Grunkor didn't want to create chaos. Nor did he want to fight. Grunkor's heart thumped, as he stood in line just in front of Vesper. He held two of the feistiest rats that he could find in his hands.

"Make sure not to drop them," said Vesper.

Grunkor scowled. Of course, he wouldn't drop them. He wasn't a fledgling goblin after his first hunt. He knew to grab them around the necks and squeeze.

Grunkor did receive weird looks, but Grunkor's business was not their business, so they left him alone. As the line slowly marched forward, Grunkor's grip on the rats tightened. They kicked and squealed, but he didn't let go.

Eventually, Grunkor was ushered through the door.

"How can I help-" Siora stared at the two rats in Grunkors hands.

"The Adventuring Guild doesn't deal with live jobs. You'll have to go back outside and kill them,” she said.

Grunkor stood there, frozen. He felt fear that only the bravest goblins could overcome, and probably most humans and elves and orcs; even some of the mole people could deal with the fear Grunkor was feeling. But for a Goblin, what Grunkor was doing was brave.

"Sir, can I help you? Hello, can you hear me?" Siora asked.

With one swift motion, Grunkor threw both rats at the administrator's face. They latched on and gnawed at the poor woman before scurrying onto the floor, climbing the desks, and biting anyone who attempted to catch them.

Grunkor charged in the opposite direction, away from the administrators and towards the lobby chairs that adventurers sat at while waiting for their paperwork to be filed. Grunkor bravely dove under a chair and hid the best he could.

All of the administrators screamed, climbing the desks as if that would protect them. It might've worked if the rats were normal, but these were no normal rats. They were ferocious rats born from a hyper-competitive environment that large cities brought. All the best rats traveled to the capital sewers because this was where opportunity was. No rats made six figures of food scraps working in the middle of nowhere.

If anyone could understand rats, which practically no one could, they'd hear the victorious cries of Rutus and Raltz as they valiantly fought off their oppressors. There was glory to be had as Rat Gladiators, and Rutus and Raltz were some of the best.

Rutus sunk his teeth into the arm of a lanky [administrator]. The [administrator] desperately shook his hand, but Rutus held firm. Raltz hissed, making sure no one dared interrupt the fair duel between Rutus and the lanky man.

"Get Grog down here! We've got a rat problem!" Siora screamed.

One of her lackeys rushed to get Grog.

Rutus let go of the lanky [administrator's] arm, repositioning himself as more humans rushed in to try and stop them. Raltz jumped, scratching one of the human's eyes before landing on the floor. Rutus bit that same human's heel. She squealed and stumbled away.

Grog barreled down the hall, wielding a large axe. He swung the blade down, aiming for the rats. They dodged with grace. Rutus jumped and ripped into Grog's ear. Grog's arm lashed out, and he held the rat in his hands.

Raltz looked at his fellow gladiator and friend. He leaped forward, trying to save Rutus, but it was too late. Grog squeezed the life out of Rutus. It was a fitting death for a gladiator rat; surely Rutus would be sent to Valhalla where he'd have his fill of plenty of cheese and crumbs.

Raltz fell to the floor. Grog snagged his tail with his foot. Raltz time had come, the life of a gladiator was like a bright candle. It was short but it was a bright and fulfilling life. In his last moments, Raltz prayed for his brethren, as Grog swung the axe down, splitting him into two pieces of dead rat.

"There I killed the rats!" Grog shouted, victorious.

"Good, now go apprehend that Goblin!" Siora shouted.

Vesper, who had been peeking through the door, burst into the room. In his hands, he wielded the mightiest weapon, a pen, and a legally binding contract. He dashed forward to Grog.

"Sign this!" Vesper yelled.

"Stop!" Siora yelled.

"Ok," said Grog. He snatched the pen and wrote Gog on the paper. In most countries that wouldn't be legally binding, but Calfor was a kingdom built on illiteracy. Grog had attempted to write his name even if he'd misspelled his name, and that was good enough.

"Seize them!" Siora yelled.

"Wait! You can't," Vesper yelled, louder. "It says in the contract that Grog can't hurt or detain any of his party members!"

"What are you talking about?!" exclaimed Siora. "Grog is not in a party you delusional twerp!"

"Grog has been in a party the moment he signed this piece of paper." Vesper pointed at the piece of paper. It was rather small. Not exceptionally small, but slightly smaller than what was considered standard. Perhaps, in between standard and normal. But that was completely irrelevant and, frankly, inappropriate to bring up given the situation.

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"But I'm his handler; I sign the contracts. Grog does not,” protested Siora.

"Not in Calfor; which is where this guild building resides. Grog has full rights to sign contracts even if he has a conservator."

"Grog, go get Jeffrey."

"Ok," said Grog.

Siora eyes roamed from Vesper to Grunkor, looking at both of them warily.

Jeffrey rushed into the Guild, with Grog following behind him.

"What's the meaning of this? Grog works for the Guild!"

"Well, not until he finishes the quest he agreed to do, through the contact he signed."

"Vesper pointed to the paper Grog had signed."

"Well, hand it over to me." Jeffrey motioned towards Vesper.

Vesper pulled a copy from his cloak. Jeffrey scowled as he grabbed the copy from Vesper's hands.

“This writing is atrocious almost like a young school child wrote it,” complained Jeffrey.

“Just get on with it,” Siora huffed.

"Says here that Grog has requested Vesper, the coolest adventurer to ever exist, to choose one quest to adventure with Grog to slay the Great Ice Wyvern, starting as soon as reasonably possible,” read Jeffrey.

"He's not that cool!" protested Siora.

"I'm just reading what's written in the contract," Jeffrey said.

"I should be able to break the contract for Vesper lying about how cool he is," said Siora.

"No. That won't hold up in court. You're allowed to be a narcissistic, egotistical person in Calfor."

Jeffrey cleared his throat before continuing to read.

"The contract is 110% binding and contains an option to allow Grog's lame conservator to join them."

Siora's face turned beet red, she struggled to contain her anger. "That's slander!" she proclaimed.

"Again that won't hold up in court. No one reads contracts out loud." Jeffrey paused, realizing he was, in fact, reading a contract out loud. "Well, almost nobody reads contracts out loud." he corrected.

Jeffrey continued. "Party members on this expedition include Vesper, definitely the coolest, Grunkor, who's still pretty cool, Olbin, who's cool, Grog, and finally the lame conservator if he or she feels the need to come."

"That can't be a binding contract. It's ridiculous! It's suicide!" said Siora.

"I'm afraid this contract is iron-tight. By allowing Grog's conservator to come with them, they aren't breaking any legal issues regarding Grog's autonomy. The lack of literacy in the country makes simple contracts a necessity."

"Grog thinks this would be fun. Been long since Grog smashed monsters." added Grog, sagely.

"Unbelievable! I'm an [administrator] I can't go on a quest!"

"Well, it says here, that Vesper is a [Bookworm] and Grunkor is an [Innkeeper], although there is an asterisk by the word [Innkeeper]. You're not the only non-combat class. I'd highly recommend for the Guild's sake you go with Grog. He's too important of an asset for our branch to lose, and Central isn't gonna lend us any of their goons."

"Well, it's my choice, isn't it!?"

"Yes, but there will be consequences if Grog gets injured, even if his autonomy was given to you. If they feed Grog to a wyvern, you'll be cleaning the latrines 8 hours a day, every day, for the foreseeable future. Again, the choice is yours,” threatened Jeffrey.

Siora's eyes peered at Vesper like daggers. If looks could kill, Vesper would be dead. Maybe not obliterated, but hundred percent guaranteed dead. About as dead as someone who had a heart attack or died of an incurable broken toe.

At least that's what Grunkor figured, and Grunkor knew a thing or two about death. Goblins weren't exactly known for their long lifespans or peaceful existence. That's why Grunkor bravely stayed hidden underneath a chair, waiting for the madness to end. It was only a matter of time before the Guild decided to lop off Vesper's head.

That did not happen. What happened next was that a bunch of disgruntled workers went back to work as if nothing could be done. Now, that was real power; that was bureaucracy.

"We need to talk," Siora said to Vesper.

"When?"

"Now! You, me, and the rest of the party you signed up to go on this crazy adventure."

"Well, about that. We're missing Olbin. I guess I might've stretched the truth a bit to get him to come."

Siora frowned.

"That's a terrible thing to do on such a dangerous quest."

"I know. But this is better for the both of us."

"It's not your job to decide other people's actions!" Siora shouted. She paused.

"Yeah, is that why you babysit Grog?" Vesper asked.

"That's different."

"Yeah, it seems worse."

"Look, I don't want to go on your suicide adventure, but we should at least get along and figure out what assets we've got. I'm not looking to die," reasoned Siora.

"Neither am I," Vesper responded.

"It doesn't seem like it. So where's this alleged [Innkeeper]? If Olbin's not here, we can at least talk it out together, think rationally, and choose a different adventure."

"Grunkor, you're safe. You can come out from under that chair."

Grunkor scurried out.

"You're saying the goblin who threw two feral rats at me is coming along!" Siora took a deep breath and exhaled.

She sat down, looking more resigned.

"Well, yes, that's Grunkor," Vesper said as if it was obvious. It was obvious to him.

"So you planned to rely on Grog to kill a Grande Ice Wyvern. He's a gold rank adventurer, not a mythical hero from a fantasy land."

"With the right planning, I'm sure we can do it. Did I tell you Olbin was once a royal retainer?"

Siora perked up at this.

"That's something. If you don't mind me asking, why isn't he a royal retainer anymore? Did some King poach him? Did he want to gain some levels so he joined a mercenary group?"

"Well, not exactly," Vesper said sheepishly.

"Well, go on, spit it out."

"He didn't get the most optimal class advancement. He said it was something like [Vanguard Farmer]."

"A Farmer? So he was kicked out. How does someone manage to become a royal retainer, and that's the best-advanced class he was offered?"

"I don't know. He didn't elaborate."

"Well, it could be worse. We could've ended up with five of you."

"Hey! I'll try and make myself useful." Vesper was going to try.