CHAPTER TWO—EXILE QUEST LVL. 5/DESPERATE!

The scent of flowers on the wind was invigorating. There was something wholly different about this place then what people back home often swore by. It lacked the barbarity—the dark oppressive trappings—and by his first account with a local who had chosen to help rather than to shun him, it was not a place that was uninviting.

Riding their hoses, Akahiro had picked up his pace and Jeanbleau rode after him. The sun was beginning to turn the skies purple as orange light stretched over the horizon. Akahiro made it to the top of the hill first. He stopped and wheeled his horse around, making himself and the animal backlit with the warm glow of the setting sun.

Jeanbleau stopped his horse as his eyes widened.

“This… is Ribeauvillé,” Akahiro said as he gestured with his hand. It took a moment for Jeanbleau to take it all in. His surprised must have shown on his face, because Akahiro continued. “Is it not impressive?”

He nodded.

Nestled within the outer town was a large bridge crossing the snaking river directly outside of the city walls. The crenellations were interspersed with turrets that climbed high and were capped with pointed roofs of orange tiles.

The city shops and dwellings along the river were densely packed with townsfolk going about their business. On the road was a long line of people waiting to get into the city at the gate. One large structure with its plastered walls and shimmering windows looked to be a tavern of some kind.

“It is,” Jeanbleau said with a nod. “It is very impressive.” He realized the most amazing feature of Ribeauvillé was in fact, the castle perched atop the hill with a second wall of well-constructed bricks. The fortress was sleek with high turrets, slanted eves and pinions fluttering in the wind. The flags were a bluish-grey with an elongated blue triangle design. Atop that rested an orange lion.

“This is where I leave you, Jeanbleau.”

He glanced at the other man and nodded. “Thank you for helping me.” Jeanbleau then got off the horse he had borrowed.

“I would allow you to keep the animal, but we need them for our work in keeping the land clear of raiding goblins and other… undesirable villains.”

“You have helped me enough already, Akahiro. Merci—I mean—thank you for your assistance.” He handed the samurai his reigns.

The warrior then nodded, wheeled his horse and took the road leading to the west of the city. Perhaps he had some other business to attend to nearby.

Taking in a deep breath, Jeanbleau glanced about the rolling hills, the farms and the dirt and cobbled roads cutting through them. A chill wind blew in from the south, flanked by black storm clouds as the flowers in the fields swayed.

In the distance a farmer and his workers tended to their wheat crop. Jeanbleau felt at his cloak for the little pouch of gold coins he had been allowed to keep—his last possessions from his old life.

Without Sirs De Shan and Ballzac to escort him to the guild house from which he was to sign on as an adventurer at the behest of Ribeauvillé, he was now effectively a free man.

And perhaps he would have gone his own way, but Jeanbleau did not know the inner workings concerning the law. Perhaps his name and date of arrival was known to the city.

If he left now, what would stop him from being caught eventually? His sentence had been death, except unless he had chosen exile as an adventurer—which Jeanbleau quite obviously had.

He stepped forward, making for the outer town of Ribeauvillé. He was to report to the Ribeauvillé Adventurer’s Guild where he would become a member, not by choice, but by edict.

As he strode down the cobbled street he felt at the goblin short sword at his side. At least he had some manner of protection. As an exile Jeanbleau knew that no one would be there to greet him or to assist him if any difficulties presented themselves.

It is no matter.

He was a capable man, not unknown to a life of adventure—if even only a nobleman’s life of “adventure.”

Whatever that was.

Entering the tavern, he found an assortment of townsfolk, farmers and knights carousing about as a bard fiddled a somber tune. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim environment.

One on side of the common room a fire crackled and in the corners were brightly lit braziers with hot coals. No one seemed to take notice of his arrival, which was a good sign.

And then Jeanbleau’s eye caught a peculiar sight and his eyes widened. There was a man at the bar with trousers and a tunic of rough-spun material, atop which was a leather vest of armor.

But that wasn’t what had startled Jeanbleau. It was the red-brown tail flicking about lazily behind him. He had heard of demihumans before, but he had never seen one back in Machezelle.

Stepping forward warily, he came up to the bar next to the cat person and tried not to be seen glancing in his direction.

If his pets back home could stand on two legs and speak, would it be like this?

The innkeeper, a pretty young girl with dark hair came to him. “What would you like, traveller?”

Jeanbleau glanced at the fabric covering his arms, wondering if it was so apparent that he wasn’t from Ribeauvillé. She looked at him expectantly. “Ale,” he said. “Please.”

With a nod she poured him a pint of ail and slid it over the counter, which was smooth as marble from constant use, the top rubbed free of most of the dark paint.

Distracted by the deep crevasse—like a landform, Jeanbleau took up his ale mug and drunk a large gulp.

“Hey!” the innkeeper said with an indignant glare. “You have to pay for that.”

“Oh—“ Jeanbleau said hurriedly and glanced to his left where he met eyes with the cat person—those large yellow orbs with black slits putting him on sudden edge. “Uh... Of course!”

He drew out his coin purse and searched within for silver. It was mostly gold. Eventually he found one and clanked it over the bar table under the reproachful gaze of the young innkeeper with the massive bust.

Jeanbleau doubted this was her place. Perhaps she was the young wife of the owner, or the daughter even.

“Machezelle Silver Mark, eh?”

Jeanbleau shrugged. “Is that not acceptable.”

“It’s fine,” she said shortly and took the coin. She opened a small box and exchanged it for a handful of smaller silvers and a few coppers.

Once Jeanbleau took them, he said, “I am looking for the Ribeauvillé Adventurer’s Guild.”

She chuckled.

“Over the bridge and through the wall, love. Go straight toward the castle. You can’t miss it.”

With a nod he thanked her.

“The adventurer’s guild, eh?” the cat person asked, his voice lower in tone and far raspier than Jeanbleau would have thought possible.

He was taken aback that the cat person had addressed him. “Uh—yes!” he said in response.

The cat person took a large gulp of his ale and chuckled. “Good luck, adventurer.” Then he turned and strode out of the inn, his boots thumping across the hardwood floors as he went.

Jeanbleau glanced after him and wondered what he meant by that? His tone was one of contemptuous amusement.

When he turned around the innkeeper was drying out a mug.

“Do you know him?”

She shrugged.

“Do you have any rooms available?”

“Sure,” she said with a nod. “There’s a few left, stranger. Gonna cost you a silver.”

It was a hundred silvers to the gold piece, at least when it came to Machezellian Imperial Coinage. But the exchange seemed to be about the same—or even a little better in Ōkina Basho—judging by what he got back for the ale, which was supposed to be five coppers but came to be just four here in Ribeauvillé.

“I don’t know if I will need one, but I will return if things change.”

“Yeah,” she said, and moved to do some more chores. She served another fellow with an armored breastplate and well-tailored gambeson of high class material, judging from what Jeanblbeau could see.

Finishing his ale, he turned around and stepped out of the inn.

As jeanbleau walked through the streets, he realized how well kept up everything was. The cobles were not missing in spots, the houses had clean white plaster. There were high quality signs with fresh paint and vine plants with flower buds growing up around windows.

He found himself frowning. His impression of Ribeauvillé was one of wealth and easy living. Was Ribeauvillé an exception to the rule in the land of Ōkina Basho?

Striding across the bridge, he glanced at the slow-moving river water below. It reflected the sky and the rays of sun from the west, which contrasted heavily with the approaching storm clouds.

The guards on the bridge wore shiny armor and held pole arms at their sides. These were no simple guards either.

Like the men on the bridge, the four men in attendance at the gate were knights. One of them stopped him—a man without armor and in an official-looking attire. “The entry toll tax is one silver per head, good master.”

Jeanbleau was taken aback. “Truly?”

The mustached man nodded. “Truly.”

“I am Jeanbleau de Parise. I am supposed to report to the adventurer’s guild.”

“Yeah?” the guard asked bemusedly. “And what business of that is mine?”

“I am an exile.”

“Ah,” the guard said, and his eyes caught the other man. “The price is still one silver per head.”

Jeanbleau frowned. “I am following an edict of the Machezellian high court. Why do I need to pay the entry toll?”

“That’s how it works here in Ōkina Basho. We’re not here for sunshine and flowery smells on the wind. This is a land of work and money, and taxes.”

With a nod, Jeanbleau asked, “And if I do not have this silver?”

The guard shook his head definitively. “Then no entry, good sir.”

This has to be some kind of extotyion.

Someone further down the line made a noise of impatience and said a few words. “Listen, fellow,” the second guard said. “If you don’t have the coin, be off with you.”

With an inward sigh, Jeanbleau fished out a silver and gave it to the collector who asked him his name. He blinked. “I told you my name is Jeanbleau de Parise.”

“Jeanbleau de Parise,” the toll officer repeated absently as he glanced down the pages of a book nearly as thick as a brick. “Ah—yes. You are expected at the adventurer’s guild.”

Jeanblau was taken aback rolled his eyes. “And you knew I was on my way?”

He laughed. “Of course we know! Ribeauvillé received regular correspondence about the exiles sent here.” Then he added, “Hey, where are you guards?”

“They got sick of me and left me to fend for myself after we were attacked by goblins.”

The two guards and the toll officer chuckled. “I’m sure they did,” the first guard said. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Well, you paid your toll tax,” the officer said. “Here is your receipt. Head into the city and report to the guild.”

Jeanbleau nodded to the officer and walked through the gate. The double turret on each side bristled with bowmen, but for the most part they stood relaxed, but alert. The guards on the wall, it seemed, were no slouches.

Inside the wall the houses and shops were of a particularly finer quality. Even his surprise concerning the outer town hadn’t prepared him for what he was now seeing.

There were men and women striding about in fine clothes as children played in the streets. A crier sold apples to those glancing out of their windows, interested in the fruit. The plaster was in perfect condition without cracks and the paint was spotless. The wood frames on the windows were lacquered and in the frames glass with a high sheen rested.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

There were no gutters or chamber pots.

Jeanbleau strode up the streets as they switch backed up the hill toward the castle. He had been told by the innkeeper at the entrance of Ribeauvillé that he couldn’t miss it. And certainly enough as he crested the hill, the Ribeauvillé Adventurer’s Guild was revealed.

Like a small castle in and of itself, the guild had turrets with high roofs of blue tiles and similar pinions as what was flown across the walls and the castle beyond. The large wooden doors were open and two guards—adventurers by the looks of them, stood at attention.

As Jeanbleau approached, a dog person strode out and glanced at him, his ears flicking about to some unheard sound Jeanbleau couldn’t hear. He had trouble not gawking at the demihumans.

They were a new sight to him altogether.

As he went in he came into a wide ante hall with quest boards. Above the tiled floor were soft lights, defused by the lantern paper that did not resemble the Ribeauvillé side of things. Before he could start adventuring out on behalf of Ribeauvillé he needed to go and report that he had arrived so he wouldn’t meet any trouble later.

There was a desk at the end of the main chamber where adventurers were unloading and trading goods they had found or stolen while others ate food or gambled.

Some were even drinking.

The front desk was occupied by a demihuman, a female cat person with a large bosom and plenty of cleavage. Jeanbleau didn’t linger with his eyes.

“Hello,” she said with a smile. “I haven’t seen you here before. Have you come to the Ribeauvillé Adventurer’s Guild to put out a quest?”

“No.”

“Then you must be here for a meeting.”

“No, I am not.”

“If you wish to find work, you can check in with our other assistants over in the next chamber.” She pointed.

Jeanbleau put up a hand. “I am not here for any of those things.”

“Ah,” she said. “Then you’re here to find quests!”

“No—well yes—but… My name is Jeanbleau de Parise and I am here by order of the Machezelle High Magistrate.”

“Oh…” she said demurely. “You’re another exile.”

He almost flinched. She said the words like she had just learned somebody had died. “Ye—yes!” He nodded.

“You poor thing.”

“I will be fine.”

“Yes, but you may want to prepare yourself.” She nodded dutifully as if he were telling her a sob story.

“What do you mean, ‘prepare myself’?”

She shifted uncomfortably as her green eyes glanced away for a moment. But then she seemed to force a smile to her face. “Just make sure you are as prepared as possible before you go out. You see, we have special quests for the exiles sent here from Machazelle.”

“Really?”

She nodded. “Mmhm.”

“Can you tell me more about these special quests?”

“Yes, of course. But first, we should get you your officially recognized adventurer’s status!”

“Fine.”

She handed him a paper to go through and sign. He took it. “What do I do with this?”

“Well, you go through each point and hit the check marks that fit your ability descriptions. This is how we determine your class, Master Parise. Go sit down and fill it out.” She smiled. “Take as much time as you need.”

He nodded. “Thank you.” Then he walked away from the front desk absently as he read down the paper. There was very little in the way of actual explanation for anything.

One of the questions read: What is your affinity with magic?

Below that were options he could circle with his quill. They ranged from None, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Master, Grandmaster and finally None of the above with an option to fill in further information should he choose the last option.

But Jeanbleau didn’t choose the last option, because he had no affinity with magic at all. He circled the first option, “None.”

The paper went through all of the arts, athletics and martial skills. There was alchemy, beastmanship, sneakery and a whole host of other abilities.

Below those were attributes.

It all seemed like nonsense to him, so he circled what seemed most appropriate on everything and then went back to the front desk.

She smiled and took the paper.

Glancing at it, she looked up at him and said, “You’re a warrior class!”

“Oh, how original,” another woman said from behind. She turned around from some filing task she had her nose in when he had first approached the desk.

“Why is it boring?”

“Oh, don’t listen to Rasha! She’s always giving the adventurers a hard time.”

The woman shrugged and Jeanbleau decided he wanted to know her name, if for no other reason than to stop thinking of her as “the woman.” And so he asked.

“Oh!” she said absentmindedly. “I am so, so sorry. I should have told you at once. My name is Luarr.”

Jeanbleau thought about that, wondering how to pronounce the last part. It sounded like it had a roll of the tongue, somewhat like the purr of a cat.

“Luarr,” he said. “I am sorry. I said your name wrong.”

“It’s fine,” she said with a smile. “Humans rarely pronounce the names of the cat eye correctly—even Rasha, here.”

The other woman—Rasha--gave her a withering look form behind.

“Anyway!” Luarr said with a smile. “It seems from your agility and strength scores that you’re best as a light-armored warrior. Oh! And you even have some cooking skills—how wonderful!”

“He does?” Rasha asked as she glanced over Luarr’s shoulder curiously. “Hmm. Well look at that. Maybe you’re not useless after all. I can tell you there’s a few party’s out there that might take you in for the simple reason that you wouldn’t be cooking them dog food.”

“Rasha! How racist.”

“Too bad.”

“Hmph!” Luarr said.

“Be happy I like cat eye—but I’ve had too many bad run-ins with the mutts.”

Luarr’s jaw dropped and Jeanbleau laughed nervously.

“You will have to excuse her, I’m afraid.”

“It is no matter,” Jeanbleau said. “Now what do I do?”

“Well,” Luarr said thoughtfully. “You don’t have to take a quest immediately. But as an exile sent from Machazelle, you are under certain restrictions, Master Jeanbleau.”

“I am?”

“Oh, of course!” she said, seeming surprised. “Did they not tell you?”

“I…” he said, but trailed off as he thought back to the incident of his sentencing. There had been many of his friends and some of his extended family who had viciously opposed his sentencing, calling that it was unfair.

He had then been rushed out and thrown back in his cell as quickly as possible. Perhaps the High Magistrate had a personal distaste for him, because Jeanbleau had been told nothing.

As knights, Sir De Shan and Sir Ballzac had not known the particulars. They were knights, meant to escort him to Ribeauvillé and remand him to the city authorities. Nothing more.

Luarr scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t matter. I can tell you. Actually, it’s very simple. You are not allowed to earn your primary income from other sources outside of the Ribeauvillé Adventurer’s Guild quests.”

“Is that all?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “You must give a total of sixty percent of all income generated from your findings or quest items sold. You may keep items you find, steal or loot for personal use, but anything in excess must be sold here at the Guild House where we can monitor your sales receipts.”

“So you don’t steal what you own to the guild,” Rasha added.

“And,” Jeanbleau said, “how long must I do this for?”

“Well, until you reach the allotted amount as set by your sentencing of course.”

“Which is what?”

Luarr’s eyes widened. “Umm…”

“You do not know?”

“We did not get that information. Were your escorts not given this information?”

Jeanbleau sighed heavily. Sir De Shan must have taken it, to frustrate him. The knight’s attitude toward Jeanbleau had been foul. De Shan had blamed him for being sent outside of Machazelle for five months—the time it took to escort Jeanbleau and then return.

Was the pay not good? Had that been Sir De Shan’s gripe? He didn’t know, and now would never know.

“Don’t worry!” Luarr said, a look of high spirits on her face. “We will send a correspondence to Machezelle and have word back in five months’ time.”

He sighed again.

“Now, now, adventurer. Do not pout.”

“I am not pouting.”

She shook her head. “This is not a setback. It is highly unlikely you would be able to pay back the guild in that timeframe anyway, and should you become monstrously rich before then, any excess will be returned to you… hopefully.”

Hopefully? That does not sound reassuring.

But Jeanbleau was not expecting or even hoping that he would strike it rich, or become “monstrously wealthy” the way Luarr had put it just now. He did not think he had what it took to make it as an adventurer.

Not really.

“Now about what you said concerning the exile quests?”

“Ah,” Luarr said, as if someone had walked into the room and caught her making a particularly untoward joke. She then chortled.

Rasha stepped forward and sat down behind the large desk. “The Exile Quests,” she said, “are often far more difficult than many normal ones.”

“Why is this?”

“Often,” Luarr said in way of explanation to Rasha’s statement, “they are usually quests that most adventurers don’t want. So… they become Exile Quests.”

“Are they more dangerous?”

“No,” Luarr said.

Rasha nodded. “Absolutely.”

Jeanbleau took pause, waiting for one of the two women to correct their contradiction.

He looked at them.

They blinked.

With a nod he thanked Rasha and Luarr for their explanations and assistance. “Are there cheap inns in the city?”

“Oh, certainly!” Luarr said. “There is one called the Adventurer’s Blade—cliché, I know, but it’s cheap. Just go across the bridge and you can’t miss it—“

“Coming into the Ribeauvillé,” he finished for her.

She nodded. “Mmhm.”

“And a place where I can buy weapons and equipment?”

An adventurer flanked him and came up to the desk. Rasha split off from Luarr and addressed the man. He was a big armored fellow with a sword as tall and nearly as wide as his own body.

“There are various weapons and item dealers throughout Ribeauvillé. Some of these shops even sell magic and alchemical potions. You can also find them spread out across Ōkina Basho. This is where adventuring works heavily in your favor, as no town or city has all of the best equipment and potions.”

“I see.”

“But to get you started, there is a Guild Shop as well. She glanced at a door leading to another portion of the guild. “Through those doors.”

“Parfait,” he said.

“Oui,” Luarr added with a large smile. “Would you like to have a look at the quest board?”

“I saw them when I came in.”

“Let me help you!’

“Uh”—he nodded—“sure.”

She got up from behind the desk and strode across the common room, her white tail swishing slowly through the air. He almost grabbed it out of pure curiosity to see what it was like, but thought better of.

Doing that could be akin to grabbing one of her breasts for all he knew!

Jeanbleau came up behind her to look at the board, of which she was reading closely with her finger to guide her. There were five other adventurers perusing the board as well—three of them humans, one of which was a female mage with a green tunic-dress and a black sash. There was also a… fox person?

The many tails…

He understood that to be the fushi race, but as he thought these things, he realized how wholly ignorant he was of life here in Ōkina Basho. Who even ruled these lands? Was it Ribeauvillé? Was there a king?

“Let’s see…” Luarr said distractedly. “No, that requires special swimming gear. This? No, that would be far too dangerous. You would never come back alive. You don’t have the magical aptitude for this one here.”

Jeanbleau narrowed his eyes as he glanced at the quest board. He saw an exile quest near the top that was somewhat out of Luarr’s reach. It read:

Exile Quest Lvl. 5/Desperate!

Adventurer in Need

The Pumpkin Princess of Ilth needs your assistance! I’m trapped in Andahl’s cave on Mount Odan and require an adventurer to rescue me. Extra pay for Andahl’s head if brought back in good condition. Pay: x30 Kita-ku Shinai Gold Marks!

Status: Desperate

Recommend lvl. 5 or above!

He unpinned the quest from the board. “What about this one?”

“Hmm? Oh, let me see. Give it here.”

She read it in quick order and shook her head. “Nope—you can’t do that one, Jeanbleau.” She smacked it against his chest.

Taking the ticket, he looked at her. “Why not? She needs help.”

Luarr chortled. “They all need help, you poor thing—even you need help.”

Now she sounded like she was talking to a baby…

“But I am not being held captive in a cave!”

Is she truly this cold?

“If you take this quest, you will be killed, Jeanbleau. Do you see this? Level five. You’re at best a three right now. Mhm. No.”

“I’m level three?” he asked, his eyes widening. “I thought I would be level one.”

“Only an infant still slick from his mother’s womb is a level one, deer.”

“Oh.”

“Mm,” she nodded. “You’re more like a babe at the breast right now, dear.”

She chortled again, making Jeanbleau think that Luarr had more in common with Rasha than he had first realized.

“Now, now. Let’s find you something a little easier, shall we?”

“I am going to save that princess,” he said stubbornly. It’s not that he wanted to die, but she needed his help. The status was “desperate.” Was it not the right thing to do? And the pay wasn’t bad besides. Thirty gold marks. So if the guild took sixty percent, that would leave him with twelve gold marks. He could stay in the Adventurer’s Blade for months with that amount of gold!

Of course, those marks are not from here. They’re from—he glanced at the quest ticket again—they’re from Kita-ku Shinai.

“I am taking this quest!”

Luarr sighed heavily and threw up her arms. “Don’t complain to me if you end up surviving your encounter—crazy human.”

“I won’t.”

“You can’t do it!” she snapped, her claws coming out.

Jeanbleau took a step back. “Why are you snapping at me? It’s the honorable thing to do!”

“But honor alone doesn’t win battles, you fool!” she tapped the side of her head with the flat of her palm as if to say he was insane.

“I am doing this quest.”

She nodded and strode back toward the table. “The quest is yours,” she said over her shoulder.

“Do you have any suggestions?”

She stopped, turned and put her hands on her hips. “Yes. Level up before you take that—take a booster party with you, or dump that and get something more suited to your level three abilities. If you even managed to save her and escape Andahl’s wrath—she’ll kill you!”

He flinched. “She will?!”

Luarr nodded vigorously. “Talk you to death, that one will.”

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, Jeanbleau said, “I am taking this quest.”

She smiled. “I hope you can run fast, Exile.”

Her insistence that he couldn’t handle himself on this level 5 quest was concerning. But he could handle it, surely?

He swallowed against the knot in his throat.

Was it the level five part that scared away adventurers, or some other reason?

Jeanbleau strode into the Guild Shop where an old dog person watched the shelves. There were a few adventurers in there and one was haggling with a younger human about how much a Girthgwarl sword was worth.

What is a Girthgwarl?

He glanced about, then down at the quest ticket in his hand. In his other was his adventurer membership card which listed him as a light-armor class warrior with a slightly higher than average agility score, decent intelligence (or maybe that was a mistake) and with other peripheral skills that had nothing to do with fighting.

Looking at the weapons, his first impression was that some of them were in fact, impressive. But many of the swords and shields were certainly inadequate. One sword caught his notice. It was a long sword with a wide guard. At the center where the blade met the hilt was an encrusted opal.

He glanced at the display information and saw that the sword was called Amber, which struck him as a bit cliché. But what interested him was the sword was imbued with magical abilities—four to be precise.

Jeanbleau glanced at the price tag and his eyes widened.

!!!

Two million gold marks!

Jeanbleau only had twelve Machazelle Gold Marks left!

He glanced up and started looking at some of the other items. A few more swords caught his eye, but none of them were inside his price range. Perhaps he wasn’t prepared for the quest after all.

But the Pumpkin Princess of Ilth was in a desperate situation. He had to help her! It was only the right thing to do.

The cheapest sword was a wide-bladed spade-like blade without a guard to speak of.

His eyes caught the armor for only a few gold marks. It was a tough-looking leather tunic with iron studs. He picked it up and realized it also came with a good sword belt, also of leather.

Jeanbleau set it down, and after spending some time searching about the shop, he realized he would only be able to buy the studded leather tunic and the sword. He took the items to the shop keeper and sat them on the table.

“That’ll be ten Ribeauvillé Gold Marks.”

Knowing that the Machazelle gold was worth less, he said nothing as he put the ten pieces down. The dog person behind the counter furrowed his brow.

“I said ten ‘Ribeauvillés’!”

“Oh,” Jeanbleau said, attempting his best impression of dumb. He dropped another Machazelle onto the table and the dog person took it, giving him back a few silvers and coppers in exchange. Then in a bored tone Jeanbleau thought seemed overly exaggerated, he said, “Best of luck on your adventures.”

“Wait,” he said. “What about this?”

He put the goblin sword on the table. The “blade” as it were looked more like a shard of metal that had been ground to proper shape, which was far off from an ideal sword, and the handle was little more than wrapped rope twine.

“One copper.”

With nowhere to put the sword anyway, Jeanbleau would have to dump it before going on his adventure. He nodded and the dog person gave him the exchange.

The metal from the blade would probably be melted down—forged into something that could be more useful than the trash that it was. And certainly worth more as well.

Jeanbleau threw his leather-studded armor over his head and synched the belt and scabbard. Then he put his new sword into the sheath. It was heavy. Heavier than he wanted it to be, but this was the best he had.

Then he strode out into the common room and glanced about.

Someone sniggered.

Jeanbleau glanced about for the person who let that laugh out. But he saw no one—and perhaps he was so inconsequential-looking that no one—not even Luarr, bothered to see him. It was like Jeanbleau was invisible. In a way it was humiliating. He had come from nobility.

And now…

No one could care less about me standing here or not. And they even know I’m taking an exile quest above my level.

Was it that adventurers often didn’t come back? Were their deaths something of no fanfare—something that didn’t even bother a passing mention?

Shaking his head, Jeanbleau de Parise decided that it didn’t matter. Once he rescued this princess of Ilth, surely she would be grateful.