Terry stared across a primitive desk at the guy from the counter. The man had introduced himself as Vinlin Montsel. He was second-in-command at this particular guild hall, which told Terry almost nothing except that this guy was the gatekeeper to getting whatever reward there was for killing the foliasaur. He felt incredibly stupid for not realizing that something exactly like this was going to happen. After all, if that thing had been easy to kill or even manageable for any local adventurers, it would have already been dead. It would not have been waiting in the forest to do its level best to turn him and Drumstick into dinner. Of course, killing that damn thing was going to draw attention. Worse, it was going to draw questions. The kind of questions he could practically see swimming in Vinlin Montsel’s eyes. Learn from experience, Terry told himself. Keep your damn mouth shut. Don’t volunteer anything.

“Would you mind if I ask you a few questions about how you killed that beast?” asked Vinlin.

Terry infinitesimally lifted one shoulder in the most half-ass, noncommittal shrug he could manage. Now, I just have to hope that this guy has at least some capacity to read the room. The only way I could have been less enthusiastic about answering questions would have been to simply refuse outright. He hadn’t done that because it would have likely encouraged the man to seek answers elsewhere. Feigning a very grudging willingness sent the message that he didn’t want to talk about it, which meant that he’d lobbed the rudeness ball back to the guild guy. If the man pressed for answers when Terry showed such deep reluctance, it would make the guild guy the asshat in the situation. Vinlin seemed taken aback at the social hand grenade that had just landed in his lap. Sadly, it seemed rudeness wasn’t enough to keep the questions behind the man’s teeth.

“Where did you find it?” asked Vinlin.

Okay, he’s not taking the hint. Lean into the stoic warrior thing, Terry coached himself.

“Forest,” said Terry.

“What were you doing there?”

“Walking.”

“How did you kill the beast?” asked a visibly frustrated Vinlin.

“Sword.”

“Would you care to add some details?”

Terry leaned even harder into the quiet warrior thing by putting on a serious face and seeming to consider the possibility. Then, he shook his head. Vinlin genuinely looked like he wanted to give Terry a hard shake just to see if he could more words would fall out. The guild guy made a visible effort to master himself, though.

“You could have just said you didn’t want to answer any questions,” grumbled Vinlin.

Terry shrugged and had to work very hard to keep an amused smirk off his face. That would not help his situation. He just wanted to collect his reward and get out of the town as fast as he could. Some of those other adventurers had looked like they’d be happy to relieve him of his hard-earned reward, even if it meant stabbing him in the back twenty or thirty times. What else should I have expected from people who literally kill for a living? Some of Terry’s impatience must have shown through because Vinlin let out a resigned noise.

“If you’ll wait here a moment, I’ll fetch your reward,” said the man as he rose from behind the desk.

He vanished from the room before he came back with a sword and rested it on the desk. It was a big, heavy thing that looked like it came right out of some medieval fantasy setting. Is that a bastard sword or a great sword? His mind churned for a moment as he tried to remember what he knew about them, but it seemed those two names were all he knew. He poked the other-knowledge but just got a sense of disdain in return. So helpful, muttered Terry internally. Terry looked at the scabbard and the hilt and saw a matching symbol that did not fill him with warm and joyful feelings.

“This is the reward that the Church put up for the bounty,” said Vinlin.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

That was as far as the man got before Terry reached out and pushed the sword a few inches away with a finger. Vinlin stared at him like he’d lost his mind, but he’d already had more than enough interactions with the Church to mistrust anything they had a hand in creating. He’d have been willing to bet they could and would use it as a means of keeping track of any adventure strong enough to pose a threat to them. What better way to identify people like that than by putting up bounties on difficult-to-kill beasts? The very last thing Terry wanted to do was willingly strap a magical LoJack to his ass. Thanks, but no fucking thanks. Besides, he already knew that whatever fighting knowledge that had been downloaded into his brain didn’t include anything about using that kind of sword. It wouldn’t matter how good or powerful or enchanted it was if it got knocked out of his hand every single time he unsheathed the damn thing.

“You don’t want it?”

Terry shook his head and tapped the hilt of the jian.

“Can I get one of these instead?”

“But this sword has a holy blessing,” objected Vinlin.

Talk about making my decision easy, thought Terry.

“I don’t use that kind of sword. It’s useless to me,” he explained.

Some of the incredulity faded from Vinlin’s face. While most adventurers would likely jump on the chance to get a blessed sword, the guild guy could accept that someone might not want to haul around a weapon they couldn’t use. After all, much of its value was conditional on being able to wield it. For anyone who couldn’t, it just became a very awkward paperweight. After thinking it over for a moment, Vinlin picked up the weapon and vanished through the door. He came back a few minutes later with a couple of jian. He put them down on the desk. Terry took a couple minutes to look at them before settling on the one other-Terry seemed to find the least objectionable. There didn’t seem to be anything mystical about it. It was just the one with the best balance and seemed to be the highest quality metal.

“This one,” said Terry.

Carrying around all those swords before had struck him as overkill and trying too hard. Having broken several of them, though, he found the idea of an extra primary weapon a lot less silly now. In fact, it made him feel much more secure to have it. Vinlin nodded.

“That sword isn’t nearly as valuable as the blessed one. I can’t offer you the full difference in value, but I can partially compensate you,” said the man, tossing a coin pouch onto the table.

Terry picked it up and pocketed it without bothering to look inside. It had however much it had. Looking at it wasn’t going to change anything. Vinlin quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Not going to check it? Not going to haggle?”

“No,” said Terry. “No point.”

Vinlin snorted and said, “You really are an adventurer, aren’t you? It takes the new people a while to figure that out. Although, given that you killed that beast, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Alright, well, just one or two more details to sort out. Can I see your guild badge?”

Terry fished the badge out and started handing it across the desk.

“Why?” he asked.

“You were clearly misclassified. I need to upgrade you to rank two.”

Terry jerked the badge back and cradled it possessively to his chest. Vinlin’s hand closed on empty air before he gave Terry a confused look.

“Happy at rank three,” said Terry.

He pushed the guild badge into a pocket out of some hazy fear that the guild guy might grab it out of his hand and forcibly upgrade the rank. Terry might not be able to do anything about a little local notoriety. He’d brought that disaster down on his own head. This, though, was a problem he could avoid. The confused look on Vinlin’s face morphed into one of pure disbelief.

“Happy at rank three? Nobody who can be rank two is happy at rank three.”

“I am,” said Terry as he attached the new jian at his left hip.

“Why?” demanded the obviously baffled Vinlin.

Because there’s safety in mediocrity, thought Terry. Nobody is going to expect a rank three adventurer to do anything special. Not that he was going to say that to this guy. He needed some other reason. Some excuse for why he was turning down what was probably a dream for half the adventurers on the planet. It also had to be something plausible.

“Just a way to make a living. Not looking to die,” announced Terry.

Vinlin struggled with that answer before, looking like he was doing it against his own will, the man offered a reluctant nod. Terry had guessed right. Even in Chinese Period Drama Hell, there were clock-punchers! Guys and gals who showed up, did a job they knew they could do without putting in much effort, and went home. It wasn’t admirable. It wasn’t the stuff that heroes were made of. It was, however, understandable. Terry could chalk up the foliasaur as a fluke. It was a case of right place, wrong guy, and he just happened to come out on top. It was good for a nice reward, but not something he was looking to do on the daily. Not him. No siree, Bob.

Let some ambitious young punks go out and risk their lives like idiots. He was happy to let the Adventurer’s Guild and everyone else see him as someone who took the easy jobs. He was hard-pressed to imagine a better kind of protection than developing a reputation as a guy who was kind of lazy and not impressive. Oh yes, he could almost feel the cloak of anonymous adequacy wrap itself around him like a warm hug. That didn’t solve his most immediate problem, though. He needed to get out of town without drawing too much attention to himself.

“Say. Does this place have a back door?” asked Terry.