The Sixth School Ch 063

Author's note.

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All Characters in the story are 18 years of age and above...

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Chapter Sixty Three: A familiar face...

Greg walked through Sir Joram's mansion. On his way, he came across a number of servants, but in all cases, they only sent a fearful glance his way before resuming their work with extra fervor. Given this, Greg knew that there was no way they didn't know what it was that had happened to their boss by his hand. They most certainly did. The reason Greg remained calm despite this, was because the merchant himself had ensured their silence. Part of the contract that these servants had signed was that if they saw anything that they thought should be reported to the authorities, they would first have to pass it by the head of the house. He would then either agree and give the go-ahead or disagree and the matter would end there. To report something that you had been told not to or without first seeking permission was a breach of contract and would lead to severe consequences.

Sir Joram had probably done this to protect himself just in case one of the servants caught wind of his more illegal dealings. But now that he was dead, the headship of the house shifted over to his wife. And given the current circumstances, none of them were likely to get permission to report the murder of their employer. Besides, from the fear that Greg could see in their eyes whenever they looked at him, it was likely that they all knew that he was a mage. If Sir Joram himself had been scared half to death whenever he figured this out, Greg could only assume that the servants would be even more scared by this fact. None of them would be willing to garner his ire, especially not for Sir Joram's sake. Given the kind of person he was, Greg was almost certain that some of the servants were actually happy that he was dead. At the very least, he hadn't caught any looks of animosity over the fact that he'd killed the man. So far, it was just a mix of curiosity and fear in their eyes whenever he came across any of the servants.

Walking out of the main house through a side door, Greg made his way over to the bathhouse which was a little distance off, separate from the main house. Pushing the door open, Greg walked in to find Zarra's naked form in the water. There was a set of stairs that would allow one to ease their way into the shallow pool-like bath. It was on one of these stairs that she was seated with her back leaning on the far wall of the pool so she could face the door. Her tantalizing cleavage was beaded with drops of water. Her pink areolas and nipples teased him from just below the water level. Even though they'd been vigorously fucking just minutes before, Greg could feel stirrings in his loins as he looked on at the sight.

"Do you like what you see?" Zarra questioned, her voice slightly hoarse from the rough treatment it had gotten at Greg's hands.

Greg looked up from her nipples to find Zarra smiling slyly at him. "I do," Greg answered with a smile of his own even as he began to take his clothes off.

Her smile widened a bit and Greg could see the desire in her eyes as she watched him disrobe. The smile, however, straightened a bit as her gaze once again met his and she asked, "Is it done?"

Greg couldn't help but glance at the second storage ring that he donned on his middle finger. The ring that held his arrows was a low-grade tier-one storage ring. It was about the size of a large trunk, but nowhere near big enough to hold a body. The second one, however, was a high-grade tier-one storage ring that he'd only recently bought from the dungeon shop. It was about the size of a small room and about fifteen times the cost of the low-grade one in the dungeon shop. This single trinket had wiped him of almost all the dungeon coins that he'd accrued over the past three months, leaving him with less than a thousand dungeon coins. The only reason Greg even bought it was because the items that didn't affect his performance rating, only needed to be bought once. Every time Greg started a new run in this particular dungeon, he'd have the two storage rings. They, however, would only apply to the 'A Dinner Party' dungeon and no other. If he started attempting a new dungeon, all the items for this dungeon would vanish. It was only when he returned to this dungeon that they would reappear.

It was in this second larger storage ring that Greg had placed both Sir Joram and his bodyguard's body. Despite her clear dislike of the man, Zarra had avoided being present for his death. She had whispered in a sultry tone that she would be waiting for him in the bathhouse before sauntering off in a titillating manner. Despite trying to appear casual, however, Greg could tell that she hadn't wanted to be there when he killed her husband. Perhaps she had been scared that Greg would be displeased with her if she voiced this as he would take it as her taking her husband's side. She, however, needn't have worried. Apart from not actually having a blood vendetta against the merchant, Greg could understand that feelings weren't as easy to turn on and off as one might like. For all his faults and his cowardice toward the end, Sir Joram had still been her husband. That she wasn't ready to stand witness to his death made sense to Greg.

Still, Greg put on the cold face of one who had taken his enemy's life, a cold glint in his eyes. "Your husband is no more!" He declared with a hard stare at her. Greg had to play his role as the monster of the story if he hoped to have his plans succeed. And right now a true enemy would be looking for signs that the man's wife would turn on him, which was exactly what he was doing. Observing her for any signs that she would turn on him.

Noting his look, Zarra smiled weakly offering no further inquiries about her husband. "I'll have the servants clean away the blood," she instead said.

"I already did," Greg replied. He may not have been the head of the house, but none of the servants were willing to defy a mage. Greg had made sure to put away the corpses before calling on them. Still, there was no hiding what had happened in that room. Pale-faced, the servants had worked quickly to wipe both the floors and walls clear of any blood. Greg had made certain that everything was left spotless before he'd come to join Zarra inside the bathhouse.

There was a while of silence after he'd said this before Zarra once again worked up the nerve to speak. "So... so what now?" she asked.

"Now, we get ready for the party?" Greg spoke calmly as he walked into the pool.

A look of confusion crossed Zarra's features. "What party?" She asked.

"The one that the mayor will be throwing tonight," Greg replied after taking a seat beside the woman. Zarra didn't resist when Greg pulled her onto his lap so that she was straddling him with their crotches dangerously close to each other. "Given that you are nobility, I'm certain that you got an invitation!" He stated without the slightest shred of doubt. The reason Greg was so confident was because he'd actually seen the invitation letter in one of his previous runs.

A worried look crossed Zarra's face even as she nodded in confirmation. "I hope you aren't planning on causing any trouble there. The Mayor has enough guards that, mage or not, we are both certain to die," She voiced her misgivings.

Greg smiled placatingly. "I am not a fool, I know my limits. I'm only going to observe," He said.

A look of relief crossed Zarra's features which then quickly morphed into curiosity. "Observe who?" She asked.

"You said it yourself, did you not? Half of those in power were paid off by your husband and the other half were just as corrupt as he is, if not more. Your husband was just a small part of the rot in this city. My sister may have died by her own hand but those responsible for her death are many. And I intend to see them completely purged!" He declared, both his eyes and voice hardening as he did. Onerous as it was, Greg knew that he had to stick to the story he'd set up for himself to avoid complications. The dungeon ended at the same time the party did, but only he knew that. To other characters inside the dungeon, this was just another normal day and they expected to see tomorrow same as it had always been since the beginning of time. As such Greg couldn't act like today was the only day that mattered. He had to pretend that there was a tomorrow to fit in better with those in the dungeon.

"What is it?" Greg asked when he noticed that the troubled look had crept back onto Zarra's face.

"Joram and I weren't planning on going," She stated.

"And that matters because?" Greg asked in a flat tone, the look in his eyes quietly relaying that he didn't care one way or the other.

"Don't get me wrong, I am not against going with you. My problem is that none of the preparations are in place. We haven't had a carriage prepared. I haven't had my hair done. We haven't..." Zarra rattled off a whole laundry list of things Greg would not have even thought of to begin with. The more he listened the more he withered as he realized that rather than adventure, the day would be a slog full of errands to run. "...We haven't even had the clothes we'll be attending with made. I mean no offense to you but if what you have on is what you plan to attend with, you won't even make it past the door," She informed him as her list came to a close.

It became clear to Greg that these parties weren't just a social event for the upper class to mingle, they were also a chance for the nobility to show off their wealth to their peers. Of course, there were a thousand little rules that they had to abide by in this little charade. Half of them involved showing that you weren't too poor to be part of the club, the other half, however, were about not being too much of a show off. You were supposed to show that you were wealthy, but not be too ostentatious about it. Even if you could show up fully decked out in gold and expensive jewelry, you would actually earn ridicule instead of praise if you showed up to the party this way.

A put-upon sigh left Greg after five minutes of Zarra trying to catch him up on the social graces of the nobility. "If you are trying to convince me not to go, then I must say you are succeeding," He said half joking...

***

Greg kept his eyes closed, leaning back on the soft leather seats of the carriage as it moved through the noble district toward the Mayor's home. It was finally happening. After months of failure, he was finally going to attend the Mayor's dinner party and beat the dungeon. And yet, rather than excited, Greg just felt drained. It now occurred to him just how unprepared to beat this mission he had been on his previous attempts. Had he somehow made it into the party on one of his previous runs, he would have likely stood out like a sore thumb. The best he could have hoped for was to be kicked out. But given the way the nobility seemed to look down on the commoners, Greg doubted that the Mayor would have taken very kindly to one trying to sneak into his party. Chances are that he would have met a rather unpleasant end in the city's dungeons, or whatever passed for prisons in Torrin.

Already knowing that the day would be a busy one. Greg had pinned Zarra against the wall of the bathhouse and fucked her one more time before they set off. The rest of the day had been spent with them moving up and down trying to get everything in place for them to attend the party. First on the schedule were clothes. They had made their way to the same tailor shop they visited on his first run in this dungeon. This time, however, Greg didn't do anything untoward with the tailor's wife. Instead, they had their measurements taken before they were on the next item on their list.

The carriage. Turns out there was a service to decorate and ornament one's carriage in preparation for social events. Everything from the steeds to the color to even the design of the wheels had to be just right. Next was their hair. Even Greg had to get his hair groomed in preparation for the party. Apparently, a simple head of hair wasn't sophisticated enough for the aristocracy. Then it was shoes, then it was jewelry, for both he and Zarra. While they couldn't go too far with it, it would also be considered odd if they showed up with none at all. After that, it was picking out what scents they would go with. It took some explanation from Zarra for Greg to understand that scents were what they called perfume and colognes in this world. When all was said and done, they had spent about five thousand gold coins. An amount that most commoners would need more than ten years to earn, all for this one event. Most of it was because of the rushed nature of their purchases. To get them to do in a few hours what would have taken them a few days, possibly weeks, they ended up paying two, three, sometimes even five times what they would have otherwise had to pay in most shops. Still, it was quite the ordeal.

And all that was to say nothing of the day-long etiquette lesson he'd gotten from Zarra. The list of dos and don'ts of higher society was so long that Greg was almost convinced that most of them didn't know half of them. Greg would probably have given up halfway if not for the little sexual games they engaged in whenever they were in the carriage or hidden from view in one of the shops. Though she kept slapping his hands away whenever Greg tried to grope her in public, there was always a small smile on her lips at such times. Greg didn't need the DISCERNING ring to see that she enjoyed the little games as much as he did. Be that as it may, however, they were both drained by the time it was all said and done. This was why, other than holding hands, neither was doing anything as they tried to regain some energy before they arrived at the dinner party.

"You don't have to go, you know," The silence within the carriage was broken by Zarra's quiet voice. Greg turned to regard her. He, however, could only get her side profile as she kept her gaze fixed on the window on her side of the carriage. There was a tense air about her and Greg could tell that she was truly nervous about her appeal to him. Still, she continued. "The path you are on only has one ending, and it's not a happy one. I'm not trying to make light of the fact that you lost your sister, but don't you think it's enough? I'm certain that you have already killed the one who gave the money to your father. And the men that came for your sister. You even managed to kill my husband. Is it not enough? Do you also have to throw your own life away?" She asked.

"You don't have to worry yourself about me," Greg replied calmly. "I made you a promise and I plan to keep it. A day of service and you will be free. As of tomorrow morning, I will be gone and what happens to me beyond that will no longer be your burden to bear," he informed her.

"What if I don't want you to go?" she asked in a small voice barely above a whisper.

Greg arched an eyebrow at her words. "We only met this morning, and I came to kill your husband. Why would you want me to stay?" He asked.

"Because in this one day, I've felt more joy with you than I have felt in the past five years of my marriage. It took a while but at some point, it dawned on me that the man I fell in love with and the man I married were two completely different people. Joram would do and say whatever he needed to, to get what he wanted, but in the end, he never really cared about anyone other than himself. You are not like that. There is a certain realness to you that was never there with him. You don't hide who you are and even more than that, you don't expect me to hide who I am. I gave myself over to you completely and rather than use and abuse me, you've granted me a joy that I never thought I could feel again. I... I just don't want it to end," She voiced, her gaze never leaving the window. Through her faint reflection in the pane, however, Greg could see that she was looking at him.

Even after repeatedly playing this same dungeon for three months straight, moments like these gave Greg pause. Moments in which the people within the dungeon seemed to somehow cease being mere characters in the dungeon and take on a life of their own. Moments like now in which, Zarra ceased just being 'the merchant's wife' and became a real person expressing their feelings in a way that Greg couldn't just brush off. A small part of him just wanted to give in, abandon the mission, turn the carriage around, and spend what little remained of the day with her. After all, there would be countless more opportunities to attempt the dungeon in the future. He, however, suppressed that desire. He had worked on this for three months straight and failed every time. He wasn't about to squander the one time things seemed to be going right.

"I made a promise at my sister's grave," Greg answered in an unyielding tone, using the backstory he'd already fabricated to turn her down. "I won't stop until that promise is fulfilled," He declared.

"Is this what she would want for you?" Zarra tried to plead with him.

"Do not presume to know what my sister would want," Greg growled in a tone that made it clear that Zarra was treading on thin ice. There was silence in the carriage for the rest of the ride as it became clear that Greg wouldn't be dissuaded from his course, much to Zarra's disappointment. "Look," Greg finally broke the silence as they drew near to the Mayor's mansion. "Despite the circumstances around which we met, I am happy that we did meet. I'm also happy that I've brought you joy in the short time we've been together, but you and I, are like two strangers meeting on a road. We've walked together for a short while, but in the end, our roads will diverge. So, let's just enjoy the moment while it lasts and not worry about tomorrow," He urged her with a small smile.

Despite the sadness Greg could see in her eyes, Zarra forced herself to smile and nod in acceptance even as the carriage came to a stop before the Mayor's mansion. Their driver first came down to open his door before Greg moved to the other side, opened Zarra's door, and helped her down. With her hand looped around his, the two of them walked up the steps leading to the door and came to a stop before the well-dressed attendant standing before the entrance to the reception hall. Despite the grey hair on his head, the man stood ramrod straight. His thin frame wasn't at all intimidating in the least. The two burly men decked out in full plate armor standing on either side of the door, however, made it clear that it would be a rather stupid idea for anyone to try and get past the old man using force. Not that Greg had been planning to.

While the man seemed to easily recognize Zarra, Greg didn't miss the way his eyes scanned him from head to toe the moment he realized that it wasn't Sir Joram who had arrived with his wife. The man, however, would have made an excellent poker player as whatever opinion he had formed from his inspection, he didn't allow to show on his face. Instead, a polite smile crossed his lips as he offered a respectful bow to the two of them.

"Lady Zarra, it's a delight to see you this evening," The man offered with a polite smile. Normally, the man would be the first one to be addressed, but in cases where the man was unknown, the woman would be addressed first and given a chance to introduce the man. Greg found himself remembering one of the rules they had to abide by. It would be considered a faux pas for Greg to initiate conversations with other nobles that a third party known to both sides hadn't introduced. It basically meant that for this whole party, Greg would have to keep Zarra by his side to initiate whatever conversations might occur.