Zeke raised his refilled mug to his lips, savoring another swig of the Alewin family's rich brew. Across from him, Varek Alewin's eyes glinted with amusement as he set his own tankard down with a clink.
"So, lad," Varek said, stroking his thick, braided beard, "are ye here just t' drink, or is there somethin' more yer after? Ye've got the look of a man on a mission."
Zeke grinned. "You're sharp, Varek. I'm here for the competition."
The old dwarf let out a booming laugh, slapping the table hard enough to rattle the mugs. "A human in th' brewer's contest? Now that's a tale I'll enjoy tellin'. But do ye even know what yer gettin' yerself into, lad? This ain't some tea party."
Zeke leaned forward, his interest piqued. The four brewmaster families played a central role in organizing the event, so any insights from this man would be far more reliable than the fragmented rumors Zeke had gathered beforehand.
"I've heard bits and pieces," he said, "but I'd appreciate it if you could fill me in on the details."
Varek's eyes narrowed with a mixture of pride and mischief. "Well, if yer serious, I'll tell ye all about it. But fair warnin'—what yer hearin' now might make ye rethink yer plans."
The dwarf signaled to one of his apprentices for a fresh round of drinks before continuing. "The competition's held in five stages," he began, his tone growing serious. "First round's what we call th' hard elimination. Everyone drinks until only a set number o' contestants are left standin'. It's brutal, lad. No tricks, no fancy brews, just drinkin' 'til ye drop."
Zeke's lips twitched in amusement. "Sounds straightforward enough."
Varek shook his head, a knowing smile curling his lips. "I can see the gears turnin' in yer head, lad. Smell the schemin', too. But let me tell ye—yer magic ain't gonna save ye. Us dwarfs, we ain't fools."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Zeke asked, his curiosity piqued.
"It means yer Magic'll be restricted durin' the contest," Varek said, leaning forward as if sharing a closely guarded secret. "This ain't some flashy magic show—it's a fair fight. Man against man. Liver against liver!"
Zeke frowned. This was news to him. His plan to rely on his Blood Magic to filter out the alcohol would be useless if that was true. It made sense, though. Without restrictions, Blood or Life Mages would dominate every year. Still, he couldn't help but wonder how the dwarfs intended to enforce this rule. Something to investigate later.
"Noted," Zeke said with a grateful nod. "What about the other rounds?"
Varek smirked. "Oh, that's where things get interestin'. Each o' th' next four rounds is hosted by one o' th' Brewmeister families. They've all prepared their strongest, most unique brews t' knock out as many contenders as possible. Ye'll face the Barrelthane's stout first. It's thick as porridge and packs a punch that'll make yer knees buckle."
He paused, taking a hearty gulp from his fresh mug. "After that, ye'll be dealin' with my kin's creation. Let's just say it's got a bite as sharp as a mountain wind."
Zeke nodded, listening intently as Varek detailed the remaining challenges. The Hopsgrin family's brew, he explained, was deceptively smooth but carried a potency that sneaked up on its victims. The Maltforge's concoction was always a wild card—and even Varek didn't know what to expect from it.
"…Only those who survive all five rounds can claim the title o' brewing champion," Varek finished, his expression a mixture of reverence and excitement. "It's not just about holdin' yer liquor, lad. Ye've got t' have endurance, will, and a stomach o' steel."
Zeke swirled the contents of his mug thoughtfully. "Sounds like quite the challenge," he said aloud. But even as he spoke, he balanced the tankard on one finger, spinning it rapidly with his other hand. The mug whirled at dizzying speeds, yet remained perfectly steady—a feat of dexterity that defied the expectations for someone who'd been drinking. It was a subtle but striking display, sure to catch the attention of anyone watching.
Varek's grin widened. "That's the spirit! Though I'll be watchin' from th' sidelines. Ain't nothin' more entertainin' than seein' a bold fool test his mettle."
The two continued drinking, the conversation drifting into lighter topics. Varek shared anecdotes from past festivals, tales of legendary drinkers, and a few choice jokes that left Zeke chuckling. When the two had gotten a little more comfortable with each other, Zeke decided to broach another topic he was interested in.
Leaning in closer, he whispered conspiratorially. "Say, Varek, is there anyone I should watch out for in particular?"
The dwarf gave him a knowing grin. "Scoutin' out th' competition, eh? A fine thought, but don't bother. There's too many t' count—it won't do ye any good t' start frettin' now."
Zeke smiled, his expression full of confidence. "Do I look worried to you? You misunderstand. I just want to know the names of the fools I'll be beating."
Varek shook his head in exasperation, though a hint of amusement played on his face. "Will ye get a load o' this kid? Barely a hair on his chin, an' he's talkin' like he could wrestle a Titan!"
Zeke merely shrugged, well aware that the dwarfs favored bold talk. "Bring me one and I'll see what I can do."
Varek laughed loudly, slapping the table a few times for emphasis. The oak groaned under the force, highlighting the strength hidden in those muscular arms. The dwarfs' stocky build was clearly not just for show.
"Fine then, lad, I'll let ye in on what I know," Varek said after a moment of thought. "Can't say for sure who th' favorites'll be this year, but some o' th' bigger families've got a few younger ones in th' race this time. Likely gonna be a showdown between 'em."
Zeke leaned in, silently urging the dwarf to continue—and continue he did. Grimforge, Ironhelm, Frostbeard, Oathshield, Stonefist, and many more. Varek rattled off details about each family as though his profession was gossip rather than brewing. After a while, even Zeke was impressed by how much idle gossip the man was aware of.
"…An' that's how Thrain an' Keldor started their feud. All 'cause o' that lass with the blue eyes. Let me tell ye, she's stolen the innocence o' more than a few of th' young ones. A spicy one, that lassie."
Zeke nodded, mentally storing the information for later use.
"…But those two are downright civil compared th' feud between Drogar an' Eldrin," Varek continued, catching Zeke's attention with one of the names.
"Drogar Ironhide?" he asked, pretending not to be overly interested.
"Aye, ye know 'im?"
Zeke shook his head. "I've only heard the name. What's the feud about?"
"Eh, those two've been fightin' since the day they were born," Varek explained. "Their families never got along, an' it sure didn't help that they were born 'bout the same time. I reckon they use each other t' compete, each tryin' t' outdo th' other."
Zeke nodded, already familiar with the rivalry between the families. However, the competition between their younger generation was new information.
"Anyways, they were about even fer most o' their lives, but then th' younger o' th' two, Eldrin, managed t' win in an important contest. That were a big blow t' young Drogar, an' I reckon he's tryin' t' prove himself tonight. Lot o' eyes gonna be watchin' 'em."
Zeke's mind raced. If he wanted to get closer to the Ironhide family, this rivalry might be an opportunity. However, it wouldn't be easy to capitalize on it. Helping Drogar directly would likely not work. In fact, it could backfire. Zeke knew exactly how prideful the younger generation of powerful families could be, and he didn't think the dwarfs would be any different in that regard.
Even so, he would need to pay close attention to these two, not only because of the powerful families backing them but also due to the attention their rivalry would draw. If he could somehow insert himself into their conflict, he'd at least be able to get eyes on him.
As he considered his options, Akasha once again demonstrated her value, bringing up detailed profiles of both dwarfs. As Zeke skimmed the information, his eyes began to shine.
Drogar and Eldrin were renowned blacksmiths, enchanters, and warriors, leading their generation in all these fields. Though over 50 years old, the two were still considered young by dwarf standards—barely more than adults, not unlike Zeke among humans.
This was getting interesting.
It had been a long time since he had the chance to face off against his peers. Ever since leaving the Empire, Zeke had missed the opportunity to compete with the best his generation had to offer—the cream of the crop. But now, it seemed fate had answered his unspoken wish. He was about to face the dwarven elite in an unexpected contest.
This was the kind of challenge he had been craving since becoming a Grand Mage.
Well, almost. If given the choice, he would have preferred a competition that tested skill rather than alcohol tolerance, but he wasn't about to complain. It was better than nothing, and Zeke wasn't naive enough to think the drinking contest would be simple.
Though it seemed straightforward, the dwarfs wouldn't be making such a big deal out of the event if it only came down to the strength of one's stomach.
Suddenly, a deep, resonant gong echoed through the hall, silencing the lively chatter. The sound reverberated off the stone walls, commanding attention. Varek's eyes gleamed with anticipation as he drained his mug in a single motion.
"That's th' call, lad," he said, rising to his feet. "Time for ye t' prove yer worth."
Zeke stood as well, offering a respectful nod to the brewmaster. "Thanks for the insight, Varek. I'll do my best not to embarrass myself."
The dwarf chuckled. "Ye've got guts, I'll give ye that. Now off with ye, and remember—pace yerself, or ye'll be on th' floor before ye know it."
Zeke made his way toward the center of the hall, where a raised platform had been set up. Contestants were already gathering, their expressions ranging from eager to apprehensive. He glanced back once to see Varek watching him, a tankard in hand and a grin on his face.
With a deep breath, Zeke stepped onto the platform, ready to face the first challenge. The atmosphere crackled with anticipation as the crowd roared its approval. The brewer's festival was in full swing, and the real test was about to begin.