“Here's your reward for your help in the monster extermination, sir!" the chipper, wolf-eared woman at the reception desk said as she placed a large pouch of coins in front of her.

After completely obliterating the den of monsters—along with the unexpected addition of powerful drakes—One Swing and the rest of the party made it safely back to the town of Bredkrum, with nothing worse than a few shallow wounds, deep bruises, and broken bones between them. Nothing that couldn’t be mended with an appropriate amount of bed rest.

Shashlik had received the most damage, seeing as he had taken the full might of a drake's attack. But after the beast had the back half of its body cleaved cleanly in half by One Swing's attack and toppled backwards into the resulting abyss, the hooded man simply picked himself back up again, and with a single strained command—

“Job’s done. Let’s leave this shithole.”

—He walked away. His bones had most likely been shattered beneath the crushing force of the creature’s claw, and he was clearly in a lot of pain, but he continued on, making the entire trek back again in silence.

That was the true grit of an A-Rank, One Swing thought. Despite the short blades he chose to carry, he was a man who had One Swing's respect. A man with true length of character.

It seemed that length was a profoundly complex concept whose abstract and ever-evolving form continued to surprise One Swing every day. One Swing felt he still had a lot to learn before he could reach the lengths that he so longed for.

One Swing looked at the large pouch of coins that had been placed on the desk in front of him before tilting his head.

“How much of this will be taken to repay my debt towards the town?” he asked, his thoughts shifting back to his actions from the goblin attack that got him in trouble the other day.

“Oh, he didn’t tell you before he left?” the woman asked in reply.

One Swing titled his head the other side. “Did who not tell me what?”

“Ah, that A-Rank that was here before paid off your entire debt before boarding a carriage back to the Capital. He said that he ‘didn’t want to stay indebted to some F-Rank weakling, so this makes us even’, and then he left. A-ah, those were his words, not mine, by the way! M-my apologies, sir!”

“Shashlik of a Thousand Nettles…”

Truly a man of great length of character.

With a nod, One Swing gratefully took the pouch and placed it in the knapsack at his back.

"Hey, brother!" A friendly slap on the shoulder from a muscular, moustached man drew One Swing's attention. It was Grapple Krumble, the friendly veteran adventurer who had recruited One Swing on the monster-hunting expedition in the first place. He was another man that One Swing respected. Partly for his length of character, but mostly from the very thick, horseshoe-shaped moustache that grew from around his mouth. Grapple was a man with very respectable facial hair, One Swing thought.

“Why don’t you come join us?” Grapple asked, gesturing towards the table where all the other adventurers from the expedition were in the middle of celebrating—minus Shashlik, who had already departed to the Capital.

It had taken the group another day and night to get back to the town, and the now rowdy bunch were indulging themselves in a heavy banquet of food and drink, despite the fact that it was only the early hours of the morning. Though, finding drunk adventurers inside the Guild hall was not an uncommon sight, at any time of day.

One Swing shook his head. "I thank you for the offer, but I fear I must depart. I have a quest of utmost importance I must see to in the next town over."

One Swing gave the man a deep bow, and went to retrieve his weapon. The long, violet blade had been left on the floor of the Guild’s hall, trailing out through the doorway, across the street, and through the window of the establishment on the other side of it—much to the annoyance of the very disgruntled butcher within.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“Heading to Zwieback, huh?” Grapple nodded. “Well, take care out there, brother! It’s a shame you couldn’t stay longer, but—”

One Swing paused in his tracks, before turning back to the man. “What did you say?”

"Hm? Oh, I just said it was a shame you couldn't stay and celebrate with us a bit longer."

“…” One Swing pondered to himself for a moment, before breaking out into a smirk. “Not staying long does sound like a shame. I suppose it is always best to stay longer. Very well then.”

“O-okay? I don’t really get it, but great! Come, pull up a chair, and let’s get you something to eat and drink!”

With a smirk still on his face, One Swing took a seat at the table—the other adventurers cheering loudly as he did—and stuck his hand up towards the waitress running around the hall.

“Bring me two baguettes and a mug of ale!” he called out loudly. “And if possible, I’d like the ale served with a straw, please!”

For the next few hours, One Swing happily indulged in the celebration with his peers. Eventually, as the festivities reached a lull, he stood from his chair and gave the group a low bow.

“I thank you all for your kind hospitality and for the opportunity to join in on your quest. If we happen to meet again in the future, I would be more than happy to lend you my length once again.”

“Of course! Anytime, F-Ran— No. Anytime, One Swing!”

“Yeah! Without you, we’d be drake food by now!”

As One Swing made to leave, the other adventurers offered him their farewells.

“I hope to see you around again, brother!” Grapple said, flexing his exposed pecs for some reason. “If you’re ever in the Capital again, come and check out the Krumbledome! The crowds would get a kick out of you!”

“Climbing the ranks might be tough, but…” Unagi Eye-Licker began, sliding his forked tongue up and across his yellow-slitted eyeball. “Hell, I’m a B-Rank and you’re already outdoing me! You should be clawing your way up to ‘S’ in no time!”

“Good, uh… Good luck doing the… -hic-… the thing…” Arrow Grain lifted a large mug in the air, its contents spilling out across her short, purple hair as she buried her flushed face into the table with a hollow thunk. “Ah… being the longest or… -hic-… whatever. Whatever that means…”

The small elven woman had clearly drunk far too much, but still did her best in seeing the man off anyway.

Bowing one last time, One Swing moved to the far end of the hall—opposite the door—to collect his weapon. Slinging it atop his shoulder, he offered one final goodbye—

“May we meet again, friends!”

—And swiftly turned towards the door.

As he turned, the blade of his colossal sword tore through the edge of the doorway, cutting along the side of the building as it trailed behind One Swing’s back. The entire half of the Guild hall immediately caved in on itself with a loud crash as both the torn wooden walls and severed stone pillars splintered and crumbled beneath the sudden spin of the blade.

More loud crashing and distant screams could be heard from afar as everything within the fifty-meter half-circle spin of One Swing's hundred-and-sixty-four-foot weapon came crashing down around the town in the distance.

“…”

As the crashing came to a stop, a heavy silence settled over the half-remains of the Guild hall, disturbed only by the sounds of confused shouting outside, a sobbing butcher on the other side of the street, and a giggling elf on the still-intact side of the room who was clearly far too drunk for her own good.

“What the hell was—?!” Ducking in beneath the half-collapsed doorway, a lightly armoured guardsman stepped into the room, before breathing a deep sigh at the sight of the source of all the commotion. “Seriously? This guy, again?”

One Swing did not smirk. Though the corners of his lips did curl up against his cheeks, the expression on his face could only be considered more of a wince than anything else.

“Jail.” The guard sighed again, removing the metal cuffs from his belt. “Straight to jail.”

With a pained expression still on his face, One Swing was promptly arrested, and taken straight to jail.