Chapter 25: Drinks in the Tavern
You ever try to read something after staring at tiny script all day?
Yeah, me too. And my eyes were ready to commit treason.
Still, I flipped open the adventurer's handbook and powered through, because if this guild thing was going to be the backbone of my life moving forward, I needed to know what kind of spinal cord I was dealing with.
So, the basics.
Ranking System, pretty simple. F through S, like bad grades to god-tier. I was F, aka the kind of guy you send to find lost cats or shovel manure. Above me were E, D, C, and so on up to S, which sounded like the kind of rank that lets you punch a dragon in the face and get paid for it.
But there was a catch.
You couldn't just walk up and say "Hey, lemme take on that dragon." No, the rules were very clear: You can only take quests at your rank or one rank above.
Which meant me, Mr. F-rank? I could take F and E rank quests. Nothing higher.
That rule held strong up until S-rank, which was a whole other monster. Apparently to even qualify to take an S-rank quest, you needed a full party with at least five A-rankers and a special recommendation from the local Guild Master.
Translation? The kind of quest where someone hands you a death wish wrapped in a paycheck.
Lower-ranked quests were fair game though. You could take any quest below your rank. Which meant once I climbed up a few rungs, I'd have more flexibility.
Oh and here's the fun part.
If you're F-rank, you have to complete one quest a week to keep your guild membership active. No weekly quest? You're out. Guess they didn't want dead weight.
The rest of the handbook was standard bureaucratic fare: don't commit crimes, don't scam the guild, don't kill your party members—unless they really, really deserve it. (Okay, I might have paraphrased that last one.)
I closed the book slowly, leaned back in the wooden chair, and rubbed my eyes.
"That's enough brain food for one day."
Seriously, between the system rules in my head, the world lore I crammed earlier, and now guild regulations, I felt like my brain was swelling. I needed a reset. Something easy. Something warm. Preferably edible.
I stood up, stretched till my back popped, and headed downstairs.
The tavern below was alive with noise, boots stomping, tankards slamming, voices raised in cheer or argument. It was a strange thing. In a world so cruel, loud, and bloody, there was still this little bubble of normalcy.
I made my way to the same empty table I'd used before. The innkeeper spotted me and nodded, already pulling something off the fire.
"You look like someone who hasn't gotten laid in a month," he said, sliding a tray onto my table.
"I just read the guild handbook."
He whistled. "Same thing."
The food smelled good, probably the same as last night, but I wasn't complaining. Meat, stew, some bread, and what passed for ale in this place. I dug in, letting the chatter around me fade into background noise.
For the first time in a while, I let myself relax.
No goblins.
No blood.
No glowing magic beasts.
Just food.
And tomorrow?
Back to work.
I was halfway through my second drink, just enjoying the taste of something that wasn't goblin bile and blood, when she walked in.
Yeah. Her.
The silver-plated she-devil from the Archive.
Lady 'I-Guard-the-Door-Like-it-Contains-the-Meaning-of-Life' herself stomped in through the front door like she owned the damn tavern. Which, to be fair, wasn't all that strange, what was strange was how the innkeeper immediately tensed up at the sight of her, like a bartender spotting a health inspector.
"I told you already!" she barked, arms swinging, strides purposeful. "You said you'd talk to the City Lord, you promised!"
Ah. That tone. That whine. That very specific brand of tantrum.
Daughter.
I leaned back, silently sipping my drink, watching the whole scene play out like a soap opera with swords.
The innkeeper, who I now realized had way more patience than his weird squeaky voice let on, sighed and gestured for her to lower her volume. "Not here, Freya," he said, looking around. "Not in front of customers."
"So you won't talk to him?" she pressed, slamming both armored palms on the counter like a drama queen knight.
"It's complicated. The City Lord doesn't just…"
"I risked my life in that ruined border trench last week and you're telling me it's complicated?!"
"You're a city guard, not a glory hound."
Their back and forth was so sharp and rapid I thought they'd start throwing tankards any second. I could barely follow the details—something about guard duty rotations and the City Lord screwing over promotions but I was too entertained to care. The innkeeper looked like a man being scolded by his own daughter for burning dinner, and she looked like she'd happily set the entire building on fire for emphasis.
And then her eyes landed on me.
Uh oh.
She narrowed them.
Her voice cut the air like a blade. "You."
I swallowed my drink quickly, wishing it was poison.
"You're that F-rank from the Archive," she said, disgust dripping off the 'F' like she'd just found a worm in her food.
"Wow. My reputation precedes me," I replied dryly, placing my mug down. "Autograph's five silver. Ten if you want a hug."
"Please. I'd rather get strangled by an orc."
"Ouch. Don't hold back."
Her lips twitched, not quite a smile, not quite a snarl. "Still can't believe they let someone like you in the Archive. Is the guild just handing out cards now?"
"I have a face you can trust," I said, smirking.
"More like a face I want to punch."
Charming.
I raised both hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I was just doing some reading. Not plotting to rob the place."
She scoffed, armor clinking as she turned. "This city's going to the dogs."
"Have a good evening, Miss City Guard," I called after her with mock politeness.
"Go fall in a ditch," she snapped, storming out the tavern with enough rage to melt iron.
I blinked. "Well, that escalated. She's a delight."
The innkeeper exhaled like he'd just been through a storm. "She'll get over it. Eventually."
"Is she always like that?"
"She's worse when she's in a good mood."
I took another sip.
And that's when it happened.
The door creaked open again and in stepped four very familiar figures.
My heart sank.
Like sank sank. Titanic-level sank.
Kail.
Trent.
Keyra.
And the bane of my five-foot-seven existence: Kaku.
The walking mountain of fur and muscle spotted me instantly. Of course he did. There wasn't a single damn thing blocking me from his field of view. Even if I ducked under the table, I'd probably still look like a mushroom growing in his shadow.
I froze.
Maybe if I don't move, they'll forget I exist.
Just then, the innkeeper's voice betrayed me like Judas.
"Kaizen! I'll be over with that second mug of ale in a bit!"
…Why. Why must life do this to me.
Kaku turned his head toward the sound.
His beastkin eyes landed on me.
A pause.
Then he grinned.
"Well, well, well," Kaku said as his voice rumbled across the tavern. "Look what we have here."
And just like that, my night was ruined.