Starting With an SSS-Rank Goddess Summon!

Even through the thickness of the whole place, the sound of the celebration was deafening.

”RAHHHHHHHHH!”

Roaring laughter, the clattering of wooden tankards, rhythmic foot-stomping, and the chaotic drunken singing of more than a hundred armed women bled through the cracks of the building, filling the snowy courtyard with a vibrant warmth.

’Haah... I really want to get drunk.’

Silas pushed open the heavy double doors, stepping out of the freezing blizzard and into the sweltering heat of the Mess Hall.

FWOOOOOOOSH!

The instantaneous transition was overwhelming.

The air inside was thick with the rich savory smell of roasted boar, melted butter, spilled dwarven ale, and the smell of Eluned’s fermented spirit-wine.

Massive iron chandeliers hung from the rafters, blazing with hundreds of beeswax candles that cast a warm, golden glow over the chaotic scene below.

It was pandemonium.

The seasoned veterans of the Blessed Land and the wide-eyed new recruits were completely intermingled, their armor discarded in messy piles along the perimeter walls.

Girls in simple linen shirts and trousers were arm-wrestling on overturned tables, dancing on the benches, and loudly boasting about their kills today.

At the massive head table near the roaring hearth sat Thor.

The God of Thunder had completely abandoned all pretenses of divine dignity.

She was draped in the dark spirit-wood robes Silas had fixed for her earlier, the sleeves rolled past her massive corded forearms.

In her left hand, she was casually holding an entire roasted boar leg, tearing off half-pound chunks of succulent meat with her bare teeth, while her right hand held a colossal wooden keg of dwarven stout like a regular coffee mug, tipping it back and chugging gallons of foaming dark ale without pausing for breath.

”GWAHAHAHAHAHA!” Thor’s booming earth-shaking laughter cut through the din of the hall like a lightning strike.

She slammed the empty keg onto the oak table with enough force to crack the two-inch-thick timber, wiping foam from her lips with the back of her wrist.

”BRING MORE! By Odin’s missing eye, this flesh is tender! The hogs in Asgard taste of dry ash compared to this! More meat! More ale! Is there no stout left in this frozen valley?!”

The maidens erupted into wild drunken cheers, completely captivated by the demigoddess’s bottomless appetite.

The moment Thora spotted the drinking contest from atop Silas’s shoulders, her dwarven pride completely overrode her exhaustion.

”Out of the way, my Lord! My people are being challenged!” Thora yelled, nimbly hopping down from Silas’s collar and hitting the floor with an agile roll.

She sprinted across the mess hall toward the private brewing station behind the bar, shoving empty barrels out of her path.

Silas watched with mild horror as Thora re-emerged seconds later, aggressively wheeling a heavy iron-reinforced wooden cart directly toward Thor’s table.

Resting in the center of the cart was a single dusty glass demijohn wrapped in silver-leaf runes.

It was the Blessed Drink.

A hyper-concentrated distillation that Thora had brewed in secret as a single shot of this demonic concoction had famously knocked both Morwenna and Eluned completely flat on their backs for hours on end.

Thora slammed the cart to a halt right in front of the towering blonde god. She folded her muscular arms, puffing out her chest with reckless dwarven bravado.

”You think you’ve tasted real drink, blonde giant?!” Thora challenged, her gravelly voice cutting through the noise. ”Standard stout is mother’s milk! If you truly claim to hold the sky in your fists, drink the Blessed Fire! I dare you!”

Thor’s storm-blue eyes lit up with wild delight.

”Oho?! A challenge from the mountain-folk?! Pour it, little smith! Pour it to the brim!”

Under normal circumstances, Thora would have accompanied a drink like this with a barrage of filthy perverted dwarven jokes about breasts.

But as she looked at Thor’s massive corded neck and the terrifying, casual presence of Mjölnir’s master, survival instinct kicked in.

Thora kept her mouth firmly shut; she liked breathing, and she knew this towering woman could snap her spine like a dry twig without breaking a sweat.

Thora uncorked the demijohn, pouring a thick glowing amber liquid into a massive horn cup.

The liquid literally hissed against the horn, releasing tiny wisps of blue vapor.

Thor snatched the cup, raising it high. ”To Blessed Land!”

She tipped her head back and emptied the horn in a single massive swallow.

Silas, who was slowly walking past the table, paused mid-stride, bracing for an explosion.

GULP!

Thor lowered the empty horn.

For exactly two seconds, nothing happened as the demigoddess stood completely frozen with her eyes wide.

Then, the liquid hit her divine nervous system like an atmospheric storm.

BZZZZT!

Thor’s eyes visibly rolled back into her head, the pupils fluttering wildly as tiny arcs of cerulean lightning crackled uncontrollably across her skin.

Her massive frame swayed, leaning heavily to the left before she forcefully caught herself on the edge of the oak table, splintering the edge under her grip.

”Haaaaah...” Thor wheezed, a massive steam-laden breath escaping her lips as her cheeks flushed a brilliant red.

She blinked heavily, shaking her head to clear the static. ”...That... that is pretty damn strong! Gwahaha! It kicks like a frost giant’s mule!”

Thora’s jaw dropped in disbelief that the woman was still standing but a dwarf never retreated from a drinking duel.

”Pretty strong?!” Thora shouted, immediately grabbing the demijohn again. ”You haven’t seen anything yet! Have another, giantess!”

”POUR IT!” Thor roared, slamming the horn back down.

Thora filled the horn to the brim as Thor grabbed it, threw her head back, and chugged the second dose without hesitation.

THUD!

The horn fell from her fingers, clattering across the floorboards.

Thor’s eyelids instantly slammed shut.

Her towering muscled frame tilted forward like a felled redwood tree, crashing flat against the oak table with a deafening boom that sent roasted meats, wooden plates, and beer mugs flying into the air.

The God of Thunder was out cold, snoring softly into a plate of mashed potatoes.

”YEAAAAAAAH!” Thora screamed in hysterical victory, leaping onto the bench and throwing both fists into the air! ”DOWN GOES THE SKY! THE DWARVES REIGN SUPREME!”

The girls roared with laughter, pounding the tables and raising their mugs to the victorious smith.

Silas rubbed his temples, letting out a long exhausted sigh as he navigated past the chaotic drinking circle.

’Gods above, my territory is run by lunatics.’

He scanned the crowded smoky room, his sharp eyes searching through the sea of drunken warriors.

’Where is the Princess?’ Silas thought, picking up his pace.

He found her barely ten yards away, nestled deep within a circle of rowdy recruits near the corner hearth.

The scene was a diplomatic nightmare that would probably have him executed by the King.

The Princess of the world... the dignified and educated twenty-five-year-old Princess to global human authority had completely shed her royal elegance.

Her hair ribbons were gone, her azure locks spilling wildly around her shoulders, her silk blouse was rumpled, her sleeves rolled up, and her porcelain cheeks were burning with a deep intoxicated crimson.

She was standing precariously on top of a low wooden stool, holding a massive, foaming mug of dwarven cider in both hands.

”Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” five vanguard recruits chanted loudly, banging their daggers against the stone floor in rhythm.

The Princess tipped the massive mug back, chugging the entire contents in five massive unladylike gulps.

Foam dripped down her chin, soaking into her collar as she slammed the empty tankard against the wall with a hollow bang.

She wiped her mouth with her forearm, threw her hands into the air, and let out a wild screech that silenced half the mess hall:

”I AM DANGEROUS!”

”YEAAAAAAAH! PRINCESS IS BUILT DIFFERENT!” the recruits roared back, howling with laughter and clinking their mugs together in celebration!

Silas didn’t waste a single second.

He blurred forward, his boots crossing the gap in a fraction of a heartbeat.

Before the Princess could order another round or declare war on an imaginary enemy, Silas stepped into the circle, reached out with one broad arm, hooked his hand around her waist, and hoisted her bodily off the wooden stool.

”Whoa—hey!” the Princess yelped, flailing her arms as the room suddenly tilted sideways.

Silas tossed her effortlessly over his broad right shoulder, hauling the twenty-five-year-old global royal like a sack of Yukon potatoes.

”Party’s over for the royal delegation,” Silas announced firmly, fixing the chanting recruits with a sharp stern glare. ”If any of you give her another drop of alcohol tonight, you’re on latrine duty for the next month.”

The recruits instantly sobered up, snapping into nervous crooked salutes. ”Yes, Lord Silas! Understood, Boss!”

”Put me down, Silas!” the Princess complained loudly, her voice slurred as she weakly pounded her tiny fists against his muscular back. ”I was winning! I have diplomatic immunity! Put me down right now!”

”You’re slurring your words, your Highness,” Silas muttered dryly, completely ignoring her useless squirming as he adjusted his grip on her thighs. ”Your liver is currently waving a white flag...”

As he turned to head toward the mess hall exit, Silas paused, his eyes sweeping across the opposite side of the room.

’Where the hell is Aurelia?’ Silas wondered, his brow furrowing. ’The Saintess usually keeps a much tighter leash on herself...’

He wanted to ask her about her past, he was interested.

Silas found her shortly after and the sight made Silas stop dead in his tracks.

Over by the secondary bar, a long dining table had been cleared of plates and tankards.

Standing directly atop the polished oak table were Aurelia and Tasmin.

The serene Saintess of the Argent Flame had completely abandoned every pretense of calm as her golden hair was a chaotic tangled mess around her flushed sweaty face.

She and Tasmin were actively standing face-to-face, holding half-empty bottles of elven spirit-wine, aggressively shaking their hips and dancing to the chaotic beat of a dwarven war drum.

”YOU THINK YOUR SPELLS ARE POWERFUL?!” Tasmin screamed over the music, laughing hysterically as she bumped her hip hard against Aurelia’s, nearly knocking the holy woman off the table. ”TRY SWINGING A DAGGER IN THE MUD FOR EIGHT HOURS!”

”I CAN PURIFY YOUR ENTIRE BLOODLINE, YOU DAGGER-SWINGING BRUTE!” Aurelia shouted back, pointing the neck of her wine bottle directly at Tasmin’s nose before bursting into an uncontrollable fit of giggles and taking another swig.

Both women were unapologetically smashed.

”Ah...”

Silas stood there for a long second, watching the Saintess shake her ass on a mess hall table while trading insults with a commander.

He looked down at the floor, and then looked back up at Aurelia, who was currently attempting to balance her wine bottle on her forehead while Tasmin cheered her on.

’...You know what?’ Silas thought with a wry smile touching his lips. ’Let her enjoy herself... At least she isn’t climbing the rafters...’

Deciding against interrupting the Saintess’s rare moment of chaotic freedom, Silas turned on his heel and scurried out of the Barracks, hauling the still-grumbling Princess out into the freezing winter night.

FWOOOOOOSH!

The sub-zero wind immediately hit them, causing the Princess to violently shiver against his back.

”C-cold...” she whimpered, her earlier bravado instantly evaporating as she buried her flushed face into the thick fabric of his dark cultivator robes. ”Silas... it’s freezing...”

”Hold on, then,” Silas murmured softly.

He channeled a brief gentle pulse of warm mana from his Gold Core, allowing his body heat to expand outward like an invisible blanket, completely sheltering the trembling woman from the blizzard.

He jogged steadily across the snow-covered central plaza, heading straight for the massive silhouette of the Keep.

The front doors swung open smoothly to receive him.

Silas stepped into the quiet warm interior of the main hall, completely leaving the storm behind.

He climbed the central wooden staircase, ascending to the second-floor guest wing where Kadi had meticulously prepared a private, luxurious suite specifically for the royal visitor.

Silas pushed open the bedroom door with his elbow.

The suite was beautifully furnished, with a crackling private fireplace, thick velvet curtains, and an oversized bed lined with warm fur blankets.

He walked over to the mattress, carefully lowering the Princess onto the soft sheets.

”Nnnngh...” the Princess grumbled, rolling onto her side and pulling her knees toward her chest. She blinked heavily, her azure eyes struggling to focus on Silas’s handsome face as he leaned over the bed.

A soft vulnerable smile touched her lips as she reached out a delicate uncoordinated hand, weakly tugging at the sleeve of his robes.

”Thank you, Lord Silas...” she whispered, her voice thick with sleep and alcohol. ”For... for giving me joy and letting me drink alcohol. I’ve never drank it before... It’s good and makes me fuzzy and happy. You’re... you’re a good person...”

Before Silas could offer a polite response, the Princess leaned her head forward.

With clumsy drunken affection, she pressed a soft kiss directly onto the center of his left cheek.

Her head instantly dropped back onto the plush pillows, her breathing deepening into a steady slumber the very second her cheek hit the fabric.

Silas stood by the bedside, raising his hand to touch the warm spot on his cheek.

A quiet chuckle escaped his lips.

He reached down, pulling the heavy fur duvet up over her shoulders, tucking the edges securely around her neck to keep her warm throughout the night.

”Get some sleep, Princess,” Silas murmured quietly, turning toward the bedroom door. ”Tomorrow’s a long day.”

He stepped out into the quiet corridor, gently clicking the door shut behind him.

’But seriously... she’s never drank alcohol before?’