Hans couldn’t sleep. A light rain pattered on the roof of the guild hall as he swung his legs out of bed, rubbing his eyes. He was so tired he hurt, and yet he could not rest. Devon was half a kingdom away, at least, but after hearing Mazo’s story, he expected the Platinum-ranked adventurer to show up at any moment to officially eject Hans from the Adventurers’ Guild.

That was outlandish, but so was Devon bothering to lobby against Hans at all. What was the point? What was there to be gained? The answer he had was spite. Pure spite.

His restlessness reminded him of one of his open quests.

Active Quest: Create a plan for what to do if you are removed from the Gomi chapter.

He had pondered the question on occasion before, most deeply on his first night drinking with Becky, Galinda, and Charlie. When he began imagining the worst possible scenarios, he scolded himself for inventing ghosts to fear. Now, at whatever time of night or morning it was, the threat didn’t seem imaginary.

Unfurling a map of the kingdom, he looked at where he would go, where he could go. This exercise was nothing new, and he knew what answers he would find, but still, he traced the many roads and considered the many villages and towns.

Every one of those options brought him closer to Hoseki, a prospect that twisted his stomach and bubbled a hint of bile up his throat.

I can’t go back. I can’t do it.

His only viable choices were moving to one of the two countries bordering his own–one led by lizardmen and one by dwarves–or to pick a direction and head into the frontier. As much as he wouldn’t mind living in either of those places, the Adventurers’ Guild had been working to expand its reach beyond its current borders, and had been making headway.

If each country didn’t have four or five new chapters of the Guild before the New Year, Hans would be surprised.

That left the frontier. Ambitious–or reckless, depending on who was asked–traders sometimes ventured into the frontier to procure exotic goods, selling them in the kingdom for a handsome profit. Those traders spoke of far-flung villages living behind stone walls and palisades, always in danger of a monster raid. Disgraced upper-ranked adventurers were rumored to settle in these kinds of places, earning their keep by defending the citizens.

On the few trips he had taken into the frontier with his party, he learned that towns appeared and disappeared with tragic frequency. When he was on his most recent journey, three of four of the towns they had identified on their route were gone by the time he arrived. In all cases, they were beaten down to ruins and dappled with the remains of people not lucky enough to escape.

What would I even do in the frontier? Stake out a homestead and become a farmer?

Hans shook his head as an old idea resurfaced. He could head into the Dead End Mountains, and perhaps find a place to settle on the other side, if he made it that far. Reports from half-starved explorers had been wrong before. Maybe the other side of the mountains was all beautiful green prairie instead of a desolate desert.

But then what?

Hans shut the map, crossing his arms on his apartment desk to rest his head.

***

“Welcome to the first adult class,” Hans said to Galad, Galinda, Uncle Ed, and four other residents from in and around Gomi, men and women. Terry the guard did not attend. “I know many of you have trained before, so there’s a good chance I’ll teach something differently than how you learned it previously. When that happens, I’m not saying your original instructor was wrong. I’m simply showing you a different approach, and I’d like you to try it my way while you’re drilling. You can do whatever you want when you spar.”

Everyone nodded.

“We’re starting with the sword. If you can use a sword, you can make just about any vaguely sword-shaped weapon work if you’re forced to. The mechanics of a mace have a lot in common with slashing with a sword. The mechanics of thrusting a spear have a lot in common with a sword thrust. Hell, you can make a sturdy stick work if you had to. All of those weapons have their own nuances, but my goal is to maximize your chances of success. Learning the sword as your base is the best way to do that.

“Most of you have seen how I teach the kids’ class. The training methods will be the same but with less crying. Hopefully.”

The class chuckled.

As the lesson progressed, Hans could see which townspeople had handled a weapon and who hadn’t. Not surprisingly, Galad and Galinda were the most competent. From what Hans knew of their parents, those skills were likely honed by cruel necessity.

Seeing either of them swing a sword reminded him how important his first rule was: Blocking is bad. If they hit his shield with their full strength, his forearm might crack. Having sparred with tusks plenty of times in his younger days, he knew they were strong, fast, and cunning, as if they had an inborn “battle sense” that no other race had.

Part way into the drills for the day, Hans noticed Quentin and Kane peeking over the fence.

“If you act like adults, you can take the adult class. Deal?”

The boys nodded immediately. Hans told them to grab a training sword and join the drills. None of the adults minded, many of them greeting the children excitedly in between tired breaths.

After a few minutes of observation, he called for a pause in drills but didn’t ask the class to circle up. “In kids’ classes, my challenge is keeping the class serious enough that they get their work in. For adults, the problem is the opposite. Us old farts take training too seriously. Don’t be afraid to laugh with your training partners. Don’t be hard on yourself if you make a mistake. Focus is good. But we think better if we associate combat with mental calm… Also it makes training less boring.”

The class worked through the same beginner curriculum as the kids’ class, starting with basic strikes, basic parries, and their relevant footwork. For the students who hadn’t trained before, these lessons built the foundation critical for Hans’ teaching method. For those who had experience, Hans used the lesson to evaluate their form and technique, gaining a sense of how much they knew and how technical they were in a fight.

Galad and his sister Galinda had a habit of adopting a wide stance to enhance the strength of their strikes. Though the blows were stronger, their foot placement reduced their mobility. They couldn’t adjust to a counterattack as quickly as they should, and they were on the cusp of being off balance. The correct feint or counter could overextend their stance, putting them at even more risk.

Uncle Ed listened intently and had a farmer’s athleticism. He lacked confidence, however, every step and movement riddled with uncertainty and hesitation. That was also not unusual. Much of combat relied on decisive action, but decisiveness did not come naturally to most people, especially when their lives were in danger.

The other townspeople were typical beginners. A few learned things more quickly than the others, but they all made the same kinds of common beginner mistakes. Hans came around often to tweak footwork and adjust grips, tightening their technique with each repetition.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

As class wound down, Hans asked his students to circle up again.

“I don’t make adults wait to spar the way I do with kids,” Hans explained. “ But I care just as much about keeping everyone here safe and healthy. The tradition is that any new student spars with me first. If they’re an asshole, I figure that out before they thump on a beginner and hurt someone.

“No one is obligated to spar today. If you’re not comfortable with it, waiting isn’t a problem. If you’re curious but are worried about your safety, sparring with me will be safe and slow.

“This is the warning: I’ll match your intensity. With anyone else, I decide how you spar. With me, you can go as hard as you want as long as you’re comfortable with me doing the same.”

With his spiel out of the way, he asked who wanted to spar.

Galinda raised her hand before anyone else. Hans invited her out to the middle of the training yard. Shaking the tusk’s hand reminded the Guild Master of how much larger she was than him. Far taller and far stronger, he prepared for her to be far faster as well.

When their match began, Galinda darted forward, her long legs and practiced footwork closing the distance while she launched a series of strikes. Hans slipped the first three and parried the next two. On the last parry, he stepped to the side to create an angle, temporarily halting his opponent’s relentless forward progress.

Without delay, he countered, sending swift but powerless strikes at the tusk, forcing her to defend even if the danger was minimal. For Galinda, the frequency of Hans’ attacks was like fighting a swarm of bees. No matter how much she swatted, new threats buzzed into action to continue the assault.

Frustrated, Galinda launched a sweeping horizontal slash, her naturally long reach helping her sword cover an immense amount of space with its blade. Hans slid backward, just out of the range of the sword’s tip, and shot back in as soon as it had passed. Because of her emotion, she overcommitted, taking her strike too wide for her to properly defend.

Hans thumped the back of her sword arm elbow with his sword. Where most human opponents would have lost their sword to that attack, Galinda’s grip was strong. She whipped her elbow backward, aiming for Hans’ ribs, but the Guild Master was too close to be in danger. With his body already against her arm, her attempt at an elbow strike became an aggressive but awkward shove.

Adjusting his feet to keep his balance, Hans brought his pommel down on Galinda’s forearm, but it was a feint. When she braced to resist the same disarm attempt again, he used his pommel to hold her arm in place as he brought his knee up.

Galinda’s sword fell to the dirt, but she kept fighting. The tusk-touched woman grabbed his sword arm with both hands. Instead of resisting her attempts to grapple, he capitalized on them. He ducked under one of her arms, pulling it over his shoulder as he turned his back and bucked his hips. With that motion, he used her grip against her. Had she let go, she wouldn’t have flown over Hans’ shoulder–her feet pointing straight up at the sky at the peak of the arc. She landed on her back in the dirt.

Her body produced an audible thud when she hit the ground, freezing her face in confused anger.

Galinda’s piercing tusk eyes looked up at the Guild Master from the ground. Then she howled with laughter.

“You’re not even sweating,” she said as she stood, dusting herself off. “If you were born a tusk, you would be unstoppable.”

Hans accepted Galinda’s compliment, even if it was unorthodox.

Most of the other adults chose to spar, Galad and Uncle Ed among them. Other than his match with Galad, most of the sparring was slow and calm, the person across from Hans a complete neophyte who needed more room to think about their next move. For Galad’s part, he adhered to more traditional swordplay than his sister, but the match ended with the tusk’s sword in the dirt and his hands up in surrender.

When class formally came to a close, many of the students lingered to talk amongst themselves, exchanging bits of small town gossip. Those conversations stopped when Quentin asked a question.

“If you’re that good in a fight, what’s Mazo like?” he asked.

“The gaps between Gold and Diamond, and then Diamond to Platinum are larger than most people realize.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a Junior member. That puts four whole ranks between me and you. Think about that gap. You’ve trained for a few years, but I’ve been training for more than twenty. There’s a lot of distance between where your knowledge is and where mine is, right?”

Quentin agreed.

“You’re closer to me in strength than I am to Mazo. Diamonds are that far beyond Golds. If Mazo and I arm wrestle, I have a chance at winning. If she’s allowed to use her abilities, I’m done. I’d be lucky to close the distance before she ended it.”

Uncle Ed whistled at the comparison. Quentin and Kane’s eyes went big as they looked their Guild Master up and down. Hans had just sparred the entire adult class. He never got hit. He didn’t sweat or breathe heavily. Every match seemed trivial.

Yet Mazo would find defeating Hans just as trivial. It was difficult to fathom.

“Mazo could probably earn Platinum if she wanted to, but let me blow your minds a little bit more. If Devontes and Mazo fought, she wouldn’t land a single hit.”

“You exaggerate,” Galad said, almost pleading for that to be true.

Hans shook his head. “There are more levels to this than most people ever see. Sparring someone like that is more than humbling. The helplessness that you feel in those kinds of battles… A lot of adventurers struggle to come to terms with that when it happens to them, especially if they thought highly of themselves before.”

The hour wasn’t incredibly late, but the days were growing shorter as fall edged out the summer. Hans dismissed everyone so they could return home before the sun set.

***

The next morning, Hans walked out to the Tribe farmland to check on construction progress. The first of the two barns was framed and walled. A crew of tusks and humans worked on completing the roof while another prepared the site for the second barn, clearing the land and digging a foundation to anchor the wall.

The speed of the build astounded Hans, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. The Tribe was committed to their goals, and they didn’t tolerate half measures or “good enough.”

Galad called down from the barn roof, “Welcome, Guild Master. What can we do for you?”

Hans yelled back, “Just stopping by. Need anything?”

Shaking his head, the tusk replied, “We should have the roof on before the first new family arrives. The next barn shouldn’t take too long either.”

Leaving Galad to return to his work, Hans looked inside the incomplete barn. Again, he was reminded that “barn” was mostly Tribe slang. Inside, yet another crew of Gomi citizens laid down a subfloor and slopped mortar between stones to build chimneys, two on each wall with one in the middle of the structure. He noticed the interior walls were packed with mud and straw, the more complete side of the structure covering that insulation with another layer of wood.

The Tribe understood how harsh winter could be, and they didn’t cut corners on keeping their people warm.

Before he returned to Gomi, Hans collected a few more quests for his job board. Many of the people he spoke to, particularly the elderly, thanked Hans for encouraging the town’s children to help their neighbors. The only grumbling he heard came from parents, but that was mostly in jest as they complained about their kids doing more guild chores than home chores.

On his way out of town, a young tusk adult pulled up alongside Hans in a wagon. Four kegs sat behind the tusk, roped into place.

“Galad says to give you a ride back to town.”

“You sure?”

“Yep. I’ve got a delivery to make.”

“Where to?” Hans asked as he climbed up to join the driver on the front bench.

“This is your beer. Courtesy of the Tribe.”

Hans looked back at the kegs again. “This better not be a joke.”

The tusk laughed and clicked his tongue to get the donkeys moving again. As he had promised, he left the kegs with Hans, helping the puny human wrestle them inside the guild hall and into the back storage room.

Before he left, he asked, “Need anything else, Mr. Hans?”

“Hmm… I should probably hide these from Becky.”

“Yes, yes you should.”

Quest Complete: Don’t forget the beer!

***

Open Quests (Ordered from Old to New):

Progress from Gold-ranked to Diamond-ranked.

Mend the rift with Devon.

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

Identify the unknown purple flower from Olza.

Brainstorm ideas for safe approaches to training on uneven terrain.

Design a winter curriculum.

Create a plan for what to do if you are removed from the Gomi chapter.

Collect Becky’s report on the flower stakeout.