“No!”
“Clar…”
“Go away. Master ruins food!”
Hmph, first the good flour. Now Koshi? Master was unbelievable. Look at this stuff, she peered to the jar. It was icky, it was sticky.
“Clar, come on. That’s a good thing.” master smiled. Lyingly.
“No!” Clar shook her head.
“Clar, please? It may look awful. Well... it does look awful. But I promise you, it’s good! It’s—it’s not something bad. Now just put it down, very, very slowly...”
“...promise.”
“Yes, Clar?”
“Promise not to use it! Then Clar will return it to master!”
“Er...well…”
“Hmph!”
“Ugh. Mrs. Crombe, Jeane. Help me, here.”
“C—Clar dear, leave master’s stuff alone, yes?”
“Little Clar, put it down, okay? Big sis will give you extra roasted thighs! How about two extra thighs? You like that don’t you, Clar?”
“...N—no!” Clar said, stoically gulping the droll before in her mouth, refusing the juicy, delicious extra thighs. Lillith said people couldn’t just live with bread and water or in Clar’s version (which was way better), cake and juice. People must have conviction.
This was Clar’s conviction!
So being a girl of conviction, Clar stood her ground, her chest puffed up. Propping it wide and high, she tilted the jar, readying herself to act on her conviction. Banishing the food ruiner down.
Down to the drain!!
Inch by inch, she saw the gross, frothing, weirdly smelling, awful brown stuff slicked from the bottom to the wall to the tip of the jar.
No one should ruin food!
Even if it was master.
“Sigh, I’m sorry, but.” she heard master said something unimportant. It didn’t matter. This awful thing would be totally gone by the next sec—
“—Clar, Cease. Undo.”
“No!!” the command seized her. Her hand stopped listening to her. The betraying thing tilted back the jar, the stuff to her hand. It even tried to save bits that almost fell on the jar’s tip!
“Now I’ll take this.” she looked in horror as master, smiling, conniving, cheating, took the awful jar away and bringing it to the table where the foods were.
“No. No. No!!”
“Jeane hold her, please.”
“Yes, young master. Come on, little Clar.”
“No!!” She screamed. It was useless though. Master still willed her to stop. Otherwise, sister Jeane wouldn’t be able to hold Clar. Not with her hug-only strength.
“Now it’s very simple. We took the prepared flour and put it in a bowl. With me so far, Mrs. Crombe?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then — ah, had you crushed the salt, yet?”
“Yes, is this enough sir?”
“Yeah. It’s more than enough.” master took the little bowl filled with salt. Good salt. Now he’d ruin the salt too! Clar felt a tear threatened to burst from her eyes. Bad master! Flour wasn’t enough for him?
“Now, put about two tips of the spoon, hmm, maybe three, no, four. Four.” master licked the salt, the soon would be ruined salt from his finger. “This salt is not salty enough.”
“Not salty? But I just check it three days ago when the merchant came, yes? And it was fine then, sir.”
“Should we change the merchant, sir?”
“No, what I meant is — never mind. Anyway, mix the flour and the salt thoroughly until everything is incorporated. Like you’re sure that it spread around equally.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we mix this with a cup of water in one to four ratio. Not too much, just a fifth of the jar… which with how much Clar threw away” —master looked at Clar disapprovingly— “only enough for three portions.” Hmph! Clar might fail to throw all of the bad stuff, but Clar did throw away a bit. Food, Clar was sorry Clar could only save some of you…
“Haah... I’ll teach you next time how to make it more. Let just work with what we have, now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we poured it to the flour.” Clar gasped.
“Goodbye flour, goodbye salt, Clar tried to save you,” she said. “Sorry, Clar failed.”
“Oh, Clar.” Sister Jeane petted Clar’s head while hugging her. It felt nice. “I’m sure young master doesn’t ruin the koshi.”
“But it looked awful!” Clar looked at sister Jeane straight. Why was everyone defending master?
“Well, I remember someone who said that they didn’t like pene pea before.” Sister Jeane chuckled, pinching Clar’s left cheek. “Now who’s been eating all the kitchen’s stock?”
“T—that’s different!” Clar blushed. “Clar didn’t know that pene pea would taste good after sister Doris boiled it!”
“Ah, but Clar also doesn’t know if the new koshi young master and Mrs. Crombe make right now will taste bad, right?”
“Emmm…”
“And like the first time, slowly until it fully incorporated. Look at the brown, they should be similar inside and outside.”
“Now the water is not exact. If this” —master pointed to the awful stuff— “was more watery, then you’re done. If it’s not as watery, you add the water. Not much, just a spoon at a time. The point is, what you want to see here is something doughy, there shouldn’t be any loose flour.”
“Yes sir.”
“Then how about this, Clar.” Sister Jeane pushed her nose into Clar’s nose. “For now, let’s have a nap. Then after Clar wakes up, we will judge if the young master’s recipe is tastier than what sister Doris makes!” said sister Jeane. “Can Clar handle that?”
“Okay…” Clar said, staring at the ruined koshi. Clar didn’t believe it but for Sister Jeane, Clar would give master a chance.
“Now the dough here looks shaggy and kind of crumbly right? So what we need to do is, we took this cloth, soak it with warm water, strain it, and put it over the bowl...”
Holding sister Jeane’s hand, Clar passed the kitchen door. Master’s voice was growing fainter.
[https://i.ibb.co/kHLk3wt/Line-Break.png]
Although there was nothing stark about yet another ragtag band of adventurers, especially the one comprising standard, Melanzie’s mix (in the dungeon entrance no less), Arlene found it way too easy to find the guys.
While Rene’s did help out a bit by standing uselessly tall. What steered her eyes was not his overgrown height. Instead, it was her team’s colorful ensemble, shining painfully bright in the sea of miners’ drab.
Emily armor’s gleam, Clem’s oozing cheeriness, and Lydia’s empowered flame’s robe, bursting with mana and magic.
Who else would they be if it wasn’t her party?
“A-Arl!”
Her friend waved off to her, calling her name. The girl’s hand, flared in [Light] was pointing to the party’s location. Stopping her eye roll, she returned the greeting. No, not because it was polite or the proper thing to do to your friend. That was Fami’s stuff. It just so that her friend knew that she had seen her. Otherwise, being too nice, the girl would head here to guide her to the exact line’s location, the exact queue’s number. Causing both of them to go through another round of checking. And while ten silvers were pretty cheap. Also, the girl was kinda rich. She rather had not the stupidity of the whole ordeal to be burdened upon her conscience.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
Now, where? She turned her head left and right, left and right until around five breathes later, her eyes caught a corner where the crowd seemed to thicken. Walking there, she found them; two men clad in black surrounded by quite number of people.
Huh, what were they doing here?
“Back! Back!”
Just as she walked to see what the hubbub was, the crowd was pushed to her. Thank her light she managed to avoid falling. Someone had staggered to her. Though her quick reflex only managed to cover her front chest. Her toe’s tip, smushed by the offending party’s boots, was screaming at her.
“Sorry!”
The bastard scurried away, only sparing a sideway no more than a quarter of breath. Which she quickly followed of course. No, not by shouting ‘You, dumbass’ even though it was warranted and she definitely wanted to. No, what she followed was his cowardice conduct of retreating back. Her painful, likely swollen toe could wait. Around her, tens and tens of people were driven away. If not by shouts, by unsheathed spears and swords. Four maybe five guards were swinging their weapons; parting the crowd in waves.
Twenty steps back, she watched as breath by breath, the panicking, running crowd turned to hobble. To slow. The dust settled and murmurs of conversation began to fill the air. She waited for a full wick before slowly, making her way back toward the guards. Whatever causing them to did that was something else. Something major.
The push — the push. It was different. It was this at once, untouched, just happened kind of thing. Not a thing that was done by a person. Or people. Or anything physical even. It was something that could only be done by a great mage of fifty or the system. And considering where she was it was likely the latter.
Skills.
Definitely skills. What happened? What made the guard use their skill? Should they not come here today?
"Anyone else wants to try?!"
A shout boomed. Her steps clacked in place as the murmur turned to still, then to pointing. It was one of the guards, staring his eyes at the crowd. The moment went by breath by breath until suddenly a chuckle emerged. A stiff one that reined so tight the perpetrator tried it very hard to not become a laugh. What? What happened? What was so funny?
Ten steps in, on a far side and thanks to the parted crowd, she finally saw it. The cause of all of this bustle, the cause of the guards’ anger to the point of using their skill to drive off the crowd. It was so ludicrous because it was ludicrous. This was a thing you heard in a tavern, in Telin’s classes as warning of what not to do in the dungeon. Yet, there she was, sprawling by the cracked ground battered; a young and stupid woman.
The girl was clutching her head, not bleeding but certainly bruised. Beside her were two guards, staring from both the back and the front side of the girl. Even from this distance she knew they were furious.
Sheesh. And she thought there was some kind of incident. Big incident. Like a scout got loose or something. Turned out it just another line-jumper.
Honestly...
Finagling her way through the remaining three people who were as brave as her, she managed to look the girl in a closer inspection. One glance at her outfit and she got it. Newbie.
The telltales just reeked out of her, her clothing was this brand new leather armor with none of the hitches and scratches that veteran delvers with at least a week of delving should have. Her hand was smooth, shiny, and if there was a wound on it, it was the new scrape she just got for being a moron. None of those calluses of hard work, or light saved her, old scars. The worst however, was her sword. It strapped wrong. While she herself wasn’t a warrior, even she, a freaking [Enchanter], knew very well that scabbard should be placed on your left and not on your right.
“Must be a brat...”
And true to her judgment, just a few moments later, a figure was running from the crowd; a young man. Stark with the dumbass on the ground, this one was ragged, grim covered his face. His left arm slumped down as his other one half-lean to his staff. Glancing down to the still sprawling youth, then to the scowling guard, she could see something inside this young man snapped. Just snapped. He lifted his non-staff arm, and with all the force a [Mage] could muster, bonked her head hard.
"I'm sorry! She's an idiot!" Ignoring her protest, the young man forced the girl to bow until her head hit the floor. Repeatedly.
"Return to the line!"
"Yes. yes."
"Come on Mar, stop embarrassing us!" Looking relieved. The young man immediately pulled up the youth, slinging her arm in his shoulder before staggering back into the line.
At least he knew what he was doing.
Arlene shook her head. Seriously, if not for that man, the damn girl would spend a better part of the moon inside the jail before she even had the chance to appear before the magistrate. The town let them do that. The dungeon doorkeeper. Just because their armor was not shining silvers or mithril gleams, it didn’t mean they were bad. Or worse, incompetent. She blamed Farmelle for that kind of foolishness. She meant, come on. Look around her, wailing pit, jutting spikes? Wall that towered twenty times of her? How was that not obvious? This was a dungeon. Yes, it was good. Yes, it was a treasure trove. But it also contained the most heinous, literal gut shredder abomination that could and had got out at moment’s notice. No ruler however idiotic would trust the safety of this continent-annihilating contraption to a bloke that could be shanked by your back-alley rabbles.
And the girl thought she could jump a line.
Funny. Just to be considered for the position of dungeon guard, you need at least ten calendars of service in the army or were a late C rank by your thirty-five. But of course, that senile geezer, that liar, must draw imagery where the light was most appreciated in the dark. Where good people could only shine when everyone else was incompetent. She lost count how many of his damned books was regurgitated line by line, unchanged, never rethought, by those uncreative taverns' bards who too lazy to write their own story.
Those scoundrels would sing his wretched tales where most guards, light saved her, were bumbling buffoons. Fools who took an arrow (yes a single arrow) to the heart on the first action. Leaving the mage-filled, [Fireball] and [Lightning Blast] runified wall somehow defenseless. That it would crumble from a single punch or sometimes when the idiotic man thought that was a bit stale, by a single oversized boulder thrown. Not that it mattered there in any sane town, there was at least a platoon of Mage, ready to reinforce the personally written, grand magi’s [Harden], or how there were lines upon lines of sharp-eyed archer with enchanted [Fire Arrows]. Or — or there was [Planners] who could literally collapse the whole ground in a breath. Plunging everything to a death trap of acid and spikes. No. What mattered was, according to this imbecile, that when everything seemed lost, when the poor, had no initiative townfolks scrambled like stupid erwee hitting each other, the [Hero] at the last moment would gallop on his faithful mount. Clad in his mithril armor and silvered sword, his magnificent grandness shall sweep and save the day.
Bullshit.
“Mister.”
She approached one of the guard; the one in the frontmost, seemed to be only guarding, and only look rather miffed.
She dipped her head.
“Back, citizen,” he said, his sword still yet sheathed — stabbed on his feet's right. She swore sweats just broke on her nape when his voice; gruff, impatient entered her ear. Yet there was an obvious lack of edge, lack of pierce — anger to it. It was something more akin to frustation. Vexation.
“Oh, no, Mr.” she shook her head twice, teeth-clasped sigh escaped from her breath. Thank her light. “I'm here to join my party.”
Acting on her good fortune and as quick as humanely possible, she rummaged the front pocket of her haversack and snapped out the guild card, handing it to him. It copper's etch gleamed over the iron base.
“Hmm.” he took the card. “Arlene Krismoira… Oh, you're from Winged Lance, girl?”
“Yes." she said, a bit clipped. "Do you know us?”
“No.” he shook his head. “Might if you’re an A, but B? They're dozens. Can’t possibly remember you all.”
“All right, as your leader had informed us” —he handed her card back— “[Grant Entry]. There.”
She hissed as the skill colored her aura green-ish and slimy, crawling around her body. “Thank you.” she managed to force the sentence out. “Wait,” she paused. “I haven’t paid—”
“—it’s paid. Like I said, your leader had informed us.”
“Right, sorry.” Emily. Of course.
“Now. Move. The brat held the line long enough already. Can’t have you do the same, girl.”
“Yes, Mr.” she nodded. “Thank you.”
Some walking later, she arrived at the queue, passing the board that flashed number twelve.
“Arl!”
“Hi, Lyd.”
“Do you get the copper?”
“Yeah, here.” she showed her the brown pouch. Opening the string slightly, the fold parted and revealed fine dust of brown, sparkling on the morning light.
“That’s great!”
“So Oskar, huh?” she pointed at the pair, talking to Rene and Emily. The latter was nodding while the former looked bored.
“Y-yes, It’s Sir Oskar and Mr. Rishi. Sir Oskar said Mr. Rake couldn’t make it.”
“Figures. So what number are we?”
“Fifteen, Arl. You barely made it. I almost came there if you didn’t show up on thirteen.” her friend pointed at the board. “What happened?”
“Nothing big. Some stupid kid tries to jump the line.”
“Oh my, is — is he okay?”
“She. And definitely not. Bruised and everything.”
“That’s horrible…”
“Don’t be, she didn’t get jail time. That’s like super lucky.” she rolled her eyes. “Considering what the girl did.”
“If you said so.” the girl smiled taut, obviously unconvinced. Yet just as she wanted to reassure her that the brat probably better being beaten than being jailed. Enumerating the why, a shout called them. “Lene, Lyd!”
“Yes?”
“It’s our turn! Hurry!”
Looking at each other, both of them sprinted into a run. Joining the party toward the front, before the line. Before the circle.
There was a slight hesitation as usual. The remaining two groups who were also at the front, waiting their turn was similarly quiet. Lyd and her arrival in fact were quite loud, the loudest in the week she bet. The stationed [Minder] gave them a displeased frown.
She bowed her head twice toward her. Passing her adventurer’s card to Emily in silence. The wick passed by as the [Minder] went through their documentation. The shuffling of sheaves and the tap of the metal cards were echoing in the front of the blue, drawn rune, crossing the ground in silver-gold gleam. Even from the safety of the mana-dampen held, from behind the protection of the tower council, she could felt the torrent around her swooshed and rolled. Tingling her magic to rattle.
Ten breathes passed before the [Minder] nodded, giving them their paper and card backs. And as always, Emily went first. She watched as her party’s leader took a step. The gleaming green tinge covering her, the [Grant Entry], melded with the line’s glowing blue. Creating a covering of bubble that swayed and flickered from the torrent’s sweep.
“Hurry.”
The [Spearmistress] said. Her hair fluttered left, her eyes squinting. She held out her hand to Rene who was holding Clem snug in his other arm. Then Mr. Rishi with Oskar came stepped in. Then she and Lyd. Side by side.
"Paper?"
A voice inquired. Again. This time it was not the [Minder], no. The [Minder] was there to protect the ignorant from themselves. These were the guards. The first guards. They were here to hold and protect the gate. Keeping whoever that might harm it away.
They were clad in cold iron and [Dampen]. Their mouth, nose, and ear were clasped in mask and enchanted earmuff. At least that what was she remembered. She had been keeping her eyes closed this time. Around her, the mana felt more — more than they usually were. They were pervasive. Everpresent. She felt them in the slip between her finger. On the base of her scalp, between her closed lips, even on her eyelashes.
"Number?"
One of the guard asked.
"Seven people, two transporters,"
Faster, faster!
"Purpose?"
"Delving. To the maze."
Come on. Come on. Could you be any slower?
"Good luck.”
Thank you.
"Step to the front."
She braced herself. Left of her, a hand, clammy, sweaty, was grasping hers. Right of her, another hand, shaking.
"OPEN THE GATE!"
A grating sound thundered as the heavy iron door parted. Even with her closed eyes, she could see it. The portal was shimmering whirling itself in a gigantic mass of yellow and blue. The red, sky-reaching posts were bursting. Already rolling mana around her turned. Turned into quake. Holding the sting on her forehead, the gash on her eyelid, she pressed Lydia's right and Clem’s left hand, telling them she was ready.
They pressed back.
And back.
Their eyes closed, their hand held, she felt the agreed upswing.
She took a step.
The party took a step.
Entering the dungeon.