The following morning he began his slow trudge toward recognition and greater rewards. Using his size, skill, and slight level advantage—all the while unaware of what a difference in levels could mean—Sigurd took on all the jobs he could from the Guild's quest board.
True to what he’d heard the day before, the quests he accepted were markedly different from the more dangerous task of dispatching the Towering Troll. In fact, he came to understand such quests were a rarity.
Instead, most of what he found were odd, small jobs. From cleaning a shopkeeper's gutters to basic construction work, to helping to take down a beehive, and even assisting an old lady carry her groceries home, the jobs varied in time and significance but were naught more than simple things anybody could do.
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Even the more arduous tasks, of eliminating small monsters that were inconveniencing folks, were taken in stride. Curiously, Sigurd's broken blade didn’t make those encounters harder, but he drummed that up to experience.
Still, he carried out his duties proudly, and sure enough, his face and physique became a recognizable staple of those tiny tedious tasks, as he ran from job to job, day by day.
Despite the nature of the quests and the good he was doing, the reward for each was little more than he had spent thus far. He knew it wouldn't be easy to return to the riches he once held, even with the added bonus the Guildmaster had promised, yet he persisted.
Simultaneously, each evening he'd return to the inn and catch the gloriously hilarious sight of Mia and Nia drilling management and economy lessons into Moe. It was like Sigurd's own private comedy show.
All in all an entire fortnight had passed, of nothing more than several dozen odd jobs done on the daily. Sigurd felt content but also dissatisfied that nothing ever presented itself, be it at the Guild or on any particular job. That was the case, at least, until a fateful encounter set him on the right path.