Continue On, Struggler. | Chapter 12: The Guild. (Part Two of Three)

…

Hugh the Blacksmith.

…

Hugh the Dwarf worked as a blacksmith. Although, he wasn't very good at it. Nor was he particularly bad in his opinion. He was just him. Hugh. Dwarf first, blacksmith second.

There was a sadness there, he thought. He loved his craft. He loved to craft. Dwarfs were born to craft, after all. Drawn to it. Excelled at it. Be it metal, glass, wood, or whatever. Where another race would see material, dwarves saw lifeblood. So, Hugh loved his job. The simplicity. He got a request from someone—a warrior, adventurer, or someone who needed a steel chain. And he'd make it. Take a piece of metal, heat it 'til it glows red, and sculpt it into whatever was needed. Tink, tink, tink. Hammer on metal, metal on anvil. Then, psh. Metal met oil. Smoke. Done.

That was life. From day to night, from night to day too. If things got really busy. Not an easy life, per se, but it was his life. Knowing that got him through good times and the not-so-good times. More important to him, it'd get him through today.

So far, Hugh's day? Not so good. He was behind on the day's orders. A mistake with an order. Nothing career-destroying, but he had to stop everything to fix it. He had made a mess of the forge, so he had to fix that as well. That meant he didn't have the time to deliver the orders when he finished them. That forced him into hiring someone from the Guild.

As a rule, he didn't like hiring adventurers. Not for jobs he could do himself. Some of the richer smiths could afford to do so easily, but he couldn't. Hiring an adventurer cut into his profits. Not enough to ruin him, but enough to dislike it. However, in the blacksmith business, a smith's reputation meant more than money. Being so late on so many deliveries would ruin him. To avoid ruin, he gritted his teeth, went to the Guild, and put up a notice for the job. Begrudgingly.

Delivery/courier quests were almost always F-Rank, meaning that he'd be charged seven copper coins. However, the price could always go up for special cases. Blacksmiths were almost always special cases. It made sense, though. F-Rank adventurers were almost always rookies or the especially incompetent, and they weren't asking them to deliver mundane things. He was asking them to deliver weapons, armor, and all different kinds of equipment. Heavy things. Things that could be dangerous in clumsy hands. Even more dangerously, things that could be valuable to the courier. So, not only did Hugh have to pay the standard fees, but he also had to pay extra for insurance.

Doing the math, to hire a courier for the day, the Guild charged him ten copper coins. If he took into account all his other operating costs, he was en route to making just above even on the day. Still en route to making rent at the end of the month. Not terrible at all. Not good either. He needed to do better.

Regardless, he needed it done. Now, all he needed to do was wait for a taker.

…

Hugh had trained himself to hear the front door opening, even when he was wrapped up in his work.

Tinga-ling-ring. Tinga-ling-ring.

Just to be safe, he installed a bell.

Hammer in hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow.

"Hello!" Hugh called out, still focused on his work. Whoever it was, they didn't respond. "I'll be with you in a moment."

A hum was all he got in response. A high-pitched one. A woman? A child maybe?

Hugh looked up. It was, in fact, a child.

A child. A boy. Human. A head shorter than Hugh. Sandy-brown hair, green eyes, and a mole under his left eye. Maybe about ten years old, given his dress. A white tunic, brown pants. Both were baggy and loose-fitting, probably to allow him to grow into them as he aged. To make up for the abundance of fabric, he rolled his sleeves up past his elbows, wore a pair of suspenders, and tucked his pants into his black boots. He even had to wear his longsword on his back, despite it being a normal-sized sword.

"Are you from the Guild?" Hugh asked.

The boy nodded, holding a slip of paper out to him.

Hugh bit back a sigh, not even bothering to read it.

Hugh should've expected this. There was no set age for when a person could become an adventurer, so most F-Ranks started young. Usually, that meant twelve or fifteen. Not ten years old….

He shrugged. If the kid thought he could get the job done, Hugh wasn't about to try and argue. He didn't have the time anyway. He still had work to do. He'd just have to take it up with the Guild if the kid messed anything up.

"Do you know the city?" Hugh asked.

The boy shook his head.

"You new to the city?"

The boy nodded.

"Figured." Putting his hammer down, Hugh made his way to the desk where he kept his important documents. He rummaged around until he found what he was looking for—a map he had prepared the day prior—and returned to the boy. "Here, take this. It's a map of the city. I marked down all the places you need to go. If you ever get lost, ask. I'm sure someone will point you the right way. Everything that needs delivering is all there in the corner. Questions?"

The boy shook his head and took the map from him.

"Alright, good." This time Hugh nodded. "Now, are you sure that you're able to lift—"

Before Hugh could finish, the boy walked over to the stack of the boxes. He picked up the largest of the boxes, lifted it over his head, put it on his shoulder, and left without a word or complaint.

Hugh blinked, surprised.

Looks like I'll be getting my money's worth.

…

Guts.

…

A part of Guts wanted to regret his decision to become an adventurer. It's been like that ever since he and Ghislaine went to the Guild three weeks back. When he learned that all F-Rank quests had to do with manual labor. Meaning that they were all pretty shit to do. And paid like it too. E-Rank quests were slightly better, but not by much. Most were just F-Rank quests with higher stakes, like bodyguard and escort details.

Ghislaine told him that, on occasion, there would be an E-Rank quest involving the hunting of low-level monsters, but those were few and far between. Especially in a place like the Asura Kingdom, whose monsters were weaker than other places in the world. Having accompanied Paul on a few monster hunts, Guts knew that a village could handle those kinds of threats on their own. And, unfortunately for him, most of the bodyguard and escort quests he could find involved time commitments that conflicted with his job as Eris's sparring partner. So, for now, all he could do to raise his rank were these shitty F-Rank quests.

Only eighteen more of these things to go… he thought as he adjusted the package on his shoulder. Well, I guess it beats sparring with that brat.

Normally, Guts would've preferred to be out of F-Rank as quickly as possible. However, between sparring with Eris and his lessons with Ghislaine, free time had become a bit of a commodity. In total, over a week, he maybe had two days where he could totally on his own accord. It just so happened that today was one of those days.

Just one more delivery, Guts thought to himself, stepping out of the dwarf's forge. He, again, adjusted the package—this one being a pain in the ass to hold in particular. It was top-heavy and it looked like it would stand at twice his height if he stood it up, making it a pain to balance as he walked. Maybe some sort of halberd? He guessed, glancing down at the list of addresses that the dwarf had given him. Alright, where am I heading now?

…

Looks like this is the place.

Guts checked his list to confirm.

Izz the Lizard-Folk, it read. Staying at The Twists and Turns Inn. Up in Northern Roa. Yep, this is it.

It was pretty standard-looking, as far as inns went. Stood about three stories tall. Made mostly out of wood, save for the tiled roof and glass windows. Standing outside of it, he couldn't help but notice the kind of person coming in and out of it. Shady. Grizzled faces upon grizzled faces, hiding behind hooded cloaks.

Guts snorted, adjusting the sword strapped to his back. He had become well-acquainted with these sorts of places in his past life. Places like these were like wolves' dens. Trouble waiting to happen. Things were going to get messy. He could feel it in his bones.

Eh, whatever. He'd been itching for a good fight anyway.

…

Guts pushed the tavern's door open and immediately felt several eyes land on him. Not a lot but enough. Not just to confirm his suspicions from earlier, but to correct them. The people who frequented this inn weren't just shady. Some sort of criminal element called this place home, he was sure of it now.

A moment of tense silence passed. The conversation and raucous laughter continued on, and it seemed that the entire inn deemed his presence inconsequential.

Good, he thought, looking around. The main dining room was wide and open—save for a large central that cut the room in half. A bar had been built around it. Tables and chairs took up the rest of the space, which were—in turn—taken up by men and women of all races. Some ate, others drank, and many gambled. Few did so quietly. In short, it was a tavern like any other.

Guts strode over to an open spot at the bar. Some of the people already there noticed his approach and started lobbing jeers at him.

"A little young for a place like this, ain't ya?"

"Haha! You see how he's frowning? What? You trying to act all big and bad and shit?"

"No, no, no! Don't you see that widdle stick he's got strapped to his back! He's clearly armed and dangerous!"

Ignoring them, Guts waved the bartender over.

Said bartender—a fat man with pig ears poking out from his black hair—glanced his way, grunted, and put the tankard in his hand down. He tottered over to Guts.

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"There something you need?" The pig-man asked, his voice heavy and slow. His red eyes drifted onto the package on his shoulder. "A delivery?"

Guts fished the list of clients out from his pants pocket and handed it to the bartender. "I'm looking for Izz. Slip says that he stays here."

"Oh, you're talking about the lizardfolk." The pig-man clicked his tongue. "He ain't leave his room all day, save for breakfast, so he's probably up in his room still. Waiting for you, methinks." He pointed behind him with his thumb. "There's a set of stairs behind the pillar. They'll take you up to the rooms. Izz is up on the third floor. Room Thirteen."

Guts nodded and pulled away from the bar, leaving a bronze coin in thanks.

…

Room 13… Room 13… Here.

Finding the door to Izz's room, Guts went to go knock on it, but stopped when he heard movement on the other side. Fast and frantic. Trouble. Or, at the very least, someone expecting it.

Now having a reason to be paranoid, he took a moment to look around—to make sure he was all alone in the hall before making himself known.

"Izz?" he called out, knocking on the door. He received no answer, so he knocked again. "Hurry up and answer. I've got places to be."

A whispered curse came from behind the door. And then, a man with a heavy lisp called out to him, "Who is it?"

"Hugh sent me."

"The blacksmith?"

"Yes."

"You've got my order then?"

"What do you think?"

The man behind the door grumbled, but soon enough, the door popped open a crack.

A pair of beady yellow eyes, slit like a lizard, peered out at him. The door opened a beat later. A man, assumedly Izz, stood in front of him. His form rang true to his race's name. Lizardfolk. A lizard in every way that mattered—from his big lizard head, to his tannish yellow scales. He stood on his hind legs and wore clothes like a human. His arms were distinctly human too, but his fingers were thinner, curved, and led to sharp black claws. That's where all the human parts ended. Guts had to crane his neck back to look him in the eyes.

"Hugh hired you?" Izz asked, scanning him up and down. "Eh, whatever works. Gimme the package. I can't risk keeping this door open too long."

Guts, not giving a damn, handed the package over. The moment Izz had it in his hands, he took a step back into his room and slammed the door shut.

…

Guts was halfway back to the dining room when he heard hurried footsteps heading his way.

Multiple sets, he noted without breaking stride. In a hurry too.

Almost as if on cue, three figures came into view, barrelling up the stairs. All men. Two humans and a demonfolk with the head of a dog. Given their frowns, and how they were all clearly out of breath, he assumed that they were all moving with the same purpose.

Armed… but their clothes are mismatching, Guts noted, continuing to walk forwards as they neared. The humans led, while the dog-man took up the rear. The prior had swords on their hips, but with how gnarled and blunt-looking they were, they may as well have been toting around butter knives. Or a big ass club like the dog-man behind them. Street gang probably. Guess that explains why the lizard was so paranoid.

Eventually, however, he was forced to stop. The three men, upon seeing him, had spread out to block the only way downstairs.

"Yo, kid!" One of the human thugs, heavily bearded, called out to him. "You the courier Ernest was talking about? Y'know, the bartender downstairs? He said some kid came up here with a delivery. For a lizardfolk named Izz."

Guts kept quiet, knowing better than to get involved with street gang bullshit. If he had to guess, Izz had pissed someone off—probably these goons' boss—and he had to bunker down here at the Twists and Turns to protect himself. Given how readily the bartender, named Ernest apparently, gave up Izz, it seemed that the inn itself was more of a neutral party. Regardless, Guts knew better than to run his mouth. At least not in situations like this.

More likely than not, given the state of their equipment, these three goons were fodder. Muscle meant for intimidation. Looking big and strong enough to intimidate people who didn't know better, but would probably snap like rotten wood when under pressure. The most important detail was that they were expendable. However, them being expendable didn't mean they weren't expected to come back to whatever rock they crawled out from under. Street politics were still just politics. Every action rippled into another down the line. So, despite knowing he could tear right through these goons, Guts needed them to play their hand first.

"My friend just asked you a question," the other human said, noticeably softer in tone. "We know you're the one Ernest was talking about. Aren't many kids your age running around places like this, y'know? Just talk and we'll be out of your hair."

Again, Guts opted to say nothing.

"We're not even asking for that much. Just tell us what he had delivered. We'll leave you alone as soon as we know. Promise."

"I agree," the dog man chimed in.

"Quit going all soft on him!" The bearded man hissed. "We're never gonna get a straight answer outta him if he ain't scared."

"C'mon, that ain't true and you know it," the other human argued. "I mean, look at him. The kid's, what? Ten? Maybe older? He's probably just doing F-Rank quests to rank up. We ain't gotta shake him up for no reason."

"I agree." Again, the dog man chimed in.

"You're just saying that 'cuz you've got a son." The thug with the beard turned towards the dog-headed one—who had drifted over to the opposite side of the hallway to stand next to the non-bearded human. The bearded one pushed a finger into dog-head's chest. "And why're you only agreeing with him?!"

As the three thugs argued, Guts weighed his options. Ideally, he would just kill the three and be done with it. Or just slip away without giving in to their demands. Not to protect Izz. The lizardfolk paid Hugh up front, so Guts didn't need him alive to finish the quest. He could tell the three dumbasses what they wanted and leave. It would probably be the logical thing to do… Then again, he didn't like being talked down to.

Not by people he could kill easily.

Guts's body moved simutaneously, in three different parts. His right hand went up to his sword, his left hand pointed back behind him, and his legs bent into a slight crouch. He started pouring magic energy into the glove Roxy had given to him. Just like that, he was ready to pounce.

So he did.

"Wind Blast."

He shot forward, unsheathed his sword, and threaded the needle between them.

He landed with a thud and rolled into a crouch. His back to the thugs. He sheathed his sword, stood up, and looked back over his shoulder. The three men were staring at him. Scared. Probably because the bearded one had a lot less beard now. Good.

"It was from a blacksmith," Guts said. In the end, he was only here to do a job, collect his reward, and go home. Drawing the ire of some street gang would make any future trips to this area difficult. Hapless as these three seemed, they were more trouble to him dead than alive. "You want to know what it is? Guess. Otherwise? Leave."

"A-A-And there you go!" The clean-shaven one said. "See, I told you the kid wouldn't be any trouble. T-T-Thanks. C'mon, you three, let's go and see Izz."

"I-I agree," the dog man said, nodding.

The (less) bearded one staggered back. "S-Sorry, kid! I-I was just trying to do my job. No hard feelings, o-okay?"

Not caring one way or another, Guts hummed and they left. He watched them disappear up the stairs before turning to leave himself.

A part of him wanted to stick around, just to see how it would all play out. However, an even bigger part of him wanted to turn this quest in and head back to Greyrat Manor, so that's exactly what he did.

…

Roms, One of Two Wolves.

…

"Damn," a girl, Roms, enveloped entirely in a ruddy-red cloak, growled. Teeth grit. She slipped back behind the corner she had been peering out from, punched the stone brick behind her, and turned to the girl next to her. A pair of golden eyes, identical to her own, looked at Roms from under her own cloak. They asked without asking. "Bastards found Izz, Rems."

"Of course they did," her twin sister said calmly, infuriatingly, considering the situation. "I've been telling you from the start that lizard-brain's less subtle than a dragon. It was only a matter of time 'til someone figured out that something was off with him."

Roms rolled her eyes. Audible calm aside, Rems couldn't mask her frustration. Not fully. Not when she kept coiling her much longer hair, kept in a neat braid, around her finger.

"What now, Ms. Know-It-All?" Roms asked. "We can't just let those thugs take him."

"We could," Rems countered. "But then again, it would be bad if Izz let slip that we were the ones who gave him the blueprint on their hideout."

"What're we waiting for then? Let's get in there."

With that, the twins made for the Twists and Turns Inn.

…

"Roms! Rems! Welcome back!" Ernest, bartender of the Twists and Turns, called out to the twins as they entered. "I'm guessing you two are looking for Izz too?"

Roms—who was out in front—gave the pig folk a quick nod. "No time to talk right now, Ernest." She fast-walked behind the bar. "Got urgent business."

"Ought to hurry then," the bartender said, raising his voice as the two neared the stairs. "He's got plenty of visitors, and they looked much less friendly than you two do!"

"Thanks, Ernest!" Rems called back, not looking back.

The two sisters up the stairs, but froze when they heard voices. Coming from directly in front of them.

"Yo, kid!" Someone—Roms assumed one of the thugs they had been tailing—called out. The mention of a single kid told her that it wasn't aimed at either of the twins, but it still put her on edge. "You the courier Ernest was talking about? Y'know, the bartender downstairs? He said some kid came up here with a delivery. For a lizardfolk named Izz."

"'A delivery', huh?" Rems whispered. "You think he's talking about…?"

"Has to be," Roms whispered back, chewing at the bottom of her lip as she listened.

A few moments passed, silently, before a different voice asked, "My friend just asked you a question. We know you're the one Ernest was talking about. Aren't many kids your age running around places like this, y'know? Just talk and we'll be out of your hair." Another beat of silence. "We're not even asking for that much. Just tell us what he had delivered. We'll leave you alone as soon as we know. Promise."

"I agree," a third, heavily accented by demonfolk, voice said.

"Quit going all soft on him!" The first voice hissed in a low whisper. "We're never gonna get a straight answer outta him if he ain't scared."

The three voices went back and forth for a while. Two of the voices were in favor of going easy on whoever they were shaking down—probably a young boy, from the sound of it. The third was in favor of roughing him up some. Eventually, however, a fourth voice joined. Higher-pitched, boyish. Confirming Roms's earlier suspicion. She guessed that he was a year or two younger than her or her sister.

"Wind Blast." Vroom!

A burst of noise, something akin to a singular and sudden gust of wind, came from the hallway in front of Roms. Followed by something landing not too far away.

"It was from a blacksmith," the fourth voice said, making Roms let out a string of silent curses. "You want to know what it is? Guess. Otherwise? Leave."

Shit, shit shit! Roms thought to herself, body already itching to shoot forward. This isn't good!

The three adult voices, shakily, gave the boy their thanks. Then, after a hum, she heard a set of three footsteps start clambering away.

"Roms…" Rems whispered, the warning obvious.

Roms turned back to her sister and gave a nod. "Yeah, looks like there's no getting out of this without things getting messy—"

"—Crap."

…Shit. Please don't tell me that….

Roms looked back to the top of the stairs. Just as she feared, she found a pair of emerald green eyes staring down at her and her sister. Contemptuously. Although, the thing that worried her the most was the longsword he still had in hand.

The sight of it pushed her brain into panic mode. She rushed to speak, to make things look not as bad as they seemed, "Look, I know that this looks bad, but—"

"—I don't care," the kid said, putting his sword back into the sheathe on his back, before continuing down the stairs. Past the twins. Surprising them enough that they didn't even try to stop him.

Roms only realized when he reached the bottom of the stairs and walked completely out of sight.

"—Crap, shouldn't we go talk to him?" Roms asked in a harsh whisper.

Rems shook her head and started up the stairs. "Forget the kid. We came here to help Izz, remember?"

"But he just—"

"—It doesn't matter. At least, not right now. Besides, sis, think. What did that kid look like to you?"

"Um… Some newbie adventurer? Why is that— Oh!"

"Exactly. Now, c'mon, lizard brain needs saving."

…

Guts.

…

"You," Eris said, glaring at Guts as he approached Greyrat Manor's staff entrance. Of all the things he expected to find upon his return, his sparring partner wasn't one of them. She had her arms crossed over her chest and blocked the way. Given the sweat covering her forehead and seeping into her clothes, it was obvious that she'd spent his time away practicing. "I've been looking for you."

However, he knew that her scheduled training with Ghislaine never ran this late into the day. Must've blown off dinner, he thought.

"What do you want, Eris?" he asked, not caring to have this conversation.

Eris knit her brows together. "How come you get to go out into the city whenever you want?"

"Because I'm allowed to?"

"Huh?" Eris balked, her frown deepening. "But that doesn't make any sense. None of the other workers get to leave like you do."

Guts shrugged. "Take it up with your father if it makes so little sense to you. He didn't hire me to entertain every stupid question you have."

The girl's brow twitched. "Why did he hire you then? You're supposed to be helping me get better with a sword, but you've been here a month and I haven't gotten better at all!"

"How is that my fault?" Guts asked, feeling his own brows furrowing. "I keep telling you what you need to do to improve, but you don't listen to a thing I say."

"I don't listen because everything that comes out of your mouth is useless! Why should I listen to someone like you anyway? I have Ghislaine! She's a Sword King, you're not!"

Guts rolled his eyes and made to walk past her.

Eris grit her teeth and positioned herself back in front of him. "Hey, where do you think you're going?"

"Out of the way."

"I wasn't done talking to you."

"And I don't give a shit, dumbass."

"What did you just call me?" She asked, growling.

"I called you a dumbass, dumbass." That being said, Guts wasn't too far off from doing the same. "Now, move. If all you're going to do is bitch and moan, I'm not going to waste my time and energy listening."

"A sword." She was snarling now. Her hands were balled into tight fists. "Get one. Now."

Guts complied, relishing the opportunity to knock some sense into the idiot. "Fine. Just don't cry when I beat you into the dirt again.

…

Nothing changed.

Guts won. Handedly.

Eris stomped off like she always did.

He rolled his eyes. He didn't get that girl at all.

…

Chapter End.