Skills: Three-Section Staff (Perfected)
The night shift was always slow in the guardhouse, and tonight was no exception. Sputtering torches cast a dull, uneven glow across the walls, creating deep shadows that clung to corners. The low hum of idle conversation mixed with the occasional clang of armor, as guards shifted or leaned, killing time. In his usual corner, the ratkin guard stood alone, arms folded, his red eyes observing his surroundings with a steady, unblinking patience.
The ratkin was a strange sight to most of his fellow guards. A humanoid figure covered in sleek, white fur, he wore a guard’s uniform that had seen better days, with frayed edges and small patches where he’d mended tears himself. It wasn’t much, but it was his, and he wore it with quiet pride. Hanging at his side was his most prized possession—a three-section staff crafted from worn but resilient wood. The staff gleamed under the dim torchlight, polished with care. He could never let it go dull.
Though he looked calm, he was truly grateful for the opportunity he was given. He enjoyed being a city guard, stationed at a post where others wouldn't be caught dead at, but he smiled. He had learned to cherish opportunities when they were given and to not take them for granted.
Then came the sneer.
“Hey, rat.” A human guard, a senior with a long history of lazy shifts and an easy laugh, strolled over with a smirk, a crumpled piece of parchment in hand. He tossed it carelessly, letting it fall to the floor near the ratkin’s feet. “Disturbance down at ‘The Broken Barrel.’ Should be easy for a creature like you. Just a tavern brawl, after all.” His eyes glinted with amusement, and his buddies stifled laughs behind him.
The ratkin stayed silent, as he always did when they baited him. Instead, he bent slowly, picked up the parchment, and unfolded it, giving it a quick, practiced glance. As usual, there were no details, just an order to handle it. He nodded once, a short, sharp movement, pocketing the paper as he turned to leave. His silence seemed to bother the human more than any response would have.
The senior guard crossed his arms, leaning against the wall with a condescending smirk. “Don’t fuck it up, or you’re finished,” he called, raising his voice so that the others could hear. “Still don’t understand why Captain Hugo accepted a beast like you…”
The ratkin paused for a fraction of a second, but he didn’t look back. He’d heard it all before, and he didn't quite know why Captain Hugo stuck out his neck for him either. However, he squared his shoulders, slipped out of the guardhouse, and stepped into the crisp night air. Outside, he let out a slow breath, watching it form a faint, misty cloud in the cold. His claws clicked softly against the cobblestones as he started toward the tavern, and after a moment, he began whistling a low, quiet tune, adding a bit of rhythm to his steps. He moved lightly, with a subtle bounce, his mind happy to take on the task ahead. He didn't often get sent out to handle disturbances. Whatever he found at The Broken Barrel tonight, he’d be eager to do so.
The Broken Barrel was infamous among the city’s taverns, a place where commoners, travelers, and adventurers mingled—mostly to drink away coin and share tall tales of their exploits. The closer he got, the louder the laughter and shouts grew, punctuated by occasional crashes. Through the thick wooden door, he could hear the low murmur of music and the clinking of glass. He pushed the door open, his red eyes scanning the crowded room. It took only a glance to find the source of the commotion: an adventurer group huddled at the far end, dominating a corner with their brash laughter and rowdy movements. Overturned chairs and broken mugs littered the floor around them, and the rest of the patrons kept a wary distance.
One of them, a burly swordsman, was leaning over the bar, loudly berating the barkeep. His companions—a scrawny mage with a glimmering staff and an archer lazily twirling coin between his fingers—watched, amused, as the swordsman slammed his mug down. The rookie approached the barkeep instead of the party that was called on. He gave a friendly smile as he pointed to his uniform.
“City Guard. I've received a report of a disturbance at this location. Can you tell me a little bit more about the situation?” He asked.
“Of course those cheap bastards would send someone like you…” The barkeep wanted to spit and curse but he restrained himself. “All the taxes we pay and they still can't even…”
“I'll do my best to help. Do you want those gentlemen thrown out of your establishment or have they broken any laws?” The rookie followed up, not taking to mind the disrespect.
“Sigh… since I'm stuck with you, I might as well get some use out of you. Can you get them out of my bar. I'm just a regular hard working citizen, if I tried to tell those adventurers what to do, who knows if I'll be able to see my loving wife and daughter in the morning!” The barkeep exclaimed.
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“Alright sir, thank you for cooperating. I'll go do my job now.” The rookie gave a slight bow of his head before heading toward the group.
By now everyone has realized the city guards were called. The lively mood hushed to a whisper as everyone focused on the ratkin guard. One of a kind as far as they knew. Usually beastmen weren't placed in positions of power in a human-dominated city. Especially in the capital of all places!
“City guard. You’ve caused enough of a scene. Time to pay your tab and leave,” The rookie ordered.
The swordsman slowly turned to face him, a bemused grin spreading across his face. He looked the rat up and down, taking in the white fur and red eyes. “Well, well… what’s this?” He let out a harsh laugh. “They sent the vermin to handle us. Don’t they have real guards for that?” The others chuckled, clearly entertained. The mage leaned back, waving a hand dismissively. “Run along, rat. Before you get hurt. I think there's some trash in the alley outside you might be interested in.”
Unfazed, the MC met their mocking gaze. “Last warning. Pay your tab and leave.” A spark flickered at the mage’s fingertips—a minor spell, nothing more than a crackle of energy, meant to startle. It flared in front of the ratkin’s face, casting brief shadows over his features. But he didn’t flinch. Instead, he calmly reached for his staff, his hand steady as he gripped the first section and unfurled the weapon. “Or what?” The Archer continued to play with the coin.
As they burst out laughing at the sight, suddenly the swordsman struck down with a cup toward the rookie’s head. With a quick flick, the MC extended his three-section staff, the segments snapping outward in a fluid motion. In an instant, he struck, swinging the staff in a wide arc that knocked the swordsman across the face. The swordsman lunged forward in rage, but the guard sidestepped, wrapping one section of the staff around the man’s arm and yanking, sending him stumbling to his knees. With a quick twist, he released the swordsman, spinning the staff to block an incoming arrow from the archer across the room. The weapon’s segments whirled in a blur around him, creating a barrier that kept all three adventurers at bay.
The mage stepped in, muttering a spell under his breath as a glowing projectile formed at his palm. But the ratkin was faster. His staff lashed out, knocking the mage to the floor and disrupting the spell. Blood flowed from his nose as he looked up in disbelief. The tavern patrons gasped, whispering among themselves as they watched the rat guard dismantle the adventurers one by one.
“Attacking a city guard is a month in the dungeons with no bail.” the guard reminded them with some jolly in his voice.
The adventurers weren’t ready to back down. Blood trickled down the swordsman’s lip as he staggered to his feet, snarling with a twisted grin, eyes burning with fury. Gripping his sword, he charged, boots thudding heavily against the wooden floor. The ratkin guard held his ground, watching every movement with a sharp, calculating eye. As the swordsman closed in, the ratkin shifted, twisting his staff with a smooth, lethal grace to intercept the blow. The blade clashed against wood, but before the swordsman could adjust, the ratkin pivoted sharply, using the staff’s momentum to crack it across the man’s temple. There was a sickening crunch as the swordsman’s head snapped back, and he stumbled, dazed, but the ratkin didn’t stop there. In one fluid motion, he spun the staff, bringing it down hard onto the swordsman’s collarbone with a crack that echoed through the tavern. The swordsman crashed into a table, shattering it under his weight, groaning as he writhed on the floor, his sword slipping from his fingers.
Seeing his companion downed, the mage, now wide-eyed and frantic, scrambled to his feet, desperately chanting under his breath as his fingers sparked to life. But the ratkin was faster. He closed the distance in a single, fluid step, the staff whirling like a blur. Before the mage could release his spell, a brutal strike to his hand sent his staff clattering to the ground. The mage stumbled back, clutching his wrist, his incantation cut short with a strangled cry of pain. But the ratkin wasn’t finished. His movements were relentless, each swing precise and punishing. He delivered a savage blow to the mage’s knee, forcing a guttural scream as the mage collapsed to the floor, clutching his leg. One final strike landed squarely in the center of the mage’s chest, driving the air from his lungs with a sickening wheeze. The mage’s eyes rolled back as he crumpled, motionless.
All that was left was the archer. The archer, the last man standing, froze. His hands shook as he fumbled for an arrow, his face pale as he took in his fallen comrades. His fingers went numb, and the arrow slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the floor. Slowly, he raised his hands, backing away, his wide eyes locked onto the ratkin in fear. “P-please…” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper, “I… I don’t want any trouble…” The ratkin took a slow, deliberate step forward, his crimson eyes narrowed, his grip firm on the staff, now speckled with blood and splinters from the broken table. The tension in the air was thick, suffocating, as the archer continued to back away until his spine hit the wall, and he realized he had nowhere left to go.
“Please don’t resist.” the ratkin smiled, his voice polite and accommodating. The archer swallowed hard, his face pale as he dropped to his knees, hands raised in surrender.
Silence hung heavy in the tavern, the patrons staring in awe, fear, and disbelief. The ratkin cast a final glance over the adventurers, before he turned to the barkeep.
“Thank you for reporting this inn, sir,” he said with a respectful nod as though the brutal beatdown had been nothing more than routine.
The barkeep, still wide-eyed and speechless, managed a nod, glancing nervously at the battered adventurers on the floor. Without another word, the ratkin turned and strode out with the adventurers chained together behind him, his claws clicking softly against the floor, leaving the stunned silence of the tavern in his wake. Despite his skill, despite the fact that he’d helped them, they still looked at him with fear and distrust.