ve been hiding things from us, Stone. While the rest of us have been grinding like idiots, you’ve been out there making a fortune behind our backs. I should call the rest of the squad and stage a rebellion.”

“Get lost,” Marcus laughed.

He finally swung his foot toward Drunkard’s backside. It had been over a year since he’d had the chance to mess with him like this, and the man was long overdue for a reminder of old habits.

Inside Dominion, everything was managed by the AI system Skynet, which was advanced enough to interpret complex human behavior and context. A playful shove or casual kick between friends didn’t count as a hostile action. The system could easily tell the difference between joking around and an actual PK attempt.

“Missed me!” Drunkard crowed.

He had dodged the kick with practiced ease, clearly familiar with Marcus’s timing after years of experience being on the receiving end of those boots. Still, he kept the performance going.

“Look, Stone,” he said, placing a hand over his heart in mock sincerity. “You know I’m your biggest supporter. When the rest of the squad starts interrogating you later, don’t worry. I’ll be the one standing up for you.”

Marcus didn’t respond. He knew Drunkard well enough to sense the hook coming.

Sure enough, the man’s expression softened into a coaxing grin.

“So… since I’m clearly looking out for you and everything,” Drunkard continued smoothly, “the next time you stumble onto something interesting, you’ll remember to invite your old friend along, right?”

Marcus glanced over at DragonBlade, who watched the entire display with the tired resignation of someone who had seen it play out a hundred times before. Marcus decided to follow his example and stayed silent, letting Drunkard carry on with his one-man performance.

“Stone!”

By the time the shout came, the three of them had already stepped into Blaze’s shop.

Inside, the usual hum of conversation filled the room, but it cut off abruptly the moment someone near the entrance noticed them. An archer standing by the door was the first to react. His eyes widened the instant he saw Marcus walking in beside DragonBlade and Drunkard.

“Stone!”

His shout rang out across the shop. In the next moment, every head in the room turned toward the door.

The lively chatter that had filled the place a second ago vanished as if someone had flipped a switch, leaving behind a heavy, stunned silence. Dozens of eyes stared at Marcus, disbelief written plainly across their faces.

Marcus gave a small, easy smile.

“Hey, everyone.”

That was all it took.

The silence shattered instantly as the entire room erupted into noise, voices overlapping as people rushed forward.

“Stone!”

The first one to reach him was the archer who had spotted him earlier, Gloomy Arrow. He grabbed Marcus by the arm, staring at him as if half expecting him to disappear.

“Good to see you, Arrow,” Marcus said.

“What the hell, man?” Gloomy Arrow blurted. “You’re finally showing your face again!”

Another figure pushed his way through the crowd.

“Stone!”

That booming voice belonged to Cleaver. True to his name, the man lived for blades and had never played anything except a Fighter. He stepped in close and slammed a heavy fist into Marcus’s shoulder in greeting, the kind of blow that would have knocked a lesser player flat.

“Cleaver,” Marcus grunted with a grin, returning the greeting with a couple of solid punches to the man’s chest.

“Marcus, you made it.”

The oldest member of the group stepped forward then. Blaze had always been the steady center of the squad, the one everyone instinctively looked to when things got serious. He greeted Marcus with a firm, warm pat on the shoulder.

“Hey, Boss Blaze,” Marcus said.

“You could have at least sent a message saying you were back,” a cool voice drifted from the back of the room.

Fate’s Trial appeared a moment later.

As usual, he had arrived late to the conversation and said little, but the faint smile tugging at his lips softened the sharpness of his usual icy expression.

“Fate.”

Marcus stepped forward, and the two of them shared a brief but tight embrace.

“You’re here,” Fate said simply.

Normally, Fate would have been the last one to greet him, but today that position went to Thunderstorm.

And judging by the look on his face, he was far less enthusiastic.

“You’re back,” Thunderstorm said flatly.

“Thunder,” Marcus replied.

In the past, a PK fanatic like Thunderstorm would have dragged Marcus straight to the dueling arena the moment they met again. Today he only gave Marcus a brief glance, nodded once, and then looked away as if nothing particularly important had happened. If it weren’t for the years they had spent fighting side by side, he probably wouldn’t have acknowledged him at all.

Marcus let his gaze move slowly around the room, taking in the familiar faces.

Aside from Invincible Strong and Path to Heaven, the entire crew was here.

A quiet surge of emotion rose in his chest, tightening his throat as he realized just how much he had missed this.

These people were different from Andrew and the circle that surrounded him. Those relationships had been built through business, convenience, and circumstance. Marcus had been the one introducing them to each other, forming connections that were useful, practical.

This was something else entirely. These men were not just friends or allies, they were brothers.

They knew Andrew, of course, but only in passing, through casual encounters and shared spaces.

What Marcus felt standing here among them had nothing to do with that world.

This was home.

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