Ch13 — Unwelcome Competition

He didn’t have time to search the posting board for doable tasks. There was a reason the guard captain had spoken of housing first. Not sticking around to be preyed upon by the shady and dangerous chucklers from earlier would just be a bonus.

While others were rushing off to lay claim on tasks or milling about looking to form groups, Toren was already briskly walking toward the governance hall’s fancy stone stairs. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one thinking the same, and what started as a few trying to nonchalantly be the first to the governance hall quickly turned into a mad rush and then a scrum.

In the midst of that scrum, the boost from [Burning Blood] was an advantage that he wasn’t shy about using. Growling as he used mana to empower the strength of his legs, even at level 1 he kept up with the speediest of his rivals thanks to his physical strength gained from leveling his previous profession.

Taking advantage of his above-average Dexterity he was able to accurately place each stride to avoid injury as he raced up the grand stone steps quickly reaching the head of the pack. Just as he was to realize his triumph, a blur in the corner of his vision turned into a fist that sent him wide of the open doorway. Toren could only impotently rage and tuck his shoulder into the impact as he crashed into the scaffolding.

The crack and pain from his shoulder as he splayed to the ground was second only to a sound like lightning running up the lashed pillar of strange hollow wood. Dazed and one arm lacking strength, he barely registered the yell from one of the foremen as he pushed to his feet and staggered through the entrance before more than the initial few fastest could beat him through.

The daze gradually clearing with each heartbeat and throb of pain, Toren gave his weak arm a tentative flexing and had to stop right away, his collarbone shifting in a way it shouldn’t.

“Outta the way, boy,” a man voiced from behind Toren, accompanied by breath-suckingly sharp pain and debilitating weakness as his injured shoulder was grasped and squeezed to guide him to the side. If not for his armor limiting the pressure, he’d already be on his knees crying.

This advantage-taking scumsucker!

The rage Toren was already nursing ignited into fury, and he dumped over half his remaining mana into [Burning Blood], granting him the strength to hold his broken collar bone in place through muscle-flexing alone as he spun out of the grip and planted an unexpected fist into the grizzled man’s face.

Toren didn’t hold back at all, putting his legs and hips into the follow-through as the man lifted off the ground and flew backward to slam into the latest new arrivals, sending them all sprawling to the ground.

If there was one lesson Toren had learned from growing up among kids who lived on the streets, it was deterrence. Those who were crazy enough to engage in mutual injury without a care for the consequences were left alone. Give in once, and you’d always be a target.

For defeating a Level 11 [Haberdasher],

1100 XP gained.

Keep up the good work!

Toren flinched at the blue notice appearing in his view, a notice like a floating shard of the Celestial Mirror.

Ah-! Because of his sponsored Profession! The stories were right!

He had chosen trusting it would be true but in his cynical heart hadn’t fully believed.

Wait. Had he killed the man?

His gaze snapped to where the three newcomers were checking the [Haberdasher]’s condition. [Mana Sensing] thankfully showed the man was alive and mostly uninjured.

“Any further disorder from you, [Berserker], and I’ll assign you two days mandatory service,” a mailed guard near the entrance calmly threatened.

Did all guards and nobles get Abilities to identify Professions? Or did his Ability-use make his Profession that obvious?

Toren’s raging blood wanted him to dispute the injustice, but with an exercise of will, he reined back the impulse. He didn’t need [Mana Sensing] to tell him this guard was at Tier 2.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Instead, Toren nodded his understanding and, before anyone else could cause him trouble, hurried to join the same line as a cloaked woman and the [Monster Hunter] asshole who had punched him into the scaffolding. Neither had reacted with more than maybe mild amusement at his asserting his current place in line.

The short walk wasn’t pleasant. The feel of the broken halves of bone rubbing as he moved was enough to make him break out in a cold sweat and dim the edges of his vision.

The hunter turned his way enough that Toren could see the man’s amused smirk even with the woman between them. “You’re Sellim’s apprentice. Profession changed to get your teleportation ticket, huh? Some advice as a favor to the old man’s effort: a Strength-Dexterity build might let you hit from further away with a heavier bow, but you won’t live long if you don’t have the Perception to see an attack coming and the Agility to dodge it.”

The mocking had Toren’s fury ticking up a notch, but with a “Next!” the hunter was called away. As the man sauntered toward a counter, Toren remembered where he’d met him before.

Greenvale’s hunter community wasn’t large. Even in a city as prosperous as Greenvale—or rather because it was a prosperous city—most parents had little desire to see their children choose a life that constantly risked death outside the safety of the city walls. The guy was a smug asshole then as well.

“Surprised you’re even moving after that spill you took,” the cloaked woman whispered his way.

“I’ve had better days,” Toren grunted in reply and grimaced, remembering how injured he’d been after surviving the fall into the rapids. “Worse ones, too.”

The woman hummed. “I don’t know whether to be impressed, or worried for you.”

Housing and Steading read the sign at the end of the roped-off queue which they stood in facing a length of raised counter clearly intended to make the hall’s staff tower over the people seeking service. At least he hadn’t screwed that up.

The other roped-off queue and length of counter on the far side of the chamber probably handled the task requests that the captain had talked about. Not that he could see the sign from where he was to be sure. He could see that the far wall was almost covered in official-looking postings—probably something he should check before leaving.

The [Monster Hunter]’s—Lorbare, was that his name?—visit to the counter didn’t last long. After talking briefly with a stern woman, the man was led to the end of the counter and taken to a back room.

Toren was a little surprised at that. Large maps with what looked like flag pins dominated the near wall. He figured the flags marked the steading claims, and maybe resources, or danger, or something. So, wouldn’t they need the maps?

Though carefully trying not to cause himself any additional pain while focusing on using [Burning Blood] to at least get the bone-halves to fix in place, he risked a more extensive glance around at the interior of the hall with its unnecessarily high ceilings supported by four pillars and four-way arches that met in the space between and large glass or crystal windows, letting in light shadowed by the scaffolds and the workers climbing up or down.

At least the scaffolding hadn’t collapsed. Last thing he needed was more debt or worse!

“Next!”

“Looks like I’m up,” the woman in line ahead of him said. “Not sure I want to get involved with the kind of attention you’re bringing to yourself, but a ‘tough’ like you might be nice to have watching my back—depending on how things shake out. Name’s Vera.”

“Toren. Thanks, I think.”

Vera snickered at his reply and casually waved over her shoulder, already heading toward a balding clean-shaved man standing behind the near counter. The man’s shirt was a surprisingly unstained white.

Toren’s attention was drawn away from Vera by the three men from the entrance joining the line behind him. Oddly, the grizzled guy he punched wasn’t with them.

One of the three caught him glancing back and smirked. “Looking for Warnel? Don’t worry kid. He’s laid out. We left him outside, out of the way. Idiot got what he deserved underestimating you and probably lost his enlisting bonus to some unscrupulous rogues by now. Doesn’t take a genius to realize someone that can move as fast as you did isn’t as weak as they look. Heh.”

The man stuck his hand out with a wink. “Anyway, name’s Harlick. You can think of me as a [Scout].”

“Toren. [Berserker],” Toren offered, grasping the offered hand. Whether the man had intentionally taken his injury into account when choosing which hand to offer or not, Toren didn’t know.

“The no-good guys behind me are Krol and Baz. I’ll let them volunteer their Professions on their own.”

“[Nightblade].”

“...[Scout].”

Oh? [Nightblade] was a gold-rarity Profession. Not bad.

Horlick looked more knave-like than his cloak-wearing roguish companions, probably the front-man of the trio.

“Nice to meet you three. I get the feeling that finding people we can each work together on tasks with is going to be important to surviving here,” Toren offered, floating the possibility of cooperation without committing to anything.

“Sure seems that way,” Harlick readily agreed, but the man’s eyes went something behind Toren. “Ah, you’re in luck, kid. Looks like that easy-mark cutie over there is trying to get your attention. Bet we’ll get some ole hooknose looking down on us when it’s our turn.”

Toren thought the guy might be messing with him, but sure enough, a straw-haired girl barely out of her apprentice years yet wearing nice clothes was looking his way from behind the near counter.

He said a short prayer to Horevi. Now he would find out if getting injured for this chance was worth it.