If life were in its regular tracks, I’d begin my day helping with breakfast preparations, and entrust waking and dressing the Princess to Henrietta. My feet unwittingly began to seek the kitchen in the building, my mind elsewhere, and only in the lobby did I again recall being in a house of strangers in a foreign land. Old habits certainly died hard.

Then what was I to do?

Deprived of my maid duties, I was a fish out of water. I went to the windows in the back of the lounge and looked outside into the misty spring morning. Westward was a market square, where the first vendors pitched their tents, while the rest of Faulsen still slumbered. Nobody else in our party was awake yet. There was nothing to do.

I drew a finger along the window sill. It left a faint but clear line on the board. This passed as “first-rate” in Argento? I felt nearly irresistible urge to get a cloth and wipe it, but I wasn’t quite that mad. I had only one clean napkin too and it was not to be wasted on the windows of a small town inn. My own nose was slightly more important.

I sat down on the bench under the window and waited, and wished I were home.

In half an hour, Captain Vergil came down the stairs. I got up to face him and bowed. In the dungeon, I had been an adventurer and the Emperor’s agent, and he only a soldier. But here we were with civilization again, and this man was the son of an Earl.

“Good morning, Ser,” I said.

“Morning, Lunaria,” Ser Vergil answered with a wry smile. “Did you get any sleep?”

“Quite enough, thank you. How about yourself?”

“The bed was too damn soft,” he said and grinned. He stepped past me to the window and peered out. “From here begins the real deal, then. Our journey to defeat the Dark Lord. We sure got roped into something unbelievable, didn’t we?”

“Certainly, that is the case.”

He looked at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Have you changed your mind about coming along? I’d feel a great deal better, if we had someone of your skill with us. We could tell his majesty that the circumstances forced your hand.”

I bowed my head again. “My apologies, Captain, but my place is in the Empire.”

The man smiled wryly. “Well, knowing the House of Ferdina remains in good hands will make things easier on us too.”

“I shall endeavor to be worthy of your faith.”

Ser Vergil laughed now. “No need to be so stiff with me, Lunaria. I left my noble status home when I agreed to this trip. No titles will help us on the road. Monsters will eat me as gladly as any peasant, however long my family tree.”

“I beg to differ, Ser.”

“Hm?” He raised a brow at my reserved reply.

“I believe nobility isn’t merely a feather that can be put onto your hat or removed at will. It is an inherent part of your being, transmitted through blood. You have been blessed with the caliber of a great man, Ser Vergil. It will follow you everywhere you go and work its way among those around you. Even in the belly of a beast. You ought to be mindful of this, if you may forgive my uncalled-for advice. It is not well to forget your roots.”

True enough, there were many servants out there, even in the Imperial House, who would gladly take up such offers and waste no time dispensing with pleasantries. But these lines existed for a good reason, and crossing them didn’t grant a laborer peerage, no matter how they wished to believe otherwise.

Respect, once willingly given away, could never be reclaimed again. Such was human nature. In the event that the servants’ familiarity ever grew into a hindrance, the only way left to salvage the situation was to dismiss them for good. Which became a grim affair for everyone involved.

The rank of the servant corresponded with the rank of the master. As one ascended, so did the other, but the opposite also held true. Failing to uphold proper hierarchy didn’t promote the worker, but only dragged the employer to the level of peasantry. Worthless was the master who didn’t observe this difference, and what was the servant of a worthless master, if not less than worthless?

My career as a maid had not perhaps been a long one yet, and how I ended up as one was almost accidental, but I had grown to hold certain pride in my occupation all the same. I was blessed with excellent instructors. Which was why, when I heard a man of noble rank belittle his standing like so, I could hear no fairness in there, but only ingratitude towards his household and all those toiling to uphold his lineage.

Captain Vergil turned to stare outside, the easygoing smile gone from his face. His gaze became laced with bitterness instead.

“My father used to tell me the same thing,” he said. “When he still had his wits about him. It’s the nobles’ duty to carry their people. It’s the yoke we must bear. But you can’t hold up the yoke if you sit lower than the bulls. He’d pretty it up like that, riding around saddled on his hackney, looking down on the whole damn parish. I understand the need for discipline—How could I not, as a soldier?—but at the end of the day, a pig’s still a pig, no matter his line. There’s nothing inherently noble in any of us, Lunaria. That's rubbish. You could abolish all nobility today and not hear a word of complaint from me.”

“I am sorry if you feel that way, Ser,” I said.

The Captain ignored me and turned to go.

“Let’s go wake the champion. He’s got another school day today, doesn’t he?”

A pity. He wasn’t a bad man by any means, but my respect for Captain Vergil was already good as gone.

As the fellowship gradually awoke, we broke our fast, and left the inn. The men had to stock up for the trip both ways, while Raymond and I were destined for the local Guild branch office. Corporal Thiselt joined us to cash in the miscellaneous loot picked up along the way.

We found the bureau a few blocks northwest from the market square. It was a grand, old-looking cottage, frames of sturdy dark wood logs. A high roof pitch, with a far-reaching gable end that made the building resemble a big tent, a guarded portico below the canopy. As early as we were, there were already several people going in and out.

“What really even is the ‘adventurer’s guild’?”

The one to ask that naive question was not Raymond, amazingly, but the young archer in our company. Not that the hero looked any wiser.

“Now that you said it…They just clear dungeons and kill monsters, right?” he pondered aloud.

I knitted my brows to ease the coming headache, before explaining,

“The Adventurer’s Guild was originally founded for the systematic culling of the monster population, yes. Back then it was known as the Hunter’s Guild. Earlier, dealing with beasts had been chiefly the army’s role. But defending nations against other countries and monsters in tandem strained the resources of even larger nations. What if an enemy invaded and it turned out a wyvern had eaten your finest knights? A division of labor became necessary.”

“I see.” The two nodded along. “So why the name change?”

“Two reasons. First, professional hunters rose in protest. If a man makes his living catching hares, it wouldn’t be very fair to demand him to kill manticores. They wished a clear distinction to be made between wild game hunters and monster hunters, which were by no means comparable professions.”

“Oh.”

“Second, over time the Guild’s role became less and less about hunts. The members were primarily volunteers, common villagers, and markless travelers. The majority of them had little to no battle experience. You couldn’t pit such folk against beasts. At the same time, there was a great demand for non-violent labor everywhere. The sort of seasonal odd jobs which didn’t need a regular hire. The Guild came to relay such postings, serving as an intermediary between employers and potential workforce. Today, the majority of the quests handed out at the bureaus aren’t related to slaying monsters at all, or conquering dungeons, but are a means for the poor to earn their bread.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound adventurous at all,” Thiselt commented. “So how come such a romantic name?”

I opened the front door and entered the shadow of the building before answering,

“As it turns out, telling people to ‘get a job’ often has a poor reception. However, labeling the job openings as ‘adventures’ proved to have a much better effect, encouraging personal activity and perseverance. It was a selling name.”

“Please tell me that was a joke…” Ray pleaded. I ignored him.

The fact of the matter was that for many less fortunate souls, becoming an adventurer was the absolute last straw left before starvation. Not a joke at all. They couldn’t cut down monsters, but they could deliver parcels, go fishing, pick up herbs, help with harvest, house-building, or escort travelers, and receive an ensured payment. The only restriction for quests was that they couldn’t break the law of the hosting land.

It took a moment for our eyes to adjust to the dimness of the guild hall.

“Damn, this place is so cool!” Ray exclaimed, again with his childish smile.

The bureau of Faulsen was naturally very modest compared to the one in Valengrad, but roomy enough for a small town’s needs. The small windows and skylights alone were incapable of brightening up the high interior. The smell of dust and old pine came forth strong.

On the right side wall hung a wide, wood-framed billboard, upon which the available postings were pinned, roughly sorted by rank. On the opposing side was the appraiser’s station, where to have items and monster parts evaluated and exchanged for money. In the far back, a long counter divided into four stations. Most of the stations were vacant. There were only two clerks on duty that morning, one at reception, the other at appraisal. You would never see a moment this quiet in a big city.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

There were maybe a dozen “adventurers” around. Looking at their outfits and equipment, most of them were low-ranked gatherers. We hardly stood out in our green cloaks as we shifted in together with the newcomers.

Thiselt parted with us to approach the appraiser. The clerk in attendance there was a dry, old, little woman with a mean look that saw too much and knew still more. I told myself to be wary of her. Ray and I proceeded ahead to the frontdesk.

The attendant there was also female, but quite a bit younger, blonde—and not human.

My attention was drawn to the pair of triangular, gold-furred ears jutting up from the shoulder-length hair, like the ears of a dog, or a fox.

The Guild had employed a furian? That was rare. You hardly ever saw their kind in the Empire. In fact, I had only ever met one in my life, Mr Crowe, the Emperor’s chamberlain. There were reasons for that.

The bad blood between humans and furians, the beastfolk, the beastkin, and so forth, supposedly dated all the way back to fallen Vallacia, but the more recent Gaulean war had brought it back to the surface. People with bestial traits had faced persecution in Ferdina when it had been only a kingdom among others. A century had passed and the belligerents were long in the grave, but both sides retained a firm impression that the other side was better avoided.

Not that I had anything personal against furians, or anyone else. As said, I hardly knew any, and you would see wilder variations between men of the same race, than only the shape of ears, or tails, or canines. Save for those, the clerk looked like a plain ordinary young woman.

Meanwhile, Ray forgot himself staring at the furian’s ears, and I prodded him with an elbow to keep moving.

Stiffly, he strode up to the counter to present his business.

“Hi. I’d, uh, like to register.”

The clerk gave him a long, doubtful look.

“You sure about that, kid?” she asked.

“Yes?”

“And what does your mom have to say about that?”

“Do I need her permission...?”

I noted customer service here was dramatically different compared to the capital bureau. Not a hint of a smile. The clerk, looking more interested in the condition of her nails than Ray’s business, planted a sheet of paper in front of him.

“The next training course begins in April,” she recited in monotone. “Fill this and turn it in by the end of March, together with the entry fee…”

We were off to an entirely mistaken direction.

I went to stand closer next to the helpless champion, and set down my dog tags on top of the application form.

“This man comes with a recommendation.”

The attendant looked up at me, and at the tags, and then at me again.

“Girlfriend’s got steel, huh.”

Ray started to cough. But maids heard a lot of vulgar banter that I had learned not to grace with a reaction long ago.

The clerk still didn’t look too enthusiastic, but picked up the tags and left to consult a thick membership register at the bookshelf in the back. There weren’t names written on the tags, only a serial number, which needed to be verified against the registry. To make identity theft a little harder. In a moment, the clerk returned, swept the training course form off the counter, took another sheet of paper from a different box, sat down, picked up a fountain pen, and reluctantly got to work.

“Applicant’s name?”

Upon another elbow-reminder, Ray got his mouth open.

“Oh. Uh, Raymond. Raymond Reed.”

The clerk glanced briefly up, brows raised, but left the question unvoiced and continued.

“The recommending adventurer’s name?”

I gave her my name. If the name given didn’t match the name in the registry, you were looking to be heavily fined. People trying to get better work with dead people’s tags was a common problem in the industry.

Next came what was often the most challenging part of the application process.

“At least three tasks qualified as F-rank, or higher, as a show of competence, along with relevant proof.”

By the clerk’s expression, she seemed to brace herself for a most colorful—if not outright imaginary—tale. I supposed she was used to hearing such. And it was my duty to meet her expectations. I decided to begin with the feat easiest to swallow.

“Slew goblins. The ears are currently being traded in.”

The clerk looked at the station on the side where the old woman went through our loot with the corporal. There were multiple heavy bags.

Simply gathering goblin ears as a party member was an F-rank task and fulfilled the requirement well enough. Killing a goblin in single combat was already an E-rank feat, and all the more impressive. There was no need to mention how we’d gone through almost fifty of them on the way.

“Okay. That's one. Then?”

“Cleared the dungeon of Baloria in a party.”

The clerk froze and glanced up again

“...You came through the mountains?”

“Indeed, we did.”

“That’s where you killed the goblins?”

“That is correct. Is there a problem?”

“No. Just, there have been reports of increased monster activity as of late. We’ve had two merchant bands go missing there only this spring. The top brass is in the talks about upping the dungeon’s ranking. It’s a wonder you’re still in one piece. How many were you?”

I was starting to smell trouble. For a fleeting instance, I considered lying, but such lies had short tracks. What if they demanded us to call all the members here? There was no choice but to be honest.

“We were a party of six.”

The attendant looked, as expected, incredulous.

“Six? Wow. How many adventurers did you have? What were their ranks?”

Another troubled answer. “Only myself.”

“Only you what?”

“I meant to say, I was the only formally registered adventurer in the party.”

Only one E-rank. The clerk paused for a bit, then put the pen away.

“Yeah, very funny. You know, those companies that went missing both had D-rank escorts with them. Altogether a dozen armed men each. What next? You’re going to tell me you killed a troll up there too?”

Her tone began to grate my nerves and I answered, a little too intensely,

“Yes. As a matter of fact, that is precisely what I was going to say. The man next to me did the very deed, by himself.”

The original plan had been to loot crafting materials, ore, or some other monster parts to fulfill the last requirement, but since we vanquished a troll, that solved the problem without more time wasted. But slaying a mountain troll was categorized as a D-rank feat for a squad, and closer to the fringes of B when solo. Unheard of for an unregistered beginner. I had intended to omit that bit, but the clerk was asking for it.

“Oh, get out of here!” she cried and leaned over her desk towards me. “This lanky kid took down a troll? Surprise you didn’t say it was a wyvern! Come on! If you’re only here to mess with me, you’d better make it a little more—”

A quick whistle across the hall interrupted the employee’s rising tirade. It was the senior clerk at the appraisal station, beckoning her, looking grim.

“Hold on a bit,” the furian told us and left her seat to go see what the deal was.

It was probably the troll eyes and teeth the Corporal had brought over. Shame, troll liver was a very expensive and sought-after alchemy ingredient too, but none of us wanted twenty-eight pounds of slightly charred, reeking organs in their backpack. The smell wouldn't come off in a wash.

In a moment, the clerk returned. She collapsed into her chair, looking drained, though it was still early in the morning. Visibly unwilling but forced by duty, she seized the pen again and resumed writing.

“Slew a blue mountain troll…What are you, kid? Some kind of hero? No, don’t tell me. I don’t even want to know.”