My machinations on creating an Adventurers Guild would take time to come to fruition, especially because I was concerned about safety. The way the Tamers Guild advanced members required a display of capability, by taming a specific rank of beast, and even then it was not without risk. Attempting to tame a stronger beast from the wild could result in death, and training a beast to evolve was hard work, and not every tamer managed to maintain control of their beasts after their transformation.
Taming multiple beasts also complicated that issue, so it was not always so straightforward. Even with my ability to appraise people’s skills directly, it was not perfectly clear whether they would successfully be able to tame a beast or not. Having beasts raised in captivity who were relatively tame in the mundane way to experiment with helped, as did having reliable senior members who could control stronger beasts.
An Adventurers Guild could potentially be an order of magnitude more complicated. It would need to know which adventurers it could send out against specific threats, as measured by the bestiary compiled by the Tamers Guild. If dungeons were found, the Guild needed to know its rank so it could determine who would safely be able to conquer it. Parties composed of multiple adventurers would have different strength levels based on their combined skills and tactics, and different parties would have better or worse chances against various challenges, but it was clear there would need to be a way to rank adventurers.
My magic meter was just the tip of the iceberg. I would need to make other magical identification devices. I could likely build something to appraise the rank of a dungeon, and something to measure and determine the rank of an adventurer once I had established some baselines.
Given my own experiences, it was more or less impossible for a child to gain their first level before they were four years old. I had only just managed it, with an adult’s mind pushing hard for it. It was much more reasonably to assume a child would approach five years of age before gaining a level, and aside from those that trained with magic or a martial skill—and, more recently, tamers in my Guild—the average child gained around one to, at most, two levels each year of life, tapering off to almost no change in adulthood as life settled into unchanging routine and fewer experiences were had in daily life.
Apprenticeships were probably when most kids gained the most levels, acquiring and training in the skills they would use into adulthood. If kids were around Level 5 or 6 when they turned ten, gaining one level per year from five years old onward, it was not unreasonable to assume that an apprentice would gain closer to two, reaching Level 15 or higher before they turned fifteen years of age.
I had already been up to some pretty crazy stuff by the time I was Level 15, and at a very young age, but that was not comparable to most people in the world. If I were playing it safe, and I wanted to send people against beasts of similar ranks, I would probably set Level 15 as the lowest level for someone to be a rank E adventurer.
Painting with broad strokes, it was reasonable then to move the needle every ten levels. Level 5 would be rank F, a pre-adolescent being comparable to the smaller animals of the world like treehoppers or polerats, and anything less would be rank G, which was what I considered beasts like nodmice and vorbils, the strength level of literal infants.
On the other side of apprenticeship, Level 25 to reach adventurer rank D seemed reasonable. It was a high level for a craftsperson, farmer, or homemaker, but for someone who trained in martial skills or magic—especially if they were engaging in combat against beasts from Level 15 as a rank E adventurer—it could happen before they were twenty years old. Level 35 was a more difficult push for the average person of the world, but rank C beasts were incredibly dangerous. It was reasonable then to set the comparable adventurer rank to that level.
It was hard to say whether Level 45 for rank B was a fair assessment or not. I had defeated a rank B dungeon beast well before that, but that was one of only two experiences with beasts that strong. The other was the dracosaur, which I was also under Level 45 for, but had only conquered with a team. I had no idea how many more rank B beasts there were in the world or how hard they would be to defeat, but tackling them solo defeated the purpose of creating an organization like the Adventurers Guild anyway.
If I left Level 45 as the threshold for a rank B adventurer, and then left Level 55 as the threshold for rank A, I would likely also set a rank S for adventurers who reached Level 65. Vorel was the only person I had ever seen above that level, and at these levels strength had much more to do with skill mastery, tactics, technique, and knowledge more than levels. Part of the work of the Adventurers Guild would be to make sure people were properly displaying the skills needed in order to rank up, not just following some general algorithm. I only needed an algorithm for making an artifact to measure and report to the Guild.
The main difference would be that tasks and challenges would likely require minimum party sizes, where the sum of the group had more power than their opponent, just like my group had dealt with the dracosaur. An Adventurer Guild would not send a solo rank B adventurer to deal with the dracosaur; it would send a large party of at least rank C adventurers, and if the party contained one or more rank B members, all the better.
Thinking through the challenges I had faced in my second life, I figured a minimum team of three or four adventurers of the same rank could mostly deal with a challenge of greater rank, except for when things got murky at rank B or theoretically at rank A. Ideally, a team of five or six would handle a higher rank challenge, in which case the risk should be incredibly low, especially if they had a healer with them.
Should I just call these challenges ‘quests’? I probably will, I thought with a chuckle and a shake of my head.
If the guild required meeting a certain number of quests from a party at their rank before allowing them to take a higher rank quest, then a certain number of higher rank quests before allowing individual members to test for rank up—testing against an artifact I would make that reported rank based on their hidden level information with 3-point magic—then it should more or less give adventurers the requisite experience to reach that goal. Some would pull ahead of the pack, others would fall behind, but no system was perfect. My early ruminations on this subject seemed pretty solid, though, so I grabbed some parchment and started making some notes, planning out the first draft of the enchantment for the Adventurers Guild rank measurement artifact.
Butchers could place quest requests for meat, brewers for foraged herbs, the city guard could place quests for dangerous beasts they witnessed outside the walls, and the Kingdom could even place quests for dungeons and other, future issues I had yet to even foresee. It would help people with less options find a way to gain income and grow their skills, and should help boost the overall economy. More meat would come into the cities and help the food issue. It may even encourage travel between the walled cities as adventurers went in search of bigger challenges, and strong people on the roads would diminish bandit presences and keep the whole Kingdom safe.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Also, it’s rad as hell, I thought with a big smile.
I continued to work on the concept long into the night.
* * *
I had a pep in my step as I walked to the throne room the next morning, having pulled a rare all-nighter planning the Adventurers Guild and building the prototype ranking artifact. I was excited to show it off and get feedback from the various people who had been such a great help to me so far.
As I approached the door, I heard a muffled argument from within, the kind of whispered shouting adults might employ while fighting but trying not to be overheard by their kids. It was hardly the first time I had found these three bickering, and it was wearing me out. With a sigh, I stepped into the room, and the harried whispers stopped, three pairs of eyes turning to look at me.
A quick probe of the three women’s surface thoughts told me all I needed to know. It was the same issue that had been brewing since the fall between Nodel and Atlessoa, only exacerbated by the addition of Leiren.
I gazed at the three now-silent women, who had winced at my magical examination. Atlessoa’s gaze was turned down, Nodel looked haughty and proud, and Leiren stood with strong confidence, but all three had a slight blush on their face when they saw me step in the room and felt my appraisal, though none of them exactly knew what it was.
“I think,” I said, rubbing my forehead and realizing that my lack of sleep was probably influencing my loosened tongue. “It’s time we have a conversation about this.”
Strolling through the room, I set my parchment and artifact down at the base of my throne and sat, looking down at the three women. I rarely lorded down on them like this, but some distance might help with the topic at hand.
“You three are all incredibly important to me. Friends, allies, and in some ways, basically family,” I said, watching their reactions as I spoke. I swallowed my own embarrassment and continued. “Which is why this has to stop. You need to stop fighting over me, because I will not be in a romantic relationship with any of you.”
Atlessoa gave me a small, sad smile, the words hammering home a truth she had likely already understood. Leiren heaved a sigh, but shrugged slightly, as if she had not really been expecting any different. Nodel, on the other hand, looked angry.
“Why not?” she said brows furrowed. “Haven’t I proven that I would be a good queen? That I can help you with the Kingdom?” Her eyes started to tear up a bit, and her voice started to quiver. “Aren’t my feelings enough? Ever since we were children, I–I’ve loved you, and I–”
“That’s the problem, Nodel,” I said softly. She pressed her lips together, not trusting herself to speak as she reined in the outpouring of her confession. “The thing is, your feelings are all too tied up in how we met. I saved all of your lives, so of course you’re going to have strong, complicated feelings for me, but that kind of imbalance in a relationship… it’s not good.”
Nodel displayed no understanding at my words, and instead, confusion. “What? You didn’t save my life.”
“...Do you remember getting sick as a child?”
“Sort of? It was a long time ago. My parents mentioned it a lot when I was growing up, that they were happy I got better after some healing and didn’t get sick again. What does that have to do with anything?”
“Your body draws in too much magic. It always had, and it’s part of what makes you such a powerful mage. As a child, it was making you sick, the build up becoming toxic. It probably would have killed you, if you didn’t learn how to expel the excess magic.”
Nodel frowned, thinking that through, until understanding appeared on her face. “That’s why you taught me magic?”
I nodded. “And it shaped your whole life.”
“But, I don’t remember that, so it doesn’t affect how I–”
“It does. Even if you don’t consciously remember why it happened, you still gained so much from magic. A part of you will always feel like you owe me, like you carry a debt that you can’t pay me back.”
“Pilus saved me when I was a starving orphan on the streets of Roko,” Atlessoa chimed in quietly. “I would have died if he hadn’t taught me how to survive.” She looked up at me. “You’re right. You’re the most important person in my life, but my feelings for you are… very complicated.”
“And I would do it all again. You’re like a sister to me, Soa. I’ll always protect you. I’ll always protect you all.”
“Like you protected me from the soldiers,” Leiren added, her voice uncharacteristically quiet. “They… I… I only escaped because of you. You turned against your whole Kingdom that day, and then you won it all back to ensure that nothing like that ever happens again.”
The three women fell quiet, and I looked up at the ceiling.
“I’m… no expert, when it comes to relationships. But I’m sure that having that level of disparity, that feeling of dependence, would result in one or both sides being unhappy,” I said as I looked back at them. “I’d rather see the three of you find someone you love, not for what you owe them, but because of how they make you feel. That they make you happy. Someone that you can lose time with, just enjoying the moments you spend together, where as soon as they leave you’re looking forward to the next time you can see them.”
“Is that how you feel?” Atlessoa asked. “When you’re with Seranedra?”
I froze, my eyes going wide.
“Spymaster,” she said, pointing at herself. “Sorry.”
“Uh, well. I. I mean. I do, uh, enjoy her company, when we’re, you know, working on the Church reforms, and… well, that’s just work though, I need her help to improve the Kingdom’s healthcare, and…” I stammered.
“You know, she also–”
“Ah,” I said, standing quickly. “That’s… not for me to know. That’s a private conversation. Keep your spying to the targets I asked for.” I shot a glare at Atlessoa, who only smirked, breaking through some of the severity in the room.
“Please,” Nodel said, rolling her eyes. “You hardly have to be a spymaster, the way she swoons after leaving your office, and how she talks about–”
“AH! That’s enough, thank you,” I said, raising my voice another decibel.
Glancing down at my notes and the artifact I had planned on testing, and let out an exhale as I looked back over the women.
“So. Uh. That’s how it is. All right?” I asked, looking at the women. “Friends?”
“I suppose anything more was impossible anyway, given our roles now. Shame,” Leiren said, eyes lingering for a moment, but she nodded. “Friends.”
“Family,” Atlessoa said, smiling warmly at me.
“Hmph,” Nodel said, turning her nose up. “Fine. I have work to get back to.”
With that, she stomped out of the throne room.
“She’ll be all right,” Atlessoa said after Nodel was out of earshot. “She’s strong.”
“No doubt,” I said. “But she could use more friends instead of competitors. Try to get along, if you can.”
The two remaining women nodded, and left the throne room, leaving me alone with my untested artifact. I leaned my head back on the throne and closed my eyes, fatigue suddenly weighing down on me.
“...The way she swoons, huh.”