"You look restless."
A slender woman, peeking from under the sheets, raised her eyes to look at the tall lean silhouette by the windows.
The soft moonlight reflected off the figure's pristine skin, illuminating his refined muscles, and a long ugly scar starting at his right shoulder, going all the way to the elbow.
"You say that every other night, lately."
"Because you get more and more troubled with every passing day! Did… something change? Out there?"
The man sighed, before turning his head.
The glimmers of moonlight shimmering through his disheveled hair, serving as necessary contrast to differentiate it from the starless sky behind him.
"I got another letter two days ago. About father."
"...did he?.."
"Not yet. But he isn't expected to survive the next month."
"Didn't the healers say the same thing last month?"
"This letter wasn't from Penelope. It was from Albert."
"..."
The man turned his face towards the lone moon once again.
"My father wants to see me.. one last time. Albert says that if I don't take this caravan, I might not make it in time."
The woman sat on the bed, leaning against the wooden frame.
"Will you go? This is.. still early. Far too early."
"I would go either way. Even if he was a.. even if he wasn't a good father, he was still my father."
The man sighed.
"As for the plan… we'll have to make do with what we have. This opportunity won't present itself again."
The woman's silky black hair was falling onto the white sheets, as her sad black eyes kept looking at the man's back.
"This won't be like anything else until now. You… might actually-"
"Enough."
The man's voice wasn't angry. There was no trace of admonishment or condemnation in it – only tiredness, with a dark undercurrent of inexplicable emotions, clearly present there far before this conversation ever took place.
"You know what he did. What he did to.."
The man's voice trailed off.
"I'm sorry. I can't let this go. I could never let this go. Not back then, not now, not in a hundred years."
The man turned to look into the woman's eyes once more – this time, his eyes were burning with dark determination.
***
"How was it?"
"Delicious, as always. Thank you for the meal."
This morning started with black bread and a mushroom stew served for breakfast – not a breakfast I was accustomed to, but definitely something I wouldn't mind seeing again next morning.
Afterwards, I went to the guild's training grounds.
Today, I adjusted my training schedule to focus on [Thrust]. After I've mastered it enough for it to properly appear on the panel, I'd balance my training around everything.
Of course, I still kept at my sword training. Even if I'd want to focus purely on skill training, my stamina simply wouldn't allow for that. Actually, I didn't even know if a level of stamina that allowed continuously spamming skills even existed.
Moreover, I really felt like my swordsmanship basics were lacking. Even if I mastered the style of Sebastian's father, which Sebastian himself was still far from mastering when his training abruptly ended, I still felt that wasn't enough.
That hobgoblin definitely knew at least two completely different sword styles – one for relentless aggression, one for defense and area control.
I doubt I could find a way to imitate them myself. I did try, but there were clearly many nuances I couldn't perceive during that fight, and thus, I couldn't properly recreate those styles now.
Well, maybe I could, with hundreds of hours of trial and error. However, that was not the kind of time I could blindly invest in something like this, at least not right now.
At noon, I stopped to check the notice board.
I already saw nothing interesting when I came in, except for the "repeatables" (such as turning in a certain number of fresh goblin bounties at once) that you could pick up retroactively anyway.
Patiently waiting for the request renewal, I saw a few familiar faces – some of the people that picked up quests with us on that day were here as well.
Most faces were unfamiliar, though.
The halfling wasn't here today, either.
'That makes sense. He must still be busy.'
When the new requests came, there wasn't anything that caught my eye.
Well, actually, there were two goblin related missions – a nest and a small group witnessed roaming around a large forest area half a day from town.
However, both the requests were snatched instantly.
'I guess I didn't appreciate Pinpin enough.'
What even was this mission distribution system? The party with the swiftest hands gets the best stuff?
I was fairly certain this wasn't how things went in a proper Adventurer's Guild branch, but this was the branch I was in right now.
Begrudgingly, I looked at and wrote down a couple of plant harvesting "repeatables". Julia, the alchemist, explicitly suggested this method.
Plant collection missions were non-exclusive and had very high collective quotas, which never got filled.
More importantly, there were a couple of routes that allowed one to consistently fulfill a specific set of such missions. I was planning to take some of those routes.
In terms of profit, this was moderately worse than most hunting and extermination missions, but those were simply hard to come by around here, or rather, hard to snatch before one of the other adventurers did. There was still the risk of getting attacked by monsters or beasts, but at least the routes could be completed by late afternoon if one started in the morning, eliminating the need for camping and night travel.
Finally, this method was still far more lucrative than the few missions to escort hunters, or guard the lumber yard and whatnot.
And since those missions could be registered retroactively, you could mix and match without any risks of penalty, unless you took one of the short-term "seasonal" collection requests.
After being done with that, I decided to go sell the rest of my leftovers, and visit the smithy.
I could visit Amelia, but for some reason, I really didn't feel like it right now.
And so I picked up my plants, as well as the hobgoblin's clothes, and made my way to the industrial zone, grabbing lunch at one of the stalls on the way.
"Oho! That's very nice for a first run."
The mushrooms and herbs went for 1.5 gold. A little less than expected, but I didn't even think of haggling.
As for the hobgoblin's clothes - surprisingly, Old Ben offered 1 gold for both of them. Their fabric was made from some special plant fiber found in the Dark Regions, and could be reused for a few applications due to its toughness while being relatively thin.
All in all, putting aside 6 silver from the plant sale as a promised share, I managed to recover my finances to just above 30 gold.
"Just in time, lad!"
When I arrived in the Crimson Anvil, I got presented with two items.
The first was a small sealed box, around 40cm wide and deep and 20cm tall, sporting a metal lock at its front.
"This box has three layers of cotton for protection on the inside. Never unlock it near sunlight – not unless you want to be the owner of a fancy box o' scrap, that is!"
I took the box from him. It was quite heavy, and I could hear the metallic rustling coming from inside with every move.
"The one to buy this will be Horton Webmire, of the Steel Cog workshop in Silverveil. When you meet him, tell him Goromir sent you, least ya' want that old bastard to rip you off so bad you'd be the one paying him to take this box, he he. Oh, and that bottle of Red Mark he still owns me – remind him of that, too."
"I'll do as you instructed. Thank you."
Just today, I bought a small notebook and a large, clunky ink pen that cost me over two silver. I'd be writing down the gist of what the blacksmith said later on.
"No worries, lad! You paid for it, after all. Speaking of which, why won't you try this on?"
The second item – a chainmail, now nearly half its previous width, as well as adjusted at the shoulders.
With it, I got a small sack of excess links.
"You could put it below that leather chestpiece. Knights often wear a chainshirt below a plate chestpiece, or even a full plate set, but leather is still better than nothing."
Given how the only plate armor sets I saw in this town were worn by Harold and the sheriff, I couldn't even begin to estimate their full prices, so I thanked the blacksmith once again before leaving.
Of course, I also received the helmet, slightly thinner than before, and with a brand new strap that let me fasten it to my chin, or hang it on my back or waist during my travels.
It might have looked less cool than before, but it was definitely more practical.
I wasn't sure what to do right now, so in the end, I decided to continue training until dinnertime.
At last, when the sun was nearing the horizon, and my body was aching all over, I left the training ground, making my way to the inn.
However, before I could enter the dining room, Arthur, who was still sitting at reception, noticed my approach.
"Sebastian! Over here."
Confused, I approached.
"There was a halfling here not long ago. Asked if you were here. When I said you weren't, he requested I pass you a message and give you this."
He gave me a small pouch from under the counter. Upon opening it, I saw it contained 3 gold and 5 silver.
"He said he already subtracted 5 silver for the herbs, and that he'd give you the change later if there was any."
That gem must have fetched a good price. With this, I was up to 35 gold again.
"He also said the funeral will take place tomorrow by the Sun Shrine after sunset, if you wish to attend."
'The funeral? Ah..'
Was it strange I haven't thought about it? Or maybe I've simply pushed it to a distant corner of my mind, trying to put this grim mission behind me, together with its reminders?
"Yes. Yes, of course, thank you."
I quickly continued on to have dinner, before taking a bath and going to bed early.
I rustled and turned. Perhaps due to the unusually early hour, sleep would not come near me just yet.
'I wonder what kind of funeral it will be.'
There was no body, and it would take place near the shrine, so it would probably be symbolic.
'Maybe cremation? Sounds fitting for a sun religion.'
Since they couldn't burn the body, maybe they'd offer up a sentimental item, such as that locket? Or maybe the halfling took something from that cave, such as a lock of hair?
For a moment, I could see the halfling crouched in front of Tim's body, holding a dagger. Slowly, with great care, he was sawing off a finger, before plucking it and carefully wrapping it in rugs, under the indifferent gaze of Tim's cold, dead eyes…
I shook my head, and the vision, born purely out of my imagination, instantly dissipated.
Realizing I would not fall asleep just yet, I decided to go down to the bar.
As dinner came to a close, the dining room turned into a tavern for a few hours.
The few people who sat there were different from the diners. Most of those people, some of whom I even recognized from the celebration a few days ago, were likely regulars, coming to blow off some steam after a hard day's work, or simply pass time with their friends while sipping cheap ale.
I took up a spot at the corner of the bar, which was nearly empty, save for some guy on the other end.
"One ale. Make it a big one."
"One big ale, coming up!"
Arthur, who moved to the bar after dinnertime ended, poured me a large mug.
"Sleepless night, I see? Don't you worry. Nothing some good ol' ale can't fix!"
As I grabbed the mug, I tried to flash a smile in return to Arthur's high-spirited claim.
My smile probably didn't look too reassuring, as the bartender found it best to turn away and let me drink in peace – which was more than fine by me.
The ale was bitter, but after the last time, I was already used to the taste, taking sip after sip, as the mug slowly grew emptier and emptier.
"Oi, kid! Don't you know drinking alone is a bad omen? Arthur, the usual."
A familiar voice brought me out of my hazy thoughts. I looked at my mug, a quarter still full, before turning my eyes to the newcomer.
"Orthor."
"It's Ornor, you brat! Tsk. Don't tell me those few drops of ale were enough to do you in?"
"Ah, no! Of course not, Ornor! What brings you here?"
In truth, I simply misremembered his name, having not seen him since that night. The ale provided a partial excuse, at least.
"What else would bring me here, if not some cheap ale and fine rum! Well, Goromir too, but he always runs late, that bloody sod."
The dwarf unceremoniously climbed the stool beside me.
Honestly, I wasn't feeling very chatty right now, but on second thought - maybe it was better than drinking alone. I hadn't really drank back home, anyway, besides occasional visits from friends – which had been getting less and less frequent over the years.
The inn owner turned bartender placed down a mug similar to mine, and a small glass of something much stronger.
The dwarf chugged down the glass, before slurping a quarter of his ale in one go.
"Ahhhh… that's the good stuff."
I hesitantly took another sip of ale, which now felt much more meager than before.
"How've you been liking the town?"
"It's.. alright."
Compared to modern life, it wasn't exactly amazing, but it wasn't terrible, either.
Just the fact that there was a sewage system, and this inn was connected to it, already eliminated some of my greatest fears.
I didn't really have any other points of reference yet, beyond fragmented memories from Sebastian's life, but if the big cities had even more conveniences and better infrastructure, this world wouldn't be such a terrible place to live in.
"It's a quiet town. No monster invasions, crime syndicates, or grand cultist conspiracies here."
The dwarf took another sip of ale.
"Some adventurers call it boring. Me? Been here for three years. Not the most exciting work, most of the time. I think by now, I've met more goblins in those woods than people in town. But I've also reached my Path here. Just before that tree lover too, ha!"
A flash of pride flickered in the dwarf's eyes, before being replaced with melancholy.
"And soon, I'll be leaving this town, standing on my own two feet. That's more than most can claim in this line of work."
Slurp
Another quarter of the dwarf's mug grew empty, as he put it down with a loud burp.
"You're leaving?"
"Aye. With the next caravan. Should be two or three days, at most."
"Where to?"
"The city. The Silver Claymore has one last mission waiting for it there, or so the boss says. Afterwards? I'll be damned if I know. Oi, Arthur! Another one!"
The dwarf downed the last of his ale, before ordering another mug.
"So, you're leaving this town after three years, and then your current party will disband?"
"Aye, that's the gist of it."
"My condolences."
I took another sip of ale, just as the bartender refilled the dwarf's. When I put down my mug, I caught Ornor giving me a strange look.
"..?"
"Thanks, lad. If only for the sentiment."
The dwarf took a sip, before asking me an unexpected question.
"Say, why did you become an adventurer?"
This question caught me off guard for a moment – but, after that moment has passed, I remembered the reason. It was quite simple, actually.
"I need money. And I need to get stronger."
"Money. Power. Are you chasing those things for their own sake? Or do you have another reason? A goal?"
"I do have a goal."
I needed to survive. And the price probably wouldn't be cheap – I could only hope it was something I could achieve in less than three years, at least if I struggled desperately enough.
The dwarf nodded, before looking into the depth of his mug.
"I, too, have a reason. Something that made me leave the depth of my mountain, leaving behind my brothers and sisters, and the rest of the clan – all so I can step on a deadly road, one that most folks don't live long enough to step off of."
"...Your mountain?"
The dwarf looked at me.
"I lived with my clan in the Ashton mountain, in the Iron Ridge. Before I left, Krondel Ironbeard- ah, he was a local hero to our clan, a retired adventurer who returned, and became our greatest guardian. Anyway, he told me that for people like us, who step on this path to chase a goal, everything is temporary. A town, a party, even companions – they are like toy castles built from pebbles, poised to scatter back onto the cave's floor at the mountain's sudden tremble."
The dwarf took his mug, emptying the remaining three-quarters in a single go. I couldn't help but wonder whether dwarves had some 'iron stomach' trait. Or maybe poison resistance?
"People like us – we move, and the cities around us change. Companions – some grow too fast, outpacing us. Others will stagnate, forcing us to leave them behind. Some will reach their own goal and retire.. others will find rest beneath the soil long before that happens."
The dwarf's deep, profound gaze met mine once again.
"So there is no need for condolences. Those of us who chose this path must walk it without regret – otherwise, it would be better to retire right away. Or better yet, not step on it at all."
I opened my mouth, and closed it again, unsure how to reply.
The dwarf's words were sound. I couldn't find fault in them.
'Maybe it's about choice. Those who choose this life have no right to complain. Having it forced upon you, though.. that just sucks.'
With a sigh, I finished my own ale – just in time to notice another bearded figure approaching us.
"Ornor! Started without me, you bastard?"
"Felt like I owed you a handicap after last time."
"You mean the time you ended the night in a puddle of ya own pi- oh, Sebastian! Ya joining us tonight? Just don't expect me to slow down on your account!"
"No, I was just leaving. You two have a good one."
"Good night, lad!"
"We'll be here if you change your mind!"
Placing a few copper coins on the bar, I left the two alcoholics to their thing, making my way up to my room.
'Without regrets, huh? Not sure if I can do that.'
Truth was, I couldn't help but think.
What if I'd insist on walking away from that tunnel? Wouldn't all three of us be sitting at that bar, celebrating our first successful mission?
'At least it worked out for you in the end, did it not?'
And there was also another voice – one I despised even more than my self doubts.
One that claimed everything ended well.
One that put Tim's cold, dead body on one side of the scales, piling the loot and rewards from this mission on the other, and judged the former to be of lesser value.
Try as I did, I could not get rid of that voice.
But according to the dwarf's words, that voice held at least some measure of truth to it.
I also felt that bitter glimmer of truth.. even if I really, really didn't want to accept it.
'I should probably try, at least, shouldn't I?'
Sleep came soon after. A bit faster than yesterday.