The last stop of the day was the Post Office. It wasn't far. It was actually a few buildings down from the Adventurer's Guild. They had smaller booths at each cardinal entrance to the city, but the main operation was in the East.

It was probably one of the best displays of city planning in Milton. Though, that was probably due to Adventurers hating to walk too far to send a letter.

And what was between the Guild and the Post Office?

"Paddy's Pub."

"Sandy's Bar."

"Licorice Club."

"Look, there are two Bars in a row."

"And a Brewery with a samples section next to it."

"Are there even enough people Milton to occupy so many?"

"It is more about catering to certain crowds. Each bar has a different atmosphere, and adventuring teams like to claim a spot as regulars. Same with species. I went to the Lamia hangout once with some friends, and we were the only people in there. It was weird. Anyway. They're all lined up in a row because of pub crawls. Anyone who comes home after a particularly harrowing or rewarding adventure goes on a pub crawl.

"Does beer taste good? I never wanted to try drinking because people in my books always seem to hate themselves afterward. Isn't it a type of poison?"

"No... Yes? Well. You're not wrong, Violet. I tried drinking, but I wouldn't say I liked it. All Lamia drinks are really strong because we weigh a lot, and they taste like liquid fireballs. My friend Daniel says that they make fruity drinks where he works. He's a human, by the way. "

"Would I even be able to drink? You mentioned weight, but I don't weigh anything."

"Lucky..."

"What was that?"

"I said luckily they have drinks for just about everyone. A traditional Lamia beverage would likely floor you. And a sip of a Minotaur ale might kill you."

Violet and Emmy both shivered.

"Is it that bad?"

"Don't know. I don't want to try it. Daniel says to stay away from the stuff."

"Did you guys know beer became popular because it was cleaner and less disease-ridden than water?"

"Really? I didn't know that."

"Yeah. Back before water could be cleaned and filtered... or cleansed by magic, alcohol was the easiest way to hydrate while staving off disease."

"I thought people drank it to party and be happy."

"It's actually a depressant. It dulls senses, limits inhibition, and generally makes people sadder. Most people mistake their lacking inhibitions for having fun since they don't feel apprehension or guilt from their actions or words. That's why drunk people are more confident even when they slur their word and are falling over their own feet.."

"That makes so much sense!"

"So is drinking worth it, Daire?"

"That is a tough question. Drinking can be fun under the right circumstances and can be a good way to unwind after a long day, but you shouldn't make it a habit. All I can say is that you should drink responsibly. Know your limits, stick to them, and have a friend take you home after. "

"Huh. The more you know."

=

Inside the Post Office.

Daire sent three letters. One was an open letter to be transmitted whenever the recipient checked for mail. It was a long shot if it would ever be opened, which was the only reason it was so inexpensive. Usually, to have messages transmittable throughout the Kingdom would cost a small fortune. Since he wasn't in a hurry, it only cost a gold coin to be put on a back-burner.

The second was arguably more important and would come into play much sooner. It didn't hold any critical information to be deciphered by Openers or anyone else who would try intercepting his letter. Openers, ironically, were an open secret. If you paid the right price, then couriers would allow the information they carried to be leaked or even lost.

In some cases, it could be altered.

For example, an intelligence report saying an approaching horde of monsters would arrive in two weeks could be altered to say three weeks. The report would still have the official seal and stamp, but no one would know the information was wrong until it was too late. If tampering were suspected, it would take time and money to track it down.

This was rare. Mainly because the Post Office needed to uphold its reputation and tried not to take sides. It took a lot of money, significant influence, or a rogue Opener to even consider such an option.

The sad part was that many Openers were officially sanctioned because of the ongoing war. The war had simmered to the occasional skirmish or act of piracy, but that didn't stop the ruling class from using it as an excuse to root out spies, traitors, or schemers.

The importance of this grew because information is what Daire specializes in. The Post Office was a hub for others like him. Competition.

If people are dealing in information, people are willing to buy it, steal it, sabotage it, erase it, and kill for it. Daire wouldn't be attacked for his knowledge, as people in the profession were respected with a type of gentlemens' code.

Or thief's honor.

On the contrary, as long as Daire toed the line, the Post Office acts as a helpful mediator. People would seek him out if they knew he had information important to them, and that was okay. He could control who came to him. He was betting on it.

The likely hood of someone opening his letters at random were nil. In case someone did open his second letter, all they would find was mention of an old friend wanting to catch up and a warning not to drink too hard. Anyone reading it would find it benign and boring dribble. It wasn't coded with a cipher, and it wasn't a puzzle to be figured out. It was a simple greeting in the hope of correspondence... To anyone except the recipient, that is.

Daire made sure the destination was fixed. Too soon would be bad. Too late would be worse.

More on that later.

The third and final letter would reach its destination quickest. It wasn't long, but it wasn't short. Daire's original plan didn't include writing this letter. Recent events changed his perspective; it became an unfortunate necessity. Handing it over the counter, he paid the silver coin to have it delivered post-haste.

A silver coin for a local letter was a premium, so it wasn't a surprise that the receptionist handed it off immediately. Daire didn't have to worry about an Opener getting their grubby hands on it. No one in town would have the audacity to intercept it, considering who it was addressed to.

"I'd also like to set up an official register."

"What will the name be under, sir?"

"Daire King"

The receptionist's pen paused.

"I am obligated to tell you that aliases are frowned upon and can lead to misunderstandings within the structure of our organization. Are you sure you wish to register under this name?"

This was something he wasn't expecting to come across. Was his name so far-fetched? Or maybe it was the nature of his last name. It wasn't a household name that he knew of.

"Thanks for the warning. Can I ask why this particular name is taboo?"

The pale receptionist eyed him, trying to ascertain the seriousness of the question. When Daire looked him straight in the eyes, he responded in a laborious tone.

"Allusions to noble lineage are always checked by our staff, and all letters to or from such recipients are flagged and filed under a different system whether the claim is legitimate or not. Names found to be fake are taken seriously by the Post Office since the noble family in question doesn't take kindly to imposters. Using the name King on top of all that and insinuating a claim to the throne will be met poorly by the court."

Why wasn't there any mention of this in the book? This seems pretty important, Author!

"Didn't you say using aliases was only frowned upon?"

"Yes. I did."

"But you're also implying that I could be assassinated for using that name?"

"Yes."

"Were you going to mention that if I chose to ignorantly keep the name?"

There was a slight pause.

"It is not in the Post Office's terms and conditions to give out any more information that is considered common knowledge."

"And what if my surname happens to actually be King?"

"Then I am sorry for the loss of your parents."

"My parents aren't dead."

"Then I am sorry for the loss of your homeland."

"I am not an actual King. My last name just happens to be King."

"Then I am sorry for your unfortunate dilemma. I can write down your full name with the mention of this... dilemma. However, neither I nor the Post Office or its affiliates is responsible for any repercussions that happen to occur from any misunderstandings."

"Then don't reveal my name to anyone who doesn't ask."

"As I have said before, once you register with a name, it is separated into an alternate system. I do not have the power to prevent that action as it is company policy."

"Bureaucrats."

Daire muttered darkly.

"Thank you."

The receptionist bowed and accepted the compliment.

"Daire, why don't we use the name our business? That way, anyone trying to reach either of us would be directed through a professional name. No one could complain then."

Violet's suggestion caused Daire's eyebrows to rise fully. It was a great way to get around the stupid system.

"That is a great idea. Can you register our business instead?"

The receptionist seemed delighted, happy he was spared from having to make the report. It might've splashed back onto him somehow.

"Splendid. What is the name of the business."

"Violet Spark Trading."

"First names?"

"Daire."

"Violet."

"And I need your race."

Daire hesitated.

"Is that really necessary?"

Before anyone else could answer, Violet spoke up proudly.

"I am a Pixie!"

"You are a Pixie, mam?"

"Yup. Not a Fairy. I am a Lightning Pixie."

The receptionist stared long and hard. Then he noticeably brightened.

"In that case, mam, Excuse me for a moment."

The receptionist put down his pen and walked over to a manager. The manager hurried over, having heard the conversation.

"One last time, I would like to confirm your race."

Violet started to fume a little bit, upset.

"I already told you guys. Everyone keeps calling me a Fairy, or a Fae, or that one gnome who kept calling me Pumpkin. I want people to stop calling me names and realize that I am a Pixie."

"Good."

The manager nodded quickly, bringing out a locked box before Violet could retract her statement. He turned a special key, and it opened unceremoniously. Pulling out a small card, he handed it over.

"Congratulations on becoming the first Pixie to officially register with the Post Office. As a sectional manager at this establishment, I offer you this esteemed card signifying you as the official representative of your race."

"Huh? Hey... Wait a minute..."

"As the Representative of your Race, you now have access to all correspondence from third parties addressed to the Pixie race or members thereof, as well as any future letters exchanged between members of your own race. The accumulated messages waiting for you number four thousand, eight hundred and ninety-three, of which three hundred and forty-seven are available at this branch. Would you like to view them now?"

"..."

"..."

"..."

*smack*