Chapter 90
Written by Bayzo Albion
"How... How the hell did you manage it?!" The receptionist leaped from her stool, sending it clattering backward with a thunderous crash. Her voice trembled, a mix of panic and incredulity, as if I were a specter rather than a man.
"The monster didn't notice me," I said softly, my words cutting through the tension like a blade. "My body's too frail—barely a blip on its radar. I slipped in like a ghost. But when I reached for a second flower... it stirred. I'm no hero. Just... lucky."
She shifted her gaze from the bloom to me, her eyes darting over my battered features—the caked dirt, the crusted blood, the swelling bruises—as if searching for cracks in my story, some telltale sign of deceit.
"Don't get me wrong," I added, feeling the tension in the hall coil tighter around us. "I know a lie could cost me far more than I can afford. Especially here. Especially now."
"This flower..." She lifted it delicately between two fingers, handling it as if it might crumble into dust at the slightest pressure. "No one's brought one back in three years. Not even the silver ranks..."
A murmur swept through the hall like a gust of wind. Gasps escaped lips, teeth ground in envy, and a group of cloaked figures exchanged loaded glances, their expressions a cocktail of jealousy and superstitious awe.
The receptionist clutched the lily to her chest protectively, as if fearing it might be snatched away. Her voice dropped to a hushed clarity: "You might not be a hero..." She fixed me with a piercing stare, a flicker of respect breaking through her skepticism. "But fate sure as hell has its eye on you."
The room erupted into noise once more—nervous laughter, heated debates, the shatter of a dropped mug spilling ale across the floor in a frothy puddle. Yet amid the chaos, one thing was clear: I was the epicenter, the spark igniting their imaginations.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, a new emotion bloomed within me—not just fear or exhaustion, but a strange, exhilarating awareness. As if the world had finally deigned to acknowledge my existence.
That's when a tall man in guild-emblazoned armor approached, his face obscured by a hood, his voice steady and authoritative. "We'll deliver this to the healer. You... stick around town for now. Something bigger than herb-gathering might come your way soon."
He vanished as abruptly as he'd appeared, leaving behind an aura of unspoken significance that hung in the air like smoke.
I stood there, staring at my empty palm where the flower had rested moments ago. A peculiar emptiness settled in my chest—not loss, exactly, but the sense that I'd surrendered more than a plant. It felt like I'd passed an invisible test, one I hadn't even known I was taking. And in doing so, I'd taken my first real stride down an uncharted path.
Minutes later, the hooded guild official returned, this time flanked by a figure in a gray-green robe. The man's face was shadowed by his own hood, but his long, bony fingers gripped a staff topped with a golden bloom that seemed to pulse with faint magic. Each step he took sent a soft chime from the amulets dangling at his belt.
This was the healer—one of those elusive, arrogant types who paid fortunes for what others bled to acquire. The hall quieted instantly, eyes turning toward him with a reverence bordering on fear.
"Is this the one?" the healer asked, not bothering to glance my way.
"It is," the guild man confirmed curtly.
Only then did the healer deign to look at me, his eyes flicking to the lily still cradled in the receptionist's hands like a sacred relic. A spark of genuine astonishment lit his shadowed features.
"Remarkable... I didn't think it possible this season," he murmured, his tone laced with restrained awe. "You've got the devil's own luck, boy."
With a snap of his fingers, a pouch materialized from his satchel and thudded onto the counter. The fabric strained under its weight, a few golden coins spilling out and glinting under the lamplight like fallen stars.
The hall collectively inhaled—a fortune like that wasn't something even veteran adventurers saw every day.
I swallowed hard, my throat dry.
"One hundred gold," the healer stated flatly, as if discussing pocket change. "Enough for six months of indulgence... or five years of prudence. Your choice."
I stared at the coins, my heart thundering like it had during my forest escape. With a nod, I scooped up the pouch and tucked it away, trying to play it cool. But eyes bored into me from every corner—predatory, calculating, like hyenas scenting vulnerability. A hundred gold could rewrite a life, and everyone wondered how long I'd last carrying it.
"However..." The healer's voice drew out, smooth but edged with command. "I could use someone like you. Lucky. Resilient. Foolish or desperate—it makes no difference. You've proven you can fetch what eludes others for years. Work for me directly: steady quests, protection, lodging... triple the pay. A one-year contract. Interested?"
The murmurs swelled; half the room would have signed their souls away for such an offer.
I paused, the weight of the gold burning against my thigh, his words tempting like poisoned honey. Then I shook my head. "Thank you, but no," I said clearly, loud enough for the eavesdroppers. "It was sheer luck. I don't know why the beast ignored me, and I'm not eager to test it again. Fortune might not show twice."
The healer's eyes narrowed, surprise sharpening his gaze. "You're turning down wealth?"
"I'm no idiot," I replied, clenching my fist to steady my voice. "I'll take this gold and invest in myself—food, a roof, weapons, armor. Stick to simple jobs until I survive on skill, not chance."
Silence blanketed the room for a heartbeat. Snorts and smirks followed, but a few warriors near the door nodded approvingly, their grizzled faces etched with quiet admiration.
The guild official cracked a half-smile. "Wise beyond your years."
The healer sighed, adjusting his staff. "A pity. Stubbornness is a strength too. Perhaps you'll seek me out someday."
He departed without fanfare, trailing a faint aroma of exotic herbs and a chill that lingered in his wake.
I stood there, pouch secure, a newfound resolve igniting in my chest. For the first time, I grasped it: I had a shot at something real. And now, the reins were mine.
As I turned to leave the counter, two burly men in leather armor blocked my path. Rough-hewn faces, callused hands that screamed swordplay. One grinned, revealing gaps in his teeth. "Hey, kid," he oozed, venom sweet. "That pouch looks heavy. Let us help carry it—wouldn't want you tripping and losing it all."
The hall buzzed with anticipation, laughter bubbling up as spectators leaned in for the show.
I inhaled deeply, pivoted to face them, and declared loudly: "If I fall and die, the Forest Queen will come to this city herself. She'll tear apart anyone involved."
The words struck like lightning. Heads whipped toward me; some laughed nervously, others shifted uneasily.
The pair exchanged glances. The first tried to scoff, but I stepped closer, locking eyes with unyielding intensity—raw, feral madness gleaming in mine. "Think I'm bluffing?" I whispered, projecting for all to hear. "Go ahead, test it. But know this: I won't go alone. I'll drag you straight to her. And we'll see what's left of your hide when the forest feasts on your blood."
My conviction rang too true for bluster. Heavy silence descended. Even the receptionist looked up, lips pressed thin.
The second spat on the floor and backed off, muttering, "Damn upstart..."
The first retreated too, as if sensing the whisper of leaves and damp earth closing in behind him.
I turned my back on the room and strode to the exit, each step deliberate, unhurried. Let them see: fear had no hold on me.
Only at the door did I allow a smirk to crease my lips.
I didn't know if they believed me. But no one dared call my bluff.
When the guild door slammed shut behind me, I finally exhaled, my chest loosening as if I'd sprinted from death once more.
*Damn...* I wiped my face, feeling the grit and throbbing bruises under my fingers. *If even one had pushed, I'd be a bloody mess on the floor right now.*
Yet I grinned—wide, almost maniacal. Terror and triumph churned inside me. I'd gambled... and won.
The street enveloped me in its cacophony: crackling fires, sizzling meat from vendor stalls, the earthy tang of horse droppings. Passersby shot glances—some averted their eyes, others whispered like I carried a curse. But woven into their stares was something new: a hint of respect. Or perhaps fear.
I walked slowly, ignoring the ache in my ribs with every stride. The pouch's weight tugged at my pocket, a constant reminder. One thought pulsed in my mind: *Now I have time. And opportunity. I didn't just survive—I made them remember me.*
I paused at a stone wall, gazing over the city's rooftops stretching to the horizon. Somewhere amid the bustling markets and dimly lit inns lay rest: a soft bed, hot meal, blessed quiet. But my heart raced like a war drum, and I realized—I craved no respite.
I yearned to risk it all again.
The thrill of being alive burned too sweetly to ignore.