NOVPUB
Chapter 139: Celebration
Seren nearly flipped a table.
Meanwhile, at a smaller round table off to the side, two people waved toward them.
Zayn squinted and tilted his head. "Wait, aren’t those your party members?" he asked Ragnar.
The towering man glanced over and nodded. "Yeah. Darven and Mae. Good people."
"They weren’t with us on the battlefield though."
Ragnar shrugged. "They were deployed to the nearby villages. Perimeter defense. If anything snuck into the town from the horde, they’d handle it." 𝖓𝔬𝔳𝖕𝖚𝖇.𝖈𝔬𝔪
"Ah. Makes sense," Zayn said, leaning back. "Fair."
He didn’t push the topic.
Not because he didn’t care — he just got distracted.
By food.
More specifically: a mountain of meat stacked high on a silver platter, carried by three women who smiled at him like he was some war hero crossed with a local idol.
"Please, dig in!" one of them said cheerfully.
Zayn stared at the towering stack.
It glistened.
It steamed.
It smelled like heaven’s younger, hotter cousin.
"Who in their right mind says no to free food?" he mumbled to himself, grabbing a fork like it was a divine artifact.
He didn’t even realize the whole tavern had started watching him.
At the other end of the table, Tobias was furiously adjusting his glasses. "This is absurd. They’re treating us like celebrities."
"We did just save their town," Kara said, chewing slowly on some honey-roasted duck.
"Still! We can’t let this go to our heads!"
Zayn, halfway through stuffing an entire skewer of grilled boar into his mouth, turned and said, "Too late."
Seren nodded from beside him. "Yeah. He’s way past help."
"I heard that."
"You were supposed to."
Elisse giggled behind her hand, sipping a sweetfruit drink and resting her head on Zayn’s shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Let him have this. He got knocked out cold earlier."
"Don’t remind me," Zayn muttered with a mouthful of stew.
"You looked adorable," she teased.
"I looked dead!"
"You looked adorably dead."
Kara stifled a laugh while Bran chewed with the blank stoicism of a man trying not to get emotionally attached to steak.
A few villagers came up to thank them in person.
A baker handed Zayn a honeyed bun with actual sparkles on it.
A couple of kids asked if Bran could teach them axe moves since he had a longass axe on his back.
One man even asked Ragnar to bless his beer mug "for strength."
By the time the sixth course rolled out, Zayn had slumped back in his chair, his plate half-devoured, his belly full, his soul at peace.
"...Okay. I might love Edgeville."
Tobias, still rigid, finally cracked a smile. "Don’t get used to this. We’ll be back to walking for hours and fighting giant death lizards soon enough."
"You’re the worst hype man."
"I’m realistic."
Elisse tilted her head. "What happens next anyway? Are we staying the night here or heading back tomorrow?"
Ragnar leaned back and crossed his arms. "We’ll sleep here tonight. Rest. Let the guards do their job. Then we head back to town to report in and collect rewards."
"And hopefully never smell burnt acid again," Seren muttered.
The night grew deeper.
Musicians played a gentle lute tune in the corner of the tavern. The chatter softened into laughter.
Zayn found himself surrounded by people — not just his party, but strangers who were genuinely happy to see them.
It felt... weird.
Warm. But weird.
He’d fought his way through bandits, dungeon monsters, overpowered dungeon bosses somehow through bad luck, and some near-death experiences.
And now he was being doted on like he was some prince from a fairytale.
He didn’t know what to do with that.
So naturally... he doubled down on being a menace.
As the final dessert platter was being passed around — something called lavaflame pudding that looked like it was actually glowing — Zayn looked at Seren with a grin.
"Wanna try it first, acid girl?"
"Call me that again and I’ll spit in your eye."
"So... is that a yes?"
She rolled her eyes but grabbed a spoon anyway.
Elisse leaned toward him and whispered, "She’s warming up to you."
"She’s trying to kill me."
"Same thing."
Eventually, the villagers began leaving one by one. Candles dimmed. The party stood and stretched, full and satisfied.
"Welp," Zayn said, patting his stomach. "If I die tonight, tell the gods I went out full."
"I’m not telling them anything," Tobias muttered. "I’ll be too busy pretending I don’t know you."
"You’re my best friend, Tobi."
"Don’t."
The whole group laughed.
And as they walked out of the tavern under the starlit sky, Zayn let his hands fall behind his head, smiling lazily as the cool night breeze washed over him.
He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring.
But for tonight?
He had good food, good company...
...and maybe, just maybe, a second round of pudding hidden under his cloak.
Because who in their right mind says no to free dessert?
...
Zayn closed the door with a soft click.
It wasn’t slammed or shut in a fit of annoyance — just quietly sealed, like a gentle punctuation mark on a long, chaotic day.
The others had taken the larger room in the inn.
Four beds, decent enough space, and apparently a single tub that Seren had claimed like a territorial jungle cat.
It left one person needing to room elsewhere, and Zayn had drawn the short stick.
Not that he minded.
Actually? He welcomed the solitude.
Sure, it meant Seren couldn’t be left alone — no surprise there.
A venom-spitting goblin girl sleeping by herself in an unfamiliar inn was a recipe for either a breakdown or a biochemical war.
So Zayn had taken the solo room without protest.
He let his gear fall to the side with a thump, rolled his shoulders, and sat on the edge of the modest bed.
The mattress groaned under his weight but didn’t collapse — a small win.
Then he folded his legs, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes.
It was time.
Time to figure this damn thing out.
The soul construct problem.
Zayn had been haunted by it ever since he saw the Hero of Power casually tossing around glowing, living weapons like they were toys.
Massive soul-forged greatswords, floating armor like he was Gilgamesh or something, he was just casually manifesting them mid-battle like he had a pocket full of miniature gods.
Zayn? He could barely make a chair.
