Quest Complete: Become a guild master.

The flagship chapter of the Adventurers’ Guild occupied a full city block at the heart of Hoseki, the kingdom’s capital. The campus boasted a cavernous guild hall with space for 400 adventurers to sit and eat and still have room to dance between the tables. Two training buildings–one specializing in weapons and one specializing in all things mana–were just a few steps from the back of the guild hall. The guild crafters had their own building as well, fully outfitted to produce whatever an adventurer might need, from top of the line armor to the most potent alchemical mixes known to the kingdom.

White marble coated every structure on campus, a sheen of silver rippling beneath the stone, bringing life to every column and buttress. The best adventurers in the country called the Hoseki chapter home, and the top members were celebrated with murals and statues commemorating legendary battles and history-making feats of heroism. Though they had slain dragons and demon lords, those superhuman adventurers still looked to their Guild Master for guidance and direction.

The Hoseki chapter had been led by a rare Platinum-ranked adventurer since its founding. Currently, two other Platinum-ranked adventurers reported to the Hoseki Guild Master, as well as several dozen Diamond-ranked and hundreds of Gold-ranked. Top adventurers, elite craftspeople, expert instruction in nearly all known classes, food and lodging for members, access to the most desirable quests–the Hoseki chapter was the pinnacle of the Adventurers’ Guild greatness.

Hans was as far from the Hoseki chapter as he could get, and the door was locked.

He knocked. When nothing stirred within, he cupped his hands around his face to block the light as he peeked through dusty windows. The guild hall was empty. Whoever was supposed to open for the day hadn’t bothered. Somewhere in there–probably covered in cobwebs–was his new apartment, his new home. His wagon-bruised body longed for that bed.

New Quest: Find the key to the Gomi chapter of the Adventurers’ Guild.

That notification was imaginary, of course, a private game he played with himself to stay organized and motivated. With a slow, bass-filled sigh, Hans shouldered his rucksack, grabbed a leather handle on his monstrous footlocker–which had wheels at one end, mercifully–and headed into town for help.

Veteran adventurers were never kind with their descriptions of Gomi. For years, Hans had heard about how the town was little more than hovels and shanties stranded in the wilderness, populated by the dregs of society who cared as little for decorum as they did for hygiene. They talked about how the town’s sewage scent lingered in armor for weeks, and how the only tavern served stale bread to go with its skunked ale.

The Gomi that Hans saw before him didn’t match the rumors. The village was small, perhaps only a few hundred people in the town proper and as many farmers and hunters in the hills around it. Businesses and homes showed their age with peeling paint and loose mortar, but they were far from unlivable. Rather, they were battered by harsh winters and baked in blistering summer sun. Not hovels. Just showing their age.

A dirt crossroads divided the middle of Gomi. One of those roads led back to Hoseki, eventually. Two led to areas suitable for farming, giving the far off field-workers a direct path to town. The final road pointed directly into the wilderness, a dense forest of scrubby, mountain-hardened trees that climbed partway up the Dead End Mountains.

Beyond the treeline, the Dead End Mountain was a labyrinth of chasms and gorges with a year-round blanket of snow to hide natural pitfalls from unsuspecting hikers. Not that many people ever went up that high. The Dead End Mountains were famous for being colossally useless.

No survey team ever found anything worth mining in its slopes. Treasure hunters came up empty. No signs of dungeons or lost settlements. Several groups of explorers had attempted to cross the Dead End Mountains, hoping to find riches on the other side. Many of them never returned. The parties who turned back described an unending mountainous landscape. Navigating twisting crags in a blizzard was slow, dangerous work that rapidly sapped morale and provisions, so they gave up. The one party who returned reported that after crossing 50 miles of mountain they came to the otherside: a desert wasteland bereft of life and plagued with sandstorms.

As far as frontiers that interested adventurers and nations alike, the Dead End Mountains had nothing to offer, so Gomi stayed small, becoming little more than an obscure joke for the few adventurers who had even heard of it.

Few locals were out and about Gomi that morning. Apparently, the town was at its busiest on weekends when the farmers and artisans in the surrounding hills came to sell their wares. That Tuesday morning, Hans saw a few children who ran at the sight of him and one old lady who gave him stink-eye so hard that Baba Yaga would have flinched. Otherwise, the town felt empty.

Hans saw an open sign hanging in the window of the alchemist’s shop. He pushed open the door to enter a room packed with bottles and brews and concoctions, the shelves seeming to lean in and over him as he carefully maneuvered his rucksack and footlocker through the store. He didn’t want a few thousand gold of damages to a local business to be his first big introduction to the town.

“Hello?” Hans called when he found the counter at the back empty. Rushed footsteps came from the floor above. A moment later, a brunette with a blank expression–or was she angry already?–greeted him.

“What can I do for you? Haven’t seen an adventurer in a while, but I’ve got everything you need for a crawl.”

“I’m not an adventurer,” Hans began and then shook his head. “I mean, I am, but it’s not why I’m here.”

“I’m afraid hair growth serum is an old wives’ tale. If it existed, I’d sell it to you.”

Hans set a nervous hand on his receding hairline. “What? No, no, no. I’m the new Guild Master. Any idea who might have the key to the guild hall?”

“The new Guild Master? Wow. I don’t think we have had a Diamond-ranked adventurer visit in decades, if ever, and you’re here to stay?”

“I’m Gold-ranked, but I am here to stay.”

“Gold?” the alchemist popped an eyebrow. “I thought only Diamond-ranked and above were permitted to be guild masters?”

Wincing, Hans allowed his frustration to bubble and recede without incident. He loathed discussing his rank, yet he knew he would have to answer this exact question dozens of times over the next few days. Best to just get through it.

“Yeah, that’s still the rule,” Hans said. “The Gomi chapter has been without a guild master for a while now, and no Diamonds… Uhh… No Diamond-rankeds were available to take the position.”

“You mean none of the Diamond-rankeds wanted to move out to our little corner of nowhere.”

“It’s complicated.”

The alchemist laughed. “It’s okay. We’re used to being on our own out here. Anyway, Mayor Charlie has a key. His bakery is five doors down in that direction.”

“Thank you, kindly.”

“If he’s not there, check City Hall and then the guard tower. He might be sorting through trade agreements or taking a guard shift.”

“The Mayor?”

“You bet. That’s living in a small town for you. We have to be versatile.”

Hans followed the alchemist’s directions, stopping to facepalm when he was three doors away from her shop. He hadn’t thought to introduce himself or to ask her name. Not a great start for ingratiating himself into the community.

Thankfully, the Mayor was indeed at the bakery. A small wiry gentleman–who was either short for a human or tall for a halfling, Hans wasn’t sure–pulled a tray of freshly baked bread loaves from the oven, replacing them immediately with the next batch of dough. The Mayor looked up when Hans entered.

“Welcome to Gomi! Always great to see a new face in the merchant caravan, and you’re in luck. I have a fresh batch of croissants that are just about cool enough to eat.” Without waiting for a reply, the gangly Mayor grabbed a croissant from the display case and wrapped it in paper.

“I’m not a customer, actually.”

“Oh?” the Mayor said, deflating somewhat. “What brings you in then?”

“I’m Hans. I’m taking over the Guild Master position and was trying to track down the key.”

The Mayor’s disappointment evaporated instantly. “The new Guild Master! We heard you were coming, but the journey here is long. What am I saying? You know that. You just did it!”

Hans smiled and nodded.

“Here. Follow me, and I’ll let you in,” the Mayor said, untying his apron. He looked over his shoulder and yelled to the back, “I’ve got to show the new Guild Master around town. Watch the oven for me?”

“Oh watch it yourself,” a raspy voice gruffed in reply.

“My wife,” the Mayor explained as he held the door open for Hans. “We’ve been in love for 40 years. She’s wonderful.”

“She sounds lovely.”

The mayor strolled back up the dirt street toward the guild hall, searching through a keyring larger than a door knocker. “How was your trip? Not too eventful, I hope.”

“No real excitement. We heard gnolls a few nights before we got to Gomi, but that was it.”

“You came from Hoseki, right? That’s a… what is it… three-month journey?”

“Close. Took me four because I hitched a ride with merchants. More stopping than if we rode straight through.”

“Ah yes, that’s very true,” the Mayor said. He grinned at a key in his hand and returned his attention to Hans. “Well, for what it’s worth, we’re all very excited to have you here. I know it’s not the most glamorous posting, but hopefully you enjoy your time here before you rank up and move on.”

“Did the Guild send you a letter about my coming?”

“They did, and they explained the exception they made for rank. I don’t mind that you’re Gold-ranked. Might not be Diamond, but Gold is good enough for Gomi and definitely better than no guild master at all.”

“Thanks?”

Approaching the guild hall from this direction gave Hans a fresh and more complete view of his new home chapter. From the outside, the hall was a touch bigger than the Mayor’s bakery, but not by much. An apartment occupied the second floor while the guild itself operated on the first. Hans couldn’t see any of it from the street, but it was clear the interior would be small. A sun-bleached wooden fence surrounded a yard next to the hall. Between broken slats of the brittle gray fence, Hans could see a dirt fighting pit and a few pieces of training equipment. Some of that equipment was losing a slow battle to nature, disappearing beneath weeds and long grass.

The Mayor unlocked the door and went in first, moving toward the windows to open the blinds.

Quest Complete: You gained access to the Gomi chapter of the Adventurers’ Guild.

The hall had looked better in the dark. From years of dungeon diving and living inn room to inn room, Hans had learned that there were two types of grime.

The first kind of grime was what you found in a long forgotten room. The dust may be thick, but it’s fluffy like snow, coating every surface and object evenly, resting undisturbed. This kind of grime was usually a good sign for an adventurer. Untouched grime meant that no one else had gotten there first and that no monsters were about.

The second kind of grime was found in places that were simultaneously abandoned and inhabited. Instead of loose, almost poetic dust coating the scene, this kind of grime is sticky and gritty. Something with wet breath and sweaty hair mixed their oily filth into the natural dust of the room. Hoarders created the second kind of grime, and so did any humanoid monster, like goblins or trolls. The worst sources of this grime, however, were found primarily in cities.

These sources were known as children.

In the guild hall grime, Hans saw small finger prints and the dirty streaks left from a halfhearted attempt to wipe down tables and chairs. This hall might be able to fit 20 people if they were clever about it. They would need to fix up a few of the broken benches first, though. A small desk sat at the back of the room, covered in stacks of papers and ledgers. No fingermarks on these items but plenty of dust.

New Quest: Clean the guild hall.

A narrow door led to the back of the guild hall, a compact storage room with a steep set of stairs leading to the Guild Master’s apartment. Hans poked through the shelves, hoping to find a stockpile of guild essentials. The rations he found were long spoiled. The training weapons were either broken or wrapped in greasy cloth that was still wet from a recent sparring session. And the only spare armor was a singular helmet that smelled of rat pee.

No raw crafting materials. No alchemical ingredients. No emergency antidotes and healing potions. No usable loaner gear. Not even a rudimentary first aid kit.

New Quest: Replenish basic adventuring provisions.

New Quest: Acquire functional training equipment.

New Quest: Acquire emergency essentials – 6x healing potions, 6x potions of cure poison, 6x potions of cure disease, 3x potions of remove curse, 3x potions of cure petrification.

New Quest: Acquire a basic first aid kit.

The first kind of grime covered the studio apartment up the stairs. The Mayor followed Hans and began folding up the wide stretches of drop cloth draped over the room’s furniture. Beneath the cloth and shielded from dust, the Mayor revealed a respectable bed and pillow, a small couch, a desk and chair, a half bookshelf, and a dresser.

“It’s not fit for a king but it isn’t all that bad,” the Mayor said, looking around as he clapped the dust off his hands.

“It’s plenty for me.”

“There’s a key ring in your desk over there. It’ll have a key to the front door, to your apartment door, to the guild lockbox, and to the gate outside. I’ve got a stack of guild mail in my office to give you. I can drop that off for you later, if you like.”

“That’d be great.”

With an armful of folded dropcloths, the Mayor scanned the room one more time. Satisfied, he said, “I’ll leave you to get settled. If you need me, swing by the bakery.”

Hans thanked him.

A few steps down the stairs, the Mayor turned back. With his height, he was already eye-level with the floor. “Try to give it a chance,” he said earnestly. “We might not have the glitz of a big city, but there are good people here.”

“You don’t need to convince me. I’m already here.”

“I’ve been at this for a while. Every Guild Master we’ve gotten has moved on as quickly as they could. One got right back on his horse and rode out of town when he saw the guild hall. You could help a lot of people by sticking around for even a few years.”

“Were they younger than me?”

“I don’t like to presume, especially around adventurers. I don’t understand the life extension stuff and don’t want to make assumptions.”

“Well, I’m as old as I look. Gold-rankers age the same as everyone else. It’s the Diamonds who can live close to 200 years, but they’re something more than human at that point.”

“Not something you wanted?”

“Something like that.”

The Mayor nodded. “Well, thank you for hearing me out. If you’d like a hot meal for dinner, you’re welcome to join my wife and me later.”

With that, the Mayor officially departed, leaving Hans to explore his new home.

It was a one room studio apartment. If he laid on the floor and stretched his arms out, he could nearly touch opposite walls at the same time. Consequently, the exploration was brief. Beyond a look under the bed and a quick check of his desk drawers, there wasn’t anything else to see.

He went back downstairs to retrieve his footlocker and hauled it up the difficult stairs, setting it next to his rucksack.

First, he emptied his rucksack. He had alternated outfits on the journey, washing in rivers when inns weren’t available. The tunic, pants, and socks in his rucksack definitely needed to be cleaned. He sniffed. Yeah, the clothes he was wearing needed cleaning as well. He tossed the dirty clothes aside and did a check of his gear. Everything was in order, but he would need a fresh tinderbox and a new rope before he left town again, whenever that might be.

His footlocker wasn’t much more exciting–a few more changes of clothes, a pair of winter boots, a heavy jacket, a suit of studded leather armor, his sword, and a stack of books. His clothes, armor, and weapons were masterfully crafted but otherwise unremarkable. He had liberated a few magic trinkets in his time, but the suits of glistening armor coated in glowing runes weren’t common until Diamond-ranked. Some Gold-rankers had enchanted gear. In most cases, they came from noble families and could afford to buy a higher tier of gear.

If you wanted to find an impressive enchanted item yourself, you needed to be a Diamond-ranked to survive the monsters and dungeons guarding them.

Of everything in the footlocker, he treasured his books the most. The leather corners of each cover were worn and frayed. The once colorful bindings were dulled by a brown coat of age, and the pages were the same, bent and yellowed and stained. All signs of a well-loved book.

Most of the books were related to his profession. He had a bestiary of known creatures in the region, a guide to identifying alchemical ingredients in the wild, a primer on practical spellcasting for beginners, a handbook of guild policies and procedures, a guild-issued combat manual, two of his favorite novels, a journal, and a book that was thus far unfinished.

That last book was his own. In his 20s, Hans had the idea to create a complete guide for training adventurers, so he started to collect and organize everything he learned as well as his observations from teaching students over the years. More than 10 years on, he estimated that the manuscript was a little over half complete. Now that he was all-but retired, he would have the time to finish the project.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Hans organized his few belongings. His shelves and drawers were still mostly empty when he was done, but he found something deeply satisfying about having a dedicated place for his pants and a shelf for his books. For most of his life, he had lived out of his rucksack. Having a physical home was both novel and comforting.

Without taking off his smelly clothes, he flopped onto the bed. Worn and battered from the road, he was asleep as soon as he closed his eyes.

***

The familiar sound of wooden swords plonking against each other roused Hans from his slumber. He looked out his side window onto the fenced-in training yard and saw a teenage boy instructing three children. Each had a wooden sword in their hands, and the teen coached a boy and girl pair through a combination of attacks and blocks. He adjusted their footwork and critiqued their form, sometimes holding the wrist of one child to walk them through a movement. The third child had drifted off on their own and hacked at dandelions at the far side of the yard.

The Hoseki chapter, which also served as the central headquarters for the organization as a whole, had no insight into what–if anything–was active at the Gomi chapter. The guild master role had been empty for some time, and no one wanted the hassle of traveling all the way out there to check on it. Seeing a kids’ class in action was a good sign. The Gomi chapter might be in rough shape, but it was doing some good at least.

By design and by decree, the Adventurers’ Guild operated as a not-for-profit and was quasi government affiliated, yet not controlled by the kingdom directly. Chapters provided essential services to locals at no or reduced charge. Monster-hunting was one such service, of course, but the more practical services were things like wild plant identification, magic item appraisal, escorts for merchants and travelers, and educational opportunities.

That was part of the bargain between the Guild and the Kingdom. In exchange for offering their services to locals while also providing emergency aid in the event of an attack or other such disaster, the Guild had complete discretion over the management of dungeons, and adventurers would not be required to pay taxes on the treasures they might uncover, which made some upper-level adventurers incredibly wealthy.

One opportunity offered to locals was to enroll their children in free combat training. Self-defense was useful for everyone, regardless of their professional aspirations, and learning to safely handle a weapon was always useful. A farmhand might never scale the palisades of an orc fort, but they might need to run off a goblin or a bandit to protect their families.

Most guild chapters put junior or apprentice members–like the teenage boy he watched teaching in the training yard–in charge of teaching children, a practice that Hans loudly disagreed with.

“The kids are learning bad habits,” he had told his Guild Master in the Capital. “The instructors mean well, but they’re too green themselves.”

“So? It’s a childrens’ class. You want to put a top adventurer on babysitting duty?”

“If not that, then something,” Hans had replied. “By the time they’re old enough to take my class, they have a ton of bad habits that they have to unlearn before we can get to anything new. Wouldn’t it be better to get them started with good habits? Solid fundamentals?”

The Guild Master had laughed at that. Too few of the children ever pursued an adventuring career to justify a radical change in how the Guild operated. The classes were a government obligation. A chore. A box to be checked with as little effort as possible. The Guild would fulfill their side of the bargain, but they rarely went beyond the minimum.

Joining the guild at 15 meant that Hans saw hundreds of adventurers come and go over the years. He watched, firsthand, as dozens of children in training grew up to become adventurers. One day, they were crying because a wooden blade rapped their knuckles. The next, they were heading out to raid a cockatrice nest with a party of professionals.

In that time, he observed that the children who trained with expert instructors instead of junior guild members were consistently more skilled. The families that could afford private classes for their children did well, as did the noble families whose children were taught by knights and soldiers. Wealth would always be its own advantage, naturally, but he saw no reason to further widen that gap with lackluster guild classes.

Eventually, Hans wore down his Guild Master. He wouldn’t get paid for it, but if he felt strongly about training children, he was welcome to take over the program and do it himself.

So he did, much to the surprise of nearly every senior Guild member.

In addition to implementing his teaching philosophy, Hans kept the junior and apprentice instructors as assistants. Extra eyes were useful in a room full of small children swinging blunted swords, but that was only part of the motivation. In his mind, the young instructors also needed to learn. Their combat skills could always improve with guidance from an upper member. More importantly, however, they learned how to teach.

After a few years, as children from the kids’ class aged into formal professional training, the results of the philosophy were obvious to anyone who cared to look. Injury rates in training went down. Fewer children quit the program early. More children applied to become adventurers. And the chapter placed better in combat sporting events in all age groups.

It worked. When he went to show his Guild Master his data and observations, he was shooed out of the room. “We’re three pages away from completing the Lost Codex, and you bother us with notes from your kids’ class?”

The Platinum-ranked Guild Master shut the door on Hans while the Diamond-rankers in the background cackled like bog witches.

Oh, one of the kids outside was crying now.

Hans brought his mind back to the present. When the child continued to bawl, vocalizing like a mortally wounded deer, Hans decided he best go check on the class. That was kind of his job now, after all.

New Quest: Resolve the cause of the child’s distress.

Outside, a dark-skinned teenage boy with short curly hair knelt down to speak to a little blond boy, his green snot bubble inflating in time with the cadence of his howls of despair. A little blond girl watched calmy from nearby. They were brother and sister, Hans guessed as he compared faces. The youngest child was still off in the corner with their back to the class, cleaving the heads from dandelions like a mad king in a full court.

All of the children, the teenage instructor included, wore the same kind of clothes: heavy duty peasant workwear passed down from their older siblings or older neighbors, faded from use and speckled with patches. Like Hans, these children likely didn’t own much more than a second change of clothes. Unlike Hans, they were barefoot.

A far cry from the Academy in Hoseki, he thought to himself.

“Is everything okay?” Hans asked, striding out of the guild hall and into the training yard.

All of the children–including the dandelion destroyer–froze as Hans approached. The crying boy forgot that he was upset and went quiet.

“Sounded like someone was hurt.”

The teenage boy spoke up, timidly at first. “We weren’t doing nothing. We were just training.”

“Nobody is in trouble. I’m Hans, the new Guild Master.”

“Really?!”

“Yep. I got here this morning. Anyway, what are you working on?”

The children glanced between themselves nervously. The oldest boy spoke for them. “It was, uh, a counter to an overhead attack. A soldier taught me.”

Hans nodded. “That’s great. Show me?”

A timid cough helped the boy to shake his reluctance but did little to calm his nerves. Hans borrowed a training sword while the boy set his stance and explained the scenario. His voice quivered. “So you’re going to attack me like this. Just a simple overhead strike. Straight ahead.”

He let Hans slowly execute the attack, confirmed it was the right one, and asked Hans to repeat the movement.

“I’m going to step in to block by raising my sword into this defensive position. See how I’ve got the flat side… umm… sideways to intercept the blade? I’m also getting myself under my sword to create a stronger blocking position.”

The boy looked at Hans. When Hans didn’t answer, just looked back at him, he nervously continued his instruction.

“So from this block, we have some cool options. Most of his torso is open. If I had a knife, I could attack with that. Knees, elbows, and maybe a kick might work too.”

His head bobbing from side to side, Hans replayed the movement in his mind. After a moment of analysis, his attention returned to the class. “That was some solid footwork and control,” Hans said. “I can tell you’ve been practicing a lot.”

The boy blushed and tried to play off the compliment, “Thank you.”

“It was all wrong.”

All of the children inhaled, their eyes wide.

Hans broke into laughter. “I’m just joking. I meant what I said about solid control, though. Can I suggest a different option?”

The boy nodded.

“This is going to sound like the long way around, but I promise it will make sense in the end. Okay? One of the things we’ll talk a lot about in these classes is strategy and how you choose what techniques to practice. To keep it simple, I call these ‘rules.’ They aren’t rules like you have at home.” Hans pointed abruptly at the snot bubble child. “Those are important too, so wash your hands!”

The kids giggled.

“The rule I want to talk about today goes like this: ‘Blocking is bad.’” Bewildered expressions blanketed the class, but Hans continued. “Blocking should be a last resort, something you do only because you have no other options. To be clear: I’m not telling you to let someone stab you. Block if you have to. I’m saying that there are better options you should consider before trying to block. Does that distinction make sense? Blocking is okay if you have to, but try other things first.”

Hans saw nodding heads all around. Even the dandelion destroyer had wandered over and listened to the instruction. Seeing his face for the first time, Hans realized the boy was part orc. He had the hard angular features of an orc, but they were softened by his human heritage. His skin was a greenish tan, and two small tusks poked up from his lower jaw, overlapping his top lip.

Perhaps a quarter orc? Maybe less? Hans knew it was rude to ask, and he winced at his own vocabulary. They called themselves “tusks” or “tusk-touched” regardless of how much or how little orc blood ran through their veins. Orcs were monsters. Tusks were people.

“This isn’t a trick question, so answer honestly,” Hans said, his eyes locked with his oldest pupil. “Do you think if I attacked you with all of my might that you’d be able to block it?”

The teenager shook his head with a hint of shame in his pursed lips.

“Don’t be sad about that. I probably have 100 pounds on you, and I’ve been training for a while. Also, that’s a really powerful attack no matter who is doing it. It’s supposed to be hard to stop, so don’t feel bad about factors you can’t control. The best thing you can do is to adapt.

“I say ‘Blocking is bad’ because I want your first options to be techniques that are almost always better answers than blocking. If I can dodge the attack, that’s better than a block,” Hans demonstrated a quick and simple sidestep that put him outside of the boy’s sword hand, leaving the boy’s back partially exposed. “I avoided the strike and didn’t put my body through the strain of blocking. Trust me. Blocking hurts.”

The children laughed at that too.

“What else might be better than blocking?”

The dandelion destroyer raised his hand. Hans pointed at him. “Running!” the child yelled.

“Well, you’re technically correct. Let’s say you can’t run.”

The teenage boy had his head down in thought. He lifted it cautiously and said, “Parrying?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because parrying redirects the attack. You’re still defending but you move the energy instead of absorbing it.”

“Exactly. I want your first defensive choices to keep you mobile and out of unnecessary danger. When we’re here sparring, you should focus on practicing good choices. Again, if you need to block, please block. In this training yard, though, we’re working to build good habits so that when you’re staring down an ogre with a wicked club, your dodge is on point because you aren’t blocking that strike and getting away with it.”

“You fought an ogre?”

“I’ve seen a few monsters in my day,” Hans said with a smirk. “Let’s practice more and maybe we’ll do story time another class.”

With the philosophy lesson over with, Hans taught his first kids class in Gomi. He showed the children the proper footwork for a sideways dodge, which included how they should position their sword for maximum efficiency and safety. Then he taught an inside parry and an outside parry, emphasizing when to choose each and what follow up attacks might go best with either form of parry.

When the children seemed to grasp what they needed to practice, Hans gave the older boy–whose name he learned was Quentin–extra attention, sprinkling in a few comments on why he teaches these techniques together. Quentin hardly spoke. He fixed his gaze on Hans’ movements and nodded determinedly with each new idea.

Hans had seen this type of child before, and he was thrilled to have met Quentin on his first day in Gomi. Quentin had the focus of a serious student. He was quick to step aside and let Hans teach, and his movements in training were deliberate and thoughtful. Every repetition was an opportunity to do a little bit better, to be critical of his form in order to improve it.

A motivated student was far easier to teach, that’s for sure, but Hans’ excitement came from knowing how Quentin’s progress would affect the other students. They would have someone they already knew to look up to, giving them an example to follow in their own training.

Despite being soaked with sweat after an hour and a half of drills, all four children ran out of the training yard, bubbling about everything they had learned in class.

Quest Complete: Resolve the cause of the child’s distress.

Not a bad first day. Not bad at all.

A woman called. Hans turned to see the lady alchemist standing higher than the fence, likely on a box or barrel obscured by the fence itself. She waved Hans over. Without the distraction of tracking down a key, he noticed more about the lady alchemist. In the dim of her shop, Hans had guessed she was younger. Seeing her in the light, however, she had the refined beauty of a woman his age, though she hid most of herself beneath loose peasant clothes and a heavy leather apron.

“Brought you a gift,” she said and slung a stuffed leather bag over the fence. “First aid kit. Thought you might need it.”

Quest Complete: Acquire a basic first aid kit.

“We definitely do. What do I owe you?”

“That’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Hans gestured for her to continue.

“Since Gomi isn’t big enough to warrant a guild alchemist, the Adventurers’ Guild outsources to me. I do everything a guild alchemist would normally do.”

“Ingredient testing? Emergency treatments? Crisis planning?”

“Yep. All of it. It’s still free for the town.”

To Hans, that sounded like a pretty good deal for everyone. “I appreciate you letting me know. I haven’t dug into any of the records yet.”

“Don’t thank me. I’m being self-serving. The Mayor has been handling making sure my writs of guild credit get to me.”

“Ah, I see. Now that I’m here, I’ll be processing those for you.”

“Now you got it.”

Hans laughed. He promised to do his best, and he assured her he wouldn’t mind a reminder if he fell behind.

“Welcome to Gomi!” she said, as if she had delayed her acceptance of Hans until he confirmed that her pay was safe. “I’m Olza. Nice to meet you.”

A sharp putrid scent tickled Hans’ nose as the alchemist retreated. He sniffed his armpit.

Oh gods, she could probably smell me.

Cursing his own awkwardness, Hans gathered the wooden training swords and returned to the guild hall in search of a bath.

***

Late that afternoon, as the setting sun draped the Dead End Mountains in reds and oranges, Hans heard a knock on the guild hall door. He looked up from his desk downstairs–the one previously covered in papers and books–and called that the knocker could come in.

Quentin sheepishly slinked into the guild hall with a cowskin bag over his shoulder.

“You don’t need to knock to enter the guild hall,” Hans assured the boy. “A guild hall is open to everyone. It’s just as much yours as it is mine.”

“Yes, sir,” Quentin replied. The boy stopped in front of the desk and looked everywhere but at Hans.

“What’s on your mind?”

“What do I have to do to be an adventurer?”

Hans checked the time. He was due for dinner with Mayor Charlie and his wife soon, but not yet. “Grab a chair. How old are you Quentin?”

“15 next month,” he answered as he tried wiping some dust from a stool before sitting down.

“Taking guild classes and practicing is a good start. How did you learn new things without a Guild Master?”

Quentin explained that a Bronze-ranked adventurer lived in the forest outside of Gomi. Whenever he could, Quentin asked her to teach him swordplay, so he picked up some basics from her and supplemented those techniques with anything he could get a visiting merchant or soldier to show him.

On the non-combat side of his adventuring skills, Olza held a plant identification seminar each spring, teaching alchemical safety. Children learned to identify local plants, when and how to harvest the worthwhile specimens, and what to avoid touching or eating. Quentin’s father was a hunter, so he had also learned bushcraft and wilderness survival since he was a child.

“I think that’s everything,” Quentin said. “I know I’m behind other kids my age but I’ll do anything to catch up.”

“Why do you say you’re behind?”

“The merchants say kids my age in Hoseki are already casting spells.”

Hans sighed. “Some kids your age are already casting spells. The vast majority of them can’t, and I’ve seen a lot of those kids–the ones who couldn’t cast until they got older–turn into top-notch adventurers.”

“Really?”

“Really. I’d guess that you’re actually ahead of the Capital kids in a lot of places. Alchemy lessons are usually given to adults, not children, so you’ve got a head start there. For your practical survival skills, you might be more advanced than some of the adults. Very few places in the kingdom have access to a real wilderness like Gomi does.”

Quentin nodded and stared at the ground, contemplating what he just heard. “I still want to get better,” he said after a while.

“Keep coming to class, and speak up when you have questions. Once we get to know each other a little bit better, we’ll do a side project designed for you.”

The boy’s enormous grin lightened the room. “Can I ask a question now?”

“Sure.”

“No offense meant, sir, but I’m confused about ranks. I thought guild masters were always Diamond-ranked.”

Hearing that topic made Hans want to go upstairs and lock his apartment door. Forever. He did his best to hide his discomfort from Quentin, and began by saying, “I know you’ve heard all the ranks before, but we’re going to start from the beginning. Listen carefully to how I describe each level because you’ll have to teach these ranks to your students some day.”

Quentin nodded excitedly.

Hans explained that the guild had seven adult ranks and one child–or “junior”--rank. The progression went Apprentice, Iron, Bronze, Silver, Gold, Diamond, and Platinum. Every rank up through Gold was awarded by a Guild Master based on merit and was more akin to earning a medal than any sort of boost or upgrade, making that series of ranks potentially political rather than an objective measure of ability. Diamond and Platinum offered such benefits, but those ranks required more than a simple assessment of merit. Broadly speaking, the distinctions between the ranks broke down like this:

Apprentice-Ranked – These are green guild recruits. As green as you can get. They are at the beginning of their training and shadow an upper-ranked adventurer to learn the ropes without, you know, dying.

Iron-Ranked – Officially guild members, the Iron-ranked represents a grasp of the fundamentals of adventuring with limited field experience.

Bronze-Ranked – Irons who successfully complete guild quests can advance to Bronze. This rank isn’t expected to be “stronger” than the Iron-ranked. Using a skill would naturally improve it, so it’s not that there is no personal advancement. It’s more that the guild emphasizes getting smarter to move from Iron to Bronze.

Silver-Ranked – Starting with Silver, progression is measured mostly by accomplishments in the field. If a Bronze Ranked can consistently best Silver-level challenges, they get bumped up. Silver-level challenges tend to be creatures like trolls and ogres, large and dangerous but not master casters or tacticians.

Gold Ranked – If you pull your weight in a party capable of clearing Gold challenges, which includes most dungeon bosses, you can advance from Silver to Gold. For this rank, the Guild Master has the option to begin requiring additional tests before granting a promotion. In the hands of a friendly guild master, those tests are used as a teaching tool, giving an adventurer a reason to correct a hole in their skillset. A mean Guild Master can use a test to delay or punish a Silver they don’t like.

Diamond-Ranked – At Diamond, adventurers can solo most dungeon bosses. Advancing to Diamond is usually the result of the adventurer receiving a boon from a god or unlocking an ability by defeating a rare and difficult enemy. This quest was assigned by the Hoseki chapter of the Adventurers’ Guild, and Diamonds were not permitted to talk about what those quests entailed. Hans knew a few Diamonds who found neither, but they had found enchanted rings or other such trinkets that enhanced some or all of their attributes. The Guild Master’s prerogative to require an additional test or challenge exists at this rank as well.

Platinum-Ranked – Only a King can grant this rank, though Guild Masters can recommend Diamonds they believe to be worthy, making the final rank a return to merit-based assessment. Most of the adventurers who reach this rank–of which there are few–have the power of a demi-god and have demonstrated that power with a grand accomplishment. Typically, the source of their power comes from an extension of what they acquired in the Diamond quest, but not always. One Platinum Hans knew felled a plague god to earn their rank. The current Guild Master for the Hoseki chapter repelled a demon invasion by himself to earn his Platinum promotion.

“Every guild master handles rank a little bit differently, so you might hear another guild master describe them in other ways,” Hans continued. “As for my rank… I’ll be honest with you, Quentin. I didn’t have what it takes to cross that chasm. Diamonds are special while Golds tend to be ‘above average.’”

“What held you back?”

Geesh. This kid is fearless.

“I plateaued. I couldn’t unlock whatever it is that makes Diamonds more than human. While I was trying, I stacked up a few injuries that never completely healed. Then, after a botched attempt to solo a dungeon boss to earn my Diamond promotion, my guild master banned me from trying again, and I went to work for the guild. They couldn’t find a Diamond to fill this post, so I got to be the first Gold-ranked guild master.”

Hans tried to make that sound like a privilege, but it was really a type of exile. They put a throwaway Guild Master in charge of a throwaway chapter.

Quentin looked Hans up and down, as if making a new assessment or, perhaps, like he was searching for the injuries Hans mentioned. “I want to get better. I want to be Gomi’s first Diamond-ranked adventurer.”

“Can you come by tomorrow?”

“I have chores in the mornings but can be here at noon.”

“Great. Bring an extra broom.”

***

Open Quests (Ordered from Old to New):

Progress from Gold-ranked to Diamond-ranked.

Mend the rift between Hans and Devon.

Complete the manuscript for "The Next Generation: A Teaching Methodology for Training Adventurers."

Clean the guild hall.

Replenish basic adventuring provisions.

Acquire functional training equipment.

Acquire emergency essentials – 6x healing potions, 6x potions of cure poison, 6x potions of cure disease, 3x potions of remove curse, 3x potions of cure petrification.