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Chapter Two - II

The air inside was saturated with ale and meat. As Taka raised the last bite of food to his lips, a proposition he’d heard once already that day came from the half-elf seated to his left.

“Well! Now that we have shared a meal together—now that you have shared a meal with me, Beriyl Edmund Ciphre of House Aschwaz, I believe there is only one course of action! Of course, that course is to join together; we shall become a party!”

Under any other circumstance, Taka probably would have said “no”, but several things now were giving him reason to say yes: firstly, they’d helped him out several times, he already knew their names, and Beriyl, for all his faults, had shown genuine human emotion earlier, something Taka expected he’d never see from him. Sure, they had admittedly horrible chemistry together, but maybe that would change. Additionally, Arthur seemed like a steadfast person; all in all, it wasn’t the worst first party ever. If it turned out to be too terrible, it wasn’t like he had to stick with them, right?

…right?

Taka stared into his mug of water thoughtfully for a moment longer. When he’d made his decision, he picked it up and took a sip.

“Okay, yeah,” He began. “Let’s, uh-”

“Hm! Perfect! And I trust there are no objections to me being the party leader?”

Arthur gently set his half-drunk mug of coffee down, and cooly met Beriyl’s eyes.

“No, Beriyl. You cannot be the leader.”

‘Thank you Arthur, for being one of the only voices of reason at this table!’

The noble’s face contorted with anger, his tone reddening until it resembled fire. His blue eyes narrowed into a glare, as he slammed on the table and rose from his seat in one movement with a resounding thunk. His mouth opened in protest, but before he had a chance to say anything, Arthur raised a hand. In response, Beriyl slumped back into his seat, defeated. To Taka’s bemused surprise, his face even returned to a shade resembling its original color.

‘Now just how did that work, exactly? Wait, don’t tell me… does Beriyl think Arthur’ll let him be the party leader if he’s “allowed” to say his bit?’

"There’s no way to put this nicely.” Arthur began. “You both lack experience. You lack the wisdom of age and the experience of combat. I am older than both of you, and I’ve been in many battles, against both monsters and men. As for you, Beriyl, you're young, immature, and not yet fit-"

‘Well, this isn’t gonna end well.’ Taka mused to himself. Watching Arthur tear into Beriyl like this was akin to watching someone light the fuse on a scarily short-fused bomb.

To be honest, the last thing he wanted was for Beriyl to blow up and cause another scene. He’d already done it earlier, at the general store. Not to mention, now that they were technically-sort of-kind of a party, he would have to pretend he didn't know him until they left the tavern if he started throwing a fit.

….

A few seconds ticked painfully by. Taka watched with bated breath. By some stroke of fate, Beriyl controlled himself: his face was red, even redder than it had been before, and he was quivering uncontrollably, but he was controlling himself.

"I see," He began very deliberately, his voice wavering like rope straining under too much weight. "But, you… you see…"

And then, that rope snapped. Beriyl once again rose briskly from his chair, which was sent toppling loudly to the floor in the wake of his anger. He slammed his hands on the table once more and leant over it.

“Sit down,” Arthur exasperatedly huffed.

‘Well, here it comes. I guess I’ll just pretend not to know him… but how the hells am I gonna do that?! I’m at the same table as him, and-‘

”I should be the leader, not you!” He shouted. “I am Beriyl Edmund Ciphre von Aschwaz! Nobility! The gemstone of House Aschwaz! I am a great magician, more than capable of leading this party to great success! And where would you lead us!? To our ruin?! Hah! And what of your weaponry? How savage! My magic is much more beautiful, and decidedly more elegant! So! That is why I should, no, will lead this party! To say I’m not fit to lead is pure poppycock! Like telling a dwarf not to drink! And how do you know how old I am?! I’m seventy-three! Much older than you!” Beriyl sat—no, slammed himself back down, content. Tirade over, control over himself hopefully regained.

‘What a temper tantrum…’

“You’re not seventy-three. You’re sixteen.” Arthur said, unintentionally throwing fuel into the dying fire.

“N- no I’m-“

“Beriyl.”

“Hmph!”

Taka sighed. A fuming silence hung over the table. When next the half-elf spoke, it was in a scarily calm tone.

“So, we’re all decidedly in agreement that I will be the party leader?”

...

“Well?”

As if a better case could have ever been made for why someone shouldn’t be party leader. All Beriyl had done was prove his immaturity and blatant incapability of leading a party of any kind.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“No.” Arthur firmly restated.

At that, the half-elf deflated like a balloon.

‘Is he allergic to the word “no” or something?’

It was surprising, almost reassuring how quickly he’d given up. Perhaps Arthur was one of the only people capable of getting Beriyl to shut up? Or perhaps he really was allergic to the word “no”?

Despite Beriyl’s sudden interest in being quiet, people had begun to stare. Curious, irritated, whatever emotion they were feeling, Taka didn’t care. At first, they seemed to only be interested in Beriyl, but then they turned to him and Arthur, and…

They all bore the same crushing weight; and all birthed a creeping dread in his chest. Fidgeting in his chair, his eyes locked desperately onto Arthur, issuing a silent plea. Then a verbal one.

“Hey, uh, Arthur. I- I think we should leave.”

Arthur nodded, and stated: “We’ve already paid.”

Sensing Taka’s confusion toward that statement, he followed up with, “Yes. Let’s go.”

Immediate relief crashed over him as he hastily got up and started for the door, only to stop when Arthur didn’t follow, because Beriyl remained leant over the table like a dead animal.

“Uh… Beriyl?” He began, feeling as if he were poking a bear with a stick.

“….if.” A quiet utterance.

Taka tilted his head in confusion, reapproaching the table. “Uh… huh?”

“What if…” Beriyl lifted his head off the table. His face was drawn taut in a determined look as he stared directly into Arthur’s eyes.

“What if?” Arthur echoed in reply, his arms crossed, and an eyebrow raised.

“What if, you allow me to be party-“ Beriyl didn’t even get to finish his sentence before he was cut off by yet another firm; “No.”

Beriyl, to nobody’s surprise, did not take this very well. “You can’t just- come on!” He whined indignantly. Before he had time to off on another rant, Arthur had leant over the table, firmly said, “Alright. Let’s go.” and grabbed his arm.

Further prolonging this awful situation, Beriyl immediately began to resist. “You let go of my arm now!” He cried, his voice becoming increasingly obnoxious to all around him. As if there hadn’t been enough eyes on them before, now there were even more people staring at what probably sounded and looked like an attempted kidnapping.

Taka hated it. He felt utterly miserable, horribly nervous, and worst of all trapped beneath the watching, judging gazes of far too many people. There were less than fifteen people in the building all in all, but in that moment it felt like the amount had doubled or tripled. He’d always wondered what second-hand embarrassment felt like. Now he knew.

It took a while, but eventually Arthur managed to get Beriyl out of the tavern. Finally outside again, Taka breathed a sigh somewhere on the precipice of relief and exhaustion, resting his weary eyes on a familiar comfort—the sky.

‘What a gods damned day, huh? If he’d just shut his damn mouth and cooperated, those people wouldn’t have stared at me, wouldn’t have judged me! Now they probably think I’m some sort of weirdo because of…’

With the “Beriyl Incident” concluded, they were headed to the Guild. Taka followed loosely behind the others, busied by his anxiety-spun, tirade-like thoughts. Debate and deliberate as he might, he never found the words to speak up to Beriyl about that little scene he’d created. Several times he considered how he would go about that, but each time he nearly opened his mouth, he shut it twice as fast. He was fighting an internal battle: was it even worth bringing it up? Would it just cause Beriyl to have another tantrum? Or would he actually listen? In the end, his internal argument amounted to nothing. He required courage; And courage, he did not have. At least, not on that day.

“…Ow.”

Arthur had stopped abruptly, and consequently Taka had slammed directly into him. That was one way to cut off his rampaging thoughts, for sure.

“We’re here,” Arthur said.

So it was, that the grand visage of the Guild Hall stood before them for the second time that day.

#

Not even once had Arthur become mad at Beriyl, no matter what the guy did. Through all the arguments, outbursts, and petty, immature quarrels, he’d remained calm and collected. To Taka, that was truly impressive.

‘Not only does he have the patience of a saint, but I bet he’s got some real experience dealing with annoying, obnoxious brats like Beriyl.’

While in the line, Beriyl and Taka “chatted” about what name to choose. Beriyl wanted Grand Team Beriyl and quite obviously, Taka was having none of it. Lucky Seven was his choice. By the time they’d reached the front desk, Arthur had successfully shut down the current argument, but unfortunately, that only seemed to redirect their focus from each other to him. Like hungry baby birds, the two squawked at him, trying desperately to out-chirp the other.

“Lucky Seven!”

“No, Grand Team Beriyl!”

“Lucky Seven! We’re not doing that name, Beriyl!”

“No, we ARE doing it! Grand Team Beriyl is the better choice! The obvious choice! Grand Team Beriyl!”

“Lucky Seven! Come on, Arthur! Please! Don’t listen to him, he’s being ridiculous!”

With an expression about as readable as stone, Arthur faced the guild clerk, who offered him a tired, but sympathetic smile.

“Welcome back to the Guild, how may we be of assistance today?”

“I need to register a party.”

“Very well, and is it just you three today?”

“Yes.”

Her responses were polite, even in the face of Arthur’s overwhelming bluntness. During the proceedings, there wasn’t any room for Taka or Beriyl to chime in, except for when they, moments later, were asked for their tags. At that point, the two made every last-ditch effort to push Arthur onto their side, but instead of definitively agreeing, he just silently listened and nodded.

‘He’s gonna do Lucky Seven, right? Right?’

With nothing else to do, Beriyl glanced over at Taka. The latter met the former’s eyes, perhaps hopeful the half-elf had something meaningful to say for once.

“Ahem.”

Seeking to take precedence in the conversation before more arguments could erupt, the guild lady cleared her throat. Her smile was thin and straining, her shoulder’s drooped as if bearing the burdens of a thousand souls. If Arthur hadn’t been enough to quiet them down, the look on her face, provided they saw it, would have been for sure.

“Now, then.”

The tags returned to them, each of the three were directed to hold theirs in the palm of their dominant hand. Seconds later, a high-pitched chime cut through the air; for an instant, Taka felt a pull on his mana through his palm, then his tag flashed with a faint, red light—while Beriyl’s gleamed blue, and Arthur’s golden.

‘That’s the color of my soul, right? Think Beriyl said something about that on the carriage. Oh yeah, it’s the color of my mana, too. Or, uh- no, it’s like, the color of my soul dictates the-’

He stared with bated breath at the surface of his tag. The light died, and the text faded in to read…

Lucky Seven.

“Yes! Thank Gods!”

“Nooooo!!!” Beriyl dramatically screamed, falling to his knees. The sound was so grating that the poor guild clerk winced and covered her ears.

Despite the noble’s unwarranted reaction, Taka couldn’t help the massive smile inching across his face. Beneath his name and rank was a new line, reading “Party:”. His eyes trailed back and forth over that line. “Lucky Seven,” he murmured breathlessly, as if trying to reassure himself it was real. If Beriyl’s unending screams were anything to go off of, it was, for a matter of fact, real.

And that was how the Clay-ranked adventurer, Taka Dane Zephyr, began his career as a member of Lucky Seven in earnest.

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