The faces of men who have surely achieved great things leave an impression so profound that even other men can’t help but be captivated.
“Welcome back.”
On an autumn afternoon, as the farmers were busy with the preparations for harvest and tax payments, Master Fidelio returned, cradling a worn-out sack. His body was wrapped in bandages in various places, and a large wad of cotton was pressed against his cheek, exuding the remnants of fierce battles.
Yet, he remained as calm as ever, his demeanor undisturbed, radiating an aura of a kind listening priest who unravels worries. With a gentle smile, he announced his return.
“Master!”
Despite having several customers, the innkeeper set down her tray with the finesse only years of experience can provide, gracefully leaped over the counter, and rushed into his arms with the force of a battering ram.
“You’re late! You said you’d return before the harvest began!!”
“I’m sorry, Shaimer. We were all in shambles and couldn’t move.”
Though the innkeeper had been steadfastly managing the inn without showing any trace of worry until then, her voice quivered with tears, and her throat emitted the purring sound cats make when they’re happy. The hero, who had been holding her gently in his arms, now picked her up princess-style as if to remind her where he belonged.
“Welcome back, Master Fidelio.”
“Safe return, it is most heartening.”
Even we who were helping the innkeeper in the tavern greeted his return, and Master Fidelio gave us a carefree smile.
“Yes, it’s good to be back. Both of you, thanks. Could I leave the shop in your hands for a while?”
Of course, we replied with vigor. In fact, we’d willingly keep it open until dawn if needed. We assist daily whenever he’s away on short trips, so we’re capable of managing the wait staff effectively. While I’m not as skilled as the innkeeper, I brew black tea quite well, and Margit’s light snacks are commendable too.
Moreover, if the accounts need to be settled, there’s always the innkeeper’s husband nearby, appearing as if drawn by the commotion, with an expression that seems to say, “What can you do?” He shares the same sentiment.
With joyful cries, his wife followed him as the illustrious hero, who has surely achieved something grand recently, silently disappeared into the back of the inn.
Simultaneously, the air filled with a chorus of sighs, an undeniable synchronization of massive emotions between the customers and us, as we reflected deeply on the reverence of such moments.
“What a scene, the hero’s return is always the highlight of any story. It’s what gives plots their luster.”
A flamboyant regular sighed while sipping black tea. This was a renowned bard whose stories bring vitality to the land, a favored customer who has a whole suite reserved on an annual contract for his poetic endeavors.
A master of the six-stringed lute—an instrument akin to the guitar—his fame extends even to performances in the imperial capital. He’s celebrated especially as the author of the epic “The Sage Goes Forth.”
Indeed, this is the tale of none other than Master Fidelio’s exploits, though Fidelio calls him a “mediocre poet” and “a writer of trite tales,” a nickname imbued with warmth everyone understands.
Initially, it started with interviews, but the admiration that an adventurer would naturally feel for such a storyteller has blossomed into their mutual bond.
After all, it’s the bard who’s the ultimate fan of heroes, crafting tales with great zeal and singing them repeatedly, bringing them to life.
“The hero returns as ever, smiling as if merely finishing a menial task, his heroic scars unboasted…”
“Hey, here comes another verse from the teacher.”
“Don’t get angry at his excessive tangents!”
As he noted something down in a small journal he pulled from his pocket, the bard composed his poem under light-hearted yet earnest murmurs. The other regulars responded joyously, as many of them gather to enjoy such tranquil evenings in the tavern, also anticipating the bard’s new works.
Perhaps this is his way of quietly repaying the inn, not by loudly promoting it, but by quietly gathering a discerning clientele.
How I wish someday I’ll have a tale written about me as well.
Ah, yes, I should invite Siegfried soon. He counts this tale of Master Fidelio’s heroics among his favorite epics. He particularly cherished the story of slaying the massive limbless dragon that blocked the canal. Perhaps I should politely inquire about tagging along on his next trip.
Listening to the bard’s heartfelt voice, I indulged in the hero’s adventures and soaked in the afternoon ambiance.
It wasn’t until the next day, when the couple finally descended with composure, that we gathered to hear their travel tales.
—
Deep inside, a bratty hero-in-training was fighting the urge to punch an unlikeable blond face he had sworn never to work with again.
“Hey, Siegfried, it’s a small world.”
There’s nothing ‘small world’ about it. In the adventurers’ guild, it’s bound to happen. Especially after a near-death experience a while ago which delayed our leveling up. Now, we’re at the same rank, and the higher our level, the greater the chance of meeting at the commissioned request board.
Recalling the recent mishaps, the youth scowled, grinding beetles in grams. Everything—nearby arrows, spear tips tearing fabric, and the uncomfortably warm blood spatters—still haunted his dreams, waking him with cold sweat. How many times had he worried his childhood friend?
“Hello, Erich.”
“Hello, Kaya.”
However, the childhood friend’s favor towards the sly blond’s grin grated on him. Upon hearing tales, she cheerfully chatted about how he was considerate and taught her an unknown herb mixture. This ignited a mix of jealousy and frustration within the youth who then tried to match these acts by carrying her baggage.
After greeting, the boy curtly asked what Erich wanted, wary that any further entanglement would surely end poorly. A whisper from his soul confirmed this.
Thus, he wanted to quickly finish the conversation and begin selecting a new job. Siegfried needed money. Despite attaining the rank of Ruby, his financial woes hadn’t improved at all; two of his three daily meals were cheap barley porridge.
After paying rent and handling daily expenses and preparatory job costs, the remaining amount was negligible. But, alas, his important spear’s handle had shattered.
He messed up during a recent bodyguard job. While attempting to catch drunk clients at a tavern, he failed, causing his spear, under his arm, to be wedged at an unfortunate angle during his fall, snapping it in two.
Luckily, the spearhead was unharmed, and a spear’s handle could be seen as a consumable item. But for adventurers struggling with daily wages, this was a major issue. Hurrying to the repair shop where he’d previously entrusted sharpening, he was informed the cost for a new handle would be 25 libra.
Stunned, he realized the required amount of money was essential for a quality handle. It was undoubtedly professional work, especially as a novice adventurer’s favoritism from the armorer played a part.
A spear is indispensable even for those who favor swords, especially against beasts and in tactical battle lines. Most adventurers use spears, so the golden-haired man’s reliance on only a sword and shield seemed unusual.
Not wanting to risk his life on an amateurish, makeshift spear handle, Siegfried desperately needed money.
However, even Ruby-ranked jobs earned only a single silver coin or two, if that. With his current resources, who knows how many months it would take to save up for the repair.
Given Erich’s proposition, it was both sweet and bitter.
“Recently, I received a direct request for a personal escort. You remember the bandit attack we faced last time? It has gained attention among caravan owners. Despite being Ruby-ranked, I’ve been offered a job at one libra and fifty as daily pay. Furthermore, they’re also requesting ‘Siegfried of Luck,’ if you’re interested.”
One libra fifty? Siegfried was nearly jumping for joy. The typical daily pay for Ruby-ranked caravan escorts is fifty as; if the caravan provides meals, this amount is often reduced further.
However, tripling the going rate implies an expectation of competence akin to a higher rank. A formal Amber-ranked hire would cost two to three libra, but hiring someone Ruby-ranked for similar work is understandably appealing.
It was enticing indeed. Three days’ pay in one! Furthermore, as it was caravan escort work, he wouldn’t need to secure lodging, and if the route was favorable, it could be quite profitable.
“Uh, what’s the period and destination?”
While his logic screamed to decline immediately, greed overruled it.
Upon hearing that the trip to the nearest planetary kingdom would round trip by winter, his fleeting restraint fell apart, leaving him accepting the offer, his hand now in Erich’s.
“This is great! Knowing you’ll be there makes me feel more secure.”
Though feeling slight unease, the potential earnings silenced his protests. With dire need for money and no room to pick jobs, he tried his signature fake smile he finds unpleasant but necessary.
“Also, this caravan has seven carriages and ten devoted bodyguards. There might be additional independent merchants joining, possibly even a hundred-person strong caravan. There shouldn’t be serious trouble along the way.”
Relieved, the caravan boasting ten bodyguards seemed formidable. And when additional adventurers were hired, safety only increased, especially with numbers close to a hundred. It felt like being aboard a grand ship, carefree and secure.
Even the previous caravan, modestly safe, had been fine. This one looked even better, reducing anxiety to almost none. Such a large caravan likely would only face calamity if the attackers were numerous or highly skilled, with high bounty prices.
“Also, I heard one of the bodyguards is an acclaimed two-name warrior. Though not yet enshrined in verse or tales, the caravan’s safety seems guaranteed. Merchants dealing in quality gems must surely pay well.”
With further assurances, including a two-name endorser, it seemed perfect. As solid as an iron-reinforced stone bridge, how could anything go wrong?
Scheduled for departure next week, Siegfried immediately prepared for the journey. Crossing seasons meant needing more supplies, including better quality blankets to guard against the cold.
He doubted needing the spear handle for the job. Carrying a mere sword should suffice for a mere escort’s appearance.
“Good for you, Di.”
Though flustered, the childhood friend’s cheerful voice made the youth, despite lightly teasing her to call him by his name, crack a smile.
His excitement grew imagining the potential reward could buy not just a new handle but also an upgraded iron-reinforced spear shaft. He hoped to add to the savings for armor. Perhaps, someday, something as grand as what the blond sported – though the source of those goods at such a rank baffled him.
Ah, perhaps buying fabric for his childhood friend – her robes were worn thin. She could sew well, but material was needed. Quality green fabric might please her!
Lost in such pleasant calculations, the boy didn’t know the hand outstretched bore an enormous poison.
Nor did he realize that similar sweet yet non-lethal venom would often tempt him into such positions.
For now.
That moment was still blissful, imagining new spear handles and her delighted reactions. Pain was far away. Even enduring the hardships of arrows, blood, and tears would remain distant.
Consider it well—being an adventurer is a life fraught with trials akin to a nagging, unpleasant wife or a deadbeat husband. Hunger during jobless spells, the frustrations of slow ranking, and financial pressures preventing equipment upgrades were constant. Even worse, their profession garners little respect. Often treated like ruffians or gangsters, transitioning to a normal job at low ranks proved daunting.
Between enduring long-term suffering or risking all for fleeting glory, adventurers naturally chose the latter.
Thus, Siegfried smiled, anticipating high-income work.
Thus, Siegfried will shout, “This wasn’t supposed to happen!”
Nevertheless, he won’t break. For a petty pride and youthful admiration, he persists.
Yet, life isn’t always smooth sailing. The world is unpredictable.
—
Weapons have set prices, making even frontlines cost-effective. Purchasing recovered swords requires approval; non-legal acquisition must be proven otherwise to sell.
Oh, and Siegfried’s future: lured again and again into ostensibly excellent yet dangerous jobs.
Erich’s lack of explicit deception and tantalizing incentives make cutting ties difficult yet annoying company.
And with that, the grand adventure begins.
—
Adventure is not always pleasant, but it certainly begins!
