Liliane snipped the ribbon.

“... I hereby declare The Rambling Mermaid now open!”

Cheers filled the air as the door to Marinsgarde’s latest prized asset was flung open.

A bar.

It hadn’t poured its first Granholtz Sunrise and already it was worse than all its competitors. An honour it was unlikely to surpass.

The street around it was so seedy even the rats avoided it–as well as most of the townspeople. As much as Marinsgarde was famous for its sewing rooms nobody could afford to browse, it was still a town with all its pock marks and scars … even if few people ever saw this side of it.

And that’s why Liliane was here.

Customers who were already drunk from the bar just next door streamed past to enjoy the opening day happy hour which would last all the way until the bar permanently closed. Of them, only a handful offered their earnest, if drowsy nods as they filed through.

After all, dressed in a barmaid’s uniform, there was little to distinguish Liliane Harten from the rest.

All except for one small thing.

A copper ring upon her finger. And perhaps also her twitching smile.

She pursed her lips as the customers streamed past, all the while she held her breath with more skill than a pirate diving for treasure. She’d endured every odour between the hells and the sun, and half of them were from the ones who’d just passed her.

It was hardly a surprise, then, when the owner now decided to hobble out.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, then did the same for the sweat on his neck. All the effort it’d taken to pour one round of drinks. And going by the redness of his ears, all of them went to him.

“... A most auspicious start!” he said, merrily waving in the rest of his customers. Even the ones who were just trying to quickly walk past. “And all due to you, I wager. Thank you for agreeing to my request, Miss Harten. To have an A-rank adventurer opening my store is an honour.”

Liliane’s smile returned.

Her twitching, shaking smile.

“The honour’s mine,” she replied. “It’s the duty of all adventurers to ensure they’re involved in all facets of the community which supports them. To be invited to take part in the opening of a new business fills me with joy. Marinsgarde is my home, after all.”

“And how lucky we are to have you.” The barkeeper moved to clap her shoulders. Liliane moved slightly away. “Our very own A-rank adventurer, too! … Hah, and they say Reitzlake is bigger. Well, not big enough to have you.”

“Ah, well, I wouldn’t quite say that …”

“It’s not bad over there, of course. But it’s not here, either. And to think I almost ended up there.”

“... Your bar?”

“No, not my bar. Me. I actually considered being an adventurer in my youth too, you know.”

Liliane considered the sweat crinkling the man’s collar.

“I’m certain you still can. With your Ogre Rum Sour, you could rise to the very top.”

The barkeeper gave a hearty laugh.

Liliane didn’t join him. It was the truth. She’d seen adventurers come and go, usually into the jaws of a sand wyrm, but whoever manned the bar only went upwards.

More than once, she regretted her life choices.

“Well, I won’t deny I let the dream float by every now and again,” said the barkeeper, leaning back to a crack of his spine. “But I’m too old for that now. Besides, this kingdom has enough A-ranks as it is. I reckon we’re good with the three of you now, don’t you think?”

Liliane paused, the smile fading for only a moment.

“... Yes, although our lives are separate, the paths we walk are the same.”

“Rightly said! Your peers abroad could learn about that, too. Given what I hear other adventurers get up to elsewhere, I’m shocked your halls don’t become fighting pits every night.”

They did become fighting pits every night.

It’s how any of them slept. Marinsgarde was an exception. It’s why she chose it.

“I can’t speak on behalf of my peers. I’ve little knowledge of what occurs outside the kingdom.”

“Probably for the best. I should stop reading The Reitzlake Times. Violent world out there. Makes you thankful for what we have. Like my bar for instance. Beautiful, no?”

“Yes it is,” said Liliane, looking at a dead rat against the wall.

The barkeeper nodded. Also at the same dead rat.

“... A shame Mr. Lainsfont retired, isn’t it? I would’ve liked him to visit once more. Just not for another calamity. I actually bought this bar partly because of him. Did you know he opened his own?”

Liliane did know.

She knew because each time Thomas Lainsfont was mentioned, they spoke about the sadness of his retirement and the curiosity which was his bar. All the time. Without fail.

“Really? I didn’t know.”

“It’s quite popular, although I haven’t had the chance to visit myself. Ah, but don’t you start getting ideas. I’ve good reason to consider mine already superior, given the good fortune of you opening it.”

“Of course.” Liliane smiled. And then she held out a palm. “Incidentally, the matter of my fee is–”

“Actually, speaking of the A-ranks … you wouldn’t happen to know if the Snow Dancer is around, would you?”

Crack.

Liliane’s knuckles made an odd sound as her fists clenched.

“The Snow Dancer? … Ah, Ophelia. I’m afraid I wouldn’t know where she is.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The barkeeper glanced down at the sound in confusion, before breaking into an oblivious smile.

“I … I see. That’s a pity. I would’ve liked to have her visit my bar.”

Crack.

“... Uh, but not because I’m a fan of the Snow Dancer or secretly hoped you knew she was nearby or anything. It’s just that, well, my daughter has a plushie of her. You know, the ones they sell in the market.”

“I know of them, yes.”

Liliane held up her palm and smiled.

The barkeeper coughed as he sheepishly deposited a small pouch of coins.

“... Thank you again for helping to open my new bar today, Miss Harten.”

“You’re welcome.”

Liliane nodded.

And then she was gone with a sweep of her auburn hair.

Ignoring the wish to tug at her barmaid’s uniform, she began heading back to the guild hall where her accommodation waited. But not immediately.

Instead, she adopted her smile once again as she deliberately opted for the busiest route back.

Barely two corners away from where the dead rat lay, her footsteps took her past colourful storefronts, each window boasting wares as strange as they were unpronounceable.

Liliane’s eyes weren’t upon them, but rather on the visitors jostling to decide what they couldn’t buy.

As usual, few stopped to glance at her, other than to raise a brow at the barmaid uniform she wore. And for a moment, the smile vanished from Liliane’s face as a now familiar disappointment ran through her.

She was the resident A-rank adventurer. A feat achieved by so few that it was enough to have a statue built of them in their home village, bankrupting every resident in the process.

She knew. It’s what happened to hers, after all.

But Marinsgarde was different. As was its constant influx of visitors. Lissoine boasted more than A-ranks. They had a fleet which was the envy of the world and their own brand of elite knights. Chevaliers who apparently grew petals from their hair.

Even if they bothered learning who she was, she still would have lost out against the first window.

And yet that lethargy was also shared by the residents. Any novelty at her presence had been lost approximately the night after her arrival. And the reason was simple.

Liliane Harten … was the other A-rank.

That was only natural. Anyone compared to Thomas Lainsfont would be. The man had practically swashbuckled his way to the top, leading his Golden Hogs down this very promenade with a very stabbed basilisk tied behind them.

He’d been granted an audience with royalty for that. And then he’d retired before they could promote him just so he wouldn’t accidentally bankrupt every village to have hosted him.

That sealed his legacy more than any rotting carcasses ever could.

He was the poster boy of adventuring before she’d even frightened away her first fruit slime. And so despite sharing the same rank, Liliane knew she could hardly compare.

She had precious few stories of personal heroism, after all.

She had even fewer of charity.

Not because she was a worse adventurer … but because she was a perfectly normal one.

There were only two types of adventurers. Those who joined the guild for fame and fortune and those who lied about not joining for fame and fortune. Beyond the smiling receptionists and the cats publicly hoisted away from their favourite trees, it was an organisation like any other.

The guild code was a towel to wipe away the blemishes.

In adventuring, just as in life, there was politics, there was deceit, and there was blood.

Just not Liliane’s.

She’d progressed through the time honoured tradition of connections, hopping from one acclaimed adventuring team to the next.

She was there, somewhere in the back, when Sir Rethan the Vaunted slew a demonic blood fiend by grasping its heart into a thousand messy pieces. She was there when Hinora the Blue Mage used a sword of ice to melt the flames of a phoenix. And she was there when two clans of ordinary barbarians had a drinking contest in a Granholtz tavern.

That one was the worst.

But for her good sense to not overstay her welcome, she’d returned a bona fide A-rank adventurer.

That was, as far as she knew, the traditional way to climb the Oldest Ladder.

Luck. Opportunism. Connections. The ability to shout very loudly. And every now and again, the occasional spell tossed into some nameless thing’s maw.

… And then there was Ophelia.

Liliane made her way down the main street, her brisk steps fuelled by a cocktail of disbelief and personal dissatisfaction at the hopeless unfairness which was a beautiful elven sword saint.

The Snow Dancer was a swirling tornado of carnage. But she was also prettier than her. She was more accomplished than her. And she … well, she probably wasn’t younger than her.

Liliane had no idea how old she was, but for all she knew, she likely had 27 grandchildren by now.

Elven skin was absurd. And if she had one memory she wished to erase, it was the day she was invited to give a speech while sitting beside that woman and her ducks. There were 200 dignitaries in Duke Valence’s court, and all of them were watching Ophelia scribbling her name into the table while waiting for the free buffet to begin.

But in the end, Liliane only had herself to blame.

She’d grown comfortable.

No, worse … she’d become apathetic. The reflection of the barmaid uniform was proof of that.

Without realising it, she’d been forgotten in her own town. And as her final punishment, now it was more than the Snow Dancer who wished to overshadow her.

As she walked towards the guild hall, she listened to snatches of conversation.

To whispers and gossip traded as idly as coins, their bearers never once realising that words were worth so much more. Again, there was nothing regarding the rising star she’d heard about. An adventurer who’d seemingly dropped from a stork and climbed the lower ranks in a heartbeat.

Not even Guildmaster Triniard could explain who she was. Nobody could.

All either of them knew was that she was one of Timon Quinsley’s flock. And that made the sudden rise all the stranger. Everyone knew that man was not above his tricks. But he was also pragmatic and honourable … at least in his own way.

To simply hurl his own adventurers up the Oldest Ladder was not how he worked.

There were always rising stars, of course. Liliane had seen them fall as swiftly as they rose, crushed by the fabled wall of limits that all adventurers eventually came to meet. But now the whispers were more erratic. More confused.

Liliane sucked in a deep breath as she walked.

She had to act, or else it’d be more than her plushies which were swept from the windows.

Luckily, there was a simple solution–and that was to continue where she’d left off.

She needed to climb the Oldest Ladder, just one more time.

Liliane Harten needed to rise to S-rank … somehow.

It was something which would take more than connections to achieve. She needed to do something that Timon Quinsley … that headquarters themselves could not ignore.

The very things that Thomas Lainsfont used to do.

Liliane groaned at the thought. She didn’t want to drag a basilisk through the streets. It looked impressive when a famed adventuring team did it, especially while Bodkins Tangleleaf was giving out free samples of its roasted tail. But if she tried it, half the town would need to offer help.

But she couldn’t let things stay as they were.

For one thing, even with free accommodation, free meals and free … well, most things, Liliane wasn’t exactly overflowing with crowns. Marinsgarde was a well where coins vanished–often ending up as a shiny coat button.

She glanced at three children fighting over a limited edition Ophelia plushie. Two were in tears and another had swollen cheeks.

And then her hands clenched once more as a fire long dormant welled up inside her.

Liliane couldn’t remain idle any longer. Not if she wanted children to brutally fight over her as well. And as she arrived at the door of the Adventurer’s Guild, she felt as though fate itself was dangling the next road just front of her.

“... Goblins,” said a farmer still in his overalls to the exasperated adventurer trying to eat his lunch outside. “They don’t allow themselves to be seen. Not unless they’re up to something that’ll see all my flock turned to mutton overnight. You hear me? You need to do something about this.”

“Sir, I’m very sorry, but this is something for the guards.”

“The guards won’t even listen. They’re more afraid than you are. And not for a single right reason. I’m telling you, they’re up to something. I see it in the day. I hear it in the night. They’re digging. Searching. And I promise you now sure as the sun that not a single one of you will end up liking what they’ll find.”

“Look, I understand your concerns. And I’ll relay them … once I’ve finished my sandwich. But this is out of our hands. Goblins are for the lord and lady to handle. Not adventurers. These days, there are all sorts of agreements and … eh?”

Liliane offered a kindly smile as she appeared beside them.

Then, she leaned towards the farmer.

“Tell me more.”