The Conquerors Path Chapter 1057: Chapter 1055-The Air-Warded Taverns

Chapter 1057: Chapter 1055-The Air-Warded Taverns

The sheer scale of the Dry Wards was something you couldn’t fully appreciate until you were standing in the middle of it. As Krave dragged me down the cobblestone streets, I took a moment to just observe the impossible architecture of the Aethelgard Dukedom’s tourist trap.

Above us, the golden dome of the ward held back a literal ocean. The magic was so dense it warped the light, casting a perpetual, shimmering sunset glow over the stone buildings. I could see the massive, dark silhouettes of deep-sea predators gliding lazily across the other side of the barrier, their pale, colourful underbellies scraping against the magical membrane. Every now and then, a massive tentacle or a plated fin would bump against the ward, sending a deep, resonant thrum vibrating through the cobblestones beneath my boots.

It was a city built on the edge of a knife. The ambient pressure outside that dome was enough to condense a lump of coal into a diamond. If the runic arrays powering the spatial funnels failed for even a fraction of a second, the entire district—along with every wealthy surface-dwelling tourist currently haggling over the price of glowing sea-grapes—would instantly cease to exist.

Naturally, Krave thought this was the perfect place to get a drink.

I allowed a bit of detection of us. plete sensory erasure was entirely useless if Krave actually wanted to interact with the locals. With a subtle, almost microscopic shift in the localized reality surrounding us, I dialed our presence from ‘pletely non-existent’ to ‘utterly unremarkable.’ We went from being phantoms to just another group of excessively wealthy, slightly eccentric surface scholars wandering the wards. I maintained a heavy perceptual filter over our true auras, ensuring that any local mages would simply slide their gaze right past us, finding our presence entirely boring.

“Here we are!”

Krave announced, stopping abruptly.

She threw her arms wide, gesturing to a massive, multi-story structure that dominated the end of the street. The entire tavern was constructed within the hollowed-out skull of a colossal, prehistoric sea dragon like beast.

The beast must have been the size of a mountain range when it was alive. The entrance to the tavern was located between its massive, fossilized jaws, with rows of terrifying, jagged teeth framing the heavy oak doors. Warm, yellow light spilled out from between the fangs, acpanied by the roaring sound of a hundred drunken patrons.

“The Leviathan’s Jaw, oh, this brings back memories. I think I liked his cousin.”

Krave read the rusted iron sign hanging above the door, her dark eyes glittering with pure, unadulterated joy.

“Please tell me you are joking.”

Luna deadpanned from her perch around my neck.

“I am a creature of the deep, little wolf, we have very broad horizons.”

Krave laughed, pushing the heavy oak doors open with a fraction of her terrifying strength.

The moment we crossed the threshold, the noise hit us like a physical wall. The tavern was packed to the brim with a chaotic mix of wealthy human nobles, dwarven traders wearing heavily enchanted pressure suits, and local triton elites slumming it in the dry zones. The air was thick and sweltering, heavy with the sharp, acidic scent of fermented pearl-wine and the greasy, mouth-watering aroma of slow-roasted trench-boar.

I paused just inside the doorway, my eyes immediately drifting up toward the ceiling—or rather, the inside of the dragon’s skull. The structural runework here was genuinely impressive. The tavern wasn’t just relying on the city’s golden dome; it had its own secondary, heavily reinforced gravity and pressure wards woven directly into the fossilised bone. I could see the golden veins of mana pulsing in rhythm, micro-fracturing under the ambient weight of the ocean above and repairing themselves a thousand times a second. It was a beautiful, desperate piece of engineering.

I pulled my attention away from the ceiling to look at the small wooden stage in the corner of the room. A group of local bards were currently performing, though calling it a performance was a severe stretch of the definition. They were playing “sung-coral”—hollowed, spiraling pieces of enchanted reef that naturally amplified ambient mana into musical notes.

The problem was that sung-coral was designed to be played underwater, where the dense liquid carried the acoustics perfectly. Here, in the artificial, dry air of the ward, the magic was slightly misaligned. Every time the lead bard blew into his coral flute, the instrument let out a horrific, high-pitched screech that sounded exactly like a dying seagull.

Luna huffed, resting her chin flat against my collarbone.

“It sounds like someone is strangling a harpy. I refuse to eat anything in this establishment. The vibrations have likely ruined all the meat.”

Krave wasn’t paying attention to the music, the runework, or the food. Her sharp, predatory gaze was sweeping the crowded tavern floor. She was hunting. Within seconds, her eyes locked onto a large, circular table near the massive hearth.

Four heavily jeweled land-merchants were seated there, surrounded by empty flagons and an impressive pile of gold and silver coins. They were loud, arrogant, and clearly celebrating a highly lucrative trade deal. In the center of their table sat a massive, black iron keg, leaking a thick, dark liquid that occasionally sparked with static electricity.

“Perfect.”

Krave purred. Before I could say a word, she was moving. She slipped through the densely packed crowd with a fluid, liquid grace that pletely belied her current humanoid form, leaving me to casually stroll behind her. By the time I reached the edge of the hearth, Krave had already pulled up a heavy wooden stool and planted herself directly at the merchants’ table.

“Gentlemen, I couldn’t help but notice you’re drinking Abyssal Rum. And, more importantly, I couldn’t help but notice that you’re barely making a dent in it.”

She beamed, resting her chin on her hands and batting her dark eyelashes with a practised, theatrical innocence; to them she looked like a stunning sea beauty.

The four merchants stopped laughing, blinking at the sudden intrusion. The apparent leader of the group—a large, red-faced man draped in excessive amounts of velvet—leaned forward, a smirk spreading across his face.

“It’s a heavy drink for the deep-tides, little lady, cost us three hundred gold pieces just to have it brought into the Dry Wards. Not exactly the sort of thing for a woman to be sipping on. You’d be on the floor after half a cup.”

The merchant rumbled, gesturing to the violently sparking dark liquid. Krave’s smile didn’t falter, but I saw the absolute, terrifying stillness that suddenly settled over her shoulders. It was the stillness of an apex predator right before the water turned red.

“Is that so?”

Krave asked, her voice dropping into a smooth, melodic cadence.

“Because I was just telling my associate over there—”

She gestured vaguely in my direction, and I gave the merchants a polite, pletely detached nod

“—that I am terribly parched. And I am willing to wager a very, very heavy purse that I can drink all four of you under this remarkably sticky table.”

The velvet-draped merchant burst into a booming laugh, his panions quickly joining in. He slammed a heavy leather pouch onto the table; the distinct clinking of high-grade platinum coins echoed over the din of the screeching bards.

“Five hundred platinum, we go cup for cup. The first one to pass out, vomit, or concede loses. You really want to play, sweetheart?”

The merchant challenged, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of an easy mark. Krave didn’t say a word. She simply held her hand out toward me without looking back.

I sighed, reaching into my spatial storage. I pulled out a solid, unadorned brick of refined deep-earth gold—easily worth triple what the merchant had placed on the table—and tossed it perfectly into her open palm. Krave slammed the gold brick onto the wooden table so hard the iron keg rattled.

“Pour.”

She manded.

For the next hour, I leaned against a nearby structural pillar, simply enjoying the show. I ordered a plate of spiced anemone crisps for myself, occasionally slipping a piece of roasted sea-boar to Luna, who stubbornly refused to admit she was enjoying the food.

The drinking game was a massacre.

Abyssal Rum was essentially weaponized alcohol. It was brewed in the hydrothermal vents of the deep trenches and was toxic to almost every standard biological system on the surface. To a human, it was liquid fire. To Krave, a divine kraken who used to drink raw magma when she was bored, it was basically flavored water.

Cup after cup, the dark, sparking liquid disappeared. By the fourth round, two of the merchants were pletely unconscious, their heads resting softly against the spilled ale on the table. By the seventh round, the third merchant stood up, announced very politely that he needed to go buy a horse, and promptly walked straight into a solid stone wall, collapsing into a heap.

That left only the leader in velvet. He was sweating profusely, his face the color of a bruised plum, staring at Krave as if she were a demon summoned from the deepest hell. Krave, for her part, looked pletely entirely sober, though she was clearly riding the high of absolute victory.

“Your turn, Vane, don’t tell me you’re getting tired.”

Krave chirped, tapping her empty wooden cup against the table. The merchant glared at her, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for the keg. He poured two fresh cups.

From my vantage point against the pillar, I noticed the subtle shift in the ambient mana. I narrowed my eyes, shifting my vision past the physical realm to observe the flow of energy. As the merchant reached out to grab his cup, a dull, silver rune etched into the inside of his velvet sleeve flared to life. It was a very clever, very expensive spatial artifact.

When he raised the cup to his lips and tipped his head back, the liquid didn’t go down his throat. The rune silently activated, shunting the Abyssal Rum directly from the cup into a small, localized pocket dimension hidden within his coat. He slammed the empty cup down, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, looking triumphant.

“Your move.”

The merchant slurred slightly, though a smug grin had returned to his face.

Krave stared at the empty cup. Her fiercely petitive streak didn’t just emerge; it erupted. She didn’t need mana vision to know she was being played; her ancient instincts felt the spatial distortion the moment the artifact activated. The playful, energetic tourist vanished, replaced instantly by the ancient entity who had ruled the sunless trenches for millennia.

She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table.

“You vanished it.”

She whispered, her voice no longer carrying the pitch of a human woman, but the deep, resonant echo of the crushing deep.

The merchant blanched, his smug grin faltering.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady. Drink or forfeit.”

Krave’s eyes flashed, the whites momentarily bleeding into pure, abyssal black. She was going to rip his arms off. It wouldn’t be malicious; she would just do it out of principle.

It was time for me to intervene.

I didn’t move from my pillar. I didn’t cast a spell or wave my hands. I simply looked at the spatial rune sewn into the merchant’s sleeve, analyzed the exact frequency of the pocket dimension holding the stolen rum, and suggested a minor edit to reality. I inverted the flow of the spatial anchor.

Krave, sensing my mana, paused. The abyssal black faded from her eyes, replaced by a sudden, wicked gleam of understanding.

“You’re right, I must be imagining things. Let’s have another round. On me.”

Krave smiled brightly, leaning back in her chair. She reached over and grabbed the heavy iron keg. Instead of pouring it into the cups, she held it directly over the table.

“Hey! What are you doing?!”

The merchant barked, trying to stand up. Krave squeezed the keg. The thick iron buckled under her grip like wet paper, snapping the heavy seals. At that exact moment, the edit I made to his spatial artifact took hold.

The pocket dimension inside the merchant’s sleeve violently expelled everything it had stored over the last hour. Six cups worth of highly volatile, violently sparking Abyssal Rum blasted out of his cuff like a geyser, soaking him from head to toe in sticky, foul-smelling alcohol. He shrieked, scrambling backward, his heavy velvet coat smoking slightly as the electrical charge in the rum reacted with the air.

The entire tavern erupted into roaring laughter. Even the bards stopped their screeching coral-flutes to point and laugh at the soaked, sputtering noble as he desperately tried to wring out his ruined clothes.

Krave didn’t laugh immediately. She calmly reached across the table, swept the massive pile of gold and platinum coins into her pouch, and tied it off with a neat little knot. Then, she stood up, grabbed the half-crushed keg of Abyssal Rum, and sauntered over to where I was standing.

“I believe that we have officially experienced the local culture.”

Krave said, her face flushed with the absolute thrill of the hustle, Luna peeked over my collar, looking at the ruined merchant, then down at the massive pouch of stolen platinum in Krave’s hand.

“Acceptable, now, please tell me we can afford to go somewhere quiet.”

Luna muttered begrudgingly.

“Quiet? Austin, tell her we are just getting started!”

Krave laughed, taking a massive swig directly from the crushed keg, ignoring the sparks dancing across her lips.

I pushed off the pillar, adjusting my coat as I casually re-engaged our perceptual filter, letting the crowd’s attention slide off us pletely as we moved toward the exit. The roar of the tavern faded into a pleasant, ambient warmth.

“We have all the time in the world, Luna,”

I replied, a small, genuine smile touching my lips as we stepped back out into the shimmering, golden light of the Dry Wards.

“Let her play.”