It was the wee hours of the night when Isolde finally concluded her negotiations with the bartender. From what Claud could see, the lady was the worldliest of the bunch — which wasn’t all that hard; that woman named Farah had set a very low bar. Of course, it didn’t help that the quadruplet named Lily had wandered off somewhere half-drunk, before slamming her face into Isolde’s chest after returning.

“Do you have rooms here?” Isolde asked. “There’s a bunch of embarrassments that I need to get into a bed urgently.”

“Rooms are all filled,” the bartender replied. “I recommend that you head over to the inn opposite.”

“Besides,” Claud added, “you get all kinds of weird people in this place. Like the old man who drags a giant sword past all the rooms at three in the morning, or the Monochromatic Twins, who break into rooms whose occupants are snoring and draw panda eyes on them.”

The bartender took a swipe at Claud, who dodged out of the way. “Hey! Don’t go telling those stories to anyone who comes into the bar.”

“See?” Claud shrugged. “He’s not denying it.”

“Our establishment caters to all kinds of people,” said the bartender. “It can’t be helped if there are one or two weirdos out there, although you should know that the twins you mentioned are now in jail.”

“Jail?” Claud asked. “What did they do?”

“Count Nightfall was snoring in his castle,” the bartender replied.

Claud blinked, and ran through the line of logic. Since the bartender said that, it could only mean that the twins had drawn panda eyes on Count Nightfall, who had obviously thrown them into jail after he discovered their great deed.

“Wait,” he said. “How does that even work? The two buggers need to hear him snoring in the first place, right? Doesn’t that mean that they were in the count’s castle? And close enough to his room to hear him snore? And that they somehow broke into his room?”

“Yes, yes, yes and yes. Don’t ask me how,” said the bartender, “but rumour has it that the count was really angry when he woke up the next morning…although the sight of two children staring at him from beside his bead made him wet his pants first.”

“What was their formal charge?”

“Breaking and entering, as well as intimidation of nobility,” the bartender replied. “A ten-year sentence in prison.”

“They’ll be out in days,” Claud muttered. “Even the count’s bedroom doors can’t keep them out; jail’s nothing.”

“They’re already out.” The bartender shrugged. “They were arrested ten days ago, and then broke out three days later. Only the news of master thief Tot had drowned out their antics, but Count Nightfall was enraged at the Monochromatic Twins’ escape.”

“By the way,” said Isolde, “are the Monochromatic Twins rather short, and wear an eyepatch on their left eyes?”

“Yes,” said the bartender, “but how did you know?”

“They just walked past me,” Isolde replied.

Claud looked at the three women sleeping at the counter and slapped his face. “They didn’t just walk past you; they also gave your sisters some good makeup.”

The bartender rolled his eyes. “Well, at least you’ve met one of the urban legends that reside in Licencia.”

“Welcome to Licencia,” Claud added. “Home of weirdos.”

It was a really good description, all things considered. For instance, their ruler, Count Nightfall, was universally regarded as a weirdo for formally enshrining protections for all professions — including criminal elements. In fact, one reason why the City of Trades was also the home of thieves was because bounty hunters needed to process a lot of paperwork before they could even catch anyone.

The overly-complex, corruption-prone process meant that it was far better to identify one’s mark in Licencia, and then apprehend them outside the city, before escorting them to one of Licencia’s satellite towns. Of course, whether this protection extended to Claud, the thief that was universally wanted by the entire continent, was debatable.

Whether the four women here knew about Count Nightfall’s eccentricity or not, therefore, had no bearing on their capture of Tot. In fact, from what Claud knew about that crafty count, he would probably join in if his traces were ever revealed.

“Don’t worry,” said Isolde, “one of my sisters’ a real weirdo. Those twins or whatever are nothing compared to her.”

“Really?” Claud asked, interested. “How so?”

“A secret.”

Claud felt his heart crack slightly. “What’s the point of bringing that up, then? If you aren’t going to tell us anything, then just mentioning it is going to make us all cry and whatnot, right?”

“I’m weird like that,” Isolde replied, before picking up her untouched glass of apple juice, which had been sitting in the air for so long that Claud felt some pity for it. She stuck a silver needle inside, stirred it around twice, before removing the needle to examine it.

“That’s outdated,” said the bartender. “Nowadays, using artefacts or skill-storing items to detect poison is more reliable.”

“Huh?” Isolde tilted her head. “This doesn’t work anymore?”

“It still does,” said the bartender, “but against metal-repelling poisons, you’ll fail utterly. You should learn from Claud instead; see that ring he wears?”

“Why are you talking about my equipment?” Claud asked. “You owe me a drink.”

“Shut up and let me score points with her, got it?” The bartender rolled his eyes and returned to Isolde. “Now, like I was saying, that ring he wears is a ring of Poison Resistance, which nullifies the first instance of poison he ingests every twenty-four hours. It also doubles as a poison detector; if it lights up, it means that the charge is used and therefore there’s poison in his food.”

“Hmm…” Isolde’s eyes blurred over for a moment. “That sounds really useful.”

“It is. Even without a mana-user, it can recharge on its own every day,” the bartender replied.

“It’s really nothing much to mana-users to recharge too,” Isolde muttered. “Do you have little artefacts like these for sale?”

“He brought the last one I had in stock earlier today,” the bartender replied. “You’ll have to wait for the next shipment.”

“Pity.” Isolde shook her head. “Alright, I should get the others to bed.”

She took a deep breath and turned to her three sisters, who were snoring away happily. After struggling with herself for a moment, she turned back with an ashen face.

“Can you guys help me?”

“Thought you’ll never ask,” said the bartender, “but I have a counter to run. If you trust me, you can get Claud to help you out. You’ll have to make two round trips, but the inn is just on the opposite side of the street. Won’t take you much time.”

Isolde sighed. “Just a word of warning, we’re all mana-users. If a customer of yours tries anything funny—”

“Don’t worry,” said the bartender, “I’ll break their craniums first. My establishment prides trust and customer confidence; we don’t condone stupid actions like these.”

He waved a metal stick around. The stick had faded crimson stains on it, and from how some parts of it where dented, Claud could tell that it had seen quite the violent history.

“Err, okay.” Isolde sighed. “Mind giving me a hand, Claud?”

“Anything for a lady…other than fighting.” Smiling, he picked up the super rude Farah, hoisted her up like a sack of potatoes, and followed Isolde out of the bar. She was carrying Lily, who was now latching on to Isolde’s chest, and for a moment, Claud wanted to thank the unconscious lady for the visual treat.

His gaze, however, didn’t go unnoticed, but by then, Claud had already brought up a new topic smoothly.

“Your sisters are all very different from each other,” said Claud. “Why is that the case? I’d imagine that quadruplets behave very similarly, right? And yet, from how you guys dress alone, it seems that your upbringings are so varied that you four might as well be from different families and territories.”

“That’s quite a good description.” An enigmatic smile appeared on Isolde’s lips, creating a sight that made Claud somewhat dazed. “You could put it that way, I guess.”

“What family are you even from, for such a weird thing to happen?” Claud shook his head, shooting a gaze at Farah, who was slung over his shoulder. He couldn’t quite believe that a family could produce a supremely haughty person and a street-wise one at the same time, but truth was sometimes stranger than fiction.

“That’s a secret.”

“That’s annoying.”

Entering the inn that the bartender had pointed out, Isolde soon settled the arrangements for a giant room. Making their way there, Claud dumped Farah onto the bed, stretched his shoulders, and then followed Isolde out.

The sounds of a squabble filled the air when they stepped into the street. Exchanging looks, Claud exchanged looks with Isolde, and then broke into a sprint together. The source of the disturbance was coming from the inn.

It would seem that the beauty sleeping at the counter had attracted attention.