The office smelled of old wood and spilled alcohol. Without air circulation, the sun shining through the window turned the place into a desert even in this coming winter. Secretary Layla had to take off her winter jacket lest she melt and ruin the paper work with her sweaty wrists.
In one corner was a worn out couch with some of the cotton stuffing spilling out of the cuts and tears. A quilt was laid over it to make it look presentable, though the quilt itself had strange patterns that just stopped and started halfway as if the creator forgot what they were doing.
To be fair, Layla kept getting interrupted by work on her break. Just because knitting was her hobby didn't mean she was particularly good at it.
At the back were dusty bookshelves with even dustier books inside. Who would read about Classical Culture of Rosarium: 2nd Edition, Ethics of Demontide Research, Tales of the 101 Nights, or the Accounts of the Great Sage: Abridged? They were probably there to make the office look like, well, an office. Give it a little class to make it feel less spartan, to hide the fact that Risadel was built on top of a smoldering ruin after failing to repel a Monster Wave from the Evil Lake.
At the center, where Layla herself sat with stacks of papers and missives, was the meeting table. It had endured an unholy amount of violence over the years, with numerous scratches and cracks all over, either from unruly guests or those who forgot their own strength. The office sometimes doubled as a war room, so the table featured a complete map of the roads, routes, and kingdoms of Crescelias. She had to cover it up with a quilt to prevent ink stains as she filed the paper work.
The chairs were crude, creaky things fashioned from the shipment crates whose recipient died years ago. Delivery tags were still stapled in each of their legs, and always tilted toward one end, grating on her sanity.
On the wall behind her, there was a painting frame with no painting. The frame itself was more valuable than everything else here combined.
Every piece of furniture had been the effects of the Masters who came before. It's a divine miracle the guild branch had survived so much. The only things that's new in this cesspit in the guise of a guild office was the desk, the fifth of its generation.
"Bullshit."
"Language, Master Gerald."
And a certain Master of this guild branch was this close to making it the six.
Gerald Johnson was already a big man, and the oxen horns sprouting from his head made him look even bigger. Big arms. Big shoulders. A loose tie hung over his pectoral muscles, which threatened to break the shirt buttons Layla had sewn back. One flex, and they're gone. His chevron mustache wouldn't be out of place in a dwarven Stromstein bar. With his mean green eyes, he glared down at a deep, blue crystal ball.
"Piss off. There's a fucking Wild Hunt blocking the roads toward Nulwiz, and you're not going to do anything about it? One of my teams almost died, and we had to suspend most of the elimination quests until we get this shit under control. Send in one of your precious Knights at least, before they get fat from all the sitting around!"
"Sending in a Knight would be a gross misuse of our resources." The sliminess in voice coming from the other end made Layla's blood curl. Definitely not popular with the ladies, that's for sure. "They shall remain here near the Capital to defend our good people as is their rightful duty. Any incident that happens in Risadel's domain will be Risadel's responsibility to resolve. You know how it is."
"And how's that going for ya? Four of your Knights are struggling with exhaustion at Nulwiz's Second Wall. Last I heard, the Second Wall was almost breached."
"Nonsense. Our Knights are the greatest warriors in all of Rosarium, recognized by the Grand Knight himself. They shall not fall to mere exhaustion. Do well to doubt what the Bards say out in the frontiers. Their kind are quite known for their...embellishments."
The irony of a nobleman of Rosarium insulting the integrity of the Bards, one of the most time-honored and important Classes in the kingdom, was not lost to the Secretary.
Master Gerald gritted his teeth. "Nulwiz won't get their healers on time if you don't help us clear the damn roads! Think the Clerics and Priests of Providence would be happy to hear about this? The Halos Alliance? Your own people?!”
"Oh, no." The noble seemed amused. "The Rosarium Kingdom made no such request. Providence simply acted of their own volition. Though, I'm sure Nulwiz won't be opposed to receiving their renowned generosity."
"Are ya being obtuse on purpose? We need bodies. You need healers. And you—!"
"Need nothing. Do not underestimate the alchemists under our employ; we have enough potions in stock for Nulwiz to last the Fourth Wave, and the Fifth Wave if necessary."
"You fucking…" Master Gerald shook his head in disbelief. "If it were that simple, the last guy who sat on my seat wouldn't be dead, would he?”
Layla's eyes lowered. She remembered back when she was a teen. It was a time before Risadel, back when it had a different name, a different Master. Marshall, a kind and stalwart man who left this world too soon. During a Monster Wave, he defended all the way from the Third, Second, and First Wall in a gamble to stall enough time for help to arrive.
However, the fortress was in the fringes between Rosarium and the Holy Garden; there was a territory dispute.
Help never came.
Marshall took on too much burden during the evacuation and then died of potion poisoning.
"Come now. I'm sure a famed Platinum-Rank adventurer such as yourself can figure something out. In fact," there was lilt in his voice, "I heard Risadel has the smallest causality rate not seen in years. Care to explain?"
"Unlike you, we don't wait until people die before we act," Gerald growled. "Sip on some vintage wine and plug your ears, then. See how long that'll last."
"Ah, what did I expect from a retired Sailor? Here I am, spending my hard-earned gald to support a lone fortress of Rosarium like a good patriotic citizen, yet you dare to ask for more. How uncouth. Do you think the rules are the same here as they are in Sarnaught? That you leading your own fleet and hunting a few beasts gives you the right to make such demands? There's more to this world than the Evil Lake and its monsters, you know."
There was the clinking of glass and then the sound of something pouring. Even Layla paused just to balk at what she's hearing. Was he actually pouring himself a glass of wine?
"Remember what we've discussed. Complete this task, and the extra equipment will come along with the next monthly shipment." The voice turned dark. "Failing something as simple as this, well... I suppose you already know."
Judging by the tightening of his fists, Gerald would love nothing more than to crush the crystal ball with his bare hands. He's done it before. He didn't because they couldn't afford replacements anymore. There's so much he wanted to say, Layla could tell, but in the end they both knew it to be pointless.
It was the same old song and dance. Risadel would occasionally share correspondence to those at the capital city to either request more support or to play the part of the pawn for a nobleman's scheme. To let the trade routes suffer meant he had a political rival to estrange.
Layla glanced around the room, as if she was seeing it all for the first time. The walls, the people, the buildings. The history and struggle soaked into the essence—she understood. They understood. But the nobles of Rosarium, all cozy and comfortable in the capital city, protected under the vigil of the Kingdom's Knights? All they saw was the map and the politics and the games they play.
"Now that we've come to an understanding, I shall be ending this call. I'm a busy man, after all. Have a pleasant day, Master Gerald."
"Eat shit, Mr. Retard."
"It's Redner—"
Gerald shut off the magic crystal ball with tap. But rather than take the small victory for what it was, he began pacing around the room, fuming.
"Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable! We all signed the damn pact to keep our people alive! All of us! And still! Still these guys are endangering their own people for their stupid politics!"
Secretary Layla rested a hand over the papers so they wouldn't fly along the wind caused by Master Gerald's swinging arms. "Maybe a more polite approach is in order?"
"Polite?" Gerald snorted. "For those snakes, being polite is like a threat. Then he'd send a tax collector and swindle us out of everything we have left!"
Master Gerald sat down on the coach. With his enormous frame, it looked more like a chair, creaking under his weight. Well, not like there's anything else in this room that could hold him without collapsing.
Deep breaths: in and out. He had lungs large enough to blow a grown man off his feet, but the exercise Layla taught him was working its magic. Soon, his shoulders relaxed and the angry wrinkles on his face disappeared. Straightening his tie, he looked toward the door.
"You can come in now," he said.
The door opened and in stepped Layla's favorite White Mage.
She had come straight from a bath after returning from yet another arduous quest, yet again covered in gore. So soon after a brush death of death from a Wild Hunt, too. There was a towel hanging over her neck. Her white hair was still damp and disheveled, smelling of lilacs. The white cloak she was known for was still left out to dry, revealing a blue tunic whose color turned faint from the constant alcoholic treatments used to clean it.
Layla still remembered when Willow first appeared: cold and lone, haggard and weary, like she hadn't slept in days. Everyone thought she was a Rustie, a noble girl who ran from home and thought to try her hand at a 'glamorous' life of adventuring. She was too prickly and educated to be otherwise. Someone was searching for her, at the very least.
But nobody came.
Apparently, she was returning from Collegium, the Northern Magic Towers, where Risadel was a brief stop toward Lunaria, the Holy Garden Kingdom, before she ran out of money to pay for the carriage ride. She had joined the Dragon Tale guild to find a job, and the rest was history.
Now, over seven months later, she's stuck doing quests for as a part of the Support Corps as if she had nowhere else to go.
It's such a shame, too, Layla thought. Such a cute face stuck in the front lines, dealing with so many goblin quests.... The world can be so unfair sometimes.
"Willow," Gerald nodded. "Just the girl I like to see."
"How's the new soap been treating you?" Layla smiled. "Slides the blood and gunk right off, doesn't it?"
"It's...been great." Willow pulled up a chair. "What about you? Talking to the admins from the capital again?"
Gerald sneered. "Those rat bastards saddled with us another escort quest right after we got done with the last one. Another caravan of dubious goods, no questions asked."
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
"You weren't complaining last time when they offered a big shipment of Salamander Wine," Layla teased.
"T-That was before we had a Wild Hunt to deal with!"
"Is this why you called for me?" Willow droned. "An escort?"
"No. I've used up a favor and already have someone trustworthy handling that."
Willow blinked. "Really now..."
Gerald nodded. "Layla?"
That was her cue. Secretary Layla picked off a folder and slid it across the meeting table. "This is an updated list of Rusties from the other branches. And two of them are found right here in Risadel."
"Oh, boy..." Poor girl was already losing the light in her eyes as she opened the folder. "What is it this time? Runaways? An elopement? Dare-devils lured in by the scent of adventure?"
"We don't know," Layla said. "What we do know is that their families must be up. Way up."
Willow scanned through the papers. "Two females, a Magic Fencer and a Wind Mage, high-level equipment, jewelry sold to some pawnshop..." A few page flips. "A LOT of pawnshops. And an affinity for quests with high risk, low reward. So we have a heroic bunch whose not afraid to hide their status—duchy at minimum—but no lineage to point to. How often does that happen?"
"Not very," Gerald said. "Normal Rusties would bumble around and invoke their family names, either to show off or if things get too hard. Whoever these shits are, they're good. Good enough to travel far and stay incognito."
"Why haven't we reported them to Rosarium officials yet?"
"Because no one, not even that rat bastard Mr. Retard, called for us to find them." Gerald shrugged his massive shoulders. "Not yet anyway. For now, we can assume they have the blessing of their families—or they're not important enough for the other nobles to bother. You'd be surprised how often nobles 'look out' for one another as a 'favor', if you catch my drift."
"Still, it's a scary position to be in," Layla said. She swept the piles of papers aside, and the quilt, to reveal the table map beneath. She traced a finger across the roads between Risadel and the greater parts of the Rosarium domain. "With so many elimination quests put on hold, there will be more monster activity than ever. People won't be getting in or out of Risadel without significant protection. If anything happens to these girls, Risadel will be held responsible. But," she wet her lips, "they just might be what we need to contact an alternate backer. We need someone to watch over them, or at least until things cool down."
"And you," Gerald pointed, "are the best White Mage for the job."
Willow blanched. "You mean I'm the only White Mage for the job. Aren't you putting too much faith in a Silver-ranked adventurer? I really don't think..."
"None of that matters, kid. Your record is impeccable. No matter which party of munchkins you wind up in, they always come back alive. How about I sweeten the deal?" Gerald raised a finger just as Willow was about to refute. Reaching under the couch, he pulled out a pouch that Layla had prepared a while ago and tossed it.
Willow caught it in one hand. She gave it a little shake, and all 1500 gald in pretty gold coins jiggled inside.
"You'll be exempt from joining any other party until this is resolved. And I've doubled your normal monthly pay. Heard you were in a deficit recently."
When Willow turned to Layla with a look, the secretary returned it with a wink and a smile. The guild held a close relationship with the local alchemists, after all. With a mutual vested interest in the safety of their adventurers, and the severity of potion poisoning, it was as simple as asking who were their biggest spenders.
"Get the job done like you always had," Gerald said. "Treat it like a normal quest."
"Normal, huh..." Willow stared at the pouch, deep in thought. Like the word 'normal' was as mysterious as the darkest depths of the Evil Lake's abyss.
The secretary shot the Master with a pointed look, and he winced a little, realizing his mistake. It was a poor choice of words. After all, the Willow's quests were anything but normal.
Willow's sigh broke the silence. "Fine. A job's a job. Can't say no to money, anyway..."
A part of Layla felt guilty springing such an important job on the White Mage like this, but she couldn't help but feel the relief washing over her. The doors may be closed for the admins at Rosarium's capital, but with these mysterious Rusties, they just might...
"Just tell me one thing, out of curiosity. I've been meaning to ask for a while now, anyway."
Gerald sat up straight. "Shoot."
"Nikolas, the Shielder. And Markus, the Swordsman. Is there something important I should know about them?"
Gerald went silent. But Layla knew his tells well enough that even he, a Platinum-ranked Adventure, had been startled. There was the imperceptible widening of his eyes right before he killed it. A stone-like expression took its place.
Layla, feeling the tension in the air, looked away.
"...I can't say," he finally said.
Willow huffed. "Fair enough, I suppose. I'll be heading out now."
She hopped out of her chair and turned to leave, twirling the pouch of coins into a knotty pile in her hands. She was about halfway through opening the door when...
"Willow."
She paused by the door frame.
"...May Kyaeris's blessings blow your sails," Gerald said.
"Yeah," Layla said softly. "Good luck."
There was a faraway look on Willow's face. "...You should know by now that luck doesn't apply to me. But thanks."
The door closed. And she was gone.
Gerald sighed, reclining on the couch with his arms flopped to his sides. Layla slumped onto the table, never minding her arms mess with the the table map. After all, those were familiar names.
Markus, an old friend. And Nikolas...
Nikolas Clover.
Son of Marshall Clover, the previous Master of Risadel.
"Again with that intuition of hers... Heh." Gerald had one of those smiles again, the kind with the nostalgia and longing, as he looked out toward the window, where the Evil Lake lied ahead. "Marshall and the old crew would've hated her."
Layla giggled. "Hey now. Markus and Nikolas are both alive, thanks to her."
"Shit... The same could be said for almost half of the guild branch."
----------------------------------------
Strength Leveled Up!
[Status]
STR: 18 (+1)
CON: 13
DEX: 12
INT: 18
PER: 15
MAN: 7
LUK: ERROR
"I really don't want to die of overwork again."
Same table, same dark corner. Willow had wrapped herself in a cocoon of her own white cloak, fresh from the laundry, and was completely done with herself.
True to expectations, the workload had gotten worse after the Dragon Tale guild confirmed monster spawner activity along the important trade routes. Although many elimination quests had been canceled, the more urgent and messier ones still needed doing.
It was a given that some of her lowest physical stats would've increased; her recent abuse of [Reinforcement] was hell on her body, and she had performed enough complex spell calculations in enough stressful situations to warrant an extra point in intelligence.
But then her strength just had to catch up during a different quest.
How long before her [Featherlight] spell became obsolete and she could just slap an ogre's head off instead?
"You say that like you died in a past life."
Beside her was the drunken wolf girl herself. Not across. Beside.
Ever since their first quest together, the Merchant had stuck around in Risadel and had gotten awfully familiar with the White Mage. Willow thought she had always given the impression that she wanted to be left alone, and her guild mates usually preferred the company of their own party.
Not Magni. She just plopped right next to her and had never left her side, acting like they had been the chummiest of chums since day one.
Magni had skipped the cup and sipped straight from the bottle. All sober and casual-like, as if the Salamander Wine wasn't lighting up in her throat like a Christmas tree. The fumes alone made Willow's eyes sting.
"...Maybe I did," Willow muttered. "I'm surprised you haven't left town yet. Not scared of the monsters swarming the place?"
"And miss out on this great opportunity? Never! With the other merchants gone, that leaves me with almost no competition. I could sell the adventurers my driving services, then charge those suckers a premium, eheheh~!" Magni puffed her chest. "Praise me. I'm a genius!"
The fact that Magni said this while said 'suckers' were in the guildhall in earshot was as shameless as it was amazing.
"I admire your...optimism, Magni," Willow droned. "Really."
"Cheer up! With all the quests you've been doing, Dragon Tale must be paying you plenty, right?"
"...How would you know that?"
"Easy!" Magni leaned in close and personal. Her wolf ears were pointed, and eyes were closed as she gave a whiff. "I can smell and hear the money on you. The minty scent they give off. The pleasant ring whenever they scrape together... To a merchant, they're the most beautiful sensations in the world."
"Okay...?"
"Oh, yeah." With how airy she said it, Magni seemed too mesmerized to notice she was getting a bit too close for comfort. "That's a looot of money..."
But it was the smile reeking of desperation and alcoholism that gave it away.
Something was up.
"...Magni, what's going on?"
"Huh? O-Oh!" Realizing what she was doing, Magni retreated back to her seat with twitchy ears and a blush on her cheeks. "W-Well, can't a girl sit and chat with a comrade in life and death? There hadn't been a worst adventure than that quest until I met you."
"That quest. So we're calling it that now."
"Yeah. That quest. A-And, well, there aren't many girls to sit with, as you can probably tell. Some guys are smelly and some guys look at me funny. There's this guy named Frederick who I helped cart his party to the next town for a quest, and let me tell ya—"
"Magni. For real."
"A-Ah, well, since we're now pals and all, I'll let you in on a little secret." She cleared her throat. "I've got big dreams and an even bigger tummy to fill, so I hoped that maybe, just maybe, with all the goodness in your heart, in your infinite wisdom, in your bountiful bags of—"
"Magni."
Magni bit her lip. "Can I borrow 200 gald?"
"...Why?"
"Sven is a big bird, so feeding him racks up the bills. And then I crashed the front of my wagon into a tree while driving another party this morning. I can't drive for others until I get it repaired."
Did this girl just brag about her money-making scheme, only to admit that it crashed before it barely left the ground? And it took Willow a long moment to spot the irregularity. Because if Sven was in the front dragging the cart, then...
Her lips parted in disbelief. "How?"
"T-Things just happen, okay?! Look, I need the funds, and you're the only one I could ask. Please help a girl out!"
Well, she HAD just gotten a chunk of gald to spend. And it would be bad for everyone if one of the few merchant wagons in Risadel was no longer available.
...Like it not, Magni just might be one of the most important actors in Risadel's survival right now.
Willow opened her mouth to respond, but then stopped. Her gaze locked onto a certain table nearer to the middle of the guildhall.
It was Nikolas. Markus was nowhere to be seen.
Willow had been keeping close tabs on the two. They tried some small talk with her on occasions, making it even easier to be privy to their activities. Apparently, even though it had only been a few days, Nikolas was ready to strike out on his own and make a name of himself without the Swordsman's hand-holding, which left Markus free to take up quests matching his level.
Willow remembered how the Swordsman showed off his shiny new sword one day, perfectly enchanted so it won't break in the middle of intensive fights. Swallowed his pride and "called in a favor," he said. She already guessed that he's the very 'trustworthy person' Gerald was talking, sent on that important escort mission.
Sounded like character development. So she had faith he won't get killed off anytime soon.
Nikolas was sitting with a group of four others. One of them, Willow recognized.
Claire Cyana, the Cleric. The only other member of the Support Corps in Risadel. Her pure white nun's habit covered up a lot, but she's still a sight for sore eyes in these troubling times. Dark hair poked through the habit and her bangs hung over her gentle expression like a parted curtain. Anyone could tell by her slender hands that she's thin and frail, her chestnut eyes sunken from overwork. It was rare for Willow and Claire to be in the same room, with one on a quest while the other hung back in the guild to deal with patients.
She put up a strong front, but Willow could tell she's anxious. She noticed how the two men on her side of the table were sitting a bit too closely.
Nikolas's side seemed just as uncomfortable, because right next time to him was an immense man in bulky armor grinding an axe on a whetstone who took up so much room that Nikolas was almost hanging off of his seat. Some patrons unfortunate enough to be within hearing distance of his axe-grinding were openly glaring, but did little else.
They all seemed to be doing introductions.
Magni's ears pressed flat against her head. "Is... Is that a no?"
"That guy next to Nikolas..."
"Huh?" Magni looked. "Oh. Him. The silver-ranked Axe Warrior, Gaius. Guess he found himself a few fans, too. Just a fair warning: He's as much of a loud mouth as he is good at swinging that wicked axe of his. Very bossy, a huge strung-up jerk. Didn't appreciate small talk when I helped carry him to his quest location."
"Doesn't much of that also describe me?"
"What? Of course not! Why would you think that?"
"...Never mind."
The Axe Warrior said something, his voice so harsh and heavy it even pierced through the dull roar of the crowd. Nikolas looked down.
"Laying down the pecking order, that guy..." Magni's ears flickered as she sipped from her bottle but not quite. "That's no way to talk to someone..."
...Should she interfere? Nikolas might work things out with that luck stat of his, but Claire was having it just as bad as Willow did. If the party did anything stupid and she got hurt...
Willow must've been staring too hard because Claire took notice. She seemed taken aback as they locked eyes. Eventually, the tired Cleric managed a smile small enough for her to notice...and shook her head.
Willow frowned.
Nikolas's group stood up. Since they were done with the introductions, they wasted no time going up to the reception desk to receive their approval. When a receptionist returned them a stamped missive, the Axe Warrior snatched it from the poor woman's hands without so much as a thank you.
They began marching out. Nikolas and Claire meekly followed.
And then it was like fate.
Another group had entered through the double doors. Two cloaked and hooded figures whose beautiful features peaked underneath, young women who seemed just out of place in a normal crowd.
At the doorway, the two groups stopped. Their eyes met, an infinitesimal coincidence, before sliding right off of each other. They simply stepped around and moved on with their business, as strangers normally would. To them, it was a moment of curiosity and nothing more.
But the dots connected in Willow's head.
"...Alright. Fine."
"Huh?"
"500 gald instead. I'll give it to you."
"R-Really? No kidding?"
"Yeah. But in exchange," she lowered her voice, keeping herself under the shadows so no one would listen in, "I need you to hear me out..."
"Sure! Sure..." Magni hunched in, her face all serious and business-like, but there's no hiding that wagging tail of hers. "A lady of upstanding morality I may be, I can guarantee my flexibility. Arranging an accident on someone so mean to our buddy Nikolas would be a—"
"Shut up. Just listen."
Willow really hoped she won't regret this.