With a spring in my step that was equal parts optimism and desperation, I left the shop and scanned the streets for any sign of the Adventurer’s Guild. Maybe a dramatic signboard with a sword and shield? A building oozing charisma and heroics? Nope. The only thing catching my eye was the demon woman. For the second time now, she crossed the street like I was carrying a contagious disease. At this point, I wondered if her pearl necklace doubled as a talisman against broke adventurers.
Realizing my aimless wandering wouldn’t get me far, I approached a nearby guard. This one was a Bulldog-woman who looked like she could either direct me to the Guild or wrestle a bear on her lunch break. Her piercing eyes scanned me like I was one bad decision away from a reprimand, but she remained professional.
“Adventurer’s Guild?” I asked, trying not to sound too hopeless.
She gave a curt nod and jabbed a thick finger down a series of side streets. “Couple turns that way. South side. Can’t miss it.”
“Thanks,” I replied, setting off. Though, given my luck, I fully expected to somehow miss it anyway.
Crossing the main road, I once again managed to send the demon woman scuttling off like I was some sort of eldritch horror. If this continued, I was going to have to start charging her for cardio sessions. With a sigh, I held my arm up to talk to Ichni, trying to look casual but probably resembling someone mid-heart attack.
“Hey, Ichni,” I murmured, glancing around to make sure no one thought I was yelling at my glove. “You know I was joking, right? About the whole ‘prisoner’ thing. I know you’re not here by choice.”
“I know,” she said simply, her tone somewhere between bored and tired of me.
“And if you wanted me to drop the gauntlet off to someone you trusted, I would absolutely do that for you,” I pressed, my voice soft with what I thought was heartfelt sincerity.
“I… know.”
“Oh, good.” I nodded to myself, feeling momentarily proud of my empathetic leadership skills.
“So if you feel like—” I started again, but she promptly interrupted me like someone cutting a line at the bakery.
“It’s not that I hate what we’re doing, Adrian,” she said, her tone dripping with what could only be described as ghostly exasperation. “You’re just really weird with the ‘Paladin’ bit, and I’m not exactly sure what your plan is. You just, y’know, showed up, announced you’re going to break my old man’s chains, and defeat him. You realize how crazy that all still sounds, right?”
I blinked, taken aback. Crazy? Me? Okay, fine. She had a point. “I… yeah. I guess I’m a bit all over the place with the plan, huh?” I admitted, scratching the back of my head.
Now that she mentioned it, what was the goal? So far, I’d been treating this whole thing like a mashup of an RPG quest and a divine mission, with a side of trying-not-to-die. Was I even doing what the Four-Lights wanted? Or was I just winging it like a drunk bard at open mic night?
I thought back to my time in the fake “afterlife” with my spiritual counselor. I really hope I’m sticking in line with whatever G.G. had in mind for me.
“I think, as our wise and fearless team leader, we need to establish our situation and both short- and long-term goals,” Ichni declared from her gauntlet throne, her tone dripping with mock seriousness.
I ignored her, though that only seemed to fuel her momentum. “After that, I’ll formulate an action plan that will use your full potential—what little there is—to get us to both our goals in the smoothest way possible!”
“And what happens if I leave you on a bench?” I asked with a flat tone. “How do you think your role as ‘team leader’ would pan out then?”
“Adrian~!” she cried, her voice a mix of exasperation and wounded pride. “Stop making that same old joke. It’s not funny anymore!”
For once, I agreed. It was getting repetitive. Still, if it annoyed her, that was its own kind of victory.
“Keep it up, and we’ll see who’s laughing,” I said, savoring the sweet, sweet sound of her flustered panic.
“Okay, fine,” she huffed, her tone shifting to one of false professionalism. “The royal princess’s role won’t be optimal. How about the official tactician?”
I glanced around and spotted what I thought was the adventurer’s guild building, giving a noncommittal “Hmmm.”
“Dada ayu!” she cried, slipping into a frantic mix of indignation and desperation. “At least the supreme advisor?!”
“How about an official hand-warmer?” I suggested casually, stepping up to the oak door. “Though, honestly, you’re doing a half-assed job at that too.”
“If I’m the hand-warmer,” she hissed through gritted teeth, “I’m going to tell the bard that you like fisting princesses.”
“Deal,” I said, pushing the door open, her string of creative curses following me like an angry ghostly chorus.
The moment I stepped inside, my first thought was, This place needs an exorcism—and not for ghosts. The Bronze Rooster had the charm of a scrappy underdog keeping its lights on, but this adventurer’s guild looked like it had given up on that fight decades ago. The windows weren’t just grimy; they were caked in enough dirt to host a vegetable garden. The chandelier above hung so low it was practically daring someone to smash their head against it, and of the dozen candles on it, only one feebly flickered, more of a mood light than a proper illumination.
The carpet puffed up clouds of dust with every step I took, like it was actively punishing me for daring to walk on it. Even the tables seemed to groan under the weight of their own existence. One wobbled precariously, as though a stiff breeze would send it collapsing like an untrained swordsman.
It was the kind of place where you’d expect a skeleton to show up and ask for a quest—probably because it was the only thing that could tolerate the air quality. Guess I’ll have to do as the town ghoul!
Two figures sat at a nearby table, their cloaks pulled so tightly around them it was like they were trying to hide from the grim reality of this dingy hall—or perhaps just from me. The first, a slighter figure, rested a simple bow against the edge of the table. Based on the way the string was fraying, it was either their trusted weapon or a hand-me-down from someone who didn’t trust them enough to gift a new one. A faint, youthful voice occasionally drifted from their hood, lilting with energy and punctuated by the soft tapping of fingers on the wooden surface.
The other figure was broader and sat with a weight that suggested they carried years—if not decades—of experience or bitterness. Their cloak was patched and dark, absorbing what little light made it through the grimy windows. Occasionally, they leaned in to murmur a response, their tone low and gravelly, like the rasp of a grindstone. It was impossible to get a read on them; whether they were an elderly sage or just someone perpetually cranky was anyone’s guess.
The pair seemed locked in conversation, their hushed tones suggesting an air of importance—or maybe they were just gossiping about the tragic state of the chandelier. I couldn’t be sure if they were plotting their next adventure or deciding whether to order another round of dust-flavored air.
Before heading to the empty counter, I took a glance at the quest board. Calling it a “quest board” felt generous—it was more like a notice board for desperate cries for help. Sure, there were a few actual quests pinned up, but the majority were IOUs or hilariously misplaced business ads.
“You owe me 800 silver, Dirty Daniel! Don’t think you can run away from the family!” read one ominous note. Another, more upbeat in tone, declared, “Feeling tough? Try your luck in the Syrup Sumo Showdown!” with a gaudy drawing of what I could only assume was a very sticky winner.
If this board were a reflection of the guild’s current state, it was less of a recruitment tool and more of a eulogy.
Still, amidst the clutter of overdue payments and questionable advertisements, I spotted a few actual quests. Some were so old they looked like they’d been written before the invention of decent handwriting. A particularly yellowed one offering 45 silver for finding a lost cat caught my eye, but judging by the state of the paper, the cat had probably started a family by now.
The requests were sorted by rank, with big letters stamped on them: E, D, C, B, and A. As I scanned for anything feasible, I realized the A-rank quests might as well have been labeled “Want to Die? Try This!”
I took a look at the more reasonable ones to see what I could scrounge.
“Looking for work? We can use a hand over at The Harpie Hexpress! A silver a day for sorting, a silver for each local package or letter delivered, and fifteen silver per out-of-town delivery!” This one caught my attention. More of a job than a quest, if I had known I could have done a desk job instead of hunting monsters, I would have swept this up in a heartbeat before I ticked off my new smithy acquaintance. It was ranked E. I assume that meant it was generally safe.
I scanned the two A-rank quests with the nervous energy of someone who knew they were woefully underqualified but liked to daydream anyway.
The first quest read:
“Urgent: A-Rank. High risk; dangerous intangible creature. The outpost towards the forest has been haunted by a dangerous monster, most likely a ghost or wraith. Need to be able to repel undead so that it won’t come back to resume haunting. 400 silver on completion.”
Now, call me paranoid, but “dangerous intangible creature” sounded an awful lot like “we don’t actually know what it is, but good luck!” I knew it was that ghost that I managed to repel, but judging by the skeletons scattered on the floor when I visited its lair, that quest wasn’t going anywhere. Plus, the payout wasn’t exactly inspiring for something that involved going toe-to-spectral-toe with an angry ghost. Who did they think was going to take this on? Ghostbusters for hire?
The second quest was a little juicier:
“Urgent: A-Rank. High risk; several dangerous monsters, dungeon traps, etc. B-Rank monsters have been taking residence in our local dungeon, The Maiden’s Crypt. Unknown humanoid types, being unable to ascertain and defeat. Skeletons have been leaving the dungeon and harassing guards. Rumored to have unexplored secret wing hall. Provide proof of slain invading monsters for reward. 750 silver on completion.”
I mulled it over, stroking my chin like a seasoned adventurer might. Dangerous monsters? Sure. Dungeon traps? Great. Skeletons running amok? Sounds like a normal Friday night. But what really caught my eye was the “unexplored secret wing.” If I knew anything about dungeons—and let’s be honest, I didn’t—it was that secret wings usually meant treasure, or at least something worth bragging about later.
Still, there was the whole “high risk” part, which I assumed was a polite way of saying “you’ll probably die horribly.” My simple sword and questionable physique weren’t exactly screaming “dungeon-ready,” but hey, a guy could dream.
Just as I was ready to give up on finding anything remotely within my wheelhouse, two D-ranked quests caught my eye. Without hesitation, I yanked them off the board with the enthusiasm of someone who hadn’t yet been told no.
“These’ll do,” I muttered, giving them a once-over.
“Psst, Adrian,” Ichni whispered, her voice like a nagging conscience. “You need to register before you can take a quest, I think.”
I waved her off dismissively. “Yeah, yeah.” Rules were for people who didn’t need a sword loaned to them like a broke college student. These quests felt... different. Almost personal.
Clutching the papers like they might float away, I made a beeline for the counter, ignoring the looks of confusion from the cloaked adventurers nearby. One of them—the smaller figure with a faint glint of blonde hair peeking out—shifted slightly, as if intrigued by my selection.
“What, you think I can’t handle a D-rank?” I whispered to no one in particular. The taller figure, likely the elderly man under his own cloak, let out a quiet scoff, but otherwise kept to himself. It took me a moment that they weren’t even paying attention to me, and were instead letting my own indignation get the better of me.
Ichni groaned in exasperation. “You’re going to embarrass yourself, and by extension, me. Again.”
“Oh, I plan to,” I replied cheerfully, approaching the counter like I owned the place.
I approached the counter, expecting a bold and hearty receptionist ready to embody the adventurer spirit. What I found instead was an empty desk that looked like it had seen more lifetimes than I had. Dust coated the surface thick enough to plant crops, and cobwebs stretched lazily across the corner.
“Oh, this is promising,” I muttered, leaning over and spotting something resembling a bell. Its paint was chipped, the brass tarnished to a dull green. I gave it a tentative tap.
The bell’s clang was brief, sharp, and jarring—loud enough to disturb the oppressive silence but weak enough to make me question if it had truly rung. The cloaked figures across the room stirred slightly, the younger one tilting her head in mild curiosity, while the older man just sighed like this was all beneath him.
From somewhere in the back, a voice croaked, “I’m… coming. I’m coming.” It sounded as if the speaker had just crawled out of their own coffin.
I glanced at Ichni. “Friendly.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” she deadpanned.
After what felt like an eternity, the door behind the counter creaked open to reveal a middle-aged woman. She was dressed in something that resembled a uniform but looked as though it had been put together with haste and mild contempt. Her long blonde hair hung unkempt and tangled, the kind of mess that suggested either years of neglect or a bad breakup with a hairbrush.
She might have been a stunner in her youth—her features hinted at past beauty—but now she radiated a weariness that felt entirely in sync with the guild’s dismal atmosphere.
Ichni hummed thoughtfully. “Huh. You two could be relatives.”
“Thanks, Ichni. Truly a confidence booster,” I replied under my breath.
The woman took a second to register my presence. She looked at me expectantly, then remembered she was the proprietor. Finally, with a tired sigh, she began her spiel in the most monotone voice I’d ever heard.
“Welcome to the Adventurer’s Guild, Aratan Villa branch,” she droned, her voice barely rising above a mumble. “Where monsters come to live… and dreams come to die.”
She blinked, then flushed as if realizing she’d just let slip her inner despair. “I mean, uh, the other way around. What can I do for you?”
I stared, unsure whether to laugh, cry, or offer her a hug. This was the person greeting new adventurers? I suddenly felt a deep sympathy for this hall—it wasn’t just falling apart from disuse; it was collapsing under the sheer weight of its staff’s apathy.
Even Ichni was momentarily speechless. “Wow. If there’s a more inspiring motivational speech out there, I’ve yet to hear it.”
“She seems… stressed,” I whispered back.
“Stressed? I think her soul clocked out a decade ago,” Ichni muttered.
“Are you… okay?” I asked tentatively, watching the receptionist with the same concern you’d give a sputtering cart horse on the verge of collapsing. “You seem, uh… unwell.”
“I’m… fine,” she replied with the kind of conviction that only people absolutely not fine could muster. Her hollow eyes, framed by dark circles so deep they could house squatters, and the ashen tone of her skin told a much different story. Honestly, if she didn’t blink in the next thirty seconds, I was ready to classify her as undead.
Ichni peeked over from the gauntlet. “Are you two related or something? She’s giving you a run for your money in the ‘pale and tragic’ department.”
“Yeah, we’re twins,” I shot back under my breath. “I just came back from the grave, and she’s headed there next.”
She felt so lifeless, we didn’t even bother hiding the conversation in front of her at this point. She stared forward, somewhere past my shoulder, as though we weren’t even there. I suppose the feeling is mutual. She idly began to explain the state of affairs with her guild hall.
“When I accepted the position as head of this guild branch years ago, I signed a magical contract to protect it with my life. As you can see,” she gestured weakly to the decaying hall around us like a tour guide at the Museum of Poor Life Choices, “the business here died long ago. Since then, the contract has become… more of a curse. The closer this branch comes to officially shutting down, the closer I come to, well… permanently shutting down, too.”
I blinked. “So you’re cursed to haunt this dying guild until the bitter end? That’s…” I hesitated, searching for the right words. “…a total bummer.”
Ichni chuckled darkly. “Great pep talk, Adrian. Truly inspiring.”
“Look, it’s looking rough, okay?” I continued, offering a sympathetic smile. “Good news, though—I’m here to register as an adventurer! And I’ve already got a couple of quests I want to take on.”
I slapped the papers down on the counter like a student trying to impress their teacher with early homework, grinning. She glanced at them with the same level of enthusiasm you’d give an overdue tax form and then turned her bleary eyes back to me.
“That’s… great,” she muttered, as monotone as a tolling funeral bell.
“It’s one silver to apply for your adventurer’s card,” she droned, her tone as lifeless as the hall. “After that, we charge a percentage guild fee on any quest reward upon completion. Per quest.” She paused to sigh, as if the weight of explaining this policy might finally break her. “Failure to report on a quest within a month results in automatic failure, and you’ll be subject to peer review for possible dismissal or demotion. Completing quests at your rank—or higher—can earn you a promotion, which comes with discounts at certain taverns, supply shops, and… other perks.”
She didn’t elaborate on what “other perks” meant, but the way she mumbled it made me wonder if it involved a second helping of sadness soup.
Her long-winded explanation felt like it was trying to lull me into joining her eternal misery. Honestly, I couldn’t tell which one of us was more exhausted by the end of it. Bless her, though; she was doing her best despite clearly having one foot in the grave.
I felt a pang of guilt as I slid the silver coin across the counter. This was the one Quen had given me to settle my tab with Randy, and now I’d have to double-time it to make that back.
“Well, here’s the silver for the registration,” I said, sliding the coin across the counter.
The woman stared at it for a moment, as if debating whether touching it would cause her physical pain. Then, with the delicacy of someone handling an ancient artifact, she picked it up and deposited it into a drawer.
And just like that, it was as though the sun had risen indoors. The gloom around her shattered as she glowed with radiant light, her features shifting like a magical girl mid-transformation. Wrinkles smoothed out, dark circles vanished, and her dull dress became a stunningly elegant uniform. For one dazzling moment, she was decades younger, her beauty so arresting I had to do a double take to confirm she wasn’t an entirely different person.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice melodic and clear, brimming with a gratitude that could thaw even the iciest of hearts. “Please fill out your name and a general description of yourself to begin your evaluation.”
Before I could even process her request, the glow faded. Like a switch being flipped, she returned to her previous state: weary, bedraggled, and looking like she might crumple into dust at any moment.
“Oh,” she muttered, her shoulders slumping. “I suppose just the registration fee doesn’t equate to the guild becoming lively again. But for a brief moment… I felt alive. I could breathe.”
The shift was so stark, I wanted to write her a heartfelt letter of apology for making her revert. For just a moment, I’d glimpsed what this guild—and she herself—might have once been, and now I was left with a walking embodiment of existential dread.
“Ahem…” Her soft cough jolted me out of my trance. I must have been staring at her with the intensity of someone who’d just seen a ghost perform a tap dance. Scrambling to save face, I fumbled with the quill on the counter and began filling out the form.
I wrote my name carefully, avoiding my usual chicken scratch, and then added a few minor embellishments to the "general description" section. Did I make myself sound taller? Maybe. Stronger? Certainly. It wasn’t like she’d fact-check my arm circumference. Satisfied with my artistic liberties, I handed the parchment back with a small flourish.
“Good job,” she said with a nod, though her tone carried the enthusiasm of a snail at a marathon. She placed the form onto a worn stone tablet, flipping it face down to reveal a rectangle etched into the surface. “Now, place your hand here. This will complete your evaluation and registration.”
I obeyed, feeling a faint hum of energy as the stone warmed under my touch. The parchment began to glow, the light seeping into the carved lines and forming intricate patterns that pulsed with mana. A soft chime rang out—eerily similar to a toaster ding—and a small card popped out from a hidden slot.
The woman retrieved the card, inspecting it with a furrowed brow. Her lips pursed, and she let out a sigh that reeked of disappointment.
“I… see. Most unique attributes, adventurer Adrian Lemond. Once again, in an official capacity… welcome to the Adventurer’s Guild,” she said, her voice laden with pity.
“Lemond?” I choked, grabbing the card and glaring at the typo like it was a personal insult.
It read:
Official Adventurer’s Guild Card
Name: Adrian Lemond
Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.
Race: Human (Ghoul)
Gender: Male
Age: 127 (Deceased)
Class: Mercenary, Novice-Class
Skills: Unknown, N/A
Adventurer’s Rank: E
—
Attributes:
Strength: D
Constitution: F
Element Power: F
Dexterity: E
Intelligence: C
Wisdom: D
Luck: F
—
Elemental Affinities
Fire: F
Wind: F
Water: F
Earth: F
As I scanned the card, my face twisted further with each detail. By the time I finished, it felt like I’d swallowed a mouthful of bad stew.
“It is the responsibility of the Adventurer’s Guild to manage the bodies of those… who are dead,” the guild lady droned with the enthusiasm of someone reading their own eulogy. She avoided my gaze, staring intently at a spot somewhere over my shoulder. “As your card says ‘deceased,’ I can provide you with a one-time offer of a free coffin to, uh… dispose of yourself with.”
Her delivery was so casual, you’d think she was offering me a free toaster.
“What.” My voice cracked slightly, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.
The woman refused to meet my bulging eyes, steadfastly keeping her attention on the blank space behind me. Clearly, she was required to offer this, but I wasn’t about to keel over just because a card said so.
“Alright, first off, my ‘class’ is wrong. It should be P—” I began confidently, but a sharp pinch in my arm derailed my declaration. I glanced down to see Ichni’s tiny hand firmly latched onto the softest part of my elbow like a scolding grandmother.
“Pa-pa knight,” I corrected hastily, grimacing as the words stumbled out.
The guild lady blinked at me. “You want your class to refer to you as ‘Papa Knight’?”
“N-no! Just ‘knight’ would be fine!” I sputtered, scrambling to recover. “I was a knight before I died, so it makes sense I’d still be one, right? Or at least a swordsman?”
Her unimpressed expression didn’t budge an inch. “Please provide your castle credentials for your servitude to the king, and I’ll update the card.”
The mention of paperwork made my soul physically recoil. “O-oh. Nevermind, then.”
With a nervous laugh, I decided to change the subject. “And my name! It’s spelled wrong. It’s Legend. Legend, like a hero of legend! Also, I’m not 127! Do I look that old to you?” I shot her my best mock-offended look, hoping for some sympathy.
“How old do you think I am?” she shot back, her voice carrying the deadly precision of a swinging guillotine.
I knew a trap when I saw one, and she had just alternated between ages 20 and 100. I was not about to answer that one. My survival instincts kicked in, and I wisely shut my mouth. Satisfied with my silence, she nodded.
“Mr. Lemond, your rank is currently E,” she began, her tone flat enough to level a building. “I see you’ve selected two quests—rank C and B, respectively.”
I noticed a slight twitch in her eye as she continued, “It is my duty to caution you that, by yourself, you will likely perish. Might I suggest something better suited to your… attributes?”
She let the word “attributes” hang in the air like a particularly smelly pair of socks.
“Will you refuse me the quests if I insist on taking them?” I asked. Back in my old world, newbie adventurers wouldn’t even be allowed to look at quests like these, let alone try them. But this world was different, and something about these quests called to me.
“No,” she replied with a sigh. “They’re merely guidelines. I’ll mark you ‘in progress’ for both tasks, seeing as business has been slow. I will also prepare your coffin.”
That last part was delivered so nonchalantly it might as well have been a weather report. I stared at her, certain I’d misheard, but she was already pinning the quest sheets on a corkboard behind her. I swear she muttered something about pre-digging a grave as well.
“Understood. No limits on the amount?” I asked, trying to maintain my composure.
“It is 1 silver per set for the first, 1 silver per standard pouch of the materials for the other. It’s an open quest until needs are met. If you need additional pouches, they are there on the shelves in the corner. Please return them when you are done with the quests.” she explained, her monotone voice as lively as a jury summons.
I smiled wickedly at this.
“Excellent,” I declared, my voice dropping an octave for dramatic effect. The guild lady blinked at me, clearly caught off guard by my sudden shift in tone. She glanced at the pinned sheets as if second-guessing whether she’d just enabled a lunatic.
I gave the quests one final, determined glare before turning on my heel and stomping toward the exit, radiating an aura of vengeful purpose. As I passed the old man and the cloaked girl at their table, they both paused mid-conversation to look at me. It wasn’t just a glance; it was the kind of wide-eyed stare you give to someone you’re not sure is planning to save the world or burn it down.
The quests? Hoplop antlers and slime residue. My blood boiled with one thought: revenge was back on the menu, and I was about to feast.
* * *
Hours blurred together in a haze of adrenaline and petty vengeance. Days might have passed, but who’s counting when you’re waging a one-man war against the lowest-tier monsters imaginable?
What I did count, however, were the dozens—no, scores—of satchels and pouches now dangling from a ridiculous web of rope slung over my shoulder. I looked like a traveling salesman who specialized in slime guts and antlers. Most of the rope was scavenged from the haunted outpost, a place whose creepy ambiance was somehow less terrifying than the gleeful carnage I left in my wake.
The slimes, oh, the slimes. Armed with an actual sword this time, I cut through their gelatinous forms with ruthless efficiency. Each slice was a tiny symphony of catharsis, each victory a sweet rebuttal to their earlier humiliation. Hoplops? I took their antlers, left their corpses as bait, and ambushed the slimes that dared approach like a man possessed.
This wasn’t a quest anymore. This was my calling, my way to shout into the void and make it hear my roar.
As my reign of low-level terror unfolded across the meadows, the monsters began to notice something was wrong—terribly wrong. I wasn’t running this time. There was no desperate flailing or frantic retreat. No, I was advancing with the manic glee of a man who’d finally found the receipt for his grievances.
Slimes splattered under my blade like overripe fruit, hoplops practically dropped their antlers as if surrendering would grant them mercy—it didn’t. It was glorious. They started scattering when they saw me coming, and I’d be lying if I said the sight of their jiggling or flopping terror didn’t bring me immense satisfaction.
Eventually, I realized that the remaining monsters might be regrouping or plotting something crafty. Given that I’m allergic to ambushes and death, I called it a day.
Meanwhile, Ichni perched atop the ridiculous sack of loot I dragged behind me like some kind of goblin queen. She looked smug as ever, basking in the glow of her post-revenge satisfaction after patching me up.
“I bet that felt good, huh?” Ichni mused, grinning like a kid who’d just found out her parents were buying candy. She began swinging imaginary punches in the air atop her sack-throne, her voice laced with murderous glee. “If it were me? Oh, I’d go PA-POW! And then a HIYAH! And then when they’re crawling on the ground, all pitiful, begging for their little slimy lives, I’d lean in real close and whisper, ‘You think this is mercy? Oh no, sweetie. Death is mercy.’”
“Good lord, princess, rein it in!” I wheezed, sweat dripping down my face as I hauled the absurd haul behind me. “This is supposed to be a hunting quest, not a horror play audition!”
“Oh, puh-lease. They deserved it. Two holes, Adrian. TWO!” she declared, her voice dripping with exaggerated indignation. I didn’t even have to look up to know she was holding two fingers above her head like she’d just scored a goal. She was, of course, referring to the two pitfalls we fell into, but the way she said it was laughably sexual.
“Context, Ichni. Context,” I groaned, shooting a glance over my shoulder at her. “The last thing I need is for the locals to think I’m wandering the countryside with a deranged frat boy.”
“Bah! This stretch of the meadows is emptier than our coin pouch! There’s no one out here to hear me!” she shot back, a victorious grin spreading across her face.
And then, as if to prove her point, she floated tall atop the wobbling pile and bellowed, “HEY ONSHI, YOU CAN SUCK MY NUTS!”
I nearly tripped over a rock as her shout reverberated through the air, rolling over the hills like a battle cry. My ears strained for the inevitable roar of a Lion-Oger charging through the brush—but, mercifully, none came. No red flag, this time!
“I bet we’re gonna rake in a fortune for this haul!” Ichni chirped, her voice brimming with excitement as she pretended to tally up invisible coins in her hands.
“We?” I shot her a dubious look, shifting under the weight of the teetering sack. “I did all the hard work. You sat up there playing ‘royal overseer.’”
“Excuse me, Sir Laborer, but I’m the one keeping this operation stable. Do you even realize how precarious my perch is? And let’s not forget, I’m the healer!” She clapped her hands together, imitating the roar of an imaginary crowd. “Applause! Applause for the hero who saved Adrian from his tragic boo-boo!”
She even mimed throwing roses to herself, which was a level of absurdity I hadn’t prepared for. Still, she had a point. As much as I hated to admit it, having her around for patch jobs was an asset I couldn’t ignore. Sure, I could probably manage on my own like I used to, but there’s something uniquely comforting about having a mouthy ghost-princess wielding spider silk as your personal medic.
A sudden, ominous churn in my gut made me grimace and stumble. “Ugh, that stew’s about to do some unholy damage. I can already tell I’m going to need last rites after this.”
“Nature of the beast!” Ichni chirped from her perch. “Aratan’s cuisine has a reputation, y’know. They say the spices are meant to warm your gut and burn away your sins. Paahavé it!”
“Paahavé?” I echoed, glancing at her.
“It’s demonic for ‘cleanse,’” she explained, her tone brimming with smug intelligence.
“Really? I figured sin would be something demons hoard, like… treasure or cursed trinkets,” I muttered, stepping over a loose patch of stones.
Ichni laughed so hard she nearly fell off the makeshift sack throne. “Hoard it! Ha! You think we demons have vaults stuffed with jars of sin labeled by year? ‘Ah yes, vintage guilt from the year 543, just a hint of despair with notes of rage.’ You’re ridiculous, Adrian!”
“Well, demons and sin went hand-in-hand back in my day. Maybe it’s something that’s physically obtainable in some kind of dark arts?” I rebuffed, ignoring the silly jab.
“Sin? Merdu. It’s a fancy theological word for harvesting guilt, Adrian. You can’t just spice away existential crises. Imagine someone’s grandma yelling from the kitchen, ‘Eat your soup, Timmy, and repent!’ It’s ridiculous!” Ichni scoffed.
“Then why does anyone believe it? Sounds like the kind of superstition you’d hear in sermon… or a chili cook-off,” I added, scratching my head.
Ichni shrugged nonchalantly, as if explaining why the sky was blue. “Maybe after the war ended, when humans had to start serving under my dad, they needed something to make life feel less miserable. A little spicy sin-cleanse placebo, you know? ‘A clean gut, a clear conscience.’”
That casual remark hit heavier than expected. The words rolled off her tongue, but they were packed with history—and resentment.
“There was a war here?” I asked cautiously, wondering if this was something I really wanted on my mental plate.
“Oh, totally! Humans and demons were buddy-buddy for a while—sharing bread, trading secrets, stealing each other’s goats, the usual. Then one day, the humans decided they wanted the whole pie and started kicking demons out left and right. Big ol’ war, every race jumped in, chaos all around,” Ichni explained with a shrug, like she was recounting an old soap opera plot.
“And I assume the demons won?” I ventured, already expecting the answer but wanting to hear her say it.
“Obviously! My dad, being the badass he is, took charge and ended it. Boom, war’s over, demons on top, and the humans had to play nice. He was just our leader then, but once the dust settled, he became The Demon King Malphas.” She paused dramatically, tossing her head like she was announcing him at a royal gala.
“And then it all went to heaven in a basket when the chains happened.” She twirled a finger like she was tying a bow on a disaster.
“And how did that happen?” I asked, genuinely curious. If anyone was handing out invincibility chains, I’d love to get the scoop.
“No clue! Happened way before I was born,” Ichni replied, crossing her arms and scrunching her nose in thought. “The old bat wasn’t exactly the sit-down-and-share-a-heartfelt-story type. Like, can you imagine him saying, ‘Hey sweetheart, wanna know how Daddy got these shiny chains of light that make me a stationary powerhouse of destruction?’” She mocked, adopting a gruff, over-the-top voice and flailing her arms theatrically.
Her impression of her father was oddly specific. It made me wonder just how much she had been subjected to his particular flavor of parenting.
“He’s not much of a conversationalist, huh?” I ventured cautiously.
“Ha!” Ichni snorted, her magenta cheeks puffing out with disdain. “The only time he talks to me is when he’s giving orders or ranting about how ‘the world used to tremble at his feet.’ Classic overcompensation, if you ask me. If I so much as asked how his day was, he’d probably launch into some 20-minute spiel about his dominion over the elements.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Sounds… fun.”
“Fun? Try suffocating,” she muttered. “He’s not a bad father—well, not just a bad father—but everything with him is about legacy and fear and power. He doesn’t see people. Not me, not the kingdom, not the humans. Everyone’s a piece on his chessboard. It’s exhausting.”
There was a pause as she gazed off into the distance, her usual fire momentarily dimmed. For all her sharp words, there was something almost wistful in her voice.
“But… I guess he did what he thought he had to,” she added reluctantly. “To protect us. To keep us on top. Even if it meant accepting he was chained to a throne he can’t leave.”
“That’s a hell of a way to rule,” I murmured.
Ichni snapped out of her momentary reverie and shot me a wry smile. “Yeah, well, what do you expect from a Demon King? A democratic council of compassionate ambassadors? Instead, he has his lieutenants doing all of his nasty work. Hell, he probably could just sit there for a century and this cursed world would despair on its own stinking fumes.”
Her sarcasm was biting, but I could sense the conflict underneath. It wasn’t just bitterness or rebellion. There was a thread of something else—regret, maybe? Or hope? Whatever it was, it made her seem less like the arrogant princess she pretended to be and more like a kid grappling with the shadow of an impossible legacy.
I wisely kept my mouth shut, uncertain if Ichni was genuinely annoyed or simply reveling in her flair for dramatics. Either way, she took my silence as a green light to continue.
“Everyone’s cursed these days, one way or another. No one knows why, not really. Back then, it was just humans and demons. Now it’s canine-folk, harpies, lamia… even spider princesses.” She gestured grandly, like she was unveiling a grim parade of unusual citizens.
Her tone sounded almost nonchalant, but the weight of what she was saying lingered like an unwanted draft. Whatever this world had become, it wasn’t natural.
“Your mother or father wasn’t, uh… spider-folk demons?” I ventured cautiously, hoping the question wasn’t offensive.
She didn’t respond immediately, her silence stretching just long enough to make me second-guess asking. Then, with a theatrical snap of her fingers, she burst out, “Nah, I’m one of a kind, baby!” Her grin stretched wide, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The humans, though? They’re just… there. Not oppressed exactly, but it’s not like they have a choice, y’know? Working with demons is kind of their whole thing now.”
Her tone had shifted into something flippant, but I caught the underlying frustration beneath it. It sounded less like a choice and more like resignation.
“I’m honestly surprised your father lets humans stick around,” I said, scratching my head. “Figured in a place crawling with monsters and demons, humans would be, I don’t know, food. Or sacrifices.”
Ichni rolled her eyes like I’d just suggested the sky was green. “Natt, no,” she said, her tone bordering on exasperation. “Father loves his subjects—needs them, actually. The more people to fear and respect him, the better. And yeah, that includes humans.”
Her voice carried a faint edge, like even saying it left a bad taste in her mouth.
“So they exist just to fuel his malevolence,” I said, the words laced with scorn as I took a deliberate breath.
Ichni’s expression softened, and for the first time, her usual sass was replaced with something almost vulnerable. “You want my honest opinion, Adrian?” she asked, her voice quieter, tinged with doubt. “I don’t think people even know how to live any other way anymore.”
“Well, yeah, that tracks. Live under chains long enough, and they probably stop feeling like chains. After a while, people just... stop fighting.” I paused, my stomach twisting at the thought. “It’s like there’s no real hope left here.” My voice carried the bitterness of the realization.
Ichni snapped back, determined to refute me. “There’s still hope!” she declared with exaggerated defiance. “We’ve got Chili Con Carne! A reasonably priced post office! And, oh, don’t forget the yearly jamboree at the castle—mandatory fun for all!”
Her attempt to cheer me up was so absurd I couldn’t help but crack a strained grin.
“That’s not living; that’s existing.” I said, my tone hardening with frustration. “You can blame the people all you want, but this entire world feels like it’s under some kind of twisted curse. From the moment I got here, it’s been a downward spiral.”
Ichni’s eyes narrowed. “And what gives you the right to make that call, huh? You just showed up! How much of your judgment is based on what you’ve actually seen, and how much is just old-world prejudice?”
Her words stung, not because they were entirely wrong, but because she’d hit the nail squarely on the head.
“You already know your father is the embodiment of everything wrong with this place! He’s the Demon King, for crying out loud!” I threw my arms up like it was the most obvious fact in the universe. The giant sack plopped to the ground, leaving the princess to bounce on it.
Ichni folded her arms, her expression daring me to keep going. “And you make it sound like slapping the title of ‘Demon King’ on someone automatically paints them as the villain. That’s awfully narrow-minded of you.”
“Excuse me?” I sputtered. “He’s literally called the Demon King! What part of that screams ‘kind and misunderstood ruler’ to you?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she drawled sarcastically. “Maybe the part where he keeps his people alive, even if they’re humans who fear and hate him. But sure, let’s keep clinging to those comforting little labels of yours.”
That just makes it worse, I thought bitterly. But then I realized who I was arguing with—Ichni, the Demon Princess. The idea that her father’s title came with automatic condemnation would naturally be absurd to her. To me, he was the archetypal villain; to her, he was probably just “Dad,” albeit a dad who could destroy civilizations between breakfast and his mid-morning nap.
“If you were stuck in one room for over a century, and the only things keeping you company were your hatred and the chains holding you there, would you really want to walk out and see sunshine and daisies?” she countered, her tone somewhere between exasperation and an earnest plea for understanding.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. As much as I wanted to dismiss her reasoning outright, there was a grim sort of logic to it. Still, this whole discussion was twisting my brain into knots. Good and evil were supposed to be simple—binary, even. But here, in a realm where demons thrived, “good” could mean anything from polite sarcasm to mass destruction, while “evil” seemed to span lazy hermits to rampaging overlords. It was like trying to debate morality in a funhouse mirror.
“Alright,” I said finally, trying a new angle as I began to haul the sack again, “let’s say being Demon King doesn’t automatically make him a bad guy. If he’s so miserable, why not abdicate? Hand over the crown to someone less, uh, wrathful? Maybe even try a council or—hear me out—a democracy?”
Ichni’s expression twisted as if I’d suggested her father start a knitting club. “Are you nuts? He’s king because there are worse monsters out there! What do you think would happen if someone like murakka Onshi or Dullahan took over? Spoiler: it would be really fucking bad.”
I blinked. She wasn’t just shutting me down—there was real venom in her voice when she said those names. Enough to make me uneasy. “Uh… who’s the Dullahan?” I asked hesitantly.
“My father’s most ruthless lieutenant,” Ichni said, her voice dropping into a grim cadence. “He’s a cold-blooded killer who makes sure no one dares to double-cross the king.”
That was chilling enough, but then she added, almost as an afterthought, “He’s also the one who taught me how to sneak out of the castle.”
I blinked. “Wait, what? The terrifying executioner is also your sneaky escape artist instructor?”
She shrugged, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Ironic, isn’t it? The guy who keeps everyone in line made sure I could get out of it whenever I wanted.”
Ichni’s face darkened as she shook out of some faint fondness for the lieutenant. “Adrian, if you ever see him—run. Don’t hesitate, don’t try to talk your way out, just run. And if he sees you… hide. I swear on my afterlife, I won’t even laugh at you for it.”
Her words were like lead weights on my chest. “That bad, huh?”
“If he finds out what we’re planning…” She trailed off, her voice shaking. “Torture would be the best-case scenario. He’d make sure neither of us ever sees the light again.”
I swallowed hard, feeling the chill of her words settle deep into my bones.
“I mean…” I glanced at the gauntlet on my arm, the weight suddenly feeling much heavier. “I get why he’d target me, but what’s he going to do to you? Undo the stitches?”
Ichni’s silence stretched just long enough to make me regret asking. “He could hand the gauntlet over to Onshi,” she finally muttered, her tone grim. “And then I’d be stuck as that gloating furball’s eternal trophy. Forever.”
A shiver ran down my spine at the thought, the image of Onshi’s smug grin twisting in my mind. “That’s… horrifying. Yeah, let’s make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Khippa.” she replied darkly.
We trudged on for another hour, the weight of the overstuffed bag bearing down on my shoulders. At last, the faint silhouette of the town crept into view, its crooked rooftops barely cutting through the haze. As the sight of civilization gave me a sliver of relief, my thoughts drifted back to the bigger picture.
“Things need to change here, for the better,” I said, breaking the silence. “Maybe not just for the humans, but for everyone. The way things are, it feels like people are just surviving. There’s no future to hope for. I wouldn’t want to live and die for this chili that’s destroying my colon,” I added, taking a misstep to relieve some gas.
After waiting for my war crime of a fart to trek on to murder some poor hoplop, Ichni materialized beside me. Although initially reproachful in her gaze from the smell, her expression eventually became thoughtful. She was mulling over the “hope crisis”.
After a moment, she puffed out her cheeks before exhaling sharply. “Hmmm. The whole system’s built on evil, which I know you think is bad.”
“It is bad.” I said pointedly.
“So if you stop my father, who’s left to keep it from collapsing, and everything going from bad to worse? And don’t you dare say you,” she added, jabbing a ghostly finger at me like a bitter housewife accusing a late husband.
“No, I’m no king. There’s always… well, you,” I offered with a sheepish grin.
Ichni froze mid-hover, then gave a dry laugh so sharp it could’ve popped my eardrum. “Goofy pakkha! You think I’M gonna give these people hope? Me?” Her grin stretched to an almost cartoonish width, as if mocking the very concept. “Adrian, you do realize I’m apparently the ‘wild child of the Demon King,’ right? I’m famous for throwing great parties and even better tantrums. That bard wasn’t exaggerating.”
“Sure, but if your heart’s in the right place, who’s to say you couldn’t become a queen your people adore?” I asked, my tone light but genuinely curious.
Ichni went quiet, floating in lazy circles around me as if mulling over the idea. “Hm,” she finally muttered, a note of hesitation creeping into her voice. Then, after a long pause: “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll have to think about that.”
For a moment, her usual flippancy melted into something softer—contemplative. It was a rare sight, and I decided to let her be for now.
“You’ve gotta start somewhere,” I said, adjusting the weight of the bundle on my back as if to emphasize the metaphor. “The Four-Lights chose me for a reason, so you’d best get your goal in mind if you plan on helping me be more than a diversion for Onshi.” I said with a proud huff.
My stomach gurgled again, harder this time.
Ichni cocked an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Oh, yes, of course. Mr. Paladin, savior of the realm, gonna show the world the light,” she drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
I winced as another ominous churn echoed through my gut. “Mr. Paladin’s gonna show the inside of his pants the light if we don’t make it back soon,” I groaned, sweat beading on my forehead.
Her laughter echoed through the meadows, loud and unrelenting, as I shuffled forward with as much dignity as I could muster. I was intent on not shitting my pants in front of this no-good princess.