As he stepped back out into the bustling town square, Sigurd stopped and stared at the twilight sky. The sounds of merchants haggling, children playing, and the distant clang of a blacksmith's hammer enveloped him like a symphony of life, and he took a deep breath, taking it all in. It lasted all about two seconds before he released the air in a long sigh, dropping to his knees in resignation.
‘That was terrifying!’ Joyce thought. ‘I didn’t know what to expect out of his confession, but I never imagined he’d drop that bombshell!’
He then looked back up at the people around him and smiled, resolute, “Still, though the reveal wasn’t ideal, it’s still a positive thing. I can still find a way to help, unconstrained by bureaucracy.” Sigurd's eyes glittered with newfound purpose, his mind already weaving plans for the trials that lay ahead.
“If this is what that shitty goddess put me on this planet to do,” he announced to himself. “Then so be it! I’ll carve the path with my own blood if I must.”
As quickly as he spat out those words, their inherent audacity, heresy, and implication of violence caught passersby off-guard. They stopped and stared at the man who was talking to himself. Embarrassed, Sigurd laughed nervously, dismissing his declaration as a fable with a wave of the hand.
He sped away from the Adventurer’s Guild and the people he had alerted and walked in the general direction towards the inn before stopping in his tracks. ‘The sun is setting, so I really should head back to the girls,’ he entertained a thought, turning his head in the opposite direction. ‘But before I do, I should verify what Nathan told me.’
Seeking directions from some of the merchants in the square, Sigurd walked away from the inn and down the main road they’d arrived on initially. His destination was none other than the Guard’s Quarters. It was at the far end of the main road, near the path leading out of town.
Contrary to the lively activity featured throughout and around the main square, the Guard’s Quarter’s surroundings were calm and empty. In fact, all he could hear was the echoes of voices in the courtyard of that same building, which itself was made of brick and stood tall in contrast to the rest of the surrounding structures.
“If anyone will have information on what’s happening in town it should be you,” he pronounced—almost as if speaking to the building itself—before stepping inside.
The interior of the building reminded him of the Guild, in how neat it all seemed, but unlike the former the Guard’s Quarters featured a more sleek, modern design. It stood entirely out of place with how the rest of town was, but it didn’t weird Sigurd out; in many ways, it reminded him of how governmental buildings were back on Earth. The layout was intentionally utilitarian, thus it lacked the human warmth of a hastily put together construction. It was refreshingly cool.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Though the men and women within—all dressed in their navy blue, formal guard attire—weren’t all busy, there was a trace of activity in some of them. A group of guards was huddled in what was clearly a resting lounge, complete with sofas and a table for playing cards. Another group of diligent guards was busy with desk work and filing documents. And yet a few others were walking around, presumably busy in their own ways.
Despite all that, an air of complacency pervaded the room. They all seemed very laid back, almost as if they were bored, and none displayed such an expression more than the person behind the reception; a tired-looking guard sat at the front desk, scanning documents. He eyed Sigurd when he came in, momentarily, before withdrawing into his duties.
Approaching the front desk, Sigurd cleared his throat to speak, but was cut off entirely by the clerk, “To what do we owe this visit today?”
“Ah, yes, hi," Sigurd mumbled in a stutter. “I'm looking for some information regarding this town's security, and also to see if I can help in any way.”
The guard set down the document in front of his face, looked at Sigurd, and scanned him from top to bottom. He grimaced and set his eyes on the sheet of paper once more. “And what's your profession?”
“Well, currently I'm an adventurer, but before this, I used to be—” Sigurd started but was cut off.
“Sorry, we don't hire adventurers," the guard said, nodding in self-affirmation. “Have a good day.”
“No, but you don't get it, I—” Again Sigurd tried to relay his point but was cut off.
“I just told you, kid, we don't take adventurers," the guard raised his voice a bit, but was calm. “Now go play hero somewhere else.”
“But that's what I'm trying to say,” Sigurd insisted. “If you'd just let me explain—”
The guard gently set the paper in his hands on the desk and interrupted Sigurd once more, “We're very busy here with adult matters. Being part of the guard is not a game. So just run along and go help get a cat out of a tree, or whatever it is you guys do before we're forced to kick you out.”
The tired guard turned his eyes gaze upon the document again, but Sigurd did not budge. “That's the thing," he started. “I'm not looking for a job, I'm just looking for—”
At his insistence, the guard slammed his fists on the table, cutting him off. The hit echoed in the hall, silencing the other guards around them. The man's calm demeanor twisted into boiling rage at Sigurd's pestering.
“For the last time,” the guard yelled. “We're not fucking around. I was trying to be nice, so this is your last warning. If you don't want me to beat the ever-living shit out of you, then you will leave this building this instant!”
Sigurd gulped and quietly nodded. He understood better than anyone the throes most government workers went through—especially those who dealt with criminals and security—and the stresses that came with it. What he didn't sympathize with was the bullish behavior.
“Understood, I'll be on my way," he muttered before departing the Guard's Quarters.