Hadjar filled his pipe and took a drag. Closing his eyes to savor the moment, he exhaled a few smoke rings and put the pipe aside. The physiology of a Nameless dealt with the harm of tobacco faster than it managed to get into his lungs and blood. It was a kind of breathing training. Still, strong breathing was even more important for a swordsman than having strong hands.

“And that’s what happened,” Abraham drank another bowl and showed it to a passing waitress.

“Do you have any money?” The girl asked doubtfully.

Hadjar almost choked on the pipe smoke. He hadn’t paid much attention to the auras of the tavern’s visitors, but now noticed that all the servers were at the Heaven Soldier level. Most of the visitors were mid-stage Spirit Knights or higher, sometimes even Lords. However, none of them looked like noblemen or rich people in general. They were simple wards of Lady Luck, mercenaries ready to take on any assignment if it promised them some money.

“Yeah,” Itia drawled, “It’s obviously your first time in the Strange Lands.”

Hadjar didn’t deny it. He’d once visited the borders of the area that terrified the absolute majority of cultivators and earned a dozen new scars for his trouble.

Here, in an area larger than the combined territory of the Red Phoenix and White Dragon regions, there was an incredible number of powerful cultivators, ancient sects, city-states ruled by Heaven Emperors, monsters, treasures, and anomalies.

The local architecture was surprisingly reminiscent of the Northern Kingdoms: a lot of wood, poorly treated stone, and steel. All of it, of course, was made from special, magical materials. For example, one could’ve traded the table they were sitting at for a good house close to the city center, or a high-level warhorse in Dahanatan. It made sense. After all, other materials simply wouldn’t have been able to withstand the combined pressure of the locals’ auras.

“You wound me, beautiful!” Abraham grinned and placed a small vial filled with a few drops of the essence of the World River on the table.

Well, it was the only currency that made sense at the top of the path of cultivation. Sages said that those who had passed through the Strange Lands acquired either immortality through song, or true Immortality.

“You’re too old to be flirting with me,” the girl chuckled. “For two drops, you can feast here for the whole evening.”

Before Abraham, who looked like his heart had just been broken, could answer, the tavern girl had already gone to the lower floor. The squad was seated on the second floor. There were also rooms for important guests on the third, final floor.

“We need to get an understanding of the local prices first,” Itia said. “Otherwise, we’ll waste the funds that the sage gave us.”

“Don’t look at me,” Abraham raised his hands in surrender. “I’ve just been called old! How did she even know…”

The rogue really did look like a man in his prime, despite the fact that he was several centuries old. Hadjar had noticed during his travels through the Nameless World that the stronger a cultivator, the longer they could live thanks to a strengthened body and spirit. But the weaker a cultivator, the more they actually got to live.

This was due to the fact that the higher one climbed on the path of cultivation, the higher the risk of going to one’s forefathers became. That meant that the really old ones could only be found in the Land of the Immortals.

“What sage?” Hadjar took a sip. Surprisingly, the drink, which had been distilled from birch buds, managed to intoxicate him. He didn’t remember ever reaching this state since he’d become a true cultivator. The Strange Lands were a wonderful place… He then settled in to listen to his companions’ story.

“And that’s how Alba-udun,” Abraham nodded at the dwarf, who was sleeping with his head buried in a bowl of stew, “killed Dagla-uden. After that, we-”

“I was against it,” Gustaf interrupted him. “You, Hadjar, are a nice guy, but I would’ve preferred to stay away from you.”

“I was in favor,” Guy suddenly added, adjusting his mask. “Death is near.”

Nobody knew what that last remark was about, and they didn’t ask.

“I abstained,” Itia said softly.

“So,” Abraham summed up, “I made the harsh, strong-willed decision to follow you to the Ruby Palace. I haven’t known you for a long time, but it’s probably your destiny to always start some kind of civil war or revolution. Since my illustrious father, may the demons tear his soul apart, didn’t manage to deal with dragons’ treasury, I thought why not save a good friend from the executioner and-”

“Also stick your nose into the greatest cache of treasure in the entire White Dragon region in the process,” Hadjar finished for the old rogue.

Abraham took a bowl of booze from the tray of a passing waitress and winked at him. The aroma of hops entered Hadjar’s nose. He hadn’t smelled anything like it for a long time now, not since the days when he and Nero had served in the army of Lidus.

“Well, as we were approaching the mountains” Abraham continued, “Guards swooped down on us. There were twenty Lords there. It wasn’t very pleasant, you know. The sky was burning, and my gut told me that there was a whole army somewhere nearby.”

“Death is near,” Guy remarked, no longer sharpening, but now gently stroking his axe.

“Exactly. We were ready to fight to the death, especially Alba-udun.” The dwarf snorted, as if in agreement, causing bubbles of fat and carrots to appear atop the stew. “Suddenly, a sage in a gray raincoat and a wide-brimmed hat appeared. He put all the guards to sleep with a wave of his hand, and then offered us a very interesting deal.”

“Or rather, he gave us an ultimatum,” Itia frowned.

“Honey, I’m just trying to look at life with a positive attitude,” The old rogue spread his arms out helplessly.

“It’s strange that you haven’t led us to our deaths yet by doing so.”

“That’s because I am a very skilled and experienced leader of our ga... group of adventurers. I know how to find even the most hidden of paths and-”

“-how to worm your way in anywhere with your bullshit,” Itia got up and headed for the stairs. “I’m going to get something to eat.”

“Get a new stew for Alba-udun as well. This one is cold!”

“Go to the demons, Shensie.” She flashed an indecent gesture and went down the stairs.

“Well,” Abraham continued as if nothing had happened. “The gist of the deal is that we’ll help you deal with the Raven Sect, and the sage, in return, will pay us a fortune of two hundred drops.”

Hadjar choked a bit. Two hundred drops? Although, considering how many epochs Helmer had wandered around the Nameless World, he most likely had hundreds, if not thousands of times that much wealth. Hadjar took another drag. What good and strong tobacco…

“You do know what the Raven Sect is, don’t you?”

“Of course I do, stranger.”

“Are two hundred drops really-”

“Each! Two hundred drops each, Stranger!”

“Are they worth risking your lives for?”

Abraham smiled a little sadly, “Maybe they aren’t. But my years are coming to an end. Without a lot of money, I’m unlikely to reach the next level, which means I’ll soon stumble upon the steel of someone who is younger, angrier, and faster than me. And so, I want to die with glory and honor, and not like an old dog.”

Hadjar glanced at Guy.

“Death is near,” the axeman answered his mute question. “It won’t get any closer.”

“Where the squad goes, I go,” Gustaf shrugged his shoulders. “I have no other family, and nowhere else to go.”

Itia placed a wooden tray laden with pleasantly smelling food on the table.

“Abraham won’t last a week without us,” she said.

Alba-udun once again made his stew bubble up. Hadjar exhaled a cloud of smoke. He didn’t know if he was lucky or not.