Gareth stood outside an inn and scraped the dust off his calloused hand, the grit clinging stubbornly beneath his fingernails.

He had helped transport a merchant's sandbags onto his carriage, which had stuck to him.

The job didn't pay anything, but it was a chance to make a connection. He hoped that the merchant would get him a job if he kept helping out.

Though, there was no guarantee. That's why he was here.

He took a deep breath, calming his nerves and looking over the board.

The Rusty Pickaxe Inn.

The once-proud image of a miner swinging a pickaxe that was the label of the inn was now faded and indistinct. According to what he knew, it was started by a former miner after he had accumulated enough money.

Hence, the name.

It also gave him hope that he might just be able to find a job here. Maybe by pity or by being in the same profession the owner of the inn used to be in.

He pushed open the creaking door as the scent of stale air washed him. He saw men sitting in the back, their faces filled with lines hunched over their mugs, their laughter filling the establishment.

More than half the seats were still empty. He guessed it was because it was still afternoon and because people didn't have coins to spare. Probably a mix of both.

A husky man with a greasy apron grunted in greeting, wiping down a glass with a dirty rag. He recognised him as Anson, the owner of the inn.

As he moved towards him, Anson asked. “Are you looking for lunch? We have some nice stew and boar meat today.”

“No,” Gareth rasped, his voice rough and nervous. He wiped his ragged shirt, trying to ease any wrinkles that showed. “I was hoping to find some work here if you have any. I don't mind anything,” he said, looking up at him.

Anson frowned, a flicker passing through his eyes. Gareth's heart fell as he realised he might be rejected, so he quickly continued.

“I- I used to be a miner. I can work hard for any job you may h-have,” he cleared his throat and stared at him.

Anson swept his gaze across the room, landing on the men huddled in corners. Their postures were slumped, talking about some girl who worked in a bakery.

It was a useful conversation and Gareth himself had been a part of a few of those when he was young.

“Work, eh?” Anson snorted. His voice almost sounded like rocks grinding together. “Half these lads here can’t cough up a copper for a drink. How do you think I would be able to pay to hire someone?” He jerked a thumb towards two men who were arguing over a chipped mug. “Those two fools haven't paid for half a year. Farms ain’t yielding much this year and the mines… They are captured and everyone involved with it is either dead, jobless or left the town.” He trailed off.

A bitter silence filled the space.

Gareth knew everything. He had suffered through it and was there when the bandits had captured the mine. He had barely escaped.

He looked back and forth between the rest of the men who hung out at the inn and the owner. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand tall.

He wanted to give up and return, but this could be his last chance to earn something for his family. He had responsibilities.

“I’m a strong worker.” His hands came and clutched together as they were shaking. His voice was steady. “I was one of the best with a pickaxe, I’ll do whatever it takes. I don't mind not getting any food until I'm paid. Even just the minimum is okay. I'm just very desperate for something.”

Anson dropped the dirty cloth that was in his hand and studied Gareth for a long moment, his eyes raking down the dust-caked torn clothes and worn boots.

He could sense the owner’s shift, maybe pity, maybe something else. But the good thing was that it was there. Though, only for a moment before it disappeared and Anson shook his head.

“Ya know, my son left for other places,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “He was like you, a miner who lost his job. He helped out in the inn, but I barely had coins to run this place. So, he left, hoping for better opportunities. You can do that or…”

The miner inwardly sighed but listened. “Wait around in the city, go to everyone who might need help. The lord is already giving out food and I know the city would be swimming in dead bodies, if not for that. So, at least you won't die of hunger. Maybe, try out the guards. There's rumours the lord wants to recruit more people to protect the place, after the necromancer incident.”

“Yeah?” Gareth asked, his eyes widening at the mention of the guards.

“Yes, go and check with them. You might die out of cold either way. Why not die while fighting a monster? Makes for a good story,” Anson said and turned around, moving towards the back where Gareth saw glimpses of the kitchen. “Good luck, lad. Miners are tough. You will figure something out.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips as he mumbled his thanks.

As he turned around and walked, the words of the owner still echoed through his mind. His jaw clenched tight for a moment.

Anson was right. Free food was the only thing that kept some semblance of life in this town. Being a guard— it wasn’t an ideal path, but at least it offered a chance for him to survive, and get a better life.

Gareth stepped out onto the dusty street, blinking against the coldness that swept through it.

Suddenly, a loud clatter shattered the tense quiet. People who were walking on the street turned towards the carriage that careened down.

A man seemed to sit on the back of it, dressed in a guard’s uniform and bellowed something unintelligible, his voice echoing through the buildings.

Gareth only got a look before he faded.

What's going on here?

He looked at the people who seemed to be talking in hushed tones before following the carriage. He didn't know what was going on, but it seemed to be important.

After all, he had never seen any guards coming on a carriage like this in the streets.

He quickened his pace, following the fading sound of the shouting man, drawn towards it like a moth to a flame.

As he ran, he realised the carriage was heading towards the public square and took to the alleys. The long narrow tunnels were perfect for him to cover long distances in a short time.

He kept his pace up and after a few turns, he found himself in a wide street.

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The carriage was standing in the distance, right in front of the square and a large crowd seemed to have gathered up.

It was a crowd mixed with all sorts of people and even those who were inside their houses surged forward. A collective gasp escaped their lips as they all looked at the men on the carriage and what they were saying.

Gareth moved to stand at the end of the crowd, using his height to have a good view of the guard.

"Hear me, hear me!" the guard roared, his voice tinged with theatrical flourish. "By decree of Lord Arzan himself, a recruitment drive for the esteemed position of Special Guards commences this very week! You must have heard rumours… And folks, they’re right!"

A ripple of whispers ran through the people. They didn’t shout or show any emotions, but all of them seemed to be in doubt.

Gareth remained rooted to the spot, his brow furrowed in scepticism like the others. Special Guard? What kind of position was this? What was so special about guards?

The guard, oblivious to the confusion, continued his spiel, his voice going a notch higher.

"Work and train under the illustrious Knight Killian himself! Hone your skills, serve your lord, and earn a handsome wage— five gold coins a month! Register now!"

Five gold coins!

The words echoed in Gareth's mind. Another ripple went through the crowd as they whispered. A few people even rub their ears in case they heard wrong.

Five gold coins could buy a meal three times a day, a new pair of boots, clothes and after all that, they were enough to save a bit for the future.

Gareth couldn't help but imagine getting that much money every month. But reason quickly doused the embers of his optimism. He was a miner, his hands rough and calloused from years of wielding a pickaxe.

Combat? He knew the sting of a misplaced swing, the ache of exhaustion after a long shift, but the thrill of battle and fighting against someone?

A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He wouldn't be winning any swordsmanship awards anytime soon.

He glanced around him, taking in the scene. Men, some younger, some older, all bore the same hopeful glint in their eyes. They surged forward, pushing and shoving, eager to be the first to register.

“Come forward! You, you and you!” The guard yelled once again. “You do not need prior combat knowledge to register! One can start without it if they fulfil the requirements!”

“What?! What sort of requirements are we on about?” An overweight man asked from the crowd.

The guard clicked his tongue. “You won't know yet. Lord Arzan will decide it personally. If you believe you have guts and potential, you will qualify. Remember, registration is free. There's no fee. If you believe you can do it, come forward and sign up.”

Gareth couldn't believe his ears for a second. If there was no combat experience required, maybe he could try?

He looked around himself and his heart fell once more.

The words from the guards had made even more people move to register, pushing and pulling each other to get to the front. Looking back, he saw even more men coming in.

The carriage had announced the opening of job recruitment in the whole city and it had attracted a lot of attention.

Seeing so many people, Gareth hesitated. Would he be able to compete with them? Doubt gnawed at him, a persistent voice whispering of failure.

Then, a memory surfaced, a warm hand calloused like his own resting on his shoulder. His father's voice echoed in his ears, "Whatever chances you don't take, son, some other guy takes it and hits it rich."

It was something his father used to say a lot. Over and over again. It was because he had lost out on an opportunity to apprentice under a merchant. After all, he had been too scared to go meet him.

Some other guy had and ten years later, his father was working in a mine owned by him.

His jaw clenched tight.

He may not be a knight, but he wasn't a coward either. He had gone down to iron mines and worked for hours every day. He didn't want that sort of life.

Five gold coins? Five gold coins were worth a shot at a better life.

Taking a deep breath, he calmed himself down. He had his wife at home. He needed to return with good news. If not that, then at least some hope of good news.

Gareth took a step forward, mingling with the men who wanted to take a chance— just like him.

“Come this way! Come in line!” The guard yelled. A few others moved to straighten the crowd in a line and to control anyone who was trying to break it.

He stood behind the line waiting for his turn patiently.

***

The tall man in front of him turned around. He recognized who he was– Old Man Clement, a man who lived on the same street as him.

He was kind and gentle and someone who always looked out for the people in the neighbourhood. But ever since the season Frosania started, things have been tough.

Along with everyone else in the city, Clement, too, could barely look after himself and his family. He had lost his job because his employer had left the city, and things had been rough from what he heard of his family.

When their eyes met, they exchanged a hesitant nod, a silent acknowledgement of their shared desperation and a glimmer of hope.

“Are you trying to get in with the guards too?” Clement questioned.

Gareth nodded. “Just like you. But, I thought you applied to work at the bar down the street,” he paused for a moment. “Unlike me, you know a variety of skills, so I thought you would be able to get a job quite easily.”

Clement sighed. He smacked his lips, “That place is dead. Been dead for months. The owner didn't have money to pay and as for my skills, no one thinks they are worthy enough to pay for it. Hence, I'm here.”

Gareth nodded as the line moved. He gave a slight pat on his back. “I hope the gods are looking upon you. Good luck.”

The latter smiled briefly. “You too. Good things are bound to happen. Especially with Lord Arzan distributing food to the needy… I believe something is about to change.”

Gareth could only nod to his words.

The line slowly snaked its way towards the training grounds, a large, dusty expanse where figures clad in gleaming armour sparred and practised formations.

Along with the people who were in the line, everyone seemed to be tense and nervous. Even the guards who were practising with their weapons seemed to hold a sense of tension in their shoulders.

I think that’s where the testing must be happening. He thought to himself as he looked at where they were headed.

Inside, a single room served as the testing ground.

Men entered, one by one, disappearing behind a thick curtain. A few emerged moments later, their faces etched with disappointment. Gareth's heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs with each dejected figure.

Then, something strange happened.

A man entered the room, but unlike the others, he didn't come back out. Minutes stretched, a cold knot settling in his stomach.

Everyone waited and a few talked in hushed whispers. The guards called in other people meanwhile as the testing dragged on even if the man didn't come back.

After a brief twenty minutes, Clement walked out of the curtain with his lips pursed tightly, the old man didn’t even share a glance, but continued to walk away. He seemed disappointed and Gareth didn't have to think twice about the results. But now, it was his turn.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever awaited him on the other side of the curtain. Stepping inside, he found himself facing a richly furnished room.

Two figures stood before him— a stern-faced man in a crimson cloak which he identified as Lord Arzan and a knight clad in gleaming silver armour whom he knew as Knight Killian.

Lord Arzan's gaze was stern as he moved his eyes onto him while Knight Killian simply stood in the back, but the pressure coming off him daunted his shoulders.

Gareth's heart lurched. He bowed clumsily, his calloused hand brushing his thigh in a nervous gesture.

"Gareth of Veralt City," he stammered, his voice rough with disuse.

Lord Arzan gave him a curt nod. "At ease, Gareth." He gestured towards a wooden chair. "Please, sit."

He hesitated at the polite language, but with a murmured thanks, he lowered himself onto the edge, muscles bunched in anticipation.

Lord Arzan surprised him further by walking forward and placing a hand on each of his shoulders.

His touch was surprisingly warm. A strange sensation washed over him then, a tingling warmth that spread through his body like a wave.

It wasn't pain, exactly, but a prickling, buzzing sensation that made him want to twitch his limbs in protest. Yet, a strange calmness settled over him just as soon.

The feeling intensified for a moment, then receded as quickly as it came. Gareth blinked, his gaze darting between Lord Arzan and Knight Killian.

"What… what was that?" he managed to ask, his voice barely a whisper.

Lord Arzan's smile was both kind and knowing, he looked at the knight and then at Gareth. “The test and you should be happy to know that you passed," he said. "Welcome to the Special guards, Gareth!"