Rose petals were in the air, falling with grace befit one of the most beautiful flowers in the world of Aristan. Music, soothing and enchanting, floated through the air, igniting a sense of peace and worth, given that the music wasn’t just playing for any occasion - this one was quite special. A procession most opulent walked ceremoniously, in rhythm with the music, down an extravagant red carpet.

Long, flowing, beautiful hair fell from the shoulders of those proceeding down the carpet, their eyes bright, wielding starlight. Their silk clothes smooth and gleaming under the bright sun. If beauty and grace could take form, they would be not be far from it. Such majesty and charm could only be begotten by the oldest race in the world, one of the most powerful, the elves of Aristan.

“Soil take these useless ceremonies,” an elf girl spat, stepping slowly and in step with the others. She, like the others, was beautiful with her long blond hair nearly touching her heels, her curves complimented by the snug silk clothes, made from the golden silk worms that only existed in elf lands.

Yet, she hated it all.

Teria, an elf noble who hated having to be around other nobles. So pompous and proud were their ways that it made her ill. She wanted to shed her fanciful clothes and burn them. Her hair everyone but her was proud of, she wished to only cut it to shreds. Her beauty, she wished to scar in contempt of her kind.

All of it, take all of it and reduce it to dust. Teria wanted to be her own elf!

“Be at peace, young one.”

Teria wielded her frown to shove in the speaker’s sight when she saw who had spoken. A tall, handsome elf of pure strength and agility walked beside her. His blue tinted skin cold, yet alluring, his white hair a symbol of elf honor. In long strides he walked, as if he were still patrolling their forest lands, protecting them from foreign influence. His long black cloak stood out in contrast to the whites, silvers and gold the others wore. Upon his face was the most attention grabbing aspect of him - a skull, painted white.

He was one of the protectors of their way of life, a Ghastly Specter.

“Jezerye!” she exulted in glee, only to be silenced by a long finger of his pressing against her lips.

Her heartbeat picked up its pace as Jezerye smiled, “That is enough, young one. Have patience. The ceremony of departure is almost over.”

Before he could pull his finger away, she grasped onto his hand, eyes twinkling. “I’m no longer a child. I’m now a mature elf - one that can seek a mate if I want!”

“And why are you sharing this with me, dear Teria? Here of all places. Don’t stop, continue walking.” Jezerye used the hand she was gripping to pull her along.

“You could be my mate!”

Overhearing her, nearby eyes of the elf nobles instantly glanced in Jezerye’s direction, filled with wariness. Like the rest of the world, a high status individual forming bonds with those lower than themselves was unfitting or repugnant. A Ghastly Specter he may be, a noble he still was not.

Jezerye offered them apologetic expressions, respectfully bowing his head before redirecting his attention back to Teria, who had begun to blush at her own words. She had never been an easy girl to deal with.

“Let us focus on the journey at hand,” he said to her then teased, “You never know, you might find a mate where we are going.”

“Find a mate among the humans?” she scowled, “I’d rather see this Hildew City burn rather than mate with any one of them!”

A dark smile took place on Jezerye’s face. “I feel the same way.” He stole a look at the other elves and straightened out. “Now, stop talking.” He pinched her cheek as he often did when she was a child. “No one likes a chatty mate.”

Teria’s face bloomed into a smile hearing him mention “mate” and quieted, eager to show herself as a partner that didn’t talk so much.

***

Banst swung his sword as if cutting off a goblins head, hitting directly against the neck of the wooden dummy with a resounding thud. Hours of his time had already been spent here in the training yard evidenced by the sweat that poured incessantly down his face and the stink that exuded from his body that smelled like it belonged in the Drenching District.

“Master, do not lean past your knees when you strike,” his soul-bound armor advised. “You will become off balance. The key to all fighting is balance.”

“Help me correct my posture,” Banst commanded and swung again, his armor moving on its own to prevent Banst’s body from swaying too much one way. “Keep correcting me if I get it wrong.”

This was what Banst’s training had become. There had only been an instructional training before, with the armor simply teaching like any instructor would, now there came a different, more in depth way. Because not only could Banst’s soul-attached armor find errors in swordsmanship, it could also physically guide its wearer through every sword fighting motion, showing both the mind and body the proper way to fight. For Banst, it was like being in the body of a talented person.

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Exhaustion takes everyone eventually and the time was nigh for Banst. Thirst was what drove him to finally sheathe his sword to seek water. A well like an oasis in the desert stood close by. Like animals at a watering hole, Adventurers were standing near, drinking their fill.

With a ladle, a servant of the guild poured clear water into a cup for Banst to drink. Refreshing, yet still only a moment of relief. Tiredness would not leave so easily.

The results of his training were sore muscles and a sense of understanding the sword. All Banst’s life there had only ever one weapons instructor but he had been rather old and impatient. Only through experience and grit could Banst survive so long wielding a sword in the Adventurers Guild’s name. Now, Banst could see the world of fighting as nobles could see it, as they were trained to see it.

“The mighty Banst has showed these lazy mongrels what true training looks like!” Fenwick had appeared with a pastry in hand, a smirk like always playing on his lips. “You need sustenance, Adventurer Banst,” he said, offering the pastry.

Banst would only look at the food but not touch it. “You got this for free using the guild’s name, I assume?” he accused, his tone flat.

“What does it matter? One of the guild’s most promising members needs energy! Please, eat!” A chill covered Fenwick as Banst abruptly left, leaving him standing there with pastry in hand. “Oh, you’re leaving?” Fenwick caught up and fell into step with Banst. When they passed a potted plant, Fenwick plucked one of its massive leaves to start to fan Banst with. “You look hot. Why don’t you let me cool you down?”

“You’re utterly shameless,” Banst sputtered, taken aback by the sheer thickness of Fenwick’s skin.

Fenwick smiled widely, answering, “No need to flatter me, Adventurer Banst.”

“I appreciate that you want to freeload off me, which can only mean you see promise in me. But please, I do not wish to team up with the laziest Adventurer.”

“Have I mentioned this pastry is jelly filled?”

Banst tried to leave him behind but Fenwick stuck to him closer than his own shadow, always complimenting and offering things he could get for free. With no other choice, Banst was forced to use his armor’s athletic abilities to sprint away, leaving Fenwick behind.

Fenwick chased Banst nearly halfway to the Drenching District before he had to give up due to exhaustion. “As expected of the next titled ‘Hero,’” Fenwick rasped, breathing heavily, still attempting flattery even as Banst disappeared into the distance. “He’s utterly tireless!”

In a few minutes, Fenwick had returned to himself, straightening out and combing back his hair with his hands. “I think that went well.”

But it did not go well. Fenwick Baker, the “Freeloader Adventurer,” needed to attach himself to a success. Nobles weren’t the answer as they would require his absolute obedience. Only a commoner like Banst would allow Fenwick the freedom to be himself.

Of course getting in Banst's good graces would not be easy. Soon, Fenwick set into motion his schemes. First, he crept through the guild, infiltrating social circles with food he’d procured from food stalls, free of charge of course. Upon his lips were Banst’s name, fishing out information from the guild members who knew him.

“He’s rather weak,” said an Adventurer with a round face and too much makeup.

“The only reason he's in this guild is his parents had been good Adventurers,” informed a guild mate with a bulbous nose.

A noble Adventurer, Isac Colyne, had some choice words to say, “He’s a mongrel that deserves to be beaten!”

What Fenwick found most intriguing was that none were close to Banst, with only one Adventurer who would've been considered quite close but had already died. Before Fenwick could follow up on this lead, he was cornered by Herek Vondel and a gang of followers.

“I didn’t know Freeloading Fenwick was such a nosy person,” Herek remarked, his eyes blank as he stared at Fenwick.

Fenwick stood in the middle of an encirclement of Herek’s underlings at the back of the guild in an alleyway. Street vagrants were forced to hurry away when they got too close.

“Whatever do you mean?” Fenwick responded, smirking half-heartedly. “Being nosy sounds like too much hard work. Not quite my character to go working too hard, aye?”

Herek stepped closer to become nose to nose with Fenwick. “Stop asking around about Adventurer Banst or we’ll have to get more acquainted, you and I. You wouldn’t like to get acquainted with me, Freeloader. Some say I’m too friendly.” Hearing rumors of Fenwick investigating Banst worried Herek and Gerad. The Freeloading Adventurer could possibly stumble upon a certain murder that happened in the Makers’ District. He had to be stopped.

“Rest assured, my lord,” Fenwick said with respect, voice a bit shaky, “Consider my temporary interest in the Weakest Adventurer all but subdued!” He flourished and bowed at the waist.

Herek spat at Fenwick’s feet and signaled for his cronies to follow him out of the alley. Behind their backs, Fenwick was setting to memory each and every face in their group, picking out from the bunch a weak link.

One of them, Fenwick was able to use the power of reporting misdeeds to get him to talk. Not every Herek follower had his equal protection. Some were still in the process of being considered “loyal.” Such overbearing rules was the reason Fenwick needed to follow a commoner — nobles were too picky!

The Adventurer he’d singled out had mop like hair that hung loose from a steel helmet with a single slit for a visor — a marvel in how he was still able to see with all that hair and metal. Fenwick had confronted him near a back door to the guild where the workers of the apothecary used to carry in supplies through.

“Now, tell me what you know,” Fenwick threatened, his own smirk reflecting off the Adventurer’s steel helmet back at him, “Unless you want me to alert Helena of your less than Adventurer-like conduct recently.”

Voice hollow in his helmet, the Adventurer relented, “F-fine! But you didn’t hear it from me. Herek has some grudge against the Weakest Adventurer and plans to kidnap him and take him far away to feed to monsters. There is a quest — a Solo Trial and has already been acquired under Banst’s name. A receptionist has it out for Adventurer Banst as well and was willing to work with Herek. When they find Banst dead, they’ll think he died fighting monsters during the trial.”

“How dastardly. To think dark minded fools like you lot are still in this kind of guild…”

“Who died and made you the moral guardian of the guild?” Behind Fenwick appeared Herek, dressed in expensive armor as always, a red plume feather sticking up from his sleek helmet.

“M-my lord!” Fenwick sputtered and fell backward.

“Don’t bother weaseling your way out,” Herek denied, seeing Fenwick try to speak further, “Huh. I knew I had to watch you. Not many in this guild knows how clever you truly are. To be blameless on all the work you managed to avoid — not just anyone can pull that off, Freeloader. They can’t even write a proper complaint against you because of how clever you are at sneaking around and pretending to seem busy!”

“Y-you honor me, my lord.”

“I said to stop weaseling. And don’t fret so much. There’s a way out for you in this. All you have to do is listen to what I say…” Herek pulled Fenwick in close and began whispering.